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idollete · 29 days

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– 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲. ⋆ ˚｡ 𖹭

𝑤arnings: conteúdo exclusivo para +18.

ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ fran!fwb; college!au; menção honrosa ao esteban (e ele é canônico nessa história); do mesmo universo de ‘fran ♡ is typing…’ (não é uma continuação tho, eu só fiz uma rápida menção); pet play; palavras no diminutivo (tipo, muitas); uso de apelidinhos (‘gatinha’, ‘gordis’, ‘bebita’); penetração anal (gente sério tô muito fogosa); sexo desprotegido (PFVR NÃO FAÇAM EM NOME DA SANTINHA DAS FANFICAGENS); fingering; creampie; size kink (é bem implícito mas tá aí nas entrelinhas); rimming; muita saliva; oral (fem.); nipple play; uma lambidinha inocente no umbigo (hj eu tô freaky delulu insana me desculpem por isso); dirty talk; uma apalpada na bundinha do fran; uso de termos em espanhol (‘listo’ - pronto).

idollete’s typing… ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ. oiiiiiii foi aqui que pediram smut do fran romero? dinner is served mwah vcs foram dar palco pra minha loucura e saiu isso. pfvr não levem muito a sério o fato de eu estar escrevendo isso aki do nada hahahaha eu sei que disse que só ia escrever com outras pessoas hahahahaha mas é que me deu tesão e eu não resisti im literally just a girl ☝🏻😣🎀🕊️ also eu tô morrendo de vergonha das coisas que escrevi aqui hahahahahahahahahahahaha [ meme do coringa enlouquecendo ]. mas boa leitura eu espero que vcs gostem dessa palhaçada ♡

Nossa, ‘cê ainda tem isso aqui? Já saiu de moda séculos atrás…Fran já deveria ter repetido essa mesma frase mais de cinquenta vezes a essa altura do campeonato. Desde que ele decidiu fuxicar o pequeno guarda-roupa no dormitório que dividia com outras duas colegas, você havia perdido o resto que paz guardada para um final de semana entediante.

Chamou o seu melhor amigo para ficar de bobeira contigo na esperança de tirar um término terrível da cabeça, um relacionamento de seis anos que acabou por uma baita injustiça do destino, seu namorado, agora ex, havia passado na prova do intercâmbio e você não. Você não tinha sorte mesmo. Sentia muita falta de Esteban, mas acreditava que uma tarde ao lado de Fran melhoraria o seu ânimo e repararia os danos ao seu coraçãozinho, o que se provou impossível, uma vez que tudo que ele havia feito até agora era criticar o seu armário e te colocar em uma deprê ainda mais. Quer dizer que agora você era uma sem-namorado e sem estilo também?!

– Mas é confortável! E custou dinheiro, Fran, ele não nasce do chão, sabia?! – Nervosa, você bufou, se jogando de qualquer jeito na cama, as esperanças de algo divertido acontecer naquela tarde minando a cada segundo que passava enfurnada no dormitório. – Será que dá ‘pra você parar de mexer…

– Dios mío! Qué es eso, gordis?! – Sua reclamação foi interrompida pela exclamação do argentino, a pergunta em um tom zombeteiro e surpreso.

Você pensou em ignorar. Certamente ele só iria falar mal de algum vestido que você comprou e se arrependeu logo depois, mas a risada perversa que ecoou pelo quarto chamou a sua atenção. Colocando-se de bruços e apoiando o queixo nas mãos, você se virou a tempo de enxergar o garoto segurando dois objetos felpudos que te fizeram corar instantaneamente.

– Francisco Romero! – Em segundos, você já estava voando em direção ao loiro, desesperada para esconder os seus adereços. – Me dá isso agora, nossa, me dá, cara. – Suas súplicas eram em vão, porque, se aproveitando da altura estatura e agindo feito um pirralho irritante, Fran ergueu os braços, fazendo com que os objetos pairassem no ar e muito longe das tuas mãos afoitas.

Seu rosto queimava em vergonha, as bochechas ganhando um tom cada vez mais avermelhado enquanto encarava as palmas masculinas. Embora você e Fran fossem amigos de longa data e, vez ou outra, tivessem trocados uns beijinhos e outras coisinhas, sempre foi algo muito natural, até mesmo bobo, acontecia quando vocês estavam bêbados ou entediados demais, ao ponto de recorrerem um ao outro. Não era ruim, mas também não era sério o suficiente para que ele soubesse de todos os seus segredinhos sujos.

– Ay…Não acredito que você escondeu isso de mim o tempo inteiro. – O sorriso dele ia de orelha a orelha. – E que safada! Não sabia que você curtia esse tipo de coisa.

O Esteban gostava quando eu usava…Era mais fácil jogar a culpa em quem não estava presente para se defender, porque não era só o teu ex quem gostava da dinâmica. Você é quem a sugeriu, na verdade. Fran te conhecia muito bem, no entanto, mais do que você gostaria, porque ele não comprou o seu teatrinho, não se convenceu pelo jeito retraído, as palavras em um sussurro tímido. Não, ele sabia bem o tipo de garota que você era, mas não perdeu a oportunidade de alfinetar. Sempre soube que ele era um pervertido, aquela cara de nerd que tem medo de buceta nunca me enganou.

Quando estava prestes a se deixar levar pelo comentário brincalhão, encontrando uma escapatória para mudar de assunto e tirar o foco de si, Francisco te surpreendeu ao ajeitar a tiara na sua cabeça, posicionando as orelhas felpudas e pontiagudas no meio dos seus fios. Ele te encarava de uma maneira difícil de descrever, era diferente, mais intensa. E você não podia negar que te intrigava, fazia com que você se sentisse desejada. Bonitinha. O elogio te amansou um pouco, o jeitinho que a voz dele se prolongava nas sílabas finais, cantarolando as palavras.

– Gatinha, gatinha! – Provocativo, ele tentou te chamar, arrancar alguma reação de ti, mas você estava envergonhada e atônita demais para falar. – Não?! – Sonso, ele tombou a cabeça para o lado, rindo com uma falsa inocência. – Hmmm, já sei. – Fran parecia não dar a mínima para estar praticamente falando sozinho, se aproveitando do teu silêncio para enfeitar o seu pescoço com a gargantilha rosinha e delicada, um pingente de coração pendendo dela. – Listo. Agora sim, né? Gatinha, gatinha! – Ele realmente te tratava como se você fosse uma felina e aquilo poderia ser patético para qualquer pessoa que visse, mas fazia o pé da sua barriga revirar de uma forma preocupante. – No?! – Você sabia o que viria em seguida, parte de ti esperava por isso. – O que será que falta ‘pra você ser uma gatinha completa, hein? Acho que… – Observou pelo canto do olho quando ele levantou o plug delicadinho, a penugem branquinha com alguns detalhes rosados ficando entre os corpos. – Isso aqui, né?

– Fran… – Sua intenção era alertá-lo, pedir que parasse com a brincadeira sem graça, mas o apelido soou completamente carente dos seus lábios. – Para com isso…

– Não quer ficar de gatinha ‘pra mim? – O beiço formou um biquinho triste, a expressão caída, embora teatral. – Poxa, queria tanto ver…

O comportamento brincalhão contrastava com o olhar lascivo, incapaz de esconder a curiosidade em te montar e deixar bonitinha. Quando ele se aproximou mais de ti, você recuou. Assustada, a princípio, feito uma gatinha mesmo, mas relaxou com o toque familiar na sua cintura, te lembrando de que vocês já haviam feito isso outras vezes. Os lábios se encontraram em um selinho, suave no começo, carinhoso até, a destra te juntava ao corpo esguio, aprofundando o contato ao deslizar a língua para a sua boca.

Beijar Fran era sempre extasiante. Poderia facilmente ser o beijo mais gostoso que você já recebeu, era babadinho na medida certa, tinha o ritmo ideal e ele sabia muito bem o que fazer com a língua. O quarto era preenchido com o barulho estaladinho dos músculos se enroscando e pelos arfares que ambos soltavam. Sentiu quando o argentino soltou uma risadinha entre o ósculo, aumentando o aperto no seu corpinho, te guiando até a cama, fazendo seus joelhos cederem e te colocando deitada sobre o colchão macio.

Suas pernas automaticamente se fecharam, expostas com aquela posição, a camisa larga revelando as coxas e a ausência de um short, vulnerável. Necessitada também. Era inegável o quanto a dinâmica mexia contigo, te obrigando se manter retesada, lutando contra o impulso de empurrar o quadril contra o nada só para encontrar um pouquinho de alívio, acalmar o pontinho que pulsava. Poderia culpar o término recente e a rotina corrida da faculdade, coisas que te colocavam em um celibato completamente involuntário…

Mas Fran tinha um papel nisso também, o jeito soturno que ele montou sobre ti, quase te encurralando, o toque delicado da pontinha dos dedos subindo pelas suas pernas, arrepiando ao sentir as unhas curtas arranhando a derme até alcançar a barra da camiseta, subindo o tecido, revelando a calcinha com uma estampa boba de corações, você sequer estava preparada para qualquer tipo de ação lá embaixo, não que ele se importasse com isso. Não se esconde de mim, não, ele pediu, pouco a pouco exibindo mais centímetros da sua pele, até te ter peladinha para ele, as roupas esquecidas em um canto qualquer do quarto pequeno.

A primeira coisa que Fran reparou foram os seus seios, os biquinhos duros chamavam a atenção do argentino e faziam a boca dele salivar, o olhar brilhar como quem acabou de ganhar um prêmio. As palmas grandes estavam te agarrando no segundo seguinte, ele brincava com os mamilos, beliscava de levinho, esfregava o polegar, espremia um peitinho no outro, tentava capturar um pouco dos dois de uma vez só, guloso. Sua pele queimava diante do toque masculino, ardiam quando os dentes eram pressionados na região sensível, se arrepiava por onde o rastro de saliva dele era deixado.

Fran Romero era sujo e bagunceiro. Deixava o seu corpinho cheio de marcas, cheio de baba, brilhando de tesão para ele, fazia o seu melzinho escapar sem controle algum, melecando o cantinho das coxas. Fazia os estalos serem propositalmente mais altos que o normal, reverberando pelo cômodo e disputando com os seus chiados dengosos. Erguendo o tronco, você pode observar a cabeleira loura descendo pelo seu tronco, beijando, mordendo, lambendo, ia desde as costelas até o seu umbigo, onde enfiou a pontinha da língua, lambendo de um jeito completamente sugestivo, sorrindo cheio de malícia, arrancando de ti um gritinho esganiçado, indignada com o quão despudorado o seu amigo conseguia ser.

– Ay, perdón! É que você é tão gostosinha que eu quero te lamber em todo canto. – A justificativa não poderia ser pior e você, que estava pronta para xingá-lo, emudeceu ao sentir suas perninhas serem arreganhadas e um filete de saliva escorrer desde a buceta encharcada até a entradinha mais apertada, umedecendo o caminho. – Mas acho que aqui ‘cê gosta mais, né? Lembro até hoje de quando você sentou na minha cara pela primeira vez, ficou se esfregando em mim feito uma gatinha manhosa. – Os dedos em um ‘V’ abriram os seus lábios, deixando agora os seus dois buraquinhos expostos, os dois pulsando involuntariamente, sensíveis diante dos estímulos. – O cheirinho da sua bucetinha ficou no meu rosto pelo resto da noite, sabia? Docinha, docinha.

Chegando bem pertinho de ti, o loiro inalou profundamente o seu aroma, fechando os olhos e soltando um arfar pesado, matando a saudade. O nome dele saiu dos seus lábios novamente, dessa vez com mais vontade, em um pedido para que ele acabasse com aquela tortura e te desse o que você tanto queria. Seu corpo inteiro estremeceu quando a língua ágil desceu desde o clitóris até o canalzinho estreito, fazendo com que você se agarrasse aos fios clarinhos quando Fran começou a - literalmente - te devorar com a boca. Sem pudor ou vergonha alguma, ele esfregava os lábios e toda a face contra o seu íntimo, não poupando na saliva e espalhando toda a lubrificação pela região. Os lábios finos envolviam o botãozinho sensível, mamando, sugando, usando os dentes para te provocar, às vezes descia, se afundava em ti, rodeava o interior com o músculo esponjoso.

Da sua boca escapavam os murmúrios e frases mais desconexas, esquecendo-se da movimentação nos corredores do edifício universitário e da possibilidade de serem pegos no flagra a qualquer momento pela zeladora ou até mesmo pelas garotas que moravam contigo. Alucinadinha, você não conseguia pensar em mais nada enquanto Fran te comia com a língua, arrancando de ti um miado dengoso quando ele te tocou o cuzinho, babando o buraquinho para se enfiar ali também, te deixando preparadinha.

Os olhos azulados só te deixavam quando eles eram fechados, quando o tesão tomava conta da cabeça do argentino e o fazia se deliciar no seu corpo, começando a esfregar o quadril contra o colchão, desesperado por um pouco de alívio também. Mas, no momento, Fran queria que fosse tudo sobre você, embora o pau estivesse pulsando freneticamente dentro da cueca. Por isso, te chupava com afinco, praticamente enfiando o rosto nas suas curvas, as mãos te mantinham parada, ou ao menos tentavam, apertando sua carne, espremendo os dígitos até eles deixarem marquinhas.

Quando ele se afastou, a imagem não poderia ser mais indecente; os fios estavam desgrenhados, a pontinha do nariz brilhava, cheia do seu melzinho, assim como o queixo e os lábios, e um fio de saliva ainda o conectava ao seu corpo, te fazendo revirar os olhos em puro tesão. O indicador foi pressionado contra o seu rabinho, lentamente te alargando ali, enquanto os dedos da outra mão esfregavam o pontinho sensível, te fazendo derreter diante do toque, inquieta, rebolando em busca de mais.

– ‘Tá gostosinho assim, gatinha? – Fran questionou, apoiando o rosto na sua coxa, sem nem ligar para a meleira que ia toda para a bochecha dele. – ‘Tá sugando o meu dedo com esse rabinho guloso. Posso colocar outro, posso?

Sua resposta imediata o fez soltar uma risadinha soprada, empurrando mais um dígito para o seu interior, acumulando mais um pouquinho de saliva e cuspindo ali, facilitando a entrada deles. O punho se movia em uma lentidão torturante, o jeitinho que ele te olhava, meio carente também, fazia o seu corpo reagir com ainda mais intensidade, querendo sentir o toque dele em cada cantinho da sua pele. Você se tornava extremamente necessitada, lágrimas se acumulavam nos olhos, escorrendo pelo rostinho bonito, te fazendo fungar, carentinha, chega dava dó.

Quando os dedos abandonaram o seu corpo, o seu olhar perdido automaticamente buscou pelo argentino, encontrando-o já de pé no meio do quarto e se livrando das roupas com pressa. Observou o físico magro, se demorando no caralho teso grossinho e rosinha claro na ponta, era médio, mas o suficiente para te fazer ver estrelas quando estava enfiado até o talo em ti. Abriu mais espaço para ele, controlando um sorrisinho sapeca ao admirar a mão envolvendo toda a extensão, bombeando rápido, apenas para se preparar.

Com tanto tesão acumulado, você sabia que gozaria rápido. Por isso, estremeceu em antecipação no momento em que Fran usou mais saliva para espalhar na própria ereção, deixando babadinho para deslizar com facilidade em ti. Uma vez acomodado entre as suas pernas, ele te roubou um selinho demorado, rindo de modo descontraído, como em tudo que fazia, Fran parecia completamente à vontade e desinibido. Pincelando a cabecinha na sua entrada menor, um gemido arrastado escapou de ambos quando, de pouquinho em pouquinho, o pau começou a abrir caminho no seu interior.

Sentia suas preguinhas alargarem ao redor do argentino, seus lábios entreabertos em um ‘O’, te dando uma expressão tolinha, como se todos os seus sentidos estivessem fora de ordem naquele momento. Com uma mão na sua cintura, Fran acariciou a derme, te distraindo da típica queimação, deixando vários beijinhos estalados pelo seu colo. Você fazia assim com o Esteban também? O questionamento infame fez um chorinho cheio da manha escapar de ti, a menção ao seu ex em um momento de intimidade com outra pessoa te deixando ainda mais sensível, fazia tudo parecer mais sujo.

– Ele não…Ele não botava a língua do jeitinho que ‘cê fez… – Você confessou, entorpecida pelo prazer, levando as próprias mãos aos peitinhos e brincando com os mamilos.

– No lo puedo creer! – A exclamação veio cheia de surpresa, exagerada, mas a informação o fez aumentar a velocidade dos movimentos, socando com tudo no seu buraquinho apertado, te fazendo miar baixinho. – Que coisa mais feia, ele não mamava o seu cuzinho? – Quando você respondeu, toda carente, um ‘não’ choroso, o argentino juntou os lábios em um biquinho, sonso. – Aw, pobrecita…

Embora a expressão estivesse convertida em pena, o quadril de Fran não aparentava possuir nenhum pingo de dó do seu corpinho quando passou a meter em ti, a pontinha do pau alcançando o ponto que te fazia estremecer da cabeça aos pés, buscando desesperadamente pelos lábios do loiro novamente, em uma tentativa de abafar os seus gemidos que certamente já haviam denunciado para quem quisesse ouvir o que estava acontecendo dentro do dormitório.

Frases incoerentes ecoavam de ambos, inebriados no prazer que davam um ao outro e envolvidos demais para se importarem com o barulho da cabeceira batendo contra a parede. Suas mãos percorriam as costas largas do argentino, deixando arranhões que marcariam toda a pele alva, indo desde a nuca até as nádegas, apertando a carne, empurrando ainda mais para perto de si, fazendo-o ir cada vez mais fundo e firme, certeiro nos movimentos.

O seu orgasmo veio avassalador, arrancando da sua garganta um gritinho abafado por um beijo desengonçado e molhado, que cobriu também o gemido arrastado de Fran, levado ao seu limite ao sentir as suas paredes espremem o pau dele, com a boca grudada na tua, ele urrou quando a porra começou a vazar diretamente no seu rabinho apertado, te deixando molinha nos braços dele, a cabecinha vazia, tão desatenta que não se deu conta da movimentação alheia. Foi só quando sentiu o friozinho do metal te preenchendo que arregalou os olhos, desperta, dando de cara com um sorriso perverso estampado por toda a face delicada do loiro.

‘Pra você guardar tudinho aqui, foi o que ele disse, enfiando o plug e descendo o olhar por todo o seu físico, brincando com a pontinha felpuda que agora te deixava uma gatinha por completo. Caindo ao teu lado, as palavras seguintes de Fran te fizeram soltar um grunhido irritadinho, embora todo o seu corpo tenha reagido positivamente. Quando você quiser brincar assim de novo é só me chamar, gatinha, eu te dou até leitinho quentinho, ó.

　　₊　⠀　⏖　　⠀⁺　　𐙚　　◌　⠀　✧ tag, you're it: servidas, senhoras?! @lunitt @bestgirlie @creads @daylighthts @jenniejjun @enzocoquette @pacifyherz @geniousbh @groupieaesthetic

#idollete #francisco romero #fran romero #fran romero x reader #francisco romero smut #fran romero smut #la sociedad de la nieve #a sociedade da neve #society of the snow #lsdln #lsdln cast #smut #pt br

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 4 months

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Ok, so, i might be the only one to find this funny but...could i request part 3 dio with a savage darling? Like packgod HD and groucho marx level of savagery. My mans dio is gonna be flammed hotter than back in the mansion. Wit meets wit. You don't have to, of course.

This is actually kind of funny, let’s pretend I’d be good at writing this type of darling.

Almost every other sentence that left those fragile lips of yours were snark. Oh, he’d crush anyone else’s windpipes in an instant for such dreck leaving their lips. You mention his outfit is essentially tacky, not worth a single human taking him seriously let alone any of his followers.

“I never understood being gaudy, those shoes look like they belong in some sideshow in the circus…scary vampire..pfft..” you’d say out loud.

”Your words are so cruel but meaningless in their entirety darling, vapid, superficial even, but if my garments aren’t up to your standards I’m afraid you’ll have to swallow your pride and continue tolerating it”

“Guess missing out on fashion for so long does make you lose taste” You hummed casually.

You heard a slight tsk come from the blonde’s mouth. It wasn’t out of annoyance from his inflection, but you could tell you made him think on it.

“It’s fine if you don’t understand my personal choices in what I wear, perhaps I should have you match…which I suppose would be a personal hell have such a garment fitted for your size”

“if it would set me on fire and release me from this mortal coil for your bad taste, then maybe”

There was a smirk plastered on his face, “You’d never be granted such mercy I’m afraid, for I have a way to bring you back again, and again…for you to witness what you’d call an abomination to fashion”

“Geez, you’re decent at twisting yourself into a pretzel to justify your wardrobe” You clicked your tongue. “Can’t fix delusional I suppose”

“I commend your efforts at insulting me, Once I conquer the joestar bloodline, perhaps I can conquer your audacity to pick apart my appearance down to a more acceptable level”

For a moment you saw his sharp nailed hands trail down his chest. The way he was staring at you with that sharp grin, left your eyes widening in shock for a moment. There were more insults and tear downs just bubbling beneath the surface, but you decided not to say anything. He still creeped you out but if you were going to suffer at least you could attempt to annoy this monster.

….. ……

I was going to go for some kind of goofy gen z kind of humor just so Dio would be way out of his depth with trying to decipher what any of it means. While getting back handed with retorts and disses. But nah went for whatever this was. I’m trying to not be too rusty with my writing right now.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jjba imagines #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #yandere headcanons #jjba imagines #dio brando #I don’t even know what I wrote here…like pfft what?

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i-am-a-polpetta · 2 months

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le giornate sanno essere un po' imprevedibili a volte: del tipo che un attimo prima sta andando tutto bene e un attimo dopo comincia a piovere tantissimo e magari sei pure vestito leggero e senza un ombrello. però una volta una mia amica mi disse che la vita è quella cosa che capita mentre facciamo progetti, non so bene se avesse ragione o meno, non mi sono mai ritrovata a fare progetti che avessero una direzione positiva, mi limitano a vivere giorno per giorno pregando non so bene quale dio di dormire più di 3 ore, di non avere mal di testa, di trovare la forza di uscire di casa, di percepire la realtà come unica e non sentire più nessuna voce nella testa. quindi non so forse prima pioveva talmente tanto che non ho mai fatto caso che a volte le cose sarebbero potute andare diversamente.

l'unica cosa che so di per certo è che nella mia realtà, per quante ne possa percepire, ci voglio dentro te che fai stare in silenzio le voci nella testa, che zittisci il dolore con una carezza e mi fai rendere conto che la vita non è un colare a picco, ma un rimanere a galla e pure nuotare, insieme, anche se sotto la pioggia.

#e quel giorno pioveva davvero di brutto #365 giorni e un botto di amore #io innamorata persa come un anno fa #ragazza cute™ chronicles

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belladecasa · 10 months

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Ieri me ne tornavo con un'ora e mezza di sonno e dieci ore di viaggio addosso. Vedevo ancora il mare dal treno e già pensavo a come sarei stata senza quell'unico elemento che mi fa scudo dall'angoscia. Pavese, che di dolore ne sapeva, diceva che la compagnia del mare gli bastava. Le persone depresse, io credo, trovano pace solo di fronte al mare e in mezzo alle piante. La solitudine depressiva, inscalfibile, irraggiungibile da qualsiasi essere umano, anche da quello che ti ama di più, di fronte al mare diventa malinconia carezzevole: per qualche ora avevo il privilegio di chiudere gli occhi senza che la mia anima martoriata venisse a grattarmi sotto le palpebre. Appoggiavo la testa sui ciottoli marini di quella terra sofferente e ascoltavo solo Fisiognomica di Battiato.

Quando chiedevano a Battiato perché non avesse mai avuto una compagna rispondeva tranquillamente: perché io non sono compatibile. Per me, quella risposta calma diventa un interrogativo ossessivo e spaventato: e se non fossi compatibile? Io, che so volere bene a chiunque, che so percepire i sentimenti degli altri fin sotto le unghie, che sono piena di comicità e di erotismo, io non posso essere incompatibile. Eppure, sono come la lava che è centro vitale, inscindibile dalla terra ma non è terra, sempre per natura legata alla crosta terrestre ma di una materia completamente diversa, dipendente ma incompatibile.

Battiato era incompatibile ma poteva attingere a sé stesso e attraverso sé stesso arrivare a Dio, attingere a Dio e parlare per lui come facevano gli aedi e i rapsodi per la cultura greca antica, che erano la bocca di Dio. Ma noi, piccoli e infimi depressi, siamo incompatibili con la terra e con Dio, siamo intrappolati nella nostra stessa materia lavica. Ma se ti senti male, Rivolgiti al Signore, dice. Ma noi ci rivolgiamo all'amore perché non possiamo parlare con Dio, cerchiamo di essere salvati da un altro perché siamo senza Dio. Dio è per Battiato e per pochi altri (non sto parlando dei cattolici ovviamente); noi ci possiamo gettare al massimo, goffi, sul corpo di un altro illusi di poter attingere da esso.

Mi ricordo che quando stavo ancora con Giorgio lui mi disse: guarda che E ti vengo a cercare è dedicata a Dio, non l'hai capito? Certo che no, io ho cercato solo l'amore sensuale per capire meglio la mia essenza e invece l'amore mi ha portata sempre più a fraintendermi, a dividermi, a essere pietra lavica irraggiungibile, da me e da chiunque.

Ma pure Battiato, che aveva Dio, si sentiva solo alla fine senza l'amore:

Passo ancora il mio tempo A osservare i tramonti E vederli cambiare In secondo imbrunire

E il cuore Quando si fa sera Muore d'amore Non ci vuole credere Che è meglio Stare soli

[...]

Passano gli anni E il tempo delle ragioni Se ne sta andando Per scoprire che non sono Ancora maturo Nel secondo imbrunire

E il cuore Quando si fa sera Muore d'amore Non si vuol convincere Che è bello Vivere da soli

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lunaicfantastic · 1 year

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gotta say out of all the punk steve content i've seen, i've yet to see someone make eddie seethe because he can't fall for a punk they're a metalhead's natural enemy. enemies to lovers where eddie disses the sex pistols and steve calls dio pretentious and then they have hatesex in eddie's van

#shut up anna #steddie #not a diss to the punk steve content i LOVE the punk steve content HOWEVER #eddie is a pretentious nerdy little shit he would absolutely turn up his nose at punk steve #he'd probably be more upset about being attracted to steve as a punk than he was when steve was a preppy jock #st tag #punk steve harrington #not a diss to either genre either. i am both a punk and a metal enjoyer

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athenastits · 1 year

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I'd actually kill to see Stephen Merrick get Benoit Blanc'd

#as thuh italian fellah says. everyone. unfortunately. dies. insomuch hwhere as it is hwhen. nawt even you sir can hault time #your death is in fact the only guarantee in this very here room. amongst billions you cannot die in a way thayt matters. sir.#dio disse #the old guard #stephen merrick #benoit blanc #tog meme

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elperegrinodedios · 7 months

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E disse: "In verità io vi dico: se non vi convertite e non diventate come i piccoli fanciulli, voi non entrerete affatto nel regno dei cieli".

Mt. 18:3 📖

È l'unico pensiero che mi conforta, la sola unica certezza che mi da pace. Tutti quei bambini che periscono raggiungeranno e vivranno insieme al Signore. Senza colpe nè peccato saranno angeli di Dio.

lan ✍️

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mucillo · 5 months

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Il bambino guardava la nonna scrivere una lettera. A un certo punto, le domandò: "Stai scrivendo una storia che è capitata a noi? E che magari parla di me." La nonna interruppe la scrittura, sorrise e disse al nipote: "È vero, sto scrivendo qualcosa di te. Tuttavia, più importante delle parole, è la matita con la quale scrivo. Vorrei che la usassi tu, quando sarai cresciuto." Incuriosito, il bimbo guardò la matita, senza trovarvi alcunché di speciale. "Ma è uguale a tutte le altre matite che ho visto nella mia vita!" "Dipende tutto dal modo in cui guardi le cose. Questa matita possiede cinque qualità: se riuscirai a trasporle nell'esistenza, sarai sempre una persona in pace con il mondo.

"Prima qualità: puoi fare grandi cose, ma non devi mai dimenticare che esiste una Mano che guida i tuoi passi. 'Dio': ecco come chiamiamo questa mano! Egli deve condurti sempre verso la Sua volontà.

"Seconda qualità: di tanto in tanto, devo interrompere la scrittura ed usare il temperino. È un'operazione che provoca una certa sofferenza alla matita ma, alla fine, essa risulta più appuntita. Ecco perché devi imparare a sopportare alcuni dolori: ti faranno diventare un uomo migliore.

"Terza qualità: il tratto della matita ci permette di usare una gomma per cancellare ciò che è sbagliato. Correggere un'azione o un comportamento non è necessariamente qualcosa di negativo: anzi, è importante per riuscire a mantenere la retta via della giustizia.

"Quarta qualità: ciò che è realmente importante nella matita non è il legno o la sua forma esteriore, bensì la grafite della mina racchiusa in essa. Dunque presta sempre attenzione a quello che accade dentro di te.

"Quinta qualità: essa lascia sempre un segno. Allo stesso modo, tutto ciò che farai nella vita lascerà una traccia: di conseguenza, impegnati per avere piena coscienza di ogni tua azione."”

Paulo Coelho, Sono come il fiume che scorre

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symbioticsimplicity · 1 year

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I don’t need to be up this early but this idea won’t leave me.

So, Steddie Battle of the Bands AU featuring punk!Steve.

Corroded Coffin join a battle of the bands competition run out of a little bar just outside Indianapolis, expecting fully to make it all the way. There’s not a lot of musicians in their area and out of all of them, CC have the most milage and the most unique sound. Sure, it’s metal, but in the bigger city that’s not the death sentence it would be back in Hawkins.

For the most part, they’re right. There’s a little pop trio that do okay, a Bob Dylan type with an acoustic and the flattest, most nasal tone Eddie has ever heard, a rock outfit with a drummer who’s clearly on speed and fixing to pull a Spinal Tap, and one very old dude who’s there more for the fun than to actually compete. They’re a shoe-in.

Except there’s a punk band that were running a little late, and manage to take stage literally just as they’re being called. The Demogorgons, they’re called.

Eddie is pissed the instant he sees them, firstly because he’s been on sight with punks since ‘84 when a flock of the little shits dissed Dio to his fucking face. Second because out of all the things they could have been called, they picked a DND creature??! In Eddie’s house??? Who the fuck did they think they were?!

The longer Eddie watches them play (he can’t leave until they announce who’s moving on from this round, he’s literally a captive audience), the more pissed off he gets because they’re good.

The lead guitarist is a girl with dark, short hair mostly hiding her face, but she’s absolutely slaying their cover of White Wedding, adding more than was originally in the song seemingly on the fly. It’s beautiful, as a guitarist himself he can at least begrudgingly respect her talent.

The bassist is also a girl with short hair who seems like she’s in her own world, totally lost in the music and jamming so hard Eddie can’t really look at her for too long without getting sucked in with her.

The drummer looks like an absolute madman, big buff blonde guy who looks like he’d bite if anyone got too close to him. He’s bare chested, showing off a few tattoos and a couple piercings that make him far more interesting than Eddie cares to admit.

But the singer/ rhythm guitarist, is what is really tripping Eddie up.

He’s prettier than he has any goddamn need to be, and he’s weirdly smiley for a punk. Like being on stage is his happy place, which Eddie can relate to, even if he hates admitting any commonalities between them at all. His voice too, is lovely. It’s not the typical scratchy punk sound, it’s high and airy and from a technical standpoint (only that, Eddie swears) it’s really good. And he seems like he’s not having any trouble playing and singing at the same time, which is shitty as hell because Eddie still does sometimes.

Before their set ends, Eddie has decided he hates them. He hates them, so much.

So much in fact, he goes over to heckle them once they finish.

It goes south almost immediately.

He was right, the drummer is definitely a maniac. It’s like he was waiting for an excuse to fight someone. And given how fast the singer snatches him up after he decks Eddie, this is a frequent thing. The singer and the drummer posture at each other and for a second Eddie thinks they’re about to fight.

But evidently the drummer thinks better of it and stalks off to start helping put their gear up.

The singer apologizes for his bandmate, even though Eddie started the fight, and introduces himself as Steve, the drummer being named Billy. He’s a good kid, Steve tells him, just angry and still learning where to put that anger. He offers to buy Eddie a drink for his trouble, and he’s so floored he ends up accepting.

To Eddie’s surprise, they end up talking, and they end up talking a lot. Steve is easy to talk to, and he listens like what Eddie has to say is important. When he talks, it’s with this sardonic edge to it that reminds Eddie of sour candy. Before he knows it, it’s been like three hours, and it’s time to announce who’s advancing to the next round.

To Eddie’s complete lack of surprise, Corroded Coffin make it through, but so do The Demogorgons. Steve congratulates him, sincerely, and Eddie stutters out the same.

They part ways for the night, but the pretty punk with the prettier smile won’t leave Eddie’s thoughts.

Cue CC telling Eddie to get his head in the game, trying to head off the crush they can spot forming. They know him well enough to know the signs, and they don’t need him pulling a Romeo and Juliet with some punk he met for one night.

Little do they know, The Demogorgons are having a similar chat with their own lead. They’ve worked too hard to have Steve get distracted, or worse, go soft, over some greasy metalhead he’s only talked to like, once. Steve of course promises that he won’t. After all, it’s not like he’s really going to see him much, and Steve isn’t easy, he has to get to know someone to fall for them.

Cut to a week later when one Steve Harrington is dropping Dustin off at his DND thingy, only to see none other than Eddie Munson perched at the head of the table. He’s explaining what their quest is for the night, or something, and he’s so animated, so into it, he doesn’t notice Steve frozen in the doorway.

Steve makes it out before Eddie sees him, but from that moment on it’s like he’s every where Steve goes. They bump into each other constantly, Hawkins is a small town, it’s easy to do. It gets to be such a regular thing that Eddie makes a joke about following Steve, and Steve sings that Rockwell song about being followed and they find themselves laughing together again.

It’s easy, really. Too easy. And before they know it, whenever they bump into each other, they end up talking for a while. It’s just a few minutes, they both reason to themselves, a few minutes is fine.

But a few minutes turns into an hour, turns into a couple hours, turns into a smoke sesh at Eddie’s, turns into a jam sesh at Steve’s, and before they know it, they’re missing each other when the other isn’t around.

Of course it isn’t long before Gareth notices his best friend’s preoccupation, and Robin could clock Steve’s daydreamy look three miles away. They each come clean to their respective long-suffering bestie.

Neither are happy, but they both care more about their friend than some stupid band competition. They know the rest of their bands won’t be happy, and that could be a pain, so rather than being even slightly reasonable, they hatch a plan.

Eddie and Steve are determined to be the punk-metal version of Romeo and Juliet, but that doesn’t mean their story has to be a tragedy. This is a musical, afterall. What better to do than bridge the gap with the power of music.

So the next time Eddie and Steve hang out, they both spend probably fifteen minutes uncomfortably dancing around trying to ask the other to write a song with them.

Steve cracks first, because seeing Eddie uncomfortable is so fucking bizarre it trumps his own nerves and he has to ask what’s going on. Eddie decides to be brave and takes the leap, asks Steve what he’s got to ask, and to his surprise Steve tells him he was going to ask the same thing.

They haven’t really talked about it, the tension between them, but it boils over when Steve tries to explain why he wants to write a song with Eddie. Eddie can’t watch him flounder for a second more, when he knows he could just be kissing him instead.

He takes Steve by the jaw and kisses the soul out of him. If they weren’t sold they were doing the right thing before, the kiss seals the deal.

They spend the night trading kisses and lyrics in equal measure, alternating between strumming strings and heartstrings until they’re both so caught up in creation, in each other, they’re harmonic.

After that, they hit crunch time. The battle of the bands is next week, and learning a whole new song is a pain in the ass for both bands. It’ll be worth it, but Jeff doesn’t know that and Billy doesn’t care.

The boys make time to see each other, but of course, they get caught.

Band practice gets postponed on both sides of the fence. They know they shouldn’t, it’s stupid, but Eddie spent the day getting harassed by a flock of “Concerned Christian Mothers” who were not shy about telling him exactly what they thought about him, and would not get the hell out of his face about it. Steve is a caretaker down to his bones, and doesn’t think twice about going to care for his metalhead.

Nancy however isn’t stupid, and Grant knows damn well Eddie would only postpone practice if something was genuinely wrong. So Nancy follows Steve to see what the hell could be so important to him that he’d call off practice, and Grant goes to bring Eddie a care package.

Nancy isn’t happy about finding the two spooning on Eddie’s couch, but she doesn’t make as much of a fuss about it as Grant does. Grant goes off about sleeping with the enemy and treachery and the metalhead code of honor (which he made up right there on the spot), but the real bucket of cold water is Nancy telling Steve how disappointed she is that he pulled them all into this, made them care about it, only to waste his time chasing after someone instead of putting his heart into the music the way they all had been. She asks him to get serious, then leaves.

Steve excuses himself, ignoring Eddie’s pleas to wait a second, come back, please, let’s talk about this.

They don’t see each other again until the night of the show.

The competition threw them a curveball, however. None of them know until they get there, see the layout of the big warehouse like space, but instead of playing one after the other, the competition is amp versus amp. CC are freaking out a little bit because they’ve never played that way before, and Eddie is picking up an acoustic, why the hell did he even bring an acoustic, what’s going on?? The Demogorgons are equally nervous, this being a first for them too, and Steve is quiet, so quiet, he’s never like this before shows, what’s going on??

Despite everyone’s nerves and fears, the two bands take their places on the two stages, on opposite ends of the room from one another.

Eddie introduces Corroded Coffin with the same flare he usually does, but tells the audience that tonight’s performance is going to be a little different than their usual. He finishes with “This one’s for you, Juliet.”

He starts strumming the acoustic, the song he and Steve had written together filling the space, warm and full and a wild departure from their usual sound. He’d gone over it with the guys, added some polish to it, made it more metal, but he’d asked them to hold off on that until he cued them.

“And hey darling, I hope you’re good tonight. And I know you don’t feel right when I’m leaving-”

The rest of Corroded Coffin have never heard Eddie sing like this, didn’t even know he could. Usually he was all growls and grit and demon noises he’d figured out how to imitate. They had no idea he was even capable of making a song sound so beautiful.

Eddie continues singing his heart out, strumming his guitar, praying that Steve picks up on what he’s doing, joins him at the drop, doesn’t leave him again. He’s nearly convinced himself he’s going to end up singing the whole thing alone, and God how stupid would that be, that when he reaches the switching point, he nearly drops his guitar when Steve’s voice rises up to meet him. A spotlight flicks on, illuminating him as he sings into the microphone, playing his own part of the accompanyment.

“And hey, sweetie, well I need you here to night. And I know you don’t wanna be leaving me here tonight-”

Steve’s voice is the perfect counterbalance to Eddie’s. It’s light where his is heavy, soft where his is gritty. It showcases their duality, while highlighting how good they are together and Eddie would cry if he weren’t on stage.

He takes the next verse as planned, but Steve’s voice stays with him, harmonizing along side him so perfectly it’s as if they’ve been singing together for years rather than about a week.

“You know you can’t give me what I need, and even though you mean so much to me, I can’t wait through everything.”

That’s different, not the line they wrote together. It lands like a gut punch when Eddie looks up and sees Steve’s expression. He’s not smiling. He always smiles on stage.

“Is this really happening?” Eddie sings back without missing a beat, knowing the next verse is his, meaning it might be his only chance. He prays to every muse he’s ever had to lend him the improv skills to land this.

To his suprise, he hears Jeff’s heavy guitar start to build, Grant’s bass swooping in beside it to flank him. When he turns his head to check, they both give him the nod, the one that’s always meant they’re beside him, for better or worse. It gives him to courage to put his soul into the words he’s about to spit.

“I swear I’ll never be happy again, and don’t you dare say we can just be friends, I’m not some boy that you can sway.”

There’s a half a second pause in the music, just long enough to wreck Eddie’s heartrate. He can see Steve’s face from here, not clearly enough to make out every emotion that flashes across it, but enough to see when it lands on determination.

“We knew it’d happen eventually.” He and Steve sing, or in his case shout, in tandem.

Corroded Coffin fall back in with them, and to Eddie’s utter surprise, The Demogorgons join them. The sound of two bands playing the climax of the song he and Steve had written together hits Eddie so hard he can barely sing past the balloon of emotion swelling in his chest.

The crowd reminds him they’re there, joining in on the chorus of ‘La la las’ going around the room, their voices loud enough to shake the walls. It’s everything Eddie has ever wanted from a crowd, and it’s way too much along with everything else going on right now. Eddie can’t focus on it, not when Steve is staring him down from across the room.

“If you can wait ‘till I get home, then I swear we can make this last.” Eddie belts, Steve’s higher register wrapping around the notes the same way his hands wrap around his mic.

Both bands let the song taper out, leaving just the crowd echoing back the words to them, just Steve and Eddie singing to each other.

Eddie reaches out his hand, as if he could take Steve’s in his despite the distance. Steve once again meets him halfway, extending his own hand as if to bridge the distance.

The lights go down and the crowd is still chanting. It takes longer to settle them down than it does to make the decision to shrug off his guitar and run to his boy. Eddie hesitates only to look over at his bandmates.

They look exhasperated, but fond. Grant rolls his eyes and tells him to go kiss his stupid punk or whatever.

Eddie is off in an instant.

He finds Steve tearing his way over to him, runs straight into him almost the same way he’d run into him the first time they met outside of a venue.

There aren’t words, they don’t need them, already sung them. There’s just Steve and Eddie and how badly they’ve missed each other. The apologies and affirmations can come later, when their mouths aren’t so busy kissing the life from one another.

In the back of his mind, Eddie registers some of the crowd around them wolf whistling, but for once he doesn’t give much of a shit what the crowd thinks of him.

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magnoliabutters · 2 years

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• WHAT NOW, DADDY? •

pairing: eddie munson x reader (she/her, 18+)

request: from my kinky queen, @looksthatkilledd; sub!eddie misbehaves all day while the reader is hanging out with the fruity four, so when the reader and eddie get home, the reader is pissed and punishes him and it's really fucking kinky

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; mentions of dwugs, dom reader & kinda sub eddie, masturbation, voyeurism, pet names, angst, etc.

word count: ~2.7k

support your author: reblogs for the sweet eddie boy ✨

note: I appreciate you letting me explore some more kink in my posts. hoping I did you proud here. first post in a bit, let’s show it some love?

"After a few hits, everyone's fair game," Eddie says with a smirk. His playful and daunting eyes look over to you. You smirk as your brow raises. Robin laughs with an elbow to Steve‘s side. "Looks like you might have a chance after all," she mutters under laugh. Steve rolls his eyes as tightens his already crossed arms. "It's Munson. Everyone has a shot - high or not," he chuckles. Nancy giggles, hiding behind her tight smile.

"I'd like to say I'm a bit hard to get," Eddie adds as he sucks in another hit of his joint. The red cherry at its end burning heavily. He smiles, passing over the stick. The smoke shooting out from one side of his mouth. You lean back onto the couch while resting your feet atop the Munson coffee table. "You'd like to say that," you mutter under your breath.

Eddie and you have been going back and forth tonight. A diss here, a diss there. An uncalled for joke here, a joke there. It was finally teetering on the point where his snarks were no longer funny. Each comment left you heart in a pool of red hot rage. This boy has been testing your limits, and he's been enjoying it. Laughing the entire way here. He enjoys making you squirm any way he can. All because he knows - he can never make you squirm the way he desperately wants to.

Your closest friend, and yet all he can think about is whether you sleep in the nude or in tiny pink undies. Yet here he is, pissing you the absolute fuck off. As if that "be mean to your crush" strategy actually works. You watch him from across the room. You are seething as you cross your arms and sink into the couch.

Steve watches you from the side of his eye. He is always incredibly astute whenever you are wreathing in rage. "Why don't you take another hit?" he whispers as he inches the bong towards you. You shoot him a smile and a nod as you lean up from the cushion. He gently drops the lighter in your palm. With a flick of your thumb, the beautiful green turns that familiar orange. The smoke growing within the chamber. You pull the stem and it all floods your mouth. Throat burning in response, but feeling oh too good.

Blowing out the smoke with a rather nasty cough, you lean back and hope Mary J works quicker rather than later. You would hate to lose your shit in front of your nearest and dearest. Nancy, Robin, and Eddie have begun to discuss how ABBA and Bowie compare to Metallica and Dio. Eddie's face reddens by the second as he becomes more and more heated. "Robin, please stop saying 'Dancing Queen' is just as good as 'For Whom the Bell Tolls.' I'm literally going to have to kick you out of my house," he mutters. His eyes closed as his hand raises tensely in the air.

"Oh, common. They're both iconic. What are you talking about?" Robin says as she bumps into Nancy's shoulder. Nancy bites her lip as a smile grows upon her face. She enjoys watching the chaos develop in front of her. Eddie's eyes almost pop out of his skull. His mouth hanging open as he inches his chin towards the two girls. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asks as he seethes in harsh air. "Hey now, let's just call it a truce," Nancy gently suggests with a giggle. She is always trying to keep the peace, but sometimes it’s a bit hard - especially a few hits in.

"A truce? ABBA clearly wins seeing as Metallica fucking sucks," you lie with the intent to rile up Eddie. Your arms still crossed atop your chest as you peer up towards him. You are met with all four of your friends horrified eyes. Eddie sinks back into his seat as he clenches his jaw. His eyes widen as his breathing heavies.

Nancy quickly looks at Steve, who responds with a nod. "Yeah, we're going to head out," she says as the two stand from their seats. Robin remains seated within the static air. She watches as you two exchange glances, excitedly waiting for the show to begin. Steve hooks his arm to hers, pulling her up from her theatre chair. "Let's go, Robin," he directs with annoyance. She huffs while being dragged away. As they walk out, Eddie and you can hear Robin whine, "But I want to see what happens!"

"That was too far," Eddie says through his teeth. His eyes never leaving yours. You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into his couch. "If only I cared," you mutter under your breath. He scoffs as he sucks his tongue to his teeth. "God, you fucking drive me nuts, y/l/n," he shouts as he erratically swings his arms through the air. "It's the least I can do after the shit you've been pulling all night," you respond.

Eddie turns back towards you with a twinged look. His eye squinting in confusion. "The shit I’m pulling? What shit?" he asks with a chuckle. In your five years of friendship, you have gotten into exactly three fights with Eddie Munson. This was going to be number four. "You've been a dick to me all night," you yell as you stand from the couch. The rage flooding through you, making you want to move. "No more than usual," Eddie says with a laugh. You quickly turn towards him in response to that laugh. Was he really laughing at you at a time like this? You were going to hit him where it hurts.

With a deep breath, you shake out your arms and stretch out your neck. You look over to Eddie, the confused boy with the arched brow. He watches you as you slowly walk over towards him. You place your hands onto his shoulders and you gently lower yourself onto his lap. His face completely full of awe as your hair brushes against his cheek bones. His mouth hanging open as his eyes desperately try to find yours. Of course, they continue to become lost along the way as they travel up your torso.

As his eyes finally land upon yours, you brush your hand through Eddie's curly locks. "You have been a dick to me all night," you repeat sternly. "You're going to get what you deserve." You quickly lift from his lap and walk over to the hallway. Your hands grip onto your shirt and pull it over your head before you even reach the doorway. With the lack of heard movement, you scoff, "Are you coming?" Quickly, you hear him struggle to move from his chair and follow you blindly down the hallway.

Walking into Eddie's bedroom, you quickly point towards the old rickety chair resting beside his dresser. "Sit," you say as you begin to unbutton your jeans. With his jaw still on the floor, he straddles the chair and crosses his arm over its back. The chair creaks with each of his movements. His eyes are glued to you as you pull your jeans down side to side over your thick thighs. The thighs he's been dreaming about since he first met you.

Kicking off your pants, you land back onto Eddie's mattress. You grab hold of his two pillows and place them at the arch of your back. You lean back onto them as you cross your legs. You note that he's practically drooling as you sit bra, panties, and all in front of him - on his bed. His eyes blink rapidly as they scan over your body. Once they meet your eyes, a smile grows upon his face.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," Eddie whispers as he begins to stand from the chair. "No," you say sternly. Both of your bodies become frozen. "Sit down," you instruct. Slowly uncoupling your legs, you lean back onto your palms. "You don't move from that chair." His face deadpans as he slowly processes your words. A minute later and you find him slowly nodding. His chin rests heavily atop his forearms as he grips tightly onto the back of the chair.

"Good," you whisper. You slowly raise from Eddie's pillows to unhook your bra. You slide the straps down as you let the bra fall to the ground. You watch as Eddie bites into his arm, desperately trying to remain still for you. "What should I do?" you softly ask. He lightly gasps as he watches you in adoration. "Can I speak?" he asks quietly. "Don't make me repeat myself, Munson," you demand. He nods quickly and clears his throat.

"Take off your panties," Eddie whispers. You scoff as you roll your head back onto the pillows. Your arms cross over your torso. Your palms covering your tits. "Please, take off your panties," he quickly revises. You smirk as you slowly move your hands down your sides. Hooking your thumbs onto your waistline, you slowly pull your panties down. Eddie's eyes widen. His breathing intensifies as he is able to bear witness to something he thought he would only dream about. It makes you unbelievably wet - making you consider allowing him to raise from that chair.

"What now, daddy?" you ask with daring eyes. He bites deeper into his arm as he breathes through his teeth. You rest there, wide open for him. All while he is confined to that old wooden chair. "Please just use your fingers and-and tell me how wet you are," he asks with a whimper. You smile as your hand taps against the outside of your thigh. You slowly trail your fingers up your thigh and onto your clit. You feel that cool wetness to your touch. You feel that undeniable pleasure from the pressure against your bud.

Leaning your head back, you smile at the sensation. Your slick lathers your fingers. "Show me?" Eddie asks hesitantly. You smile as you raise from his bed. He raises his chin towards you. With a bite to your lip, you brush your two fingers against his mouth. His chocolate innocent eyes watch you as you push deeper past his lips. His tongue drags between your fingers. Eyes remain dead set upon you. "Hmm," you moan. "Tasty," he whispers with your fingers still in his mouth.

You slowly pull from him, dragging against his plump bottom lip. You rest back onto his sheets, as your fingertips circle softly against your clit. "Rub a little harder?" Eddie suggests. The words falling right from his mouth before he could even catch himself. You nod as you follow his instruction. Your breathing heavies as you feel the pleasure rush through your limbs. He undoubtably notices as you hear shifting within the old wooden chair. His grip tightening around his arm as he lets out low groans from deep within.

“God, I want to touch you,” Eddie whispers. He holds back anymore “wants” in fear that you might stop what you are doing. You moan as you watch him tremble in that seat. You can feel how much he wants to touch you, more than you’ve ever felt before. “Please go inside, baby. Just one finger at first,” he whimpers. You oblige. You hear him stifle back a moan as he watches your finger disappear. “In and out, baby. Yeah - just like that,” he instructs. His chin raising as goosebumps flood his skin.

“Nice and slow, baby. Fuck,” Eddie says as he begins to grind against the chair. You smile at the sight of him. He’s desperate for your touch, yet he remains obedient in his seat for you. Not daring to move a muscle. The slow movements feel heavenly. You also wish it could be his chilled ringed fingers brushing against your clit.

“Please a little faster, baby. For me,” Eddie whimpers as he adjusts his sit. His breathing intensifies as he rests uncomfortably in his jeans. The undeniable bulge in his pants leaving you salivating. His hands remain on the back of the chair. An unspoken rule set forth that he could not touch himself. He only could watch. Part of you both hating and loving this rule.

With a nod, you increase your movements. The light sensation moving in and out of you was a great way to start but you wanted more. You plunge your second finger in as your other hand rushes to your hair. Your nipples harden at the increased arousal. “Holy fuck,” Eddie gasps at the sight of you. Your beautiful body on display for him, both pleasurable and undeniably punishing.

“Please let me touch you, baby. Please let me come over there,” Eddie whimpers. You shake your head no as you movements quicken. Your palm drags down your face until it lands firmly against your breast. Your hips begin to rut and you almost lose your balance on the edge of his mattress.

Eddie watches you gob-struck. “Baby please! I’ll do anything. Please let me help you,” he begs. The creaking of the chair loudens as he shifts. The pain is almost unbearable, but so fucking worth it. In between ragged breaths, you ask, “How would you help me?” He immediately responds, “I’d crawl to you, baby. Hands and knees. I’d put my tongue on your pussy so fucking fast. I’d stick my tongue so deep inside you that you cum so fucking hard in my mouth. I’d swallow your cum, baby.”

You giggle at the sounds of his desperation. You can’t deny that his ideas would feel incredible right now. “What else?” you add breathlessly. Your other hand now lightly rubbing against your clit as your fingers curl within. Eddie watches you with sweat plastering his curls to his forehead. “I’d suck on your clit while my fingers fuck you so hard and so fast baby. I’d leave marks on your ass from pulling you onto my mouth,” he mumbles. You watch as he actually seems to salivate.

“What about that cock of yours?” you ask with a crack to your voice. Eddie’s detailed descriptions bring you closer and closer to euphoric bliss. He leans forward. His mouth almost inching closer and closer to your wide spread thighs. He might topple forward in the chair. “Oh god, baby. My cock would be yours. Only existing to make you cum. If you’d let me, I’d rub the tip of my cock on your clit until you were nice and wet,” he whispers breathlessly. His hand clawing deep onto his arm. “I’d thrust my cock so deep inside you, you’d see stars. I’d make you cum so hard on my cock and I wouldn’t cum until you let me, baby.”

Eddie begins to blubber. “Please baby, just use my cock. Please just use me to make yourself cum. I’ll be your own personal dildo, fuck - please,” he begs. You giggle at the sound of him as the pit in your stomach tightens. You rest your head back as you feel yourself flirting with the edge. Eddie recognizes it immediately. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on those pretty fingers for daddy. Show me what that tight pussy can do,” he murmurs as he watches your hips rut up. “Fuck, y/n. Cum for daddy. Let me see you cum, pretty girl.”

You moan and shake as your orgasm throws you through a loop. You hear Eddie slam his fist against his thigh as he uses all of his strength to remain seated in that chair. His entire body floods with pain as yours fills with pleasure. Exactly what you intended. “Thank you,” he mumbles under a whisper. As you ride out your high, your hips continue to grind against his mattress. Every inch of you wishes it was him, but god did your stubbornness outweigh your horniness.

With your final moans, you rest almost lifeless spread out in front of him. Your eyes slowly open to see a tearful Eddie. Moon-shaped marks rack his wrists, and perfectly compliment his tatted forearms. The tent pitched in his jeans remains abundantly firm and full. He is just as out of breath as you are. “Next time, just tell me I’m beautiful. Compliments go a long way,” you share. He smiles, a gorgeous smile that leaves your cheeks rosey. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers with all sincerity. You smirk with a nervous bite to your lip. “Get over here.”

• part two • i want it •

note: i apologize to anyone who read that last line like mortal combat. im sorry to rip you out of it haha a bit of a different kinky take on things, probs could’ve gone kinkier but we all gotta start somewhere. i hope it fits non the less. let me know what you think!

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

#eddie munson #Eddie munson request #stranger things #Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson fandom #eddie smut #st smut #eddie munson fanfic #stsmut #sub eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n

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