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poppy-metal · 5 months ago

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moot said sm abt art letting out a moan when he pisses in the morning and now im thinking of having that be your fantasy - wanting art to piss on you - but he's so embarrassed about it, the act so degrading he doesn't know if he can bring himself to do it - but he wants to please you so bad and you look genuinely discouraged when he makes a face when you bring it up, he's quick to reassure you its just something he has to think about more. honestly, he'd be more into you pissing on him - that feels more right, in his eyes. it also kinda brings the curtain down around this shiny image he held of you, this sweet girl who liked missionary sex and holding hands - you were secretly touching yourself to the sound of him pissing into the toilet every morning? he doesn't know what to do with that.

arts done alot to keep patrick out of his relationship with you - hes stingy about it. protective of you - for what, he doesn't know now - some deep rooted worry that you'd want patrick more, like every girl does. but he can't stop thinking about it. and patrick notices him brooding. and art knows - knows patrick is, well. more liberated when it comes to sex than art is. has more experience. is less romantic about the whole thing. so he caves.

"have you ever...... um. has a girl ever wanted you to - you know -" he makes a gesture with his hands, flushing.

"cum on her tits? yeah, loads of tim-"

"no not cum - the other. the other thing. that, uh. comes out."

"piss? you mean piss?"

"yeah."

patrick stares at art long enough for art to squirm. "fuck off. it was a question, alright? forget it."

but patrick is grinning now - "holy shit."

"stop it."

"your girlfriend wants a golden shower?"

"that's disgusting - "

"give me your phone."

"what? no. why?"

"i need to see this chick."

"i introduced you months ago, patrick."

"yeah, and i fucking forgot. hand it over -"

art pretends hes annoyed but he surrenders his phone regardless into patricks outstretched hand. thumbs flying over the keypads to find his gallery. art scratches behind his ear, still blushing, wondering if it was a mistake to bring it up. he feels guilty he basically outted this kink of yours to his friends when its private. he wonders if you tell your friends he likes it when you spit in his mouth. flushes more at the thought. god, is he a shit boyfriend?

patrick lets out a low whistle. "shit - how'd i forget those tits -"

"alright -" art snatches his phone back, pocketing it. "lets just drop it, yeah?"

patrick doesn't drop it though. in fact he has a long conversation with art that evening.

and the next time you're in the college cafě, getting a blueberry scone, you jolt when you feel an arm brush yours. are startled to look up and see patrick zweig already looking down at you. he nudges your shoulder with his. nods to your scone, and then his plate. "I got it."

you're not one to argue with free stuff. patricks loaded anyway, so you nod. you look around him. "is art with you?" he was supposed to meet you for lunch.

"we're going to meet him." patrick pays for your stuff and turns to you, walking backwards into the cafeteria. he jerks his head, "come with me."

you do, hesitantly. as you walk beside him, you catalog him. of course, you know him. but you dont really know him, know him. he's arts best friend, and a bit of a tennis prodigy, if one that might burn out too quickly if he doesn't regulate himself soon.

still. you aren't around him much, you think because arts worried you'll cheat on him if left alone with patrick for too long. and you get patricks appeal - hes tall and athletic - more filled out than art is yet, he has that whole devil may care kind of look to him, mussed up hair. a smirking pink mouth. something about the way he carries himself, too. confident and assured. its..... hot. you can admit that.

but you love are. you're in love with art. and its for the ways that hes opposite to patrick, that you do. hes a golden aura. a beam of sunlight where patrick screams night - he's soft and kind and he cares about you. he thinks about you. he considers you. he's not shy, but he's soft spoken. he listens. he's like a lazy river - or a fluffy cloud.

patrick leads you up the bleachers to one of the outside tennis cours, and you look out - spot art practicing with someone on the other side of the net. he doesn't see either of you yet, and you dont call out to him. you like watching him play. his precision and grace.

you sit near the top row of metal slats and patrick sits one row below you, so he can prop his legs out and spread his arms behind him on the one you're sitting on. "you sit like a third grader." you tell him, which is true. all sprawled out with his big long limbs.

patrick tips his head back to look at you. green eyes spark - he has a water bottle that he tips back and pulls a long swallow from. you dont watch his adams apple bob.

"i need alot of space to air my shit out." he parts his thighs wider as if to cement that statement and you try not to notice the way his shorts slide down his thick tan legs. they bunch all the way nearly down to his crotch.

"classy." you tell him. picking at your muffin as you stare out at art again. when he hits the ball, he jumps. his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of pale skin and you rub your bottom lip. mouth filling with saliva because you know what that skin tastes like, feels like, under your tongue. like faint salt, and soft toned muscle.

"you'd know all about being classy wouldn't you?"

something about the way he says it - like there's a hidden meaning, makes you glance back down at him. hes still looking at you.

he's rolling his water bottle sideways up and down his thigh, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but it'll make him laugh, so he doesn't.

you squint. "huh?"

one side of his mouth quirks up. he takes another swig from his bottle - looks out over the courts and shrugs.

well, no.

you swat at his shoulder, irritated, he's pulled you in somehow. "what does that mean?"

he shrugs again - holding a mouthful of water. he swishes it from side to side as he looks up at you. swallows it slowly. holds his mostly empty bottle up and taps your knee with the open lid - "just means you're not as innocent as we all thought."

your eyebrows draw together. your stomach does a little flip. you have the distinct feeling he's making fun of you. like hes in on something you're not apart of.

you settle on, "whose we?"

green eyes flit back to the court - you follow and you find art again. he's turned from his opponent, using the end of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. he fishes a sports drink from his bag and downs nearly all of it in one go. as hes wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he turns slightly, casually taking in his surroundings. you can tell the moment he spots you and patrick because he freezes. his wrist still at his lips. he doesn't wave. you dont either.

you look back at patrick. hes still looking out at art.

"you and art...." you start. "you talk about me? together?"

patrick takes his time turning back to look at you. he seems to be communicating something across the distance to art. he says, without looking "uh huh." and when you shove his shoulder with your knee, he finally gives you his full attention. bad idea. something about him - you feel - like prey or something. you dont know. pinned under his gaze. "art tells me everything."

he puts emphasis on everything, and lets that sink in for you, which it does. slowly.

because there's really only one thing you've brought up with art recently that would be anything worth the dramatics of this. you feel your cheeks fill with blood. your gut pitch with shame.

"i -" you look down at your shoes. pink sneakers. with a frog sticker art had given you, because you like frogs and you told him that and so he got you a sticker of one. "um."

"hey, its cool." a warm hand pats your knee. "its why i wanted to talk to you."

your head jerks up. you shy away from his touch. you want to look out for art and signal him over but you dont know what to feel about him talking about that..... with patrick.

"really." patrick says your name, softly this time so you'll look at him. "im not making fun of you." he tongues the inside of his cheek, half smiling. "i think its hot, actually."

you do glance out for art now. he's back in position, but he keeps shooting glances over where you sit. you swallow. "you do?"

"fuck yeah -" he says it with such conviction that you believe him. "the way you look like you read five verses of the bible before bed and sign the cross over your chest before you give head just makes the fact that you want some depraved shit like that fucking sexy."

you shift around on the bench. you feel at once, buoyant with the praise and wrong for liking it so much.

"i dont know if art sees me that way." you fiddle with your fingers. "i think he thinks its gross - that im. weird."

"art is very repressed sexually." patrick states this like he knows this very well. and well, yeah, you cant exactly dispute it, can you. "but he's a fucking freak, trust me. I've seen his porn history."

you want to see his porn history. god. you want to know every depraved undignified thought arts ever had.

"i think that's why i want him to-" you flush. "to do that. because he's so.... good. and i want. i dunno - i guess i want him to act more shameless with me - maybe that weird - like i want to corrupt him or something -"

"it's hot." patrick interrupts. and you look at eachother. and you see a kind of kinship in him, thats in you. a kind of.... love for the depravity. of wanting to introduce people like art to it. "give me your phone."

he takes it from you before you even hand it to him. he fiddles with it, and you take the time to admire all the freckles on his sunkissed cheeks. he slips it back to you. grins.

"what did you do?"

"gave you my number." he stands. shoulders his own bag - caps his waterbottle. "art's gonna chew your ass out in a minute, sorry about that. I'll be in touch, though." and he's bounding down the bleachers before you can say anything, giving art one of those aggressive, half hug, half wrestle moves as he passes.

you blink - startled to realize art has finished up. his bag is over his shoulder and he's making his way up to you. he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"did you give patrick your number?"

"he wanted it for notes he forgot to take, i think." you lie. stand up. greet your boyfriend who you want to piss in your mouth and on your tits, with a kiss. "hes a nice guy."

"mm" is all art says.

and maybe you should have been more mad that art went behind your back to talk about something you shared in confidence. maybe you would have been, if you hadn't shared something secret with patrick too - a plan of sorts. you'd feel more guilty about it if you weren't so turned on by the thought.

and can you really be mad, when it works out so beautifully. after one of arts matches - where you'd so sweetly been on the sidelines to give art water between his sets. when patrick had rushed him out the door in the morning with no time for a bathroom break.

its almost too perfect the way you both corner him in the locker room after. when hes desperate and about to burst. bladder full and heavy from all the water he'd consumed.

when patrick blocks him and corners him in the shower, twists his arms behind his naked back, you're there in a flash. a look of betrayal flashes in arts eyes, but its quickly replaced by desperation when patrick reaches around him and grips his cock.

the whine he lets out is long and pained. "no - dont -" he gasps.

you cant really be mad at art for going behind your back at all because you aren't sure if he could ever bring himself to do this on his own. you tell him that, with coaxing hands up his trembling thighs. looking up at him in utter adoration as you tongue the pink slit of his cock. "its okay, baby." you tell him. naked and kneeling before him, licking licking licking at his tip, until you coax out a bead of piss, just a drop. and you moan as you close your lips around his head and suck it into your mouth like honey.

art sobs. he knees wobbling with the force to keep his urine from flooding out into your mouth. "stop -" he pants. "i cant hold it it - if you - if you keep - oh god -"

"she said its okay, man." patrick coos. licks the shell of arts ear. his hand comes down to press against arts pelvis. "look at her." art forces himself to. "thats your girlfriend, dude. she's fucking hot - and shes naked on her knees for you in a lockeroom shower after you fucking dominated that match. and all she wants." the heel of patricks hand digs in. "is to soak up all that piss you've been holding onto for her."

another little drop of piss slides down your throat and art gasps. his hands weakly come to press on your head, fingers curling in your hair. hes giving in. looking down at you with near awe in his expression instead of his earlier fear and panic. pink lips parted.

"dont you wanna see her swallow it?" patrick breathes. "fuckin rub it into her tits - you can do anything to her. she's fucking yours man - so why dont you be a man and fucking stake your claim, huh?"

that's what does it.

art groans, eyes nearly rolling back in ecstacy. right before he releases, he knock away patricks hand from his dick, grips himself by the base, and uses his other hand to keep a grip on your hair.

the tip of his cock, flushed and throbbing, rests on your fat bottom lip, "its coming - " he chokes, tightens his grip on your hair, "fucking take it -"

and then it explodes out of him all at once. a thick pulsing stream of hot piss pours into your mouth, half of it going right down your throat, while the other half splashes down your chin, flooding down your chest, between the valley of your breasts.

the moan art lets out if pornographic. his legs weak as jelly as his bladder unloads in a yellow stream that soaks you nearly from head to foot.

it seems to go on forever. both art and patrick seem entranced by the sight. the way you moan and swallow what initially went down your throat. gasp when it hits your chest like it actually feels good.

art feels another part of his brain click on. whir to life.

"s-stick your fucking tits out." he grunts, still whiney. but you listen anyway. pushing your chest out towards them, your nipples hard and on display.

art bites his lip. angles his cock so the rest of his stream splashes wetly over your hard nipples. he trails the rest of it down your stomach and - most blodly - the last of it hits your pussy - you whine when it does.

"of fuck." patrick grunts when he sees it.

when the flow peeders out, you pant like you ran a marathon. buzzing with electricity.

art looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing hes ever seen in his life. on your knees soaked in his filth.

patrick has to reach down and grip himself.

"c'mere" art calls to you, holding out his arms. you fumble and stumble into them. wet chest smashing into his. he doesn't seem to care. his hands are feverish as they run down your back. cup and squeeze the globes of your ass. he licks into your mouth and you're both moaning into eachother. tongues smacking wetly.

patrick rolls his eyes. turns on the shower to its hottest setting. which is just warm for a lockeroom shower.

"you two freaks come over here," he calls out, stepping into the warm spray. "you both smell like fucking piss."

you giggle against arts mouth.

yeah. maybe you're glad he told your secret after all.

#poppy speaks #WHY IS THIS SO LONG ??????#piss does something to a woman.#patrick zweig smut #art donaldson smut #tw: piss

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lalunanymph · 1 year ago

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your stepbrother just can't resist you anymore — itoshi. r

flirty!reader, pining rin, heavy stepcest sorz, conflicted emotions, forced orgasms, almost getting caught by parents trope, humiliation, dirty talk, pro-player!rin, rin is 22/ reader is 21, i wrote this completely blasted and came twice to it i fear

Rin never thought he would take this too far.

He was known to be meticulous, and calculative—a man made out of stone. On the field, off of it.

Fans chanted his name, and newspapers exalted him as the latest football legend. But, it did not change the grinding tension he felt whenever his reflection shone back his dark eyebags and pinched frown—a symptom of overworking himself too much.

Through it all, however, Rin always prided himself on being a smart man.

That is, until he met you.

His new stepsister.

You fit every stereotype of a stepsister Rin had heard of from his horndog colleagues.

Pretty, with a too wide smile. Eager and ready to be his friend.

He hated to admit how those cheap, sleazy pornos Shidou would mass share in their group chat had a grain of truth in them.

If they didn’t, he wouldn’t spend his entire time avoiding you, hoping you never noticed how the hairs at the back of his neck stood whenever you passed by smelling of vanilla and sin. He would try to at least give you a hug, not tense everytime you so much as brushed your arm against his.

The idea of self-hatred was not a foreign concept to Rin.

He had spent countless hours comparing himself to Sae, wondering if he would ever reach the pinnacle of such greatness.

His destroyed ego had been remade too many times to count. And he was starting to suspect you would be his final undoing.

“Rin-nii.”

Your soft voice jolted him from his thoughts. He turned the TV down, trying not to let his stare linger on how the shadows from the dimmed blue light threw the curve of your collarbones into sharp focus.

Both your parents were out of town for the weekend, and you had the house all to yourself.

Rin lived on his own in a penthouse somewhere in downtown Tokyo, and he rarely came home unless his father called him to have dinner together with his new stepmother and stepsister.

There was no reason why he should even be here on a Friday night in the first place.

Plus, with Sae still in Spain, he had no one to turn to as a buffer, and the onus of suffering fell on him to return your unsure smile with a half-hearted nod.

“Do you want to have dinner?” you fiddled with your fingers, and he hoped to whatever deity above tasked with listening to his pathetic ass that you hadn’t noticed the heat dusting his cheeks.

“Sure,” his voice came out steady, almost bored. Just the way he always sounded.

Rin’s practised poker face was handy when he had to sit opposite of you, pretending to be absorbed in his plate of udon while you struck up sparse conversation here and there. You talked about work, your colleagues. Sometimes, you brought up your mom and how happy she was on holiday with his dad.

His father had told him how you were raised by a single mother for your entire life and never really had a family to rely on. This would be the first time you had male figures in your life—and you never failed to express your gratitude at how easily they took you in.

“Ah, ka-san sent me some photos of the seashore,” you mumbled wistfully, picking your phone from the table and scrolling through your gallery with a fond smile on your face. “Isn’t it beautiful?” you shared the screen with him and he reached out to steady your hand, accidentally grazing your fingers.

He pulled back slightly, mumbling an apology.

“It’s fine,” you beamed, stowing your phone back into your pocket. “How’s practice?”

This was the reason Rin absolutely hated you.

How you could feel his touches but never responded to them.

Was he the only one cursed to feel his heart doubling in size whenever you so much as looked at him?

Rin wished he could pull back your tall curtains to uncover the orbit of your thoughts—if they were even a millimetre close to colliding with the idea of him. The nuclear reaction was enough to get his mind reeling, and the tightness of his breath and the front of his shorts was enough to snap him back to reality.

“Fine,” he muttered curtly, standing up abruptly, the back of his chair hitting the wall.

You physically recoiled back, and for a second, there was a shadow that passed your pretty eyes, one which you quickly put out when he turned his searing gaze to you.

“Okay, Rin-nii,” you whispered, and your resignation crushed his soul.

Nice going, Itoshi.

You slipped on a smile, taking his plate to the sink before he could protest. He couldn’t tell that your hands were shaking, chest crumpled almost to your ribcage with the cold sting of rejection.

“You…”

His soft voice rose above the clanging of your thoughts, and you stopped scrubbing. Turning to him, your raised brows spoke of honest intentions to hear him out. Unfortunately, Rin was unsure of what else to say, and you waited for your older brother to break the awkward ice.

The parting between his two lips which revealed his white teeth, zig-zagged through your pulsing thoughts, goading you to crash into him.

Your shoulders fell from your ears, and you stopped in mid-motion. Cold water ran down your wrists like tears from a crack in heaven, calling you back into the light. But, you ignored the righteous siren.

Those teal eyes, framed with thick lashes and desperation slowly inched up your bare thighs, right to the crease where your cotton shorts was caught in between an affair with your plush thigh and the enticing slope of your—

Rin flinched and spun on his heel, darting up the stairs as quickly as his toned legs could bring him.

You watched after him, frozen in one spot, fighting the current of disbelief and disappointment threatening to tear you apart.

The fleeting glimpse of warmth that ignited within the chambers of your lower belly was extinguished by the cold harsh truth: your step brother absolutely hated you.

Swallowing hard, you turned back to your hands that were starting to prune from the water.

You switched off the tap, drawing your hands out of the sink basin and letting them fall to your side, breath coming out in stuttered puffs. Not caring how a tiny puddle was forming under both your arms.

Rin snapped back awake to the sound of thunder crashing above his ceiling.

Like the heavens were rioting against the sins plaguing his thoughts, he twisted to this side, trying hard to squeeze his eyes close and allow his mind to drift off.

Another clap of thunder, and Rin swore he felt a cold draft brush his arm.

The bed dipped behind him, and he jumped, a strangled yelp escaping his throat, ready to fight off whoever dared to interrupt his sleep.

When the whites of your eyes shone in the half-darkness of his room, Rin calmed down enough to exhale noisily, fisting the sheets to still his rapidly beating heart.

“What are you…?”

Rin trailed off, anger dying in the back of his throat when the shape of you adjusted in the dark. He first noticed the dip of your shoulders, bare under black spaghetti straps. Following the curve of your collarbone which led right into the trap of your cleavage, he couldn’t help caress your soft skin with his heated glance.

“You can touch them.”

He blinked, and the whites of your eyes suddenly became more vivid even as the night darkened. The shape of your mouth was coming into focus, his retinas gathering enough light in the pitch black room to illuminate the soft flesh-tone pillows he wanted to bite down on in his frustration.

The owlish blinks and stuck silence was cut off when you reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. Rin felt the heat of your thighs seep into his skin, and a low gasp spilled past his defences.

Lucky Rin, the man who could score even in an unfair match, couldn’t believe if he was dreaming or not when you guided him to slide his palms up your thighs, your touch loose around his wrists. Your night dress hinged off your hips, and he briefly casted his glance to the darkened triangle in between your thighs. It fell back in place, hiding your most vulnerable part like a hasty curtain catching him right in the act.

But, when his larger palms encased your breasts, both of them curving nicely into the concave of his trembling grasp, your nightie’s betrayal was quickly forgotten.

“Fuck,” Rin whispered despite himself. You were softer than he imagined. “Is this real?”

It took him a second to realise he had asked that question out loud like a fucking loser.

Your chest vibrated noiselessly with the buried sound of a laugh. “I can’t believe it either.”

He flexed his wrists, wishing he could close his fists around such delicate flesh. His grip waned, and he felt like he should drop his hands before this got too weird, when you stopped him with a soft sigh.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

The shadow of disappointment in your tone, the way your syllables fell flat against your tongue like a limpid towel made a shiver of contempt flash hotly in his chest.

Taking control over the voices screaming in his head, Rin firmly squeezed your tits, hearing your gasp of surprise and ecstasy rebound across the room.

“Such a fucking eager slut.”

Those words slid past the curlicues of his tongue with an ease of deadly poison, each word slowly bringing you up short.

“What—”

“Shut up,” Rin glowered, feeling the stiffness of your excitement between his fingertips as he twisted and tugged on your nipples through the sheer silk. “You seriously interrupted my sleep for this?”

He yanked you closer to him, your body sprawling open like a chest of precious scrolls above his own. Your hair fell into your face, and your scalp’s sensitive skin cried out when he tugged it back with one hand, forcing you to reveal the truth.

“Only little sluts try to seduce their nii-sans.”

The harsh collision of his hot breath and the stinging slap of his palm on your ass made you come up short. Your cry was smothered by his tongue pillaging past the barriers of your mouth, forcing it wide open for him to devour the softness of your sudden shock.

You barely kissed him back when Rin rolled you onto your front, pushing your face into his pillows. Something hard and insistent was pressing down on your thigh, and you shivered when you felt him reach in between your bodies to yank his shorts down.

“Begging like a bitch in heat—I’ll show you what desperation truly looks like.”

“Rin—hah!”

Another hot slap landed on your skin, this time in between your upper thighs. It seared through your flimsy bleats and protests, crawling up your throat as strangled cries when you felt him shove his hands through the gap of your legs, cupping the heart of your desire right in his palm.

Two thick fingers parted the wet seam of your folds, finding the flushed pearl which had the power to make you agree to any transgression. Those digits twisted it slightly in between their callous grab, flicking, rubbing and tapping on the fleshy dome with feral insistence.

You cried out, and a large hand slammed over your open mouth.

“Shut up,” he whispered, fervently, like he suddenly remembered that the walls have ears. “Our parents, they’re…”

Rin trailed off when the stony silence from his parents room down the hall finally hit him. Like someone had thrown cold water over his unbearably hot impatience, it dissolved into greasy pits of lust which opened up right to the darkness winking at him.

Begging him to choose her.

“... not here.”

“Yes,” you whispered, and Rin didn’t know if your shunting hips brushing his aching cock was intentional or not. “T-They’re on holiday, remember? We’re all alone.”

The way you said those last three words—the breathy rejoice of this simple truth—made Rin lean his entire weight into you, the warmth of his breath brushing the shell of your ear feeling like the world’s most beautiful electric shock.

“Good. We don’t have to be quiet when I fuck you.”

You were tossed onto your back with barely any grace, and Rin raked his hot stare down the planes of your body at the same time his veiny, outspread hands made their way down towards your hips. He pulled back the flimsy red hem which had so cruelly denied him the pleasurable view of your pussy, baring your glossy folds to him.

“Wet already, little sister? I would’ve never expected this from you.”

He drove his thick fingers back to the sacred promise of your heat, using your own desire as a lube to take him right down to the knuckles. Your sharp squeal filled him with a masculine pride no goal ever could.

The feel of your warm walls, sucking him in and lovingly keeping him there like nobody had ever done in his whole life, made Rin feel like he could win 20 World Cups in a row. His nostrils flared and he curled his fingers in a seductive motion he once saw a pornstar do. Your arched back and tiny squeal almost made him smile.

“How long have you waited for this?” he whispered, loud enough in the quiet of your heaving breaths. “How long have you waited for me to fuck you?”

“As long as you’ve waited,” your returning whisper, pushed through the scarlet haze his fingers were eliciting in your body, caught him off guard.

“As I’ve waited?”

You nodded sluggishly, half-lidded gaze heavy with emotion when you whispered:

“Since the first day I saw you.”

Him, in a weathered jersey, coming back from practice while both your parents stood side by side, a cinder block about to explode his entire world while you were seated behind them—hidden from his sights. You were only twenty when you first met Itoshi Rin, but you knew you would love him for the rest of your life.

“A year ago,” the ghost of his laugh in the crook of your neck made the patch of skin it caressed explode into tiny sparks. “I hated you the first time I saw you.”

As he spoke, he started to increase the speed of his fingers, using his thumb to put constant pressure on your aching clit. Sometimes, he would rub a few circles into it, drawing out your torment and causing your legs to jerk.

“R-Rin—”

“You reminded me of everything wrong about my parent’s marriage. You were my father’s failure right in front of me. I wanted to hate you so much.” His voice quavered, and his fingers stilled inside you. He pitched forward into your neck, covering his powerless side with a muffled sigh right into your throat.

“But, I could never hate you.”

Despite how wrong everything was, his words were right. Rin never hated you or your silly laugh or your insistence in making sure he was comfortable around you. Maybe he never hated you at all, just the upheaval in his life that followed along with you.

He couldn’t blame you for that. It wasn’t your fault that your mother’s love had severe consequences on his upbringing.

“Never?” you brought him back to the ground with your quaking question.

“Hmm,” Rin hummed, in a half-answer to your longing. “We’ll see about that.”

Those fingers were back to bring you towards the edge, ready to have you spilling out your deepest release and desires for him to taste on his tongue.

Rin curved one arm around you, holding you to his chest while his leg instinctively hooked around your thigh, drawing it right to his side and keeping you open to his plunging fingers.

The hand protectively curved around your shoulders was the same one which pushed your neckline down, revealing your sumptuous breasts topped with heavy, hard nipples right into the chilly room air.

He eyed how those nubs stiffened and perked under his watchful gaze. Rin couldn’t resist the temptation to pinch them around with his thumb and forefinger, relishing at how such a simple action could render you breathless and arching your back.

Your hips swayed like a wave threatening to break over his entire wrist, while he skillfully rocked your world with timely strokes and tugs.

The wet sounds coming from between your legs and spilling from your mouth painted an entire map of your release—the hitch in your breath, the gasping quiver of his name, your pitchy squeal which broke off into a pathetic whine.

Rin let your body find her release from its shameful tether, those watchful, beautiful eyes never taking off from your undulating hips and flushed chest.

While you were easing down from your high, he prised your legs apart, resting in between them and thumbing the raw, angry red head of his neglected cock. Your small fists crumpled around his white sleep shirt, the tilt in your waiting hips and the hungry look in your eyes undoing his patience.

He fisted the base of his cock, giving it a few strokes. Rin was no amateur, but he wasn’t exactly as experienced as the other players. A truth he would take with him to his grave—his ego always needed to know that he was the best.

In your arms, you proved to him that he was worthy of your visceral reactions.

You gasped out his name when you felt the tip breaching past your rippling walls. It was an exquisite stretch your toys or fingers could never give you.

Rin set a pace which had your tits jiggling freely with every heavy slam of his hips into yours. He hadn’t bothered to fully remove your nightie; something about how the hem was haphazardly draped across your thighs with the full reveal being where his cock was currently churning your insides, and the lewd way your breasts were revealed to his starving eyes from your hastily pulled down neckline, added a layer of wickedness to this already sinful affair.

He devoured your flushed cheeks with a debauched sneer.

You turned your face away into the fluffy pillows to muffle your groans, but he pried it back to his impatient gaze. Wrapping a hand around your throat, he kept you pinned to one spot, held in place like how a prey would be frozen in fear from a starving predator’s gaze.

“I’m fucking you so well, huh, Y/N?” his gritted scoff warmed your blood, making it sing in your ears. “You’re taking me like a champ.”

“Stop,” you whispered harshly, tightening your hold on his loose shirt. “You’re being m-mean—”

Your protests died as a choked moan when he wrenched your thighs off the bed and hitched them over his broad shoulders. Rin wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting them off slightly from the soft mattress with his sheer strength.

This position deepened his strokes, and coupled with your shaky circles on your clit, it had you right at the edge.

“Rin… Rin-nii…”

The featherlight whisper of that honorific slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Rin picked up the pace, the slick sounds coming from your pussy intoxicating him with everything about your presence; your airy moans, the glossy tears in your eyes, how you scrunched his shirt in your hold as if he would float away if you let go.

You clawed at his chest, scrambling to grip his dark green locks and the back of his neck to draw him closer. Your legs were fully in the air, the deep rut of each sweet plunge in and out of your eager, twitching hole a shameful sign of your surrender to Rin.

“Say it again,” he growled, the snarl on his face both terrifying and arousing. “Call me that again, little sister.”

You wasted no time in succumbing to the darker instincts tainting the air tonight.

“Rin-nii… nii-san… please fuck me good…”

He grasped the doughy softness of your hips, sinking his nails into the welcoming flesh to take more and more until you were crying for him to stop. Rin was selfish with many things, and you were not the exception. He wanted to own your every sniffle, sob and moan. Every exhale of pleasure you released was consumed to feed his ego.

You belonged to him and only him.

That thought alone could’ve brought him to his knees, and it nearly made him lose control over his own body.

The teasing darkness, beckoning him into her disastrous embrace, called out his name in a slurry, seductive moan which sounded awfully like your own voice.

“Rin-nii! I-I’m close!” your choked whimper made the red fog in his mind thicken. There was a finger hovering right over his trigger button, held back by his rapidly corrupted morals.

He couldn’t cum in you, you weren’t on any protection, he would get you knocked up, your parents would kick him out, he would be a disgrace—

“Rin-nii, inside,” you hiccuped, slipping your hand right onto your mound; using your index and middle finger to pry your nether lips further apart so he could see the glistening chokehold of your folds clinging around his cock. “I want you to cum inside.”

Those words barely left your spit-soaked lips when a well of warmth filled you right up to the brim. Rin’s guttural groan was primal, muffled into your shoulder.

You welcomed his weight on top of you; pushing his cock deeper and pressing on a spot which had you seeing stars and releasing all over his twitching length.

“Rin…” your soft gasp reverberated through his ringing ears. He shivered when you scratched his scalp, the pleasurable itch running down his spine.

There was nothing else uttered between you two. Sleep came like a feathered down blanket over your consciousness, dragging you into the dark from the sound of his jagged breathing.

Your stepbrother was right in between your thighs, eating you out for breakfast.

Rin and you had woken up in a mess of limbs and dried cum, and rather than forcing normalcy after a night where the biggest boundary was crossed, you both continued to fall deeper into each other’s trap.

“Rin-nii…”

He had only fucked you twice, and yet, Rin was already feeling a possessive need to keep filling you up if only to hear you airily breathing out his name.

His tongue slid through your folds, sampling your flavour with the patience of a man starving for his next meal.

Your back was pressed to the expensive marble counter, and your fingers were yanking on his locks.

“Mhm!” your teary hitched breath made him throb right in his sleep pants.

Rin played with your clit, using his tongue to flick the flushed pearl and sucking around the greasy bud until your legs shook around his ears.

Your nails sank into the underside of the counter, and he didn’t have to glance up to know that your face was crumpled in pure ecstasy. He could sense it in your hips—how they swayed like poetry in motion, spelling out his name and claim on you.

He flattened his tongue to let you slide your soaked folds over it as you struggled to find sweet friction; risking a peek up at you through his lashes. Your head was thrown back, the morning sun haloing your hair. Rin had seen a few women in the pinnacle of their own pleasure, but never one as breathtaking as you.

Your moans were strained around your need to remain quiet, even as both your parents were still on holiday. He noticed your hand moving to cover your mouth in his periphery, muffling your moans behind a wall of flesh.

Rin grunted; he couldn’t let you get away with this.

He retracted the pink muscle of his tongue back into his mouth, kissing your clit as a sweet consolation to his change of mind.

“Let me hear you,” he ordered, observing how you pried your teary gaze from the ceiling to the man right in between your legs.

“Rin-nii,” your broken whisper stirred none of his sympathies.

“Our parents aren’t home, so let me hear you,” he kneaded your hip with one hand, swollen lips pulled into an uncharacteristic smirk. “Unless… you don’t want to cum as badly as I thought you wanted to?”

Your breathing hiked, and you tightened your hold on his hair.

“N-no… m’wanna cum around your tongue…”

He sucked your clit into his mouth, using his lips to massage and roll the tiny bud. Sadistically enjoying how you flinched and tossed your head back to cry out his name.

“Then let the neighbors know who’s eating you out s’good,” he growled into your flushed folds. “Let them know who this pussy creams for.”

His words hit you like a freight train.

Running you down the tracks straight into madness, you let Rin order you around, control your reactions with his straitlaced dominance and encouragement to let go for him.

You gasped, preened, cried out and moaned his name, calling him Rin, Rin-nii, Rin-Rin…

His name sounded gorgeous wrapped in lust—your lust.

The sound of a car on the driveway knocked you back to the ground in shock, and from your stance in the kitchen, you could look out the window onto the front porch. Your parents were stepping out of the car, a few hours early from their scheduled arrival, lugging suitcases and joking around.

They couldn’t see you from the kitchen window’s heavy tint, but they were just a few feet away.

“Rin,” you tugged on his hair harshly, begging him to ease up. There was a puddle of spit and juices gathering on the floor, right above where his mouth was still insistently connected to your clit. “Rin, t-they’re here—”

Those large palms caged your hips to the corner of the island, holding you down so you couldn’t squirm away.

“R-Rin!”

“Cum first,” he muttered roughly, licking up and down your seam to tease you from clit to hole. “Cum on my tongue first and then I’ll let you go.”

“No!” you whisper-shrieked, thrashing about, trying to push him off you. He stubbornly held on, pinning you to the edge of the counter with one arm, easily pushing his free hand through your thighs and plunging two thick fingers into your well-teased pussy.

You gasped out loud, back arching.

Footsteps echoed down the gravel walkway, getting closer.

“Rin—”

Your toes curled, and the room started to spin. It felt like your entire skin was covered with flames licking every inch of your body—the biggest ember burning right where Rin was insistently eating you out.

Despite every nerve that was drenched in horror, the coil in your belly never stopped tightening, thrilled by the possibility of being discovered.

“Rin,” you were sobbing at this point, whether in fear or ecstasy, you had no idea. Your body was in a raging battle, your self-control razed to ashes.

“... wonder how Y/N and Rin are…”

Your parents were just right behind the door, their voices breaching through your foggy mind.

They were a few feet away from opening the huge mahogany slab and finding your older brother on his knees, pleasuring you.

Dad would freak out first. After all, he had explicitly told Rin to be nice to you—but he hadn’t anticipated how well the younger Itoshi would treat you.

Your mother would cry. She would curse you out for ruining the first family you ever had.

And Sae, your other brother…

The thought of your older nii-san and the disdain shining in those detached teal eyes (so similar to Rin’s yet so different) if he was the one to stumble upon the both of you, was the final push your body needed.

Flames licked your entire body, the world falling off its hinges. You crumpled to the floor, in time for Rin to catch you, his fingers furiously pumping in and out of your drooling cunt, squeezing you dry from the pleasure.

He was frantically lapping at your clit, drinking up your juices, more of them splattered onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he cursed, kissing and tonguing your folds as you shuddered and creamed around him. “Fuck, so good, so good—”

The lock clicked, and the front door creaked open.

The elder Itoshi found nothing amiss in his house when he stepped in, his new wife trailing behind with their luggage and souvenir bags.

His teal gaze swept over the spacious kitchen, and the only sounds in the house came from the living room where light was spilling past the archway. Someone was watching TV.

“Is Rin here?” his new wife asked, always excited to see one of his boys. He hummed, tossing his keys onto the console table and shrugging out from his jacket.

“Beats me. He comes and goes when he pleases—”

“Tou-san?”

Sanjiro paused, recognizing his son’s voice calling from down the hall.

“Rin-Rin?”

Both parents ambled towards the light source, rounding the corner to find Rin scrolling listlessly through the channels, still clad in his sleep shirt and pants with a cushion fitted snugly in his arms, nestled right on his lap.

He peeled his disinterested eyes from the screen to assess them. “How was your holiday?”

Your mother spoke first. “It was great! The weather was so good. How has Y/N been? She mentioned you stopped over for dinner yesterday.”

Rin’s expression barely changed, only a flicker of recollection behind those impassive eyes. “Oh. Yeah, I did. I stayed over in my old room—it was too late to drive. I hope neither of you minded,” he added as an afterthought.

His stepmother, always there to reassure that he was always welcomed in their new house, stepped into her hostess role. “Of course not! This house is as much yours as ours.”

Never mind that this luxurious double-storey once belonged to his biological mother and father.

Recognizing that his new wife might have overstepped with this careless slip, Sanjiro cleared his throat gruffly. “So, did you at least try to be nice to Y/N?”

Before Rin could reply, he was cut off by a chipper: “Yes, he was!”

You drew all three of their attention, bouncing down the stairs with an effervescent grin plastered on your face. You were ready for the day, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hair damp from a shower.

“Rin-nii and I watched some horror movies last night and he made fun of me the whole time, did you not, nii-san?”

There was a crack in his son’s composure—a look of annoyance that made Sanjiro want to chastise him when Rin spoke up, surprising the older man who could faintly make out a teasing lilt in his boy’s tone.

Which was completely unusual to hear coming from his sullen, withdrawn son.

“Hard not to when you can’t even handle a jumpscare… little sis.”

said i would never write stepcest yet here i am oopsie anyway every reblog and (nice) feedback helps us manifest our own rin-nii bless

#rin smut #rin itoshi smut #itoshi smut #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk smut #blue lock smut #🦢 writes

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storiesbyrhi · 4 months ago

Text

IT MEANS SOMETHING

Eddie Munson x Reader 1,606 words

Warnings: recreational drug use.

Synopsis: A short meet-cute featuring crossed paths, Argyle's weed, probable soulmates, and Fangoria magazine.

Author’s Note: Set in 1990. No Upside Down AU.

He is the last to get on the train. Patiently waiting his turn. Smiling politely at the other commuters. You watch him step off the platform into the carriage. He opts to stand against one of the poles, letting others take the vacant seats. He surveys his surroundings. It is at this moment his eyes lock with yours.

Instead of pretending like you’d only just glanced at him or nodding a casual acknowledgment, you look away too quickly. You feel yourself flush.

As the train finally pulls into your stop, you’ve used all your willpower not to look back his way. All that willpower amounts to little; as you stand, preparing to leave, you feel him staring. His gaze pulls yours back to him.

He flashes a brilliant smile, then ducks out the opening doors before you can clock his blushing cheeks.

You’re not a romantic by nature. Yes, you are prone to fits of fancy and the occasional delusional daydream, but you don’t find yourself frequently lusting after pretty people on the train. Beauty is viewed with a matter-of-factness rather than a force of attraction itself.

Some people are funny.

Some people are clever.

Some people are hot.

Some people are whatever.

And it isn’t as if this makes you less shallow or more holy than anyone else. It kind of just makes you a little more detached. Yes, you’ve dated. But there were never big, big feelings. No traumatic breakups. It had all been textbook mediocre.

It is all this knowledge of yourself that comes to the forefront of your mind as you lament the loss of the man in the crowd.

You track his fluffy hair through the station, but he is gone by the time you get to the city street. The sun is setting, a twilight glow making all the shadows seem worthy of an art gallery.

The man is gone. His dark eyes. Kind smile. His stupid t-shirt. What was it? The Burbs. That’s it. The Tom Hanks movie from last year.

Why are you still thinking about him?

The guy. Not Tom Hanks.

You walk slowly, in the city way too early for the party your friend from college, Robin, is hosting. Time to kill.

In a 7-Eleven you stand at the drinks refrigerator with too much consideration. Too much effort. Dr Pepper will always win over Coke. Flipping through magazines in the rack pulls you through a couple more minutes.

It occurs to you that the old record store a few blocks from Robin’s is open late. They have better magazines.

The neon sign sparkles against the darkening skyline as you turn onto the store’s street. Lured like a moth to a flame, you’re inside and pulling Fangoria from the stand before taking a second to look around.

There are a few customers browsing, one with a punk magazine ordered especially from the UK in his lap as he reads from the floor. You wonder if it might make more sense for the owners to open a library.

A music library would be cool, you think, as you look over at the counter.

You can identify them both.

The guy behind the counter has dead straight longer hair and one of the best speaking voices you’ve ever heard. Argyle works days mostly, since he delivers pizzas by night. He must be covering a shift for someone. Or maybe the night guy is late.

Opposite Argyle, leaning on the counter with a familiarity that tells you he has been here plenty of times before, is the man from the train. Though he isn’t facing you, the Dio patch and hair are a giveaway.

What are the fucking odds?

Fangoria back in the rack, you creep through the aisles, trying not to draw attention to yourself. When you get close to the counter, you listen to their conversation. They’re funny.

Argyle’s brand of humor is easy and irreverent. It’s how he ends up befriending everyone, including you and Robin. And, as it were, the man from the train. Train guy’s banter is far more purposeful, performative. He’s dramatic, or maybe it seems like that in contrast to laid back Argyle.

They’re talking about music but suddenly switch to films. Bill & Ted. Even more suddenly, they break out into impersonations.

It’s too late to catch your laugh. Far too late to pretend it was a coughing fit. The man turns around. He beams as he recognizes you. It’s almost enough to keep you there. Almost.

“Hey-” Argyle goes to greet you.

“Sorry. Hi. I’ve gotta go,” you say.

“See you at Robin’s later?”

“Yeah. Yep. Bye!” and you’re out the door before Argyle can think to introduce you.

This feeling is so foreign to you. You feel all gooey and icky, like maybe your skin is going to start to fizz and slick off your body. Stupid, pretty train boy, you think.

It’s still too early for Robin’s, so you detour to a bar and order a drink in a vain attempt to settle yourself.

Stupid, pretty train boy.

Four hours later.

“I jus’… Can it come closer? It’s too… too far away?”

Robin looks at you. If you look back, you would see the face of a woman equal parts amused and bored. But you physically cannot look away from the television. And the television seems to be getting further and further away.

“Quick… Robin… It’s going!” you whine. The television set is as small as your palm. You hold your hand up to compare it. “So, so small…”

“You, my friend, are so profoundly high. Argyle gave you that new shit?”

“Says try with pineapple,”

“I-What? Pineapple?”

“Says try before you deny,”

“Alright. I’m calling it. You need some time out.”

Suddenly, you are floating through Robin’s place. A conversation about whether you are okay by yourself floats along with you. Yes, you would be okay. You like rolling around in bed, high as a kite. The party is winding down anyway. You’d not be alone for long.

Alone, you play three games of I-Spy. The loser and the winner. You starfish out on the bed and make imaginary snow angels. Time passes. Maybe. You’re not sure. Then, you see the room explode into view. The light has been switched on and you yelp, diving for cover under a pillow.

Voices. The weight of someone being dropped into bed next to you.

Robin calling your name. So far away. “You alive in there?” she asks.

“Ah-huh,” you confirm.

Then, quiet. You emerge from under the pillow like a field mouse from its burrow. They had left you in darkness but for him, a bedside lamp has been left on. He doesn’t know Robin’s bedroom like you.

He is lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. In profile, he is just as pretty. You want to drive a little Matchbox car down his forehead and use his nose as a jump. Evel Knievel style. The thought makes you giggle, which makes him turn his head. He looks at you, blinking twice.

“I wondered where you went,” he admits. He rolls onto his side, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Bit weird seeing you again,”

“Bit weird,” you parrot.

He smiles. “Why’d you get sent to the naughty room?”

“Huh?”

Your answer, or lack thereof, answers the question.

“Argyle not warn you properly about the Californian stuff?”

You shake your head.

He laughs, so you laugh. He wriggles a little closer.

“Hi,” he whispers, sticking out a pinky finger. You watch as he hooks it around yours.

When did you move to mirror his body? When did he arrive at the party? Was he here for you? No. Silly. So silly. That would be silly.

“You’re getting small… Like the television,” you tell him.

“Oh… I don’t want to get small… If I come closer, will I get big again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. This close you can see his pale freckles. The tired purple under his eyes. The almost-wrinkles that are born of laughter. Long eyelashes.

“Long eyelashes?” he asks.

“What?”

You snort, giggle, lost and happy.

“I need you to know I did not follow you here,”

“Okay,”

“I’m friends with Argyle,”

“Okey dokey,” you nod.

He holds in laughter, so you do too.

“I didn’t follow you either,”

“To Vinyl City? But you were eavesdropping.” It isn’t an angry accusation. It’s not really a question either. Still, you nod. “I’d be okay with it if you were following me. For the record,” he states, rather emphatically.

He watches you watch him. He makes you feel as if you are getting higher and sobering up at the same time.

“I’m Eddie,”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Last I checked,”

“What’d you check?”

“Ah… Birth certificate?”

“Says Eddie?”

“Well… Edward.”

You giggle. Eddie’s heart flutters so hard it feels like nausea.

“Hi… Eddie,”

“Hi. Do you have a name?” He already knows it. He just wants to hear you say it.

You nod.

Eddie laughs. “Tell me your name?”

You do. Because he asked.

“So… Three times… Coincidence?”

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t know what three times he’s talking about. “That’s two. Two’s a coincidence,”

“What’s three then?”

You can’t remember. You shrug, which makes Eddie laugh, which makes you laugh. A repeated cycle.

“I think it means something,” he asserts.

“So do I,”

“Do you? Or are you just a little bit high?”

“Can it be both?”

Eddie makes a show of thinking. “It can. I’ll allow it.” He grins. “So, it means something?”

“It means something,” you agree.

End Note: I've been struggling to write post-Burning Yarrow. So, this was just a little something to try to get back on the horse. Soulmate meet-cutes are my bread and fucking butter.

I have some very vague ideas for a part two of this, but idk if it will amount to much. Lemme know your thoughts and feelings.

Eddie Taglist: solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/You #Meet-Cute

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