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clarks-letterman · 2 years

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I was summoned!Jason craver x male reader

Where m/n is Chrissy innocent twin brother and Jason and came over her house to to take her out but she’s not home so the m/n decided to let him until Chrissy comes back, turns out she went to a have girl sleepover at friends house on a school night.And M/n let Jason stay the night an let Jason sleep on the couch some min later , Jason couldn’t fall asleep the first time so he took his shirt off then try and sleep but couldn’t so he got up to get some water only to see m/n only in his boxers . Let’s just say it just ended up him fucking m/n the kitchen hard and rough

i can't think of a title-

a/n — i am so sorry for this taking so long! it snowballed into being my longest fic, and i rushed the smut so you wouldn't have to wait- (btw i can change the smut, i know it sounds stupid but i kinda hate that i rushed it :// )

warnings — 18+! Minors and fem!aligned DNI! internalized homophobia, smut, bareback (wrap before you tap!), jason carver has a big dick ;)

summary — check the request!

words — 3.9k

~~~

Soft ramblings came from the television as it ran through the loops of magnetic tape, playing out the entirety of Ferris Bueller's Day Off—a personal recommendation from the hair master himself at the Family Video, along with an old copy of Fast Times at Ridgemont High he let you keep. He said that his friend found it redundant to their romantic life, but you were too confused why he lent it to you to care since your rental history refuted anything about it being your kind of movie. And, well, it wasn't. It sat in the tape player for a total of five minutes before you shut it off, replacing it with what was currently filling the background noise. You tipped the couch cushion from sitting slightly too far forward to work on next week's homework, relying on the coffee table to keep yourself steady.

The sun half-slid down the white finish of the wall, making it nearly impossible to tell the color with the golden shine pouring in. It tainted the television with a glare, vanishing in the shade for only a moment as a car pulled into the driveway. Sounding aloud by the tires treading the cemented pathway until it faded, followed by the thud of a car door slamming shut. Time carried a knock from the double set of mahogany doors as the person meandered the small sidewalk leading to the front porch within seconds. You shot up and answered it by the time the third knock struck.

Behind it stood Jason, a smile as vibrant as the floral bouquet in his hands formed when you opened the door. They radiated an air of sweetness that challenged the dominating cologne that hung on his letterman jacket, the spicy bite reaching toward you by a petal's length first.

“Hey, Cunningham, Chris home?”

“Sorry, Jason, you missed her by an hour. Something important?” you kept a hold on the side of the door, ready to wing it shut if anything happened.

“No, surprise date since she said your parents weren’t home,” he explained, letting the flowers defeatedly hang from the bottom up in his lowered hand.

“Oh,” your hand tightened on the door, the temptation to keep his distance growing as the conversation carried.

Jason leaned his free arm against the doorframe, moving closer to you. The door would have to stay open, “Can I come in?”

Jason was intimidating, but not by his own choice. He was never in control of how the things he did affected you; he had a charm that wooed you over and an understanding about you that others failed to grasp, even with how little time you spent together. But, you often had to remind yourself that he was only being nice, and none of it was his fault in how you interpreted it. There was no problem with everything he did to make you fall in love with him. It came with the standard conflicts of wanting to date your sister's boyfriend. They were happy, and you were a creep. That was why you often tried to get out of spending time with him and Chrissy. Being the third wheel was bad enough already, but being the second person in the room to have feelings for the same guy was even worse.

You tried to talk him out of it, hoping he would follow the direction you urged him toward, “Uh, you don’t have to. Chrissy won’t be back until tomorrow. I'll see you then?”

He took hold of your shoulder with a soft grip and held an equally warm smile as before, “Doesn’t mean I can’t spend time with you. We can have some one-on-one guy time, bro. I think that out of everyone in Chris’ family, I haven’t gotten to hang out with you much, and it would be a waste of gas to drive back home, anyways.”

There it was: that stupid Jason charm. Overly kind and friendly, alongside a look that you could never utter the word no to—a natural boy-next-door, no matter how far apart you lived. It became complicated to pinpoint precisely how you felt, given that a guide for who you were remained untyped and unsaid by anyone brave enough to give in to their urges like yours. If Jason was the boy-next-door, you were the Hawkins' hermit.

He passed by you and into the living room, taking your silence as an invitation and reacquainting himself with the walls he had spent hours enclosed by when he watched movies with Chrissy or the big basketball game of the season with your dad. He even joined in on your mom's infrequent binges of various cooking shows and seasons of General Hospital, but none of it was ever with you. Never while you watched the latest release or whatever was playing on cable. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that you weren't as avoidant of Jason as you thought. Was he the one who had made an effort to avoid you?

“Aw, good taste. I love this movie!” you joined Jason in the living room, seeing him standing in the golden rays, holding a finger to the television screen.

The copy of Fast Times sat atop the player for Jason to see. His hand traveled from the screen to the tape, picking it up and scanning over the title, "This one's fucking awesome! Tell me, why haven't we hung out more? If I knew you were into this, we could've had so much fun at Benny's place the other night."

"What do you mean?"

He placed it back on the tape-player, "You know, like movies and...stuff."

He said it so casually that you were sure it was the banal genre that a preparatory jock like him would pick out. But you still asked, "What kind?"

He slowly cracked a smile, followed by a laugh, "The kind they don't sell at Family Video."

You let out a forced, dry chuckle to act like you were aware of what he was referencing, your stale giggle joining in strident harmony with his enriched one. After a moment of letting the room fall silent, Jason moved so that he was now filling the space of your dad's bistered recliner, the cushions welcoming him into a world of well-worn ecstasy. You joined him in watching the movie on the adjoining couch and slipped into a comfortable position.

Eventually, you left the seat open to switch out the tapes in the video player, letting it cool for a moment but returning with a heated knowing of embarrassment. The movie advertised a few scenes with nudity, and either gender was bound to make the room fill with an uncomfortable silence. For the first half-an-hour of the film, it was tolerable. There were jokes you didn't get and conflicts that seemed silly, but the scenes of overly exposed women or men had yet to arrive. But, the second half of that hour proved to be the issue.

Fifty-three minutes and five seconds was when things started to go downhill. The main girl of the film lost her top after coming on to her best friend's brother, and what was underneath it plagued the screen. They didn't tempt you, unlike they had for Jason, who, from the corner of your eye, smirked at the television as his hand slid from the chair's arm to his denim-clad crotch, slightly grazing the area. You started to think that this movie was not the right idea to have either of you watching, considering that it was pretty damn close to real life—something you wanted to escape from at the moment. You tried to block out the remainder of the movie and whatever Jason was doing by not watching it, leaning your head back, and sinking deep into the couch.

The moon crawled along the sun's path, letting the light from inside fill the house. They spoke with a soft blink and a buzz as they went out and flickered on into your ears, nudging you awake, "Did I fall asleep?"

It was almost rhetorical, but you hoped to tune out the movie, not throw off your sleep schedule for the night. Your eyes were met with the sight of salt-and-peppery static filling the screen, and to your right, Jason laid back in the recliner, eyes shut but not asleep. He remained unmoved, "I'll sleep here."

He slipped his sneakers past the heels with the point of the other and kicked them over the hassock, letting them fall with a gentle thud.

"You sure? You can stay in Chris' bed since she's not—yeah, you can sleep upstairs."

Jason kicked the footrest back into place with ease, taking a stand on the hardwood floor. He waved you off, "Nah, I can take your dad's chair. He's always sleepin' in it, so I'll see what the big deal is."

He reached for the green and yellow cuff of his letterman jacket, pulling his arm in the opposing direction that he tugged at the edge of his sleeve, slipping it out and doing the same to his other arm. You planned to head to bed but wanted to guarantee he had everything he needed. As if he hadn't spent dozens of nights here before. But he was a guest, and you were the only one home. He didn't know the house as you did. He didn't know of the way the air conditioning never worked right in the summer or how you had to kick the bottom-left corner of the fridge to get it to spit the ice out. So you stayed, just in case.

His hands retreated further up his body and to the neck of his polo, sliding it off as easy as his jacket had let him do. There Jason stood, in waist-high denim flares and nothing else. It wasn't surprising to see him like this, as he had done this before, on the first night he stayed over.

You remembered the first night like you had lived through it the night before; it was in the middle of summer when the sun baked the Earth to a record-breaking high in Hawkins. Your parents were wealthy but not profligate buyers, meaning that the only room with an air conditioner was their own, and the rest of you had to suffer. Barely catching a wink of sleep, you went to the kitchen for a cold glass of water to drink, anything to help stay cool in the triple-degree delirium. You entered the kitchen to find Jason executing the same plan you had come up with mere moments before, gulping down a nearly full glass in seconds, then turning to refill the cup. That was when you noticed he was only in a pair of tight, non-dyed briefs that struggled to fit in the area that they were fighting to keep contained.

It was when you realized your feelings for Jason, two-thirty at night in nothing but the equivalent of a skimpy leaf. One tear and everything would be gone. But that was far from what you focused on at the moment. His body was nice to look at, but the intimacy made your stomach drop and caused your heart to double its pace. Never had another guy been so comfortable around you, going as far as to be nearly stripped down to nothing and still be as relaxed as he was. You had to remind yourself that he didn't know what you were at the time, and he still didn't know now. Later that day, when the sun scaled the wall, Chrissy announced to the family that she and Jason were official.

That was over a year ago, and Jason looked even more stunning. Age broke people, shattered them with time, but Jason wasn't susceptible to that. He went from pristine to unblemished, polished, highlighting his best feature that had only grown.

"Hope it's not a problem," he casually apologized, almost feeling as if he had to say it because it sounded puckish. It acted as a pricked hook, ready to tear you apart but still pulling your mangled mess of emotions to the surface to expose your darkest secret.

"Not at all," you struggled to get the words out, heading off to the stairs right after. Jason called out to you before you could reach the top, offering a quick, "goodnight," that you returned and veered into the hall and your bedroom.

You tried to get a wink of sleep, but nothing overtook the abyssal hole you fell into while trying not to think about Jason on the floor below you. It didn't help that you had just come from a few hours of shut-eye that now seemed impossible to regress into, but you knew that Jason was responsible for keeping you awake. Like many other things, it wasn't his fault—completely and utterly your own head's maladaptive ways. Earlier, it was so easy to fall asleep—ironically because you were near him—but now it felt unachievable to slip away for merely a moment. You figured that a drink—something warm and comforting—would soothe you to sleep, something flavorful to let your mind focus in on.

Jason felt similarly, looking at the white-daubed ceiling. He wished he could peer past—to see you, to see what you wore, how it clung to your body, and how easy it was to remove. He hated that it was his first thing to think of when it came to you, Chrissy's brother. He tried to rationalize it with the fact that you and Chrissy looked alike, and it just so happened to be that you were a guy. He almost convinced himself that what he saw in you was everything he loved about Chrissy, and that's the only reason he thought about you like that. Almost. Jason may have seen a bit of Chrissy in you, but the feeling he got was warmer and undeniably stronger than how he felt with Chrissy. If you and Chrissy looked the same, why did he feel so much different—so much better around you?

Jason kicked back the recliner again, fleeing to the kitchen for a bout of comfort if only temporary as it was. He put a hand under the faucet, bringing it and some water to his face. He needed to cool off and ease his head from everything he had trained himself not to think about while he was here. Smooth velvet crossed his face after he went for a towel.

"This is all stupid," he muttered, leaning against the sink with both hands. The dark outside couldn't help him. He could leave and not say bye, but then there would be lights at home, and he would have to see himself and all the ways he lies to himself there.

Bare feet padded along the cool tile of the kitchen, but it wasn't Jason's own. No, it was yours. He turned, careful not to let his jaw, or a sly comment, slip as he eyed your figure, bare except for a pair of low-hanging boxers.

"What is?" You asked, coolly heading for the cabinet next to him. Jason looked in your direction as you did, eyes slipping down the curve of your lower back and over your ass. He knew he shouldn't look, but you had been so oblivious to his unrequited glances in the past, whether it was at dinner or when you passed in the hall like two ships in the night.

But he struggled to keep it in. He let it out after fighting it for so long. No one was here. He wouldn't have to awkwardly meander to Chrissy's room and think about it for the rest of the night. He could redress himself and leave if you reacted poorly and bury himself in anything that wasn't your stupid, complicated family.

"Just...how everything is right now," he admitted.

You set the empty glass down and turned, much to Jason's dismay, to keep your glance trained on his melancholic expression.

"Is it about Chris?"

That was the only thing he didn't want to hear. Chrissy is what made this complicated, but he made it incomprehensible to sort out.

"It's more about you, actually."

"Oh," You weren't sure what to say other than that. But you didn't have time to think since he continued.

"You're prettier than her," Jason wasn't sure how to say it because he never allowed himself to, only thinking about it when you weren't around.

"Jason—," You interjected, trying to keep him careful with how he handled his words. The second you heard him say that, a small part of you found a glimmer of hope in his compliment. Or it could have been an admittance of his feelings. Whatever it was, the better part of you knew that he shouldn't be saying it at all, no matter how much you wanted him to.

"Stop, please. I need to tell you that I've been fighting something in me since I first came here. And this—this was the last I could take," Jason paused and motioned with his hand to direct toward your boxer-exclusive attire, "I thought it was because you look so much like her, but you're not."

He stopped talking and wrapped you in his arms, warm skin meeting boiling skin, ready to explode but tamed by him. Jason smelled like vanilla and cedarwood and a bit of himself, mixing with the smell of home, giving you a sense that he was home. That this was right. Deserved in the sense that this was what you wanted and longed for and was finally getting.

He pulled away too soon for your liking, but what he followed it with more than made up for it. The light couldn't shine on your face before Jason shadowed it. The space between you left as fast as it came, replaced by the small—but soft—touch of his lips to yours. It was hesitant like he didn't know what exactly to do. Jason kept his hands away from you, though, letting them fly down to reach for the button of his jeans, shoving them to his ankles once undone. Soon enough, you slipped into a passionate furrow, his fingers brushing against your jaw as yours kept a grip on his solid, well-buffed arms.

Jason struggled to find the words to describe how he felt, but there was this magical touch with each point of contact. He felt freer and resolute to take what he wanted from you; both your love and your body. The magic faded as your pressing effort into the kiss started to soften, and he was worried that you had your fill and started to have your doubts. But, in reality, you were ready to go further, even if that journey into the distant arrival was a walk in the dark.

Lips felt the lingering presence of the other's, and eyes held their stare for a silent moment.

"I'm ready, Jason," you asserted. You slipped your hand past the band of his boxers and into the soft, fabric chamber cradling his heavy girth. With only the feel of your fingers surrounding it, giving it a few tugs—understanding that it felt good by the twitch of Jason's face—you could tell it was long and a handful.

Jason kept his eyes on you instead of your hand, not allowing his icy blues to slip, "You know how to handle that thing?"

"Not at all," you proudly admitted. Jason made you feel accepted enough as it was, so another thing to be ashamed of was safe to say around him without eliciting a laugh.

A hand of Jason's took your wrist, reeling your hand from his boxers, "I can show you how to take it."

Jason wasn't being truthful when he offered that. He could show you with the make-shift fleshlight he kept in a drawer, but this was going to be more of a live demonstration for the real thing. He started yanking his boxers down carelessly. In turn, you took a position leaning over the sink, assuming that he would need access to somewhere along the backside of your body, but being wildly inexperienced, you didn't have the slightest clue for what. Briefly, you saw his manhood as you turned to the sink. From what you saw as he set it free, his cock had a bulbous tip that fed into a wider shaft with a few veins running along the length.

Jason's fingers hooked into the hem of your boxers, the cold air meeting your warmed skin. Your ass perked in the chill, and Jason was ready to let it warm against his defined hips. His hand took ahold of his length near the base, sliding his first two fingers to the tip for better aim. The other clamped to your waist, yanking your ass back, causing you to lean more and take a wider stance. He held his cock to your hole, toying with it for a moment.

"Fuck, you're nothing like her," His tip slipped in and out. Then, back in again, "So tight..."

All of that pent-up, building ferocity unleashed itself here as Jason pushed himself in. He was obsessed with how your hole quivered over the presence of his cock, and how the veins vanished and returned with each thrust in and out of you. He loved the exaggerated pop that came with pulling his cock out, teasing the tight-ringed muscle by circling his tip over it before your hole happily enveloped his cock for the whatever-numbered time. He lost count the second he started. His pumps into you were powerful, to the point that you were knocked forward against the sink. At least if the sudden and fast motions made you nautious, the sink stared back at you with an open gutter.

Your name spewed off like a cheer on his lips, repeated cries and pleas out to you, for you to feel good. It was obvious that Jason had been deprived of something like this for what must have been an eternity because only minutes had gone by and he was already a mess. That's when you peaked, your climax. Hearing Jason act desperately to resolve. Ropes of your load sprayed by his third and final thrust, with Jason shooting into you in the seconds following. He kept going, his cock growing slick and your hole emitting gushing sounds as his white-hot hit the tile below with a splat.

Jason unceremoniously pulled out, his cock going soft but still standing semi-proud at his work. Some more of his release piled on the floor, to which you were already heading for a towel. The small clock on the wall caught your eye, two-thirty-one.

On your way back, you asked the only question that came to mind in your clear-headed state, "What's going to happen between you and Chris and everyone else?"

Before you could clean up the mess made by both you and Jason, his warmth took you in, arms extending to hold you. You opened yours into the dark and unknowing, but into him. He was the light.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow."

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