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himbocoups · 2 years

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˗ˋˏ YUCK! ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only (Part One)

synopsis: how can you remain friends with benefits with someone who turns his plushies around during sex, pouts when you don't kiss him goodbye, and spends his time occupying your mind?

pairing: lsm x yn (gn afab)

genre: fluff, romance | m, smut

tags: food, character is drunk in a flashback, cursing, domesticity, fwb, sexual innuendos, university au | car sex, degradation/dumbification, dirty talk, exhibitionism, fingering, games, pet names, switch dk/reader, spitting, pnv, unprotected sex

wc: 7.62k

a/n: some grumpy x sunshine dynamics inspired by my favorite song off charli's crash album. deciding to drop this fic in 2 parts instead of one bc the length of this vs my old laptop is e***** my a**. I literally had to delete the sims 😔 kind of excited and scared bc this is my first fic on this blog so comments are deeply appreciated -nu ♡

yuck! - part two

lipglossjun's masterlist

Bare legs intertwined and arms wrapped around each other, DK brings his head closer to yours so that your noses are only a few centimeters apart. He whispers good morning and gently kisses you on the forehead. However, instead of greeting him back, you decide to ruin an otherwise sweet and heartfelt moment by reaching above your head for the closest thing you can find and slamming it onto his body.

“Stop being cheesy. You can’t ‘Good Morning’ me after sex,” you grumble, turning your body away from his.

DK’s large and deformed bumblebee plush he frequently uses as a backrest bounces off his body and plops onto the cold tiled floor where it joins a menagerie of different plushies and discarded clothing items. DK doesn’t do anything in retaliation and only snuggles into your back, wraps his arm around your side, and pulls you closer to him.

“Fuck aftercare. I’m still horny,” he mumbles into your neck while leaving warm kisses on your shoulder. He moves his right arm to your hips and massages your waist with his thumb, pressing deeply and drawing circles into your skin.

The action is enough to make you think about going another round with him, but the scattered sounds of metal doors opening and closing in the distance tell you that it’s almost time for your morning class. You reach to the side to grab your phone from his nightstand to double-check the time. There’s a text from your friend who lets you know he has your lab coat. There’s a follow-up text from him telling you to stop fucking DK so that you don’t get a grade docked for missing lab. As much as you want to laze in bed with DK, you detangle yourself from him and sit up. He whines at the lack of warmth, but you ignore him and make your way to his private bathroom where your overnight bag hangs on one of the metal door hooks.

You can still hear him whining about his horniness as your hand reaches for the toilet paper roll beside you. Not wanting him to continue complaining, you tell him very loudly that you are peeing. You hope it’s enough to get him to leave you alone. At the same time, you hope your voice doesn’t travel through the bathroom vent duct to the other dormitory restrooms.

His whining stops.

You think he’s starting his usual clean-up routine, plugging in his white shell-shaped socket air freshener – the same linen scented one he bought once and then over and over again simply because you complimented it once in passing. He would pick up all of the fallen stuffed animals he’s collected over the years, probably apologizing to them one by one for dropping them and for having sex in front of them. It’s just who he is, and you never understood how you became friends with someone like him in the first place.

You’re blunt, a no-bullshit kind of person. If Eeyore and Squidward had a baby, that baby would be you. So, usually, people like Dokyeom would piss you off. Dokyeom is the type of person who wakes up as refreshed as the type of people in those instant coffee commercials after they have had their morning cup of dark roast. He’s bright and bubbly and too kind for his own good. He’s stopped many roommate disputes simply by tearing up while listening to his “children” – as he likes to refer to them – argue in front of him. He can’t walk to class without waving at or bumping into somebody he knows. Hanging out with people like DK sucks the energy out of you, but DK's miraculously somehow your friend.

Also, part of you knows you lucked out when you became friends with benefits with a dormitory resident advisor a few months ago. It’s convenient for the both of you – because of his single bed and bath suite, you always have a place to stay if you are still on campus late at night. Both of you two never need to worry about being too loud because his room is basically soundproof. However, that luck also meant having a partner who doesn’t understand his boundaries, has an overtly positive mindset, and treats and takes care of you like you are one of his Freshman residents.

“I swear if I get a UTI…” you mumble to yourself while you lock your phone and place it on the sink counter before you wipe. You make a mental note that you still have a few minutes before you have to head to your morning class or else you would be way too late.

When you leave his bathroom, you see he’s making his bed. The resident advisor is fully dressed and happily fluffs his pillows as if you didn’t use them to stifle his moans while riding him just a few minutes ago – not because he was too loud, but because it was seven in the morning and all you wanted to do was fuck. As you predicted, his stuffed animals are all back in place, including the ones that toppled onto his floor. The air freshener is plugged into the socket with its intensity on the highest setting. His curtains are pulled open, and the calm morning breeze gently brushes against the bright green string of pearls plant sitting on his windowsill. In his trashcan under his desk is the tied and disposed of used condom tastefully covered by empty snack wrappers and dirty lint roller sheets. It’s like he lives a double life – one that only you know and one that only his residents know.

You find a small water bottle and a granola bar on your backpack that you left on his desk chair when you arrived last night. Confused, you point at the items and turn to the man sitting on his bed. There is a big dumb smile plastered on his face despite you looking at him with a blank expression.

“What’s this?” you move the water and snack onto his desk so you can swing your backpack over your shoulder. You lean over his wooden desk to double-check and fix your hair in his table mirror.

“Some snacks,” he sings while reaching over to pull a stuffed animal onto his lap. It’s the one he often hugs when he sleeps alone. “You didn’t eat this morning,” he pouts.

“What did I say about not needing to be taken care of?” You frown while grabbing the water bottle and hesitate while looking at the bar you put on his tidy desk. “I hate granola,” you grumble, but you decide to pocket the bar before leaving.

He grabs the paw of the large brown bear he’s cuddling and uses it to wave goodbye, “Study hard.”

You flip him off before closing his large metal dormitory door behind you. His keypad whirs and clicks its automatic lock into place, and you make your way to the hallway elevators.

With each navy blue carpeted step you take towards the dormitory elevator, the wrapped granola bar crinkles annoyingly in your sweats pocket. The more you’re aware of the crinkling, the louder it rings in your ear – and it’s driving you insane. You hate the awful bright green dormitory doors, the sound of the foil wrapper, and the way DK tries to take care of you when all you want is sex. Sure, you can’t say you’re not attracted to him. You’re not the type to be friends with benefits with somebody you don’t have an emotional connection with. Yet, the man doesn’t even have a car. How can he take care of you if he can’t even drive on the freeway? To you, friends with benefits is like a drive-thru – you enter, you exchange for goods, and you exit. For a man without a car, the concept of his drive-thru just seems abstruse.

Even more annoying is DK’s stupid laminated smiling face stapled onto his large classroom bulletin board. DK’s face stares you down front and center while you wait for the elevator to stop on your floor. Below his face are hand-cut expensive cardstock letters shaped in a wavy curve spelling out A Baa-ginner’s Guide to Sleep. Under the title are several large sheep with sleeping facts glued to their centers that leap across a fence in a green pasture. You doubt anybody really pays attention to his bulletin board, but you quickly read through the facts on each sheep to pass the time while you wait for the elevator to arrive on your floor.

On the right side of the bulletin board is a tiny suggestion box nailed to the wall with a washable marker attached to the side of the box. You decide to uncap the black marker and quickly draw facial hair on DK’s face. You think he wouldn’t mind the hair – it’s nothing compared to the number of phallic pictures he had to erase on the whiteboard on his door the first month of school. If anything, he could wipe it off whenever he wanted. You cap the marker and look at his fresh goatee. The corner of your lips turns upwards and then quickly falls back to its resting position.

Your phone in your other pocket coincidentally buzzes when the elevator dings. You pull out your phone while stepping into the empty elevator and press the elevator button for the first floor. You see it’s a text from DK. He sent you a selfie of him and the same brown bear plush he was cuddling earlier. He wants you to know he’s still horny, but he misses you. A lot.

You sigh and unhook your backpack from your shoulder so you can access the front pocket of your backpack. The elevator stops at the floor below you, and you make your way to the side to let other students onto the elevator.

The weather is finally nice outside after a week of consistent fog and overcast skies, so you thought it would be a great idea to study together under the sun. However, about half an hour into studying, Jun is about twenty chapters into a webcomic on his phone, Chan is busy flicking stray ants off the thin bedsheet, and you are about to resort to using ideas from your 2014 costume party Pinterest board you archived into the depths of hell a few years ago.

“It’s giving either pick me or middle school boy whose entire personality is him being a class clown,” Chan says while laying back down on the makeshift picnic blanket you made from an old yellow bedsheet you pulled from your closet. He crosses his arms under his head for support.

Jun grabs the laptop from Chan’s lap and clicks through the options you’ve opened in your different tabs. He squints his eyes at the screen and winces at every single one while he drags his finger across your touchpad, wishing he never saw your options. He shakes his head and pushes your laptop back to you, immediately going back to scrolling on his phone.

You take back your laptop from Jun and frown while clicking on your different open tabs to peruse your options again. You thought it would be funny if you wore the themed costume you were currently going for, but your friends think it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever come up with – and you’ve come up with a ton of stupid ideas in the past. But you couldn’t see how this simple costume gives off a “pick me” vibe.

“I just think it’d be funny,” you grumble while closing your current tabs to look for more options.

You’ve noticed that you’ve been hanging out with DK more than usual. Sometimes it wasn’t even to hook up with him. You would stay at his place to study for midterms, and the two of you would often end up having dinner or breakfast together. You’ve been in the dorms for so long that his residents often mistake you for another resident. But it’s true, DK is only a friend – albeit one who’s starting to grow on you – but he’s only a friend. What’s the use in trying to find a costume that he would laugh at anyway?

“What did I tell you? You can’t just be friends with benefits with somebody like DK. People like him want long relationships. They like holding hands while walking. They like sending goodnight texts with a cute moving sticker from a sticker pack they paid for attached to it. They consider taking you home to their parents as a date,” Chan quickly sits up to try to see your laptop screen, but immediately lays back down when his vision gets blurry. He uses it as an excuse to skip the gym today.

“You, on the other hand,” Chan turns to his side so he can see you more clearly, “just want his dick in you.”

The other friend tries to stifle his laughter after hearing the word “dick.” You groan and push Chan’s chest, causing him to fall flat on his back again. Although you have to admit, you don’t disagree with him. Getting dicked down by your friend after meeting up with him to try new dessert places he found on Instagram is an amazing experience. You could taste the remnants of his frozen yogurt flavor on his tongue while he kisses you after eating you out. Visiting new places and hooking up afterward? It’s like an extended BOGO deal that doesn’t seem to have an expiry date.

“You say that like wanting dick is a bad thing,” the other friend, Jun, who swapped his phone for your backpack, opens the front pocket to look for something fun to play with or eat that would better interest him.

He pulls out the granola bar you shoved in your backpack that sat untouched since DK gave it to you. He quickly reads the label to look at the flavor and decides to pocket the bar.

“No,” you tell him when you hear the familiar crinkle of the foil wrapper. You reach over to snatch your backpack and your granola bar back from your friend. “It’s mine,” you emphasized.

“You don’t even like those,” Jun grumbles while leaning his elbow on his knee. He huffs very loudly, making it very obvious he is sad he wasn’t able to take the snack for himself.

You roll your eyes and launch the granola bar straight at his chest. It hits him with a hollow-sounding thunk and lands on his lap. Bullseye.

“Jesus,” Chan exclaims, now sitting up. He points at the poor boy who is rubbing the sore spot on his chest with a smile on his face, “What’s with you and chests?”

You shrug, your face void of any expression. You were more of an arm person.

“But going back to Yn and DK, I honestly don’t see anything wrong with them. They’re just friends who hook up,” Jun, who is completely fine, tears the corner of the foil wrapper and pulls it downwards. He moves the remaining end that covers the sticky bar to the side, revealing the snack that lost its original shape after being tumbled and bumped in your backpack. “My last friends with benefits hated my guts. We had absolutely nothing in common too. I literally had to fuck in silence because if we talked, we would only fight. But it only lasted a while because they were only visiting the area, but damn, I definitely wouldn’t do it again.”

He takes a bite of his granola bar.

“Hate fucking can make you grow stress acne,” he casually adds while his mouth is full.

The two of you turn to him in surprise, never knowing about his revelation despite years of being friends. Jun shrugs, unbothered by your expressions, and continues to snack.

“What? I like getting my dick sucked,” he nonchalantly tells the two of you. A tiny piece of oat flies out of his mouth and onto the blanket. You flick it away before the ants can get to it, but Jun doesn’t seem to notice and continues to talk, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Crumbs fall out of his mouth while he speaks with his mouth full. Only after he finishes his sentence does he take time to swallow his mouthful and shove the remainder of the bar into his mouth. He swats the crumbs off the blanket and his clothes and crumples the wrapper, looking around for the nearest trashcan.

His eyes land on a group of people moving carts and setting up for an event in the distance. He could recognize the outfits anywhere from the navy blue polo with the university crest embroidered on the left chest to the regulated sand-colored khakis every worker has to wear. He’s seen someone wear that uniform more often than he would have liked. Every time he complains about how ugly the polyester polos look, his friend who regularly wears the uniform only laughs at him and waves goodbye.

Why would RA’s need to wear sports wick fabric? Jun thinks to himself. Do they get sweaty from doing dormitory checks at midnight?

You notice Jun silently frowning at something in the distance instead of getting up to throw away his trash. You turn your body to look at who he’s frowning at, and you see a bunch of students setting up for some university event later in the afternoon. Your eyes land on a familiar silhouette who carries a clipboard in his left hand while pointing at different places to tell his coworkers where to place the different banners and tables. You know it’s him from the crisp khaki pants he refuses to stain to the way he carries himself – the bounce in his step and the way his open hand always falls onto the shoulder of the person next to him to use as support while he’s laughing.

He’s the same person who’s too kind for his own good. You think about the time you went shopping at the mall with him and how he couldn’t bring himself to decline the offer of getting a free scrub from the skincare kiosk. You had to stare down the man into applying the product on the back of DK’s arm, but even then, DK spent the next week rubbing medical-grade hydrocortisone cream on his rash without complaining. DK still wonders about where the man is every time he visits the mall to this day. On the other hand, you would never admit to secretly taking matters into your own hand by writing angrily worded reviews on their Google page under Chan’s abandoned elementary school email he uses to sign up for free trials.

“You’re drooling for a man in khakis,” Chan suddenly disrupts your thoughts. “Check yourself.”

You blink your eyes and look around you. Jun is already long gone, Jun's trash tossed in a trashcan. Now, he’s leaning against a tree while chatting up a poor girl who wanted to read her novel in peace. The funny thing is, he seems to be doing pretty well.

Chan, who doesn’t want both you and Jun to go to the party with a date, excuses himself so he could leave to annoy and embarrass Jun. He thinks if he has to go to the party alone, then he’s dragging one of you down with him. In this case, it’s Jun.

Your mind wanders back to the costume party. You can’t do a couple’s costume because one, you and DK are not a couple; and two, DK always shows up as a slutty fireman. It was his thing. He would show up to parties already a little tipsy from pregaming. He would hug a liter bottle of chase in one arm and have a coiled prop hose hanging from his shoulder on the opposite side. His firefighter costume would hang from his waist while DK walks around dapping up his friends in a white sleeveless cotton tank with streaks of grey ash. And the drunker he gets, the more lopsided his firefighter helmet sits on his head, eventually falling off when he crashes on the couch.

To Jun, dressing up as a firefighter is probably one of the sluttiest things DK could ever do. The first is respecting women. You’re number six on Jun’s list.

Someone comes up behind you from where you’re sitting and holds a cold water bottle in front of your face. He turns it upside down and quickly flicks it upright so the water inside the bottle whirls around in a whirlpool.

“Water tornado,” DK laughs while twisting open the white cap and handing the plastic bottle to you.

His lame party trick makes you snort. Instead of complaining about already having your own iced water, you gladly accept his water. You put the cap back on and put it on top of your backpack knowing very well that his booth would be selling refreshments for triple its wholesale value.

He sits next to you on the bedsheet that’s slightly damp from touching the grass. He stretches his legs across the blanket and makes himself comfortable by laying on his back. He asks you where Chan and Jun are, and you point at the two of them pushing each other in front of the girl. You stare at them in defeat.

“Poor girl,” he tsks.

He moves his head onto your lap and you hover your hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. He quietly stares at you while you use your other hand to open your university login page on your laptop, not really paying attention to him.

Just then, someone calls for DK from the event area. DK immediately sits up but accidentally slams his forehead into your palm. You let out a soft laugh, and he playfully glares at you.

How dumb.

“Just saying ‘hi’ to a friend,” he yells back.

A friend.

“Give me a kiss before I leave?”

“No,” you frown at him while looking away. You were trying to get him to go back to work. It also wasn’t like you called him over. Albeit there is a part of you that is the tiniest bit of upset after hearing DK call you his friend so easily. How dumb of you.

He pouts but gently squeezes your shoulder before he jogs back to where he was setting up.

In the distance, Jun and Chan sigh while they pull out their phones to transfer money into the hammock girl’s bank account. Hammock girl bet that he wouldn’t kiss you even if nobody was near the two of you. She was right. Although, the three of them could agree that a shoulder squeeze is just sad.

He giggles when he sees your face contort in disgust after he holds the body wash under your nose, squeezing it gently so you can smell the scent. He takes it back and flips the cap closed before putting it back on the store shelf. He takes the bottle from your hand when it’s your turn to pass him your pick, but he quickly passes it back to you after he smells the scent. He shakes his head “no.”

“You don’t like this one?” you cap the bottle and place it back where it belongs. You thought the scent was fine with you.

“It’s too sweet,” DK reads the label on another product, “I feel like it would attract ants.” He shudders at the idea of a line of ants trailing in his bathroom but continues to swing his shopping basket by his side while he browses the bath products aisle.

You don’t know how DK managed to convince you to drive him to the retail store and help him with his next bulletin board design. You think it’s because he knows you drew the mustache on his face, but he suggested you shop with him for a body wash that you would also prefer using because you’ve been staying over at his place more often. You were going to decline his suggestion, but you remembered you were almost out of trash bags and condoms for your place. Because there were only so many times you could visit the health center free condom bowl without becoming one of their regulars, you agreed to his request.

Yet here you are, trailing closely behind DK under the bright fluorescent store lights where the first bottle on mostly every shelf is just a little crooked. The two of you have spent the last few minutes trying to find a scent that works for both of you. To be honest, you couldn’t care less about the fragrance he chooses, but he insists on finding the perfect one – stressing the “t” in “perfect” to the point where it came out of his mouth in a clicking sound. You were more or less focused on how his bicep bulges the heavier his basket gets – practically drooling when his rolled shirt sleeve pushes up just a little whenever his arm automatically flexes every time he adds an item to his basket. You hope he thinks you’re staying quiet because your nose is congested from smelling all of the products and not because you’ve been staring at his arms the entire time.

He taps you on your shoulder when you’re skimming the ingredient list of a 3-in-1, and you look over to see him smiling widely at you as he holds a slim opaque bottle in his hand.

When you smell the body wash he holds under your nose, you give him a tiny nod in agreement. He immediately caps the bottle, drops it in his basket, and heads toward his next destination. The bottle rolls over in the red basket, and you briefly see the scent name while you trail behind its future owner. Its scent fits the man humming in front of you perfectly, and you can’t deny that you’re quite fond of it yourself. You decide to grab one for your place before catching up to him.

About half an hour later, you’re still staring at his arms while he reaches up the grab the hood of your car trunk to slam it shut after helping load the shopping bags. He seems to notice you staring as he wastes time by looking into his tote bag, pretending to look for something.

You hate him, that little minx. Of course, he knows you’re staring at him. He knows exactly how you’re feeling. He didn’t purposely press against you while reaching up for items on higher shelves for nothing. The t-shirt he’s wearing? It’s a size too small, but by god do you think it fits so tightly and so well around his body.

Between stressing about midterms and working on top of taking classes with a full-time course load, your sex drive has been out of sync with how it used to be. You and DK haven’t had proper sex in a while, and you’ve been caught thinking about sex during geology lab (out of all places). Jun was pretty sure you were harder than all of the rocks on the lab table. If one more sex scenario came into your mind, you were pretty sure a diamond would fall out of you the next time you open your legs.

DK knows how to push your buttons and rile you up – subtly and in multiplicities. But in your favorite retail store? Where you go to de-stress and bask in the free air conditioning? The same one that welcomes you with the scent of fresh buttery popcorn when you walk through its large revolving doors? Leave it to DK to ruin the one good thing you had going for you, but if you’re going to fuck DK in your car, then you are going to make him pay for it in the process.

When you shut your car door, the hanging pine tree shaped air freshener clacks with the acrylic figurine keychain Chan brought back for you when he visited Japan during the winter. DK is sitting in the middle seat in the backseat of your manual, already visibly hard and palming himself. He grabs your hand while you move towards him to straddle his lap. Your knees sink into the cushions on the sides of his thighs, and you grind yourself on his arousal, feeling him grow harder and harder under you – days of pent up stress immediately leaving your body. He places his hands on your hips, guiding your movements, groaning when you find your pace – feeling the pool of arousal between your legs leak onto his crotch.

You grab his chin, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. He looks back at you with his big dark eyes, and your head dips so your lips can meet his. Your lips are hard and impatient as yours collides against his over and over – mouths working in tandem as he matches your pace and fervor as you continue to grind against him, digging your hips deeper into him when your back arches. You can’t help but smile against his lips and he moans in response, against your mouth. You fill the tiny opening by taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging and running your tongue against his lip.

However, he pulls back to catch his breath. His hands have traveled to your ass, and he asks you in the most innocent tone while kneading them between his fingers, “But what about the cars waiting for us?”

You roll your eyes and verbally scoff at him. You point his chin upwards so he’s looking up at you. He gulps while you stare at him, your eyes burning holes into his eyes. He knows you’re mad. But his dick twitches in excitement just thinking about how you’re going to punish him.

“Don’t play dumb with me fucking slut,” the way you jeer at him sends shivers down his spine. He looks up at you with glassy eyes, staying silent while you continue to berate him. “What? Purposely riling me up and then playing innocent when you think about a car waiting for us?”

He continues to stay silent while his breathing gets harder. He can feel his pre-cum leaking out of his dick, wanting desperately for you to sink down on him.

You tilt his chin to the side so you can whisper in his ear, “I’m going to make them watch you fall apart under me until they forget why they’re waiting for us in the first place. You understand?”

He nods his head quickly, thinking about how hot you look at that moment. You reach down to stroke his arousal with your other hand still secured around his chin. He whimpers at the feeling of your hand around him, eager to do anything you tell him to.

“What was the theme that you came up with for your bulletin board?” you pout at him, faking innocence. Of course you knew his theme. It’s all he’s been talking about since you picked him up from school. The concept is a little abstract, but you don’t push him because it’s not your board in the first place. You remove your hand from his chin and slowly trace it down his chest while looking at him with playful eyes.

“S-Simon says,” he hiccups as you unbutton his pants. He bites his lip when you reach his hard-on.

You see he’s red, hard, and throbbing in the palm of your hand. There’s enough pre-cum to drip down the sides of your fingers. You languidly stroke him, relieving some of the tension built up in his stomach. He hisses in response, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest.

“Simon says to tell me what you’re thinking.”

DK draws in an unsteady breath and groans while you continue stroking him up and down, slowly adding speed. “I’ve been so horny,” he breathes. “I think about you at night. How you’ll kneel in front of me, naked, and in between my legs. How you’ll slowly kiss up my thighs, leaving wet kisses the way I like them while spreading my thighs apart because you always treat me s-so well no matter how b-bad I’ve been,” he babbles while gripping onto your shoulders, anything that he can grip onto his vicinity.

You rub your thumb over his smooth head while he spreads his thighs a little wider in his seat. You feel your core begin to throb when you hear him shamelessly groan, the sound alone stimulating you further. However, you try to keep your composure while he’s literally in the palm of your hand.

“And…” he trails off for a bit, turning his head and not meeting your eyes. You see the tips of his ears glow bright red as he tries to avoid your stare. “I had wet dreams about you spitting in my mouth,” he mumbles while trying to hide from you despite the fact that you’re still sitting on his lap.

The mere thought of spitting into Dokyeom’s mouth continues to feed the flame burning inside of you, so you decide to continue your game with him.

“What was that hmm?” you dip your head so that you’re hovering right above his lips. He has nowhere to turn except to face you. And when he does, you can tell his eyes are frantically darting between your eyes and your lips. You’re close enough to him to feel his breath on your lips, how his breath hitches as you continue to build his high. “What did you want me to do to you?”

He quickly shakes his head and looks up at you as if to tell you he’s being a good boy by playing the game by the rules. You didn’t say “Simon Says” before your last question. You smile and nod at him while slowly pulling your shorts and panties down, placing yourself on top of his dick. He whimpers upon contact.

You trace him along the inside of your soaked folds, and he immediately bucks under your lap. He’s sweating and very close to becoming overstimulated at this point, but he’s surprisingly enjoying it.

“Simon Says to tell you what you want Simon to do to you,” you taunt him calmly. You align him at your entrance while keeping eye contact with him.

“Please...” he mewls, so desperate that he can’t even properly tell you what he wants. It’s frustrating, and he’s frustrated. He throws a mini fit by huffing after pleading.

“Please what?” you kiss along his jawline while he tries rutting up into you. “Did my dumb slut forget how to speak?”

You frown at his action and lift yourself higher so he can’t reach you. You cock an eyebrow at him, trying to get him to tell you want he wants you to do to him. Because, fuck, even you were getting desperate at this point (even though it is mostly your fault for prolonging it for so long).

He finally fesses, “P-Please fuck me so hard that your car ah–”

So caught up with everything, you forget about his size, and loudly moan while you bottom out on him, immediately clinging onto him while you bury your face in his neck. He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, but he lets out a choked scream as he feels you take all of him so well and so quickly. He feels so tight, so full in you. It reminds you about how much you needed him in you these past few days. He curses under his breath, automatically pulling you into him. He kisses you with so much ardor, running his tongue around yours, that you temporarily forget that you’re only friends.

His large hands find their way to your ass again, sizing you up and guiding it up and down over and over again, making you bounce up and down on him. He groans out loud while he drowns in the feeling of him stretching you open and you clenching tightly around him, hearing the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs. You feel so good around him, a lot tighter than usual that he has to stop himself from coming immediately. His lips temporarily leave yours with a thin line of saliva still webbed between your mouths when he breaks your kiss. You take the chance to tell him to open his mouth wide, and he quickly obeys. You grab a fistful of his hair and pull it backward. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and you spit on his extended tongue, watching the transparent liquid slowly slide down his tongue. He swallows it and sticks his tongue out again, begging for more.

“Aww,” you coo at him while he tugs on your shirt, a little habit of his when he’s needy but too fucked out to verbally beg. “Dumb baby. Did you forget you’re still being punished?”

You lift yourself from him so that only his tip remains in you. He tries angling his hips so he can be in you again, but you only shake your head at him while trapping his waist between your knees. At this point, he can only whine your name. Your name escapes his mouth in a high-pitched rasp, slowly removing one of his hands from your ass to knead himself. He slowly rolls his balls between his fingers, tugging and releasing the prettiest moans while you watch him slowly get off by himself.

“Fine. Go ahead,” you remove yourself from his lap when you realize what he’s doing. You sit on the seat beside him while you watch him touch himself despite your pussy aching without his touch. “I was going to ask you to choose between me spitting in my dumb whore’s mouth again or ride him to completion, but it seems like he doesn’t need me anymore.”

He pauses what he’s doing to look at you with big glossy eyes. His face is hot and flushed, and you can still smell his musky scent from where you’re sitting. You almost cave when you see him look at you, your heart fluttering a little. No matter how much you love playing with DK, you will have to admit that you have such a soft spot for him. He reaches over to tug your shirt sleeve, but you only shake him off. You can’t allow yourself to swallow your pride no matter how much you want to baby him.

You think he’s going to beg for you to forgive him, but he does the complete opposite. He takes matters into his own hands by leaning over you despite the cramped space. He spreads your legs while he leans in between them.

“What are you doing?” you gulp.

He hovers his hand over your core and looks at you. You immediately nod, and he rubs your nub with his thumb, slowly inserting his ring finger in your cunt. He hooks it at the right spot, immediately making you buck against his hand in response.

“A- Ah. Baby please,” you mewl at him, begging for him to pump his finger. When he only stares at you, enjoying watching you beg underneath him as you fuck yourself on his finger repeatedly, your pride thrown out the window.

“I’m not even moving my finger and I can feel you creaming around it,” he smirks while tapping the inside of you by hooking and unhooking his finger, causing the coil in you to snap as you wail his name while riding out your orgasm.

Now it’s his turn to cock his head in amusement while he watches you desperately cling onto his arm as you continue to come on his single finger. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and your mouth can’t help but hang open while he inserts another long finger into you while you’re trembling under his touch. He continues to rub your nub in figure eights while he slowly scissors your aching and swollen cunt, knowing you’re about to cum again based on how tightly you’re clenched around his fingers, calling out and mindlessly babbling his name over and over again like it’s the only word in your vocabulary.

He feels your juices leak onto his fingers and he pulls them out of you just before your climax hits, holding it up to the large rearview window to see them well-coated with your slick and glistening in the sun. He brings the same fingers into his mouth and licks them clean when he sees a customer walking past the car. He shoves them into your mouth before you can complain, and you close your lips around his fingers, sucking on them and running your tongue around each digit.

“I’m fine with playing Simon Says,” he sighs at you while you continue sucking on his fingers while looking into his eyes. “But if you say you want to fuck me so hard that other people will see, then fucking do it right Yn,” he sneers.

He realigns himself at your entrance, slowly pushing into you. His new angle allows him to drive himself so deep into your cunt that you wail out a choked sob. There are no agonizingly slow strokes as he repeatedly pounds into you, hard, giving you no time to adjust. He ruts himself into you like you’re his toy and grunts while allowing the nastiest words to come out of his mouth, making up for all the time you lost between studying up until that moment. He’s so deep in you that you can feel him in your throat so that you can’t even utter a word, incoherent, as the springs of your car squeak to the rhythm of him relentlessly pounding in you. You’re so cock-drunk that you don’t even notice you’ve came again, this time sopping wet and onto your leather seats. You wail while struggling to keep your lips around his fingers. But they slip out of your mouth with a trail of your saliva and latch around your throat. He’s intoxicating, and you can't seem get him out of your mind.

“Was that too much?” you ask DK while you trace a heart around a plastic stencil he borrowed from the RA from the floor below his.

The two of you are sitting on the white tiled floor of his dormitory room, tracing letters and shapes on the construction paper he picked up at the store. Pop music plays from his laptop speakers, and he has his Pinterest board pulled up on his phone. After much brainstorming and a much-needed shower, the two of you finally came up with a new bulletin theme after scrapping the last one.

“It was the first time you called me ‘baby,’” there is a certain playfulness to his voice.

He proudly holds up the four-leaf clover he made by tracing four hearts on his green construction paper for you to see.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him.

Your hand accidentally slips while tracing the figure when DK crawls over to your side to look at your progress, creating a jagged line around the stencil.

“Did that cross the line?” your voice soft yet uneasy. You’re not sure if DK enjoyed the experience in the car. Maybe it was too much, you think to yourself. Maybe, it would’ve been better if you waited until the two of you got to his dorm.

“No…” he sits down on the space next to you and hugs his knees loosely. He thinks about it for a while. “It wasn’t what I expected, but don’t think I hated it,” he confesses while looking at you.

He takes a stray pencil on the floor and fixes the uneven line of the heart that you stenciled. You lean over to pick up his finished clover to compare it to yours. You frown at your crooked stenciled heart, but DK pats your head and reassures you that it’s fine the way it looks. Still, you think you should’ve volunteered to help him type his bulletin board information instead of volunteering to help him do something artistic like stenciling.

“Thanks for helping me with my board today,” he tilts his head to his side while beaming at you. You can smell his new body wash on his skin and the ocean-scented laundry softener beads he uses for his clothes.

It’s your turn to bow your head to avoid his eyes. “I told you I’d help you today,” you mumble while tracing another heart. “And I kind of ruined your original plan.”

“Yn, it’s okay. It didn’t make sense anyway,” he leans over to quickly peck your cheek. He smiles at you and lightly pinches your nose between his thumb and index finger. “Did I ever tell you that you make me the happiest?”

Someone knocks on his door, and he immediately gets up from his spot to greet his resident. You’re left sitting cross-legged on his floor, trying not to make yourself known as the resident advisor talks to the freshman with his door open. You don’t even know why you try to hide yourself. You keep reminding yourself that you’re only his friend and that there’s no shame in being his friend.

But feeling of his lips against your skin lingers a little longer than it should. It’s just a simple peck on your cheek, but it feels like your skin is burning. And for the first time in your life, you don’t complain about his kiss.

###

part two

#seventeen smut #svt smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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tonyspank · 10 months

Text

CHAPTER FIVE | GET ME

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, cheating, and yaaaa Words: 2.7k A/N: couldn't make it as long bc its almost 12 am for me lolll... i will be going to bed

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

"Are you being deadass?" Eli asks, sitting up from his bed. You nod your head, pressing the buttons on the gaming controller in front of you. "Yea..." Eli groans, shaking his head. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SAY THAT?"

You shrug, not sure how to answer. Eli sighs and lies back down, covering his eyes with a pillow. "You're so damn lucky that I love you," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "She kissed me back! And then she wore her ring again like it never happened." You say, pausing the game and turning around to face Eli.

Eli remains silent. You take a deep breath and wait until he sits up. He looks at you sighing. "They have depth, you guys do not. Plus, you haven't been showing her wifey material these last few days." You take another deep breath and try to explain yourself, but Eli just shakes his head and says, "You need to step it up if you want her to take you seriously."

He begins laughing, "Like that one meme. I'm not the stepfather, I'm the father who stepped up." He smiles, amused by his own joke. You can't help but smile too, despite the seriousness of the conversation. Looking at him, you take a deep breath and nod, determined to do better.

It was Tuesday after school, and again you were avoiding Jenna. She basically rejected you, but that wasn't going to stop you. You were adamant to make things right and treat her better than that asshole Jacob.

It felt like every day you fucked up and had to apologize to Jenna and every time she'd accept it and move on. You wanted to show her that she deserved better. You wanted to make it up to her, to make her feel special. You wanted to show her that you were the right one for her.

"I shouldn't force her into anything. I should be there whenever she needs me, right?" You ask Eli, but after a few moments, all you hear are snores filling the room. You sigh, shaking your head. You know deep down that if you really want to be there for her, you have to respect her decisions.

Letting her make her own choices is the best way to show that you care. You make a mental note to take a step back and give her the space she needs. It's not easy, but you know it's the right thing to do.

"Wait, wait, wait... so you're telling me Jacob was the one calling you?" Emma asks, and Jenna nods slowly in response. Emma looks at the girl in front of her, confused but resuming her assumption. "And he says some bullshit apology that you accept--" Jenna cuts her off, "It wasn't bullshit."

Emma stares at her, unimpressed. "It was complete bullshit," she scoffs. Jenna looks away, swallowing the lump in her throat. Jenna looks away, tears forming in her eyes. She knew what Emma was saying was possibly true, but she still wanted to believe it was sincere. "Don't cry, Jen..."

Emma reaches out and gently wipes away Jenna's tears. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Jenna looks up and nods, a small smile forming on her lips. "Then Y/N confessed to you? I'm still shocked about that."

Jenna takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, it was a surprise. She said she remembered our kiss and wanted something more out of it." Emma takes Jenna's hand in hers and squeezes it. "I'm here for you, always." Jenna looks into Emma's eyes and nods, her smile growing wider. She leans in and hugs Emma.

Emma holds Jenna close and whispers, "It's okay, I'm here for you." Jenna nods, feeling relieved and comforted. She pulls away and smiles, grateful for her friend's support. "Thank you, Em."

Emma smiles and wipes away Jenna's tears. "Anytime," she says. They embrace again, and Jenna can feel the warmth and love radiating from Emma.

It's now nighttime. You're back in your room and Jenna's in hers. You didn't talk to her because she hasn't given you the opportunity to. You lay in your bed, texting Eli.

eli - what if she jus farted in ur mouth

you - bro wht

eli - deadass like

eli - ur eating the ass and she jus farts in ur mouth

you - why are we even talking about ass eating?

eli - can u not kink shame me here?

you - im abt to block u

eli - ur so fukcing mean rbo

Jenna exits her room, entering her bathroom. She turns the lights on, raising her phone to take a photo of herself. She was wearing a white silky lingerie nightwear dress. She smiled as she looked at the photo, satisfied with how she looked. She then sent the photo to Jacob, biting her thumb as she waited for his response.

A few moments later, Jacob replied with a string of heart emojis. Jenna smiled, relieved that he was pleased with her look. Her heart began racing as she pressed on to your messages. She started thinking about all the possibilities of what could happen if she sent them to you instead. She took a deep breath and clicked on the photo, her fingers trembling with anticipation. She hit the send button and waited, her heart pounding. She closed her eyes, hoping for the best.

You rise from your bed, exiting your conversation with Eli. You saw the message and opened it. Your eyes widened as the image appeared on your screen.

jen <3 -

She was so fucking gorgeous. Did she mean to send you this? You felt your heart racing as your eyes slowly took in every detail of her. You wanted her, wanted her more than anything. You quickly composed a response, eager to find out if she meant to send it to you.

you - jenna?

you - was this an accident?

Jenna stares at your response, her cheeks turning pink. She takes a deep breath before responding.

jen <3 - no, it wasn't an accident. i wanted you to see it.

She watches as three grey dots appear on the screen, bouncing around every now and then. Her heart pounds in anticipation of what you're about to reply, then it stops as the dots disappear. She stares at the screen in disbelief, feeling a mix of confusion and disappointment. She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, shaking her head in frustration.

Until she hears your bedroom door open, she quickly leaves the bathroom, meeting you in the middle of the hallway. She looks up at you with a mix of emotions on her face, not knowing what to say or do.

You take a step forward and bring her into a heated kiss. As she begins to relax into it, she wraps her hands around your neck pulling you closer if that was even possible.

You tap on her thigh and she jumps up, wrapping her legs around your waist. You carry her to your bedroom and lay her gently on the bed. You cover her body with yours as you continue to kiss passionately. She moans, her hands exploring your body as you deepen the kiss.

You break apart, your eyes locked on each other, and the heat of the moment intensifies. "You're so beautiful, Jenna." You move your lips to her neck, gently kissing and nibbling as she sighs in pleasure. You feel her body trembling beneath you and you can't help but smile. You pull away and kiss her forehead tenderly, and she gazes up at you with a look of pure bliss.

You lean in and whisper in her ear, "Do you want to continue?" Jenna looks up at you with a small smile and nods. You press your lips against hers and kiss her deeply, your hands exploring her body as you do.

She wraps her arms around your neck as your tongues dance together. You can feel the heat radiating from her body as your passion builds. You break away, both of you breathless.

Her hands reach under your shirt, touching and gripping every part of your torso. She whispers your name, her voice filled with desire. You draw her close and kiss her again. Your longing for her grows with every touch. She takes off your shirt and you do the same for her. She pulls you close and your skin touches, feeling the mellowness radiating from each other.

Her hand leaves your core, and she reaches for your shorts, pulling them slightly. You slide out of your shorts and began kissing down her body, she gasps in pleasure, and you feel the same. "Y/N," she gasps out, tangling a hand in your hair.

You smile against her skin and continue exploring her body. You feel her trembling beneath you as you move lower, and you can feel her anticipation. You finally reach her inner thighs, and you know she's ready for you. Because she's so damn wet. You slide two fingers into her and she gasps, her back arching up off the bed. You watch her reaction, a smile on your face.

You start to move your fingers in and out of her, and her breathing gets more ragged. You feel her muscles tense around your fingers. "So...so good." You lean back down and tease her with your tongue and fingers, driving her wild with pleasure.

Her body trembles and she grabs onto your shoulders to steady herself. You began attacking her clit, flicking it with your tongue as you thrust your fingers deeper and faster. "Y/N! Fuck!" She shudders, her orgasm reaching its peak. "I'm gonna..."

"CUM!!" she cries out in pleasure. You slow down and kiss her softly as she comes down from the high. She wraps her arms around you, her body still shaking from the pleasure. She looks into your eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. She takes a deep breath and pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

The two fingers that we're just inside of her raise to your lips, and just as you're about to suck them off she stops you, her eyes burning with desire. She does it herself instead, staring at you through her brown hooded eyes, her full lips pressed together tightly, the tip of her tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar on her fingers. She licks them clean, then leans in and whispers in your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "Lay back, let me return the favor."

Were you dreaming? Again?

You do as instructed. She begins to kiss your neck and nibble gently on your ear. Her hands explore your body, caressing your abs. "I love how fit you are. It turns me on so much." You can feel yourself getting aroused. You can feel her breath on your skin and it sends a shiver down your spine. You turn to her and kiss her and she pulls away too early for your sake.

She lies on your legs, her eyes burning with passion as her hands rest on your sides. You feel your heart skip a beat as you gaze into each other's eyes. Never breaking the gaze she grabs your cock, and starts stroking it with her delicate touch.

You feel a wave of pleasure run through your body as she moves her hands with gentle skill. You can barely hold back your moans as you give in to the intense pleasure.

"Keep your hands on the bed." She lowers her head and takes you in her mouth, her tongue curling around you as you feel her warm breath on your skin. "Oh my." You rasp out, clenching the bedsheets under you. Her tongue moves in circles, exploring every inch of you as her soft lips massage you.

She pauses, her eyes fixed on yours as she licks her lips, her movements becoming more passionate. You can feel the tension inside of you building, as she hums and sucks, pushing you closer to the edge. With one final stroke, pleasure rushes through your body. "Fuckkkk."

She smiles, sitting on your stomach as you are left panting with satisfaction. She leans in and kisses you softly, her hands caressing your face. She sits back up, a hand skillfully reaching behind her, teasing you again with a trail of fingers. You exhale in pleasure as she continues to explore, and you're hard again.

She straddles you again, lowering herself onto your erection. A hand helps while the other rests on your core, scratching you slightly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're so big, baby." You grunt as she begins to move, her body pressing against yours as she rocks back and forth. She leans in and kisses you deeply, her tongue exploring your mouth.

When she leans back up, you grasp her hips, pushing them deeper with each thrust. You're truly in a daze, the pleasure too much to take in. You cry out, throwing your head back.

A quiet smack is heard throughout the room. "Keep your eyes on me." You quickly look up, locking your eyes with her. She smiles, her eyes twinkling with delight, but it fades away as her mouth opens widely, gasping your name out.

Your right hand leaves her waist, travelling up to her face. You cup her cheek lightly, caressing it with your thumb. She then turns her head, sucking on your thumb as her eyes never leave yours. You feel your heart racing, your skin tingling as she looks up at you. She was so fucking hot. She lets go of your thumb with a loud pop, grinning at your reaction.

You move your left hand to slap her ass, and she lets out a yelp of pleasure. You sit up, wrapping your arms around her waist, as she laughs and kisses you passionately. You fall back onto the bed, still holding her close as the kiss deepens.

She pulls away, her eyes full of desire as she whispers your name. "I'm about to cum." You grip her hips as she begins to quiver, her breathing becoming faster. You feel her tighten around you, waves of pleasure radiating through her body. She collapses on top of you, both of you panting with pleasure.

You lay her on her back, and she bites her bottom lip, looking up at you in excitement. You lean down and kiss her, your tongues intertwining as you move in rhythm. You enter her again, and you both let out a sigh of pleasure.

Your movements become more passionate, and her breathing quickens. A hand finds its way around your throat, pulling you back into a kiss.

Your pace intensifies, and her body trembles with pleasure. Her grip around your throat tightens as she reaches her climax, screaming out in ecstasy. "Y/NNNNN!!!" You follow behind, pulling out as your body shakes with orgasmic pleasure.

You collapse onto the bed, the two of you panting and sweaty. You smile and pull her close, your heart beating in unison. She lays her head on your chest, a hand pushing some hair off your forehead. You take a deep breath, content and satisfied.

What was the next step after all of this?

The next morning was just as normal as could be. You're sitting across from each other at the dining room table. You're a bit more smiley than usual and she notices.

"What are you smiling at?" You looked down, blushing. "Nothing," you said. She smiled knowingly and said, "It's okay, I know what you're thinking. I'm happy too."

Your eyes look at the ring on her finger and you clench your jaw, quickly taking a sip of coffee to hide your anger and confusion. She stands up, walks over to you and places herself on your lap. "It's okay," she says. "Let's just enjoy this moment." You look up at her and nod, giving her a small smile.

She wraps her arms around you and leans in for a kiss. You close your eyes and feel the warmth of her lips, instantly forgetting the pain in your heart. She pulls away and you open your eyes, finding yourself in a world of color and beauty.

"Do you wanna go shopping today?" You ask, your thumb rubbing against her waist. She smiles and nods, her eyes twinkling. "Sure," she mutters, staring at you before placing a kiss on your lips.

You just wanted to allow yourself to enjoy this and you knew she wanted to do the same.

taglist - @alexkolax @raven-ss @godsfavouritelesbiann @jennasslut @niqmandu @amburntfreeman @returnnofdamac @starry-night17 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @morganismspam23

#reader insert #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wattpad #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna x reader #get me #jenna x g!p reader #jenna x y/n #jenna ortega x g!p reader #jenna ortega smut

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mammamiagoth · 6 months

Text

Pulp | Bo Sinclair x Reader

warning: smut, subby bo, handjob, edging, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, no mention of genitalia/gender neutral, bo refers to reader as mama (no mommy kink tho), fluffy ending.

a/n: i found this in my drafts and was possessed by the horny spirit to finish it and i’m not mad about it. i do mention bo being bound bc it’s hot and i wanted to and he loved it so don’t come for me.

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” you coo, your breath ghosting over Bo’s bounding pulse, the thick chords of muscle tensing at the sensation.

You hadn’t lied, he really did look beautiful— body bound and pliant, his skin balmy with perspiration, pupils blown from the combination of lust and desperation he was drunk on. Hours of edging had worn him out, his pleas for release morphing into frayed syllables, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Does my pretty baby need to cum?”

He can only nod in response, his hips rutting into your palm as you stroke him at a torturously slow pace. You delight in the way his cock twitches at your dulcet tone, your words giving him false hope, but Bo knows better than to think you’ve had your fill.

The languid momentum you’d built up did little to satisfy him— it was by design, every touch purposefully pushing him toward the precipice of relief, only for your hand to recede.

You see the bob of his adam’s apple, his voice coarse when he grits out “baby—fuck— baby please,” pathetic in his attempt for your mercy.

You only smile cruelly in response, amused with the man beneath you, but you remain intent on breaking him. Fingers lithe as they tease his aching cock, up and down with a noncommittal grip that makes him arch upward.

“If you keep that up, I might not let you cum at all.” The words are sadistic but your features remain soft as ever, a syrupy sweetness in your tone that could rival honey.

The click in his jaw is unmistakable, reminding you of just who you’re dealing. You revel in the fact that only you can reduce him to tears, have him impotent to your every whim with a single look— probably less.

You hear him mumble through clenched teeth, an apology, barely coherent with the way he’s fumbling his words.

“What was that, handsome?” You tenderly stroke his chin while your other hand grips his girth at the base with enough force to have Bo lurching forward.

He recovers quickly, though his voice is noticeably strained when he speaks again. “I’m sorry, just— please, mama, I need it so fuckin’ bad,” his baby blues finally spilling over in time for you to lick away the briny trail.

This was the Bo you loved the most, submissive and malleable. None of that macho bullshit— you’d never cared for it much anyway. He was so much more than that, and hell, he did apologize…

“Oh honey,” you mock but begin stroking him more purposefully, his breath hitching in relief. “I’ll let you cum, you just gotta tell me who’s cock this is.”

He looks at you, steeling his visage before answering “it’s yours, mama. All of me, it’s yours.”

And with that, you move to straddle him, your panties pulled to the side as you lower yourself down with a strangled “fuck.”

Bo looks a mess, a moments notice from spilling inside you and the sight alone is nearly enough to send you over the edge. He says nothing as you grind above him, letting you take from him, completely at your mercy.

“I’m so close, Bo,” you cry out, making sure to meet his covetous gaze, “but if you don’t cum with me, you don’t cum at all.”

At the sound of his strangled moans, you clench around him, creaming his cock as he writhes in desperation. You almost miss it with the way your ears are ringing, hours of built up tension leading to this singular moment, his face contorted in pleasurable bliss as he spills inside of you. The warmth pulsates and envelopes you both. You let your head fall to his shoulder, hands wandering down to release his binds. Bo wastes no time to pull you into his chest, a steak of dominance you let him indulge in.

“Damn, mama,” he rasps, lips pressed to your head. “You drained me fuckin’ dry.”

You can’t help but giggle, satisfied and sated to the bone when you see how fucked out he looks. His eyelids flutter, heavy with sleep. It’s endearing, the way you can render him dazed, forever under your thumb when everyone else remains at arms length.

“Come on, big guy,” you yawn, letting yourself melt into the man beneath you. “Let’s go to bed.”

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfic #bo sinclair #house of wax #my writing

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rigberts · 1 month

Text

gojo just got a million times funnier as a character bc a little snippet of dialogue was released where he says some race science bullshit about Miguel having stronger bones and a different physique bc he's not Japanese and Miguel calls him out for it and gojo apologizes immediately even though he has a huge reputation for being an unrepentant asshole...he realized right away that he said some racist ass shit he pulled out of his ass lol

#unlearning race science with gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #miguel jjk

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castlecult · 2 years

Note

saw you wanted frank castle requests!! how about him after he did something dickish (like get overly protective and preachy abt readers safety) and now readers not exactly giving him the silent treatment but isn't as affectionate. thank you!!

an : hello anon !! thank you for sending in a request and sorry it took me a few days to reply <3 i’m not very proud of the initial part, i think it’s a weak reason and it’s poorly written but anyway *looks away* … i chose to write for gender neutral reader bc you didn’t specified a gender, i hope it’s okay and that you’ll enjoy it !!

warnings : use of pet names ( baby & darling ), sad frankie, sad but fluff in the end !!! not proofread

gif here

“why would you treat me like that?!” you stormed into your apartment, followed by frank. “why would– are you being serious now?” frank raised his voice once the door was closed.

“yeah, i am! you acted like a piece of shit, all of that in front of matt. just because i’m slower than you, that doesn’t mean that i don’t know what to do or how to defend myself, okay?” you said while pulling off you jacket, trying to keep your tone low given that it was almost five in the morning.

frank didn’t agree. “bullshit! you almost got hit by a sniper, you completely lost your target and were about to die if it wasn’t for red!” he kept screaming at you. you knew it was just his fear and worry taking control but you couldn’t really excuse him now, you two have been working together for so long it disappointed you that his trust in your abilities was that low.

“oh thank god daredevil exists!” you turned to look at him. “i’m tired of arguing frank, just say that you don’t trust me and go,” you said before walking towards your bedroom.

“hey! do not walk away now, huh?” he followed you and you rolled your eyes, sighing. “i wanna sleep, okay? i don’t care about whatever excuse you have for your behaviour. i hope the couch is comfortable enough for you,” you pushed a pillow and a blanket to his chest, then waited for him to exit the room.

frank stared at you for a moment, a bit taken aback by your behaviour. he mumbled something under his breath and then walked into the living room, leaving you alone.

—

“hi baby,” franks voice filled the kitchen. you were eating, sitting by yourself. “hi,” you simply said, keeping your gaze focused on the newspaper.

frank sat by your side and kissed your cheek. you said nothing and kept reading the news, ignoring his presence. “i’m sorry about the yelling, it was really late,” he said after a while.

“yeah,” you got up and started washing the dishes, sighing. frank just watched you, a bit confused. he cleared his throat and got up, scratching his neck. “so um… i got a thing, to do…” he started, hoping you would turn around. “with curtis.”

“have fun, i guess,” you simply shrugged, without looking at him. “it won’t take long,” he added soon, getting closer, “okay, frank.”

he didn’t say anything, just kissed your cheek once again and got ready to leave the apartment. once you heard the door closing you released a long breath you were holding.

“asshole,” you muttered. you hoped he would enter and apologise for his behaviour, but instead all you got was an apology for the last night’s yelling, which you didn’t really care about because it was a consequence of what happened.

you spent the day doing stuff around the apartment, you also went out shopping.

you were almost falling asleep in front of the tv when the door opened and closed, you heard his heavy steps and quickly sat up, almost forgetting the way you decided to treat him.

“darling, i’m back!” his voice filled the apartment. you yawned, tiredly. you turned off the tv and freed the couch for him. “hey,” he finally showed up and noticed you were approaching your bedroom. “welcome back, frank,” you simply said before closing the door behind yourself.

frank silently stared at the closed door, confused once again by your behaviour. he finally understood that you were angry about something and he was the main reason you were acting like that.

what he would never think about, not even for a second, was that the reason you were upset was the way he treated you the other night, in front of matt.

you laid down, groaning. you weren’t expecting him to come into your room, so when he opened the door and entered you slightly jumped up.

“what now?” you asked, annoyed. “okay, enough,” he said and came sitting on the bed. you faked confusion, watching him. “don’t act a fool, i know what you’re doing,” he added.

“oh, i see,” you nodded and laid down again, turning your back to him. “stop treating me like that, y/n,” he sighed and gently grabbed your hand. you freed yourself and kept silence, staring at the wall.

“i’m tired,” you said, noticing frank was still sitting there, without moving or saying anything. “i know, but i can’t wait to talk tomorrow,” he said, his tone serious. “no, i’m tired about you not trusting me,” you corrected.

frank felt his chest tightening, scared he was about to lose you. “w-what?” he chuckled nervously, as if the words you just said were foreign to him. “you heard me,” you replied.

you sat, angrier than before. “you think you’re the best out there. well, i guess you are… but that’s not the point,” you shook your head. “you always complain about matt, and i understand that because you guys have different opinions, but me?” you met his eyes, taking note of a glimpse of fear. “you always complain about what i do, you say that it’s all because you want me safe, that i risk my life every time i try to help you guys, but you try to protect me in the worst way possible.”

you took a deep breath, noticing frank wasn’t gonna say something. “i know that you care about me, you care so much about the people that you love and maybe you don’t even realise that… but frank, you gotta stop acting like a dipshit, getting angry because people don’t do exactly like you said,” you moved a bit closer to him, sighing. “there are good intentions behind your actions, i know that for sure, but it hurts… the way you look at me, the way you speak in those moments…” you noticed him looking away for a moment, clenching his jaw.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a second. he reopened them and met your eyes, gently grabbing your hands. you let him, waiting patiently for his next words. “baby, i- shit, i’m scared of losing you, like… i hate when you come along with me and red, but not because you’re not good, but because i’m scared that the second you’re out of sight you won’t come back to me.”

you felt him squeezing your hands, nervously. “frank, baby, i know that this scares you, but maybe we can find a way to work together… i mean, being a better team okay?” you tried to show him a smile, letting him know that you weren’t that upset with him. “you always act like you have to protect me, like you have to save me… but i’m here to help, not to make you more stressed,” you caressed his cheeks, comforting him. “i wanna help, but you gotta let me do it,” you spoke softly.

“i know, baby… i can’t help it, it’s just…” frank sighed, struggling to find the right words. “it’s okay, i know what you mean,” you said before hugging him, holding him close to your body. “i’ll stop treating you bad, but i make no promises about the protect you part, you got that?” he said and you chuckled. “i figured you would say that, but that was the point,” you kissed his cheek and then his nose, making him smile.

“i’m sorry for my behaviour,” you looked at him, feeling guilty. “don’t. i probably deserved that, i’m a piece of shit,” he caressed your cheek and stared at your lips for a moment. “i still don’t know what is holding you back from walking out that door and never come back,” he said that chuckling, but you knew that deep down frank feared that day with every cells inside his body. “you give the best bear hugs and no one can resist to those,” you kissed his lips and smiled.

extra an : feedback and reblogs are super appreciated !! if you wanna send me your thoughts about frank hit my inbox <3 have a good day

#rin writes #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle blurb #frank castle drabble #frank castle imagine #frank castle one shot #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher #frank castle #jon bernthal #marvel

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vhvrs · 4 months

Note

what's ur fave episode from each season of rick and morty?

s1 - e10, close rick-counters of the rick kind (e6 rick potion #9 close tie tho). for obvious reasons but also just for being a solid lore and at the time episodic adventure. s1e6 can carry itself really well too

s2 - either e6, the ricks must be crazy, or e9, look whos purging now. s2e6 has the same charm as s1e6 with how rick is completely in over his head and refusing to back down n only barely keeping him n morty from getting killed. also his iconic tank that everyone used to point to as proof he was trans ftw. i think e9 is just especially gorgeous

s3 - e7, ricklantis mixup. no contest (the experience of premiere dropping n the rush of experiencing it raw gets it close tho). haunting look into the way the citadel functions n look at how a specific dynamic can manifest on finite. also president morty ftw

s4 - e8, the vat of acid episode. the specifics of how the reset button works, how over the top gruesome rick made it just to get at morty, the absolute nothingburger that started this bc of another bullshit scenerio rick started. peak.

s5 - e8, rickternal friendshine of the spotless mort. neednt say more.

s6 - torn between e3, bethic twinstinct, and e8, analyze piss. both are solid from start to finish n dont pull any gotchas on their themes for a cheap joke by the end. canon rickcest n the beths being an official canon couple vs the absolute panic and guilttrip rick gets on over pissmaster while struggling hard to know how to be sympathic is tough.

s7 - too solid of a season.....another tie. both e5, unmortricken, and e3, air force wong, do rick lore shit im obsessed w while also doing shit im effy on (prime morty getting totally thrown away n evil morty tossed in for cheap fanservice its hard to tell if the show wanted u to see unity as in the wrong or rick but i hate that it made it feel like apologizing to him at all). actually no jerrick trap was my s7 goat, nothing id change abt it and they put burger in booty shorts. 10/10

#caffeine-hifi

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jssysimp · 2 years

Text

mcyt reaction to reader tripping

includes: wilbur soot, karl jacobs, georgenotfound, sapnap, dream and tommyinnit

they/them pronouns if pronouns are used.

tw: none, i think-

~~~~~

you two were walking together at a park after spending the afternoon together laying on the grass (with a small blanket underneath, of course), talking about the stupidest shit ever when you tripped on a pebble face planting.

wilbur soot

he stares at you for a few seconds before bursting into laughter

you have to help yourself up bc he's too busy laughing, almost in tears

he eventually calms down

is very worried despite the laugh session several seconds before because of a small cut on your face

'are you okay y/n?'

'yeah, yeah. i totally didn't just fucking fall face first into the fucking dirt!'

makes you sit down on a bench to check for any wounds, besides your face

if you scraped your knees or hands, he'll get some water to clean them up apologizing for laughing so hard

before laughing again as he remembers the fall

mf slept on the couch that night

karl jacobs

he's by your side right away trying his best to not burst out laughing

helps you up before helping you walk to a bench nearby (he didn't really need to but, you appreciated the gesture nonetheless)

he then proceeds to start laughing as he checked out your hands and knees

he grabs a water bottle from his backpack and the pack of paper tissues grabbing one to clean the wounds

'how did you even manage to fall?!'

'hey! not my fault that pebble decided to appear out of nowhere. :('

'i think it was already there, y/n, i don't think it puffed out of nowhere.'

kisses the boo boo bc it makes the pain fly away

buys you some ice cream/candy to make you feel better

cuddle session at home!!! :D

georgenotfound

starts laughing right away calling unnecessary attention from others

helps you up still laughing

stops when he sees you with teary eyes and a red face from embarrassment

coos at you before helping you go to somewhere more hidden

'y/n, you're so clumsy, oh my god...'

'i hope you try as well, dickhead.'

blows gently at the wounds while cleaning them

cleans a tear or two that escaped your eyes cooing at you

after making sure you're fine, the dickhead starts laughing again

another mf who ended up sleeping on the couch

sapnap

he stares at you with a slightly opened mouth before chuckling

helps you by pulling you up with full force, which ended up with you colliding into him causing the two of you fall

you both start laughing like crazy people imagining the chaos from another point of view

helps you get up again but more carefully this time

'dude, how did you even manage to trip over a fucking pebble?'

teases you while checking to see if you had any bad scraps

hugs your shoulders the entire way home

before absolutely destroying your reputation by telling dream, who was in a call with george, who was streaming

this mf also slept in the couch, before you eventually made him go to bed because you felt cold <3

dream

he would probably fret like a mother over you

helps you up while scolding you over being so clumsy

while you two are walking to a bench so he can check your hands, he trips on a pebble

you look at each other in complete silence before all hell breaks loose

'AND AFTER SCOLDING ME FOR FALLING TO MAKE THINGS WORSE!'

'LEAVE ME ALONE, BITCH!'

you two bicker while checking each other's hands and knees

you spend the entire walk home laughing and teasing each other

when you get home, sapnap is the victim to your bullshit

cuddles while he streams because faceless streamer (you almost fell when he jumped up after winning a game)

tommyinnit

you both stare at each other as he slowly sits down besides you so you didn't feel embarrassed

he checks your hands and knees

he gets up before helping you up as well

you two walk in silence before he finally says something

'how did you even managed to trip on a pebble?'

'god has its favorites and i am not one of them.'

buys some candy for you (he ends up eating majority of them)

keeps checking on you to make sure the wounds didn't sting much

ends up being so annoying, someone intervened to ask if you were okay and needed help because he kept bothering you every ten seconds

he obviously tells what happened on stream sounding highly offended when talking about the last part

#dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp #sapnap #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #karl jacobs #georgenotfound #wilbur soot #reactions #x reader

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justarandomhelluvablog · 8 months

Text

anyway here's screenshots from my favorite scene of the thing- I have watched this again and again because their emotions and the animation here.... it's so good-

Oh the faces of horrible misunderstandings....

He used to be so sweet..... baby boy... look at him, smiling. Who wouldn't love him-

keep this shot right here in mind

This could be the first sign of the Blitz Fizz used to know. He's surprised and confused by Blitz' outbreak, and he probably only thinks Blitz might be telling the truth because Blitz is crying.... like, legitimately crying. The expressions and voices here are so- hhh so good. Like a little moment of realization.

Not shown here bc Idk how to make gifs but the little motion of Fizz unclenching his fists....

And his immediate reaction to seeing the guy with the gun- no hesitation, no panic, he just immediately grabbed Blitz and pulled him to safety. Maybe it's because no matter what he says he still cares, no matter how much anger and resentment he feels he still doesn't want Blitz to die... or maybe it's just because finally, after fifteen years, he's finally getting the answers he's been wanting. He's finally so close to finding out why...

this shot came into my house and punched me in the feels look at them, Blitz' desperation and Fizz' confusion and surprise...

Fizz thought Blitz set the fire on purpose, out of jealousy.... but it was an accident. Blitz was going to confess. You cannot convince me that letter is not a confession, it has a heart and there's a flower- Blitz didn't want the spotlight, he just wanted to be with Fizz.

But Blitz' own self doubts got him, and he didn't.

with how harshly he threw the letter to the ground, he was either already fighting his self worth/self hatred issues, or he realized (maybe bc his father gave Fizz a "wish you were my son" card) that Fizz would never see him as anything more than a friend/brother. Either way I think it's very clear that Blitz had a crush on Fizz.

Remember when I said remember that one screenshot? Yeah this is why- keep in mind at this point in time Blitz was nothing more than a circus kid (tho I think by this time he was in the 18-20 range? Still young but an adult) and has never dealt with anything like this before. Like he said, so much was happening and he was trying to get help- because he didn't think he could help, himself.

Now, onto the scene-

Blitz trying to tell them that Fizz was in there, that he needs help, please- and then....

On the direct opposite side, Tilla's tent (hospital tent? either way, Blitz knows his mother is in there). He runs towards this tent- and to Fizz, all he sees amidst the chaos is Blitz running away.

ALSO. "You have no idea what I lost in that fire." Fizz never even knew Tilla was dead. We realize that's what that line implies, right? Fizz didn't know that Tilla died in the fire.

Fizz trying to hold onto his anger but he can't. Because that fire took so much from everyone there that day.

And-

this very subtle shift in Fizz' expression when Blitz says "I'd hate me too." Blitz doesn't even have to add the "I do hate me, too" for Fizz to clearly understand what's being said here. Again if I could make gifs I would absolutely gif-loop this expression change, screenshots don't do it justice.

And after this, Fizz finally starts asking questions. Why didn't you tell me any of this before? Why didn't you visit me even once? Even just once would have been enough. The revelation that Fizz would have forgiven Blitz a long time ago if he had just told him and apologized and had just... been there for him.

Fizz has been wondering for years, and now that Blitz has opened the door to the conversation, Fizz is nearly begging for the answers.

And then, of course....

"You were all I had left, Fizz. But they told me you didn't want to see me."

"I never told them that!" | "Bullshit. You didn't?" | "No! And no one told me you came!"

And the immediate understanding that they were both lied to. That someone kept them apart. That someone turned them against each other.

Blitz went to see Fizz- to explain, to check on him, to apologize, because that was his best friend and Blitz loved him, and of course he would come, but he was turned away, told Fizz never wants to see him again.

And Fizz, waiting for Blitz to come but having him never show up... never getting his questions answered, having to fill in the blanks- and maybe he's been lied to again and again, kept in the dark, and they never told him that Blitz came.

I wonder who did that... Mammon would be my guess.

But it's interesting to note that immediately after this revelation, Fizz starts fighting. He's not just standing there while Blitz fights- after they finally realize the misunderstanding, not only does Fizz start fighting, too-

They actually start fighting together, playing into both of their strengths- Fizz' speed and flexibility, and Blitz' impressive accuracy with a gun. Fizz might not be good at fighting, but he can sure lift this imp around like a ragdoll, and he's figured out by now that when Blitz aims his gun, he doesn't miss. All Fizz has to do is aim Blitz and Blitz does the rest.

This right here is the face of a guy who knows- yeah, might not be perfect, and there are so many years to make up for, and Blitz still has a lot of making it up to him to do, but he has his friend back. Finally, after so many years- he's back.

Also just- how genuine Blitz' happiness at Fizz' happy relationship is... I love them so much. And how much Blitz loves love? Just knowing Fizz is happy and with someone who truly cares and understands.... and Fizz realizing that Blitz is honestly, genuinely happy for him??

"You're still on the horse thing?!"

Man, some things just don't change in fifteen years.

#helluva boss #spoilers #fizzarolli #blitzo #sort of an analysis I suppose?

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outercrasis · 2 years

Text

Alleviating Boredom

Pairing: Frank Castle x afab!Reader x Din Djarin

Word Count/Rating: 5.4k / Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT, reader uses gn!pronouns, a few uses of girl bc it's Frank ok?, reader is a brat, M/F M/M dynamics, fingering, oral (f&m), unprotected sex, dirty talk (let me know if something was missed)

Summary: Staking out a motel isn't as fun as it seems, but maybe it isn't all that bad.

A/N: HAPPY belated BIRTHDAY @honestly-shite I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH!!! My apologies for this being late, but it needed to be done right for your special day. I adore you and writing this filth for you feels like the very least that I can do to show that 😘🥰💕

Also a huge huge thank you to @sergeantbannerbarnes who beta read this and was an absolute lifesaver when I got stuck with this! I couldn't have done this without them 💕

It’s been days now hiding out in this old musty motel. You feel like you’re losing your mind. You haven’t been this stagnant in years, forced to wait and see what shakes loose. If it weren’t so important, you probably would have left this room behind long ago and fought your way for answers. Unfortunately that’s a bad idea right now, as your two fellow companions keep reminding you of when you inevitably start getting antsy again.

You’re laying on one of the queen beds, back against the creaky headboard waiting for something to happen. You turned off the TV a while ago, irritated by the same ads playing over and over again. There was nothing good on anyway.

Frank is sitting at the small excuse for a table they put in this room, field stripping and cleaning his gun again. You’d complain more if you didn’t love watching the elegant way his fingers move around it. They carefully trace every angle, every contour of the weapon, making sure that every square inch is as spotless as the last. He’s meticulous, so absorbed in the meditative monotony of the task that he doesn’t even notice your staring. Din does.

Din always notices. It’s one of the things you love about him, his sharp eyes saving both of your asses on multiple occasions, but you hate when those same eyes are turned on you. He never misses a trick. For fuck’s sake, he noticed how into Frank you were before you realized it for yourself.

What’s worse is now that Din knows, he teases you relentlessly. Around Frank it's nothing overt, subtly pushing your buttons to see you get worked up until you break and drag him to the bathroom for relief. It seems to be Din's main source of entertainment while you're cooped up in this place. You can’t really blame him – lord knows there’s nothing else to do while you’re here.

When you're alone is when Din pulls out all the stops. His thick fingers pumping in and out of you, whispering filth in your ear about how he knows you wish Frank would fill you up while Din lays claim to your throat. You don’t have any deniability with the way your cunt clenches at the thought. You haven’t been able to look Frank in the eye since Din put the idea in your head days ago.

Sensing the shift in your mood from across the room, Din drops the curtain from where he was peeking behind it.

"See anything?" Frank asks, not looking up from his gun.

"Still nothing."

For a moment, you think Din is about to walk over to the bed and tease you, but then he decides to do something far worse. He heads towards the door.

"I'll be back. We need more food if we're going to be stuck here longer."

You know exactly what he's doing, the bastard. You don't miss any of his tricks either. Jumping up from the bed, you frantically look for your shoes wherever you kicked them off the other day. "I'm coming with you."

Din shakes his head. "Sorry mesh'la, too big of a risk. Stay here and keep Frank company."

You're glad Frank doesn't bother with looking up. If he did, he would have seen the bullshit teasing smile pulling at the corners of Din's lips despite his dry delivery giving nothing away. He slips out the door before any further argument can be had and you're left standing, still shoeless, in the middle of the room glaring at the door.

You glance over at Frank, who you catch watching you out of the corner of his eye. Now things just feel awkward. Your clear eagerness to be out of the room, your recent inability to look Frank in the eyes, much less hold a conversation with him – it's all too much.

Din's presence has been the only thing acting as a buffer. Now that he's gone you don't know what to do with yourself. Uncomfortable with the situation you and your renegade fantasies have helped to create you lean back on the only defense you know.

You plop down on the edge of the bed closest to Frank. Silence stretches on, only the strange ambient noises of the motel room and the slight squeak of fabric on metal as Frank scrubs the barrel of his gun to fill the air. It feels like a dam about to break.

"How many times are you gonna clean that thing? I thought after the first five times you did that it would be squeaky.”

Frank huffs and continues cleaning. You decide to poke the bear a bit more. “Seriously though, are you that bad at cleaning it or is it something else?”

Gently, Frank sets the gun down. You didn’t really expect him to give in so quickly. Din usually lasts considerably longer when you’re trying to get under his skin. Then again, Din knows it’s a game.

“What’s your deal, huh? You go days not lookin’ at me, hardly saying a word, and now what? You’re givin’ me shit for keeping myself occupied?”

You’re desperately trying to not focus on the spread of Frank’s legs or the thickness of his fingers laced together. You drag your eyes up to his face. He’s squaring you with a look you don’t care for. Sizing you up, trying to figure you out. It’s enough to keep you from becoming completely distracted by the gorgeous sharp angles of his face. So unlike the beautiful curves of your Mandalorian and yet still so inviting.

You continue to deflect. “You know, when we decided to team up with you I thought there would be a bit more punishing.”

“Is that it? Got your panties in a twist because you don’t like waiting a little bit?” he grunts. You try to ignore the dampness you feel pooling in your panties at his mere mention of them.

“My panties are not in a twist.”

“Nah, nah, that’s right,” Frank says, leaning back in his chair, thrusting his hips slightly to make himself comfortable. His thighs look particularly inviting in that position, the denim doing nothing to hide how thick and powerful they are. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, eyes narrowing in that way they do when he’s irritated by something. “They’re in Din’s pocket aren’t they?”

Well shit. You didn’t see that coming. “Excuse me?”

“Listen, if the two of you are going to fuck in there again at least turn on the shower or something for me, yeah?” Frank asks, thumb jutting over towards the bathroom.

Your face burns at the thought of Frank hearing you, of what he could have heard. It’s not like you and Din have been coy about your bathroom activities, but you were at least trying to keep it down. You bit Din hard enough to bruise the other night in an effort to keep your noises contained. Apparently through cheap motel walls that’s not enough.

You’re about to give this up, stammer out some apology or something when you realize – Frank won’t look at you. It’s so unlike him, always staring his enemies down, always taking them head on. It gives him away.

“You know what? I think you’re jealous.”

Frank chuckles a dry, nearly humorless laugh. “Is that so, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I think you are. I bet you wanted to press your ear up against that door and catch every little sound. Probably jacked off to the bits you managed to hear.”

Frank suddenly zeroes in on you, like he's placed you under a microscope. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Knowing that I was listening in?”

You balk, not expecting him to turn the tables on you so quickly. He hit the nail on the head and while you could lie to him outright words are failing you completely. You don't want to lie. You want to see what he'll do.

He keeps talking when you don't. “Yeah, I thought so. You’re terrible at playing things close to the chest, girl.” He looks smug, making you desperate to turn things back around on him. You’ve never been good at letting someone else have the upper hand.

Getting up from your perch on the bed, you scoff, stretching, making a show of it for Frank to watch. You know he is – his eyes are burning into your skin, greedy for the small strips that are revealed. "You know what, Frank?"

"Hmm?"

"You're right. I am terrible at it."

You climb into Frank's lap, inviting yourself directly into his space. He doesn't know what to do. His hands hover over your body, unsure of whether or not he should even touch. You can see the thoughts buzzing through his mind, completely thrown off by this sudden turn of events. You're more than a little proud to have caught him so off guard. It’s not often anyone gets one up on Frank Castle.

You lean in towards him, still curious to see what he might do. His eyes are searching yours, caught like a deer in headlights, until you break eye contact – dipping down to mouth along the column of his throat. Biting at his jugular, you feel his breath hitch, his large hands finally finding a place on your hips.

“What- uh- you can’t- Din-” His voice comes out like gravel, caught between pushing you further onto his lap or throwing you off.

“He said to keep you company.”

“I don’t think he meant like this, sweetheart."

You give an experimental roll of your hips against Frank. His hands squeeze hard, pulling you down against the growing bulge in his jeans despite his own reservations.

“You’d be surprised. With the way he talks about you, he might like you more than I do. He’s just too chicken shit to make the first move.”

You nip along Frank’s sharp jawline, crushing your body against him before capturing his lips with yours. You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, watching as Frank licks, thumbs, or bites his lips, and fuck does he deliver. It’s so different from kissing Din and no less exceptional.

Din always kisses you like it’s the last opportunity he’s going to get. Overwhelming, devouring in all the best ways. His tongue sliding across yours, sucking at your lip, never the first to pull away. Messy and raw, all the parts of himself that he usually likes to keep wrapped up and hidden away.

Frank kisses like it’s a dance. There’s a push and a pull, his mouth chasing yours while leading it somewhere new. You thought he might kiss like he fights – Harsh. Brutal. You were so far from the truth. All his hard edges smooth away, revealing something tender, something fucking romantic underneath it all.

You haven’t stopped rolling your hips, grinding down onto him. It feels like all too much and not nearly enough. Too many layers of fabric are preventing you from feeling him how you want to – the arms of the chair cutting uncomfortably into your legs as Frank takes up too much space in the small seat. It’s driving you crazy, so close to what you’ve wanted for too many long, drawn out days and unable to properly seek your satisfaction.

“Fuck, fuck, you gotta stop if you don’t want this to continue,” Frank groans beneath you.

You find the soft spot just beneath the corner of his jaw, sucking and biting at it until it starts to bloom a beautiful purple. “Do you think I’d start something I can’t finish?”

“That fuckin’ mouth of yours,” Frank mumbles, suddenly standing – lifting and tossing you backwards onto the nearest bed. “It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

You smile up at him, lips twisting into something wicked. “I was kind of hoping it already did.”

He chuckles, pulling his shirt over his head and giving you a show that makes your heart skip a beat. You've seen Frank in various states of undress at this point, but more often than not he's been torn up and bloody or you've felt the foolish need to avert your eyes. You can't believe you were ever stupid enough to do that. He’s gorgeous.

Frank isn’t as big as Din, you’re not sure anyone could be, but the man is cut. You suppose there is something to the mini-workout routine he does in the motel that drives you insane in more ways than one. Scars litter his torso, stories of fights and injuries past, but they don’t bother you. Both you and Din don’t look all that dissimilar, all of your histories spelled out on your skin. You can’t help but wonder if Frank will ever teach you how to read his.

Staring at him, you can feel your mouth go dry but you refuse to be outdone. You sit up, tearing off your shirt and sports bra in one go to make yourself evenly matched. It has the intended effect. Frank stops just shy of the bed, staring down at you with wide eyes.

"Are we just going to stare at each other all day or are you going to do something, Castle?" you tease.

"That’s it."

Frank is suddenly over top of you, pinning you to the bed under his large frame. You can't help the tiny squeal that escapes you at his quick movement, embarrassment at letting your mask slip heating you as much as your pooling arousal. As expected, it didn’t go unnoticed by Frank. You can’t say you’re fond of that commonality he shares with Din. You’ll never be able to get anything by the two of them.

Frank chuckles at you beneath him. “You like this, huh? Didn’t expect that from you.”

Stuck as you are, all you can do is look away and avoid eye contact. No witty reply is coming to mind and you can’t, can’t give him the satisfaction of caving so quickly. Frank’s hand wraps around your jaw, pulling you to look at him.

“Don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart, you asked for this.”

You want to be mad. You want to shove him off of you, tell him to fuck off, but he’s right and worse he knows it. There’s a glint in his eye telling you that he’s enjoying this as much as you are – inspiring you to not give up this fight just yet.

“Still waiting for you to do something, asshole.”

“Christ,” Frank growls, sinking down to reclaim your lips with his. His kiss isn't bruising but his hand nearly is, keeping you firmly in place. The contrast makes your head dizzy.

You can't help but gasp as Frank begins to work his way down your throat – small bites immediately soothed by the cushion of his lips. Spurred on, you buck your hips, desperate for more of his touch.

Frank chuckles, his hands making quick work of your pants. The excitement you feel at getting one step closer doesn't last long. Frank positions his thigh between your legs, but his hands are quick to hold your hips firmly in place.

"You- ass," you grunt as you fruitlessly try to grind down.

Frank doesn't even acknowledge your curse. Instead he keeps you in place, leaning down to mouth at your breasts. It's torture of the sweetest kind. You can't get enough of him, eager to place your hands anywhere you can get them on him, and greedy for more.

You're ready to start hitting and pushing at Frank, demanding more than this infuriatingly lethargic pace he decided to establish. You have no idea if he's trying to savor or punish you – maybe both. The motel room door opens just as your hand slips from Frank's shoulder.

Din isn’t carrying any grocery bags. Clearly he decided following through on his excuse to go get more food wasn't necessary. You're not really complaining. This way you might get some actual relief sooner rather than later.

Shutting the door, Din moves his hands to his hips, an amused smile playing on his lips. "I expected you two to be farther along."

Much to your disappointment, Din's appearance makes Frank move away from you and not closer. You glare at Din, knowing that he’s enjoying being a temporary cockblock. You’ve never been very good at delayed gratification. “Not helping."

Din's eyebrow arches at your comment and you know immediately that you've done nothing to help yourself. He sits down in the seat Frank was previously in, folding his hands in his lap. "Grab their hands, they like it when they can't touch."

Frank doesn't hesitate. In one fluid motion he's holding your wrists together in one hand, keeping you firmly in place. A thrill runs down your spine even as your eyes go wide. There hadn’t even been time to try to resist.

"Din, Din, please-" you beg, allowing yourself to break only the smallest amount. It could be enough to break him too.

To your horror, Din chuckles. "You got yourself into this mesh'la. I know you're smart enough to get yourself out."

"Ba-AHH-stard," you squeal as Frank slides his free hand under the band of your panties, the pad of one finger carefully grazing your clit.

"There they go with that fuckin' mouth again," Frank chastises.

"You get used to it," Din comments dryly, like he's talking about the weather. Any smartass comment dies on your lips as Frank’s fingers dip lower, gathering your slick, before bringing it back up to circle your clit. There’s no helping the moan that escapes your lips or the way you chase his hand, demanding more that he keeps infuriatingly out of reach.

Din, true to his word, does nothing to help. If anything, the heat from his stare watching the two of you is only serving to make things worse. They have you pinned down literally and metaphorically – both of these infuriating men more than content to slowly and methodically break you down. You can’t deny that it feels amazing, but you’d also really really like to speed things up.

The edges of your mind are starting to go fuzzy with pleasure. You can hardly remember being bored out of your mind on the other bed, waiting for something exciting to happen. All the entertainment you could ever want is now being provided and yet the still functional parts of your brain are screaming out for more.

You can just see Din over Frank’s shoulder. He’s clearly affected by the sight before him and you decide to give him the final push to join the two of you on the bed. “Din baby,” you call over to him. “Are you really going to let Frankie have all the fun?”

You’re mostly expecting it to backfire. The tactic is pretty transparent, but between the display before him and the neediness in your voice you think it’ll convince him. Frank smiles down at you, knowing your play exactly, and then takes you by surprise as he finally sinks a finger inside you. You think your gasp is what convinces Din to join.

Your eyes slide shut in pleasure, but you can hear the clink of Din’s belt, the soft shuffle of clothes being pulled off and falling to the floor. Suddenly, warm hands are pulling your panties completely off, leaving you bare and exposed.

Frank’s pace hasn’t faltered. Even as the bed dips from Din’s added weight, he keeps his movements slow and steady. It’s maddening. Enough to wind you up, but not enough to take you all the way. Din's close presence only makes it worse.

You open your eyes just in time to see Din’s hand wrap around the nape of Frank’s neck, pulling him into an all consuming kiss. You have no idea how Frank’s fingers don’t stop. You have no idea how you continue to breathe, watching the two men fall into each other.

Frank’s hands slip from your wrists, fingers tangling themselves into the soft brown curls of Din’s hair. Passionate is the only word you can think of to describe their kiss. The enthusiasm in which they meet each other, tongues dipping into each other’s mouths. You nearly freeze watching them, distracted almost completely by the show. Regaining use of your hands though, you decide to put them straight to work.

Reaching down, you try to take both men into your hands. With Din it’s easier, his boxer briefs doing little to contain his growing length. Frank, for some insane reason, is still wearing his jeans. It’s harder to tease him through the thicker fabric, but not wholly impossible. You know you’ve done something right when you hear Frank groan into Din’s mouth, his fingers stuttering for a brief moment.

Din knows exactly what you’re up to and without looking or breaking the kiss, he reaches down to start undoing Frank’s pants. Together it’s easy work, pushing his jeans and boxers down as far as you can, which is only about mid-thigh. Before you or Din can do anything more though, Frank stands up, pulling them off completely. You’d like to stare and take in the view, but Din has other plans.

He dips down, capturing your lips and quickly replacing Frank’s hand with his own. You’re not entirely sure you could tell the two men’s hands apart by touch alone. Both of them have large hands with thick calloused fingers and both are skilled in using them to make you writhe.

Din moans brokenly into your mouth, the kiss breaking, only for you to look down and see that Frank has pushed down Din’s underwear and taken the Mandalorian’s stiff cock into his hand. In turn, Din pushes another finger into your pussy. You feel like you’re going to explode between the view before you and Din between your legs, but you can’t help at least one more taunt. You're curious to see what it will do to them.

“Is- is that all y-you two got?”

Both of them freeze and you know you’ve done it. They’ve been pushed over the edge and if you weren’t already fucked before, you’re certainly about to be.

“Have you ever heard the phrase quit while you’re ahead?” Frank asks.

“Mesh’la?” Din chimes in. “Doesn’t know the meaning of it. Always has to push it one. step. further.” To further emphasize his point, his fingers sink deeper into you, curling up against that sweet spot only he can ever seem to hit.

Frank takes a similar but different approach. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, slowly sinking it into your mouth. You can’t help but wrap your lips around him, the lingering taste of metal from his gun on your tongue. Frank looks pleased to have silenced you in any capacity. "Good girl."

There’s no hiding your reaction to that. You clench around Din’s fingers, his pace increasing and thumb landing firmly on your clit. Din sinks down your body, biting and sucking at your hip while Frank keeps you in place with his hand. His free hand reaches down, teasing your nipples and making your back arch.

“You wanna come?” Frank asks. You hum around his thumb, trying to get your desperation across. You’ve been on edge for too long now, Din rapidly bringing you closer to it. You’re not sure you can hold out all that much longer.

“Gonna stop acting like a brat if we let you?”

Any fight left in you evaporates completely as the wet heat of Din’s mouth replaces his thumb on your clit. You can hardly find it in you to shake your head yes, much less come up with any sort of retort. It’s difficult to speak with Frank’s thumb in your mouth anyway. Thankfully the small acknowledgement is enough to appease him.

Frank’s hand presses on the back of Din’s head, pushing him closer into you. You’d be worried about breaking his nose if it weren’t for the waves of pleasure crashing through you, drowning out anything else. There isn’t much technique to it at this point, but his enthusiasm more than makes up for it. It doesn’t take much for your orgasm to overtake you, Din working you through it until you begin to shake from overstimulation.

Frank’s thumb slips from your mouth, an awed expression on his face from watching you come undone. “I get why you’re always in that damn bathroom now.”

If your limbs didn’t feel so heavy, you’d probably hit him for that. Din takes care of shutting him up though, crawling overtop of you to take Frank in his mouth. Your chest is still heaving, coming down from your high. You can’t say that watching Din lick a stripe up Frank’s cock from base to tip is helping you calm down at all. Nor is the broken moan that Frank makes.

Din’s body is mostly draped over yours to reach Frank. The bulk of his weight is lifted, but his skin is still pressed against you, the softness of his stomach resting across half of your chest and left shoulder. Your hand traces the muscles of his arms and chest, more than happy to touch while he makes Frank come undone above you.

Frank is a sight to behold too. His face is flushed, gripping the headboard to keep himself upright. Din's cheeks are hollowed around Frank's cock, setting an even pace as he bobs his head.

You reach up, covering with your hand what Din is unable to fit in his mouth. You match his pace, spit slicking your movements. The noises Frank is making are sinful. You're half certain you recognize them, though they sound much better loud and up close then muffled through a thin bathroom wall. How you and Din ever thought you could be quiet enough in there is a complete mystery.

Din's cock finds the soft space where your thigh meets your hip and he mindlessly begins to grind himself down against you. Pre-cum wets your skin, lessening the friction and driving both of you crazy. It's not long before you're pawing at Din's chest, moving him away from Frank. Both men protest your readjustment with matching groans.

"Shut it," you say, guiding Din towards your entrance and pulling Frank in towards your face. You're thankful arousal hasn't clogged their brains so much that they can't figure out your intentions.

Din pushes inside you, your previous orgasm easing his way. As many times as you've had him, you'll never get over just how good Din feels – as though your bodies were made for each other. You wonder if Frank will fit you just as well.

"So fucking tight, mesh'la," Din grunts, burying himself to the hilt.

Frank waits until you've settled, gently cupping your cheek. You eagerly open your mouth, the weight of his cock heavy on your tongue. He eases in slowly, somehow still managing to be an insufferable tease, when you’d be more than happy to take him in one quick motion. He stops and pulls back when he feels the back of your throat.

They're gentle with you, letting you get used to the two of them, both pairs of hips gently rocking into you. It's enjoyable and extremely considerate, neither seeming particularly concerned with picking up the pace, reveling in what you've offered. It warms your heart, but this was not what you intended with this change in position.

You pull off of Frank with a wet pop and arch an eyebrow. "Are you two going to fuck me or not?"

Din and Frank share a look, dangerous smiles gracing their faces. "Careful what you wish for, girl," Frank growls, pulling you back towards him.

Din hikes up one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder and fucking into you deeper. You moan around Frank's cock, one of his hands now gripping the back of your head. You grab at Frank's ass, half-moons from your nails now surely pressed into the plush flesh. The pleasure is overwhelming. You can feel the edges of your mind softening, allowing sensation to override lucid thoughts.

"This what you needed?" Frank asks.

"Needed us to fuck the boredom out of you?" Din adds.

You barely manage a response, an attempt at nod of your head.

"Don't worry, mesh'la. We'll make sure you're never bored again. Won't have to keep you to myself in the bathroom anymore."

You could die at the thought of that alone. Bathroom counters start to hurt after a while, not to mention the fact that you won't have to try and keep quiet any longer. The ability to have either man or watch them enjoy each other at any time makes another wave of arousal rush through you.

You hum around Frank, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips begin to stutter, his grip loosening. "F-fuck, I'm gonna- shit- I'm-"

He spills into your mouth, the salty tang of his cum coating your tongue. You swallow him down eagerly, what you can't take spilling from the corners of your mouth. Din hardly waits for Frank to pull away from you before he's claiming your lips, tongue plunging into your mouth. You're pretty sure you hear Frank swearing more, but it's difficult to process anything other than Din.

The coarse hairs at the base of Din's cock rub at your clit, hurtling you towards your climax. "Din, please," you whine.

He knows your body well, each punch of his hips threatening to knock you up the mattress. "Come for us, mesh'la," he grunts, his own orgasm rapidly approaching.

You fall apart around him, cunt clenching and making him spill into you. Din buries his head into your neck, clinging onto you. You'd complain about his weight, but you've come to expect it. He's always a barnacle after he finishes.

When you're able to open your eyes you find Frank still on the edge of the bed, looking at you both half in awe and half with uncertainty. You slip your leg down Din's body and worm one arm out from under him.

"Come here."

Din shifts, giving Frank space to lay on your other side. He seems almost surprised that you would both invite him so willingly into your space. It makes your heart ache. You wonder about the last time he was shown open and enthusiastic affection, how long it lasted for. For you and Din it had been a long time before you found one another. You don’t imagine Frank has had it any easier.

Frank lays beside you and Din throws an arm across, touching him too. Within a few moments you can already feel Din’s breathing evening out, drifting into a light sleep. Frank snorts. “He always fall asleep like that?” he asks quietly.

You place a soft kiss on the crown of Din’s curls. “Sometimes. Usually when he’s comfortable.”

There’s some irony to that statement. You’ve been staked out in this motel precisely because of how unsafe it is, waiting for your target or one of his associates to show up. Given the nature of your lives though, you suppose there is relative safety and comfort in this room. No one knows the three of you are here. There are two strong and capable men wrapped around you. For at least right now, at this moment, there’s no danger.

"You know he's going to become insatiable for you now, right?" you ask Frank.

He chuckles. "Like you aren't?"

You playfully smack him. "I'm serious. He's fucking annoying sometimes. Always watching you and up in your business." You can feel Din drooling onto your shoulder and due to your own lovesick mind it doesn't gross you out. "He's all or nothing though. He doesn't fuck around."

"Do you?" Frank asks.

"No," you smile. "I don't think you do either, which means you'll fit right in. You already do."

Frank looks at you with an indiscernible expression before kissing your forehead. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I'll take watch."

He hasn't really acknowledged what you've said, but you know in a way that was it for him. Offering to protect the two of you while you're laid out and vulnerable. You snuggle into Din's warm body, feeling content. There will be plenty of time to impress your love onto Frank later – for now, this is enough.

Everything tags: @radiowallet @sergeantbannerbarnes @pilothusband @max--phillips @starlightmornings @moonlight-prose @practicalghost @sharkbait77 @honestly-shite @shadesofnerdlygrace @salome-c @artsymaddie @niki-xie @doin-stuff @magikfanatic @astoryisaloveaffair @tintinn16 @mswarriorbabe80 @phandoz @amneris21 @tenderwhat @asta-lily @chaoticgeminate @snarwor @stardust-galaxies @readsalot73 @xoxabs88xox @harriedandharassed @alexxavicry

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #din djarin fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #crasis writes

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bluejayblueskies · 2 years

Note

In ascending order

1. Tim. Was taking out anger better directed at Elias on Jon because he didn’t, you know, psychologically torture subordinates who got too uppity but ultimately had a very valid point about how Jon’s inhumanity made it difficult to trust him and his very continued existence causes other people to suffer also not obligated to forgive Jon for his shitty behavior in S2

2. Basira. Martin from someone else’s perspective, aggressively overlooking and excusing her partner’s crimes (despite said partner themselves not agreeing with that) to try and have their cake and eat it to.

3. Georgie. Establishes she is smart, levelheaded, and emotionally intelligent enough to deal with supernatural bullshit but then pulls a complete 180 in S4 and also has a massive double standard where she gives Melanie credit and support for wanting to get better but also punishes Jon by cutting him out of her life for *checks notes* being alive. She’s very frustrating but she does also own up to that and apologize and I will give her credit for that.

4. Melanie. Literally just wants to be mad at anyone but herself and refuses to acknowledge how her own choices got her into the mess she was in. She admits to Jon’s face that the bullet stayed in her because she wanted it and still continues to treat him like crap.

(i'm assuming this is in response to my 'i'm still mad about how people treated jon' post)

i do agree that tim doesn't owe jon forgiveness for the stalking, but i don't agree with the 'jon's continued existence causes people to suffer' part of this. i'll always be a believer in 'jon is allowed to be alive without being punished for it.' (i won't get into the inhumanity bit since i find that i define 'humanity' differently than other people, and i think what you're trying to say is that jon becoming spookier makes it hard for tim to trust him, which is something i would agree with.) i think a lot of tim's anger at jon comes from fear and feeling trapped rather than actual hatred towards jon, actually, but i don't feel much up to crafting an actual meta for that at the moment, sorry!

aside from the fact that i don't think daisy's crimes (hunting down and killing people for years as part of the police and engaging in police brutality) and jon's crimes (forcing people to relive their trauma against their will, but ultimately not killing them) are equitable, i don't think that martin actually excuses jon's actions. he's the one who gives the s4 archives crew the tape with jon's victim and thus makes jon stop taking live statements. martin supports jon in seasons 2 and 3 when he's being hurt and tortured and has few people in his corner, but he's also very ready to call jon out on his actions if need be. i don't think basira and martin are very similar at all.

i agree with most of this point! georgie's double standard in s4 is very frustrating, and she does recognize at least a bit in s5 that she wasn't the better person for just running away from it all.

any time i think about melanie, i just remember how everyone (including jon himself!) told her not to get involved with the institute but she did it anyway (very watcher-aligned of her). her arc is actually one of the most interesting to me bc of how much anger and the need to claw her way to the top motivates her, and i genuinely think that under different circumstances, she and jon might have been the kind of friends who rib each other constantly but would fight god for each other.

#ask #anon #forgive me if this is too argumentative i can't tell if you're agreeing with me or trying to present an argument against me #or something in between #but yeah the only side character i genuinely dislike is basira #the rest i find quite interesting even when i >:(( at how they treat jon sometimes #tma discourse #(i also did not write this up to be a very In Depth Well Thought Out Meta so keep that in mind!#i'm too sleepy for that haha)

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winderlylandchime · 8 months

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I am back with reports for 2x01! I really apologize for how insanely long this is but he took me for a ride. We started off strong with him walking in, sitting down with a soda opening it and cheering to the sky and going ‘let’s fucking go!!!!!’ Hits play, sees the opening where Mikey pops up, hits pause, looks at me and goes ‘where the fuck is the boy?! I want the boy! This is bullshit’ when it showed Brian he went ‘ahh there’s one of the boys..oh no he’s not good. This is bad. Where’s the boy? I need him’ Then the Britin in the hospital scene popped up, he literally paused it, hands up in the air screamed ‘THE BOY!!! HE LIVES!! HES ALIVE! OH THANK GOD I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKER! HELL YEAH. And brian is there!!! LETS GOOOO! HE VISITS EVERY? EVERY WHAT? TELL ME! Why not? Brian why do you hate me’ Immediate next reaction to Mel,Linds and Deb where they talk shit was ‘man fuck yall, he was just there! I saw him with my own two eyes! I may be a little high but i know what i saw! I only took the light shit so far!’ NOW THE SCARF! THE GASP HE LET OUT! first he did say ‘stop being creepy’ to Mikey. And then THE GASP! ‘HES FUCKIN WEARING IT UNDER?! HES BEING BLOWN IN THE CLUB WHILE THE BLOODY SCARF IS ON HIM? OH HE IS NOT OKAY! HE IS ALSO IN LOVE! OR SOMETHING! I mean i know its love but he’s clearly still in denial’ The Britin reunion? First of he was so sad about Brian being drunk, kept saying why tf doesnt Mikey realize how bad it is? My favorite quote was ‘I know hes not okay and ive known him for 23 episodes, how can YOU not MICHAEL?! Hm?’ And then the reunion? ‘FUCK YEAH AGAIN BABY! I AM WINNING WITH THIS EPISODE!!’ He was so fucking sad during the loft scene. Oh the joy of having my brother scream for the second time ‘HE DID SEE YOU!! EVERY SOMETHING, THE LADY DIDNT FINISH THE SENTENCE! BUT HE SAW YOU EVERY SOMETHING! I SAW HIM MYSELF! WITH MY OWN TWO EYES!!’ ‘He doesn’t remember the prom?! HE DOESNT REMEMBER THE DANCE?! THE JEEP PART?! GONE?! GONE BC OF THAT LIL BITCH WITH A BAT?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY IF HE DOESNT REMEMBER BEING KISSED BY A GUY IN HIS SCHOOL WHERE THEY ALL BULLIED HIM FOR IT?! HOW?!’ And then Brian shared his memories and when I tell you my brother paused the ep and walked away. Came back, sat down and went ‘i no longer think i can ‘lets fucking goooooo’ this, this isn’t fun anymore’ Worthy mentions afterwards: ‘no more david??! Yeah! fuck you and your bone cracking business’ ‘oh he’s gonna see him again!! I take it back what i said before: LETS FUCKING GOOOO AGAIN BABAY! I AM HAPPY! THEY ARE BACK!!! *makes claw like hands and shakes them* THEY!’ ‘okay i dont like her but girl, how can you be shocked she doesnt wanna marry you? That was embarrassing for all three of us! Why did you make me witness it?’ ‘Brian showed up in court! See! If he didnt care he wouldn’t show up to stupid court! I should know i tried to get out of jury duty once….i failed tho’ ‘he got his ass glued to the toilet..you know what? Good for Brian, he deserves this’

The end scene was my favorite thing he said, it actually made me giggle bc it was so accurate. So it was them tossing the ball and Jen pulls up and he pauses it and goes ‘oh no, this doesn’t have the right vibesssss. Brian is here. And Justin is here. And they’re being cute. So this means that whatever is about to happen with them is probably going to hurt me. *looks at me in shock* why am i saying probably? Oh God, this is gonna fucking hurt’ Jen delievers her lines and my brother goes ‘EVERY NIGHT! EVERY NIGHT! WHY ARENT WE TELLING JUSTIN THIS?!…JEN! Girl! That was not chill at all! You are ruining my vibes jen. Why would you say that to him while he looks like that?’ And then in a high pitch almost cry sound goes ‘but he caresssssssssss about him Jen! Jenny! Jenny jen! He cares! Cmonnnn I’m sure we can come to an agreement all three of us together! Cmon jenny jen! I know you saw how he had to swallow to say he cares! IT WASNT HIS FAULT IT WAS THAT DUDES! He’s sad and pretty and you’re gonna be mean to him? In front of me? NOT CHILL JEN! NOT CHILL AT ALL! You ruined the vibes, whatever the fuck they were..oh fuck, i need my meds!’ And when Brian drove away, he went ‘SIR! If you don’t make a U-turn right this fucking second! HOW DARE YOU NOT MAKE A U-TURN! YOU careeeeee! I care! He cares! We all careeee, so why do i have to suffer bc of a woman in a blazer’ that was followed by a pause and him getting up, taking a pain killer looking at me and going ‘this is going to be a bumpy fucking ride, now excuse me I have to go outside for no particular reason’ he then went to the front door (he had me worried there ngl bc he is only days after very serious surgery), opened it up and just stared out. Now i do have a neighbor and i heard her say ‘hey __, you okay?’ And he went ‘do I look okay to you? I am having a horrible time’ and then he closed the door, went back inside and called our mom again. Like I said, rollercoaster. Except they give you acid before getting on the ride.

Oh my god. Dear sweet anon, you are doing the lord’s work. Thank you for this detailed report. I think the evidence points to “straight cis men: not so different” because maybe he uses different words “let’s fucking go baby!” but his reaction is all of us. Whether it’s cringefail marriage proposal to hating David to his devastation at Justin not remembering prom to SCREAMING AT JEN to noticing the SWALLOW (and the look up oh god he looks to the sky and it is everything) before Brian says that he cares about Justin to screaming at Brian for sacrificing himself for what he believes is in the best interest of Justin.

His point about Brian showing up to court and trying to get out of jury duty and how this means he cares takes the damn cake.

I love your poor neighbor and what is she to think with “do I look okay to you?” and your mom who is getting these phone calls from her fully adult son beside himself about two fictional characters from 20 years ago.

Brother Anon, welcome to the fandom.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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aknosde · 2 years

Text

standing through

Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington’s Mother // Steve Harrington & Everyone // (everyone being the s4 hawkins crew) // Angst with a Happy Ending // Injury // Not Canon Compliant // takes place in that two day time skip and eddies alive and max isn’t comatose bc i like them too much // Mother-Son Relationship (a v complicated one) // based on this post // 5k

ao3

—————

The gist of it is that Nancy looked at Steve.

At their poor rendezvous spot in the woods, halfway between Eddie’s trailer and Vecna’s house, Robin and Eddie look at him and Nancy and say, “We can handle the kids, but you guys are the only ones with enough experience to tell us what to do next.” Steve thinks experience is overrated. Steve thinks if anything has changed since he was sixteen, preparing to apologize to Jonathan Byers at his front door and taking Nancy Wheeler’s bat instead, his proficiency in planning for the apocalypse is not what has improved. The bat is in his hand, three years later.

“Okay,” is what Nancy says, and Robin and Eddie go to check on the kids—Lucas had carried Max all the way here, and he has one hand in Erica’s hair and the other wrapped around Max’s back, keeping her from tipping over with Dustin on her other side. Together they look like puppies discarded in the rain.

Nancy leads him a little ways away, to a tree, and Steve leans his weight against it and pretends his hand is on his hip because he needs a place to put it and not because he’s holding hoping it will keep all of his guts from spilling out. It’s standing here with Nancy Wheeler, the two of them the only pseudo-adults of this posse that have been here since the beginning, that she looks at him. Expectantly. Which, all things considered, makes not even a lick of sense. Nancy just shot Vecna with a shotgun. Steve got swallowed by watergate and has approximately a gallon of demobat venom coursing through him.

“Why are you looking at me,” he asks. He’s not even a hundred percent sure she is looking at him, at first. It’s dark out, and his vision is doing this thing he remembers from the Russians where it gets all blurry around the edges. But her face is supposedly turned in his direction.

“You’re the babysitter.”

Steve blinks.

“Look,” Nancy says, and that’s the pointificating voice that taught him the word pontificate. “You have more experience with the kids in situations like these. You’ve spent more time with them. You know them better.”

“Bullshit, you’ve known them longer.”

“I know you don’t have siblings, Steve, but I have to tell you that I don’t spend a lot of time with my brother’s friends on purpose. They’re great kids, but I have my own friends.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one of them, asshole,” she says, punching him gently in the shoulder.

He rubs the spot dramatically, but instead of making Nancy roll her eyes it makes her features soften with concern. He waves her off, despite that the motion pulls on the bites.

“So?”

“Alright, give me a moment to think about it,” he says. The mood has lightened some, but standing face to face like this with Nancy—the smartest person he knows, who has just given him full authority over a gaggle of children and three other teenagers—is a little intimidating. He feels like she can look through him. With how well she knows him, she could probably get through his skin, if not to his heart. Steve wipes his hands on his bloodstained jeans nervously and looks over her shoulder.

Eddie has managed to pull Erica and Dustin away from Max, and now is watching Erica demonstrate a hand game with Dustin that Steve vaguely recognizes from being in third grade and sitting against Hawkins Elementary’s chain link fence, waiting for his dad to pick him up. Eddie was not so successful with Lucas. He’s pacing behind Max, who is sitting up of her own accord now and speaking with Robin, crouched in front of her. Her walkman has been crushed, but no one appears to be worried about it. Blood has crusted beneath her eyes, down her face. She looks ready to keel over any second. Steve feels ready to keel over any second.

“My house.”

“What?” Nancy asks, but he’s too tired to really explain himself.

“Let’s go.”

All things considered, this is one of the better ideas Steve has had in times like these. They have to walk to his house due to Eddie’s continued status as a suspected murderer and the fact that half of Hawkins’ road have been ripped to shed by a supernatural earthquake, but they make it there, and that’s all that really matters. He wants to keep everyone together, no matter how much the kids’ parents would probably prefer to have them home. From experience, and he’ll welcome it here, the first nights pass better in a group.

He’s lost his keys, but it doesn’t really matter. If Steve hopped the back fence and broke the glass doors in the dining room to get inside his parents wouldn’t ever know, and if Eddie Munson unclips a safety pin from the vest Steve is still wearing and picks the front door’s lock, they wouldn’t know that either.

Once inside, he gives directions and then puts the house in Robin’s care.

Eddie, who has been supporting roughly three-quarters of Steve’s weight since they crossed Clover’s Creek and who whistled rather loudly as they entered the house, sets Steve down on one of the dining room chairs and begins poking around. Lucas wanders in circles around Max’s spot on Steve’s couch, looking out at the pool, and Erica joins Eddie in both looking through a shelf of records and criticizing Steve and his parents’ taste in music. Dustin is the only one of the kids who has spent any time in Steve’s house—Steve doesn’t like to be here, when he can help it. Living alone was nice until he realized the house was so imbued with his parents that it makes it difficult to relax anywhere that’s not his room. The only reason he does spend so much time here is because Robin prefers it to her house, where by the nature of her parents’ near constant presence they can’t speak freely.

Robin takes authority over the household with her typical manic energy, seemingly elated to be doing more than trudge through the woods and helping Lucas carry Max. She puts Nancy in charge of cleaning up Lucas’ face in the downstairs bathroom, leaves Dusin to take Erica into the kitchen and find snacks and water, and busies herself with collecting every spare mattress, blanket, and pillow in Steve’s living room. Steve instructs everyone to call their parents and tell them they’re safe.

He wonders, for a moment, if he should do the same, but realizes it’s extremely unlikely that his parents have any idea something has happened in Hawkins from their hotel in Nevada. Or maybe it’s New Hampshire. Either way, if they find out he’s hurt, his father will have a way to spin it into being Steve’s own fault and they’ll come home and then Steve’ll have to watch his mother over his father’s shoulder while he’s being chewed out, with that concerned expression of hers and the way she tightly clasps her hands in front of her and never says a thing. Steve has long since expected anyone to stand up for him, but it still stings watching his mother.

When Nancy has ushered all of the kids into bed—fed and hydrated, if not clean—and Eddie has closed the blinds and turned a lamp on, Robin pulls Steve into the vacated downstairs bathroom and removes the piece of Nancy’s shirt that has been keeping him together for over a day and goes through the process of disinfecting—instructions she had received earlier courtesy of Max and her experience in skateboarding wipeouts. Steve bites his tongue and hisses through his teeth as she does it, focusing not on the venom dripping out of him but Eddie, who is pacing up and down the length of the hallway, checking on the kids and Nancy asleep in the living room and watching Robin work on Steve.

Steve doesn’t remember sleeping the first night that winter three years ago. He remembers Robin calling him last summer, three in the morning and she couldn’t sleep alone so he snuck into her room and slept on her carpet, leaves from the bush outside her window stuck in his hair. He remembers the winter before that, Billy Hargrove and contaminant inhalation putting him in the hospital overnight, Hopper coming in from checking on Will and falling asleep in the chair next to Steve’s bed.

He tells Eddie to claim a spot before Robin gets out there, she'll hog the blankets, and when Robin finishes he tells her to go ahead without him, he can stand on his own, and when he joins them all in the living room he finds them all asleep.

In the light of the pool, fitting through the blinds, and the lamp they all agreed was better left turned on, he can see that Robin has collapsed face first on a duvet between Nancy and Erica; Lucas has finally left Max’s side, curling protectively around his sister, who is curling towards him in turn. To Lucas’ back is Dustin, spread starfish with a foot sticking out from under the knitted blanket he’s sharing with Lucas and nearly jammed in Eddie’s stomach.

Steve grabs his bat off the kitchen counter, shrugs back into Eddie’s vest, and takes a seat on the floor, leaning his back against the base of the couch, giving himself a direct line of sight to the front door. He reaches across the couch, finds Max’s pulse steady, tips his head back, and falls asleep.

—————

He’s not quite sure why he wakes up when he does.

His house is quiet, just the sound of air pushing through the vents and the gentle lapping of water against the pool filter, and still. Light is filtering paley through the blinds and the window over the kitchen sink, tinting everything in blues and greys. He’s barely moved since falling asleep; the only changes being Eddie, who must have shifted to give Dustin more room and now has his legs thrown over Steve’s lap, and Max, who is clinging to the arm Steve must have left on the couch after making sure her heart was still doing the pumping blood through her body thing. He looks down to confirm his bat is still in his hand.

It’s on his way to tip his head back up and hopefully fall asleep again that he hees her.

Standing upon the precipice to the living room, Margaret Harrington, coat on and hat in place, drops her coordinating leather handbag to the floor.

Sometimes it feels as if all Steve has done in his life is stand through shockwaves. He is no stranger to them, in theory or in actuality. Steve stayed on his feet through his grandfather’s death, through his parents’ fights, through his breakup with Nancy and the social ramifications therein. Not twelve hours ago he felt Vecna’s earthquakes ripple through this town. Now, the sound of his mother’s purse, leather on tile, ripples through him like an alarm.

Apparently, he’s not the only one.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Robin shouts, jerking to her knees and rubbing her face groggily. It works out for her for about two seconds before she loses her balance and sends her arms fumbling for purchase. The purchase she finds is Erica’s hair.

Steve remembers learning about Rube Goldberg machines in school. Whether it was in middle or high school, he doesn’t know. With a gun to his head he wouldn’t be able to say what class he studied them in. But he knows enough about them to know one when he sees it, and he also knows enough about them to say that what is unfolding in front of him is ten times more amusing—and appalling, considering his mother’s presence—than watching a VHS tape in class.

Erica, still curled towards her brother’s chest, cries out and moves to push Robin’s hand away. Unfortunately, she can’t exactly turn over with Robin on her hair, and instead she slaps Lucas. Lucas calls, “Hey!” immediately, but in his attempt at retribution Erica pushes him into Dustin, who kicks out. This wouldn’t be much of a problem if Eddie was still in his original spot, where he probably would have been kicked in the shin, but due to his shift he actually ends up being kicked in the face. Steve, who has been awoken by Robin kicking him in the face on several occasions, both sympathizes and anticipates the way Eddie jerks into sitting. What he does not anticipate is the way Eddie doing so yanks on his arm, irritating the burn on the back of his bicep and pulling his hand from Max’s grip. She grumbles and sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“Mom,” Steve chokes out, the only thought in his head, it’s too early for her to be home, playing on repeat.

“Oh shit,” Lucas says.

“Mrs. Harrington,” Nancy greets, sickly sweet and in a manner matching the all As, goody-two-shoes persona of her freshman and sophomore years. She, rather predictably, was not woken up due to bodily harm, and looks miraculously fresh-faced in the light of a new day.

“Nancy,” his mother responds in a tone that implies that she would purse her lips while speaking if she could. His mother has always liked Nancy, or at least she liked Nancy on the two occasions they met; the tone is for him.

“Watch your language, young man,” she says to Lucas, who has stood up at some point.

He nods seriously and says, “Yes ma’am,” before turning wide eyes towards Steve. Everyone has wide eye, split between Steve and his mom. It makes him feel like he has been pushed into some sort of arena for an unknown sport, and all of his friends are afraid of seeing him torn to pieces.

“Hi, Mom,” Steve tries again.

His mother turns her gaze from Robin, who had been awkwardly waving at her, back to Steve.

The last time they made eye contact so pointedly, Steve remembers vividly, was when they came home for his graduation. It was also their first trip home since he told them he didn’t get into college. She had looked him in the eye right as his father had begun a lecture that had definitely leaned towards yelling, volume wise. Her own silent way of saying, you earned this.

Steve has always been closer to his mom than his dad; she made him sandwiches when he was too short to reach the counter and tucked him into bed after nightmares and comforted him after big fights with Tommy. Even now, following his father on business trips, she calls every other week, asks about work and his friends, and comes home once a month to see him. But, when it comes down to it, she is his father’s wife, and no matter how many times they fight, or his father cheats, she will always be his father’s wife.

Looking at each other then, eyes meeting over his father’s back, was probably the last time they made eye contact, period. He can’t tell if it’s good or bad that he remembers it so clearly.

“Steve,” she says in the voice that means she’s actually saying Steven, but hasn’t gotten to the point where she’ll call him by his full name in company. “Are you going to stand up and tell me what’s going on?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Steve has never had much of an understanding for his parents’ obsession with standing in the face of adversity. When beaten, shamed, or admonished, Steve’s greatest desire has always been to curl up in bed with the TV on until the rest of the world becomes nothing more than a fuzzy grey static. He spent a considerable number of nights doing just that when he was younger; whether it was because of a lost game or meet, a bad test grade, or his parents shouting downstairs. The only time it has ever made sense to him is in the middle of a fight; no matter how many times he gets knocked down he does his best to stand right back up. Steve may not win many fights, but he’s nearly always the last person standing tall. It’s a more literal interpretation of adversity than his parents mean—what his father really wants is to be able to lay into Steve and make him internalize it all until he’s miraculously successful—but it’s all Steve’s got.

So, despite that there is nothing Steve wants to do less—even with antibacterial gel and more tylenol than he should probably be taking, he is roughly eighty percent certain that he will list over if he get up in any manner or speed that can be considered normal—he takes the arm Max had been clinging to in her sleep, sets it against the frame of the couch, and, bat still in hand, makes his way to his feet. You’ve always had a thing for beating odds, Hopper told him once. He used to come to Steve’s basketball games when the nights were slow, apparently. Probably has been to more games than Steve’s parents.

It’s only when standing three feet away from her that his mother finally lets her gaze solidify on him, her expression change. It’s an easy face to identify: inspective. He doubts he’s spent a single day in her company without seeing it directed at one thing or another. Even the way her eyes dart around him is familiar; he can feel her picking and tucking at parts of himself. His shoes, beaten to hell and back; his jeans, stained by mud and blood; Eddie’s vest, riddled with hand sewn patches. She skips over the bandages, he knows. Very few injuries he sustains are not his fault, in his parents’ eyes. The bat, he thinks, dried guts and goo stuck on the nails, is the final straw.

“What,” she says slowly, eyes quickly snapping to his grimey face, “have you been doing?”

“I–�� he starts, only to be silenced by the hand his mother holds up. It’s a good thing too, because he has no idea how he’s supposed to answer that. The government has always established the cover story before he gets anywhere near having to relay it to his parents.

“Not here. We’ll do this…” she looks pointedly around the room, “… privately. Outside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. There haven’t been many times in his life that he’s felt the need to speak to her in the way he’s begun to speak to his father over the years—carefully, and shaped with a false if hardy respect—but he feels it now. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he tells her back, already headed out of the sliding glass doors and into the backyard.

“Holy shit,” Dustin says, loudly, the moment the door closes behind her.

“Keep your goddamned voice down,” Steve says, digging a thumb into his temple as if that will suddenly give him a perfect explanation for carrying around a bat full of nails and seven strangers sleeping in the Harrignton house.

“No, no, he’s right,” Max says. He’d be annoyed with her if this wasn’t the most alive she’s sounded in months. “Holy shit, that was your mom.”

“I know.”

“She’s nice,” Eddie says, tone clearly indicating something else.

“I know that too.”

“Are you… alright? What do you need?” Robin asks, and instead of answering her, Steve rests his forehead on her shoulder and groans. She moves one of her arms around his back and settles her other hand at the nape of his neck. A hug, he realizes too late to return it. It’s comforting, nonetheless. Miraculously he finds himself able to think properly for the first time since he woke up. Robin truly is magnificent.

“A shirt,” he says after a moment.

“What?”

Steve pulls out of her embrace and takes a step back. If movement didn’t tug at his demobat bites and exacerbate their ache he would pace. Nancy always hated it when they studied together, said he’d never learn the material if he couldn’t sit down and read the book. Robin reads novels while walking loops around Family Video. Steve thinks best on his feet.

“I need a shirt,” he says, “and a good excuse.”

Stepping outside, Steve is sure his mother has decided to set their conversation here because of how deeply she knows he hates the backyard. In the late winter months of 1983, which his parents had spent mostly at home due to Steve’s recent run in with the law, he had begged them to get the pool filled in. They said that Barbra Holland had gone missing from it, she hadn’t been killed in it. She had, of course, been killed in it, but his parents didn’t know that. Since that winter, sending Steve into the backyard has been one of his father’s favorite punishments. Especially with company over—what self respecting teenager would hate getting out of a party full of stuffy adults? His mother hasn’t done it until now, though. Maybe it’s just because she wants to smoke.

Crossing the patio, Steve has, in no particular order: a fresh shirt courtesy of Robin, advice on lying courtesy of Eddie, and a promise of pancakes from Max, who looked far too empathetic for a fourteen year old. He has also left his bat inside. Hopefully his mom will forget about it.

“Steve.”

She’s taken her coat off, folded it and draped it on the back of a deck chair. Her purse and hat sit, placed carefully, on the dusty glass surface of the outdoor table. She looks too clean against the backdrop of the backyard in her matching plaid skirt and sweater.

“Ma’am,” he greets.

“Mind telling me who I just met?”

Speaking with his parents has always felt like participating in a tennis tournament wherein every match he finds himself the receiver. The ways in which being receiver puts him at a disadvantage varies. Sometimes, he finds himself playing doubles without a partner. Sometimes, he finds himself in an unconventional three-way singles match. Sometimes, he finds himself playing one v. one. Whichever it is, it’s better over the phone, and whichever it is, it’s easier when he hasn’t disappointed them.

So, regardless of the distaste for his friends his mother has expressed in the ten or so minutes he’s been awake, and remembering Eddie’s advice, he says, “Of course,” and does as she asks, praying she hasn’t seen Eddie’s picture on TV.

When he’s done, his mother takes a drag of her cigarette and puts her smoking arm at rest in a way that makes her appear as if she’s made of nothing but angles.

“I never understood your fascination with that Buckley girl.”

“I never understood why you can’t remember her name is Robin, given how much I talk about her,” he snaps. Her sharp, ageless eyes meet his, and suddenly Steve doesn’t need to recall the feeling of cowering under her glare, he’s living it. “Sorry, ma’am.”

His mother hums, looks out at the pool, takes another drag.

“There are certain things I trust you with, Steve,” she says after a moment, turning back to face him. The inflection of her voice is cool and clear, pointed and sharp. It’s one he can only attach to a single memory: being six years old and clutching her skirt in his father’s office as she spoke to his secretary, who he’d never seen again. He doesn’t much like being on the receiving end of it.

“In fact,” she continues, “there are certain important things I have been entrusting to you for quite a long time. There are not a lot of things in this town I take seriously. It’s women for one. It’s police for another.

“The one thing ,” she says, taking a step forward and using her cigarette to emphasize her words, “I have always taken seriously here”—another step—“is our reputation. Your father may have had money, but I made us The Harringtons. I put the capital T in ‘the,’ and I worked my ass off to do it

“That” —she rests her index finger on his sternum, lit cigarette only an inch away from singeing his shirt— “is what I entrusted to you.

“And I was right to do so,” she says, taking a step away again. Steve exhales. “At least I was until last year. So, you’re going to tell me what the hell seven strangers, only three of whom come from respectable backgrounds, are doing in my house. And what clothes you were wearing when I walked in. And then I’ll decide what I’m going to do about it.”

Her voice settles like the smooth surface of the pool, leaving him feeling like a drowned man standing shakily in the cool air with how much she has given and taken from him in the past minute. In all of his fights with and between his parents there has never been a lack of heat. There has never been an I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. For every accusation of infidelity or expensive shopping habits or drug use, there have always been shouts fired off like cannons and someone stomping up the stairs and bedroom doors banging shut. The emotions don’t exist separately for his parents, and maybe not for him either. That might be why her claims burn him. She’s poured and drained her trust in and out of him, and it pierces like a lance.

“I was out,” he says. He’s clinging to Eddie’s advice—Just stick as close to the truth as possible, Harrington—with all he’s got, but that doesn’t stop the words from feeling numb on his tongue in the way they only do when he’s trying to stop a fight with his parents before it starts and ends up making everything worse. “I was out,” he repeats, “during the earthquake. I was with Nancy and Robin by the lake when it started. We ran to higher ground, through the forest, which is where we bumped into the kids and Eddie. We decided to stick together so no one got lost. It was late, some of us were hurt, so I offered to let them spend the night.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the measured, near toneless way he’s speaking, or the fact that he’s created a story so simple, with nothing more to protest than generosity, but his mother appears appeased. She nods slowly as he talks and when he’s finished she puts her cigarette out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call and ask first,” he adds. It’s meaningless. His father doesn’t care about his day to day life as long as he’s not attracting the wrong type of attention and his mother only cares enough to call twice a month. It’s been this way since he was twelve. His parents never expect him to check in, and not in the least because they move hotels every week. His mother nods again.

“And the clothes?”

“What?”

She gestures to his pants, ripped in places and imbued with dirt and blood. “The clothes you were wearing.”

This, he thinks, is what she really cares about. He puts effort into his appearance, to the point that his friends will tease him about it and to the point that people in school would talk about, but compared to his mother he might as well roll out of bed ten minutes before he leaves and grab the closest clothes off the floor. Where she’s always been his guide, she and her concern over image have always made his biggest critic.

He grits out an explanation of falling debris and the kids being hurt, hiking through mud and rubble and slipping. When he tells her about Max walking through brambles and a falling branch hitting Lucas in the face he doesn’t include an excuse for the bandages around his stomach and he doesn’t know why besides the thing in his heart that tells him to do it, that begs her to call him out.

She doesn’t but she does nod, say, “Alright,” pat his cheek, assure him she won't call his father and light another cigarette. Her tone has changed to something more normal, the voice he hears on the other side of the phone, and besides the fact that they’re standing out on the patio it begins to feel like one of her normal visits.

“I heard they’re doing emergency relief at the middle school, so I’m going to go over,” she says, collecting her belongings. “Throw those jeans out and clean up the house, will you?”

“Yeah, mom.”

She smiles, then, and it makes him wonder if she actually likes being called “ma’am” when she’s angry or if he just does it because of his dad.

He trails her on her way through the house and to the front door, spots Erica spread out on the couch with Max, who is shouting directions for pancakes to Dustin and the others in the kitchen. His mother pays them no mind, and he wonders if she's doing it for her own sake or for his. He watches from the lawn as she enters the garage, pulls the Mercedes down the driveway. The grass is wet with dew and it soaks into his socks, yet somehow it feels warmer than the backyard. The sun is climbing in the sky, and the clouds around it are beginning to drift away, and he's still standing.

“Mom,” he says, when she’s shifting the car out of reverse. “Why did you come home?”

She purses her lips for a moment, and he thinks he won’t get an answer before she drives away, but she stops at the curb.

“Our image Steve,” she says, and then, as she steps on the gas, “Make sure you go to the hospital.”

#chart writes #stranger things #fic: standing through #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #there are others there too but they dont get as many mentions.#also.#steve harrington's parents #really just his mom #fanfic #max.txt #max.fic #stranger things fic

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