#clapton davis imagine

[janitorhutcherson]

Bf!Futturman Headcanons (Future Man)

there is NOT enough future man content! allow @dollfacedalls and i to fix that :p these r some headcanons we came up with real quick. if there are typos, sorry guys lolz. its 3am and i just typed this up bc i felt like we needed some josh futturman content. enjoy the sweaty loser boyfriend vibes!

Bf!Futturman who tries to be flirty and sexy but is unsuccessful. You've been out all day, and you've just gotten home. The moment you walk through the door, Josh is in front of you in a pair of dinosaur boxers with a huge, cheesy smile. You know why, and you know what he's wanting. You can't help but grin like an idiot as you put your bags down, walking towards him to place your hands on his hips. Before you can do so, Josh attempts to lean against the coffee table in a sexy fashion. Of course, as expected, he loses his balance, his feet falling out from under you. He lets out a yelp as his elbow hits the coffee table, your eyes wide as you run to assist him. "Baby," you gasp as you kneel. "Are you okay?" you mumble as he repositions himself, now leaning on his hurt elbow on his side, the toothy grin back on his face. "Yeah.. fine now that you're here, sexy," he says, wiggling his eyebrows as you roll your eyes, hitting his shoulder.

Bf!Futturman who is so clingy that he misses you so much, making him even want to be you. You two live together, Josh finally having moved out of his childhood home to get an apartment with you. You were at work, and Josh was upset. He felt like his other half was missing. It wasn't fair that he was off and you weren't. So.. naturally, he did what any man who was missing his partner would do -- he tried on your clothes, sprayed himself in your perfume, listened to your favorite songs, and watched your favorite TV show. When you walked into your apartment to him sitting on the couch in your dress, the apparent scent of your cherry-scented perfume in the air, Dance Moms on the TV, you gasped. The moment his eyes locked with yours, Josh froze, his eyes wide, not really sure what to say. Your eyes darted to the empty bottle on the table; your lonely boyfriend had drained your expensive perfume. Josh's eyes followed yours to the bottle as he shot up, walking over to you with raised eyebrows. "I swear, baby, I- I'll buy you a new bottle," he awkwardly muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. 

Bf!Futturman who wants an ugly cat with you. No, not just a cat, but an ugly one. He wanted to find the most hideous, rattiest, mangy-looking cat the two of you could find. At first, you were somewhat frustrated with how adamant he was about the situation. You would've been much happier with a fluffy kitten with pretty blue eyes and soft fur. But no, you loved your boyfriend so much you'd given in. Josh convinced you he wanted one because 'nobody wants the ugly ones.' He claimed it was an action from the goodness of his heart, an action to save a poor kitty. He never would've said it out loud, but the reality was he didn't think the name Barthalomeow fit a pretty kitten. You ended up with a fluffy cat with huge brown eyes bulging from its skull. Its bottom teeth hung out of its mouth, and its brown fur stuck up in every which way... Yeah... it was hideous for sure, but Bathalomeow loved you and his kitty dad so that you couldn't be too mad.

Bf!Futturman gets so sucked into his game that he doesn't notice anything around him. When you weren't around, and he wasn't working, Josh did NOTHING but play Biotic Wars. He'd be so sucked into the game for hours, going to disgusting extremes to avoid having to press pause. When you were home, though, he'd only dedicate an hour or two a day to the game. This usually didn't bother you, but one particular day, you were feeling incredibly desperate for his attention, his eyes locked onto his TV screen as his fingers moved stealthily across his keyboard. You felt like you'd attempted everything. At first, you just tried his name. No luck. Then, you tried tapping his shoulder. Barely flinched. Your next action was more severe, seeing if your words would stir anything in him. "Baby," you called out, your annoyance apparent. "Hm?" he hummed with a half-assed response. "I'm going to my other man's house in a few. Is that cool?" you said from behind him, sprawled out on the bed with your eyebrows raised, your eyes throwing daggers toward the back of his head. "Yeah, whatever, babe, I'll see you later," he mumbled quickly as a loud groan left your lips. "Jesus christ," you mumbled. "Gonna jump off of a bridge, Joshy," you sang out jokingly, to which Josh responded, "Okay, baby." It felt hopeless, that was, until you had an idea. You threw your shirt off, your bare chest exposed as you pranced over to him, standing in front of him. Josh glanced over at you for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he reached his hand up to grasp your boob before looking back to his screen. "Mm, give me another hour," he hummed, his attention once again back on Future Man. Nope, didn't work. You'd revisit in an hour when you were his girlfriend again, and it wasn't his controller getting all of the hand action.

Bf!Futturman that attempts to cook for you. Josh could not cook. This was a given considering in order to cook, you had to have good coordination and be able to somewhat follow directions. Unless in video game form, it was difficult for Josh to do both. You didn't mind, enjoying making dinner and snacks for the two of you. It wasn't until one night Josh wanted to surprise you. He'd watched a YouTube video online on how to make a baked chicken with broccoli, mashed potatoes, along with a few other things. He didn't think twice about the difficulty, already feeling like a chef as he turned off his phone. He was soon proven very wrong, as about an hour later, you walked into the door to the smell of burning meat and smoke filling your kitchen. Josh stood in the center of it all, surrounded by far too many pans for him to be making such a simple dish, many of them filled with what looked like pure charcoal. He looked at you with sad eyes, a pout on his lips. "I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to make a mess. I really just wanted to do something nice for you like you do for me," he said softly as he walked over to you. You embraced him into your arms, pressing a kiss to his head. "Hey, 's okay baby, we can just order takeout," you giggled, deciding to turn the oven off and leave the mess for another time. 

Bf!Futturman who has no filter and lacks an understanding of time and place. The two of you were inside an art museum. You pulled out your phone to snap a cute selfie. The moment he saw the camera, he pulled you close, stiffening his entire body as he stared into the camera with a blank expression. You snapped the picture, reviewing it afterward as your smile dropped. "Seriously, Josh?" you asked as you raised your eyebrows, showing him the photo where he looked both uninterested and terrified all at once. He snickered with amusement, his nose scrunching up. "God, people are going to think I kidnapped you," you muttered under your breath. He nudged you with his shoulder, raising his eyebrows up and down. "That's because you did!" he exclaimed as he pretended to yank out of your grip. People began to stare, and Josh just snickered as you smacked his shoulder. "Shut up, Futturman!" you gritted through your teeth, rolling your eyes. God, you loved him, but oh, how he pissed you off sometimes.

[wyourias]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐃

✦ : fem reader , fluff n short :( , written with latina in mind

“ hey babe ” clapton said with confidence as he walked up to ur locker skateboard in hand, “ im not your babe? “ you said closing your locker as you walked to class, “ when are you gonna accept your feelings for me ” he said placing his hand around your shoulder as you slid his hand off of him as you rolled your eyes at him, “ i dont have feelings for you davis ” as you two walked together to class, “ lets make a dea- “ he said before getting cut off by your words, “ no “ you said sternly before he continues what he was saying about how if he scored higher on the math test you two took yesterday he would take you out on a date you couldnt lie anymore you were catching feelings for clapton but so was everyone in the damn school, “ fine “ you said agreeing to the stupid deal he made and to your luck as your tests got handed back to you he scored higher, “ so ill pick you up at 7? “ he said smirking blowing a small kiss to you. as the time got closer and you continued getting ready you heard a knock at at the door as you go and open the door you see a familar face, clapton davis. “ its not 7:00? “ you said as you were finishing up your hair, “ i know i just really wanted to see you “ he said walking in kissing your cheek, “ let me finish my hair and ill be down you stay here “ you said smiling and gigling walking back up the stairs. after 10 minutes which to clapton felt like 10 hours you were back downstairs ready for your date.

[joshfutturman]

ੈ♡˳ clapton davis character.ai bot

finally i made a clapton bot! he's pretty cute but still new so bear with him if he's a bit slow at the minute lmao, let me know if you guys have fun with him! he's teaching you how to skateboard and you guys have been friends since childhood! opening below:

'It was a miracle that Clapton Davis graduated Grizzy Lake high school with the state of his GPA, but in the end, he was just glad he got to graduate alongside you; his best friend since childhood.

It was the summer after graduation, the sun was high in the sky with a few white fluffy clouds passing by. The smell of freshly cut grass surrounded you both. Clapton holds your waist as you both stand on his skateboard, he pushes every so often to keep the momentum as you cruise along the street at his pace.

In his jean pocket sat his blue iPod shuffle, one earphone in your ear and one in his as 'Every Little Thing She Does is Magic' plays by 'The Police'. His touch on you is gentle, he doesn't want you to fall, enjoying this time with you.

Clapton glances at you, unable to hide the small grin curling on his lips. "So, are you gonna let me teach you now or what?" He chirps in your ear behind you, having offered to teach you how to ride his skateboard this summer. "You don't need to be nervous, Clapton is the master of skateboards."'

[flightlesscipher]

Being best friends with clapton davis and deciding you both should go on a silly random date to see what happens. He spends the whole day goofin around with you, taking you everywhere on the back of his skateboard. "Stop making it awkward and just hold my hips weirdo," is something he says way too often. His chill and laid back behavior is what makes your heart skip a beat, but u ignore it. You're used to his normal unique bright colored outfits, which makes him very easy to find in crowds btw. But when he arrives to your house a few hours later in a suit..on his skateboard no less, you can feel your whole body melt. And he absolutely knows it. "Like what you see sweetheart?" He'd grin and nudge your shoulder following a quick hug and a compliment on how smokin hot you look. He's never shy when it comes to complimenting you..he only wants to uplift you and your confidence..but man you always look fly to him. The date goes well..he chooses a fancy restaurant he can finally afford from saving up money through selling skateboard stickers and chocolate bars. You guys end up sticking out like a sore thumb. Yeah you were dressed right, but in a room full of old rich folks, you guys just laughed and acted like yourselves, not giving a shit what anyone thinks. It was just you and clapton with the world faded around u guys. His hazel eyes gazed into yours as you talked about whatever new movie you watched the other night without him. He convinced you to share a huge dessert with him..just so when it comes to the table, he can feed you some from his own spoon, purposely getting some on ur nose. At the end of the night he makes sure your home inside and safe, keeping eye contact with you as he takes off his tie. Like I said..he knows what he's doing. When he thanks you for going on a date with his "dumbass" he hugs you tightly and gives you a few forehead kisses, quietly mumbling that he loves you♥️

[myussytastelikeapple]

THEY ARE SO CUTEEE IT MAKES MY HEART MELT (Kinda wish it was me) I LOVE HIS SMILEE

(Also the hands up the jacket?!??!?!?!?!!!)

AND HE LOOKS SO HOT LONG HAIRRRR AHHHHHH

(Screaming without the s)

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

－－－

Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[cryrubxz]

Night calls.

Fanfic type: Smut One Shot

Word count: 1.2k+

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. calling names (baby, sweetheart), dirty talk, no penetration, jerking off and fingering. (I'M BAD AT WRITING ENDINGS).

Summary: You find yourself alone in bed, yearning for more attention from your partner, Mike, who works night shifts and is often too exhausted for intimacy. In your need you decide to call him and express your desires.

"Good night, kiddo," you said to Abby before turning off the light in her room. “Sleep tight” you added, and she returned a smile and a whispered “Goodnight.” You left, closing the door behind you, and headed to Mike's empty room. You turned the light on and fell into bed. Due to his night work, Mike had almost no time for you because when he returned from his shift, the only thing he wanted and needed was to sleep. And, of course you understood. The poor man had to stay up all night… but you wouldn't be lying if you said you needed more than just the kiss and hug that Mike gave you when he came back from that hellish job.

As you lay in bed, your mind racing with thoughts of need and desire and the lack of attention from Mike. You begin to fantasize about him, and you couldn't help but start to touch yourself. Your heart races as you imagine him kissing every part of your body. The more you think about it, the more you need it. You moan softly at your own touch, your fingers finding the spot that sends shivers down your spine. You need more; you need him. As you continue to touch yourself, you begin to massage your breasts, your hard nipples standing at attention against your palms.

Your need intensifies, and you close your eyes, imagining Mike's voice moaning and whimpering in pleasure. The sound of satisfaction that only he could provide. You need to hear those noises and feel him moving beneath you. And out of nowhere, an idea forms in your mind. You've never done anything like this before, but you need Mike's voice and his moans of desire.

"Should I call him?…" you ask to yourself, hesitating for a moment before picking up the phone. Your heart races as you dial Mike's work number, your fingers trembling slightly. He picks up with a "Hello?" through the phone line and you can't help but whimper his name.

You take a deep breath, your body tense with anticipation. "Mike," you whisper into the phone, voice shaky and needy, "I need you… I can't take it anymore." Your words are laced with desire, your voice shaking slightly. You need him; you need him to feel what you're feeling right now. You need him to know how empty you feel without him.

Mike is alone in his office, trying to focus on work but finding it increasingly difficult with your moans and pleas echoing in his ear. Mike's heart races as he hears your pleading voice over the phone line. His body responds instantly, growing hard beneath his desk. He tries to maintain control, but finds out that's almost impossible. "Baby, I can't come to you now…" Mike manages to say between gritted teeth. He can feel his cock throbbing in his pants, and he knows he needs release too. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist any longer. With a shaky hand, Mike begins to undo his pants, his mind filled with images of you: your moans, your needy voice, the way you've been touching yourself. He can't help but imagine himself inside you, feeling your warmth and tightness around him.

You're growing increasingly desperate, your need for him is overwhelming. "Mike, please," you whimper into the phone, your fingers moving faster against your sensitive nub. "I need you… here… now." Mike can't believe what he's saying, but he can't stop himself. "I want to feel you around my cock so bad." he groans into the phone. "You're such a dirty girl," Mike whispers, his fingers sliding against his slick skin. "I can't wait to feel you wrap those perfect lips around me." His hips jerk forward, mimicking the motion he wants to take inside you.

Your moans intensify, echoing through the phone lines. "Fuck, Mike… don't stop" you beg him, your fingers pinching at your swollen clit.

Mike's breath hitches at your words. "I won't," he promises, his voice rough with desire. "I want to bury myself deep inside you," he groans, imagining the tight heat surrounding him. "Feeling every inch of my cock stretching you out." Mike's hand moves faster, his cock leaking pre-cum. "God, I'm gonna fuck you so good," he growls into the phone. "m' gonna pound into that tight little pussy of yours until we both cum."

"Mike… please… fuck me," you beg, your fingers working even faster against your clit. Your hips lift off the bed slightly, seeking out the connection you crave. "I need you… inside me… now." Your moans become high-pitched whimpers as you imagine him filling you up. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, lost in the fantasy of him taking you roughly. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge; the need for release is overwhelming. "Mike… fuck… yes," you gasp, your fingers moving faster around your clit. "I need…" "What?" Mike asks, his voice thick with lust. He could almost feel your wetness on his fingers as he imagined pushing inside you. "Tell me what you need, baby."

"Mike, I need… I need your cock inside me," you moan, your fingers still working furiously against your clit. Your hips rock back and forth, seeking some sort of release from the overwhelming desire. "Please, please fuck me." The need for release growing more urgent. Your hips jerk up slightly, seeking out the connection you crave. "Please, Mike…"

"Fuck…" Mike groans, feeling his cock twitch in his hand. He can feel the familiar pressure building inside, threatening to explode. "Hold on, baby, just a little longer." "I'm… so close," you whimper, your hips rocking faster now. "Oh God, Mike…" you moan, your body tensing up as you feel the familiar rush of pleasure. "I'm going to cum…" Your fingers dig into your clit, urging it to climax. "Cum with me, baby" Mike growls, his hand moving faster. He could feel himself about to lose control, the pressure building inside. "Mike!" you moan his name again through the phone, your body shaking as you feel your orgasm wash over you. "Oh fuck… so good…" Your hips jerk up off the bed, your pussy clenches around your fingers. Mike's body tenses and his eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Ahhh… fuck!" he groans, his hand moving faster over his cock, tightening it. He can feel himself about to cum, the familiar heat and pressure building inside him. "Oh fuck, baby…" Mike groans, his voice raw with lust and desire. He can feel his cock throbbing in his hand. "I'm gonna cum…" His hips jerk forward, his hand moves faster.

You hear him moaning and panting through the phone, feeling his pleasure vibrate against your ear. Your fingers, still twitching from their own aftershocks, grip the phone tighter. "Mike… oh God… cum for me…"

"Ahhhh…!" He cries out, his cock pulsing in his hand, hot, thick cum shooting out over his fingers and onto his stomach. "Fuck…" He moans, his hips jerking again as the last few spasms of pleasure wash over him. You let out a soft sigh of satisfaction. The line goes quiet as both of you catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. Finally, Mike chuckles softly, his breathing returning to normal. "That was… intense," he admits, his voice still heavy with lust. "Are you okay there, sweetheart?" You giggle softly, as saying a whispered "yes," feeling a wave of warmth spread through you. "I love you," you murmur, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Thank you."

"I love you too, sweetheart" he says back, feeling warmth in his chest.

As you drift off to sleep, your breathing grows deeper and more rhythmic. Mike can't help but smile at the phone. He's more than happy to keep the line open.

[hutchersonsgurl]

Josh Hutcherson and his little “Mike” signature 😭

[joshs-big-toe]

i cannot explain to you the grip this man has on my heart. ALSO HIM AT THE ZAK BAGANS MUSEUM??? AND MEETING ZAK??? (i literally love ghost adventures)

[starryhutcherson]

━━ BED HEAD

author's note: my christmas gift to my lovely followers and viewers <3 yes i am aware i've been M.I.A for the entirety of the second half of the year. forgive me! when the jhutch nation died a piece of me died with it. pls enjoy this apology fic, made it nice and sweet for my mike lovers (cough cough for me). enjoy!! ps. this is my personal favourite that ive written, boyfriend mike just hits different so expect a lot more of him coming soon wink wink! i mean it this time

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: boyfriend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 2000+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Early mornings make for soft kisses. Outside, the streets are licked with hazes of morning fog, sprinkled with droplets of dew and not even ghosts wander the empty streets. In here, in Mike’s house, there’s no need to worry about the world beyond his peeling windowsill. You’re cradled into his chest, his arms which encircle your torso and his legs which tangle into a web with yours. The mornings are just for you. 

And Mike always wakes up before you. It’s not something he does intentionally, but rather the blessing of his eternal clock, stirring his soul before the sun has so much as nipped at the horizon – and yet he reckons this is the best part of his day. It’s the part where he gets to see you at your most vulnerable, your most unaware. Your lips are parted, carrying an imprint of yesterday’s smile, and your hair is sprawled around you too deliberately– like you were made to be perfect, even in your imperfection. 

He likes to trace each fault and flaw that may linger in unsuspecting places with the plush pad of his calloused thumb, to explore the way your body dips at its own will, to memorise each pathway of skin that leads to your heart, a map that’s solely his. He might pluck an eyelash oh so carefully of your cheek, he’ll watch as your chest greets his with each soundless inhale, only to part momentarily when you breathe out again. He likes it best when you’re slotted right between his heartbeat. You’re a dream he’s afraid to wake up from. 

Of course, these moments are only beautiful because of their status as moments. They aren’t eternal, they were made to be preserved. They fade when you wake up; when your big eyes blink up at him like a heedless doe. Like now. When you start to stir, your face scrunching up in a sleepy frown, Mike immediately closes his eyes. He rolls onto his back, one arm draped over his face like he’s shielding himself from the non-existent sunlight, like he hasn’t been watching you for the last ten minutes.

You crack an eyelid, admiring his figure as it soaks up the beginnings of a sunrise. “Morning bedhead,” you tease, grogginess and all. He grunts in acknowledgement, not shifting from his position of comfort. 

“Morning,” he grumbles back, not appreciating the teasing but not having the energy to send anything worthy of offense back at you. Your eyes trace over his messy hair, wild unruly ringlets of chestnut licking at his temples. 

You shuffle over to him, wading through the sea of tangled bedsheets, and ruffle those curls, making his face bunch up like crumpled fabric, in mild irritation. “You look like you lost a fight with a lawnmower,” you snort. He catches your wrist with a solid grip; sturdy as a tree is, down to the root. “Don’t even start. Pretty sure you’ve got me beat.” His voice is a baritone grumble as he references to your own head of locks, knowing full well that the cascading waves of pure velvet that are sewn into your head aren’t even close to looking messy. He teases anyway. 

“I dunno about that,” you murmur. Cocking a hesitant brow, watching his body flex into the sheets as each limb slowly begins to arise from slumber at it’s own snail pace. It’s then you pad out of bed, to go attempt to start the morning━ and he stops you. A dull grunt sounds from his lips and he tugs at your arm. 

“No,” he mumbles━ broken by a dull yawn. “C’mon. You can… you can stay. S’still dark. Nothin’ to do yet.” The sort of puppy-ish pleading that swallows his irises is too strong not to resist to. So you let him have his little ritual; he tucks you into his shoulder, thumb circling supple skin. You let him smell behind your neck and nip at the junction where your collarbone becomes your shoulder becomes your arm. Suddenly it’s turned into lazy tastings of your body. He’s drinking you in in the morning light, rolling you down and deep onto your back to make sure you’re imprinted on his fabric for later, lonelier nights. 

“Mike━” He cuts you off. He has a habit of doing that, when he gets like this. All agitated and croaking, like you are his eternal life source. 

“Shh, no, let me━ let me have this.”

And he’s trekking lower, still. Warm hands planted on your knees, he’s opening your thighs for himself with that look in his eyes. He’s a paradox, greed and yet utter selflessness as he buries his body right where you want him, idly tugging at the waistband of your cotton pajama pants.  

“Gonna make that bedhead worse.” He mumbles almost comically to himself. “Gonna, gonna give you some bed head.”

You roll your eyes, heat of the moment evaporating as you erupt in stupid giggles. “You’re such a dickhead,” you tell him, admiring the smug expression that spreads across his features. He looks like he’s where he belongs, nestled comfortably in that gap he’s made just for him, cradled by your legs. 

“Maybe.” He mumbles with a stupidly self-satisfied grin, delving into you like he knows best. He rolls the cotton comfort of your legs and exposes you to the chilly bedroom air, and knowing it must be unpleasant to be so cold when it’s so early, he’s latching onto you as quick as he can to try and maintain heat pumping through your system. 

And he’s a cocky motherfucker who knows that it works; molten fever rushes through every aching crevice of your figure and pushes to the surface as he flicks his tongue with expertise. He knows every spot, every stroke, every single way that makes you tick. He’s spent a lot of time practicing, exploring, just so he can be perfect. 

Every. Single. Time. 

You’re writhing already, with each motion. Calling his name out to nothing and nobody, the silence of the morning suddenly so obnoxious when it’s broken by the cracking chorus of your moans. Mike. You cry. Mike, Mike, Mike. 

And he’s all entranced by you, you, you, as you quake right into his palms, just how he wants. The perfect way to start the morning is by breaking you apart and dealing with the mess. He admires, awfully, every tremor, every sob, every time your eyes lock with his and you watch him worship you, even if just for a fragile second before they roll back into your skull. 

He plugs you up with one thick finger, reeling in the wet squelching suction of your cunt around his digit. Another follows, curling beside the first, resting snugly inside you. A few testing movements as he tries to find that place, and then finally you double over into yourself mewling like a lamb for slaughter. 

“Oh, that’s it? That’s the spot?” He mutters, baritone voice just so sexy when it’s the only melody spilling into your ears, your brain, you soul. You answer with a little hum, and he coos as your hips buck to meet his palm; catching your weight as you grind your clit into the heel of it. You need more━ you need so much more. 

So he mutters a brief apology as he severs your orgasm; saving it for later, the upcoming future. And leaves you for just a moment, carefully maneuvering himself free from his sodden boxers and pumping his angry length a few times, convulsing as he does so. He’s more sensitive in the mornings, every single goose-pebbled part of him. You bite your lip in anticipation, pink flesh billowing white under the force of your teeth. 

His eyes glance up to you; coffee and caramel stirred with a copper spoon, awaiting your command. “You... you want me, right?” He breathes gently. Shuffling himself closer, hoping to meld a piece of his soul into yours. To secure you to him, through and through. And of course you nod, with ego-inflating eagerness. 

“Course I do. And how about━”

It throws him off when your tender hands grip onto his shoulders; like a turning tide your body steers him of course, pummeled over so he can drown under your current as you position yourself ontop. “Let me,” you whisper, holding his cock so gently in your hands, a contrast of efforts in the way you stroke so slowly, so patiently. In all honesty, he hasn’t got much of that left. 

A salacious groan slips free from his throat. “Shit, can you just, uh, can you please put it in, I can’t━ I’m gonna blow right now.”  

He expects another mocking comment but all he gets is compliance. A gentle kiss, fanning across his freckled cheeks that glow so red in the heat of the moment, a slow and calculated sink of your pelvis against his, and a juggled handful of shared rugged breaths as the feeling of fullness branches across the pair of you. He’ll never get over your fit, it’s too hand-crafted, too cunningly created. His hands shakily struggle to make their way onto your hips, not so much for control as it is to keep himself grounded. Skin to skin to skin, as though to prove you aren’t just a fabrication from his desperate, delusional morning mind. 

When your hips begin to roll, it’s lazy. Grogginess permeates every part of you and there isn’t enough strength for anything more than gentle juts; back and forth, back and forth, a seesaw of sorts, but he appreciates the movement anyway. Mike’s head falls back into the pillow, framed by a halo of his own sweat and drool as he lets you do the work. It’s his own hazy heaven, the morning he wishes he could preserve. 

You suck his cock up deeper into your hole, clamping down on him in a vain attempt to try and keep him there, tucked away inside you forever like a pocketed memory of sorts. He begins to meet your thrusts, sending sparks through each wild thrust of his flying hips. 

“Want this every day,” he whines, deep through his throat like he can’t even contain his words as they bleed all over you in a wash of near orgasmic bliss. 

“Yeah? You do, Mikey? Wanna─ wanna just wake me up to fuck me like this? Right here on your bed?”

His eyelids flutter and unfocus, blunt nails severing the skin of your hipbones as he begins to forcefully drag you across his cock, faster faster faster until the headboard squeaks along with you and he’s completely wordless and wounded. “Wanna fuck you. Wann─ needa fuck you every day, yeah, jus' like that, shit, you were made for me,” he whines, pummelling into you with purpose. Force and purpose. 

He’s spearing you open on his eager cock, nudging your cervix, coaxing an orgasm out of it’s grave, the one he ended from earlier. You can feel it brewing and bubbling inside you, erupting it’s carnal desire like acid wash across your narrow cunt as you drink him in tighter, willing him to come with you. “Mikey, mmm, come with me, c’mon, please─”

And it’s your begging that sends him over. A saccharine flush melts across his entire body, bottom to top, and he’s moaning as he tugs his length from beneath your folds and showers your sweaty torso in a creamy wash of white ribbons, spraying buckets from your belly button right up to your chin.

There is calm after the storm. A tranquil quiet falls back over his modest bedroom, accompanied by heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets. The aftertaste of the morning is careful sponge-washing and coffee. He clears you off with a damp washcloth, love ebbs from every action from him to you, like an endless chain. A circle has no end because it has no beginning; Mike thinks he’s always been drawn to you, even before you both knew it─  because he’s always been looking for this. For the gentle fleeting kisses that he’s showered in before the morning, for the bed he returns to which smells like sex and sodden promises. He can’t wait for you to get home so that he can come back to his bed-headed girl. 

masterlist

[janitorhutcherson]

jhutch nation is a cult

[stop-talking]

How Jhutch characters would behave on a road trip:

Mike Schmidt

- Would drive through the night while everyone else slept; his sleep schedule is fucked anyway

- Insists on keeping the ac low/off to save gas. "Just roll the windows down" while going 80 mph on the highway

- Severe road rage. "WHY ARE YOU GOING 60 IN A 65??"

Josh Futturman

- Low-key scared of driving on the highway; probably wouldn't drive at all, honestly.

- Passenger princess. (Complete with a full pillow and blanket)

- He'd meticulously pack snacks and drinks though

Derek Danforth

- Doesn't understand the appeal of driving places; his private jet is so much faster.

- Would either pay someone else to drive, OR drive himself but keep dropping not-so-subtle hints that he's "never had head while driving" and "wonders what that's like"

- Fucking hotboxes the car with either weed or vape. Annoying as fuck.

Clapton Davis

- Rides shotgun; probably doesn't have a license

- Crafted a playlist just for the trip, DJs the whole way there

- Extremely distracting though, puts a hand on your thigh while you drive.

Billy

- Doesn't let anyone else drive. His car is one of his few possessions and he treasures it, even if it's kinda a shitbox.

- "I'm not tired!!" (After nearly falling asleep at the wheel 6 times.)

- Sings along to the radio as he drives even though he's really bad at it.

[joshfutturman]

[flightlesscipher]

imagine hanging out with clapton davis and ur group of friends at a restaurant but he's secretly holding ur hand under the table🩵🩷

[myussytastelikeapple]

BROO THIS EDIT IN PARTICULAR GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD LIKE GOOD BOY? HIM GETTING ON HIS KNEES?! (ima faint)

Also lil announcement

I just took a break from writing for a lil bit but now I’m BACKK onn trackkkkkkkkkkkkk I’ll start writing today/tomorrow

[satansapostle6]

X

Josh Futturman has always had a crush on his beautiful coworker, the sharp, sexy scientist he thought he could only dream of talking to.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Smut. Oral(F receiving). Fingering. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Slight choking.

(Minors DNI.)

Part Eight: Gift Exchange

“Are you sure you wanna go to my house? Not, like, a Taco Bell parking lot, or Guantanamo Bay, or something?” Josh asked hopefully for the umpteenth time even after they had arrived. “You really don’t have to meet my parents on the first date.”

“I’m sure, Josh,” Brynne laughed as they got out of the car. “Besides. I like meeting people’s parents. Especially when they’re nice.”

“You say that, until they start trying to convince you to move in.”

“If they show me your baby pictures, I’ll rent a U-Haul.”

“Oh, God,” Josh sighed, dreading the interaction as he unlocked the front door.

Josh opened the door for Brynne, as the two of them entered the house to find that the Futturmans were hosting a small get-together, which Josh had completely forgot about until now. Everyone was looking at them; Josh’s parents, the neighbors, and Josh’s Uncle Barry.

“Hey, Joshy!” Diane got up to greet him, as Gabe followed her. “Is this the famous Dr. Brynne?!”

“Mom!” Josh complained, mortified.

“Hi,” Brynne smiled, shaking both of their hands.

“Welcome, Brynne,” Gabe Futturman smiled warmly, “Nice to meet you! You’re always welcome at the Futturman house.”

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you. Josh has told me so much about you,” she teased him.

“All good, I hope?” Gabe chuckled.

“Yeah!” she lied.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful!” Diane exclaimed, “Could I get a picture of the two of you later?”

“Mom!” Josh gasped.

“Yeah, sure!” Brynne nodded.

“Come meet everyone, Brynne,” she led them over to the guests, “I’ve been telling them all about you!”

“I’m so sorry,” Josh whispered to her.

She just laughed as his parents led them into the living room.

“Everyone, this is Josh’s date, Dr. Brynne Johansson,” Gabe introduced her. “She’s the head of the research department at Kronish Labs.”

Josh was horrified at his parents’ lack of subtlety.

“Hi, happy holidays,” Brynne waved to everyone.

“Awooga,” Josh’s newly divorced uncle, Barry, stared at her.

Josh made a face, disgusted by the behavior.

“Just a warning about Uncle Barry,” he whispered, “You’re gonna want to avoid him right about… two whiskeys ago.”

“Duly noted,” Brynne murmured as they sat down, joining the party.

“Brynne, these are our neighbors, Melinda and Julius Seneca,” Gabe introduced the couple as they waved kindly. “And this is Josh’s uncle, my brother, Barry.”

“Well. How you doing?” Barry slurred as he jumped up to shake her hand.

“Uh…” Brynne looked to Josh for help as he mouthed a hasty apology. “I’m good,” she grimaced as she gave him her hand.

Josh watched in horror as his Uncle Barry took her hand, raising it up to his lips to kiss it, mouth still open.

“Oh,” she smiled, trying her hardest to be polite for Josh’s sake. “I take it you had a Philly cheesesteak for lunch?”

The bald man chuckled deeply, eyes still locked on Brynne.

“Barry,” Josh’s father sighed at his brother,

“What?” the drunk man asked defensively.

“Leave Josh’s girlfriend alone,” his mother chimed in.

“Mom! Oh my God!” Josh complained, at a loss for words.

“What?” she questioned.

“Come on, you two. Have a seat,” Gabe smiled invitingly.

Josh tried to cover his look of distress with an attentive smile.

“So, how did you and Josh meet?” the neighbor, Melinda Seneca, asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s not that interesting,” Josh assured her with a chuckle.

He looked to Brynne, gauging her expression off the look on her face to make sure that she was okay, which he had now made a habit of doing.

“We just met at work.”

“Yeah, so Brynne, I hear you’re a doctor?” Julius asked.

“A doctor of science, yes,” Brynne clarified.

“Really? At your age?” his ears practically perked up.

“Julius,” his wife laughed, embarrassed.

“No, it’s okay,” she gestured, “I got my PhD when I was twenty-three.”

“Wow. That’s impressive,” the man nodded. “You just be some kind of genius.”

“Not really,” Brynne laughed.

“No, she is,” Josh insisted with a grin, kindly resting his hand on her back, “She’s the head of the research department at Kronish Labs,” he said proudly.

“Wow,” Melinda smiled.

“Then what’s she doing with a janitor?” Barry asked from the corner with a mouth full.

Everyone slowly looked at him in horror, as Josh swallowed awkwardly.

“Barry!” Gabe said, aghast.

Josh’s parents looked at one another awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the situation. The Senecas seemed equally uncomfortable.

“You apologize to Josh right now!” his father yelled.

“No, Dad, it’s okay,” Josh avoided his gaze.

“No, it’s not. You don’t talk to family like that,” his father insisted.

Brynne looked at Josh sadly, seeing the way the comment affected him.

“Hey,” she whispered, taking his hand.

Josh looked up at her in surprise, touched by the gesture.

“We don’t have to stay down here if you don’t want to,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Josh said quietly, clearing his throat as they stood. “Mom. Dad. We’re going upstairs.”

“Joshy,” his mother said as she stood, feeling sorry for him.

“It’s okay, Mom. We’ll come down in a little bit,” Josh told them, turning to the neighbors, “See you guys later.”

He took Brynne’s hand as the two of them walked up the stairs together, heading up to Josh’s room as he closed the door, sighing as he flopped onto his bed, sitting with his face in his hands.

“Hey. You okay?” Brynne asked, sitting beside him.

“Yeah,” he sighed, stopping to look at her, “I’m fine. I just… needed a break.”

“I guess we’re both having the same kinda night,” she pointed out, earning a small smile.

“Brynne?” Josh said finally.

“Yeah?”

He sat up straight, just staring right at her.

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop,” she chuckled, only half meaning it.

“No, really. I just had one of those… moments. You know?” he asked.

“What kind of moments?”

“I don’t know,” he thought, “Just one of those kind of things where you’re just feeling like shit, and then you stop, and you look at something… Like a butterfly outside, or a kid laughing, and you just… You realize the beauty in things. I saw it. In you.”

She smiled as she caressed his face with her thumb. “You’re very, very adorable,” she told him. “And I like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone after knowing them only this long.”

“That… That makes me really happy,” he allowed himself a smile. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” Brynne chuckled softly.

“Good. I like making people happy,” Josh nodded.

“I’ll make you happy,” she told him, resting a hand on his thigh as she leaned in, pausing for a moment.

Josh froze, looking her in the eye, too afraid to move. He thought he might spook her, like a deer in headlights. But her resolve seemed to be strengthening. Taking the bewildered expression on his face for an enthusiastic ‘yes’, she pressed a kiss to his lips, the two of them existing purely in the moment.

Brynne threw her arms around his neck, losing her hands in Josh’s hair as he sighed with contentment. He tentatively pulled her closer to him, gaining confidence as she allowed him to hold above her waist.

It was a beautiful kiss, exactly what Josh had imagined. The kiss was deep, but not inherently making out. It was sweet, but not one-dimensional, and charged, but not dirty. Josh knew it was the kind of kiss that only existed in books and movies. He felt as if this right here could’ve been his happily ever after.

Regretfully, he pulled away, looking her in the eyes just to double check that she was enjoying it.

“I like you so much,” he breathed, looking at her in the most precious manner.

He was adorable like a puppy, looking up at its master for approval. Brynne realized he truly did just look happy to be there.

“Joshy!”

Josh nearly jumped up at the interruption, his mom opening the door with a plate made up of charcuterie items.

“Mom! What the hell!” Josh exclaimed, as Brynne just sat there awkwardly, offering her a smile.

“I just came up to bring you guys some snacks,” Diane Futturman said, politely leaving the plate on Josh’s desk. “I thought you might be hungry, after that fancy party, you know how they always just serve finger food...”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mom! What the fuck! Please knock next time!” Josh cried in embarrassment. “We’re trying to talk!”

Brynne studied him, trying to determine whether or not he was okay.

“Okay, okay, honey, I’m sorry,” she apologized, hurrying out of the room to leave them be.

Josh looked incredibly guilty after realizing what he’d done.

“Oh, God,” he sighed, returning to his sulking on the bed. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Fuck!”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Brynne agreed. “But you can just tell her that. I’m sure she’d understand.”

“I guess,” Josh murmured, not seeming comforted. “I just… Never thought I’d be one of those assholes that yells at their mom.”

“So why did you become one of those assholes?” Brynne Johansson asked helpfully.

“I don’t know, I just panicked,” he groaned. “I just… We were having such a nice moment, and I was afraid that ruined it. Like you thought me living with my parents was weird, and you never wanted to see me again.”

“I’d be a pretty shitty date if I did,” she pointed out. “I definitely am not the kind of person who’d be bothered by that.”

“No, I know you’re not,” Josh sighed. “I just… Fuck, I just wanted everything to be perfect.”

“I know,” she nodded, “But did you ever stop to think that maybe, at the moment, everything is?”

That was more than enough for Josh to allow himself to enjoy the rest of the night.

“Why don’t we start over?” Brynne suggested, trying to put him at ease.

“Yeah, starting over… That’s a good idea,” Josh nodded. “What, what do you wanna talk about?” he asked.

“Why don’t you give me a tour of your room?” she asked him, standing up to look around. “I’ve always wondered what it looks like.”

“Really?” Josh nearly shouted in excitement, quickly realizing he sounded like an excited eleven year-old boy as he cleared his throat. “…Really?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, slowly tracing the shelves with her finger. “What’s this stuff? It looks cool.”

This, naturally, launched into a ten minute spiel by Josh about all the different collectibles and other valuable items he owned. As he spoke, his eyes would light up and his mouth would curl upwards in an endearing smile. Brynne could see just how adorably passionate Josh was, and how truly excited he was to actually have someone who genuinely wanted to listen to what he had to say. It only made her want him more.

Brynne gladly allowed Josh to show her every nook and cranny of his room, and explain every item that inhabited it, taking it all in with pleasure. It must’ve been thirty minutes before he came to a conclusion, but she definitely didn’t mind. As Josh took a moment to rearrange the things displayed on his desk, Brynne observed the way he fearfully kept his eyes on the desk as he bent down, trying his best not to stare up at her.

Observing him, Brynne thought it would be best if she took the initiative herself.

“This is where I keep all the old stuff,” Jost explained as he organized the drawer under his desk.

“What’s that?” Brynne asked, easily maneuvering her zipper.

“What’s what?” Josh asked distractedly, still concentrated on his desk.

“What’s that? On the floor, behind you?” she asked him.

Josh frowned, not sure off the top of his head what she was referring to as he turned around, kneeling on the ground and looking at what had been behind him. He didn’t recognize the object at first.

“Wait, what is that?” he asked himself out loud, picking it up, “Is that…?”

He very slowly looked petrified with eyes wide like saucers when he saw her.

“Oh. It’s… It’s your dress,” he said in a panic, his heart beating faster than ever before.

He looked up at her from where he was kneeling on the floor, unable to speak.

“Is this okay?” she asked calmly.

“More than okay,” Josh looked her up and down hungrily, “Hachi…”

“If you say ‘machi’…” she warned.

“Sorry,” he apologized hastily, “Sorry. It’s just… you’re not wearing a bra. Or underwear,” he thought out loud.

Josh was stunned, to say the least. Not only was this beyond what he would’ve imagined, it was also like something right out of his imagination. A small part of him still thought he might be dreaming, or hallucinating from inhaling too many cleaning products at work.

“Wow,” he stared, barely able to process. “You… You’re a goddess,” he spoke softly as his eyes savored every inch of her body.

“When does the worship part come in?” she wondered with a grin.

“Right fucking now,” he gasped, desperately grabbing at her thighs.

His hands squeezed her thighs as he knelt in front of her, face buried between them as he silently wished for this to never end. Josh happily nipped at her thighs with eager, scattered kisses, sighing into her soft skin as he indulged in her. Even where he was, her skin smelled like the heaven he’d first experienced when she got into his car.

He pressed excited little kisses all over her skin, never tiring of it at all.

“I could die right now,” Josh sighed, voice breathy with ecstasy.

“Maybe we don’t have to die to know what paradise is like,” she remarked.

“Maybe not. But just in case, I know exactly what I want my last meal to be.”

Josh looked up at her, eyes wide with a strange innocence as he silently begged and pleaded with her to take control. Brynne sat down on the bed behind her, leaning back as she crossed one of her legs over the other. Before he could stop himself, Josh threw himself on the ground in front of her black high heels, which were still on her feet. This, he thought, made everything even better.

Josh whined impatiently as he sloppily placed his kisses all the way up her body, from her ankles, to her calves, to her thighs, to right above her navel. Everywhere but the one place he really wanted to be.

Observing him happily, Brynne softly brushed her hand over his hair, watching him look up at her as he moaned impatiently.

“Please, Brynne, please, please, please,” he begged her.

“What?” she asked somewhat teasingly. “What do you want?”

“Please, can I, please… I really wanna eat your pussy,” he pleaded, his voice thick with an irresistible whiny quality, “Can I, please?”

Brynne raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“That’s what you want?”

“Oh, more than anything!” he begged her with his hands resting on her thighs. “I’ll do anything! Please, Brynne, please… I wanna make you feel good.”

He looked like a starved man, hungry for anything at all.

“You really want to?” she asked him.

“Yes, please, I’ve never done this before,” he confided, “I mean… I’ve done this, but not that,” he explained himself.

“Go ahead,” Brynne murmured, amused as she played with his hair.

He couldn’t believe what was happening. He was really about to eat Brynne Johansson’s pussy. Beyond pleased with her approval, Josh excitedly parted her legs, kissing the sensitive skin on her inner thighs as he closed his eyes, savoring every moment of it. She sat back, watching him as he teased, caressing and squeezing her thick, pillowy thighs as his kisses slowly became more wet and more aggressive.

Finding it made things even easier, Josh rested her knees on his shoulders as he dove in, liking the feeling of her thighs closing in around his head in pleasure.

“Please,” Josh begged her, “Just fucking suffocate me.”

Brynne felt she could only oblige as he got tantalizingly close to where he needed to be, suckling on her lower stomach right before he pressed a hard kiss right against her clit, locating it with impressive ease. The feeling was surprising and tingly as he made contact with the bundle of nerves for the first time. Brynne roughly grabbed a handful of his brown hair, signaling to him that he’d done a good job as he groaned.

“That feels so nice, Josh,” she cooed, her voice alone enough to make him finish as he instinctively rutted into the bed.

“Fuck,” he gasped, looking her right in the eyes.

“You wanna do a good job for me?” she asked him.

“Yes, please,” he moaned, “Please… Let me be a good boy for you, I’ll do anything. Whatever you want,” nodded vigorously.

She closed her legs around him as he sloppily licked up and down the sensitive area, maximizing her pleasure as he began to gently tease the opening with his middle finger. Brynne sighed with relief as he finally closed his mouth around her clit again, sucking relentlessly as he stared up at her, his eyelids heavy with pleasure. He was about as pussy drunk as he could get.

She pulled him in by the hair, forcibly holding him there as he sucked on her clit with sleepy eyes.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Joshy,” she gasped in excitement.

Josh could’ve passed away from how lucky he felt. He’d never even been able to imagine himself in this position, or imagine her in this position, come to think of it.

“You’re a fucking goddess,” he hummed against her center. “I’d do anything for you. You’re a princess. Fuck, please come on my face,” he insisted.

“You’re so desperate for me, it’s so fucking hot.”

Brynne held him close to her as she threw her head back, gasping aloud as he inserted his finger. The way he dragged his finger downward as he entered her made her feel even more full. She laughed softly as he instinctively continued doing the same thing, dragging his fingers downward as he shamelessly ate her out.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy,” she hissed.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m your good boy!” he nodded, tongue flicking against her clit as he desperately played with her g-spot. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, I don’t deserve this! I’ll be your good boy! I’m your good little boy!”

Josh continued to stare up at her as he licked up and down in slow, torturous stripes, curling his fingers inside of her.

“You’re mine,” she sighed, beginning to choke him with her thighs.

“That’s right, I’m your good boy!” he whined into her. “You can do whatever you want to me! I’ll love it!” he promised.

“Such a good little boy, fuck,” she murmured, feeling herself getting close to a climax as her hand moved from his hair to around his throat, “You’re my good little slut.”

“Yes! Fuck! Yes,” Josh moaned loudly as he sucked, ecstatic at the feeling of her hand wrapped around his throat, “I’m your slut! I’m your little slut, all yours!”

Brynne tightened her grip on his throat, watching him as his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he lapped his tongue against her hungrily, “Come on my face! Please come on my face! Come all over my tongue!” he whined.

“You’re such a dirty little slut. Such a good little slut,” she breathed.

Slowly, she came to a finish, watching him grow excited as she grew even wetter.

“Good boy,” Brynne laughed, watching him in disbelief as he lapped it all up, enjoying every second of it.

He was high on her praise, forgetting the idea of shame entirely as he cleaned her up completely, not leaving a single drop. He looked up at her, eyes widened. He sighed exhaustedly, his eyes growing heavy as he was finally satisfied with himself.

“Did I do a good job?” Josh asked hopefully.

-

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Nine