#clapton davis x reader

[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.

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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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 )

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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. 

[biblio-smia]

so bitter!

masterlist | requests are open!

pairing: clapton davis x reader

warnings: nsfw content!!!

there should be a law against wearing tank tops in school. actually, there was - just one that only applied to girls.

which meant that clapton davis could walk around with his arms looking like that.

you were staring from two cafeteria tables away, eyes unable to stay off clapton for longer than a few seconds. your self-control was being tested, this torture a punishment from the universe.

you really should've never let him fuck you.

you don't realize your name is being called until your friend is snapping her fingers in your face, forcing your eyes to snap back to her (though you keep the distant outline of clapton, just to the left of her head, in your peripheral).

"huh?" you ask, willing your eyes not to flicker back - there was still a chance for you to dig yourself out of this without any of your friends ever knowing.

"nevermind," your friend sighs, rolling her eyes before giving you a look that you avoid by picking at the food on your tray. "who were you staring at?" she turns around, searching the cafeteria for a mere hint of the person who had captivated your attention.

"i wasn't staring at anyone," you lie smoothly, shoving a spoonful of whatever's on your tray to mask any strange inflections of your voice. "i just spaced out."

"you've been doing that a lot lately," your friend says, clearly not convinced.

you roll your eyes in response, grateful when your other friend finally escapes the lunch line and rejoins your group, the topic quickly switching over to an upcoming calc quiz.

though talking about calc makes you think of the time clapton made a very impressive 14% on his test, presenting the paper to you with a grin that should've indicated something at least higher than a C.

"seriously, our class average would be, like, 20% higher if it weren't for you," you cross your arms with a small huff, warm breath making a small cloud in the cold air. clapton skates slowly beside you, weaving around without even having to look at the road under or in front of him - no, his eyes won't leave you.

clapton just grins again. he loves seeing you get worked up about the things he does, the concern you have for him presenting itself in indirect ways that make clapton's heart ache for more.

he's beginning to guide his skateboard to the right, in the opposite direction you'll be going, ready to wave goodbye, when you stop.

"what are you doing?" clapton doesn't think your crossed arms are just to protect yourself against the cold.

"going... home?" clapton sounds confused, but his heart is starting to pick up at the increasing possibility of an alternative suggestion.

"to do what? not study, i'm sure. you just don't learn your lesson, clapton."

clapton holds his bottom lip tightly between his teeth, though it's not enough to contain his smile. "maybe i need a better teacher?"

your eyes roll but your lips smile. you turn your back to clapton, starting off in the direction of your house, smiling as you hear the sound of wheels rolling against the road following behind you.

you get about ten minutes of studying done before you're in clapton's lap, one of his hands under your shirt and the other creating a nasty crease at the bottom of his forgotten calc test as clapton holds on tightly to the edge of your desk for balance.

where did that test go? you remember clapton's hand slipping, knocking a few things on your desk over as he steadied you, removing his hold on you to take off the shirt he had been wearing-

you cross your legs, heat in your face as you will those memories away. there's a heat on your back as your body remembers how clapton had touched you that night. you check your friends carefully, watching them engage in an intense conversation about whether or not they could've pulled stu macher, before allowing your eyes to glance around the cafeteria casually, hoping to catch at least one more glimpse of clapton while avoiding getting caught.

your eyes pass over his spot once, twice, before the fact that he is gone settles in. an alarm in your head goes off - clapton from a distance is safe, but on the move, location unknown? clapton is unpredictable.

you're busy scanning the cafeteria for that obnoxious teal shirt, too focused on making sure clapton davis is a safe distance away to notice your friends go quiet, looking over at the boy who'd taken a seat beside you.

"hey," that stupidly smooth voice says and your eyes calmly shift to land on clapton. you're careful not to visibly react - you can hear your friends already. "you and clapton?" you could see the looks they'd give you, purely out of concern. because really, when has clapton davis ever been serious about anything? you weren't sure that'd suddenly change for you.

it's too quiet, clapton's head moving curiously closer, more of his face coming into your line of sight. your eyes betray you, landing on his flexed arm that rests on the cafeteria table and you're up, rolling your eyes and huffing as you usually do at clapton - though this time he feels it more personally, mouth slightly agape as he watches you walk away. usually he does something to deserve this, winding you up on purpose more often than not. but clapton is feeling as clueless as he feels in chemistry, left dumbfounded by your avoidance of him. had he done something?

guilt eats you up immediately, merciless as it twists your stomach into knots. you sit in the bathroom, on a closed toilet seat, loud chattering all around you as you stare at your IMs with clapton.

your fingers type and delete, type and delete. god, whatever. the bell rings and you bite down that sick feeling, deciding you'll apologize to clapton when you inevitably see him in the hall.

of course, you chicken out. you can't even look at clapton, much less talk to him, a voice in the back of your head convincing you you'll slam him against the lockers and make out with him right there, in front of everyone. it was probably telling you the truth, anyway, your desire to get your hands on clapton outweighing any rational thoughts that included public decency. god, what was wrong with you?

so you avoid clapton in the halls. and in class. and walking out of class. and walking out of school. you're almost running home, knowing clapton could easily catch up and confront you right there. there was really no telling what you were capable of with him in that stupid fucking shirt.

though you still feel sorry. you conjure up images of what clapton could've looked like as you blatantly ignored him and in each one, he looks heartbroken.

well, it wasn't like you were dating.

though maybe a small part of you wished you were.

clapton continues to bother you as the sun sets and the moon takes its place. he won't let you concentrate on the essay due next monday or on the chemistry lab you had to write a reflection on. everything reminds you of him, from the neon green bracelet of his he's left on your desk to the book he'd flipped through while sitting in the chair you're currently occupying, feet propped up on your desk as if your space was also his. and it was, in a way. even your bed has been tainted permanently with bits of clapton, no amount of laundry able to rid your sheets of clapton davis's signature scent. there's small marks in the wood of your headboard, too, just to make sure you wouldn't be able to trick yourself into forgetting clapton had ever been in your room (and on top of you).

you give up on work, brushing your teeth and saying goodnight to your parents unusually early, hoping you'll fall asleep quickly and forget all about clapton. but something won't let you sleep and the lack of distractions only makes you think of clapton even more.

you'd really like to pull your hair out. angrily, you reach for your phone, hit on clapton's stupid picture, start punching the small buttons on your phone repeatedly until a message sends before you can even deliberate.

come over. - 11:39 p.m

read. almost instantly. no response. you're not sure if this means clapton will be here in a few minutes or not, though you're not really sure you can blame him if he ignores you like you had ignored him.

but then your phone buzzes and a new message alert has appeared.

outside - 11:43 p.m

you hear footsteps outside and you instinctively shove your phone under your pillow, turning over and pretending to be asleep as the door of your room creaks open, only for a moment, closing again when your parent is satisfied with what they see.

you wait until the footsteps recede, envisioning the route from your room to your parents', quietly counting the seconds until you're sure it's safe.

shit prnts r still awake - 11:45 p.m wait? - 11:45 p.m

sure - 11:45 p.m

the thought of clapton only a few feet away, separated only by a wall and a window, excites you, heart racing as you wait 5 minutes, 10, calculating how long it'd realistically take your parents to fully fall asleep. you're trying to be patient but you really can't wait another minute and you can't imagine how clapton has managed it.

ok - 12:02 a.m

you don't even wait for clapton to read the message, jumping out of bed to open the window and push the screen loose, wiggling it out of place and sticking your head out, searching the dark night for clapton.

he makes an appearance as he rises from his seat against the side of your house, letting you help him as he gets one leg over your windowsill, one of his hands resting on it while another hangs onto yours for support. he swings his other leg in, jumping softly into your room and softly shutting the now-screenless window behind him.

and there he is again, in a black graphic muscle tee and sweatpants, thoroughly distracting you without even meaning to. at least, you assumed he didn't mean to.

clapton turns back to you and you wonder how he's grinning after the way you'd treated him at school, after you'd made him wait outside for seventeen minutes with no guarantees of sex.

and that's when you realize that's what you like about clapton - even now, after you demanded he come over at midnight, after you have had sex in this room more than a handful of times, clapton expects nothing. he does not think he has a right to your body, does not move to touch or kiss you, does not assume anything. he simply stands there, still smiling, waiting, quietly wondering what it is you needed him here for.

you'd really like to kiss him, but you're worried it'll come out softer than you usually kiss clapton.

instead, you hug him.

you've never done that before. but clapton's arms wrap around you naturally, letting you slot against him with a sigh. clapton is uncharacteristically quiet, though you can tell he still doesn't expect anything from you. and that makes you feel even worse.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, shame hot on your face.

"what's that?"

"i'm sorry," you repeat, pulling away from clapton, not realizing he heard you perfectly fine the first time until you see that stupid smile on his face. you frown, hit his unbelievably hard arm. "i'm serious."

"yeah, i bet," clapton jokes, though his smile begins to fade when your eyes start to get angry. "it's fine," he shrugs, hoping to cheer you up before your mood dips to a point of no return.

"it's not." your arms are crossed again, though this time clapton tries to determine how much frustration is directed at him and how much is reserved for yourself.

clapton is close to panicking, pulling your arms apart and quietly willing you not to be upset, realizing he only has a few more chances for his jokes to cheer you up until they will eventually have the opposite effect. "you think i'd lie to you?" he grins easily, still holding on lightly to your wrists, giving you a chance to step out of his grasp if you'd like to.

you wouldn't like to.

you're trying not to get frustrated (or rather, not take it out on clapton, again), exhaling deeply and swinging your arms, still lightly linked with clapton's.

"you'd probably lie to me for five dollars."

clapton scoffs, offended. "five? it'd at least have to be ten."

finally, you crack a smile and a weight on clapton's shoulders lifts.

"wow," you say dryly. "i didn't know i meant that much to you," you laugh through your words, clearly joking.

but now clapton is strangely serious, a side that you've never seen before almost scaring you, clapton's voice so quiet you almost convince yourself you've imagined it all.

"you do."

you're not sure who leaned in first (honestly, probably, you), but your lips are on clapton's and your hands are in his dark curls like you've done too many times before. you're too scared to kiss him softly like you've been dying to, to take your time with him like you've imagined over and over. your pace steadily increases, hands lightly tugging on clapton's hair, his hands slipping in and out of the bottom of your shirt. you can tell he's trying not to make noise by the way his breath catches in his throat when you pull off, breathing heavily. you stare at each other for too long - you finally allow yourself to indulge in what's been on display the entire day, your hands letting clapton know exactly what's been on your mind today.

clapton almost laughs as your hands run up and down his arms, cheeky smile as he flexes underneath your touch. he knew it - he could feel the heat of your stare from across the cafeteria though he'd never been quick enough to catch you.

clapton is about to crack another joke, to tease you about your staring problem, when your mouth is on his again, shutting him up before he could even begin to speak. your kiss is rougher this time, hands balling up the fabric of clapton's airy shirt, until clapton decides he's had enough and pulls away to strip himself of the black-dyed cotton. he pulls you onto your bed, sitting up against your fluffy pillows.

he watches, hungrily now, as you settle into his lap, his breath coming out raspy as you immediately attach yourself to his neck, making marks that might not disappear by monday. clapton wonders what's made you suddenly so possessive, only for a second before your mouth finds a spot that makes clapton whine.

"shhh," you whisper, pressing kisses down clapton's neck as he holds onto your hips, tent in his pants growing with the idea that bruises made by you will linger on his skin even after he leaves.

clapton's hand reaches for your head as you move further away, guiding you gently back to his neck, tilting his head for you. "more, please," he rasps out, too desperate to be embarrassed.

you laugh, thinking he doesn't really mean it, kissing his lips instead. your tongue slips inside his mouth, kisses sloppy and warm as they usually are. clapton's fingers are messing with the waistband of your pajama bottoms and your hands clutch onto the back of his neck.

neither of you care as your noses press into each other, disconnected and reconnected mouths making sounds that make that warm feeling in the pit of your stomach grow.

you roll your hips and clapton fully moans into your mouth, eyes evidently hazy when you pull away for air. your hand slips down to clapton's sweatpants, resting on him gently but refusing to give him anything more. clapton works for it, moving his hips up into your hand, biting his lip to keep from being too loud. you'd almost forgotten how desperately clapton davis craved your touch, craved the feeling of being inside you, doing almost anything you'd tell him just for the feeling of you against him.

you indulge him, tugging on clapton's sweatpants and palming him through his boxers. his face is in your shoulder, quiet moans muffled by you.

clapton is respectful, even now. his hands pull at your shirt but don't take it off. though, his grip on your hips tighten, his face strains. you roll off of him, strip yourself completely. he barely has time to admire you before he pulls his own bottoms off, kicking them off your bed as you grab one of the condoms taped to the top of one of your drawers.

clapton is already starting to drip pre-cum at the sight of you, hurrying to take the foil package from you. he opens it with his teeth, a trick he learned solely to impress you, getting it on with slightly-trembling hands.

you slide back onto your bed, letting clapton kiss you as he gently lies you down on your pillows - always making sure you're comfortable. he climbs on top of you, careful not to drop his weight on top of you, kissing the skin of your shoulders and chest as your hands rest on his toned shoulders. his arms look incredible, hands on either side of your body as clapton lifts himself up.

you let yourself look at him for a second, pulling his face into his hands. you watch his slightly-confused expression, his eyes eventually focusing on yours. not your body, not your lips. he's staring straight into you, asking no questions about your sudden need to admire him. and then he leans in, placing an unusually gentle kiss on your lips, feather-light and almost not there at all.

and then he's asking you if you're ready, like he always does, placing his mouth against your shoulder to muffle his moans as he carefully slips inside of you and finally gives you what you've been wishing for all day.

clapton lies next to you after you finish, condom tied up and thrown out, both of you cleaned up with the help of wet wipes and towels you kept handy.

clapton was unusually quiet and you were beginning to tally all the times he had acted out of character today. usually, he'd be cracking jokes, trying to kiss you obnoxiously, because when has clapton davis ever been serious about anything?

not tonight, though. he's starting to worry you with his silence. did he fall asleep? no, you hear him shift beside you. you dare to look over and see clapton on his side, head propped up on an arm. he's biting the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit you recognize by now.

you lay there for a few moments, anxiety almost fully settled in before clapton finally speaks.

"you know," clapton starts, voice nervous like you've never heard it before. you turn to give him your full attention, though you're not sure if that makes it better or worse. "you know... you know i like you, right?"

that takes you by surprise. it shouldn't; obviously clapton has to like you to some degree to be here. but if he's saying what you think he's saying-

"like... i like you. like, i want to take you out on a date. jesus, how many times am i gonna say like?"

you can't help but laugh, clapton rubbing his forehead with his palm.

clapton smiles again, more familiar now, but it's still a little nervous. if you'd rest against his chest right now, you're sure you'd hear his heart racing.

you're biting your lip, too, not sure how to reply. because the feelings you've realized you have for clapton terrify you. not out of shame or embarrassment, but of pure fear that clapton won't take anything between the two of you seriously.

you're too quiet and clapton has always hated the silence, a need to fill it pushing him to take on the role of class clown.

"stupid, right? that's, like, the one thing that wasn't supposed to happen." clapton laughs his usual charming laugh, as if the entire thing was no big deal.

he almost fooled you.

"i like you, clapton davis," you admit out loud for the first time after a moment, catching clapton himself by surprise. "i mean, i seriously hate how much i like you."

clapton laughs again, but you can tell it's genuine this time. he turns to you again, watching your face but detecting no deception. he knows you're mostly joking, but he doesn't have to ask why the part that isn't joking said that.

he knows how careless he can be. his go-with-the-flow attitude let him accept whatever you'd give him, but it'd almost driven you away, too. as clapton realized how much he really cared, you'd thought that he had not really cared at all, pushing him away as you discovered your own growing love to try and prevent yourself from getting hurt. it was a real mess.

"i, um," clapton starts, not quite great with words that aren't strung together to make people laugh. "really care about you. in the way that i'd stand outside your window for an hour if you wanted me to and i wouldn't even ask for sex." clapton cringes at the example but to his relief, you laugh. "and i can't promise you i won't hurt you but i fully give you permission to, like, chop my dick off or something if i do."

"clapton-"

"i'm serious!" clapton laughs, relieved that you're laughing along with him. "i'll sign a waiver. just let me take you out on an actual date?" he asks hopefully, spinning one of his bracelets around his wrists nervously.

clapton grins so wide his cheeks hurt when you nod, smiling as he is. "yeah, okay."

he doesn't wait to long to cup your face and kiss you, making sure his mouth presses against yours slowly and carefully, trying to pour all the things he can't figure out how to say into the kiss. you seem to get it, letting clapton rub his thumb over your cheek gently and look at you for a few moments after you separate. he wipes the corner of your lips, large fingers dragging along the high points of your face.

"i should go," he says finally, quietly, reluctantly.

"you could go in the morning," you say too quickly. it's risky, but you don't want to let go of clapton just yet.

clapton grins, traces your jaw. "if you insist."

you're rolling your eyes with no hostility, getting up to pull something fresh on, throwing clapton a shirt he'd left that you'd had to lie to your parents about when they spotted it in your hamper.

"i can't believe you didn't know i liked you. i gave you my favorite bracelet," clapton shakes his head in disbelief as he pulls the shirt on and digs for the sweatpants he'd thrown to the ground.

"you didn't give it to me, you left it here," you scoff, climbing back in to bed.

"that's the same thing," clapton insists, picking the neon green bracelet off your desk, heart leaping at the fact that you'd kept it. he climbs in next to you, holding out an expectant hand. you place your arm in it, smiling as you let clapton slide the bracelet onto your wrist.

"there. now i gave it to you."

"yeah, whatever." you pull clapton down next to you, placing your head on his chest while his strong arms wrap around you instinctively. one of his hands reaches up to your shoulder, rubbing up and down soothingly.

"goodnight," you mumble quietly, sleep catching you quickly.

"goodnight," clapton whispers, letting it take him, too.

he'd dream about you like he usually would, but you're already in his arms like he'd always hoped.

[sun-spider13]

he’s so beautiful i need him inside me <3

[luvs4jhutch]

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.

[freak-accident419]

High On You

Derek Danforth x GN!AFAB!Reader

Summary: You read over the statistics and analytics for Derek’s company, as he requested. Except, while you do this, you’re on his bed, lower half of your body exposed as he does lines of cocaine on your thigh—then he eats you out.

WC: 1.2k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, derek danforth x reader (gn!afab!reader), oral (v!receiving), no spoilers for The Beekeeper, brief (yet detailed) cocaine/drug use, graphic depictions of sex and drugs (this is probably the filthiest thing i ever wrote on here), cursing

(A/n: I couldn’t wait to write it, so here !! Haven’t watched the movie yet, but if I notice that there’s anything incorrect here once I do, I’ll go back and change it ! I’m so sorry to my AMAB readers and/or the AFAB readers who get dysphoria from this type of writing !! You can check out my other smuts that aren’t genital-specific !! Love you all!! And thanks to everyone for your support !! Anyways, I think that Derek doing coke on the reader is such a Derek thing to do.)

Tags: @thehermitsaltar @coriolanussnowswife @moonlight-rosevine @harrysflorist @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @joshhutchersons-slut

-

Your rich boyfriend, Derek Danforth, asked you to read over the statistics and analytics of his phishing center, informing him how much money he’s earned in the past week.

Except it wasn’t a very professional or orderly way.

You laid on his bed, looking at the information on your phone, reading how much millions were gained on Thursday, while your entire lower body was naked. You two were always a very intimate couple, so this wasn’t new or had invoked any feelings of diffidence, as your legs were spread out across the mattress.

He snorted a line of cocaine, pressing down on one of his nostrils to inhale the drug after spilling the white powder onto your thigh and scraping it into several thin lines using one of his credit cards. It felt tingly, to have him do this on your thigh, his head ever so close to your cunt. While this occurred, his free hand was resting on your other bare thigh.

He let out an ecstatic groan afterward, and then looked at you as his high rushed in. “What—What’d you say again, baby?”

You chuckle softly at his mannerisms. “I said that in total, for Thursday at least, UDG obtained, like, over six fucking million,” you reply, looking over the statistics on your phone again. “Business is booming.”

Derek smirked as he was satisfied to hear the news. “Damn fuckin’ right it is.”

His body slightly tensed up as he quickly inhaled another white line on your thigh through his nostril, briefly rubbing his nose afterwards. The sharp inhale caused him to feel a surge of euphoria throughout his body as the drugs entered his system. His eyes closed in pleasure, then opened, pupils slightly dilated.

You watched him do this, taking a short drag of your cigarette. “Last week’s average was five point two million dollars,” you add, observing him as he corrected the final line with the card, straightening it out onto your thigh.

“So what was the total earned in that week?” He inquired as your cigarette remained hanging from your mouth.

“Thirty-six million dollars, baby,” you answer proudly while he inhales the last line quite harshly, and heard him whoop as he gained exhilaration from both the drug and the statistics.

You finally place your phone down on the night stand to give full attention to your boyfriend. You bring your hand to his hair, tangling his soft, light curls in your fingers. “Congratulations,” you praise gently, watching Derek close his eyes in pleasure, leaving a small kiss on your thigh.

He placed the package of coke on the night stand and adjusted himself on the bed between your legs. He continued to leave soft kisses on your thigh, gradually trailing towards your untouched pussy.

“Mm, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He observed, demonstrating a hint of pity. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he huffs, pulling your hips closer to his face as he finally licked up your cunt in an animalistic fashion.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers still in his hair, and you grab the cigarette out of your mouth, immediately putting it out on the ashtray.

Derek’s warm tongue caressed along your folds exuberantly, moving up and down as your breath hitched. He gripped your thighs tightly, pushing his face even further in your cunt. You let out a gasp—almost a moan—as he flicked your clit with his tongue, stimulating the sensitive nub which elicited even more intense sounds from your mouth.

“O-oh, fuck, Derek!” You moaned as you felt him suck at your clit, closing his lips around it while lightly moving his hands up and down from your thighs to your sensitive hips, thumb pushing down on your pelvic bone for a brief moment, causing more pleasure within you. “S-so good, love… Fuck, yes.”

He lapped at your dripping pussy once more, threatening to poke inside each time his tongue ran over your entrance. He incessantly licked at you, so desperately and lustfully, occasionally tugging at your flesh between his soft lips.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he mutters between his rapid licks, “S’fucking good for me Y/n…” He rubbed off some leftover powder on your thigh, messily inhaling it through his nose for enhanced stimulus.

Your thighs jolting as you let out a high-pitched whine once you felt his tongue finally push inside your wet, aching cunt. He was eating you out as if you were forbidden fruit, because he would rather die than never be able to taste you. Pleasing to the eye, he really couldn’t help it. He was practically making out with your pussy, exploring your walls with his generous tongue.

Your legs closed around his head and you brought both of your hands to his hair, tugging his curls, which gets a muffled groan out of him, the vibration causing you to feel even more pleasure. Your breath hitched and you choked out a moan as you felt his nose bumping against your clit as he ate you out. Derek felt so hazy and foggy from his high, and because everything was so sensitive for him, he could practically cum untouched from how much arousal he gained from pleasing you. Not only was he high on cocaine, but he was also high on your taste, and hearing you moan was his ultimate addiction.

“Sh-shit, Derek…” Your head turned to the side tiredly, eyes threatening to close as you felt overwhelmed with all the stimulation. Derek hooked one of his arms around your thigh so he could place his hand warmly on your stomach, below your belly button yet over your cunt, now focusing more on his precision.

You felt yourself closer to your orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing onto you each second. Derek slipped his tongue out, just to spread your pussy lips apart with his fingers, and then lap his tongue against your cunt again sloppily, making your thighs twitch, incoherent whimpers escaping your mouth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot…” he mumbles.

You let out a high-pitched moan as his long, slender middle finger inserted into you effortlessly, quick, deep thrusts provoking wet, vulgar squelches while he simultaneously sucked your clit again. He pulled out his finger smoothly, abrasively running it between your soaked folds, then pushed it back in deeply.

“G-God! Fuck!” You whined, back arching as you succumbed to his touch. Abruptly, he spit on your cunt, lapped his tongue on you, switching constantly between your folds and your clit. You felt a knot in your stomach, in which Derek’s free hand had still remained resting on it. His licks were fast and rough, and you felt yourself being driven over the edge. “G—Fuck, Derek, b-baby, I-I’m—”

“That’s it, that’s it, baby,” he encouraged softly in between licks. He looked at you hungrily with his deep brown eyes, “Cum for me.”

The second you heard his command, you came hard around his finger, moaning his name loudly as he slipped it out to desperately taste your juices, him groaning in your cunt. You whimpered and shuddered uncontrollably, his insistent touch bringing you to overstimulation. He kissed it a few times, then brought himself up from the mattress to make you with you, lips moving with yours as it allowed you to taste yourself.

“Fucking love you,” he muttered in the kiss. “So good for me, Y/n, fuck.” He held you in his arms softly, being as gentle as he could, rubbing your arms up and down comfortingly. The room smelled like sex, as the atmosphere consisted of only your deep breaths and the soft, wet smacking of your kisses.

“Fuck,” you panted, and the corner of your lips curled into a relieved smile until you kissed him again. “I love you too.”

[raeofsunrise]

can I please request a blurb or something where the reader admires Mike’s eyes? it’s canon that he once went on a date with a girl in high school who never went on a second date with him because she said his eyes were “too intense” so I would love to see his reaction to the reader saying that it is their favorite thing about him :) I enjoy reading your work btw!

my favorite things

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: mike has never had anyone compliment him, not in a long time, at least.

warnings: light cursing

word count: 389

author’s note: super short, but i just LOVE how this turned out. hope y’all love it ☆

“and i just can’t fucking believe how stupid this is because. . .”

mike was ranting about one of the many, many problems he had at his new job. you had been dating each other for about 4 months, but since this wasn’t your first time listening to him, you decided to fix your eyes on one of his features.

today, you decided to fixate yourself on his eyes. oh, you could get lost in his eyes forever. they were brown, but when the light shines on them, like how the sun does when he wakes up in the morning, there’s a slight greenish hue to them. they almost turn hazel. it reminded you of the clear, autumn sky.

it sounds cliché, but you thought that his eyes told so much about him. there was a tired, stressed look to his eyes. but in moments where it was just the two of you, together, alone, they were loving. longing. like you were what he was looking for for forever, and he finally found it.

“hey. hey, are you listening?”

mike brings you back down to earth with his question while waving his hand in your face. he doesn’t look upset at the fact that you were obviously not listening to him. he was just confused. a little amused, too. maybe there was something on your mind, he thought. i mean, you were staring into his eyes for five minutes straight, and he only noticed now.

“what’s with you?” mike asks.

“nothing, i just…you have really pretty eyes.” you confess.

he laughs and rolls his eyes. “yeah, sure.” he says.

“you do!” you suddenly get defensive. you knew he was never the confident type—hell, he rarely said one good thing about himself, but you were surprised that out of all the compliments you gave him, this was the one he denied?

“they’re my favorite thing about you.”

you move over to sit right next to mike, and you put his arm around your shoulder and lean into him.

“and i have a lot of favorite things about you, mike.”

you look up at him and smile. he smiles back, and suddenly all of the stress from his eyes disappeared, replaced only by love.

“oh, yea?” he asks.

he gives you a sweet kiss, one full of gratitude.

“tell me all about it.”

please give feedback! it’s very appreciated ☆

[r04dk1llx2]

Begging For It *ੈ✩‧₊˚

This came to me suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, so enjoy it.

Pairing: Clapton Davis x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: You get to peg Clapton Davis. That’s it. That’s the story.

Tags: GN!reader (use of ‘mommy’ is the only gendered term), Dom!reader, Sub!Clapton, pegging, strap-on penetration, anal, nipple clamps, vibrating cock ring, whiny Clapton (as usual), premature ejaculation (he’s touch starved and horny be nice to him), praise, degradation, overstimulation, thigh-highs, very brief choking, average early 2000s teenager room setup, don’t talk about the fact that Ayesha didn’t produce music in that timeframe…

The harsh moonlight from your open window shines along his skin, illuminating the thin sheen of sweat covering his toned body. You were balls deep in Clapton Davis, the schools resident jackass.

“f-fuuuuck—! don’t stop-!” Your room is entirely filled with his moans, even drowning out the sound of the Ayesha Erotica track that he had playing on your speaker. Clapton was never one to be quiet.. being in bed with him was no different.

You thrust slowly, holding his hips as he groans into the fuzzy pink pillow beneath him. He looked entirely fucked out, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead, his necklaces tangled and his shirt pulled up to expose his chest, not to mention the black thigh highs you convinced him to wear for you. You gently pull at his hair, forcing him to look back at you.

He’s already drooling, long eyelashes fluttering as he looks back at you with a dumb grin, the chain connecting the nipple clamps you had put on him earlier jingling each time you push into him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pretty boy?” You purr, his hole clenching around you as soon as he hears that nickname. He nods frantically, lips parted slightly as he lets out a sharp whimper.

You pick up the pace, causing him to loose balance as you slam into him. He’s panting, a total mess beneath you as you bring your hand to hold his head down against the bed, your other hand reaching down to pump his painfully hard cock.

He yelps, hips bucking into your fist as soon as you make contact with his length. His thighs tense, his muscles showing under those sheer black thigh highs.

“Ghh—! m-mommy—!” He sobs, babbling incoherently, completely dumbed down by your dick. He whines loudly, eyes rolling back as you slam into his prostate.

It only takes a few more thrusts against his sweet spot for him to moan, his dick twitching hard in your hand before immediately shooting a load out against his stomach, coating your zebra print sheets in the process. He was never one to last long, got himself too excited and worked up.

He cries out, panting hard as you continue to move, only slowing down enough for him to catch his breath. He’s insatiable.

“Already cumming so soon, baby?”

“M’sorry—“ He pants, still rocking his hips back against you. “Please- keep going— need it-“

You nod, slipping your cock out as you turn him onto his back. He looks.. embarrassed, completely flushed, but turned on.

“Good boy… think you can cum again for me? Make your mommy proud?”

He nods pathetically, his hips rolling against the air, desperate for contact again. You grin down at him, reaching down to grab the chain connecting his clamps, tugging at it, watching his expression contort in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Fucking whore. Of course you’d be more than happy to cum again.” You spit, snapping the elastic of his thigh highs against his skin. He lets out a choked sob, tears pricking in his eyes from the overstimulation. “Stay there.”

You briefly get up, rummaging around the bedside drawer before pulling out a bright pink ring. You hold it up, waving it teasingly infront of his face as you climb back ontop of him, kneeling between his thighs.

“You know what this is, don’t you, baby?” You hum, watching his pupils dilate.

“u-uhm… a cock ring..?” Clapton stammers, nervously biting his lip. His cock twitches from the thought of you using it on him alone.

“Mhm.. that’s right. This one vibrates, it’s gonna keep you nice and hard while I fuck you.” You murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his thigh, slowly slipping the cock ring onto his hardening dick. He whimpers, cock twitching at the sensation, a small bead of precum already forming at his slit.

“God, you’re such a slut…” You scoff, grabbing the bottle of lube that had been set aside on the end of the bed, pumping a generous amount on your hand before stroking yourself. Once you’re fully coated and lubed up, you guide his hips up and press back against his ass, feeling it immediately take you in.

He groans once you slide back in, knowing you hadn’t turned on the vibrating function to his cock ring just yet. His gaze meets yours, full of lust and a twinge of anticipation in those big puppy eyes.

“Mommy…?”

“F-fuck- what? you want that turned on already? are you that desperate to cum again?” You grunt, slowly pumping in and out of him, sweat already forming on your brow. He nods, looking a little embarrassed.

You sigh, a small smirk escaping your lips before you press the side button of the ring, feeling it vibrate to life. Clapton whines, hips bucking again as you hold his thighs, thrusting harder. He already looked close.

With how loud he is, you can barely register the music that’s still filling your bedroom, as if you could even think of anything aside from Clapton at this point. He looks so pretty… lips soft and puffy from earlier, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, a deep blush covering his freckled cheeks.

“Fuck me harder- p-please-! feels s’good—“

He’s begging again, how cute. You oblige, ramming deeper and deeper into his ass, the bright pink of the dildo connected to your strap-on sliding in and out of his pretty little hole, how he managed to take this much up the ass? No clue, but you weren’t one to judge.

After a few moments of listening to him babble incoherently, you turn up the vibrations on his cock ring, causing him to sob out in pleasure. His cock looked pathetic, all red and overstimulated, but still rock hard and leaking everywhere. As if he didn’t already leak all over this bed, you’ve got to wash those sheets later..

You reach down to grab his throat, applying just enough pressure to make him see stars as you fuck him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. You feel his legs wrap around your torso, the sensation of his thigh highs rubbing against your sides as he pulls you in closer.

“Cmon, Clapton… cum for me, be a good boy and cum” You pant, leaning in to kiss him, darting your tongue out to wet his painfully chapped lips. He almost instantly complies, parting his lips so you could deepen the kiss, letting your tongues dance as you thrust harder and harder into him.

He whimpers and moans into your mouth, stifling himself as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You hear his voice go up an octave, and his legs begin to tremble, his nails digging into your back as you feel a sudden sensation shoot up against your stomach.

You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you hear him panting heavily under you, his eyes shut a his mouth still slightly open.

“Good boy… Such a good boy..” You whisper, peppering soft kisses along his jaw, slowly moving down to his shoulders. You let the ring continue to vibrate, but pull yourself out slowly, eliciting a high pitched whine from the pretty boy underneath you.

“mmhh- fuck— t-thank you, mommy—“ He breathes out, slowly opening his eyes, a mess of sweat and tears covering his soft skin. You wipe his cheeks, smiling softly down at him.

“mm-hmm.. of course, baby, I love yo—“

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N?? Did Clapton come over? You know we don’t want your friends over this late at night!”

Suddenly, a knock on your bedroom door, accompanied by the voice of.. who you could only assume was your parents, of course it was your parents, you haven’t moved out yet. You stare down at Clapton, his eyes were wide, and frankly, so were yours. You can barely make out the words over the mix of music and the vibrating of Claptons cock ring..

“oh fuck-“

[joshfutturman]

"you have me, you always have"

oneshot (request) - you and clapton have been in a 'will they won't they' type relationship for years, you're best friends - but is that all you want? (2.3k words) pairing - clapton davis (detention) + reader (gender neutral) tags: making out / kissing, moans (oops :3), feelings realisation, will they won't they, suggestive scenes, no use of y/n, vague alcohol mention, cursing

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

clapton. davis. what could you say about clapton davis? you had been best friends for as long as you could remember. it was always just easy with him. you never had to try too hard or try to be funny - he just got you, and you got him.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

notes: this was SO much fun!!! thank you so so much for the request @rhilove1234 ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵◌₎♡ - you're officially the first request of this account! i hope this was alright for you ٩( ´◡` )

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

clapton. davis. what could you say about clapton davis? you had been best friends for as long as you could remember. it was always just easy with him. you never had to try too hard or try to be funny - he just got you, and you got him.

it was actually kind of poetically perfect that you two had applied to the same college together and had been accepted, a miracle too. clapton had the lowest gpa you'd ever heard of, but with his interest in music and the passion he clearly had for the history behind it - the college took kindly to that. you wondered if he offered to create a mix-tape for the assessors. there must have been some sort of bribe involved.

there was a time when he'd told you of his fear of the future, how he'd rather stay in the present. you remember this moment vividly, the two of you sat on your front lawn, stars sprawling above you as the world grew quiet. clapton nervously fidgeted with a blade of grass and you watched on. "the present is good, what's so wrong with wanting to stay here?" he spoke quietly, as though he knew that he didn't really believe what he was saying.

"well, yeah, the present is pretty cool," you smiled, nudging his shoulder with yours - this earned a smile from him, "but. . . don't you wanna see what's out there? who's out there?"

his eyes perked up from the blade of grass and settled on you for a few moments before darting across the street. his smile turned softer, shyer. clapton had all he wanted, right here.

the journey towards the college would take a couple of hours and clapton offered to give you a ride. your hands shook as you packed your belongings into his trunk. he watched from the side, eyebrows furrowing as he bit the inside of his cheek. once you were both settled into the small red car, clapton set off. but not before he reached his hand over, giving yours a reassuring squeeze.

he didn't let go for the entire journey.

the dorm room was pretty much what you were expecting, cramped, but decent. your roommate, damon, offered a smile to both of you as clapton helped you inside with your luggage. with a warm, tight hug and a small cheeky kiss on the cheek that you laughed off and so did he, clapton left. not before he sheepishly eyed your roommate, though. they exchanged a look, and it made your eyebrow raise as you gingerly rubbed the skin where his lips had been.

as soon as that door closed, damon piped up. "your boyfriend?"

a laugh erupted from you. clapton? your boyfriend? you hadn't even kissed, how could you possibly be dating? was it the kiss on the cheek? that doesn't count. you were best friends. there were no feelings there. clapton davis? dating? never. that damn skateboard had his heart. yeah. it wasn't like you had feelings for him that were bubbling below the surface, threatening to escape after every interaction. it's not like you wanted to ask him if this was something more. and it definitely wasn't like you had thought about pushing him against the lockers every day and kissing him like time was running out, or that you imagined him taking his hand in yours, for real - nah.

best friends. that's all it was.

but that comment remained firmly in your mind. it had been a few weeks and you couldn't shake it. was this really something more? could it be, even?

clapton was the kind of guy who could win anyone around, practically everyone he had ever met had fallen in love with him in some capacity. sure, he could be an ass when it came to his music opinions and that adorable sting fixation could be grating - but not to you. it was exactly that, adorable. he was like this with everyone, right?

even in class, you found it hard to focus. he'd insist on sitting behind you or beside you so he could pester you. in this particular lecture, he was behind. clapton leans back, swinging in his chair as he eyes the back of your head, caught in a daydream.

he sighs, deeply. clapton often looked at you like this when you weren't looking. he would desperately try to think of something to say to make you laugh, to catch your attention, to have your eyes fall on him even just for a little while. he flips open his little black notebook and peers at the bullet-pointed contents. 'say something funny, say something witty, wear their favourite colour, tell them you like them.' he hastily shut the book.

leaning over, his fingers brush your hair behind your ear. you immediately felt goosebumps spread across your neck and a tingle ran down your spine like lightning. a blush burned deep in your cheeks. "do. . . you got a pen i could borrow?" clapton whispered, his breath hot on your skin.

with a hard swallow, you passed a pen backwards and offered him a quick smile before looking straight ahead again, gritting your teeth to firmly push those thoughts from your head.

best. friends. that's all it was.

these thoughts led to you avoiding him, avoiding one on one time. it was better to stay in a group when you were with him, or was it? damon wasn't the last person to ask if you guys were dating. and you saw clapton's face when he was asked, the laugh he gave people - clearly he thought it was a joke too.

it was fine, it was going to be fine. one of your classmates had invited you to a house party that night, this would surely take your mind off things. you'd get some space, more space from clapton and maybe you'd find someone new. maybe he'd find someone new.

your stomach churned at the thought.

walking inside, you relished the sound of conversation from all sides. there wasn't any space to listen to your thoughts in here and that's exactly the kind of escape you wanted. shoulders rising and falling with a sigh of relief, you find the kitchen. a drink in hand and you definitely feel more relaxed. yeah, things were going to work out. things were-

clapton.

your eyes fixate on him from across the room. he's on the sofa, surrounded by people. they're chatting to him like he's the most interesting guy in the world. you notice when he laughs, they do too. they're hanging on his every word and they love it. they're too far away for you to make out their conversation, but you can tell that clapton is enjoying telling the story. he always did like attention - and not in a conceited way, he just naturally attracted people.

and then, his eyes met yours.

eyes widening, you look away and down the rest of your drink. a few seconds later, you started to leave the kitchen area to retreat towards the cramped hallway. clapton called out to you, telling you to wait, to 'come join him'. you didn't listen, but if you'd stayed a few seconds longer, you might have heard that the story he had enjoyed telling so much was about you and him.

in the hallway, you gathered yourself and ran your fingers through your hair. it wasn't long before you heard clapton approaching too, though, and you let out a soft grunt of frustration. "trouble in paradise?" someone muttered and you shot them an icy glare. the door to the backyard ahead, you left and slammed it behind you.

the cold atmosphere hit you and your cheeks were hotter than you realised. it felt as though you could actually breathe in the night air. but when you heard the door handle turn and clapton exit, you felt just as tense again.

"what the hell is going on with you?" he speaks in a firm but confused tone, there was a hint of hurt in there. the brunette approached you from behind and stopped just shy of you. "you've been acting weird for weeks, ignoring me, rejecting every single offer to hang out - did i do something wrong?"

that last sentence hurts you, it hurt to think of him wondering if he'd upset you. "no." is all you manage to say.

night envelops you both, the quiet thumping of the music from inside fills the silence in between your words.

"then, what?" he asks and you can hear him almost stomp his feet.

"people keep asking me if we're. . . a thing and i thought. . . well i thought it would be better if we kept some distance, that's all." you said with a shrug, folding your arms firmly.

silence falls around you both for a few moments. you wondered if he could hear how loudly your heart was beating in your chest, as though it were threatening to escape.

and then you could feel his presence behind you, his head near your shoulder, lips close to your ear. ". . . is that what you want?" clapton asked, his breath shaking slightly.

the closeness was almost too much to handle. your stomach in knots, it trips over itself, desperately trying to untangle the anxious mess inside. of course distance wasn't what you wanted.

he mutters your name softly into your ear, placing a hand on your hip and you snap, turning quickly with clenched fists. you want to yell, you want to ask him what you both are, you want to tell him to piss off - you want him.

fuck, you want him.

clapton raises his hands slightly to give you space and looks rather defeated, those hazel puppy dog eyes veering to the left to avert your heated gaze. but he then stands still, slowly his eyes return to yours and he can see conflict behind your eyes. gaining a little more of his confidence back, he puffs out his chest and takes a step closer. you noticed how his hands still shook though, despite that secure stance.

you held his gaze as he approached, your own hands shaking in turn. he almost commanded your attention with those eyes. and you realise in that moment that clapton sees you. he really sees you. he always has. you crave him, like it's been years since you both touched, his soft skin against yours.

"is that. . . what you want?" he repeats, bringing you out of your thoughts and he's firmer this time. you are inches from one another.

his hand snakes towards your neck along your supple skin, cupping against your jaw, thumb resting on your cheek. you can't help but let out a small gasp in response as your hand comes up to rest on his wrist. your cheek nuzzles into his touch, warm, safe.

"i want you." you finally admit, words trembling from your mouth, a short laugh following suit as if it was so silly to hear it out loud.

clapton's eyes sparkle and stare back into yours. you notice how his whole face lights up, unable to hide the smile pulling on his lips. "you have me, you always have." he admits with a soft chuckle like it was so obvious.

and then he kisses you, he kisses you like he's hungry, like he's starving. your lips collide, your eyes close and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. you come undone. clapton wraps an arm around you to pull your body closer to his and you trail a hand up the back of his neck to grip that messy, adorable hair. his tongue slips into your mouth and you welcome it, feeling warmth rise in your belly.

you never wanted to let go, you never wanted to stop. his hand firmly on your neck and a strong hand on your back, he held you tightly. though you tried to suppress it, a little sigh of pleasure escapes and you can feel him smirk proudly through the kiss. it causes him to hold you tighter in response and your other hand grips his shirt for stability.

the cold air nips at your skin but it's a welcome sensation against the fervency of the kiss. his hand slides around your neck to the back of your head, his fingers lacing into the back of your hair causing ripples of tingles across your shoulders. you whisper his name into his mouth and it comes out in a pleading tone - but you're not sure what you're pleading for.

he gives you what you want, despite you yourself not knowing what that was. a gentle tug on your hair and his firm hand trailing down your side to tug at the bottom of your shirt cheekily. a giggle erupts from your lips as you pull away just enough to let it out, eyeing him with a smirk.

before you know it, your hand is in his and your eyes are drawn to watch your hands tangle together. it amazes you how perfectly they fit, his digits sneaking into yours with a thumb caressing your skin. it felt right. this was exactly what you wanted. it felt different from the other times, more tender, more meaningful. he gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you meet his gaze once more.

"so," he speaks up, breathless, "is our anniversary now or is it when i thought we were actually dating all those years ago?"

you can't help but laugh, breathless too. "oh my god," you roll your eyes, "shut up."

[hutchersonsgurl]

Josh Hutcherson and his little “Mike” signature 😭

[amiadeadpoet]

and when they're exhausted, that’s the end for my fucking nurse complex (not a good thing, trust me)

anyway, i have a long list if you're not satisfied.

[thepowerofswayze]

Surprise Visit

also on ao3

pairing: clapton davis (2011) / reader [gender not specified]

word count: 555 (angel number now you have to read)

warnings & info: straddling, kissing, truly just fluff

summary: your boyfriend pops in one night to see you

note: v short and sweet :p one day, i will write an adequate length, smutty ass clapton fic. but today isn't that day.

☆

Clapton wished that he’d grabbed a hoodie on his way out.

He was standing outside of your house on a 50 degree night with only a tank top and a pair of basketball shorts to protect him from the cold. The chill wasn’t so bad on his arms, but his ears were starting to hurt and his eyes stung everytime the wind blew.

He reached up and knocked on the window in front of him, waiting for you to come see who was there. A shivering minute passed before he realized he hadn’t even checked to make sure you were home. Just as he reached for his phone, the window slid up.

“You’re kidding me.”

Your boyfriend had a habit of appearing at your window. It was partially your fault, as you had told him numerous times he could show up whenever, but he usually shot you a text first. Not that you minded much. You’d just been wasting time sprawled out on your desk chair, texting a friend about one thing or another, a cd playing in the background. You’d been moments away from asking him to come over yourself.

Clapton was already halfway in the room by the time you’d spoken, tumbling onto the floor, landing on his ass. He sat there, looking up at you with a dopey grin as you closed the window and shook your head at him. “It’s only nine,” he started, holding out a hand as you rolled your eyes. “You weren’t even in bed yet.”

You took his hand, hoisting him up. “Jesus, Clapton, you’re freezing. Did you walk all the way?”

A shrug. “It’s just a couple blocks.”

“In a tank top? You’re insane. Certifiable, even.” You were rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand, like that’d warm him up. It was sweet enough to make his stomach flip- though almost everything you did made him feel that way.

Clapton huffed a laugh, dropping onto your bed and tilting his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “You’re right, I’m so cold.” He threw in an exaggerated shiver, even as he felt the heat of your room bringing him back to a normal temperature. “Why don’t you come warm me up?”

You groaned, bringing a hand to cover your face, but he could see the grin pulling at your lips. He pulled you closer by your belt loops so you stood between his legs and spent a second taking you in- the way your lips curled up as you looked down at him, the sparkle of your eyes as your hands fell away, opting instead to clasp behind his neck. 

“Well,” you began, biting your bottom lip, surveying him. Your eyes glanced towards your bedroom door- locked. Your parents were asleep by now anyway. “I can’t very well let you freeze, can I?” A muffled ‘Mm-mm’ was all the response you got, as Clapton was too busy pressing kisses to your stomach through your shirt. When you hummed and climbed onto his lap, straddling him, he knew he’d won. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, and you scoffed as you cupped his face in both hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

He answered with a blinding smile. “You love me,” he said, and you shut him up with your lips on his.

[vanyatas]

omg hii !! can you write a clapton smut where the reader (a girl) turns him into a pathetic whiny mess ? like overstim or violently riding him im begging you 😭 ik he seems to talk a lot when hes around ppl but i think he would be sooo obedient during intimate moments 😵‍💫

no ur so true say it with UR CHEST !!!! FUCK !!!!!!!

EDGING.

Clapton davis x Fem.Reader

tags: Whiny Clapton (😋), Blowjob/Handjob, Dom Reader (MUAHAHAHAH), Edging, Overstimulation, Begging, Cum eating.

Always let me know if i forgot anything!!

Clapton Davis was probably the most popular guy in school, Already naturally gorgeous, Laid back hipster with no fucks to give, Kind and charismatic, it’s hard not to be when it comes to him naturally, Bold and optimistic, usually just confident all around.

He knew all of this about himself but. Here he is out of breath, tears threatening to leak out of his eyes, gripping onto your forearm as you’re repeatedly swiping your thumb across his already pleading cock head. Whines and whimpers, Pleads and cries for you to just let him cum as he’s doing everything in his will not to twitch and thrash around.

He remembers how he got here, he remembers hearing the teacher praise you about how you have the highest test scores of everyone in the class. How his ears rang when Mr.Kendall said Clapton should start taking after You.

At the time he was too busy trying to make Ione laugh and trying to impress her. Lighting the beaker in front of him, just for the fire alarm to go off and soaking the entire class in water.

At first he just laughed. It was a bit silly even if he knew something stupid, Then a bright smile etched his features as their teacher placed the graded test on his soaking wet desk. A blocky A was shining directly in his eyes. “Woah an A, Thank you!!” However as soon as he spoke those words the teacher leaned down to erase it into an F.

A defeated look replaced his features. His eyes lingered over to you as you try to wring out your jacket and save your homework and papers.

Another smile fell onto his face, The bell rang and he skipped his way over to you, a slightly startled expression he was met with.

Conversing with you, his mind was stuck on one thing. This was going to be too easy.

Yet here he is, Notes and practice tests scattered across the bed and floor as he’s staring directly at you. His mouth was completely soaked from his own drool, No matter how bad he wanted to cum it felt so fucking good being edged.

You’re cooing in his ear about how good he was doing and how gorgeous he looked being this slutty mess for you, your free hand wiped his drool away placing a kiss on his mouth and on his face.

Immediately he had reciprocated but stuffed his face in your neck, gripping onto your waist and your arm. “Mmmfmf Fuck Please. I wanna cum. I wanna cum so baddddd! Please please p-please let.” interrupted by his own loud whimper hiding his face deeper into your shoulder. “Y/N. Please ffuck. Please let me cum.”

His voice was strained, his neon teal shirt was soaked in his sweat. You’ve been at this for hours. He genuinely can’t believe he’s losing his mind over someone who he initially wanted to convince to cheat off of. You were pretty, You had the nicest voice ever, You were sweeter to him than any other girl he’s met. Easily he was slipped into this sort of submission after he kissed you. Felt your hands gently pawing at his chest and arms. Which lead you to your current situation.

“Clapton you’re doing so well for me.” You purred into his ear. Another swipe at his tip and he gasped grabbing at you tighter, if he even could. “You’ve held out for so long I think I can spare a bit of mercy.” you teased which made him feel even more light headed if he even could.

He felt you remove your hand off of his dick and he whined softly at the loss of contact. You gave him a small kiss on his nose and whispered. “Lay on your back.” he was at the start but he has found himself on his side trying to buck his hips into your hand.

Doing as he was told he felt his face get hot. He was still hard. It didn’t help to see you moving between his thighs which made him whine at just the sight. His body shivered as you started to place kisses against his length. One of his hand moved to hold your head very softly, just petting your hair and moving it out of your face. You were very pretty and he couldn’t help but bend to anything and everything you did.

Your hot mouth had encased itself around him and he let out a loud yelp. Your tongue softly flicked and moved around his weeping tip. “PleasePleasePlease Fuck.” he cried covering his eyes with his arm as his grip on your hair tightened. Tears spilled from his eyes, This feeling was too much but he didn’t want it to stop.

Your head bobbed lower taking in a majority of him in, with every move of your own he let out loud moans and pants, he doesn’t know how much more he could take.

You could tell, the way his hips bucked into your mouth out of instinct and his dick twitching and leaking unholy amounts of precum against your taste buds wasn’t unnoticed. You pulled your mouth off of him for just a second, soft kitten licks against him. “You can cum anytime you want gorgeous.” you whispered loud enough for him to hear, your mouth instantly wrapped back around him.

Clapton wasted no time, Gripping your head with both of his hands his eyes shakily stared at you as his bottom lip quivered, “Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Oh my god!” he basically shouted out as he finally was able to finish. he threw his head back and let out a soft whimper almost filling your mouth too much.

Wiping away your drool you swallowed before pushing yourself up to lay right next to him. He was still breathless. you wrapped your arms around him which he, without a second of doubt shoved his face between your chest and curled into you.

This made you giggle softly, stroking the back of his hair you kissed him all over his head which he leaned back to let you kiss his face, placing a million everywhere he just smiled at you lazily obviously exhausted from the relentless teasing you gave him.

“Can we study tomorrow? I’m so tired dude.”

Another giggle.

“Of course Clapton.”

————————

i need him so fucking bad chat i want him to skate across my mouth with HIS.

[biblio-smia]

Hear me out…

Clapton Davis with a popular!s/o

i'm hearing you out and i'm seated while doing so.

part two | part three

there is, without a doubt, a social pyramid at grizzly lake.

it's not extreme in the sense that people in different social circles don't interact at all (they do), but you won't find someone like ione foster having lunch with riley jones (although they used to be best friends...).

most students will have a group of friends they've had for years, unwilling to give up the integrity of that group for anyone reason - shutting anyone else out. you can talk to someone outside of your group, but know your place - you're not getting invited to that party on saturday.

as for you? you float somewhere near the top, not quite sure how it happened. you had so many friends you were constantly walking around in a pack of people - people just liked you, gravitating towards you and finding their eyes linger as you walked down the hall.

at grizzly lake, you were untouchable.

it didn't surprise clapton davis to see you in physics on the first day of the school year (he'd had a few classes with you throughout high school). but it did surprise him when your new teacher for the year, mr. kendall, sits you down at a lab table in the back of the room, away from all your friends. you give them a sad smile but take your seat, setting your things down and propping your head up on your hand.

you barely react when mr. kendall points his pencil to the space right next to yours and calls out, "clapton davis."

maybe it's because you know the entire room is watching you that you keep staring straight ahead, looking rather bored, expression unwavering as clapton slides into the chair next to yours.

he does look at you, eyebrows raised and lips upturned in a small smile, but clapton doesn't say anything. he slouches in his seat and eventually joins you in looking straight ahead at the board, wondering if you'd respond or ignore him if he tried to talk to you.

it's not like clapton hasn't thought about it before - he's considering finally working up the courage to go up and start a genuine conversation (or at least ask you for your number or something) at least once a week for the past year (though you've been on his radar for much longer). since freshman year, clapton has made exactly two comments that were directed to you, seven jokes while in your vicinity (four of which you laughed at), and probably over a hundred remarks in classes you shared (which still counted!).

sander thought the tally was against him. sander was also beginning to think clapton was seriously going to try and talk to you. no matter how much sander warned him, clapton insisted you were nicer to outsiders than they perceived.

now was clapton's chance to prove himself right - except the bell has rung and you're slinging your bag over your shoulder, picking up your notebook and meeting up with your friends. clapton can hear your laughter as you exit the classroom, eyes falling to the space you'd just occupied and realizing you'd left your pen.

there really isn't anything special about it (other than that it'd been in your hand), but clapton picks it up anyway, staring at the most common type of pen in the country for a few moments before finally, carefully, placing it in the front zipper of his backpack.

clapton was sure the absence of that pen made absolutely no difference to you; there were probably five pens exactly like that one in your pencil pouch. and yet, clapton made a little bit of a show of returning your pen the very next day. after all, it was the thought that counted, right?

"hey," clapton begins as soon as mr. kendall takes a tired seat at his desk, letting the class attend to each other. he's digging in his backpack and you're looking at him with a confused tilt of your head. clapton comes back with a grin and a pen in his hand. "you forgot this after class yesterday."

"huh?" your lips part and your eyes blink once, twice, three times before you finally realize what clapton is saying. "oh!" you say finally, still not quite recalling ever abandoning a pen. "thanks," you say sincerely, taking the pen from clapton and using it to write your name at the top of the worksheet that had been handed out. at least you won't have to dig another pen out now.

"sure," clapton says easily, though your focus is now on the equations in front of you rather than the boy next to you.

and for the first time in history, clapton is suddenly compelled to do his work. his eyes glance between you and the way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, your paper, and the textbook the two of you have to share. he flips through, eyes falling on an equation that looks pretty similar to #2. he punches a few numbers into his calculator confidently, sliding it over to you. your focus on your paper breaks, eyebrows slightly raised in confusion again (it's a cute look on you). you look at the calculator to clapton, who has one of his famously lazy smiles on, and back to the calculator. your face relaxes into a small smile.

"thanks," you say softly, ready to write down the answer clapton has presented you before you realize it's clapton davis.

"wait," you shake your head, laughing lightly. "there's no way that's right."

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, arms on the table and sliding towards you to take a good look at his calculation. "that's totally right."

"clapton, you shouldn't even be getting a decimal," you laugh a little harder now, taking the calculator - his calculator - and clearing his answer. you stare at your paper for a few seconds, biting your lip lightly as clapton simply watches, completely focused on the way your bottom lip springs out from the hold of your teeth. he barely realizes you're stuck until his curious eyes wander down to your fingers and see them hovering over the small buttons of his calculator.

"plus 27," clapton offers, reaching over to hit the respective buttons, fingers lightly grazing yours for just a moment. completely bullshitting.

"how'd you get that?" you ask curiously and too sincerely, forgetting who it was you were talking to. but then clapton grins and shrugs and you roll your eyes, hitting that clear button again - but there's a smile on your face.

"are you trying to sabotage me, clapton?" and clapton remembers exactly how you had completely captivated him earlier - of course you knew his name, but he'd never heard you say it before today.

he wanted to hear it more.

clapton shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "retaking physics wouldn't be so bad if you were my partner again." smooth.

"okay, the school year barely started," you laugh. god, why can't you stop smiling?

clapton leans forward again, crossing his arms on the table and setting his head down on top of them. he doesn't move as you reach into his space to flip the page of the textbook, your arm right up against his, but you don't move either. your arm stays there as you read and try to comprehend whatever it is you're supposed to be learning. clapton doesn't even try to pretend to read, his eyebrows raising as he looks up at you.

you feel warm under clapton's constant gaze, suddenly, weirdly self-conscious. your face is warm and you try, uselessly, to use that pen to direct clapton's attention back to the problem at hand.

"clapton."

"hmm?" clapton hums as you look over, not bothering to look away. he smiles instead at how flustered you seem to be when you avert your eyes (as if you'd been the one who'd been caught staring).

"we have to finish this." you're glancing at the clock. there's a little bit of class left, but everyone else is much further along.

clapton tries not to falter when you say we, picking up his pencil and nodding in agreement. he feels your eyes on him as he scribbles out different numbers in each blank space all the way to #10.

"done," clapton smiles, completely satisfied. he slides on his oversized sunglasses, fingers swiping through the music library on his ipod. he's close enough for you to look over curiously, unable to hold in a laugh as you get a peek of clapton's music choice.

"sting?" you're leaning in closer now, the soft scent of your shampoo reaching clapton's nose.

"uh, yeah. they're like the bruno mars of 1992!"

you laugh again, shaking your head.

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, smile on his face.

"nothing! nothing, that's just... not the type of music i thought you'd listen to."

clapton chuckles, eyebrows raised, body and attention turned completely towards you. he's holding out one of his wired earbuds for you and you decide that physics worksheet can wait.

it takes a lot of explaining afterwards to try and assure your friends that clapton davis walking you to class (and, in turn, being late to his own), earbuds dangling from both your ears while clapton excitedly explained the cultural significance of sting's fields of gold, did not mean anything. they don't believe you, teasing smiles and curious glances making that obvious.

though, you're not sure you believe yourself, either.

hello i got carried away &lt;;3

please let me know if you'd like me to write more clapton x popular s/o + any specific scenarios!! i love love love pathetic loser men &lt;;3

requests are open! | masterlist

[slut4gaga]

i love making these

[jellypopswag]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do an imagine where Clapton goes over to the readers house and have a smoke sesh, maybe make out and goes outside, riding his skateboard together🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

𝙎𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙝

♡ ♡ ♡ jelly's notes ; ~13k words, clapton x gn!reader, m rated, lapslock, shotgunning, mentions and depictions of smoking weed, more romance than i intended

he can't get enough of you.

he's excited to see you, even just by the way he knocks on your front door—eager, fast, and loud.

you've come to believe that, when it comes to you, he thinks like a dog. every minute spent apart feels like an hour, and every hour spent apart feels like ten.

"coming!" you exclaim as you emerge from the kitchen, carrying some snacks. you make your way to the front door— at a leisurely pace, of course. the longer he waits, the more affectionate he'll be when he finally sees you.

you place down an ashtray and some snacks on your coffee table— chips, freshly popped popcorn, soda— the kind of junk food that you feel less guilty about eating when you're doing it with someone else.

closing the distance between you and the front door, tugging it open, your senses are ambushed in an all-too-familiar way.

clapton pulls you into a tight embrace, enveloping you in his arms. this close, you can smell his cologne— a deep, masculine scent, with an addicting tinge of sweetness you can only smell up close.

after a moment of basking in his embrace, clapton pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. "I missed you," he says, as if his eagerness to get his hands on you didn't make that obvious already.

you smile at him, his hands easing downward to grasp onto your waist— holding you there.

clingy is an understatement.

you reply with a quick kiss; just enough to leave him wanting more. "what movie do you want to watch?" you ask innocuously, pulling away from him to sit on your couch.

his hands slip from your waist as you turn to walk off, causing you to grab his hand and pull it into your own— so as to not lose physical contact with him completely.

maybe the clinginess goes both ways.

he interlocks his fingers with your own, sitting down on the couch right beside you— leaving as little space between you both as possible.

"anything," he says, like he often does, which is code for 'i won't be paying attention to whatever we watch anyways.'

you eye him for a moment, an amused grin tugging at your lips. he really does love you, if the adoration in his unwavering gaze is anything to go by. it's no wonder that, when you're in the room, he can't focus on anything else.

"alright then," you slip your hand out of his own, a conscious choice on your part to make sure he continues to ache for more. You grab the remote off of the coffee table to scroll through netflix.

as if your sudden lack of physical contact knocked him out of his lovesick daze, he suddenly remembers something.

beside you, you hear shuffling as clapton adjusts to pull something out of his pocket: a small plastic bag, with a few pre-rolled blunts inside.

very classy.

turning to glance at him, you chuckle at the sight; already amused by how this night will inevitably go.

he leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before tossing the bag on the coffee table, shoving his hand into his other pocket to tug out a lighter.

"if I didn't know any better, I'd think that you're trying to get me to do drugs," you comment, with all of the amusement your teasing tone can convey. you grab the bag off of the coffee table, tugging it open.

"good thing you know better, then," he says, tone just as playful, and snatches the bag from you with a cheeky grin. "this is all for me."

you huff, quickly followed by a laugh, reaching to grab the bag from him. he lifts the bag up above his head, keeping it out of your reach. his grin has turned into a full, cocky smirk.

in your attempts to grab the bag from him, you end up in a rather compromising position; leaning over him, with one hand firmly on the back of the couch as your other arm stretches out as far as it can— trying to grab the bag and failing. to avoid losing your balance and collapsing atop him, your outstretched hand lowers to prop yourself up-- accidentally trapping him beneath you.

the laughter between you both slowly quiets, as the implication of what tonight entails begins to set in.

and, as cocky as clapton is, moments like these make his blind confidence melt.

he's in awe of you atop of him for a moment too long, leaving you just enough time to grab the plastic bag from clapton— getting off of him in the process.

laughing triumphantly to yourself, you pull a blunt out of the bag as clapton readjusts himself to sit upright. he grabs the lighter, shifting so that he can turn to you— an expectant glint in his gaze.

by now, you've long since realized something about clapton: he loves doing things for you.

if he had any say in it, you'd never have to lift a single finger again. oftentimes he doesn't even realize the ways in which he spoils you; down to his insistence that he always light blunts for you.

"let me do it for you," he'd said, the two of you crammed in the corner of a shitty house party.

you were just trying to score some weed, to make a shitty evening a little more bearable, but he thought you were beautiful— far too beautiful to do something so frivolous yourself.

you press the blunt to your lips— smiling around it, leaning into clapton just slightly— thumb and index finger holding the blunt in place.

with practiced ease, his gaze focuses in on your mouth— a quiet fizzle searing into the air as the other end of the blunt is carefully singed.

a comfortable, intimate silence falls over you both as you inhale— the familiar, earthy taste seeping into your mouth.

a quiet clanking sound signals that clapton has tossed the lighter down, although you barely register the noise— a haze washing over you as you sigh, light puffs of smoke flowing from your mouth.

your throat burns with it, but you've done this enough times to be largely unphased. you inhale again, pulling the blunt from your lips to pass off to clapton.

clapton takes the blunt from you, and in one swift motion— his lips are pressed softly against your own, blunt carefully outstretched to be certain that he doesn't accidentally burn you.

it's easy to melt into clapton; from the addicting sensation of his kiss, to the gentle way in which his unoccupied hand snakes its way upwards to cup your jaw in his soothing touch.

it was no secret that clapton was a fan of shotgunning. it hadn't been a secret for quite a while, actually. once you two had established frequent smoke sessions with each other, it hadn't taken long before his lowered inhibitions had enabled him to start making some rather bold moves.

you lean into his kiss, tilting your head as your lips part just slightly. with a gentle huff, the pool of smoke seeps into clapton's own mouth-- filling the air between you both with a dizzying haze.

before you can fall too deeply into the passionate kiss, clapton is pulling away-- with a dazed, cheeky grin you can't help but to admire.

maintaining eye contact, clapton presses the blunt to his own mouth-- inhaling deeply. plucking the blunt from his lips, he shifts his body to set the blunt down in the ashtray on the coffee table.

everything happens in slow motion after that.

seizing the opportunity, you use his distracted state to your advantage-- waiting until the moment he lets go of the blunt to gently shove him down onto the couch.

he stammers for just a moment as you crawl atop him, clapton looking up at you with big, dazed eyes.

you make a conscious effort not to touch him-- body hovering above his. you lean down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his own. quickly taking the hint, he returns the kiss in tandem-- a puff of smoke flooding into your mouth once again and filling your senses with nothing but dizzying want and the desperate need to cling onto clapton and never let go.

foolish, to think you could last more than a moment without getting your hands on him.

clapton reaches up to you, one hand cupping your jaw as the other trails downward to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

you hum, the sound reverberating into his mouth as you place a hand flat on his sternum-- fingertips carefully stroking his chest.

the weed-induced haze easing into your bones causes the kiss, while initially passionate and firey, to melt into something more languid. slipping your tongue past his lips, the taste of him seeps into your senses-- causing your pounding heart to beat even faster. your breathing grows heavy, body desperate with want.

but you're not too far gone yet.

smiling into the kiss, savoring it for just a moment longer, you pull away completely-- lifting yourself off of him and sitting back down on the couch, grabbing the blunt out of the ashtray.

you take another deep inhale of the blunt; with no intention of sharing this time.

clapton, still breathless, sits upright-- hair slightly tussled from his previous position.

he huffs, gaze fixated on you. he could pounce on you right now-- reverse the roles and have you pinned beneath him, kiss you until you're dizzy with it, and you'd be completely fine with that.

but you both enjoy this game. the push-pull nature of it, the way that any pleasure you get, you've worked for. it makes the reward taste so much sweeter.

coming to a mental conclusion, clapton stands up, outstretching a hand to you. "let's go for a ride, yeah?" he asks, his familiar, bright tone tinged with a sense of admiration exclusive to you.

you raise an eyebrow. "you rode here on a skateboard," you retort, noting that there's no extra car parked in your driveway.

"that's what i meant," he replies, as you concede and reach out to grab his hand. he chuckles, tone sickeningly sweet, and interlocks your fingers as he lets you lead the way outside.

leaving the house, you barely get the front door locked before he's pulling you to follow him-- skateboard lying carelessly upside down in the center of your front lawn. from its position, you can tell he spared no extra time earlier when it came to coming to a stop and rushing to your front door.

his obvious eagerness to be with you; to see you, talk to you, touch you, is dizzying.

by the time you make it to the empty road in front of your house, skateboard tucked securely under clapton's free arm, the buzz of weed has gone from jarring and dizzying to soft and mellow; a warm buzz flooding your skin.

clapton pulls his hand away from yours to set the skateboard down, planting his feet on the board with practiced ease.

he places both hands securely on your waist, helping you step onto the board in front of him-- your back practically flush with his chest.

once stable, he moves to fully wrap his arms around you for just a moment-- leaning his face in close to yours. "ready?" he asks, kissing your temple when you reply with a nod.

moving back to a more stable, standing position-- hands retreating back to grip your waist-- he plants one foot on the ground, propelling you both forward at a relaxed, gentle speed.

The pace he's set is comfortable, allowing you to ease into his touch, not paralyzed by fear of flying off of his skateboard.

seeing that the road ahead is straight, and it'll be a short while before you're concerned with turning, you tilt your head back-- leaning it on his shoulder.

he laughs, and you feel the way his chest rumbles with it-- pressing a kiss to the juncture between your neck and shoulder; one of his favorite places to kiss you.

"clapton," you say around the blunt, eyes fixated on the stars above you.

he hums in acknowledgment, as if not wanting to speak and break the serene moment that has fallen over you both.

glimmering stars in the sky, with the chirp of crickets and the gentle bustling of tree leaves serving as background music to this moment.

and clapton, hands gripping onto your waist-- tight enough to be firm, but meticulously careful enough not to bruise-- with his face practically nestled into the crook of your neck.

you pull the blunt from your lips with a deep inhale. "i love this," you sigh. and maybe it's a sudden burst of confidence willed up by nothing but your own subconscious, or it's a drug-induced boldness, but either way, you only contend with yourself for a moment before saying it. "i love you." you continue, hoping clapton doesn't notice the deep, pounding throb of your racing heart.

you feel clapton stiffen just slightly, a subconscious reaction born purely out of shock-- and a weed-induced difficulty to actually process what you just said.

clapton's grip on your waist tightens just slightly, adjusting his head so that he's practically whispering in your ear. his tone, while packed full of barely contained joy, is also shaking slightly. he's nervous, and it's the most endearing thing in the world. "...really?"

you laugh. "so much for a romantic response," you tease, grinning from ear to ear.

clapton carefully brings his skateboard to a stop, leading you off of the board so that you can turn to face him.

he pulls you in close by the hips, gaze locked on your own.

you find yourself dizzy again, nerves beginning to prickle at your skin with every second of silence that falls over you both.

clapton takes the blunt from your hand and tosses it aside carelessly, kissing you in a manner so full of love you could drown in it.

he murmurs it against your mouth, then. a quiet "i love you too" sighed onto your lips, his own breath wavering almost unnoticeably at the end. not from uncertainty, but from a certainty so strong his body can't properly contain it.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in close as you kiss him deeper.

you're addicted to each other, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

♡ ♡ ♡ thank you for reading! i had so much fun writing this. fun fact: i was high while writing at least a quarter of this fic (¯▿¯) ran into some formatting issues, so hopefully this post doesn't look too weird on y'all's end,, i apologize if any weed jargon was incorrect or sounded awkward, i'm pretty much exclusively an edible user so i'm not very familiar with the smoking side of things (*￣▽￣) check out my other works here!~ © jellypopswag