#Clapton davis smut

[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. 

[joshhutchersonsgf]

“don’t stop.” a clapton davis fic ♡

nsfw | mdni | characters are 18+ | gn!reader | sub!clapton | cursing | praise | porn with plot | hand/blowjob | voice kink if you squint

one night when you’re studying, you feel your phone vibrating on your desk. confused, you pick it up and turn it over to see clapton davis’ name light up the screen. you groan and put your pencil down, then look at the time.

“10:36pm” your phone reads.

you knew clapton better than he knew himself. you were positive that the moment you answered this call, he was going ask you to see you.

you have already told him plenty of times that you couldn’t see him today because you had a big test tomorrow and you really needed to study.

despite your annoyance with him calling you while he knew you were studying, you answer the call. as expected, the moment you click the green button on your phone, clapton asks to hang out.

though, instead of you going over to his house, he asked to go to yours. you furrow your eyebrows in confusion as if he can see your face. clapton had never been over to your house due to your strict parents.

“clapton, you know my parents aren’t going to let you come over, let alone at—”

before you could even finish your sentence, clapton cuts you off, “pleaseeee i promise i’ll be so quiet, i just miss you. and i know how stressed you are about the test, so i want to be there for you.”

you roll your eyes at his pleas and sigh. you put your tongue against the side of your mouth and think for a moment, then close your notebook. you knew you wouldn’t get much studying done with clapton over, but you missed him as much as he missed you.

“fine,” you mumble, “but you have to be careful. if my parents wake up, you’re dead.”

clapton laughs loudly into his phone and promises he will be quiet and not make a single sound. knowing clapton, you were sure this would be a challenge for him. but you were grateful that he would try to keep quiet just to see you.

even though you knew clapton wouldn’t mind a mess, you look around your room to see what you can tidy up in the short amount of time that you have. you pick up all the scattered pieces of paper lying around your desk and do your best to organize it, then pick up the dirty clothes laying on the floor.

when you heard a knock on your window, you were pleasantly surprised to see clapton davis standing outside.

you pull the window open and before he can say anything, you ask, “how did you know this one was my window?”

“lucky guess.” he grins, handing you his skateboard.

you scoff at him and place his skateboard next to your desk, then help him inside.

clapton stumbles in through the window and looks around your room, mesmerized by every little thing you have. he loves the little accessories you had all over your room.

“nice room,” clapton smiles, “it fits you.”

you give him a toothy grin and grab the remote from your bedside table, turning on the first movie you see. clapton flops onto the bed in a starfish position, then looks up at you and smiles.

you laugh at his position and sit on the edge of the bed, contemplating if you should lay with your boyfriend or go back to studying.

you take one glance at clapton and decide he’s definitely the better option. you’ve already read over your notes hundreds of times, you should be fine, you thought to yourself.

“take off your shoes, clapton! i just washed these sheets.” you exclaim, pulling his legs off the bed. he groans and kicks them off quickly, leaving them on the floor next to your bed

“oh, look, i got you something,” clapton says, pulling himself up to lay against the headboard. he reaches in his right pocket and pulls out a mixtape.

your eyes widen at his gift and you grab the mixtape from him, then look at the back.

on the back of it, he taped a piece of paper written with all of your favorite songs.

you smile widely at him and pull him into a hug, embracing him for way longer than you should have.

he smells nice, you think as you tuck your head into his neck.

you pull away and put the mixtape on your nightstand, then turn back to him and open your arms. he takes that as a sign to cuddle into you, and lays his head on your chest.

you take off his hat and discard it somewhere on the bed, then begin to run your fingers through his hair.

you both stay like that for a while, enjoying each others company. you were watching whatever movie was playing while stroking claptons hair, until you hear soft snores coming from him. you smile and look down, seeing the way that the soft glow from the tv beautifully outlines his features. his sunkissed cheeks are scattered with soft freckles that dance across them. the corners of lips formed into a slight pout, and you couldn’t help staring at them.

he looks so peaceful like this, so beautiful. you wished you could stay with him like this forever, but you knew you had to wake him up eventually. you look back up at the tv, the soft sound of his snores in the background.

after a few more minutes of laying like that, clapton starts to stir in his sleep. worried that he’s having a nightmare, you gently try to shake him awake. when you hear your name fall from his lips though, you realize it wasn’t a nightmare.

clapton moves his lower body to where his bulge is sitting against your leg, and your eyes widen when you feel it.

clapton whines loudly against your chest, and you’re quick to grab the remote and turn the tv up, drowning out any future noise that comes from him.

you aren’t afraid to admit how turned on you were, knowing that clapton was dreaming about you. you wondered what he was dreaming about, what his mind’s fantasies held.

clapton jerks his hips up once and moans at the impact of your leg meeting his dick, and you quickly cover his mouth. even though you didn’t want to wake him, you knew his sounds would only get louder as the dream went on.

you gently shook him awake, and his eyes flutter open to meet yours. in his sleepy daze, he closes his eyes back again and sinks into your touch, then you feel him tense up.

claptons eyes widen and he moves off of you, quick to cover his uncomfortably obvious hard-on with his hands. you smile at him and ask, “what’s wrong, clapton?”

clapton’s sunkissed cheeks go pink at the question, the embarrassment of the situation sinking in.

“i’m so sorry.” clapton mumbles under his breath, avoiding your gaze.

“for what?” you question, acting completely oblivious. you grab clapton’s hands and remove them from his lap, and gasp when you see the dark stain on his shorts.

“did you cum?” you ask, touching the wet spot softly.

clapton hisses through gritted teeth and sighs shakily, “no.. um, not yet.”

you smirk at him and for once since he woke up, he makes eye contact with you.

“i can help you.” you say, letting your palm rest against his aching cock through his pants.

clapton almost chokes on air when you said that.

“what?” he says, like a deer in headlights. you can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips.

“let me help you, clapton.” you palm his dick through his shorts and he has to suppress a whine.

“what about your parents?” he manages to get out, through breathy moans.

“shhh,” you shush him, “don’t think about them. think about me.”

clapton relaxes into your touch and allows you to pull his cock out of his shorts and underwear, gasping when the cool air hits it.

the light from the tv shows the precum leaking and dripping down the side of his dick, and you smear it around with your thumb.

“you’re so hard for me.” you whisper, your thumb playing with the slit.

clapton lets out a “mhm” and lays back against your pillows, watching as your thumb plays with his tip. you grip the head of his dick softly, seeing how he would react.

clapton bites his bottom lip between his teeth to try to silence any moans before they leave his lips. he doesn’t do a good job though, and a breathy moan escapes when you start running your hand up and down his length.

“you’re going to have to be quiet if you want me to continue, baby.” you mutter.

“you know i can’t be quiet..” he starts, but when you remove your hand, he continues, “but i’ll try, i promise. please just.. don’t stop.”

you get off the bed and he looks at you with confusion, but when he sees you pick up the mixtape, he realizes what you’re doing.

“you think the tv and mixtape are enough to drown out your moans?” you question with a smile. his tan face goes red at your question, and he gulps.

“uh.. i think so?”

you hit shuffle on the cassette player and go back over to the bed, hoping the music is enough to silence his sounds.

you go back to where you were and grab his dick again, tighter than before.

claptons eyes go back into his skull before he squeezes them tightly, but you grab his chin between your pointer finger and thumb.

“no, look at me while i ruin you.” you say, mesmerized by his disheveled appearance.

you feel clapton’s cock twitch in your hand, and you smirk at him when you realize.

“oh?” you question, moving your hand up and down his length slowly. “does my voice turn you on?”

clapton’s cock twitches again in your hand, and you beam at him when you learn this new discovery.

clapton’s face flusters and he covers his eyes with his arm and groans. you think it’s so cute how flustered he gets, but you wanted to look at him. you take clapton’s arm away from his face and intertwine his fingers with yours, holding them tightly.

“you look so good right now, baby.” you whisper, leaning in closer to his face. clapton moans when you start to quicken your pace, and you capture his lips with yours.

you use his moans as an opportunity to leave open mouthed kisses on his lips, slowly letting your tongue inside.

you were sure to swallow every little sound he made, and he was so grateful that he didn’t have to force any sounds down. he embraces you as you deepen the kiss, using his free hand to hold your face.

his calloused hand held your face tenderly as warmth radiated from his touch. his thumb caressed your cheek softly as his moans only got louder.

clapton removes his hand from your grasp and brings it down to his lap, placing his hand on top of the hand stroking his dick. he grips your hand tightly and starts to speed up your movements, lightly fucking up into your hand.

“faster.” clapton begs against your lips, and you break the kiss. a string of saliva connects the both of you, and you smile as you pull away.

even in his horny state, clapton still manages to cock an eyebrow as he sees you slide down on the bed. when he realizes what you’re doing, though, he has to use his hand to muffle the groan that threatens to fall from his puffy lips.

you look up at clapton through hooded eyes and take in how beautiful he looks. his long hair is sticking to his forehead as his chest rises and falls quickly. his veiny hand that covers his mouth looks so attractive and you wonder how his fingers would feel inside of you.

no, not tonight.

tonight was about clapton.

you bring your lips to the tip of clapton’s dick, it barely touching your mouth. you give a few kitten licks to the head and look back up, seeing clapton’s eyes roll back into his skull.

“you’re so sensitive,” you grin, seeing the tears that sit at the brink of his eyelids.

you swirl your tongue around the tip and savor the taste, cleaning up the precum that leaks from it.

you slowly wrap your lips around the head and clapton’s back arches against the mattress. you knew he wasn’t going to last long, considering how close he already was. but you wanted to make sure he enjoyed every second of it.

you flatten your tongue under his cock and begin moving your head up and down his length, only going about halfway. for what you couldn’t reach, you use your hand. clapton’s hands went to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just something to hold on to.

clapton couldn’t believe what you were doing to him. your mouth felt so good on his dick, and the warmth of your tight mouth had him drooling. the way your cheeks were sucked in so perfectly to fit his cock, how well you were taking him. clapton’s mind was filled with nothing but you, you, you as he tried to fight the urge to cum. even though it felt amazing, he didn’t want it to end.

you push your head as far down as you can go without gagging, surprising yourself with how far you could go. clapton didn’t seem to mind though, as he was practically on a different world.

“feels so— so fucking good,” clapton moans, not even bothering to try to hide his sounds anymore. i mean, your tv and your mixtape were playing, so he was sure they were drowning out his sounds, right?

“so perfect. please.. don’t stop.”

you moan around his cock at the praise and begin to speed up your pace. you look up at clapton and see tears spill from his eyes, staining his pink cheeks. you thought he looked so pretty like this, barely being able to hold himself together while you used your mouth to bring him to his release.

“gonna cum.. ‘m gonna cum!” clapton choked up, pushing his dick into your mouth. you let him have full control, using you to get himself off. he put his hands on the sides of your head and moves your head up and down quickly, chasing his own orgasm.

after a few more thrusts, clapton is cumming into your mouth with a whine. his orgasm hits him like a wave as he spasms underneath you, continuously bucking his hips as he comes down from his high.

a few breathy “thank you”s leave his lips while he squirms, letting your mouth fill with his cum. you swallow every drop of him, using your thumb to clean up the sides of your mouth.

clapton goes limp against the bed as he comes back to reality, still seeing stars from the previous orgasm. you tuck clapton into his shorts and crawl up beside him, laying down with him.

“you did so good, baby. so, so good.” you whisper, playing with his hair as he drifts off once more. clapton won’t stop thanking you as he snuggled up into you again, maybe he could sleep for just a little bit.

[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.

[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-“

[deadgirlzneedlovetoo]

More Clapton Davis fics?? 👀 your last one was so good😭😭💟

I’m Busy, Doll

Warnings: dom clapton, light degradation

Pairing: Dom Clapton x Female Reader

You desperately rocked your bare core against Clapton’s thigh, needing more help than you were getting from just this alone. "Clapton please, I'll be good" you whined, looking up at him desperately. 

He pays you no mind, carrying on with what hes writing, little fucker, muttering a dismissive "I'm busy doll."  You whimper in response, rutting yourself on his clothed thigh, repeatedly brushing your clit against it. 

The friction was delicious and it did make the coil in your stomach tighten, but it just wasnt enough. All you wanted was his big fingers thrusting into you. You let your eyelids flutter shut, and you brought a hand up to your breast, playing with your nipple and whimpering softly. 

You think about how his fingers usually feel inside you, stretching you out deliciously as they curl upwards inside your spongy walls, making you writhe beneath him. 

This brings you closer than you were, rutting yourself mercilessly against his thigh and whining and whimpering loudly, begging him to touch you. "Clapton please, just a little bit of help please" 

Your eyes widen in surprise when he shoves his free hand in your mouth, but then you suck on his fingers as if they were his cock, listening to his low voice. "Be quiet, i told you i was busy and you couldn't wait an hour, its my thigh or nothing doll" 

The sound of his voice and his fingers in your mouth are nearly enough to drive you over the edge. You suck his fingers harder, sinking your teeth into them as you finally manage to cum all over his thigh. 

He winces a little when you bite down on his fingers "fuck, little slut" 

[solarissun]

We are never, ever getting back together.

afab!reader x aged up Clapton Davis

Summary: You moved houses and jobs just to get away from Mike after he abandoned you and your 6-year relationship. But, one day he shows up in the vacant apartment next to yours. You quickly make it your mission to make every night a living hell for him with the (unknowing) help of your old high school fling.

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lover, afab reader, p in v, fingering, hair pulling, porn with plot, no use of y/n, hard dom, unprotected (wrap it please), angst, exes, daydreamed violence, aged up character

A/N: I’ve never posted my writing before due to being insecure, but now that I discovered this fandom on Tumblr, I decided to suck it up and see where it goes! I’m sorry if this is bad, I wrote it at 3 am two nights in a row. I just had to write something before I forgot all my ideas. Enjoy!

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You hated him. You hated him so fucking much. All you wanted to do was watch him wear your hands around his neck like a necklace. And there he was, standing outside the vacant apartment beside yours, cardboard boxes surrounding him.

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You're running late to work, having slept through your alarm. You quickly hop out of bed, jump into the shower, and throw on whatever clean enough clothes are on your laundry pile.

As you run out your door, you pause, noticing the piles of boxes lining up the wall of the apartment next to yours. You smile, waiting for whoever it is to walk out. You honestly didn’t mind your previous neighbors. By all means, they weren’t the friendliest of people. They’d bang on your walls if you even played your music one digit too loud.

So, honestly, you couldn’t help but admit you were pretty happy when they moved out. As you eye the boxes that take up half the hall, you feel yourself getting excited.

After a few moments, you see him.

Your heart drops, and you feel your whole life falling apart in just one second. He turns to look at you, your eyes locked on each other. Both of you pause, not a word leaving your mouths.

Almost exactly 2 and a half years ago, the love of your life, the man you pictured spending the rest of your days with, left. He didn’t warn you, he didn’t even call. You came home, and all of his and his sister's belongings were completely cleared out of your apartment, gone without a trace. All he left you was a text. A single text.

“I found someone new, I’m sorry. I truly wish you the best. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

After a few months of rotting in your bed with mascara-stained pillows and tear-soaked bed sheets, you got tired of wasting away. You moved away to a new, cheaper apartment, not warning anyone of your departure. You wanted a fresh start. A new job, a new home. A new you. All you craved was a way to forget the past, and you were so close.

Except after 2 years, the past was standing in front of you, only a few feet away. Anger bubbles within you, the deep cuts he left when he abandoned you all of those years ago tearing open and filling with nothing but pure, burning hatred.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, his face twisting.. into god knows what. You want to ask him so many questions. You want to get on your knees and beg him to tell you why he did what he did. At the same time, you want to sock him in his mouth. Instead of doing either, you turn on your heel, walking away as fast as you possibly can.

He doesn’t call after you, he doesn’t chase you. Instead, you hear the faint click of a door shutting behind you. Your anger turns to anguish as you hurry down the hallway, trying desperately to put as much distance between him and you before breaking down. You find a maintenance closet, slam it behind you, and sink to the floor. You sob until your throat is destroyed and your eyes are dry.

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All you can think about while you work is him. Are you grading your students' homework? Mike. You’re yelling at your class for being too Rowdy? Mike. He lives in your head the entire day, and no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is the look on his face when he saw you just a few hours ago.

The school day is finally over, but you dread going home. You wish you could curl up under your desk and live there for the next few decades. But you can’t, so you suck it up and drive back to your apartment.

You get to your door, fumbling with your keys as you quickly try and escape the hallway. You hear the door next to yours click open. You rest your head against your door in defeat. He walks by you quickly, not even glancing towards you. You clench your fists, swinging your door open as soon as you unlock it, slamming it so hard behind you the frame shakes.

You want to cry, just like you did before. But no tears spill. Your eyes don’t even water. All you feel is rage.

You decide right then and there, you're going to make him suffer for what he did to you. Besides, maybe if you truly make him miserable he’ll move back to wherever the hell he came from.

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Later that night, you start plotting different ways you can get him to pack up his shit and run away with his tail between his legs. You think of hundreds of possibilities ranging from glitter bombs in his mail to… Clapton. You shake the thought out of your head immediately. You can’t do that to him. He’d probably be down for anything, to be honest.

Despite that, you tuck the idea into the back of your head, writing it off as a last resort. You want to start with more petty things before immediately jumping to the most extreme idea your mind can muster.

You quickly form a short list in your head, smiling as you daydream the look on Mike's face as you go through each scenario. Around midnight, after you finish coming up with every possible insane revenge plot you can think of, you crawl into bed.

After tucking yourself in, you Bluetooth your phone to a speaker, turning it up. You play the most infuriating, mind-numbing song you can think of. It starts blasting out, the speaker shaking on your bedside table. You sigh, sinking into your pillow as you hear Mike’s old bed springs creak through the wall.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the same song looping repeatedly. He doesn't knock on the door. You don't even hear him speak, let alone breathe through the wall. You groan, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you realize it might be pointless.

Despite your failure on the first night, you continue to blast the same song night after night, all with the same result. After almost 3 nights of getting only a few hours of sleep, you give up. You have to step up your game if you want to get results.

A few weeks pass without you tormenting him. You want to make him feel safe. You want to make him feel like you realized it was all a waste of time. Well, you also waited a few weeks since that's how long it took for the prank package you ordered to come. Sure, the package was a bit pricey, but you decided it was worth it either way. As soon as the post office stops by your apartment, you snatch up the box, almost ripping it out of the poor mailman's hands.

You quickly customize it so Mike believes not only is it his mail, but that some random man from Florida sent it. At first, you had thought to sneak into his apartment and throw glitter over everything, just like you'd do back in high school. But, you need to be careful about how you go about this. Unless you want a lawsuit to land in your lap, you need at least some amount of deniability

After deciding it's perfect, you leave it directly in front of his door. He might think the placement of the box is a tad suspicious, but you rationalize it by telling yourself he’ll feel so special he’ll open it on the spot.

After a few hours, Mike comes home from what you assume is work. A part of you wonders why in the world he works on the weekends as well. You forget about the thought quickly as you flip open your phone, watching through the camera that comes with the box. You watch in anticipation as you hear the sound of tape tearing off of the cardboard. Your smile widens as you see Mike's face appear in the frame, peeking into the box.

After a few heartbeats green, blue, and pink glitter explodes directly into his face. He yelps, dropping the box immediately. As soon as the box thunks against the door, more glitter explodes out, covering his entire living room. You hear him groan through the wall, grumbling about how petty and childish you are.

You’re laughing way too hard to even care he knew it was you. Tears start streaming down your face, and you clutch your stomach as you try to breathe. You finally got him. You feel on top of the world as you look at the camera through blurry eyes. All you see is a beet-red Mike decked out in sparkles. You start laughing even harder as he flips off the camera before stomping on it, destroying the feed.

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Despite how his misery made you feel at first, you start to get a little less happy as the days pass by. He hasn’t talked to you about it and he hasn’t told anyone what went down, not even the landlord. A fraction of you begins to feel a little worried he might be planning. As you ponder the thought, you hear a knock on your door.

You creep over to the peephole, seeing no one standing at your door. You crack it open, worried Mike might be standing outside, waiting to ambush you. Instead of Mike standing around the corner with an airsoft gun, there's an Amazon package.

You smile, realizing exactly what it is. You ordered soundproof headphones so you could sleep while also torturing Mike. You quickly take it to your kitchen, tearing it open without a second thought.

What. The. Fuck.

Glitter sprays everywhere. Directly into your eyes, all over your dining table, all over the countertops. It even reaches the sink. You scream as you try and claw the glitter away from your face. As you stumble towards the sink, glitter continues to coat your entire kitchen.

This means war.

You immediately flip open your phone, not even bothering to clean the mass of glitter that’s coating your kitchen. You text the one person you know would do anything for you.

“I need you, Clapton.”

He found someone new? Well, so did you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to make sure he fucking knows.

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During your high school years, you and Mike became inseparable. It was the two of you against the world... Until Clapton Davis came along. The three of you became the best of friends. You always knew Mike was jealous of Clapton and how much he captured your attention. Despite how you felt towards him while you were younger, you chose Mike. And he threw it all away for some random bitch.

So, now you’re choosing Clapton.

A month ago, you two decided to reconnect and reminisce about old times. You had him over a few times just to watch a few movies, but the most you’ve done is kiss. Every time he’d come over, you knew he wanted more. And he was getting exactly that.

You lay in bed, waiting for just the right time. Around 2 am, you smile to yourself as you faintly hear Mike shuffle into bed and sigh as he sinks into it. Thank god for the paper-thin walls. You reach over to your bedside table, squinting into the light. You flip to Clapton's contact and text, “Do you think you could come over right now?” You had originally told him to come over the next night, but it had to be at an ungodly hour, or it wouldn't be as satisfying. Almost immediately He texts you back, “Are you okay?”

“I just need to see you sooner.” He immediately texts back a thumbs up, and after a little over 10 minutes you hear a knock at your door. You unzip your hoodie, quickly making your way to the front of your apartment. You open the door and there he is. He clearly had just woken up, wearing a tank top and grey checkered pajama pants. A fraction of you feel bad for calling him over like this, but you push it aside and remember who’s sleeping just on the other side of your bedroom wall.

He raises his eyebrow, unsure of how to ask why you ‘needed him.’ You don’t give any explanation before you throw yourself at him. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. He sucks in a breath, clearly confused. That confusion vanishes when you press yourself against him, pulling his waist against yours.

He wraps his arms around your waist, walking you into your apartment. He walks you backward, your back hitting the kitchen counter. You whimper as you feel him hoist your thigh up, holding it as his hip. Suddenly, he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him, your eyebrow furrowed. You sigh as you see him looking at your kitchen in utter confusion. “What in God's name happened?”

The kitchen is still completely decked out in glitter. The moonlight slithers its way through the window, illuminating the sparkles, making it look like a thousand stars splattered against the walls. You laugh a little, brushing it off. “Nothing Important.” He seems like he wants to say more, but as you grind your hips against his, he immediately forgets it. He groans, bending down to press his lips against your neck.

You tangle your hands through his hair as you feel his lips brush your neck. He starts sucking the skin below your pulse, making you whine into his ear. You gasp as you feel his teeth meet the plush skin, nipping at the sore spot. You slowly start grinding against him harder as his tongue swipes across the already numb skin. He groans against your neck, his breath hot against it.

His fingers slowly brush down your body, leaving goosebumps erupting on every inch he touches. His hand reaches your waistband, fiddling with the elastic. You whine against his shoulder as his fingers dip lower, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. You slowly grind your hips against his finger, desperate for more friction. He picks you up by your thighs, his fingers digging into the skin. You wrap your legs tight around his waist, holding onto his neck. He quickly carries you to your bedroom, throwing you down as he reaches your bed. He lays you down, sliding next to you.

He presses his lips against yours again, this time wasting no time to dip his fingers into your panties, not even bothering to remove them. He drags his digits through your folds, circling your clit. “Shit, you’re already so wet.” He gasps out. His middle finger teases your entrance before slowly sliding in. He slowly pumps in and out of you, curling his fingers on the spongy parts inside of you, hitting all the right spots.

“You like that?” He asks, and you nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. You feel him add another finger and your walls clench around him. “Fuck!” You cry out, frantically grinding against the palm of his hand begging for more.

He adds a third finger, and you see stars. He pumps faster and faster, bringing you dangerously close to the edge. You just barely overplay your volume, remembering Mike. As soon as your legs begin to shake, he removes his fingers, ruining your orgasm and leaving you feeling empty. Your eyes flutter open and you stare at him, whimpering.

He slowly puts the fingers that were just inside you in his mouth, cleaning them off. You bite your lip as he blinks at you through his long eyelashes, savoring the taste. He smiles down at you once he’s done, sliding your zip-up off your shoulders. He slowly undresses you, a pile of clothes beginning to form on the floor. He leaves you in nothing but your panties. His breath hitches in his throat as he studies every curve of your body.

You do the same to him, helping him pull his shirt off his head. Your hands quickly fly down to his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down to his ankles. His tight grey boxers leave little to the imagination as you see the outline of his hard-on, begging to be free. You do exactly that, pulling them off of him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach.

Your eyes trail along every vein and detail, taking him in. He’s average, but somewhat girthy. The tip is hard and red, already leaking with pre-cum, slowly dripping down his shaft. You reach out, your thumb collecting it. You stare into his eyes as you suck it off of the pad, a bittersweet taste spreading across your tongue. As soon as your thumb pops out of your mouth, he grips onto your hips, pulling him on top of you. He slides your panties to the side and you moan feeling the cold air hit you. He slides his tip through your folds, collecting the wetness.

You slowly sink down onto him, gasping as his tip enters you. He grips your waist harder, holding you down. “You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest. “Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.

He pushes in, faster this time, and you finally feel his hips meet yours. “You’re such- Shit! You’re such a good girl.” Suddenly, he grabs you harder by the waist, flipping you over. You gasp as your bare stomach meets the rough sheets of the bed. He grabs your hair, pulling you against his chest, somehow hitting so deep you see white.

You moan out his name louder and louder as each thrust inside of you quickens. He shoves you back down against the bed, thrusting so hard the headboard begins to slam against the wall. You smile into the sheets realizing the torture Mike must be going through right now. “You’re taking me so well…” He grumbles out, pushing deeper into you.

The smile is immediately wiped off your face as he moves one hand away from your hair and slithers it down to your clit. He rubs circles on it with 2 fingers. You grip your fingers into the bed sheets, screaming into the mattress. Your vision starts getting blurry as the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter. Pure euphoria tears through you as his fingers quicken as well as his hips.

“I’m close-“ He groans out as your walls clench around him. He rubs faster and faster circles on your clit and your legs start to shake uncontrollably. You scream louder and louder, and your walls start to spasm. Quickly you hurdle over the finish line, coming all over his dick. You feel tears running down your cheeks as you feel him release inside of you, his hips stuttering.

You call out his name one last time before he pulls out of you, lying down next to you. He looks over at you, tears spilling down your face and your fingers still bunched up in the bedsheets. He laughs as you give him a shaky smile.

“I’ve imagined that since grade 12..” He whispers out. He reaches towards you, brushing your hair that’s plastered to your face with sweat. “Me too..” You smile, moving forward to press your lips against his. He kisses you back, pulling you on top of him. He smiles up at you, his face flushed.

“Round two?”

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Your eyes flutter open, the warm sun creeping through the blinds, bathing your room in a warm orange glow. You slowly reach next to you, feeling the muscles on Clapton's back. He stirs, turning onto his back. His eyes slowly open, and he slowly looks over at you. He stretches up, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I better go…” You get up as well, turning and placing your feet on the cold wood floors. You gather up his and your clothes from last night, handing them to him. After you're both dressed, you lead him to your front door. He opens it and steps out into the hallway, starting towards the elevator.

As soon as you hear Mike's door click open, you quickly grab Clapton's wrist, pulling him back towards you. You get on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He grabs your waist, pulling you against him. He slips his tongue in your mouth, his hand untangling your hair. After a few seconds, you pull away, resting your forehead on his.

“I’ll see you around?” He says, smiling. “Of course.” You grin, pecking his cheek. He unwraps himself from you, turns around, and walks away. He doesn’t even seem to notice his old best friend who is standing just a few feet away, watching.

Once Clapton’s out of sight, you turn to look at Mike. Oh, he looks absolutely wrecked. His curls are a tangled mess and the bags under his eyes are even deeper than you’ve ever seen them. He has the same look on his face you’ve seen him have when men would flirt with you on your dates. But, he also just looks.. sad. You expect him to turn back into his apartment and walk away but he speaks instead.

“The glitter wasn’t enough for you, huh?” You scoff, anger filling inside you at his audacity. “A girl can’t have fun?” He raises an eyebrow at you and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “You think I don’t know how purposeful that was? Do you have any respect for others?” You laugh, right in his face. His mouth twists into a nasty scowl, his stupid smirk wiping immediately off his face.

“Mike, I lost every bit of decency I had towards you when you abandoned me for some..” You don’t finish the sentence, instead letting his mind fill in the blank. He doesn’t look angry, he just looks disappointed. He looked at you like that when you were still together.

You’ve always hated that look.

He opens his mouth and closes it, clearly wanting to say something important but deciding against it. He shakes his head and turns back into his apartment, closing the door behind him softly.

You do the same, opening your door and sliding down with your back against it. You pull your knees up to your chest, rubbing the bruises on your sides that Clapton left. You rest your head on your knees and sigh.

“God, what am I doing?”

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[marisnoopy]

girl dinner

[jealousjersey]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖”come home”⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

☆ tags // mike schmidt x reader, loser!mike x dom!gn!reader,

☆ mentions // mike is a needy loser who begs for your attention, dick sucking, edging, cum drinking, reader doms mike, angst, fluff, smut, needy and desperate mike, reader has like wrapped around their finger., missionary, unprotected p in v (wrap it) minors dni 18+

☆ a/n // i still love writing for mike schmidt this is heaven ty lou

your work has been consuming you, working long hours, barely coming home on time, sleeping all until your next shift and just being busy. your boyfriend, mike, hates it. he hates that you’re never home, he hates that he never sees you, and he hates that you two haven’t had sex in weeks.

he’s been a brat about it ever since you took more hours, and he never took the time to realize that you’re only working so hard to provide for things he’d want, i mean, you are the house breadwinner. ever since his pizzeria secrurity job ended you’ve had to work since he couldn’t get hired anywhere.

as you’re working you get texts after texts from mike. “are you gonna be home on time?” “i miss you.” “i need you it’s been so long” he spams you.

god, he’s so needy. you roll your eyes at the text. if he doesn’t chill the hell out for atleast 3 more hours you’re going to loose your mind, does he not know that it’s hard for you too?

as the hours go by you think of ways to surprise him. maybe some lingerie? maybe a new toy for you two to experiment with? maybe some flavored lube? the possibilities are endless. you count down to the second you get off your shift, simply texting mike “wait up on me, i have a surprise.” as you clock out and go to your car.

you arrive at the nearest mall and get a cute lingerie set from the Spencer’s located within. a black lacy bra with a golden heart charm between the breasts, the bottom piece is a black and lacy with “baby” on the butt written in rhinestones. you knew he would love it but you didn’t expect him to like it as much as he did.

as you’re getting back in your car to drive home, you get a sudden rush of excitement. wondering how he’ll react at the site of you. you even put on red lipstick to top it all off. as you arrive at home, you change into your new set in your car, it fit perfectly around your shape. you swiftly but your work clothes back on. you still need this to be a surprise.

you enter the house and throw your keys on the kitchen table. you walk into your room and mike is waiting patiently for you, god his bulge is showing just by the thought of you coming home.

before he could say anything you strip as soon as you get through your door, watching his eyes gaze at your body in your new set. giving him a spin around so he could see your rhinestone covered ass.

mikes eyes widen at the site of you, a wet spot already forming at the tip of the tent in his sweatpants. “oh my god” he says softly as he stares at your figure.

you stand in your set in front of him, your fingers dancing across your chest, driving him crazy. you get on your knees in front of him and bring his sweatpants down, followed by his boxers. pulling them down just below his balls. his dick springs out of his pants, hot and red at the tip with precum pooling out.

you leave one kiss on his tip as your lips take in his precum. leaving the red lipstick kiss mark on his dick. he immediately groans at the sensation, feeling better than he has in weeks just by the expectation of you giving him head.

but you’re not giving in that easily. you kiss and lick around his shaft, but never long enough for him to get a release from it, your lipstick leaving red stains all around his hard on.

“please suck, i’ve been thinking about it all night please” he pleads with almost tears in his eyes from the overstimulation. it’s so cute seeing him like this but who are you to say no to his request?

as per his request you start, you wrap your red lips around his tip and his hand pushes your head down, it’s almost insulting but god, it’s so needy of him and that drove you crazy. you fully emerge yourself around him and he lets out a sore whimper.

you gag on his dick as you’re sucking, he throws his head back and keeps his hand on the back of your head, gripping on your hair. his dick twitches in your mouth signaling he’s close to cumming. “m’gonna cum” he moans, only the whites of his eyes showing. as his words hit your ears you stop, red lipstick covering the shaft of him.

he looks devastated at your action. “please let me cum, i’ve been waiting so long.” he begs. it’s almost cute how desperate he is for you. you want to keep going for him but you stop yourself. “now is it really fair if you get to get off and i don’t? is that fair? i’ve been waiting just as long as you have.” you say

you push him back on the bed, his dick springing up, tip still red and sensitive. you wrap your hands around him, feeling the warmth of him.

you basically rip your panties off of yourself, positioning yourself on top of him, sliding his dick inside you, grinding on him as you look him in the eyes. “you look so pretty when i’m overstimulating your dick. so, so pretty.” you say as you place a hand on his cheek

he moans your name as he places his hands on your hips, so tightly that you’re certain it’ll leave bruises. you want that, the pain would be a reminder of this amazing night.

your hair flips around your neck, your face flushed with a pink tint and sweat beaming off your forehead. his dick assaults your walls as his tip brushes your gspot causing you to let out a soft moan of his name. his fingers make their way to your clit, moving soft circles along it, making you pant soft sounds.

mike almost cums on contact with your body, but he knows he has to stop himself. he has to make this good for you. he has to make this last as long as he can. “fuck, i’m gonna cum mike.” you whimper. he speeds up, hitting your gspot with each thrust he leads you to bounce on.

“m’so close” you whimper, his fingers bring themselves to your chest, god he loved it so much. especially in that new bra. his teeth graze your nipples, biting them so softly but it feels so much more intense this way. so intimate, yet so dirty.

“can i cum now? please” he moans. how could you say no? “cum in me, please cum in me” you say, and he does. leaving thick white pools in you, the warmth making you shake as you finish, as you remove yourself from on him, you pour out a mix of both of your releases. he brings a finger to your wetness and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on them. he loves the taste of you.

please come home earlier next time.

[janitorhutcherson]

jhutch nation is a cult

[sleepyhutcherson]

while we were getting high

“how many special people change? how many lives are living strange? where were you while we were getting high?” — ‘champagne supernova’ by oasis.

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

summary: where clapton and you get high almost every weekend except this time some words are exchanged.

tags: fluff, smoking, underage smoking, marijuana use (not mentioned though), honestly the smoking part isn’t really in detail but they’re high, best friends to lovers, oasis being praised and blur hate (i do not condone!), use of y/n, feelings being confessed sort of?

author’s note: i should be working on requests but i really had to urge to write for clapton since there is barely any content for him. why am i writing a fic about smoking when i have asthma. there’s brief discussion/debate about which of two bands are better (the bands being oasis and blur) but is that worth tw? like i feel like some people (by what ive seen) can take that stuff really seriously but i really don’t mean any hate towards oasis nor especially blur, i simply think that clapton would definitely be the type of guy to get into a debate over bands, or which band is better in this case, but don’t take anything seriously!

Your focus is not on Clapton’s rambling, instead you’re drawn to the familiar glow in the dark stars that stick to his ceiling within the many band posters he stuck up there. You’ve counted these stars several times before as this wasn’t your first time getting high in his bedroom.

You groan when you hear the same song start again from Clapton’s Ipod. He was the type of person that would obsess over a song and play it nonstop until he grew tired of it. His latest victim: ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Oasis. You don’t know how he hasn’t grown tired of listening to it on repeat, I mean, you have already! “Do we really have to listen to it again?” You whine, shifting around uncomfortably in his twin sized bed. The two of you were pressed up against each other, it was incredibly uncomfortable and yet you both always ended up in his bed for some reason.

A dumb smile curls up on his lips that you manage to catch briefly before returning your gaze back at his stupid ceiling. You don’t know why your heart quickens but you blame it on the amount of weed you smoked. I mean, it was probably that. “Yes, come on, Y/N, this is music! Real music.”

“‘Real music’?” You question, only to piss him off. A part of you liked seeing him angry, honestly. And you knew just how to push his buttons.

“Yeah. Unless you can name a better band.” Clapton challenges with an arrogant voice.

You could name so many other bands that have had a better discography than Oasis but you choose to name the band that you knew would rile him up. With a grin on your lips now you answer with what he would consider the worst band to name in this scenario.

“Blur.”

The words strike Clapton. Maybe he was being dramatic but honestly he found your choice offensive. He props himself on his elbows, no longer laying down completely. His face is scrunched up with slight disgust and confusion, an expression that resembles a child who’s just had a taste of a lime. “Blur?” He says with disgust in the word.

“Yeah,” you reply with a calm attitude. “They’re pretty good.” You continue to look up at the ceiling but Christ would you love to see the look on his face. “Better than Oasis.” You add for good measure.

You don’t know what reaction you expected from him, or well you did. You figured he would go on a long rant you wouldn’t be able to escape about how Oasis was in fact better than Blur. You did not, however, expect him to get on top of you, it’s so swift and sudden that you don’t even know how to respond. He pins your hands on either side of your head, your eyes now meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. Was he…grinning?!

Now you’re confused.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he teases, his body pressed up against yours. This is…not good. It feels good, sure, but Clapton was on top of you. Clapton, your best friend who you’ve known since grade seven. “We both know you’re just saying that to get a reaction from me.”

His hands grip onto your wrist, holding you in place. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe you just liked how he held you down. “Am I?” You play along, acting dumb.

His grin only deepens, his eyes frantically flickering from your eyes to your lips, your own eyes glued to his pretty pink lips. Fuck this wasn’t good. “You are,” his voice is deep now, a tease in his tone.

Before you know it, he’s inching closer to you. His fucking grin mocking you. “Clapton, we—“ shouldn’t, you think about saying but fuck, fuck, fuck his lips were grazing the skin of your neck now, his warm breath tickling you a bit. And that stupid song was still playing!

His thumb softly traces circles around one of your wrist. A part of you wishes your hands weren’t restrained down so you could tangle one in his hair. “We what?” He asks, his breath hitting your delicate skin.

“We—“ you can’t even finish. He doesn’t let you, his lips gently pressing a soft kiss against your neck, one that makes you tense up. Such an innocent kiss and yet that locked you. He continues to pepper gentle kisses on your neck, it’s so pure and sweet, especially when you feel his smile in each kiss.

“I’ve wanted this for so long now,” he admits before continuing to kiss your neck, his thumb continuing to trace around your wrists.

“You have?” You ask. A part of you thinks about telling him that you’ve secretly wanted this too for a bit now.

He stops to look at you now, his cocky grin replaced by a gentle smile. He nods with such a soft expression on his face. “Mm-hmm. I thought about what it would be like to kiss you every day, even while we were getting high.”

A crimson colour tints your cheeks. Clapton smiles more at that. God, you look so lovely now: flustered and underneath him, his hands wrapped around your wrists, your eyes boring into his. He would gladly count every eyelash, memorise every colour that paints your eyes.

“You’re high.” You giggle trying to play it off, though you don’t try to move away. Not that you could due to how he was holding you down.

“Yeah, you are too,” he says with a soft chuckle. His eyes don’t leave yours, he desperately wants to hold your gaze for as long as he can, honestly. “But even when I’m not high I still adore you.”

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little, your mouth slightly hanging open due to his words. Clapton grins at that and before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you. Your lips move with his, not resisting his lips. You honestly don’t think you’d be capable of resisting him after all of this.

One of his hands laces with yours, the other still pinning you against the mattress. He continues to kiss you and he really doesn’t want to stop. He’s desperately craved this for so long now. He smiles in the kiss then, realising he has the privilege of kissing you.

His smile felt so great against your lips.

After some time you both pull away, a huge dumb smile on Clapton’s face that makes you smile at how adorable he looks. He plops down, laying his head against your chest, wanting to be near you for longer. You don’t even have to kiss, you really don’t have to do anything but be close to him. That’s really all he wants. All he’s ever wanted from you.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @jhutch-bf @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool ♡︎

[hutchersonsgurl]

How to be a Heartbreaker Clapton Davis

Paring female reader with Clapton Davis

Warning 18+ MDNI. Smut warning

Word count

Synopsis you and your of boyfriend Clapton (of two years) are put in detention because the two of you gotten to a fight in the middle of class about a rumor that he's cheating on you

Rule # 2 don't get attached to someone you could lose

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Mr Willams comes into the room and sits on the desk

"Well it's just the two of you in detention today you might as well pull your homework out your here for an hour in the meantime I'll be in the teachers lounge watching TV" Mr willams says and then he leaves the classroom

You are sitting in the back of the room and Clapton is sitting up front of the room messing with his nails looking like he wants to say something

"You know we wouldn't be in here if my girlfriend wasn't crazy and let someone get into her head" Clapton said outloud

"We wouldn't be here if my boyfriend wasn't known for being a player" you respond back

"How am I player when I've been with your ass for two years?" Clapton asked

"Not my fault your a moron" you say sarcastically

"Oh I'm a moron " Clapton says mocking you rolling his eyes

The two of you sit in silence for a moment and then Clapton stands up and walks over to you

"I don't want to talk to you right now Clapton" you say rolling your eyes

"Well too bad we're gonna talk this out right now because I'm not about to sit here for an hour while my girlfriend is mad at me" Clapton says

He looks at you with his brown eyes and you cave instantly

"Ugh fine" you say

"Now be a good girl and tell me what Lexi said to you" Clapton said sitting on your desk looking down at you

"She said that you we're flirting with her and she was rubbing it in my face all day" you respond

"So you choose to act crazy and getting mad at me for something I didn't do? instead of talking to me?" He asks

"Well I was all worked up and you wasn't listening to me" you say rolling your eyes

"Because it was ridiculous and you should that by now Yn I love you and this dick only belongs too you" he responds

"But lucky for you I love me some crazy girls and my girlfriend is the craziest person I know" Clapton says as he grabs your face

He holds your face in the both of his hands and he crashes his lips into yours kissing you like his life depended on it

"I only want you yn, I love you and only you" Clapton says

"By the way this dress has been driving me crazy all day" Clapton continues

"Oh yeah? Then what are you gonna do about it? "You respond teasingly

"I'll show you one sec" he says with a smug smile on his face

He walks over to the door and locks it once it's locked he walks back over to you

He pulls you up and sits you on your desk

"You have no idea what you do to me baby" he says looking into your eyes

"Then show me" you respond

He spreads your legs open playing with the lines of your panties you can already feel your cunt becoming wet

"already so wet for Daddy" He purred

He slides down your panties His fingers slid through your wet folds and he smirked rubbing your clit with his thumb.

He grabs you by your throat and pulls your face to his

"you are mine and only mine," he says he unbuckled his jeans pulling out his cock and sliding through your folds. He began to kiss your neck sucking harshly before he thrusted into you.

"Oh fuck Daddy" you say with a moan

"you know you belong too me right?" Clapton says with a moan

"y-yes" you managed to blurt out

"Good" he responds

His fingers gripped your waist as he moved back as you leaned on the desk he looked into your eyes with his brown eyes with each thrust

while he was counting to fuck you you could hear Mr Willams. on his way back

so the two of you put your clothes back on

you slide your dress back on but can't find your panties

you look for them and then you see Clapton has them he looks at you with a smirk and he puts in his pocket

"We'll continue this later" he says with a smirk going back to his desk

You get back in yours in time

Mr Willams walks back in

-------------------------------------------------------

No edits

Part 2

[xcherryerim]

Forgotten Bond(age)

- Sub!ClaptonDavis x HardDomGn!Reader -

“Keep making you kneel, keep making you bet all of you. The more you fall, dangerous. You know it, but your eyes still reflects me. Good boy, just one word, you shout.” — Beg For Me by Red Velvet

word count: 3.7k

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | 18+ ONLY

Warning: Set in College (Reader and Clapton are 19 and in prom night they were 18) | Mentions of bullying (Reader was Clapton’s bully in hs) | sexual tension | degradation kink | light mentions of underage drinking | handjob | oral sex (reader receiver no genitals mentioned) | light ‘bondage’ usage (yes despite the tittle there’s little of it, I just wanted to make the joke) | slapping | porn with basically no plot | words like: Goodboy, fuck toy, puppy, master are used here. | overstimulation (?) | a bit of bratty Clapton.

Summary: At a freshman college party, you spot Clapton, the individual whom you used to torment in high school, who promptly initiates a search for you despite your efforts to evade an encounter. However, instead of seeking answers or explanations, he seems to desire something else, as he appears to seek out a more intimate and provocative connection, aiming to submit to your dominance.

While college life was enjoyable, it was also challenging and burdensome, with you meeting new people but also finding yourself submerged in a plethora of extra responsibilities that you had not encountered.

You knew you deserved a break, so, fortunately, there was a freshman party scheduled on that night. Even though you weren’t too fond of attending gatherings such as this one, you tried to have fun.

As you walked into the party, the atmosphere was electrifying. The music was roaring, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. Nervously, you scanned the crowd, half hoping and half fearing that you wouldn't run into anyone you knew from high school. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw unfamiliar faces, allowing yourself to relax a little more and join the lively group of strangers.

A few drinks later, you felt slightly braver, conversing with various students who shared similar interests. Just as you thought you might be able to forget about your stressful past, the unexpected happened - you spotted Clapton Davis.

Your heart raced, and your stomach twisted into knots. You were stunned that he had attained college admission, and second, your relationship with him was awkward and tense. Yes, you had acted like a bully towards him in the past for some inexplicable reason. Despite your past behavior, you couldn't deny the allure of his charm and charisma. He possessed an undeniable magnetism that drew you near, even as you tried to push away those feelings of attraction.

While you prayed he would not notice your presence in the room, an immense feeling of panic and dread emerged within you. However, your horror intensified when you realized he had indeed noticed you. You made your way to a separate area of the house, hoping that he would not recognize you.

Despite your attempt to enjoy the mixer, your mind was overwhelmed with memories and thoughts of Clapton, depriving you of the ability to enjoy the party. The loud music and the plethora of individuals you once enjoyed are making you anxious by the minute.

You ran upstairs and entered a quiet bedroom. As you tried to collect your thoughts, you heard the door creak. Someone else entered the room. The darkness made it impossible to recognize who it was, but the mere scent confirmed it was indeed him. In the dimly lit bedroom, your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that Clapton had followed you.

“Clapton!” You blurted out a mix of shock and apprehension as you encountered him again in this enclosed area.

“Shh!” he whispered in a rushed manner, placing his finger on your lips in an authoritative gesture. “Tell me, what’s your deal?”

This wasn't how you imagined your reunion with him would play out, but here you were, trapped in a small room with the very person you wanted to avoid.

"My deal?" you echoed, trying to regain your composure. "I don't know what you mean."

His finger on your lip sent an electric current through you, and you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and desire. This was not how you expected this evening to go. Clapton's gaze bore into you, daring you to defy him, to speak your truth.

"You know exactly what I mean," he retorted, his voice low and forceful. "You spent our entire high school years bullying me, and now you try to avoid me like I'm some sort of ex to you?" He emphasized his point by pressing his body against yours, bringing his face closer to yours, eyes locking in a heated stare.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, attempting to mask your anxiety and uncertainty with a carefree facade. "Forgive, forget, Clapton?" You said to him, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed taken aback by your response, and for a brief moment, his harsh exterior cracked, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability.

But it was short-lived. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he retorted, "I don't forgive or forget easily," his tone growing soft yet menacing. "Besides, aren't we supposed to start fresh here in college?" He stepped back, arms crossed over his chiseled chest, his toned torso visible beneath his shirt. Your eyes involuntarily trailed over his muscular frame, noting the hidden strength and masculinity that lay beneath his calm demeanor.

His posture was confident and authoritative, leaving no doubt about his intent. You found yourself suddenly hyper-aware of the heat emanating from his body, the faint scent of his cologne, and the electricity that seemed to crackle between you two.

"So, how's life treating you, huh?" He asked casually, tilting his head slightly to the side as if genuinely curious about your well-being. "Did you miss anyone specific during the summer?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "You're asking like you want me to say you're the one I missed," you responded, trying to keep the conversation light and playful.

A smirk graced his lips, revealing a hint of white teeth against the lightly tanned skin that he gained over the summer. "Well, I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He chuckled softly, moving closer to you. "But you know what they say: 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Maybe I missed you too."

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an underlying current of genuine curiosity. It was clear that he wanted to know how you felt about him, even though the situation between you was far from amicable. And despite everything, you couldn't ignore the spark of attraction that flickered in his eyes, seeming to defy all logic and reason.

"You missed me?" You raised your eyebrow, feigning disbelief.

"Maybe a little bit," he admitted, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Or perhaps it's just the thrill of the chase."

He continued, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “What do you say we start fresh? No more games, no more hiding. Just us, getting to know each other again.”

He paused, studying your reaction carefully. There was a challenge in his eyes, daring you to accept or reject the proposition. And despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel drawn into his boldness.

“If I were crazy, I would think you’re asking for something else, Clapton.”

“Oh, I’m not asking for anything crazy,” he replied, his voice dropping to a sultry timbre. “I just want to know if you missed me as much as I missed you.”

He moved, closing the remaining distance between you two, and his warm breath grazed your ear as he spoke. You could feel his heart racing, matching yours. He was undeniably aroused by this confrontation, and so were you.

“Now, are you going to tell me that you didn’t think about me once or twice?” he asked, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your waist. “Or maybe more than that?” There was a playful challenge in his tone, a promise of something more beneath the surface. His fingers dipped lower, sending shivers down your spine, and he leaned in, brushing his lips against your neck.

“Are you implying that I am the only one missing our little... interactions?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His hand slid up again, caressing your jawline gently and turning your face towards him. “Or perhaps you’ve found someone new to degrade?” He smirked. “I would be jealous if you did.”

“Believe me when I say, Clapton,” you responded, trying to keep your voice steady. “No one compares to you.”

Your words hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. You couldn’t believe what you’d just said, but there it was—an admission of sorts—an acknowledgment of the intense chemistry that existed between you both.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting. “Maybe we can work out our differences, huh?” He trailed soft kisses along your jawline, his hands exploring your body with possessive intensity.

“But first,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. “Give me what I’ve been craving since that goddamn prom night.” With that, he got on his knees, looking at you with eyes full of devotion.

At that moment, you knew things were about to change. The tension between you and Clapton wasn’t just about the past anymore; it was evolving into something new—something electric and passionate.

“Slap me.” He blurted it out; his request made you still. “Slap me,” he repeated, his voice laced with desperation.

You hesitated for a split second, unsure of what to make of his unusual demand. But then, you steeled yourself and raised your hand, slapping him hard across the face. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet room, and the sting of your palm against his cheek left both of you breathless for a moment.

Clapton's eyes widened at first but then closed for a moment before slowly opening back up. A look of relief washed over his face as he reached up, touching the red mark that now adorned his perfect features.

“That’s better,” he growled, a devilish smile on his lips. His eyes glinted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, clearly enjoying your dominance. “You seem to love seeing me humiliated, don’t you?”

“Oh, just look at that,” you taunted, leaning down to whisper into his ear while slapping him lightly across his cheek. “You were just made to kneel, weren’t you?”

"Only for you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The power dynamic between you two had shifted dramatically, and you couldn't deny the rush of thrill that came with it. You felt a sense of control over him once again but it was mixed with guilt and confusion over your past actions.

“Get up,” you commanded, your voice firm and commanding. “Show me how good you are at submitting.”

Clapton obeyed without question, rising slowly from the floor. His eyes locked on yours, full of longing and submission. His erection strained against his pants. Seeing him like this, needy, was both exhilarating and terrifying but you couldn’t deny the adrenaline rush it gave you.

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered, barely able to contain your excitement. “Then get back on your knees.”

Without hesitation, he complied. His muscular form was revealed as he stripped off his clothing, leaving nothing but his skin and desire between you. Once he was fully nude, he returned to his previous position, waiting for your next order.

“Spread your legs,” you instructed, watching as he complied. His erect cock pointed skyward, dripping come onto the cold floor.

“Look at you.” you sneered, a cruel grin spreading across your face. “Trembling. Panting. It’s ridiculous.”

“Is that so?” he replied, giving you a foolish smile. “It’s just the reaction I get when you’re mean to me. I can’t help but like it.”

“Okay then,” You said, sitting on the bed as you looked at him. “Touch yourself.”

Clapton’s surprised chuckle met your command. “I mean, I could use a hand,” he quipped, attempting humor amidst the situation.

“You want me to touch you?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you’ll have to earn it.”

Without another word, he launched himself onto the bed, pinning you beneath him. His frame flexed as he removed your clothes, revealing your naked body to his eager gaze.

Clapton’s fingers glided across your throbbing between your legs, drawing gasps from your lips. The contrast of his rough skin against your heated flesh sent waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. Each touch was deliberate and calculated, designed to push you closer to the edge.

His fingers continued their sensual exploration, the touches carefully thought out yet wildly erotic. You felt his heart beating against your chest, mirroring the rhythm of your own.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice filled with expectation. “Am I being a good boy?” he murmured close to your lips.

His enthusiasm was infectious, spurring on his actions. The tempo between your legs increased, each touch more urgent than the last. “Please, can I taste you? Can I be allowed to be masturbated by you? Can I be inside you if I’m good?”

His words hung in the air, a plea for your approval. “If you promise to do as I say, then yes.”

He nodded, his eyes shining with anticipation. “Yes, I’m your puppy; I’m your fuck toy. I’ll become anything you want. Just please, keep using me.” His words rang true, echoing his willingness to fulfill all your desires.

“Then, I suppose you know what I want now.”

Clapton understood perfectly. He leaned down, trailing soft, sensual kisses across your stomach until he reached your inner thigh. His lips lingered there for a moment, a tender gesture that belied his usual bravado.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip to stifle the growing moan. His warm breath brushed against where your thighs meet, causing involuntary squirms under his careful attention.

Finally, Clapton’s skilled tongue made contact, tracing delicate patterns. A sharp intake of breath escaped you as pleasure surged through your entire being. Your back arched involuntarily, every nerve ending ablaze with sensation.

His expert mouth worked magic on you. He seemed determined to give you the best experience possible, pouring all his passion and skill into his task, and it was working. You felt yourself nearing your peak, each lick bringing you closer to ecstasy. Your fingers dug into the sheets, nails biting into your palm as you tried to prolong the agonizingly sweet buildup.

When it came, your climax was intense, sending shockwaves throughout your body. An animalistic cry escaped your lips as you bucked against him, losing yourself in the sensation. Once it subsided, you found yourself limp and breathless.

You glanced at him, noticing his disheveled state. “Who gave you permission to come?” you snapped, anger seething in your voice.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Hey, I can’t help if you’re moaning my name,” he declared, his tone surprisingly calm.

“That doesn’t matter!” you retorted, slapping him lightly across the face. His resulting moan only served to infuriate you further. Turning away from him, you searched for something—anything—to regain control.

Your gaze landed on a nearby wardrobe, and you headed towards it, pulling out a leather belts. Returning to the bed, you straddled him, your weight causing him to groan in pleasure. Ignoring his reaction, you grabbed his wrists firmly, securing them with the belt to opposite corners of the bed. The restraints were tight, ensuring he wouldn’t escape without your permission.

“Bondage?” He asked with a grin.

Looking down at him, bound and vulnerable, you felt a rush of power. This was where you belonged—in absolute control. You leaned closer, whispering menacingly, “Next time, ask for permission.”

His eyes widened, reflecting both surprise and...was that excitement? He enjoyed your sudden turn of events. If he wanted more of this dominant side of you, however, he would need to provoke you further.

“And if I don’t?” he asked teasingly, challenging you.

“Then you won’t get what you want,” you warned him, your voice low and dangerous. “Remember who’s in charge here.”

His grin never faded, though. “Oh, I think I’ve already gotten what I wanted,” he countered, glancing down at your body. “Maybe it’s time for round two?”

A slow smile. spread across your face. He wasn’t afraid of you, not really. Instead, he thrived under your dominance. Perhaps, in this twisted way, he was enjoying himself.

“I don’t think you deserve another round, Clapton,” you stated, trying to maintain your authority.

His response caught you off-guard. “But isn’t it fun hearing me moan for you, Master?” he purred, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Hearing him call you ‘Master’ sent a thrill down your spine—an unexpected pleasure. Was it worth risking your control again just for that sound?

“Fine. I’ll play your game under my rules,” you stated, quelling the wave of pleasure that surged through you at his words.

Following suit, you spit into his cock, generously spreading your saliva on his hardening lenght. Each stroke of your hand caused him to cry out in mixed pain and pleasure, his hips buckling against yours in response.

“Slo—slow down!” he begged, his leg movements becoming increasingly frantic.

“I’m touching you; isn’t this what you wanted?” You asked coolly, maintaining eye contact.

He groaned, unable to deny the truth in your question. “Yes,” he managed to choke out between ragged breaths.

“Good boy,” you praised, continuing your work. Your hand moved faster, stroking him in sync with your heartbeat. The sensation was almost too much for you to handle, but you pushed through it, focusing solely on driving Clapton to the edge of sanity.

“And you better come when I tell you to,” you stated decisively, increasing the speed of your strokes. Tears of both pain and pleasure trailed down his face, evidence of his mounting arousal.

Clapton’s breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Every movement he made was dictated by the pleasure you provided, and every gasp was directed toward you. It was heady, intoxicating power, and you reveled in it.

“Please, please let me come!” Clapton cried out, his eyes filled with pleading. His body writhed under your skilled touch, in direct contrast to his words.

Instead of yielding to his request, you increased and lowered the pressure simultaneously, driving him to new levels of ecstasy and desperation. His cries grew louder, and his face flushed with exertion and frustration.

“Fuck you!” he screamed, losing his patience. His hands trying to pull away the belts that were stopping his hands from any movements. It was then that you slapped him again, a sharp sting against his cheek.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” He stammered, clearly caught off guard by his reaction.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking coldly. “You’re ‘sorry’? If you weren’t so useless, you’d spend less time begging for forgiveness.”

It was meant to hurt, but there was also a hint of amusement behind your words. You found enjoyment in pushing him and watching him struggle to find a balance between submission and defiance.

His face flushed deeper, but he stayed silent, accepting your judgment.

“I’m your useless fuck toy, aren’t I?” He asked, his voice tinged with light amusement. Despite his words, there was an undeniable resignation in his tone.

You considered his statement, finding it oddly pleasing. He recognized your power over him, yet he still engaged willingly. With a small smile, you replied, “Yes, you are.” There was affection in your words, hidden beneath the veneer of dominance.

He returned the smile, tilting his head playfully. “Your only fuck toy?” he questioned.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was this what you wanted? To be the only person he submitted to? Or was this just another game, another illusion of control?

“For now,” you hedged, unsure of your feelings.

He sat up, gazing at you thoughtfully. “For now, huh?” He grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “Interesting.”

You chuckled, returning to a perfect rhythm. Unlike before, it was neither too slow nor too hard, which earned you grateful looks from Clapton. His body began to relax, riding the waves of pleasure you created. His breaths synchronized with your movements, creating a hypnotic pattern.

As you continue, you couldn’t help but wonder where this was leading. There seemed to be genuine emotion behind his words, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. Perhaps there was more to this relationship than control and submission.

Suddenly, he stiffened beneath your hand, signaling his impending release. You slowed down, waiting for the right moment. “Come now, Clapton,” you whispered, your voice velvety soft.

An exhilarating burst echoed through the room as he did exactly as you commanded. His muscles tensed, his eyes rolling back in pure bliss. As he lay there, catching his breath, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction wash over you.

Clapton abruptly kissed you, his lips pressing against yours hungrily. You returned the kiss, savoring the taste of him. In that brief moment, everything seemed possible. Could this become more than a game? Could you both find a real connection beneath your kinks and desires?

As you broke the kiss, your hearts raced in sync. Your faces were flushed, sweaty, and breathless. Clearing your throat, you untied him from the bed, and then you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Get dressed,” you managed to croak out.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Sure thing, Master.” He replied playfully.

Both of you got dressed, and the air between you was thick with unspoken tension. Finally, you were both dressed and ready to leave. As you reached for the doorknob, he grabbed your wrist, stopping you mid-step.

“I was thinking maybe we could go to my dorm.” He stuttered, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I found this underrated band yesterday, and I wanted to listen to their discography. You could join me if you want to.”

Surprised but intrigued, you paused, considering his proposal. “Alright, lead the way,” you finally agreed, as he released your wrist. “But remember, this is purely platonic,” you added with a wink.

“Yeah?” he chuckled. “Platonic, huh? Yeah, because what we just did was purely platonic,” he retorted sarcastically.

You chuckled, acknowledging the truth in his words. “It was!” you teased back.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing,” he muttered, stealing a quick kiss before ushering you out of the room.

Walking through the party crowd together, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Whether this relationship would remain strictly physical or develop into something more, one thing was certain: you enjoyed each other's company.

Despite the chaos surrounding you, there was a serene calm within the two of you. His hand rested gently on your hip, grounding you in the moment as you navigated the sea of people. Every step you took, and every laugh you shared, brought you closer to each other, bridging the gap between your past and present.

Fin. Thank you so much for reading! Sorry if this is mid <\3 I have family over and school is stressing me out.

If you only want to see my smut writing consider following my side blog @xxxcherryerim where I reblog my work!

tag list: @lile6969 @sun-spider13 (i forgot who else asked like a week ago lmao)

[taylormarieee]

I'm gonna fold you like a christmas present -Day 1 Clapton Davis

Prompt: Clapton wants to fold you like a present...

Pairing: Clapton Davis x Fem!Black!Reader

Word Count: 979

Warnings: P in V sex, Sub/Dom dynamic, Desperate Clapton, Needy Reader, Impatient Reader, Jokes, Moaning and whimpering, Just Horny, Porn with Plot, Creampie, No protection, wrap it b4 you tap it fellas.

"CLAPTON!" You squeal running up to hug him. He turns around and smiles.

"My baby! Look at you." He says catching you and spinning you around.

You chuckle and kiss his neck. "You like it." You ask. He puts you down and motions with his fingers for you to turn around

You do a full 360 and he bites his lip. "Like it baby? I love it. You look sexy." He responds.

You playfully hit his arm, "Stop Clapton, your practically drooling." You say with a laugh.

"That's the whole point. You look like a snack and I'm ready to dig in." He says slithering his hands around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his lips. "Well... I have two more but if you really like this one then fine." You say.

He nods and stifles out an 'mhm' before going back to sit down on the bed.

He waits for you to get out of the bathroom so he can cuddle with you.

"Hurry up babe. I need you. That dress has me feeling a type of way." He yells out to you from the bedroom.

"So impatient I swear to god." You mutter under your breath, "Coming!" You yell out before rolling your eyes.

You finally get out and Clapton's already under the covers. "We better be cuddling and watching a movie Clapton, Christmas is tomorrow." You say walking out in his T-shirt and underwear.

"Oh we're gonna do something better than that princess." He says with that mischievous smirk on his face.

You pause because you know that smirk all to well. You watch as he moves his index finger to motion you over.

You walk over with a groan and lay next to him. He moves you on top of him so he can see you better.

"Baby... I wanna try something new if that's ok?" He asks all sweet and innocent but you know what he's about to ask isn't sweet or innocent.

"What is it Clapton?" You ask slightly annoyed yet intrigued. He slides you off his lap, and puts you in a missionary position.

He then lifts your knees up to your chest and bends down to whisper in your ear.

"This position. I'm gonna fold you like a christmas present." He whispers seductively.

You squirm and try to press your thighs together but his strong arms keep them wide open.

"Look who's impatient now." Clapton says with a smirk on his face. You roll your eyes and continue to push him off you.

He shakes and kisses you roughly. His spit on the top of your lip as he slips his tongue past your bottom lip.

You moan into his mouth and grip the hem of his t-shirt. He lifts it off his broad shoulders and slides his warm hand up your waist.

"Clapton please..." You whimper.

"Shh baby I know." He whispers in your ear. He slides your underwear down and does the same with his pants and boxers.

He lines himself up with your entrance. You jerk your hips forward to try and hurry up this process but Clapton just sucks his teeth and shakes his head.

"Gotta be patient baby." He says slowly sliding into you. He waists no time pounding into you.

He grunts as he he picks up his pace. You scream out in surprise before gripping his back.

"Hold onto your legs baby, Yea just like that. You want me to fuck you like a whore?" He asks.

You nod and whine as he continues to pound into your pussy. You feel hhot as your face gets warmer and burns.

Your insides are on fire in this positing but it feels good. It feels like Clapton is all in your stomach.

His dick piercing your walls. Sliding in and out. You cry out at the feeling of such beautiful pleasure.

"Fuck me just like that Clapton!" You cry out. He grunts as he continues to pound into you at a rapid pace.

"Yea, I'll fuck you just like this all the time baby." He responds. Your pussy clenches at the thought of being in this position again.

"Clapton i-m- ugh fuck, I'm gonna cum!" You moan out. He rubs your clit.

"Beg baby! Beg for it. You want it? So beg princess." He orders. You obey, "Please Clapton! I want it badly! Please let me cum! Please!"

He nods and smirks, "Look at you. A mess for me! Begging to cum liek the little slut you are. Making a mess all on my cock like a good girl." He responds.

He kisses you roughly while continuing his torture on your clit.

"Cum baby. Cum for me. Look at how drunk you are off my cock." He says smirking.

You cum all over his chest and his cock. Your orgasm ripping through you. You shake and convulse at the intensity of your orgasm.

"Oh fuckkkk!" You cry out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Claptons thrusts get sloppier.

"I'm gonna cum in this pretty tight pussy. You want that?" He asks. His eyes also roll back to the feeling of his orgasm approaching.

"Yes! Please cum inside me!" You allow him to cum inside you so he does.

His seed painting your velvet walls white. He goans and slams his cock into you two more times before laying still.

He makes sure his body weight isn't fully pressed on you. You pull Clapton close before kissing his cheek.

"I loved that, we should do that again sometime." You say with a weak smile on your face.

"Same time tomorrow?" He jokes. You playfully hit his arm before laughing.

He kisses you sweetly before drifting away in your embrace. his hands rub your thighs to make sure your ok.

You slowly drift to sleep with him between your legs.

Taglist: @sinsandsweetness @iluvmys3lngl @number1gal @writella @omwtkydttfym @dustbunniess @luvrxbunny @murdadixon @murdrdocs @versatilehater@grixonsdoll @hutchersonsgurl @hotchstanaccount

[biblio-smia]

your writing is so good omg!! could you do a fic where reader and clapton are in readers room and they are just talking claptons ears off and he kisses them to shut them up???? maybe a smut?? 🤭🤭🤭

thank you thank you!! enjoy!!

nsfw under the cut!

clapton davis has never been known as a good listener.

he makes more of an effort for you than he has for anything else, especially when you're talking about your day or about your favorite show. he pays attention of course, but right now all clapton can pay attention to is the low, low cut of your spaghetti strap.

the tops of the swells of your breasts tease clapton from where he lays on his side, propped up on your bed opposite of you, your tits keeping his eyes on your chest rather than staying focused on your face. clapton would've felt bad if you were to catch him, but you were too busy talking about whatever it was you were talking about to notice. clapton thinks it was something about jane getting cheated on by jason and then screwing his brother, but clapton stopped listening a while ago.

fortunately, you're too distracted to notice the growing problem in his pants.

clapton sort of hopes you'll notice just so you'll offer to help him, but it doesn't seem like you're going to stop talking anytime soon.

clapton wonders how you can be so painfully oblivious to the effect you have on him. you shift slightly, move your arm, and your little blouse slides down further, the very tip of your nipple peeking out, small triangles of fabric just barely keeping your breasts covered.

clapton's jeans are painful now and all he can think about is connecting his hands and your chest.

there's no way you haven't noticed now. clapton's been staring at your tits for over a solid minute now. he glances back up at your face.

nothing.

you're still talking.

"jesus christ," clapton mutters, leaning forward slightly to capture you in a rough kiss. you're a little confused, but you're kissing clapton back immediately, left a little breathless once clapton finally pulls away.

"what was that for?" you ask innocently, one of your straps halfway down your shoulder, pushed down sometime during your quick makeout.

"you seriously don't know how distracting you are," clapton pants.

"what?" your eyebrows furrow, though they slowly relax as you realize. your eyes have landed on the large tent in clapton's skinny jeans. "oh." your eyes wander down to your chest, your chin tucking a little as you see just how much you'd been exposing to clapton. "oh."

"if you're not feeling it, don't worry, seriously..." clapton trails off as he watches you carefully, licking his lips.

you've adjusted your straps - but instead of fixing your shirt, you've pulled it down further, pushing your breasts up and letting your tits bounce fully out.

yeah, no chance clapton is focusing on anything else.

there's no chance for you to even remove your shirt, fabric pooled to just under your breasts, which have already been claimed by clapton's warm hands.

"you are so hot," clapton mutters against your lips before kissing them.

your mouth opens into a moan as clapton's thumb circles your nipple, his hand gently squeezing your breast.

clapton breaks the kiss to admire your chest, to watch the way they move in his hands.

but he's back on you quickly, lips connected hungrily, your tongue in his mouth sloppily.

"condoms in the bottom drawer," you direct, fixing your shirt so you can pull it off. you're undressed quickly and clapton rivals your speed. he's laying you down gently in no time, keeping you occupied with wet kisses while he holds your thighs open.

he doesn't have to look to slip his fingers inside of you, instantly coated in arousal. he uses it to coax you open, relishing in how you clench around his hand.

"is that good?" clapton asks against your lips.

"mhmm," you moan, pulling clapton down for another kiss.

your legs spread and clapton ventures deeper. his mouth moves to your neck, to your collarbone, down to your tits. he moans around your breast in his mouth, your quick gasps encouraging his fingers to keep moving.

"now, clapton," you pant, pushing his head away from your chest, his mouth releasing you with a sweet pop!

clapton licks his fingers off before he rolls the condom on himself, leaking in anticipation.

clapton lines himself up with you, glancing at you to spot any pain as he enters you. he's careful, always, gentle as he can be. your hands find his hair and you pull, gently.

"god," clapton moans as he inserts himself fully inside you. "god, you are so perfect."

lewd noises spill from both your mouths as clapton slowly moves in and out, in and out, carefully creating a rhythm that won't hurt you too badly.

"faster, clapton, please," you gasp, feeling clapton find the exact spot he was looking for. "right there."

"oh my god," clapton moans, quickening his pace. your room fills with the sound of clapton fucking you, only encouraging the both of you further along. you're clenched tightly around clapton, your fingers in his hair as he shakes your entire body with the force of his thrusts.

"so good. so fucking good." clapton doesn't stop, panting with the exertion. "baby, i'm-"

"me, too," you gasp, hands falling to clapton's shoulders and squeezing. "please, clapton."

clapton obeys, pounding into you as hard as he can. it's getting harder to hold it back, but clapton is determined to make you cum first.

it doesn't take much longer, the warmth of your orgasm around his dick sending clapton into heaven. it spills out of you as clapton pulls out, condom full and chest moving heavily. clapton gets up, throws out the condom, gets some things to clean you up. he does it while you catch your breath, grabs you clothes while you thank him. you reward him with a kiss that makes him want more, but he's too tired to start anything else.

clapton's put on clothes he's left in the bottoms of your drawers for cases like these, helps you slide into clothes that hopefully won't turn him on as badly as that skimpy little shirt did (though really, anything you do makes clapton horny). he's next to you in an instant, arm thrown around your waist, turned towards you and resisting kissing your puffy lips again.

"can i tell you a secret?" clapton mumbles with a grin.

"what?"

"i totally was not listening to you earlier."

you scoff and roll your eyes, tell clapton he's unbelievable, but you're smiling.

"hey, i was trying. you were flashing me."

you flick clapton's forehead and he grins. he slides a hand under your shirt but keeps it near your waist; he likes the comfort of your warm skin.

"tell me now," clapton says. "i'm listening."

"yeah?"

clapton nods, pressing a kiss to your nose. "i promise."

masterlist | requests are open!

[leelaslittleworld]

Y'all think Clapton only does missionary?? Ik in the movie they had a line like that but cmon he seems like he would be into backshots

[deadgirlzneedlovetoo]

Please write a clapton davis fic i have been ACHING to find a new one🙏🙏

If You Want It That Bad, Take It

pairing: Dom Clapton Davis x Female Sub Reader

warnings: degrading, use of the pet name bunny

"Oh, you poor thing," Clapton cooed, holding your waist tightly. Your hips stuttered against his thigh, your clit brushing against the rough fabric of his pants, and you whimpered as he grabbed at your ass. "I haven't even gotten my cock out yet and you've already gone dumb."

"Clapton," you mewled, and your hands urged forward to try to grasp at him, but the pull of his tie around your wrists behind your back kept you from doing so. He often did this, teased you relentlessly before allowing you the pleasure of finishing, and, as awful as the teasing was, the result was always so worth it. 

“Good girl,” He said, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your hip. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. You can go a little faster, if that’s what you need.” 

“I-I can’t,” you sobbed, your thighs shaking and belly quivering. You were so close to your release, but you knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t allow you to cum before he told you to. You were certain that you couldn’t move faster without cumming, but Clapton had other plans for you. 

“I bet so,” he uttered, his eyes floating down to where your body touched his. His hand lifted from your hip and repositioned to press his palm right against your leaking pussy, and his fingers threatened your weeping channel as the heel of his hand brushed cruelly against your clit. “Oh, my dumb little bunny, can’t do it yourself? Need me to help you?” 

Tears burned at your eyes at the sensation of Clapton's long fingers stroking your wet skin, and your thighs shook again as he crashed the mound of his hand against your sensitive clit. “Yes please.." you whined. “Clapton, please, baby—“ 

“Stop that pathetic whining,” he told you firmly, and you lost the words in your mouth. “Someone might hear you. You don’t want anyone finding out we're doing this do you? Maybe you would, maybe you’d like that.” 

“Fuck me,” you gasped with a dry mouth. “Clapton, fuck me, please.” 

Clapton took a deep breath and clicked his tongue against his teeth, and he gave a soft moan as his fingers slipped inside you with little resistance. “Fuck princess,” he whispered, and his fingers started to move inside you, quick and hard, not even giving you a second to adjust to the feel of him. “So fucking tight… You’re so close, aren’t you? Can you even tell me? Or can you only ask me to fuck you?” 

You nodded quickly. “M’close,” you slurred. Your head felt fuzzy, just full of Clapton, and the sound of his fingers fucking you reverberated around your empty skull. “Close, Clapton…” 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” He told you, and he leaned forward and buried his face in your neck, kissing and licking and biting at your skin. “Cum on my fingers, baby, make a big mess. Dumb little thing only knows how to make a mess, so you might as well do it.” 

“Want your cock,” you whimpered, and Clapton laughed. 

“Of course you do,” he said. “That’s all you want, greedy little slut. I’m gonna untie you, and if you can get my cock out, then you can have it. Does that sounds good to you?” 

You nodded quickly, and you waited impatiently for him to undo the tie around your wrists. He pulled his fingers from inside you, earning him a little whine, and he muttered, “Oh, hush, you act like you’re not about to get my dick.” Finally, he untied you, and your hands frantically came to his pants to free him. You could feel that he was hard, and the thought of it made your mouth water. 

You wasted no time in unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard cock, and Clapton let out a quiet little sound as your hand wrapped around his thick cock. "C'mon, baby, sit on it," he told you. "If your dumb little brain can believe it, I need you too." 

You grabbed at Clapton's shoulders as you slowly sank yourself down onto his cock. The angle pushed him deep inside you, prodding at that spongy nerve instantly, and you hung your hand as you cried at the feeling. "Oh, my sweet thing," He pouted, clasping his hand over your cheek. "No tears, sweetheart. No baby tears, you can do it." 

"Feels good," you whined, and Jay pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

"I know it does," Clapton told you. "Now, do you think you can do something as simple as fuck yourself, or do you need me to do it for you?"