#clapton davis detention

[jellypopswag]

𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙨 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝘽𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙!~

♡ ♡ ♡ jelly's notes ; clapton davis x gn!reader headcanons, present day, t rated, lapslock, includes mentions of alcohol and drug use

☆ Incredibly devoted to his partner

☆ will share his earbuds with you whenever possible

☆ he loves going on walks with you and listening to his music, forced to brush up against each other to keep the earbuds from falling out

☆ finds himself rambling pretty often, whether it's about how his day has been or a new song that he's discovered

☆ he appreciates a partner who will listen to him, and uses those moments of long discussion to cuddle with you or be physically affectionate

☆ his ideal date night would be watching a movie with you at home, cuddled up on the couch, and then listening to music until you pass out cuddled up against each other

☆ extremely clingy

☆ with no intention of changing that fact

☆ never sleeps well when he isn't sleeping with you

☆ will knock on your window late at night at least four times a week, asking to sleep with you

☆ doesn't snore, but if you're laying your head on his chest-- you can hear a graveled huff, and feel a rumble gently tinge your skin

☆ texts like it's still 2012

☆ "gtg 2 class. luv u ;3"

☆ if you're going to a party, he always wants to come with

☆ he's not overprotective, but he can get anxious about you and your safety

☆ feels the most comfortable and at ease when he can see you

☆ will follow you around

☆ preferably, close enough to have an arm wrapped around your waist

☆ tons of pda

☆ holding hands, laying your head on his shoulder, etc etc

☆ tells you that he loves you constantly

☆ tells you how beautiful you look at least once a day

☆ would use cheesy petnames with you if you wanted to, ironically or unironically

☆ when you sleep together, he always tries to stay up later than you-- and bask in a few minutes of listening to your gentle breathing, admiring your relaxed, sleepy expression

☆ switches between big and little spoon frequently

☆ doesn't enjoy cooking on his own. however, he loves cooking and baking things with you

☆ he's a very bad cook though, fair warning

☆ would smoke pot with you (hc post specifically about this is currently in the works!)

♡ ♡ ♡ thank you for reading! my other works can be found in my table of contents~ © jellypopswag

[jhutchsversion]

his puppy dog eyes have truly captivated me

[laurrrelise]

the hutcherson multiverse™ has a horror movie night

WC: 2.1k

Tags: just a fun little blurb (i guess it’s a sort of big blurb) (also would this be considered fluff? i have no clue), slight spoilers for Scream , Toy Story 3, and La La Land (can’t believe i’m actually saying this LMAO), mentions of sexual fantasies, Derek is a freak, alcohol, cursing, horror movie mentions etc.

idk why i wrote this to be honest i guess i just love the hutcherson multiverse / jhutchverse LMAO

—————————————————————————

Josh opens his front door, a beaming smile on his face. “Hey! You guys made it!”

Derek leans against the wall outside the door. “Fuck are you surprised for? We told you we were coming.”

Mike’s overwhelming admiration for horror movies is hidden beneath his typically scruffy demeanor. “What movie are we watching?”

“I don’t know, we have to decide. Peeta and Billy are already here, we’re just waiting on Clapton.” Josh steps to the side, allowing them to walk in. Derek pushes past without hesitation, Mike politely following behind.

Derek collapses onto the sofa, flinging his legs onto Peeta’s lap. “Hey, bread boy.” Peeta gives him a half-smile while Mike takes a seat next to Billy on the other side of the couch.

Josh gets the door as Clapton arrives. “Hey, party people! We got beer?”

Mike gives him a look of confusion. “No. And even if we did, you wouldn’t get any.”

“You know what we do have?” Josh excitedly walks in front of the TV, grinning ear to ear. “Tons of food! Wolf hooked us up.”

“Who the hell is Wolf?”

Peeta sits up straight, mouth agape. “You have a pet wolf? Katniss told me she saw one of those before.”

Josh shakes his head at him. “What? No. Wolf is a retired demolitions expert who’s also a genius in the kitchen. He made us a popcorn bar and virgin cocktails, since, y’know.” He looks at Clapton and Peeta.

“Dude, you’re such a buzzkill.”

Derek pulls a bottle of whiskey out of his jacket. “That’s fine. Can’t fucking catch me unprepared.”

Josh ignores him, continuing, “Just… try not to bother Wolf when he’s cooking. He gets really… focused. And violent, if interrupted.”

They all nod, and Josh grabs the TV remote to start deciding on a movie. “Alright, what are we watching?”

Derek smiles. “You guys ever seen The Poughkeepsie Tapes? Or Megan is Missing?”

“Hell no. We are not watching those,” Billy says firmly.

Clapton stirs. “What are they?”

“Too fuckin’ scary for you, that’s what they are.”

Clapton furrows his brows. “I don’t get scared easy, asshole. I’ve watched, like, every horror movie ever. With a straight face… except for those.”

“Hereditary?” Derek grins evilly.

Mike and Josh both look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“I hope you guys realize I’ll watch these as soon as I get home.”

“Whatever, as long as we don’t have to sit through your disgusted reaction.”

Clapton looks at him, slightly offended. “They can’t be that bad! I seriously never get scared. Have you seen Cinderhella? I didn’t bat an eye.”

Josh changes the subject. “Any other ideas? Ooh, what about Toy Story 3!”

Everyone stares at him, bewildered.

“What? That movie’s scary.”

“You mean the one with the big ass purple fucking bear? That one?” Derek asks, a laugh falling out with the question.

Billy and Mike practically fall over cracking up at his genuine fear of the children’s movie.

Josh frowns as he whines, “Yeah… Lotzo.”

“You’re fucking scared of Lotzo?” Billy can barely breathe between his laughing.

“That’s not fair! The scene where they’re falling toward that big fire pit thing is terrifying!”

Clapton snickers at him. “Dude, you’re such a dumbass.” Derek fist-bumps him in agreement.

“And you guys are all bullies. Peeta, can’t you back me up?”

Peeta just stares at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen it. It sounds scary.”

Josh whines at him. “It is!”

Peeta shrugs as everyone else continues to laugh at him.

“Alright, then someone else recommend something.”

Derek smiles. “How about-”

Billy cuts him off. “Derek, shut the fuck up.”

“How about we just watch some stupid 80’s slasher?”

“Like what?”

Clapton drums on his legs, clearly bored with the lengthy decision process. “I don’t know, Child’s Play.”

Peeta looks at him. “What’s that about?”

Clapton turns to him, giving him a puzzled look. “Have you never seen a movie? Like ever?”

Peeta shrugs nonchalantly and Clapton turns back to the TV. “Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Dreams are important. Shouldn’t be mocked.”

Clapton rolls his eyes. “Friday the 13th?”

Derek shakes his head. “That one’s just boring. Absolutely not.”

“… and why is it boring?”

“Because I said so.”

Josh continues to scroll through a page of endless horror movies. “What’s this one?” He clicks on one titled Tragedy Girls and watches the trailer.

“Hey, dude, that guy totally looks like you.” Billy points at a man on the TV screen, then at Josh.

“He does no- actually he kinda does.”

There’s a moment of silence. “He kinda looks like you, too.”

“You think so?”

“Wait, he looks just like Derek, too!”

“Yeah, like a clearance version.”

Josh finds the coincidence too weird and clicks off of the movie. He continues scrolling.

“Is that Vantage Point? Why is that in the horror section?”

Derek’s eyes go wide. “It uh… sounds pretty scary to me.”

“Wait, is that the one where the president gets assassinated?” Josh looks back at Mike curiously.

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure it’s action, not hor-”

Derek cuts him off. “We’re not watching it.”

Mike senses the sudden discomfort and changes the subject. “Blair Witch Project?”

Everyone unanimously groans in agreement.

“I give up. You guys pick.”

“Wait, I got one!”

Everyone looks at Peeta. “It’s called La La Land.”

Josh furrows his brows at him. “That’s not a horror movie, that’s just a sad romcom.”

“But they lose each other in the end. I mean, could you imagine? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”

Billy and Clapton give him a sad look. “It doesn’t count as a horror movie.”

“Man, you’re so fuckin’ lame.”

“Detention?”

“No.”

“Five Nights at Freddy’s?”

“Nope.”

“For the love of god… Scream?”

Everyone exchanges glances before they all shrug.

“Alright, we’re watching Scream then.”

—————————————————————————

A few minutes into the movie and Mike speaks up. “Hey, that guy kinda looks familiar.”

“Who? Stu Macher?”

“Yeah, I can’t really place why, though.”

“Maybe Matthew Lillard just has one of those faces, y’know?”

“Maybe…”

Josh lights up suddenly. “We knew a guy named Stu a little while back, he was seriously crazy.”

“Who the fuck is we?”

“Oh! Me, Wolf, and Tiger. Tiger actually fell in love with Stu for a little whi-”

“Tiger?”

“Yeah. Tiger.”

Billy looks at Derek, who rolls his eyes before they both decide to drop it.

“Yeah, Stu was crazy though.”

“Well, Stu Macher is pretty crazy too, right?”

“Hey! Don’t spoil it! Peeta’s never seen this movie before.”

“It’s an obvious twist. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on so far.” Peeta looks at the TV, clearly confused by the plot.

“I think all guys named Stu must be at least a little insane.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Josh lays back on the floor in front of the TV.

—————————————————————————

A few more minutes pass. Billy stirs, readjusting himself on the couch.

A few more minutes. Billy once again readjusts.

Finally, “Alright, I’m fuckin’ bored. Let’s do shots.”

Derek fist bumps him. “Oh, hell yeah. I’m in.”

“Um, what about the two children?”

“Children?” Peeta furrows his brows at Mike.

Clapton sits up, gaping at Josh with an offended look on his face. “I’m 19!”

“Yeah, so am I.”

“You guys are the youngest. You’re going to be kids to us no matter what.”

“Fireball good with everyone?”

“Works for me.

“I got work tonight… but sure.”

Josh looks up. “Hey, how are you guys all getting home? I don’t want anyone driving under the influence.”

“It’s one shot dude.”

Derek smiles. “It’ll turn into seven. I’ll call my driver.”

“This is so unfair.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing personal, kid. You can drink all you fuckin’ want in a few years. Be patient.”

“Oh, like none of you drank before you turned 21.”

Billy shakes his head, standing up to make his way to the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with a small tray and 6 shot glasses filled with amber-colored liquid, plus a few beers.

Clapton lights up when he gets handed one. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Peeta cringes but reluctantly takes it.

Derek, Josh, and Mike take theirs before Billy grabs the last one and they all huddle around the coffee table.

“On three, alright?”

Everyone nods. “Three… t-”

“One, bottoms up.” Derek throws his back, not even flinching.

Everyone else takes theirs, and Mike and Josh wince with the strength in the taste of the liquor. “How can you do that without even making a face?”

Derek chuckles. “Are we just fucking meeting for the first time, Mike?”

Billy watches Clapton’s face as he realizes that his shot was actually apple juice. Peeta lights up, smiling with excitement. “Dude!”

“Is that juice? We only got this stuff in the Capitol. Can I have another?”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

Billy ignores Clapton and grabs the bottle of apple juice from the kitchen.

Peet’s takes it, sort of confused. “… where’s the… cup?”

Billy waves him off, twisting the cap off of a beer. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

Peeta smiles and throws the cap off of the bottle, chugging it eagerly. Everyone else takes their reserved spots again and continue watching the movie.

Derek squints at the screen. “’m gonna get one of those masks after this.”

Josh gives him a confused look. “…Why?”

“You planning on going on a murder spree? I can add some names to your list.”

Derek looks at Billy. “No, I’m just imagining, like, bringing someone to my room while I’m wearing all black and one of those and then sneaking up behind them and ripping-”

“Dude!”

Derek pauses. “Don’t fuckin’ interrupt me, that was a good idea.”

“There are two kids sitting next to you.”

“I’m 19! Stop calling me a kid!”

Peeta shrugs. “Y’know what? I actually don’t mind. It would be nice to be a kid again.”

“They’re not kids. They know what sex is.”

Clapton sinks into the ground slightly. “Yeah, obviously I know what it is.”

“Katniss and I are taking it slow.”

Derek looks at Mike. “See?”

“It doesn’t matter. No one wants to hear about your weird sexual fantasies.”

“I didn’t think it was weird. That sounds hot.”

Derek looks at him excitedly. “Right?”

Billy nods, taking a sip of his beer. “For sure.”

“Alright, you two talk about that stuff later. The rest of us don’t want to hear about any of that.”

“I don’t mind. I need all the tips I can get.”

Clapton furrows his eyebrows at Peeta. “I don’t think Katniss would want you to seduce her in a horror movie mask.”

“Why not?”

“Because that isn’t a normal sexual interaction. Derek is just… uh… very experienced.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Well… what is a normal sexual interaction?”

Derek smiles, sitting up and crossing his snakeskin boots in Peeta’s lap. “I’ve got so much to teach you. Alright, first, be aggressive. Girls like that. You want to alway-”

“How about we just watch the movie?”

Derek scoffs, rolling his eyes and melting back down against the couch. “How about we take another shot?”

—————————————————————————

They eventually finish the movie, but Derek and Billy are fairly intoxicated by the end of it. Derek calls a car to drive them all home.

Billy tends to forget about personal space when he’s drunk. “Thanks for having me, buddy,” he practically yells as he leans against Josh, his mouth brushing his ear.

Josh pats him on the back, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah… no problem, man.”

“See- mph. See you tomorrow, Joosh.” Derek stumbles slightly as he walks out of the house.

“What? To- tomorrow?”

Derek nods, not turning back as he walks down the driveway. “Yeah, we’ll be back tomorrow.” He gets into the dark limousine, Billy following behind him.

Peeta and Clapton stand in the doorway, Mike still putting on his boots.

“We get to ride in a limo?” Clapton grins.

“Actually, I’ll uh… I’ll call you guys an uber. There’s no way in hell that they aren’t about to go to a bar.”

“Goddamn it,” Mike appears behind them, watching as Derek’s head hangs out the window like a dog as the car drives off.

“Tomorrow, Futturman!”

Josh signs. “Goddamn it is right.”

—————————————————————————

thanks for reading! this was so stupid but it’s just fun to create the jhutchverse so let me self indulge please :)

(this is a late update but i just remembered @xcherryerim wanted to be tagged in jhutchverse stuff, here you go monica, ly <3)

also i know this is barely about the actual movie and more about the banter but that’s the fun part so i don’t care 💀 sorry if you wanted to hear me talk about scream (i’ve actually never seen it but i know the general plot don’t kill me)

have a good day babes <3

[joshfutturman]

ੈ♡˳ clapton davis character.ai bot

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

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

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

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

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

[iheartspderman]

i’m gonna time travel for detention era josh hutcherson.

[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.

[peetas-nose]

Welcome to the new year everyone. Just a little update, I am in fact still drooling over him. Thanks!

[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.

[amiadeadpoet]

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

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

[santacarlahorrorshow]

Josh Hutcherson as Clapton Davis in Detention (2011)

[jellypopswag]

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

𝙎𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙨𝙝

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

he can't get enough of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

clingy is an understatement.

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

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

maybe the clinginess goes both ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

very classy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

everything happens in slow motion after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but you're not too far gone yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thepowerofswayze]

Surprise Visit

also on ao3

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

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

warnings & info: straddling, kissing, truly just fluff

summary: your boyfriend pops in one night to see you

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

☆

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

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

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

“You’re kidding me.”

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

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

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

A shrug. “It’s just a couple blocks.”

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

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

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

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

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

[leossmoonn]

hmm what about clapton x reader where they sneak clapton over?? sumt?? 😋😋

warnings / includes - reader is fem. clapton is in love w you. oral f receiving, masturbation, brief handjob, piv. fwb relationship. not edited

18+ under the cut

clapton stumbles through your window sill, falling onto the floor and hitting your desk.

“shut up!” you hiss. “are you at all concerned if I’m okay?” he asks.

“of course i am, but you’re the one who texted me,” you say as you helped him up. you shut your window, rushing to your door and checking if your parents are still in their rooms are not.

“we’re clear?” he asks. “yep.” you nod.

you spin around and grab his shirt in one fluid movement. his moan his muffled by your mouth as you french kiss him. you lead him to your bed, laying down on it and scooting yourself up until your back hits your pillows. your hand stays on his neck in an attempt to keep his lips moving with yours.

“you… look… really… pretty tonight,” he manages to say after every kiss. you can’t help but smile into the kiss. you respond by pulling your tank top over your head, revealing your pink lacy bra that you bought specifically for him. his eyes widen as he marvels at you. every hook up, he has to take a second to admire you.

you first felt a little shy, hoping that he wasn’t staring at you because there was something wrong with you. but you quickly learned it was because everything about you was right.

his hands slide up your sides and to your back, unhooking your bra. you let him take it off of you and toss it to the side. he wastes no time in getting handsy with your boobs. he attaches his lips to yours for a short time, starting to kiss down the side of your face and down your neck. he flicks his tongue against a hardened nipple, rolling the other between his fingers. you let out a content sigh, weaving your fingers into his brown locks.

“you’re so beautiful,” he mutters against your skin. your whole body feels ten times warmer after his comment. he licks down the valley of your beasts, kissing all along your stomach, reaching your shorts. your heart begins to race as he hooks his fingers under the waistband, pulling them down oh-so-slowly. he looks up at you with his innocent fuck-me eyes, making you feel all warm and gooey on the inside.

he keeps his eyes locked with yours as he places a kiss on your lower stomach, right above where your panties sit. he looks down at your choice of underwear tonight, smiling widely as he sees hearts all over it with a little bow in the middle.

“how cute,” he remarks. “i know you like when i wear this type of stuff,” you say.

“i like anything you wear,” he says. his sweet-talk has an embarassing effect on you. he’s not even saying anything special, but it’s more than what any other guy has done.

he kisses your cunt through your underwear, feeling the dampness. you let out a deep breath that you were holding when you feel his fingers push your underwear aside. you watch as his pupils fill up his entire eye when he looks down at you. you let out a soft moan as he pushes two fingers in. your walls gush around him, making clapton groan himself. he will never get enough of how wet and ready you always are for him.

he lowers his head to your cunt. you grip the sheets in anticipation as he finds your clit, his tongue flicking it ever-so-gently. your body jolts at the sensation and you plead with him to give you more.

he can’t not comply with you. he loves pleasing you, tasting you, feeling you squirm under him. he can’t get enough.

his tongue laps over your clit, his fingers pumping inside of you. you can’t help but squeeze your legs around his head. you’ve always been worried you’d pop his head like a watermelon, but he’s always assured you not to worry about it. the first time he ate you out, you restrained yourself, but he said, “i’d love to die from suffocation because of you”. you thought it was kidding, but since sleeping with him, you’re sure he was serious.

“clapton,” you whine, bucking your hips up to his mouth, grinding against his tongue. “just like that,” you breathe out. “don’t stop!”

your moan egg him on. he groans against your cunt, beginning to grind himself against your mattress. he can’t help it. he’s been painfully hard since stepping into your room. it got worse when you first kissed him, and it was basically over when you took your shirt off.

you feel the move bed, looking down and catching his hips grinding against the bed.

“fuck,” you mutter. butterflies shoot down your tummy and you can feel a heartbeat in between your legs. you clench around his fingers, feeling a pressure weight down your lower stomach.

“clapton, i’m close,” you cry out. you grip his fingers grip his hair harder, but you’re careful not to hurt him. your legs loosen around his head and fall limp onto the bed. clapton’s still licking your clit, making you squirm underneath him. “mmm, stop, stop, stop,” you pant, having to push him away.

he looks up, chin glistening with your juices. he gives you a crooked smile as you let yourself calm down.

“did you…?” you ask. “not yet,” he blushes.

you sit up onto your knees, fisting his shirt and pulling him close to you. you can smell yourself on him.

“i bet you really want me, huh?” you ask. “want me to make you feel good? wanna come inside of me?”

he nods enthusiastically in response. you brush your lips against his. he moves in to kiss you, but you pull back, giving him a coy grin.

one of your hands stays on his chest while the other one traces down to his pants, palming him. his eyes flutter as you give him a little squeeze. he lets out a shaky breath.

“please,” he whines. “please what?” you ask, looking at him through your lashes.

“let me fuck you,” he whispers. he’s looking at you with those big beautiful brown eyes that you can’t say no to.

you take his shirt off, helping him with his belt and pants. you grab one of the condoms that are under your bed, handing it to him. once he slips it on, you put some lube around his dick, giving him a playful squeeze before laying down.

you both gasp as he first slips inside of you. his eyes squeeze shut and he grips the pillow under your head.

“mmm, clapton,” you hum, loving how his girth stretches your walls. as he thrusts inside of you, he hits that spot perfectly that makes your toes curl. after a few seconds, he starts to pump faster.

“be careful,” you breathe out as you start to hear your bed springs squeak. he nods in compliance, trying his hardest to keep a steady rhythm without outing you two. one of his hand wrapping under your thigh and lifting it up, allowing for a slight angle change so he can fuck you deeper.

one of your arms wrap around his neck, bringing his body closer to yours. his free hand grabs yours, holding it down to the mattress. your heart flutters as he interlocks his fingers with yours.

“you feel so good,” he whimpers into your ear. your heart skips and you arch your back. your nails dig into his back as you feel another orgasm building up. “clapton, don’t stop,” you moan. your eyes flutter to the back of your head as you focus on how good it feels to have him fill you up. how addicting it is to hear him moan and whimper your name over and over again.

he looks down, watching him enter and leave you. “fuck,” he mumbles, not being able to hold off anymore. “‘m gonna come,” he warns you.

“me, too,” you moan, throwing your head back as you reach your high.

“i think i’m in lo— fuck. you’re so prefect,” he groans.

you slap a hand over his mouth and he does the same to you. whines and moans leave your throats as he gradually slows down.

your nails detach from his skin and you sink into the mattress. he gently rests on top of you. you can feel his heartbeat against yours, both of yours racing in unison.

he gets off of you, taking off the condom and throwing it away.

you look up at your ceiling as you recant what he almost said to you a few moments ago.

he starts to get dressed, putting on his boxers. he looks over to you, surprised you’re not up like usual.

“you okay?” he asks. you turn your head to him and smile. “why don’t you stay the night,” you suggest.”

his eyes widen. “what? really?” he wants to pinch himself in case this isn’t real. you sit up and grab his hand, pulling him into you and kissing him. even though kissing you feels like a dream, he knows it’s real.

“yeah,” you say against his lips. “you probably will have to leave before my parents go to work, but i can set an alarm.”

“okay,” he nods. “that works.”

you giggle at his willingness. you use the bathroom as quickly and quietly as you can, double checking that your parents are still asleep. thankfully, they are. you change into some pjs, slipping under the covers with clapton.

“are you thirsty? i can sneak downstairs and get you some water. or a snack,” he says.

“i’m okay,” you smile. you turn off your lamp, giving his lips a sweet peck. you lay your head on his chest and he wraps an arm around you, not believing you invited him to stay. he can’t believe he’s cuddling with you. he can’t believe he’s going to fall asleep sleep with you.

“goodnight clapton. i’ll wake you up soon,” you yawn.

“goodnight,” he says, looking down at you and smiling.

————

taglist

@celestbarnes

[peetapeetapumpkineata]

so coquette!!!

[biblio-smia]

Hear me out…

Clapton Davis with a popular!s/o

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

part two | part three

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

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

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

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

at grizzly lake, you were untouchable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wanted to hear it more.

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

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

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

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

"clapton."

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

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

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

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

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

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

you laugh again, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

hello i got carried away &lt;;3

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

requests are open! | masterlist

[jhutchnation]

New photos of Josh at a basketball game! 🏀