thank you for wandering into my little corner of the internet. i was previously @barbienextdoor but ill be here and on @kittennextdoor from now on.
i hope these stories become the kind you reread on quiet nights, the kind you think about long after you've closed the tab. every piece here is written because i loved the idea enough to share it, and i'm grateful you've chosen to spend a little time with it. ♡
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Your boyfriend was built like a god — broad shoulders, thick arms, and rock-hard abs that flexed under your palms every time he moved.
Tonight, he was lying on his back in bed, watching you with dark, hungry eyes as you straddled his waist. You were already soaked, and instead of sinking down and fucking him, you slowly dragged your dripping pussy across his abs.
“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, hands gripping your hips as you started grinding on him.
The hard ridges of his abs felt incredible against your clit. Every roll of your hips made your slick folds slide over the deep grooves of muscle, the friction perfect and filthy. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his massive chest for leverage as you rode his abs harder.
He flexed them beneath you on purpose, making the ridges even more pronounced. The wet sounds of your pussy gliding over his skin filled the room as you moaned, grinding your swollen clit against the hard planes of his stomach.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Using my abs like your own personal toy. So fucking wet for me.”
You whimpered, moving faster, chasing that pressure. Every time you rolled your hips forward, your clit caught perfectly on the ridges, sending sparks through your whole body. His hands guided you, helping you grind down harder as your juices smeared all over his sculpted stomach.
“That’s it, ride me,” he growled, eyes locked on where your pussy was sliding messily over his abs. “Make yourself cum all over me.”
The combination of his voice and the relentless friction finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard, thighs shaking as you ground down against his abs, soaking his stomach with your release.
He groaned at the sight, pulling you down for a deep kiss while you were still trembling on top of him. “Next time,” he murmured against your lips, “you’re doing that on my face.”
Summary :: After your husband gets into yet another saloon brawl being overprotective of you, you’re determined to give him the silent treatment to teach him a lesson. But he knows exactly how his charm and protectiveness affect you.
Pairing :: Cowboy!clark x reader
Cw :: nsfw :: p w/ plot :: overprotective/possessive clark :: smut & aftercare :: make up sex :: mentions of a bar fight :: pet names (honeysuckle, baby, darlin) :: unprotected sex :: praise kink :: v light angst :: rough handling :: est. relationship :: wall/holding :: exhibitionism (barn setting) :: no beta we die like men.
1.5k wc :: [reupload] :: masterlist
“Y'know I can't help but be your bodyguard…” Clark’s voice is a low, honeyed drawl as he slips into the dimly lit barn, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. He’s got that lazy tilt to his cowboy hat, looking entirely too smug for someone who just spent the last hour picking a fight with half the town at the saloon just because a man looked your way. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you — knows that his protective streak drives you crazy, even when you’re trying your hardest to freeze him out.
You keep your back turned, stubbornly wiping down the leather of an old saddle like it’s the most important job in the world. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, completely betraying the cold front you’re trying to put up. “Ain’t even gonna look at me, darlin’?” you hear the slow, deliberate thud of his boots getting closer.
You keep your eyes glued to the leather, but you can feel the heat radiating off him. He steps right into your space, his large frame completely blocking out the rest of the barn until he’s looming directly over your shoulder. 'Don't give in' — you think to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek. If you let him off easy, he’ll never learn to keep his temper on a leash.
“I was just lookin’ out for my girl — my wife,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear. When you still don’t answer, he lets out a soft, amused scoff. He reaches around you, his gentle hands dropping onto yours to gently take the leather rag from your grip. You send a sharp glare backward — a look that says ‘you’re in trouble.’
He just grins, a roguish, dimpled thing that makes your knees instantly feel like jelly. “Yeah, I know.”
Clark hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up until you have no choice but to look into those striking eyes of his. Before you can pull away, his other hand settles heavy and possessive on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He cradles you close, his thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin through the fabric of your shirt, rocking you ever so slightly to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. “Somebody’s gotta protect you, baby. Even if someone's knuckles are a little bloody for it. You really mad at me for that, huh?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leans down, his lips brushing softly along your jawline, tracing down to the sensitive dip of your neck. A shaky sigh slips past your lips, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt just to keep yourself upright.
“Show me how to make it up to you,” he whispers against your skin, his deep voice vibrating right through you. “You want me to beg, huh? Tell you I’m sorry, baby — get on my knees for you?” Clark slides his hands down, his palms skimming the curve of your hips, his touch growing heavier, more deliberate. His eyes are dark with a sudden, intense heat as he locks his gaze back onto yours.
He sinks lower, his hands sliding down the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist. He backs you straight up against the sturdy wooden pillar of the barn, pressing his weight into you in a way that makes your thoughts completely scatter. The hard ridge of his length strains against his jeans, grinding slow and deliberate right between your thighs, right where you’re already aching and slick for him.
Clark buries his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you like a dying man, his lips parting to press a warm, wet kiss right over your pulse point. His teeth graze the spot, just enough to pull a soft whimper from your throat. One big hand slips under your shirt, rough palm sliding up your bare skin until he’s cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightens into a needy peak.
“Say it’s all fixed, honeysuckle,” he groans against your skin, rolling his hips forward in a filthy grind that has you clenching around nothing. “Tell me I’m doing a good job keeping you safe… say you’re mine.”
His fingers make quick work of your buttons, shoving your shirt open so he can drag his mouth lower. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trail down your chest until his lips close around your nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicks in lazy strokes. You arch into him with a broken moan, fingers threading tight into his hair under that damn hat. “Clark…” his name comes out wrecked, half plea, half surrender.
He sets you down just long enough to yank your jeans open and shove them down your hips along with your panties, then he’s lifting you again, pinning you to the pillar with one strong arm while his free hand works his belt open. The thick head of his tip nudges against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing up and down until you’re trembling.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he breathes, voice rough as gravel. “Let me in.”
He pushes inside you in one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around him until he’s buried to the hilt. The burn is perfect, overwhelming. Clark groans deep in his chest, forehead pressed to yours, pupils dilated, hips rocking shallow and steady while you adjust to the full, heavy feel of him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps, starting to move harder, deeper, each thrust driving you up against the rough wood. The wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet barn, mixing with your gasps and his low, filthy praises. One hand grips your ass, holdng you open for him while the other braces against the pillar, muscles flexing with every powerful stroke.
He fucks you like he fights — intense, possessive, completely focused on claiming what’s his. Every roll of his hips drags against that sweet spot inside you until your thighs shake around his waist and your nails dig into his shoulders.
“That’s my girl,” he growls against your mouth, kissing you deep and messy. “Come on, lil' honeysuckle. Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”
The pleasure coils tight and snaps hard. You cry out, clenching around him as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat flooding every nerve. Clark curses softly, thrusts turning erratic and desperate until he buries himself deep one last time, pulsing hot inside you as he comes with a low, broken groan of your name.
For a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the creak of the barn settling around you. Clark stays buried deep, holding you close, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder like he can’t bear to let you go just yet. And just like that, the anger is completely gone, leaving you entirely at his mercy.
“I got you, darlin’… I got you,” he breathes against your temple, his voice droppin into a low, gravelly hum as the adrenaline begins to fade from both of you. He slips out of you with a soft, wet sound that makes you shudder, but before your feet can even touch the cold dirt floor, he’s lifting you right back into his arms, keeping your thighs hooked around his waist.
He carries you over to the workbench in the back corner, setting you down gently on the edge where his old flannel shirt is draped. Your legs are still trembling, your breath hitching as the cool air hits your bare skin, but Clark is already moving. He grabs a clean cloth from the shelf, tipping the water canteen over it until it’s damp.
“Look at me, honeysuckle,” he murmurs, kneeling right down between your thighs. When you look down at him, his hat is pushed back, his eyes soft and completely devoid of the heat from earlier. He’s incredibly gentle as he uses the cloth to wipe away the slick mess between your legs, his calloused thumbs trailing over the inside of your thighs to soothe the ache. “Still mad at your husband? Huh? Tell me the truth.”
You shake your head, reaching down to trace the slight bruise forming over his knuckles from the saloon fight. A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “You’re such an idiot, Clark.”
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he grins, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss right to the center of your chest, right over your heart. He helps you pull your panties and jeans back up, tugging your clothes into place with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. Once you’re put back together, he pulls you down off the bench and wraps his massive arms around you from behind, buried into the crook of your neck as you both just sway in the quiet barn. “Next time, I’ll try to be good. Promise. But ain’t nobody allowed to look at you like that. Not while I’m drawin’ breath.”
“you’re makin’ a habit out of this, kid.” frank’s voice is a low, rough rumble through the speaker of your phone, heavy with the gravel of a man who was already halfway asleep before you rang him. you can hear the faint rustle of his bedsheets, the heavy, deliberate sigh he lets out into the receiver. he’s your dad’s oldest friend — the man who practically watched you grow up — and he knows damn well he shouldn't be answering the phone at two in the morning just to hear you breathe like this. but he did.
you whimper into the line, the sound small and completely desperate as your fingers work frantically beneath the waistband of your shorts. you’re so slick, so entirely consumed by the ache between your thighs, and no matter what you do, you can't seem to touch the spot right. “frank, please… i can’t— i need you. i tried, but it’s not working. please.”
there’s a long, heavy beat of silence on his end. you can practically feel the weight of his gaze through the network, the sheer gravity of his restraint cracking. he knows the power he has over you. he knows he’s the only man alive who can actually fix this for you, the only one big enough, rough enough, to make the noise in your head stop.
“you touchin’ at yourself right now?” he rasps, his tone shifting into something darker, a command that makes your stomach flip. you hear the thud of his boots hitting the floor on his end. he’s getting up. “tell me what you’re doing to yourself while you’re callin’ your daddy’s best friend, hm? say it for me.”
“i’m… i’m touchin’ myself, frank. for you. it’s only for you,” you sob out, your hips arching off your mattress as you rub against your own fingers, pretending they’re his heavy, calloused hands instead. “i’m so needy… please come over. he’s out of town, he won’t know. just come fix it. please.”
a dark, rough chuckle vibrates through the phone, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. “you’re a bad girl, you know that? a real brat.” you hear his truck keys jingle on the counter, the heavy front door of his place creaking open. he’s not even trying to fight it anymore. “keep your hand right there. don’t you dare stop until I get my hands on you."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary :: After your husband gets into yet another saloon brawl being overprotective of you, you’re determined to give him the silent treatment to teach him a lesson. But he knows exactly how his charm and protectiveness affect you.
Pairing :: Cowboy!clark x reader
Cw :: nsfw :: p w/ plot :: overprotective/possessive clark :: smut & aftercare :: make up sex :: mentions of a bar fight :: pet names (honeysuckle, baby, darlin) :: unprotected sex :: praise kink :: v light angst :: rough handling :: est. relationship :: wall/holding :: exhibitionism (barn setting) :: no beta we die like men.
1.5k wc :: [reupload] :: masterlist
“Y'know I can't help but be your bodyguard…” Clark’s voice is a low, honeyed drawl as he slips into the dimly lit barn, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. He’s got that lazy tilt to his cowboy hat, looking entirely too smug for someone who just spent the last hour picking a fight with half the town at the saloon just because a man looked your way. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you — knows that his protective streak drives you crazy, even when you’re trying your hardest to freeze him out.
You keep your back turned, stubbornly wiping down the leather of an old saddle like it’s the most important job in the world. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, completely betraying the cold front you’re trying to put up. “Ain’t even gonna look at me, darlin’?” you hear the slow, deliberate thud of his boots getting closer.
You keep your eyes glued to the leather, but you can feel the heat radiating off him. He steps right into your space, his large frame completely blocking out the rest of the barn until he’s looming directly over your shoulder. 'Don't give in' — you think to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek. If you let him off easy, he’ll never learn to keep his temper on a leash.
“I was just lookin’ out for my girl — my wife,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear. When you still don’t answer, he lets out a soft, amused scoff. He reaches around you, his gentle hands dropping onto yours to gently take the leather rag from your grip. You send a sharp glare backward — a look that says ‘you’re in trouble.’
He just grins, a roguish, dimpled thing that makes your knees instantly feel like jelly. “Yeah, I know.”
Clark hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up until you have no choice but to look into those striking eyes of his. Before you can pull away, his other hand settles heavy and possessive on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He cradles you close, his thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin through the fabric of your shirt, rocking you ever so slightly to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. “Somebody’s gotta protect you, baby. Even if someone's knuckles are a little bloody for it. You really mad at me for that, huh?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leans down, his lips brushing softly along your jawline, tracing down to the sensitive dip of your neck. A shaky sigh slips past your lips, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt just to keep yourself upright.
“Show me how to make it up to you,” he whispers against your skin, his deep voice vibrating right through you. “You want me to beg, huh? Tell you I’m sorry, baby — get on my knees for you?” Clark slides his hands down, his palms skimming the curve of your hips, his touch growing heavier, more deliberate. His eyes are dark with a sudden, intense heat as he locks his gaze back onto yours.
He sinks lower, his hands sliding down the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist. He backs you straight up against the sturdy wooden pillar of the barn, pressing his weight into you in a way that makes your thoughts completely scatter. The hard ridge of his length strains against his jeans, grinding slow and deliberate right between your thighs, right where you’re already aching and slick for him.
Clark buries his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you like a dying man, his lips parting to press a warm, wet kiss right over your pulse point. His teeth graze the spot, just enough to pull a soft whimper from your throat. One big hand slips under your shirt, rough palm sliding up your bare skin until he’s cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightens into a needy peak.
“Say it’s all fixed, honeysuckle,” he groans against your skin, rolling his hips forward in a filthy grind that has you clenching around nothing. “Tell me I’m doing a good job keeping you safe… say you’re mine.”
His fingers make quick work of your buttons, shoving your shirt open so he can drag his mouth lower. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trail down your chest until his lips close around your nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicks in lazy strokes. You arch into him with a broken moan, fingers threading tight into his hair under that damn hat. “Clark…” his name comes out wrecked, half plea, half surrender.
He sets you down just long enough to yank your jeans open and shove them down your hips along with your panties, then he’s lifting you again, pinning you to the pillar with one strong arm while his free hand works his belt open. The thick head of his tip nudges against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing up and down until you’re trembling.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he breathes, voice rough as gravel. “Let me in.”
He pushes inside you in one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around him until he’s buried to the hilt. The burn is perfect, overwhelming. Clark groans deep in his chest, forehead pressed to yours, pupils dilated, hips rocking shallow and steady while you adjust to the full, heavy feel of him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps, starting to move harder, deeper, each thrust driving you up against the rough wood. The wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet barn, mixing with your gasps and his low, filthy praises. One hand grips your ass, holdng you open for him while the other braces against the pillar, muscles flexing with every powerful stroke.
He fucks you like he fights — intense, possessive, completely focused on claiming what’s his. Every roll of his hips drags against that sweet spot inside you until your thighs shake around his waist and your nails dig into his shoulders.
“That’s my girl,” he growls against your mouth, kissing you deep and messy. “Come on, lil' honeysuckle. Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”
The pleasure coils tight and snaps hard. You cry out, clenching around him as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat flooding every nerve. Clark curses softly, thrusts turning erratic and desperate until he buries himself deep one last time, pulsing hot inside you as he comes with a low, broken groan of your name.
For a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the creak of the barn settling around you. Clark stays buried deep, holding you close, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder like he can’t bear to let you go just yet. And just like that, the anger is completely gone, leaving you entirely at his mercy.
“I got you, darlin’… I got you,” he breathes against your temple, his voice droppin into a low, gravelly hum as the adrenaline begins to fade from both of you. He slips out of you with a soft, wet sound that makes you shudder, but before your feet can even touch the cold dirt floor, he’s lifting you right back into his arms, keeping your thighs hooked around his waist.
He carries you over to the workbench in the back corner, setting you down gently on the edge where his old flannel shirt is draped. Your legs are still trembling, your breath hitching as the cool air hits your bare skin, but Clark is already moving. He grabs a clean cloth from the shelf, tipping the water canteen over it until it’s damp.
“Look at me, honeysuckle,” he murmurs, kneeling right down between your thighs. When you look down at him, his hat is pushed back, his eyes soft and completely devoid of the heat from earlier. He’s incredibly gentle as he uses the cloth to wipe away the slick mess between your legs, his calloused thumbs trailing over the inside of your thighs to soothe the ache. “Still mad at your husband? Huh? Tell me the truth.”
You shake your head, reaching down to trace the slight bruise forming over his knuckles from the saloon fight. A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “You’re such an idiot, Clark.”
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he grins, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss right to the center of your chest, right over your heart. He helps you pull your panties and jeans back up, tugging your clothes into place with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. Once you’re put back together, he pulls you down off the bench and wraps his massive arms around you from behind, buried into the crook of your neck as you both just sway in the quiet barn. “Next time, I’ll try to be good. Promise. But ain’t nobody allowed to look at you like that. Not while I’m drawin’ breath.”
(nsfw) Cowboy!Clark who calls you his ‘little honeysuckle’ as a sweet, filthy nickname because the taste of your pussy reminds him of the delicate honeysuckle flowers that used to grow along the fence back home on the farm.
Every spring he’d lean over that fence and spend long, lazy minutes sipping the tiny droplets of nectar from the blooms, savoring their light, sugary sweetness on his tongue. Now he spends those same long, lazy minutes between your thighs, burying his face in your soaked cunt and pulling that same sweet nectar from you with slow, hungry licks and deep, greedy sucks—groaning like he’s found something even better than the flowers ever gave him.
He whispers it low and rough while he’s got your legs draped over his broad shoulders, voice muffled against your dripping folds: “Fuck, little honeysuckle… you’re drippin’ so sweet for me tonight.”
He growls it against your clit when he’s teasing you right to the edge, flicking his tongue just how you like it: “C’mon, honeysuckle, give me more of that sugar. Let me drink you up.”
And he rasps it like a prayer when he finally sinks his thick cock into you, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling deep and steady: “That’s it, my little honeysuckle… soak my dick just like those pretty flowers soaked my tongue.”
He never lets you forget it—every time he eats your pussy, he’s chasing that same addictive, sun-warmed sweetness he remembers from home.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
♡ what do you write?
i write female reader insert fiction across multiple fandoms. you'll find everything from fluff and angst to darker themes and explicit works. i try to write reader ambiguously but usually shes feminine/girly. & im willing to write for any character as long as im attracted to them, just ask!!
♡ can i send requests/thirsts?
yes! requests and thirsts are always welcome! sending a request doesn't guarantee i'll write it, but i love hearing your ideas and drawing inspiration from them. i also don't mind you guys requesting me to write a prompt from kittennextdoor for a specific character!
♡ what won't you write?
i'm comfortable exploring most fictional taboo themes, but i do not write:
age play
scat
race play
pregnancy
incest or fauxcest
bestiality
i will not write about any real people, ever. if a request makes me uncomfortable for any reason, i'll simply decline it.
♡ do you have a tag list?
no. i won't be running a tag list on this account. i've found they're difficult to keep up with, so i'd rather spend that time writing.
♡ where's your masterlist?
instead of maintaining a detailed masterlist, everything is organized through my tag system. each fandom, character, series, and content type has its own tag, making it much easier to browse everything in one place. i want to post more often on this account and a masterlist would just make everything cluttered.
♡ where else can i read your work?
all of my previous writing can still be found on @barbienextdoor. that blog currently has a content label, so while it will stay up as an archive, i won't be posting new works there.
i also run my multi x reader blog, @kittennextdoor, and i post on ao3 as well.
♡ can i repost, translate, or upload your work elsewhere?
please don't. my writing is for my pages only. reblogs are always appreciated, but reposting, translating, feeding my works into ai, or claiming my work as your own isn't permitted.
♡ why am i blocked?
if you're blocked, there's a reason. the most common reasons are that you're a minor, your content isn't something i want associated with my space, you've been rude or disrespectful, you've reposted or copied my work (or failed to give proper credit), or you've engaged in bigotry of any kind. i curate my online spaces however i see fit, and i don't debate or reverse my block list. if you're blocked, please respect that boundary.
♡ can i interact if i'm under 18?
no. this is an adults-only space. if i become aware that you're a minor interacting with my nsfw content, you'll be blocked without discussion.
♡ anything else i should know?
be respectful to me and everyone else here. hate speech, harassment, racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, or any other discriminatory behavior won't be tolerated. feel free to talk to me about any characters or anything else i dont mind!!
