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This came to me suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, so enjoy it.
Pairing: Clapton Davis x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1.3K
Summary: You get to peg Clapton Davis. That’s it. That’s the story.
Tags: GN!reader (use of ‘mommy’ is the only gendered term), Dom!reader, Sub!Clapton, pegging, strap-on penetration, anal, nipple clamps, vibrating cock ring, whiny Clapton (as usual), premature ejaculation (he’s touch starved and horny be nice to him), praise, degradation, overstimulation, thigh-highs, very brief choking, average early 2000s teenager room setup, don’t talk about the fact that Ayesha didn’t produce music in that timeframe…
The harsh moonlight from your open window shines along his skin, illuminating the thin sheen of sweat covering his toned body. You were balls deep in Clapton Davis, the schools resident jackass.
“f-fuuuuck—! don’t stop-!” Your room is entirely filled with his moans, even drowning out the sound of the Ayesha Erotica track that he had playing on your speaker. Clapton was never one to be quiet.. being in bed with him was no different.
You thrust slowly, holding his hips as he groans into the fuzzy pink pillow beneath him. He looked entirely fucked out, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead, his necklaces tangled and his shirt pulled up to expose his chest, not to mention the black thigh highs you convinced him to wear for you. You gently pull at his hair, forcing him to look back at you.
He’s already drooling, long eyelashes fluttering as he looks back at you with a dumb grin, the chain connecting the nipple clamps you had put on him earlier jingling each time you push into him.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, pretty boy?” You purr, his hole clenching around you as soon as he hears that nickname. He nods frantically, lips parted slightly as he lets out a sharp whimper.
You pick up the pace, causing him to loose balance as you slam into him. He’s panting, a total mess beneath you as you bring your hand to hold his head down against the bed, your other hand reaching down to pump his painfully hard cock.
He yelps, hips bucking into your fist as soon as you make contact with his length. His thighs tense, his muscles showing under those sheer black thigh highs.
“Ghh—! m-mommy—!” He sobs, babbling incoherently, completely dumbed down by your dick. He whines loudly, eyes rolling back as you slam into his prostate.
It only takes a few more thrusts against his sweet spot for him to moan, his dick twitching hard in your hand before immediately shooting a load out against his stomach, coating your zebra print sheets in the process. He was never one to last long, got himself too excited and worked up.
He cries out, panting hard as you continue to move, only slowing down enough for him to catch his breath. He’s insatiable.
“Already cumming so soon, baby?”
“M’sorry—“ He pants, still rocking his hips back against you. “Please- keep going— need it-“
You nod, slipping your cock out as you turn him onto his back. He looks.. embarrassed, completely flushed, but turned on.
“Good boy… think you can cum again for me? Make your mommy proud?”
He nods pathetically, his hips rolling against the air, desperate for contact again. You grin down at him, reaching down to grab the chain connecting his clamps, tugging at it, watching his expression contort in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“Fucking whore. Of course you’d be more than happy to cum again.” You spit, snapping the elastic of his thigh highs against his skin. He lets out a choked sob, tears pricking in his eyes from the overstimulation. “Stay there.”
You briefly get up, rummaging around the bedside drawer before pulling out a bright pink ring. You hold it up, waving it teasingly infront of his face as you climb back ontop of him, kneeling between his thighs.
“You know what this is, don’t you, baby?” You hum, watching his pupils dilate.
“u-uhm… a cock ring..?” Clapton stammers, nervously biting his lip. His cock twitches from the thought of you using it on him alone.
“Mhm.. that’s right. This one vibrates, it’s gonna keep you nice and hard while I fuck you.” You murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his thigh, slowly slipping the cock ring onto his hardening dick. He whimpers, cock twitching at the sensation, a small bead of precum already forming at his slit.
“God, you’re such a slut…” You scoff, grabbing the bottle of lube that had been set aside on the end of the bed, pumping a generous amount on your hand before stroking yourself. Once you’re fully coated and lubed up, you guide his hips up and press back against his ass, feeling it immediately take you in.
He groans once you slide back in, knowing you hadn’t turned on the vibrating function to his cock ring just yet. His gaze meets yours, full of lust and a twinge of anticipation in those big puppy eyes.
“Mommy…?”
“F-fuck- what? you want that turned on already? are you that desperate to cum again?” You grunt, slowly pumping in and out of him, sweat already forming on your brow. He nods, looking a little embarrassed.
You sigh, a small smirk escaping your lips before you press the side button of the ring, feeling it vibrate to life. Clapton whines, hips bucking again as you hold his thighs, thrusting harder. He already looked close.
With how loud he is, you can barely register the music that’s still filling your bedroom, as if you could even think of anything aside from Clapton at this point. He looks so pretty… lips soft and puffy from earlier, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, a deep blush covering his freckled cheeks.
“Fuck me harder- p-please-! feels s’good—“
He’s begging again, how cute. You oblige, ramming deeper and deeper into his ass, the bright pink of the dildo connected to your strap-on sliding in and out of his pretty little hole, how he managed to take this much up the ass? No clue, but you weren’t one to judge.
After a few moments of listening to him babble incoherently, you turn up the vibrations on his cock ring, causing him to sob out in pleasure. His cock looked pathetic, all red and overstimulated, but still rock hard and leaking everywhere. As if he didn’t already leak all over this bed, you’ve got to wash those sheets later..
You reach down to grab his throat, applying just enough pressure to make him see stars as you fuck him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. You feel his legs wrap around your torso, the sensation of his thigh highs rubbing against your sides as he pulls you in closer.
“Cmon, Clapton… cum for me, be a good boy and cum” You pant, leaning in to kiss him, darting your tongue out to wet his painfully chapped lips. He almost instantly complies, parting his lips so you could deepen the kiss, letting your tongues dance as you thrust harder and harder into him.
He whimpers and moans into your mouth, stifling himself as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You hear his voice go up an octave, and his legs begin to tremble, his nails digging into your back as you feel a sudden sensation shoot up against your stomach.
You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you hear him panting heavily under you, his eyes shut a his mouth still slightly open.
“Good boy… Such a good boy..” You whisper, peppering soft kisses along his jaw, slowly moving down to his shoulders. You let the ring continue to vibrate, but pull yourself out slowly, eliciting a high pitched whine from the pretty boy underneath you.
“mmhh- fuck— t-thank you, mommy—“ He breathes out, slowly opening his eyes, a mess of sweat and tears covering his soft skin. You wipe his cheeks, smiling softly down at him.
“mm-hmm.. of course, baby, I love yo—“
Knock. Knock.
“Y/N?? Did Clapton come over? You know we don’t want your friends over this late at night!”
Suddenly, a knock on your bedroom door, accompanied by the voice of.. who you could only assume was your parents, of course it was your parents, you haven’t moved out yet. You stare down at Clapton, his eyes were wide, and frankly, so were yours. You can barely make out the words over the mix of music and the vibrating of Claptons cock ring..
best friend!rockstar!clapton x gn!bandmate!reader (woo!!)
do i wanna know~🎸
reader is gn but is makeup wearing!! smut, unprotected, friends to lovers, hickies/scratches/bites, no reader pronouns/specified genitalia is mentioned. smut with plot. !!minors dni i have a sock filled with quarters!!
CLAPTON is the lead guitarist of your band, The Chain Scheme. you’re the lead singer and songwriter and technically the whole “let’s start a band” idea was yours to begin with but he’ll never let you win that argument.
it’s the night before the biggest gig of your life and your best friend knocks on your dressing room door as you’re placing your makeup delicately on your skin, making sure not to miss any places that the spotlight would dry out. it’s a precise process that takes time and patience.
“come in” you shout, recognizing claptons knock. he enters the dressing room with a nervous smile. he shuts the door and sits on the love seat behind you, fidgeting with his hands and seemingly biting his nails again.
“i’m gonna keep it a buck with you, im scared as fuck right now, there’s like…hundreds of people out there” he stands up, now pacing around the room. his cut off shirt shows his sweat marks dripping down his sides and his messy brown hair looks like it could’ve been drenched in water.
“nervous?” you apply your eyeliner on your lower water line as you him in the mirror, pacing and biting his nails. god, he’s fucked right now. after a few moments deep in thought he speaks up. “you’re my best friend and if you weren’t i would never ask you this but i am really fucking stressed right now…do you think we have time for a quickie? before you say no please think about it…” he choked out. “yeah, yes please” you say faster than you’d care to admit. you wondered what sex with clapton would be like, and you both need the relief…
his eyes widen and he nods, not daring to say something to ruin the moment. he tugs at his skinny jeans, pulling them down and almost tripping on them, laying back on the couch in his boxers. you shed your concert attire and he stars at your body, involuntarily bucking his hips at the sight of you naked just for him. his eyes trail along your body and mentally fuck you, his dick contracting in his briefs just at the slight thought.
you lock the dressing room door and go to him, getting on top of him and straddling his hips as you stare longingly into his eyes. you kiss him gently at first but his tongue presses against your teeth and you grant him access. his hand travels from your jaw to your ass, rubbing the skin as his hips grind against yours causing a strangled groan to leave your lips.
the kiss is broken by the chant of fans outside waiting. clapton pulls his boxers down and his dick surged out of his pants. hot, red, and sticky. god, is it beautiful. he guides your hips to sink onto him. as he enters you, he lets out a needy moan of your name. “fuck…” you whimper. he forced himself right into your g-spot, the sensation causing static to fill your brain, shaking you to your core. the sensation made you loose your angle, but he took over once more, dragging you down so that you grinded down on his cock instead, your arousal smearing onto his lower stomach. the extra lubricant help you to grind onto him.
he mutters love drunk compliments into your ear as his eyes roll back and his dick starts to twitch inside you. the firing pool in your abdomen making it clear this will come to an end soon. you just wonder how long you can prolong it before the crowd gets pissed…
his expression shows his pleasure, dazed and overwhelmed by you. you take back control and grind again, feeling lighter than ever now. your expression filling with an undying sense of pleasure. you start to clench around him, feeling the orgasm coming fast. as you ride your hips along his, he whispers drunkingly “i’m gonna cum…can i cum?” he says, sounding so desperate and broken. “yeah, cum. please” you breathed as you feel it coming.
after a second of him moving you back and forth just the way he wanted you, you felt his warm cum filling you up, shooting up inside you. he weakly thrusts a few more times before giving up, completely spent and out of it.
the orgasm hits you fast, grabbing the couch behind him as your eyes widen. ecstasy fills your brain and all you can think about is clapton. you spill your release all over him and all you can do is repeatedly moan his name like you’ve forgotten your own. nothing else matters right now except how good you both feel.
except for the fact that you’re late for your concert.
♡ ♡ ♡ 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!)
a sketch of what kind of boyfriend clapton would be
in the late summer evenings, clapton loved to walk with you near the house, ride you on his skateboard and listen to music from wired headphones. after such walks, he would accompany you to the door of your house to make sure that you were safe, and he would gently kiss you on the lips, pinching your waist.
he would snatch you at recess at school and beg you with puppy dog eyes to help him with his homework, and it didn't matter that there were 10 minutes left before the assignment was due. clapton would always share his lunch with you, and then snuggle into your side and rest his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes and resting in between lessons.
he would try to please your parents, behave politely and calmly, and then in your room, he would actively tell you about how worried he is and afraid they won't like him.
clapton would have wove paired bracelets for you by inserting a bead with the first letter of your names in the middle. you would wear a bracelet with the letter "c", and he would wear a bracelet with your letter.
at parties, you would always be under his supervision, safe. he would squeeze your hand so hard that it could hurt, and then he would kiss you in the corners of the rooms so that everyone could see that you were his. and he was never shy about it.
of course, clapton would always show off his muscles in front of you. he would be so pleased to know that you like it, and he tried not to squeak every time you touched his biceps and said, "wow, I want to bite this off".
he would have given you his jacket to keep you warm for an evening walk, and then he would have forgotten to pick it up. He doesn't really mind, he likes to see you in his clothes.
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
Wait imagine listening to music with clapton while in detention.. like sharing earbuds with him while yall sit in silence🫢 and then a cringe song comes on at the wrong time LMAO
BLESS YOU anon this is so cute
Saturday School
Clapton Davis x gender-neutral reader
Word count: 2k
Tags: fluff, a little cringe, romantic tension, older Clapton & younger reader
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You'd managed to get through nearly 12 years of schooling without getting sentenced to detention.
Unfortunately, today resets your streak. Only a measly two weeks at this shitty school and you've already gotten yourself into trouble. Just your luck, huh?
God damnit. Surely, this is going to be absolute hell. I mean, it isn't even a regular after-school detention, but Saturday school.
As you take a seat in the meticulously-arranged circle of desks in the library, you spare a glance at the other students. You vaguely recognize some of them... the goth chick looks familiar, at least.
They all seem disinterested, so you copy their aloof attitudes and lean back in your chair. Yeah... that seems right. Just do what everyone else does, and maybe you'll survive this.
Suddenly, the door bursts open and slams against the wall. You turn to look, and see the principal himself storm through, dragging a boy in by the ear.
Oh great. Finally, someone you recognize, and it's motherfucking Clapton Davis.
"It's not fair! I don't even HAVE Saturday school!" He whines, wincing as he's roughly shoved towards an empty desk. The desk right next to you. Wonderful.
"Should have thought about that before coming to school on a Saturday." The older man growls, giving him what he probably thinks is an intimidating look. Honestly, he just looks silly.
Clapton groans, slinking back in the desk and letting out an exaggerated huff that blows his bangs around.
God, can't that guy just be normal? You only just transferred here and already you know almost everything about him. Not by choice... obviously. He's just somehow the center of attention wherever he goes. Even in goddamn Saturday school.
"And as for the rest of you..." The principal continues his rant, glaring at the small circle of students. No, prisoners.
"Just remember. I have eyes and ears everywhere. EVERYWHERE."
With one final less-than-intimidating-glare, the man stomps out, closing the door behind him. Is that it? He's just going to leave you here in a roomful of delinquents with nothing but a vague threat to keep you all in check?
You glance around at the other students, but no one says anything. Hm. Maybe that's normal. You have no idea, so you just lay your head down on your desk, determined to get through this mess as simply as possible.
Turns out, that sentiment might prove to be more challenging than you thought. You hear a quiet "thud", and shift slightly, peeking an eye to your left to see what the noise was. Are you crazy, or does Clapton look... closer?
Nope. Not crazy. With another soft thud, he scoots his desk over again, inching it closer to yours.
"Pssst." He whispers, extending a leg out to nudge your foot. He's less than a yard from you at this point. Though you can't see the other students with your head buried in your arms, you're sure they've noticed. Damnit. Why did this jackass have to draw attention to you?
"What do you want?" You grumble, shifting on the desk so he can see your face, but still trying to stay hidden from the other students.
"I haven't seen you around before. You new?" He gives you a sheepish grin, eyes flickering with mischief as he takes you in.
"Yeah." You respond dismissively, giving him a flat stare. Please just pick on someone else, Clapton Davis.
"Cool, cool..." He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.
You watch as he restlessly taps his feet and tries to balance on two legs of his chair. He's so high-strung. Like a chihuahua. Small like one too. Hah. The thought makes you smile, which he unfortunately notices and takes as a sign of interest. Damnit.
"So... what are you in for?" He asks, treating the exchange like you're two inmates. Honestly, it's a fair comparison.
"I, uh... Accidentally lit my teacher on fire."
With a crash, Clapton tips back in his chair completely, hitting the floor. Hard.
"You WHAT?"
The sudden noise makes you jolt upright, and you can feel a blush creeping up your neck as the other students turn to stare.
"Accidentally!" You protest weakly, hanging your head in shame as Clapton scrambles to his feet.
"How the fuck do you 'accidentally' set someone on fire?" A dark-haired boy across from you scoffs, and a few other people voice similar questions.
"Okay so... Mr Jones's sleeve caught fire while giving me a demonstration with the bunsen burner..." You start, taking a deep breath and staring down at your desk to calm your nerves.
"I panicked and doused it with a vial of the closest liquid... apparently an extremely flammable liquid..."
"Is THAT why he went home early Friday?" A blonde girl asks, letting out a shrill laugh, like that of a hyena.
"Woah. Sick." The goth-looking girl just nods in approval before lying her head back down on the desk.
Before you can give any kind of response, you feel your desk jostle as Clapton's slams into it. Apparently he'd taken the initiative to get a little closer while everyone was distracted by your story.
"So, Grizzly Lake High has a new pyromaniac, huh?" He teases, propping his elbow up on the desk and resting his chin on his fist as he grins stupidly at you.
"New?" You scoff. "You mean you had an old one?"
"Hey, there's a lot of weirdoes here." He shrugs.
"Yeah... I can tell."
He pouts and tries to feign offence as you pointedly look him up and down. God, what a stupid fucking face.
"You're not in any of my classes, are you, newbie?"
"No. I'm a Junior."
"Ah. Well, maybe we'll have some together next year."
"Next year? Aren't you a Senior?"
"Yeah, but with the way my grades are looking..." He grimaces, shaking his head sadly.
"...you might be a Senior again next year?" You finish for him.
"Yeah."
"Bummer."
An awkward silence settles between the two of you, and Clapton starts to squirm, looking as if he wants to say something else.
"How'd you end up here? In Saturday school, I mean." You ask, if only to cut the tension. Not because you actually care.
"Oh." His face falls, clearly annoyed just thinking about it.
"Principal Verge confiscated my skateboard Friday... I was supposed to get it back at the end of the day, but I ended up getting detention... By the time I was done, he'd already left and locked It up in his office."
"Sooo... you came to steal it back?"
"Not steal! There's sometimes a few teachers here on weekends... I was just gonna ask one of them..." He mumbles, hanging his head.
"But stupid Verge caught me 'sneaking around' and threw me in Saturday school."
"Oh, so he just has it out for you, huh?" You tease.
"Exactly!" He hisses back, eyes wide with excitement.
"People just don't understand. I'm not a troublemaker... just unlucky."
Unlucky? He seems pretty damn lucky to you. Everyone likes Clapton Davis. Everyone but you, it seems.
"Pfft. Maybe you could try being quiet and sitting still for once." You muse, trying to hold back a smirk. He might be onto something though, honestly. He's a total trouble magnet... which is why you should probably just put your head back down and ignore him.
"Hey!" He pouts, feigning hurt as he reaches into his pocket.
"And to think, I was gonna offer to share..."
This piques your interest, and you lean closer to him, trying to get a glimpse of the object he's fiddling with under his desk. An iPhone. Great.
"Won't that just get you in more trouble?"
He rolls his eyes in return. "Look around. I'm not the only one."
Sure enough, when you look more closely at some of the other students... yep, at least half of them are on their phones. The way they slump over the desks sort-of hides it, but once you knew what to look for... damn. He's right.
"Why? What's even the point of Saturday school, then?" You're completely baffled by this revelation, shaking your head.
"What's the point of school at all?" He counters, shrugging and popping an earbud into his ear. His wired headphones are extremely tangled, but he offers you the other earbud anyways.
"So, wanna share?"
Damnit. You really shouldn't. But you hadn't brought your own phone, and fuck, that grin of his...
"Fine. What do you have on there?" You sigh and accept the earbud, scooting closer to him so it'll actually reach your ear. There's not much slack with how tangled they are, so the two of you are nearly cheek to cheek as you hunch in your seats and peer down at his phone.
"Here, I'll turn on my playlist."
He fiddles with the little phone, and you can feel his breath mixing with yours as he speaks. Eventually he gets some music playing, but you can hardly hear it over the beating of your own heart.
"What do you think? You like 90s stuff?" Clapton smiles warmly, turning to face you.
His smile is contagious, and you can't help but let your gaze flicker down to his lips... just for a moment. He's so close, his mouth just inches from your own.
"Uh, yeah. I-I mean, who doesn't?" You mumble lamely, feeling a familiar heat creep up your neck and tinge your cheeks. Fuck. He's not that cute, get yourself together!!
"I know, right?" Apparently that's the right answer, because he turns his attention back to the phone, scrolling through his playlist and pointing out his favorite songs.
His music taste isn't bad, actually. You find yourself nodding at his choices, and soon you begin to forget where you are. The other students fade into the background, and Saturday school starts to feel a little less grim.
That is, until the song changes and the vibe is completely thrown off. What the hell is this? Your brow furrows and you try to make out the nonsense lyrics.
Cat? I'm a kitty cat.
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
Cat? I'm a kitty cat.
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
The lyrics repeat over and over, and Clapton nearly drops his phone in his scramble to change the song. In his rush, he gets his password wrong over and over, making it impossible to fix.
"Clapton, why the hell is this on your playlist?" You ask, putting a hand to your mouth in a failing attempt to stifle a giggle.
"I-it's catchy, alright??" He mumbles, still trying to change the song. He gets his password wrong for, like, the tenth time, and it locks him out of his phone for thirty seconds, leaving you both stuck with the nonsensical cat lyrics ringing in your ears.
You try to keep your composure, but when the man singing the song starts meowing, you completely lose it and throw yourself onto your desk in a fit of laughter.
Unfortunately for Clapton, you accidentally tug the headphone cord with you, unplugging it from his phone. As you bury your head in your arms and laugh uncontrollably, the silly cat song starts blasting out loud for the whole room to hear.
And he can't even do anything about it, because he's still locked out of his phone for the next 20 seconds.
"S-sorry!" He shouts, trying to cram his phone into his backpack to shut it up.
You can feel all eyes on the two of you, but this whole situation is so utterly ridiculous, you don't even mind the attention. A few other kids snicker, and you can't help but feel a little bad for him.
Your remorse fades as soon as the principal throws the door open, immediately turning his attention to you and Clapton.
"Both of you!" He roars, pointing an accusing finger. "Detention on Monday! And Tuesday!"
Damnit. You knew this boy was trouble, and yet...? As the cat song finally stops, you meet Clapton's gaze, a sheepish smile plastered across his face.
Maybe spending a little more time with him wouldn't be so bad.
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Author's Note: Sorry if it wasn't fluffy enough...? I mean, the reader kind of hates him at first, and they don't even kiss... But the request was really funny, and I love putting Jhutch characters in awkward situations <3
Maybe I'll write a sequel? Probably not, though. Sorry it took so long to write, also. I wrote half of it and then let it sit in my drafts for weeks before writing the other half.
Hope y'all enjoyed, feel free to send in more requests!! I'll get to them eventually, even if it takes weeks. <3
Summary: You moved houses and jobs just to get away from Mike after he abandoned you and your 6-year relationship. But, one day he shows up in the vacant apartment next to yours. You quickly make it your mission to make every night a living hell for him with the (unknowing) help of your old high school fling.
WC: 3.9k
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lover, afab reader, p in v, fingering, hair pulling, porn with plot, no use of y/n, hard dom, unprotected (wrap it please), angst, exes, daydreamed violence, aged up character
A/N: I’ve never posted my writing before due to being insecure, but now that I discovered this fandom on Tumblr, I decided to suck it up and see where it goes! I’m sorry if this is bad, I wrote it at 3 am two nights in a row. I just had to write something before I forgot all my ideas. Enjoy!
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You hated him. You hated him so fucking much. All you wanted to do was watch him wear your hands around his neck like a necklace. And there he was, standing outside the vacant apartment beside yours, cardboard boxes surrounding him.
⚫︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡⚫︎
You're running late to work, having slept through your alarm. You quickly hop out of bed, jump into the shower, and throw on whatever clean enough clothes are on your laundry pile.
As you run out your door, you pause, noticing the piles of boxes lining up the wall of the apartment next to yours. You smile, waiting for whoever it is to walk out. You honestly didn’t mind your previous neighbors. By all means, they weren’t the friendliest of people. They’d bang on your walls if you even played your music one digit too loud.
So, honestly, you couldn’t help but admit you were pretty happy when they moved out. As you eye the boxes that take up half the hall, you feel yourself getting excited.
After a few moments, you see him.
Your heart drops, and you feel your whole life falling apart in just one second. He turns to look at you, your eyes locked on each other. Both of you pause, not a word leaving your mouths.
Almost exactly 2 and a half years ago, the love of your life, the man you pictured spending the rest of your days with, left. He didn’t warn you, he didn’t even call. You came home, and all of his and his sister's belongings were completely cleared out of your apartment, gone without a trace. All he left you was a text. A single text.
“I found someone new, I’m sorry. I truly wish you the best. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”
After a few months of rotting in your bed with mascara-stained pillows and tear-soaked bed sheets, you got tired of wasting away. You moved away to a new, cheaper apartment, not warning anyone of your departure. You wanted a fresh start. A new job, a new home. A new you. All you craved was a way to forget the past, and you were so close.
Except after 2 years, the past was standing in front of you, only a few feet away. Anger bubbles within you, the deep cuts he left when he abandoned you all of those years ago tearing open and filling with nothing but pure, burning hatred.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, his face twisting.. into god knows what. You want to ask him so many questions. You want to get on your knees and beg him to tell you why he did what he did. At the same time, you want to sock him in his mouth. Instead of doing either, you turn on your heel, walking away as fast as you possibly can.
He doesn’t call after you, he doesn’t chase you. Instead, you hear the faint click of a door shutting behind you. Your anger turns to anguish as you hurry down the hallway, trying desperately to put as much distance between him and you before breaking down. You find a maintenance closet, slam it behind you, and sink to the floor. You sob until your throat is destroyed and your eyes are dry.
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All you can think about while you work is him. Are you grading your students' homework? Mike. You’re yelling at your class for being too Rowdy? Mike. He lives in your head the entire day, and no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is the look on his face when he saw you just a few hours ago.
The school day is finally over, but you dread going home. You wish you could curl up under your desk and live there for the next few decades. But you can’t, so you suck it up and drive back to your apartment.
You get to your door, fumbling with your keys as you quickly try and escape the hallway. You hear the door next to yours click open. You rest your head against your door in defeat. He walks by you quickly, not even glancing towards you. You clench your fists, swinging your door open as soon as you unlock it, slamming it so hard behind you the frame shakes.
You want to cry, just like you did before. But no tears spill. Your eyes don’t even water. All you feel is rage.
You decide right then and there, you're going to make him suffer for what he did to you. Besides, maybe if you truly make him miserable he’ll move back to wherever the hell he came from.
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Later that night, you start plotting different ways you can get him to pack up his shit and run away with his tail between his legs. You think of hundreds of possibilities ranging from glitter bombs in his mail to… Clapton. You shake the thought out of your head immediately. You can’t do that to him. He’d probably be down for anything, to be honest.
Despite that, you tuck the idea into the back of your head, writing it off as a last resort. You want to start with more petty things before immediately jumping to the most extreme idea your mind can muster.
You quickly form a short list in your head, smiling as you daydream the look on Mike's face as you go through each scenario. Around midnight, after you finish coming up with every possible insane revenge plot you can think of, you crawl into bed.
After tucking yourself in, you Bluetooth your phone to a speaker, turning it up. You play the most infuriating, mind-numbing song you can think of. It starts blasting out, the speaker shaking on your bedside table. You sigh, sinking into your pillow as you hear Mike’s old bed springs creak through the wall.
You sit there for what feels like hours, the same song looping repeatedly. He doesn't knock on the door. You don't even hear him speak, let alone breathe through the wall. You groan, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you realize it might be pointless.
Despite your failure on the first night, you continue to blast the same song night after night, all with the same result. After almost 3 nights of getting only a few hours of sleep, you give up. You have to step up your game if you want to get results.
A few weeks pass without you tormenting him. You want to make him feel safe. You want to make him feel like you realized it was all a waste of time. Well, you also waited a few weeks since that's how long it took for the prank package you ordered to come. Sure, the package was a bit pricey, but you decided it was worth it either way. As soon as the post office stops by your apartment, you snatch up the box, almost ripping it out of the poor mailman's hands.
You quickly customize it so Mike believes not only is it his mail, but that some random man from Florida sent it. At first, you had thought to sneak into his apartment and throw glitter over everything, just like you'd do back in high school. But, you need to be careful about how you go about this. Unless you want a lawsuit to land in your lap, you need at least some amount of deniability
After deciding it's perfect, you leave it directly in front of his door. He might think the placement of the box is a tad suspicious, but you rationalize it by telling yourself he’ll feel so special he’ll open it on the spot.
After a few hours, Mike comes home from what you assume is work. A part of you wonders why in the world he works on the weekends as well. You forget about the thought quickly as you flip open your phone, watching through the camera that comes with the box. You watch in anticipation as you hear the sound of tape tearing off of the cardboard. Your smile widens as you see Mike's face appear in the frame, peeking into the box.
After a few heartbeats green, blue, and pink glitter explodes directly into his face. He yelps, dropping the box immediately. As soon as the box thunks against the door, more glitter explodes out, covering his entire living room. You hear him groan through the wall, grumbling about how petty and childish you are.
You’re laughing way too hard to even care he knew it was you. Tears start streaming down your face, and you clutch your stomach as you try to breathe. You finally got him. You feel on top of the world as you look at the camera through blurry eyes. All you see is a beet-red Mike decked out in sparkles. You start laughing even harder as he flips off the camera before stomping on it, destroying the feed.
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Despite how his misery made you feel at first, you start to get a little less happy as the days pass by. He hasn’t talked to you about it and he hasn’t told anyone what went down, not even the landlord. A fraction of you begins to feel a little worried he might be planning. As you ponder the thought, you hear a knock on your door.
You creep over to the peephole, seeing no one standing at your door. You crack it open, worried Mike might be standing outside, waiting to ambush you. Instead of Mike standing around the corner with an airsoft gun, there's an Amazon package.
You smile, realizing exactly what it is. You ordered soundproof headphones so you could sleep while also torturing Mike. You quickly take it to your kitchen, tearing it open without a second thought.
What. The. Fuck.
Glitter sprays everywhere. Directly into your eyes, all over your dining table, all over the countertops. It even reaches the sink. You scream as you try and claw the glitter away from your face. As you stumble towards the sink, glitter continues to coat your entire kitchen.
This means war.
You immediately flip open your phone, not even bothering to clean the mass of glitter that’s coating your kitchen. You text the one person you know would do anything for you.
“I need you, Clapton.”
He found someone new? Well, so did you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to make sure he fucking knows.
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During your high school years, you and Mike became inseparable. It was the two of you against the world... Until Clapton Davis came along. The three of you became the best of friends. You always knew Mike was jealous of Clapton and how much he captured your attention. Despite how you felt towards him while you were younger, you chose Mike. And he threw it all away for some random bitch.
So, now you’re choosing Clapton.
A month ago, you two decided to reconnect and reminisce about old times. You had him over a few times just to watch a few movies, but the most you’ve done is kiss. Every time he’d come over, you knew he wanted more. And he was getting exactly that.
You lay in bed, waiting for just the right time. Around 2 am, you smile to yourself as you faintly hear Mike shuffle into bed and sigh as he sinks into it. Thank god for the paper-thin walls. You reach over to your bedside table, squinting into the light. You flip to Clapton's contact and text, “Do you think you could come over right now?” You had originally told him to come over the next night, but it had to be at an ungodly hour, or it wouldn't be as satisfying. Almost immediately He texts you back, “Are you okay?”
“I just need to see you sooner.” He immediately texts back a thumbs up, and after a little over 10 minutes you hear a knock at your door. You unzip your hoodie, quickly making your way to the front of your apartment. You open the door and there he is. He clearly had just woken up, wearing a tank top and grey checkered pajama pants. A fraction of you feel bad for calling him over like this, but you push it aside and remember who’s sleeping just on the other side of your bedroom wall.
He raises his eyebrow, unsure of how to ask why you ‘needed him.’ You don’t give any explanation before you throw yourself at him. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. He sucks in a breath, clearly confused. That confusion vanishes when you press yourself against him, pulling his waist against yours.
He wraps his arms around your waist, walking you into your apartment. He walks you backward, your back hitting the kitchen counter. You whimper as you feel him hoist your thigh up, holding it as his hip. Suddenly, he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him, your eyebrow furrowed. You sigh as you see him looking at your kitchen in utter confusion. “What in God's name happened?”
The kitchen is still completely decked out in glitter. The moonlight slithers its way through the window, illuminating the sparkles, making it look like a thousand stars splattered against the walls. You laugh a little, brushing it off. “Nothing Important.” He seems like he wants to say more, but as you grind your hips against his, he immediately forgets it. He groans, bending down to press his lips against your neck.
You tangle your hands through his hair as you feel his lips brush your neck. He starts sucking the skin below your pulse, making you whine into his ear. You gasp as you feel his teeth meet the plush skin, nipping at the sore spot. You slowly start grinding against him harder as his tongue swipes across the already numb skin. He groans against your neck, his breath hot against it.
His fingers slowly brush down your body, leaving goosebumps erupting on every inch he touches. His hand reaches your waistband, fiddling with the elastic. You whine against his shoulder as his fingers dip lower, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. You slowly grind your hips against his finger, desperate for more friction. He picks you up by your thighs, his fingers digging into the skin. You wrap your legs tight around his waist, holding onto his neck. He quickly carries you to your bedroom, throwing you down as he reaches your bed. He lays you down, sliding next to you.
He presses his lips against yours again, this time wasting no time to dip his fingers into your panties, not even bothering to remove them. He drags his digits through your folds, circling your clit. “Shit, you’re already so wet.” He gasps out. His middle finger teases your entrance before slowly sliding in. He slowly pumps in and out of you, curling his fingers on the spongy parts inside of you, hitting all the right spots.
“You like that?” He asks, and you nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. You feel him add another finger and your walls clench around him. “Fuck!” You cry out, frantically grinding against the palm of his hand begging for more.
He adds a third finger, and you see stars. He pumps faster and faster, bringing you dangerously close to the edge. You just barely overplay your volume, remembering Mike. As soon as your legs begin to shake, he removes his fingers, ruining your orgasm and leaving you feeling empty. Your eyes flutter open and you stare at him, whimpering.
He slowly puts the fingers that were just inside you in his mouth, cleaning them off. You bite your lip as he blinks at you through his long eyelashes, savoring the taste. He smiles down at you once he’s done, sliding your zip-up off your shoulders. He slowly undresses you, a pile of clothes beginning to form on the floor. He leaves you in nothing but your panties. His breath hitches in his throat as he studies every curve of your body.
You do the same to him, helping him pull his shirt off his head. Your hands quickly fly down to his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down to his ankles. His tight grey boxers leave little to the imagination as you see the outline of his hard-on, begging to be free. You do exactly that, pulling them off of him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach.
Your eyes trail along every vein and detail, taking him in. He’s average, but somewhat girthy. The tip is hard and red, already leaking with pre-cum, slowly dripping down his shaft. You reach out, your thumb collecting it. You stare into his eyes as you suck it off of the pad, a bittersweet taste spreading across your tongue. As soon as your thumb pops out of your mouth, he grips onto your hips, pulling him on top of you. He slides your panties to the side and you moan feeling the cold air hit you. He slides his tip through your folds, collecting the wetness.
You slowly sink down onto him, gasping as his tip enters you. He grips your waist harder, holding you down. “You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest. “Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.
He pushes in, faster this time, and you finally feel his hips meet yours. “You’re such- Shit! You’re such a good girl.” Suddenly, he grabs you harder by the waist, flipping you over. You gasp as your bare stomach meets the rough sheets of the bed. He grabs your hair, pulling you against his chest, somehow hitting so deep you see white.
You moan out his name louder and louder as each thrust inside of you quickens. He shoves you back down against the bed, thrusting so hard the headboard begins to slam against the wall. You smile into the sheets realizing the torture Mike must be going through right now. “You’re taking me so well…” He grumbles out, pushing deeper into you.
The smile is immediately wiped off your face as he moves one hand away from your hair and slithers it down to your clit. He rubs circles on it with 2 fingers. You grip your fingers into the bed sheets, screaming into the mattress. Your vision starts getting blurry as the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter. Pure euphoria tears through you as his fingers quicken as well as his hips.
“I’m close-“ He groans out as your walls clench around him. He rubs faster and faster circles on your clit and your legs start to shake uncontrollably. You scream louder and louder, and your walls start to spasm. Quickly you hurdle over the finish line, coming all over his dick. You feel tears running down your cheeks as you feel him release inside of you, his hips stuttering.
You call out his name one last time before he pulls out of you, lying down next to you. He looks over at you, tears spilling down your face and your fingers still bunched up in the bedsheets. He laughs as you give him a shaky smile.
“I’ve imagined that since grade 12..” He whispers out. He reaches towards you, brushing your hair that’s plastered to your face with sweat. “Me too..” You smile, moving forward to press your lips against his. He kisses you back, pulling you on top of him. He smiles up at you, his face flushed.
“Round two?”
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Your eyes flutter open, the warm sun creeping through the blinds, bathing your room in a warm orange glow. You slowly reach next to you, feeling the muscles on Clapton's back. He stirs, turning onto his back. His eyes slowly open, and he slowly looks over at you. He stretches up, propping himself up on his elbows.
“I better go…” You get up as well, turning and placing your feet on the cold wood floors. You gather up his and your clothes from last night, handing them to him. After you're both dressed, you lead him to your front door. He opens it and steps out into the hallway, starting towards the elevator.
As soon as you hear Mike's door click open, you quickly grab Clapton's wrist, pulling him back towards you. You get on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He grabs your waist, pulling you against him. He slips his tongue in your mouth, his hand untangling your hair. After a few seconds, you pull away, resting your forehead on his.
“I’ll see you around?” He says, smiling. “Of course.” You grin, pecking his cheek. He unwraps himself from you, turns around, and walks away. He doesn’t even seem to notice his old best friend who is standing just a few feet away, watching.
Once Clapton’s out of sight, you turn to look at Mike. Oh, he looks absolutely wrecked. His curls are a tangled mess and the bags under his eyes are even deeper than you’ve ever seen them. He has the same look on his face you’ve seen him have when men would flirt with you on your dates. But, he also just looks.. sad. You expect him to turn back into his apartment and walk away but he speaks instead.
“The glitter wasn’t enough for you, huh?” You scoff, anger filling inside you at his audacity. “A girl can’t have fun?” He raises an eyebrow at you and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “You think I don’t know how purposeful that was? Do you have any respect for others?” You laugh, right in his face. His mouth twists into a nasty scowl, his stupid smirk wiping immediately off his face.
“Mike, I lost every bit of decency I had towards you when you abandoned me for some..” You don’t finish the sentence, instead letting his mind fill in the blank. He doesn’t look angry, he just looks disappointed. He looked at you like that when you were still together.
You’ve always hated that look.
He opens his mouth and closes it, clearly wanting to say something important but deciding against it. He shakes his head and turns back into his apartment, closing the door behind him softly.
You do the same, opening your door and sliding down with your back against it. You pull your knees up to your chest, rubbing the bruises on your sides that Clapton left. You rest your head on your knees and sigh.
“how many special people change? how many lives are living strange? where were you while we were getting high?” — ‘champagne supernova’ by oasis.
pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader
word count: 1.1k words
summary: where clapton and you get high almost every weekend except this time some words are exchanged.
tags: fluff, smoking, underage smoking, marijuana use (not mentioned though), honestly the smoking part isn’t really in detail but they’re high, best friends to lovers, oasis being praised and blur hate (i do not condone!), use of y/n, feelings being confessed sort of?
author’s note: i should be working on requests but i really had to urge to write for clapton since there is barely any content for him. why am i writing a fic about smoking when i have asthma. there’s brief discussion/debate about which of two bands are better (the bands being oasis and blur) but is that worth tw? like i feel like some people (by what ive seen) can take that stuff really seriously but i really don’t mean any hate towards oasis nor especially blur, i simply think that clapton would definitely be the type of guy to get into a debate over bands, or which band is better in this case, but don’t take anything seriously!
Your focus is not on Clapton’s rambling, instead you’re drawn to the familiar glow in the dark stars that stick to his ceiling within the many band posters he stuck up there. You’ve counted these stars several times before as this wasn’t your first time getting high in his bedroom.
You groan when you hear the same song start again from Clapton’s Ipod. He was the type of person that would obsess over a song and play it nonstop until he grew tired of it. His latest victim: ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Oasis. You don’t know how he hasn’t grown tired of listening to it on repeat, I mean, you have already! “Do we really have to listen to it again?” You whine, shifting around uncomfortably in his twin sized bed. The two of you were pressed up against each other, it was incredibly uncomfortable and yet you both always ended up in his bed for some reason.
A dumb smile curls up on his lips that you manage to catch briefly before returning your gaze back at his stupid ceiling. You don’t know why your heart quickens but you blame it on the amount of weed you smoked. I mean, it was probably that. “Yes, come on, Y/N, this is music! Real music.”
“‘Real music’?” You question, only to piss him off. A part of you liked seeing him angry, honestly. And you knew just how to push his buttons.
“Yeah. Unless you can name a better band.” Clapton challenges with an arrogant voice.
You could name so many other bands that have had a better discography than Oasis but you choose to name the band that you knew would rile him up. With a grin on your lips now you answer with what he would consider the worst band to name in this scenario.
“Blur.”
The words strike Clapton. Maybe he was being dramatic but honestly he found your choice offensive. He props himself on his elbows, no longer laying down completely. His face is scrunched up with slight disgust and confusion, an expression that resembles a child who’s just had a taste of a lime. “Blur?” He says with disgust in the word.
“Yeah,” you reply with a calm attitude. “They’re pretty good.” You continue to look up at the ceiling but Christ would you love to see the look on his face. “Better than Oasis.” You add for good measure.
You don’t know what reaction you expected from him, or well you did. You figured he would go on a long rant you wouldn’t be able to escape about how Oasis was in fact better than Blur. You did not, however, expect him to get on top of you, it’s so swift and sudden that you don’t even know how to respond. He pins your hands on either side of your head, your eyes now meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. Was he…grinning?!
Now you’re confused.
“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he teases, his body pressed up against yours. This is…not good. It feels good, sure, but Clapton was on top of you. Clapton, your best friend who you’ve known since grade seven. “We both know you’re just saying that to get a reaction from me.”
His hands grip onto your wrist, holding you in place. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe you just liked how he held you down. “Am I?” You play along, acting dumb.
His grin only deepens, his eyes frantically flickering from your eyes to your lips, your own eyes glued to his pretty pink lips. Fuck this wasn’t good. “You are,” his voice is deep now, a tease in his tone.
Before you know it, he’s inching closer to you. His fucking grin mocking you. “Clapton, we—“ shouldn’t, you think about saying but fuck, fuck, fuck his lips were grazing the skin of your neck now, his warm breath tickling you a bit. And that stupid song was still playing!
His thumb softly traces circles around one of your wrist. A part of you wishes your hands weren’t restrained down so you could tangle one in his hair. “We what?” He asks, his breath hitting your delicate skin.
“We—“ you can’t even finish. He doesn’t let you, his lips gently pressing a soft kiss against your neck, one that makes you tense up. Such an innocent kiss and yet that locked you. He continues to pepper gentle kisses on your neck, it’s so pure and sweet, especially when you feel his smile in each kiss.
“I’ve wanted this for so long now,” he admits before continuing to kiss your neck, his thumb continuing to trace around your wrists.
“You have?” You ask. A part of you thinks about telling him that you’ve secretly wanted this too for a bit now.
He stops to look at you now, his cocky grin replaced by a gentle smile. He nods with such a soft expression on his face. “Mm-hmm. I thought about what it would be like to kiss you every day, even while we were getting high.”
A crimson colour tints your cheeks. Clapton smiles more at that. God, you look so lovely now: flustered and underneath him, his hands wrapped around your wrists, your eyes boring into his. He would gladly count every eyelash, memorise every colour that paints your eyes.
“You’re high.” You giggle trying to play it off, though you don’t try to move away. Not that you could due to how he was holding you down.
“Yeah, you are too,” he says with a soft chuckle. His eyes don’t leave yours, he desperately wants to hold your gaze for as long as he can, honestly. “But even when I’m not high I still adore you.”
Fuck.
Your eyes widen a little, your mouth slightly hanging open due to his words. Clapton grins at that and before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you. Your lips move with his, not resisting his lips. You honestly don’t think you’d be capable of resisting him after all of this.
One of his hands laces with yours, the other still pinning you against the mattress. He continues to kiss you and he really doesn’t want to stop. He’s desperately craved this for so long now. He smiles in the kiss then, realising he has the privilege of kissing you.
His smile felt so great against your lips.
After some time you both pull away, a huge dumb smile on Clapton’s face that makes you smile at how adorable he looks. He plops down, laying his head against your chest, wanting to be near you for longer. You don’t even have to kiss, you really don’t have to do anything but be close to him. That’s really all he wants. All he’s ever wanted from you.
