Hear me out hear me out. You posted a fic abt clay and now Iām wondering if you can do a clay smut bc like that one was great
š»šš š½ššš ššššš šµšššš źØļø (Clay Jensen X FemReader)
Content: Smut, In the same universe as "Safe Place", Clay sneaking by the window, Trying to be silent, Fingering, Hand job, First time, Losing Virginity, Protected Sex, Clay hiding, Nora Walker cameo, Cuddling
Steam still lingered in your room. You had just stepped out of the shower, your damp hair falling softly over your shoulders.
Your skin was flawless, freshly exfoliated, moisturized with expensive jasmine cream, that sweet, clean scent mingling with that of your freshly changed sheets.
You were sitting at your vanity, one leg folded over the other, applying a second coat of nail polish, wearing your bra and panties made of light, soft, elegant lace.
A doll in her own sanctuary. Your face washed, no makeup. Smooth skin. A calm too delicate for the house you were in.
The silence was broken by a knock. A small knock against your window. You smiled instantly. You didn't need to look out to know who the culprit was.
Another pebble. Clink.
You rolled your eyes, but you were already grinning from ear to ear.
You stood up, walking barefoot on the soft rug, and pulled back the curtain.
There he was. Clay. Your Clay.
With that face somewhere between nervous and anxious, standing in the garden, his hands tucked into his sweatshirt and the look that always told you he wanted you as much as he cared for you.
"Really?" you whispered out the window, chuckling softly. "Pebbles? Are we really in an '80s movie?"
"Shhh!" he beckoned, looking toward the entrance of the house as if Nora might appear on the balcony at any moment. "Let me up, okay? Just... for a while. I need to see you."
You bit your lip, playing with the curtain. Your mother tolerated it, but she'd never liked the idea of Clay coming into your room. He was your best kept secret in those cold walls.
You stared at him for a moment longer. His expression was pure pleading.
And you already knew the answer. "Climb up," you finally said, tossing down the rolled-up curtain like a makeshift rope.
Clay quickly grabbed it, looking at you with that nervous smile that killed you. And as you watched him start to climb, your heart raced.
The good boy was about to cross the threshold. The boy who was babysitting you was about to enter and break the perfumed calm of your room.
Clay landed with a soft thump on the other side of the window and closed it behind him, agitated by the climb.
You stood with your arms crossed, but you couldn't hide the smile that spread across you. He approached in two steps, grabbing your waist, and planted a quick peck on your lips before you could scold him.
"How are you, princess?" he murmured softly, in that nervous little voice he always had when he saw you freshly bathed, with your hair wet and that jasmine cream scent of you.
You smiled, feigning indignation. "Is that your grand entrance? Risking your life to climb a curtain to give me a peck?"
He laughed, lowering his gaze, then looked back at you, his nose close to your neck. He inhaled deeply. "You smell so good..." he whispered, his lips barely brushing your jaw. "You always smell delicious, but todayā¦ wow."
You felt your stomach turn. You caressed his face, pushing his chin toward you until he was inches away. "And to what do I owe the honor of your visit?" you asked, your voice soft, but with the flirtatious smile he knew all too well.
Clay shrugged, though his eyes lit up with tenderness. "Because I love you." Just like that, straight up. With that purity of his that always made you shiver more than any dirty talk.
You kissed him slowly, just to seal the confession. But he sighed against your lips, as if he needed to explain before you continued with the joke. "...and also because Justin kicked me out of the room."
You raised an eyebrow. "What?" Clay rolled his eyes, frustrated, but amused. "Jess was going to stay with him, and you know how he is: 'Go somewhere else, Jensen.' So I had two options: go with Tony and Calebā¦ or the of risk Nora Walker knocking my teeth out."
"And what did you choose?" you said, already knowing the answer.
"Sleeping with my girlfriend." He pulled you against him, smiling with that mixture of tenderness and shy impudence that was so his. "With my princess. Even though my mother-in-law hates me."
Your cheeks burned, but you didn't let it show. "Good. Because this bed is too big for just one."
Clay laughed softly and brought his face close to your neck again, kissing you lightly, softly, as if he couldn't resist the smell of your freshly moisturized skin. The night was just beginning.
The bed creaked as Clay flopped down next to you. Your room, spacious, tidy, with its fresh, fragrant sheets, suddenly became his refuge.
He hugged you from behind, his chest against your back, his chin brushing your shoulder, damp from your freshly washed hair. "Mmm... that's good," he murmured, settling in. "I swear I just want to sleep."
You smiled in the darkness, rolling your eyes. "Uh-huh. Of course."
"I mean it," he insisted, pulling you tighter against him.
His arms wrapped around your waist with such affection it hurt from their tenderness. "I'm tired. I just want to be with you."
You sighed, enjoying the warmth of his embrace, the way his breathing mingled with yours. It was true: being with Clay like this, hidden away, was the kind of peace you couldn't find anywhere else.
But after a few minutes, you felt it. His hand.
At first, still on your abdomen. Then, moving down very slowly, as if he were struggling. A few inches. Then another.
And you, not moving, smiling with the certainty that sooner or later this would happen. "Are you sure you came here just to sleep?" you asked in a mocking whisper, a smile plastered on your lips.
Clay swallowed nervously, but didn't move his hand. On the contrary, he continued lowering himself until he hovered just above the edge of your panty elastic. "...erm... well..." he stammered, and chuckled softly, hiding his face in your neck. "Maybe not just." He placed a soft kiss behind your ear, and that shiver running through you was impossible to hide.
"I knew you were going to do this," you said between soft giggles. He moaned softly, like an adorable whimper. "I tried... I really did. But you smell too good. And..." his voice broke softly, as if he didn't want to sound desperate, "... I need you."
His hand remained there, paused, waiting for your permission. And you, without moving, just took his wrist and pushed him a little further down. "Then don't stop."
You turned in his arms, slowly, until you were facing him. Your nose brushed against his, his eyes shining with that mix of nerves and desire, and the shy half-smile that never failed to melt you.
Clay's hand had already moved lower, playing with the edge of your panties, barely brushing you with his fingertips.
The touch was so light it felt more like a ghost than contact, but the heat still built up, electric. You looked him straight in the eyes, making it clear you weren't going to stop him. In fact, you arched your hips a little, provocatively, moving closer to his hand.
His gaze lowered, and there he noticed it: the lace. Blue. Soft. Pressed against your freshly moisturized skin.
Clay already knew you always wore panties like that, flirty, but seeing it so close, in that situation, left him gulping.
"Shit..." he whispered, barely audible, and raised his gaze to yours again.
You could tell he was struggling between hunger and that decency of his that never left him. And then, with a low, broken voice, laden with tenderness and anxiety, he asked you: "May I, princess?"
The world stopped for a second. That "princess" of his felt like a velvet touch on your skin.
It was your Clay: the same one who wanted to eat you whole, but still asked permission as if you were sacred.
Your lips curved into a soft smile. You caressed his cheek with your fingertips, holding his gaze as your other hand pushed his a little lower. "You can always, Babe."
He let out a sigh as if he'd been holding it in for hours, and kissed you quickly, deeply, before letting his hand move lower.
And when his fingers finally touched the lace of your panties, electricity ran through your entire body.
Clay's fingers brushed over your lace, barely touching you, as if the delicate touch could contain the fire burning in his veins. Each caress was an electric bolt, a gentle promise.
And you, looking straight into those eager eyes, decided not to let him play alone. Slowly, your hand moved down his abdomen.
You ran over the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, then the elastic of his pants, and finally reached his boxers. You felt it instantly. Hard. Swollen. Throbbing.
Clay was already fully awake, pushing against your palm as if he'd been waiting for that touch for a while. He gasped softly, surprised, almost embarrassed.
"Oh fuck..." he murmured, burying his face in your neck as if that could hide the obvious.
You smiled, sliding your fingers over the fabric, tracing its shape, causing a touch that made him shiver against you. "And you said you just wanted to sleep?" you whispered mischievously, a smile plastered on your lips.
Clay laughed nervously, his breathing quickening. "I tried..." he admitted between sighs, digging his hand deeper into your panties, moving closer to the damp heat waiting for him there. "But you... princess, you can't be helped."
The brush of his fingers against you and your firm hand on his erection created a secret rhythm, a dangerous back and forth that filled your room with muffled gasps and soft giggles. You were snuggled up, hidden, half silent... but the tension was already impossible to stop.
The lace gave way beneath his fingers. Clay gasped slightly, swallowing as if he were about to break a sacred rule.
And then he slid underneath, straight into your heat. The first finger entered slowly, carefully, testing the waters.
Your body reacted immediately, a low gasp escaping your lips and making him groan too, because it was one of the first times you'd done something like this, and the sensation had him on the verge of collapse.
"Shit... princess..." he murmured, his forehead resting on yours. He moved his finger inside you, slowly, clumsily, as if testing.
And when he dared to insert the second, your body greeted it with a shudder that drove him wild.
Meanwhile, your hand moved down inside his boxers, truly caressing him this time. You wrapped it in your palm and moved up to the tip, where a warm droplet ran and glistened under your thumb.
You gently ran your finger right there, and Clay arched as if you'd given him an electric shock. "Fuck, what theā!" he gasped, his voice cracking, his hips thrusting against your hand unintentionally.
You smiled proudly, taking the opportunity to repeat the motion, slower, enjoying watching him lose control. "I read it in one of my mom's magazines," you said softly, with that mischievous innocence that drove him wild.
Clay let out a breathy laugh, still moaning, unable to think clearly. "I don't know whether to thank her" he whispered, his lips trembling with pleasure, "or wonder what the hell she's reading."
The exchange was perfect: your moans against his ear as he moved his fingers inside you, his every time your thumb caressed the tip. A clumsy, sweet, passionate synchronicity. It was the first time they had truly crossed that lineā¦ and neither of them wanted to go back.
Clay removed his hand from your panties, breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against yours.
His dark eyes shone with something beyond desire. There was fear, respect, affection.
"Princess..." he murmured, almost trembling. "Today... can we cross that line?"
The silence was thick, interrupted only by their labored breaths. Your heart was racing, but the decision was made.
You smiled at him, caressing his cheek with your knuckles. "Yes, Clay. I want it to be with you."
The expression of relief on his face was so pure it almost made you laugh. It seemed like a weight of years had been lifted off his shoulders.
Then you opened your drawer and took out a small metallic packet. Clay raised an eyebrow, half incredulous and half amused. "Do you have condoms in your drawer?" he asked, his voice thick with surprise and nerves.
"Of course. They gave them to me at school." You shrugged, with that carefree rich-girl smile of yours.
He laughed, half-choked. "How the hell did they give you condoms if you go to a convent school?"
You burst out laughing, covering your mouth to keep from making a sound. "It's not convent school, Clay. It's just Catholic. Big difference."
He shook his head, still laughing, though his fingers were shaking as he took the packet. "You're impossible..."
When he tried to open it, you saw his hands shaking so much it felt like he was defusing a bomb.
You snatched the condom from him, amused. "Give it here, nervous."
Clay swallowed as you looked into his eyes and unrolled the condom over him, slowly, carefully, almost provocatively. A low moan escaped him, biting his lip as he felt your hand slide it into place.
"There," you whispered, smiling triumphantly.
He, still flushed, took a deep breath and slowly lowered himself onto you, between your legs. A nerd to the last second, he murmured, "I read the best position for the first time is... missionary."
You rolled your eyes tenderly, kissing him on the lips. "Okay, Jensen. Let's do it your nerdy way."
His nervous laughter mingled with your kiss, and as he settled in, the weight of his body on yours felt like the beginning of everything you'd been waiting for.
Clay trembled on top of you, his arms tense on either side of you, his lips brushing against yours as if searching for strength in your mouth.
With exaggerated care, he lowered his hips, aligning himself with you. The first touch of his tip against your entrance drew a shaky gasp from you.
He breathed heavily too, closing his eyes as if he needed to control himself so he wouldn't lose his mind. āRelax, princessā¦ā he whispered, his voice trembling. āIām with you.ā
When he began to enter you, slowly, very slowly, you felt everything. Every inch he opened you up, stretching you beyond anything you knew, drawing a stifled moan from you against his shoulder.
The burning was real. And with it, the electric pleasure of having him inside you for the first time.
Clay stopped when he felt your nails digging into his back. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked, his voice cracking, concerned, kissing your forehead.
"A little..." you whispered, biting your lip, your eyes wet. But you caressed his cheek, assuring him, "Don't stop."
He nodded, swallowing, and pushed a little further. The stabbing pain mingled with the sensation of filling you, of stretching you. You felt your body yield, adapting, while a trickle of blood stained the sheet.
"You're... so tight..." Clay murmured between gasps, almost a whimper of disbelief.
When he was finally all the way in, he stayed still, breathing against your neck, as if he needed to give you time.
His hips barely moved, slow, timid thrusts that still drew low moans from you that were impossible to contain.
The room filled with wet noises and clumsy breathing, desperate whispers trying not to make a sound, tight kisses trying to stifle the moans.
But the tension was too much. The raw pleasure of the first time, the newness, the intensityā¦ swept you both away. Clay moaned your name against your neck, and you held him tight, feeling the heat rising too quickly. "I can't take any moreā¦" he gasped, trembling on top of you.
"Me neitherā¦" you whispered, your voice breaking.
And with a few last slow thrusts, you both broke together. A rushed, clumsy climax, too fast but so deep it left them breathless.
Clay buried his face in your neck, his moans mingling with yours, both of you laughing softly between gasps because you had clearly failed at ākeeping quiet.ā
He pulled out of you with a shaky sigh. He quickly removed the condom, still nervous, and stared at it as if he didn't know what to do with it.
"Should I throw it away?" he whispered, half-rising to his feet.
"Don't even think about leaving it here," you quickly cut him off, grabbing his wrist. "Do you want my mom to find it?"
He looked at you with a horrified expression, as if he'd just imagined your mother coming in and picking up a suspicious wrapper from the trash.
"Oh, shit... you're right." He hid it in his sweatshirt pocket, nodding seriously. "I'll take it. Let's just say it's a souvenir."
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly, and pulled him back onto the bed. There you both remained, curled up, the sheet covering you up to your chest.
Clay was blushing up to his ears, his breathing still ragged, and you kept kissing him: on his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. It was ridiculously sweet, cloying, but the two of you were on the same page.
"Wow... that was it..." you murmured against his lips.
"Too cute," he finished, burying his face in your neck, grinning like an idiot.
You stayed like that for a few minutes, in that sticky trance of kisses and caresses, until suddenly you heard footsteps in the hallway.
Both of you tensed at the same time.
"Shit." You jumped out of bed, grabbing Clay's wrist. "Get in the closet, now!"
He barely managed to get inside, crouching among your shoe boxes and hanging coats, when your bedroom door opened.
Your mom appeared in the doorway, frowning. "What happened here?" she asked, scanning the room, as if she could detect something out of place. "Huh? Nothing, Mom."
You smiled nervously, sitting up in bed with the sheet up to your chest. "I heard you talking," she insisted, crossing her arms.
"I was on a call with... uh... Jess. Yes, Jessica."
"At this hour?" Your mother raised an eyebrow, doubtful.
"Well... I was feeling bad, I needed to talk." You improvised, each lie following the last. Your mother gave you a long, suspicious look.
"Uh-huh. Okay." She sighed. "Try not to lose sleep."
You nodded quickly. "Yes, Mom. Good night."
When he finally left and closed the door, you ran to the closet and opened it.
Clay came out doubled over with laughter, his hair disheveled, still red. "You're the biggest liar I've ever seen."
"It runs in the family," you said, dragging him back into bed.
He snuggled up to you again, holding you tight. "So... are you going to let me stay the night?" he asked, in that shy little puppy voice.
You kissed his nose, smiling. "Of course." And so, between saccharine kisses and nervous giggles, you remained tangled up under the sheet, with him still keeping the condom in his pocket as if he were carrying proof of the crime that actually was your very first night .
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