#clint x reader

TONY STARK digs your new, aerodynamic look.

Tony is all about the high end, polished look.

He’s a guy who loves sleek tech and expensive finishes, so to him, this is just a sleek upgrade.

He’s not mourning the "wild" look; he’s just busy admiring the new, aerodynamic landscape.

He uses his flirting to make sure you feel sexy about it, even if he was a little surprised by the sudden change.

"Smooth, huh? Well, damn, baby — you certainly know how to make an entrance. Don't mind me, just taking a mental and maybe a physical inventory of the new landscape." He gives you a slow, appreciative wink, his eyes dancing with flirtatious mischief.

BRUCE BANNER also is supportive. He just sees more well-put than Steve.

Bruce is the ultimate "gentle giant." He wants to be the most non judgmental partner on the planet, so he’ll support you no matter what.

He’ll tell you it’s great even if he’s secretly a little sad about the loss of the natural look.

He’s just trying to be a good guy and make sure you don't feel weird about it, but you can tell by that awkward grin that he's struggling.

"Oh! It's fine! Really! It looks great, truly." He offers a simple, warm grin, though his eyes hold a flicker of melancholy, much like a loyal Labrador watching its owner pick up a new, strange toy.

BUCKY BARNES is fucking pissed.

Bucky is a man who has lost almost everything, and he clings to the tactile realities of his life. He’s a man who has lived through the grit and the grime of war.

To him, that "jungle" was a part of your natural, unadulterated self, and seeing it feels like you've stripped away something primal and real.

His rage isn't directed at you, but at the perceived loss of that wildness; he feels like you've stripped away a part of your essence to satisfy some arbitrary standard.

He's absolutely livid that the "jungle" he loved so much has been replaced by something so sterile.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! You just — you just wiped it all out? Why the hell would you do that?!" His eyes flash with a terrifying, unbridled rage, his jaw clenched so tight you can almost hear the bone grinding. (He looks like an angry kitten)

THOR ODINSON is disappointed and wishes your bush safe journeys to Valhalla.

Thor doesn't do "subtle."

To him, your body is like some epic mythological landscape, and he viewed your natural hair as a lush, glorious forest.

Shaving it feels like a massive, unnecessary renovation to a sacred site.

He’s not judging you, he’s just genuinely disappointed that the "forest" has been levelled into an unadorned wasteland!

It was a forest of divine splendor, and now it is but a barren field!

"Why, fair maiden, would you dethrone your virtue temple and my heavenly treat like so? It was a forest of divine splendour!"

SAM WILSON doesn’t believe you. He watched you fail DIY bangs.

Sam is a man who has seen you at your most chaotic, and he has zero patience for the idea that you suddenly became a master of precision grooming.

He knows your history of impulsive, messy decisions like the time you tried to give yourself bangs and ended up looking like a lopsided trapezium.

He doesn't believe you actually achieved a smooth finish; in his head, he's already picturing you accidentally nicking yourself or leaving a weird, patchy mess behind.

He’s teasing you to hide the fact that he’s actually a little sceptical of your coordination, basically waiting for the moment you admit you botched the whole thing.

"Wait, wait, wait — you actually did it? You didn't just mess up a trim and end up with a lopsided mohawk this time? You actually went full smooth? Girl, please tell me you didn't leave a landing strip in the middle of all that." He lets out a loud, sceptical laugh, shaking his head.

CLINT BARTON is pissed too, except his excuse is that he joined a circus.

Clint’s reaction is pure circus brat logic. He spent his life around the messy and unpolished energy of performers, so he associates "realness" with a bit of a wild, unkempt look.

To him, the natural state was the "main event," and by shaving, you've basically turned a high stakes, gritty performance into a sanitised routine. He's not actually mad at you, he's just annoyed that the "show" lost its edge.

"Are you serious? You levelled the whole damn forest? Look, I grew up in a circus, okay? You don't go to the big top to see a sterile, manicured floor you go for the grit and the raw energy! You just turned a wild act into a boring goddamn parade!”

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus

$ join taglist

A big hand slides up your thigh. Slow. Heavy. Possessive.

His rough palm stops at the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

Clint doesn’t ask if he can—he just spreads you, exposing everything before massaging your smooth flesh with a hint of affection.

“You been like this all night?” His voice is low, scraped over pavement. “Laid out like a fucking present for me?”

His thumbs bruise the crease at the top of your thighs, demanding an answer from your hazy mind.

You grumble into the flattened pillow, too tired to be sweet. “You’re late.”

A single sharp smack to your ass jolts you more awake. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he can.

“I got busy,” he snaps, stern and half-growled. “Didn’t say you could fall asleep.”

You’re shifting toward clarity, but not enough to resist when he grabs your hips and lifts them, dragging you onto your knees with your face still buried in the pillow.

He sighs—heavy, like it’s too much. Like you’re too much. “Fuck me. Look at this fucking pussy.”

Both hands spread you wide, fingers dimpling your flesh. He’s not gentle. Clint palms your ass, squeezing and manipulating you until you squirm.

His stubble scrapes along your delicate skin as he noses closer, breathing you in like he’s been starving. You don’t bother hiding your moan. He likes that.

“So wet for me,” he mutters to himself. His warm breath teases your slick seam, making your thighs tremble faintly and drawing a needy whimper from you.

He laughs. A little mean and a lot indulgent.

“That’s right, baby. My filthy girl. Always dripping for me.”

He stays fully dressed—boots on, jeans still zipped—while he readjusts, sinking between your legs.

Then the wet heat of his mouth makes your brows draw together and your mouth part. With his tongue flat and slow, he licks one long stripe from clit to ass, like he’s claiming every inch. You gasp, hands scrabbling against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice thick and muffled between your legs. “Back it up for me.”

You arch instinctively, and his hands flex in response before sliding underneath your legs, wrapping around your hips to hold you against his face.

“Oh, shit,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His mouth is on you, in you, tongue fucking into you—messy and unrelenting. You can’t help it—rocking back, grinding down, chasing the friction. The wet sounds are obscene, and his hungry groans melt into your skin.

Every time you whimper, he doubles down. He wants it loud.

He bites, nips the soft skin where your thigh meets cunt, just to hear your gasp and feel you tense in his grip. Then soothes it with his tongue, like it never happened.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice thick. “Face down in my bed, moaning into my fuckin’ pillow like a whore. You love this, don’t you?”

You whine something desperate, words half-formed and foggy.

And then he’s sucking on your clit, bringing you right to the edge—everything pulled taut—just to ease up and make out with your pussy until you’re liquid again.

He presses a kiss to your clit. “Tell me. Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” your voice already sounds far away. “Only you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, proud and rough. “My perfect fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re gonna come like this,” he growls into you. “All bent over for me. Like you should.”

You bite your lip hard. You’re close. He knows it. One hand slips between your legs and spreads you wider. Lewd. Greedy. 

Then he’s nearly overwhelming you entirely.

Lips wrapped around your swollen clit until your thighs are shaking. Then again, with a wide tongue, he uses his whole face. The friction of his facial hair, the pressure of his jaw, the ridge of his nose—like he was divinely created for your pleasure.

Though in this moment, it seems like your pleasure is all his.

You’re soaked, chasing the release he keeps taunting you with. He’s moaning into you, rutting his hips against the bed like he needs it too. He never stops moving, working you closer expertly—like you’re his to control.

And you are.

Your knees give out as you finally break, but his hold on you is so strong it doesn’t matter. Your thighs quake, and you cry out—wrecked and loud. You don’t give a shit if the neighbors can all hear.

He doesn’t let up until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. Then he hums with a satisfaction that would make your face hot if you weren’t already blazing from the whole act.

When he loosens up, you collapse forward, melted and buzzing. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, laced with reverence.

“Not done yet,” his voice is lusty, with a hint of strain in it. “You hear me?”

You nod weakly, hitching a breath when he gives you one more slap.

Behind you, fully dressed and still hard in his jeans, Clint smiles.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves. The bed frame creaks as his weight shifts. You hear him undo his belt. Hear the zip of his jeans.

You don’t even lift your head—just hum softly into the pillow in anticipation.

Clint chuckles once behind you. Not with amusement—but with hunger.

“Too wrecked to talk already?” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your spine. “Didn’t even need to get my dick out to have you all fucked out.”

You whimper again, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

“Goddamn.” The word falls from his lips like he’s mesmerized. “Laying here… legs open, pussy still dripping on my sheets like you don’t have a single thought left in your pretty head.”

You don’t.

Not a coherent thought, anyway.

He pushes the faded t-shirt higher up, bunching it around your ribs, baring every inch of your glowing skin to his greedy eyes. His hands stroke along your back and down your legs.

“You’re so fucking easy for me,” he growls. “One taste and now you’re already begging for cock to fill you up.”

You shake your head, a little desperate now. “Not begging.”

That earns you another slap, right against your throbbing, swollen cunt. You yelp.

“No?” Clint’s voice shifts—something mean bleeding into the edges of it. “You’re soaked, face down, ass up, pushing back on my face like you’re in heat, and you’re gonna tell me you’re not begging?”

His hand wraps around your hip and yanks you back until you’re flush with his crotch. Until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

He grinds you against him once, slow and firm, causing you to choke on a moan. The friction is one thing—but it’s the way he maneuvers you with confidence that has your eyes rolling back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

He grunts lowly, freeing himself from his jeans and stroking once, twice, and then—

He pushes in with no warning.

You gasp, mouth open, eyelids slamming shut as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, hot, and rough in just the way you like. He drives in deep, holding you with a bruising grip while you adjust.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That never gets old.”

He doesn’t give you more time—slides nearly all the way out of you before slamming back in, hard.

He sets a rhythm and creates a debased symphony. The bed knocks against the wall, your skin slaps loudly in the dark room, and your breathy moans are punctuated by his reflexive grunts.

His jeans drag against the backs of your thighs, the rough fabric a constant reminder that he hasn’t even undressed for this. That finding you half-naked in his bed, in his shirt, might as well have been a demand to fuck you stupid on sight.

Clint leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, one big hand curling around the back of your neck—not choking. Just holding.

Just claiming.

Just fucking you the way he wants. Getting more honest with every snap of his hips as he unravels for you.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he growls in your ear. “Want me to use you like a fuckin’ toy? Fill you up nice and deep?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is moans in the shape of unrecognizable words.

He bites your shoulder, sharp. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say who owns this fucking pussy.”

“You—fuck, Clint—it’s yours,” you gasp.

“Damn right it is.”

His other hand slides down your front, rough fingers finding your clit and circling fast and filthy. You sob—your body already too close, too sensitive. It’s dizzying and sharp.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

“Yes!” you get one word out before your mind liquefies.

It hits hard—sudden and overwhelming—your whole body clenching, pulsing around him as he groans loud and desirous behind you. He fucks you through it, losing the last of his restraint you didn’t know was still in place, escalating with single-minded determination.

“Gonna come,” he growls. “You want that? Want me to fill this pussy up?”

You can’t even speak—you just moan, nodding frantically into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s right. Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes with a drawn-out moan, pulling you down onto his dick as he pulses inside you—like you might collapse without him there to steady you.

His hand is still wrapped around your neck, his body draped over yours, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

Then he exhales.

His tone shifts—less urgent. More awed.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You hum something soft in response, completely boneless under him.

Clint pulls out with a soft groan, and you feel the drip of him between your thighs—warm and shameless and exactly what you wanted.

He leans down to kiss your spine, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavy. For a moment, that’s all you hear.

Then the world starts to seep back in—the low hum of the fan on the dresser, the bass thumping from a house party down the block.

You’re still not sure if you’re fully awake. But if this is a dream, it’s the best one you’ve had in weeks.

Then his hands are moving again, warm and real and right where they belong.

“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

You smile into the pillow, a whisper of a laugh barely leaving your lips. “Hi.”

And god, he loves coming home to you.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

thank you for reading! pls let me know your thots <3

join my new taglist here

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz

@auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame 

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @mushgloomz

@probablyreadinsmut @ohhoneypascal @noisynightmarepoetry

@joelmillerisapunk @lilac-boo @sunshinehaze1 @worhols

Clint was the man of your dreams. He was charming. He had a subtlety about him that still had your thighs clenching, even after all this time. He was funny. You hadn’t learned that until a few months in when he finally let down his guard enough to show you his goofy side. That was when you fell in love. 

The first time you saw Clint was at the video rental store. It was a Friday night - your usual night to grab a movie and some takeout on your way home from work and unwind on the couch. The store was more quiet than usual, so you got lost in the movies in front of you as you scanned the drama section thoroughly. 

It was his scent that caught your attention first. As your fingers skimmed the VHS tapes in front of you, a whiff of cigarette smoke drifted by. You looked up, seeing a large man in a black leather jacket and slicked back hair looking at the shelf just a few feet away from you. Even though you hated the smell of cigarettes, the aroma coming off of him was mixed with a leather scent that made it significantly less putrid. 

You couldn’t help but stare for a moment. He was broad and solid, the kind of presence that you imagined could either feel incredibly comforting or terrifying. Your eyes traveled down his body, and when they made their way back up to his face, you saw that he was looking back at you. You quickly redirected your vision back to the shelf in front of you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you tried to read the movies in front of you. It was useless. You could feel his gaze on you and you wanted to shrink away, but instead just felt frozen in place. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that one.” His voice was low, and quieter than you would’ve expected. You swallowed and looked over at him, hoping that your own voice would cooperate. 

“Which one?” You’d had no idea what you were looking at before.

Clint gave a sideways smile and moved closer. His scent fully enveloped you now as he reached in front of you to tap his finger on the VHS tape that read Anatomy of Hell. 

“Never heard of it. Sounds interesting though,” you mused.

He shook his head and said, “Yeah, well, it isn’t. Take my word for it.” He winked and then hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure he should have done that. He cleared his throat. “What, uh, movies do you usually like?” 

“Mm…” You allowed yourself to think for a moment with Clint standing patiently beside you. “Taxi Driver, Gone with the Wind…The Godfather.” 

“Got good taste,” Clint responded with a smile. You liked how it reached his eyes. His smile transformed his entire face from a harsh, stony look to a soft and gentle expression that had you aching to be closer to him. “Can I make a recommendation?”

“Please,” you answered more breathily than you’d intended. Clint’s eyes dropped to your lips as you spoke. You saw his throat bob before he responded.

“On the Waterfront,” he said with confidence. “Hands down Brando’s best performance. If you like him in The Godfather, you’ll love him in that.” His eyes scanned the shelves, taking a step back as he searched for the O’s. He found the film and plucked it from in-between the others, handing it to you. 

As you watched him, you realized he bore a striking resemblance to Marlon Brando himself. It caused the already simmering need within you to nearly boil and you gave a shy smile with a nod as you said, “Thanks, I’ll check it out.” 

Clint gave a simple nod as he started to walk back toward the checkout counter. “Let me know if you like it,” he said with a wink. 

You froze for a moment, just holding the tape down at your side. Your mouth opened as though you were going to say something, but then he was gone. You worried your lip between your teeth before murmuring fuck it to yourself. 

When you stood behind him in line, you asked, “How am I supposed to tell you if I liked it?”

The person in front of Clint finished checking out, grabbing their stack of movies and stepping around the two of you. Clint didn’t answer you, but instead reached over the counter to grab a pen, then turned toward you and took your hand. You watched as he wrote his phone number on the inside of your wrist. As much as you were surprised by the bold move, you were too distracted by the feeling of his touch against your skin to object in any way. 

By the time you’d left the video store, your head was so fuzzy that you weren’t sure you could even manage your way home. There was something about his presence, something so commanding that you knew you couldn’t ignore. 

You only got halfway through the movie before you called Clint. What could have been just a five minute conversation, instead turned into a two hour phone call, a series of desperate dates, and now a relationship that you’d been steadily in for two years now. 

“I think we should take out A Streetcar Named Desire,” you chimed in, knowing that Clint was going to have a negative reaction.

“What? No. We can’t do that. That’s a classic!” He pulled the piece of paper closer to him, musing over it and pointing at Annie Hall. “Let’s ditch this one.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Clint, honey, we can’t have half of our wedding tables be Marlon Brando movies.” 

“And why not?” Clint retorted. “That’s the whole foundation of our relationship!” 

“Really?” You gave him an unamused look. “That’s the foundation of our relationship? Marlon Brando?”

Clint rolled his eyes now. “You know what I mean…”

It was rare that you gave in to Clint, but this was the one part of wedding planning that he seemed genuinely interested in, so you wanted to throw him a bone. “Fine, fine. Streetcar stays…and I’ll nix Annie Hall.” 

Clint kisses you on the cheek and stands up from the dining table where you have all of your wedding planning stuff laid out. “Did you say you needed me to pick somethin’ up from the store? The cake stuff?”

He walks toward the coat rack, starting to slip on his shoes. You watch him as anxiety starts to build in your core. You hate that you still feel this way every time he leaves the house. 

“Mhhm,” you answer. “The bakery has the cake tasting kit ready. They close at six, though.” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Clint says as he shrugs on his leather jacket. He glances over and sees you nervously biting your nails. “Thought you were tryin’ to quit that before the wedding,” he says playfully.

You remove your hand from your mouth and sigh. Pushing up from the table, you start to collect all of the wedding materials and organize them back in your neat binder. “I don’t know, Clint…I just-” You shake your head. “Nevermind.”

Clint sighs. He knows what this is about. It’s the only argument the two of you ever have. “I told you, baby. In just a couple days, I’ll be done. We’re almost there.”

“I just don’t get why it’s still gone on this long, Clint. You’re smart. You’re capable. You can find another job. A real job.” Tears prick at your eyes.

Clint looks up at the ceiling then back at you. “Yes, sweetheart…you’ve said all this before. I hear you. ‘N I will. As soon as it’s wrapped up with this client, huh? The Guy knows it’s my last job. I promise.” 

You shake your head, picking up the binder and starting to walk away. “I’ve heard it all before, Clint.” 

You cry silently to yourself as you hear the front door close. 

When Clint returns home that night, it’s the usual. You’re laying awake in bed, your back facing the bedroom door as you stare at the wall and the moonlight that reflects on it. The front door creaks open and then shuts quietly. But the house is so quiet, that you can hear everything - his boots thunking on the floor after he takes them off, the sound of his leather jacket rustling against the hanger, and his slow footsteps as he ascends the stairs. 

You keep your back to the bedroom door as he enters the room. He walks carefully to the en suite bathroom, closing the door and turning on the shower. He showered this morning. If he’s showering now, there’s a reason, and you automatically don’t like it. Your stomach twists as you prepare yourself for how beat up he’s going to look. 

When the water shuts off, you get out of bed, grabbing your robe to pull over your satin pajama set that he got you for Valentine’s Day. Patting across the bedroom floor, you slowly open the bathroom door, peeking inside to see Clint just wrapping a towel around his waist. His back is to you and he doesn’t hear the door open. 

As upset as you are, you take the moment to admire him. His sturdiness is always something that has been reassuring to you. And hot. As your eyes scan him, you notice a red mark on his side. The first injury you spot.

He turns around and sees you leaning into the bathroom, half of your body still concealed by the door. He smiles, only wincing slightly at his split lip. His nose has a cut across the bridge and one of his eyes has swelling around it. 

“Baby,” he moves toward you, opening the door the rest of the way and wrapping his arms around you. He’s still a little wet from the shower, but also warm. You hug him back despite the annoyance you feel deep down. “Thought you’d be sleeping, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head. 

You take a step back and look up at him. “You know I can’t sleep when you’re out.” You study his injuries and look at him with tears in your eyes, “What did you do, baby?” 

Clint’s face falls for a moment and then he says stoically, “I did what I had to do, sweetheart.”

You start to worry your lip between your teeth and Clint reaches forward, his thumb swiping down to relax your mouth. “Gotta quit these nervous habits, baby.” 

You shoot him a look. “Me? I’m the issue here?” You sigh and turn toward the mirror, looking at the two of you standing in the small bathroom. “Clint, this is ridiculous. Did-” You stop yourself, shaking your head and looking down at the sink. 

“Did what?” His hand comes to your lower back, trying to soothe you. 

“Did you even remember to pick up the cake?” Your voice sounds sad before you even get the answer from him. 

Clint glances at you in the mirror before putting his hands on the sides of your arms to pivot you toward him. He takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, and pulls you into his lap. “I was gonna talk to you about that in the morning…the job got…a little out of hand, and I couldn’t get over there in time. I’m sorry.” You shake your head and he kisses your cheek apologetically. “I called them though, they said I can pick it up in the morning, so it’s fine. We’ll just-”

You stand up from his lap, looking straight at him. “No, it’s not fine, Clint. That’s the whole issue!” You sigh in exasperation, leaving the bathroom and heading back to bed. This has been a routine argument. You can practically map it all out in your head now. There’s no point in getting into it again. 

Clint gives you a minute before he follows you into bed. He, too, is familiar with this routine, and has learned by now that it’s best he gives you a couple minutes to cool down. He finishes drying off, brushes his teeth, then turns off the bathroom light, coming into the bedroom. He takes a quick glance at you in bed before pulling on fresh boxers and climbing in next to you. Your back is to him as he gets into bed, and his arm immediately wraps around you as he kisses the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry, baby…” His warm breath on the back of your neck feels claiming, comforting. You can’t help but move back against him and enjoy the warmth of his presence. 

“I promise…this is the last one, okay?” He becomes hard against the round of your ass as you grind back into him. “The last one, and then we’ll be free from this. We’ll have enough money for the wedding, and I can-” He groans as he feels you press firmer into him. “I can start that security gig at the club.” 

“Prove it,” you respond in a breathy voice that you know is going to drive him wild.

His hand grabs your hip, pulling you flat against the bed as he rolls on top of you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. “Yeah?” He smiles, leaning down and kissing your neck. “Prove it, huh?” His large palm glides up and down your side until he reaches down and slides off your satin sleep shorts and panties. He looks down at your slick that’s already accumulated. “Goddamn, baby…”

He slides down, kissing your hips and then your thighs as he works closer to your center. You need to feel him. You can’t take it. 

Shaking your head, your hands move into his hair, tugging gently. “Just need to feel you, Clint…please…”

He can never resist when you beg. His brown eyes roam up to yours as he smiles, moving back up your body and peppering kisses along the way. “So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. Your body breaks out in goosebumps and you hum happily, feeling him work his way up your body. Clint reaches your lips, kissing you passionately as his cock presses to your core. You arch into him. 

He lines himself up with your center, the head of his cock swiping up and down a couple times before he starts to press in. You gasp at the intrusion. No matter how many times the two of you have fucked, the sheer size of him is always enough to cause your jaw to drop. 

“Breathe, baby,” Clint says with a smirk as he continues working his way inside. “Oh, thatta girl,” he continues as he sees your chest rise and fall with your deep breath. 

“Mm..feel so good..” you mumble out, closing your eyes as you work to accommodate his girth. 

He rolls his hips to push the last inch inside of you, and your back arches again as you wrap your legs around his sides. Clint always starts out slow, methodical. He’s been an attentive lover since the very beginning, and it’s one of the things you love most about him. 

His thick cock drags against your walls as he pulls his hips back, then pushes back into you, nudging your spongy center as he presses in again. He does this over and over, slowly, deeply, firmly. It’s enough to have your head already spinning a little. Things start to get fuzzy and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter around him with each lazy thrust. 

Clint’s hands are solid against your body, holding you beneath him as he works his way in and out. One of his hands comes beside your head, pressing into the mattress, while the other has a firm hold on your hip. His pace picks up slowly and he looks up at you. “How’s this feel, sweetheart?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel his thrusts increase in speed. The tip of his cock continually rubs against your sensitive center and you sigh as you respond, “Ohhh fuck, so good..fuck..need more..”

“More?” He’s panting now as his hips move quicker. “I can give you more, honey.” He moves onto his forearm, hovering right above you as his other hand slips between your bodies and he starts rubbing your pulsing clit. 

You didn’t realize how close you already were until the added sensation causes you to scream out as your thighs tense around him. “Oh my god, Clint!! Fuck!” 

“Yeah? That feel good?” He presses slightly firmer, keeping the same pace. He kisses you, his tongue dips into your mouth and then he pulls back just slightly while his lips brush yours. 

“Let me feel, sweetheart…” Clint kisses you again. “Let me feel you fall apart underneath me.” 

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You’re starting to become as desperate for your own release as he is. Your hips move in rhythm with his, allowing his cock to go deeper and deeper. The pressure builds and you can hardly hear your own moans over the whooshing of the blood through your body as your orgasm peaks and you quiver underneath him. 

Clint kisses you through it, even when your mouth falls open and tears stream down your face at the sheer overwhelming sensations. He slows his pace down, careful to not overstimulate you too much. His kisses continue as he seeks his own finale. His hand moves from in between your legs to your tits. He groans as he pushes in to the hilt, squeezing your breast as he comes in thick, heavy spurts inside of you. You can’t help but raise your hips, urging him in even deeper so that you can feel him fully. 

You come down together, kissing and massaging each other before either of you even say a word. It’s quiet, intimate, just like how you want it. He’s everything you want. 

Clint’s gone when you wake up. While that’s not always typical, it also isn’t entirely out of the ordinary. There’s a note by the coffee pot saying that he is picking up the items from the bakery. He’s already brewed coffee, and you go to pour a cup, noticing that it’s cold. 

You check the clock. It’s only a little after 8 A.M. - he must have made the coffee at least a couple hours ago. Sighing, you pull out your phone, your stomach already in a tight knot as you look up the bakery and what time they open - 9 A.M. Great. There are no texts from him, no explanation as to why he left so early to grab the cake. 

This moment - the pit in your stomach, the detective work, the wondering what he’s up to - has been a defining characteristic of the relationship. And yet, Clint didn’t seem to truly understand why it was so upsetting to you. He’d reassure you over and over that he wasn’t having an affair, wasn’t even remotely interested in anyone but you, and thing was, you believed him. You never thought he’d do that to you. You saw the way he looked at you, the constant care and admiration he poured in your direction, how aroused he’d get at a mere cheek kiss, the way he’d always have his arm around you in public. All of these things were reassuring enough.

What Clint didn’t understand was that your biggest fear wasn’t him having an affair, it was him getting himself killed. It’s like the man thought he was invincible, but you’d seen enough injuries on him to know otherwise. He always just brushed it off, reassured you that he was okay and that it was ‘just a scratch’ as you watched him stitch himself. How were you supposed to be comfortable marrying and having children with a man who you weren’t sure would come home at the end of the day? 

It was an exhausting pattern. There would be weeks, sometimes even months, when he didn’t get into any scuffles or dangerous situations. Sometimes his jobs were easy and just required him to pick up money or check-in on a debt. When that business was slower, he’d pick up shifts as a bouncer at the club down the street. Those were the nights you could actually sleep without him being home. But these lulls never lasted long and before you knew it, you’d be fighting all over again about his ‘work.’ 

When Clint returns home an hour later, you’re finishing up cleaning from the breakfast you had cooked yourself. He walks in, kicking off his shoes and glancing into the kitchen. He has a tentative smile as he approaches you. His hand comes to your lower back as you’re rinsing the pan you just washed. 

“Good morning, baby.” He leans forward, kissing your cheek. 

You oblige, offering a quaint smile and a simple ‘good morning’ in return as you pull back from the sink and dry your hands on the kitchen towel looped over the oven handle. There’s a tension in the room, as though Clint knows that you’re upset, that you know that he lied. Neither of you say anything. 

Instead, you sit on the couch with the cake tasting supplies laid out on the coffee table in front of you. It takes a moment to warm up to it, but then it’s fun. It brings out the best parts of both of you as you chat about the flavors, laugh, and kiss between bites. Being with Clint is easy. He makes it easy. 

By the end of the tasting, all that’s left is a small tub of buttercream. The cake was delicious and you’re relieved that you and Clint agree on the flavors. He kisses you, lingering buttercream still on his lips that you lick off as you deepen the kiss. 

The initially sweet kiss quickly devolves into a sloppy makeout involving tongues, wandering hands, and needy grinding. You mewl into his mouth as you feel his bulge press between his legs and within a moment, he’s pulling down your shirt, revealing your bare breasts that are now seated above the neckline of your shirt. He kisses away from your lips, down your neck, chest, and then sucks your nipples into his mouth, one at a time, moving between the two like he’s trying to split his attention. It has you bucking up into him, needing him more and more as each second passes.

He pulls away for a moment, eliciting a whine from you as he reaches over to the table, dipping his fingers into the buttercream. He brings his digits to your bare tits, swiping the buttercream across both of your nipples with a mischievous smile as he looks up at you. Your eyes are wide, anticipating what’s to come and eager to feel his mouth on you. 

His tongue moves in slow strokes as he licks the icing off your nipples. Your fingers push through his hair, holding him gently as you toss your head back, enjoying the sensation. He takes his time, sucking them completely clean when he’s finished, and then he lowers himself down your body, eating your needy pussy just the way you crave. 

By the time you both are done, nearly two hours have passed and you’re both satiated and tired. You take a mid-day nap together, and for just a bit, everything feels right. It reminds you of why you’re with Clint, why you chose him, and why you plan to marry him in just six months.

Clint knows, as he sips his coffee at the diner, that what is going to happen in this meeting will be less than desirable. He doesn’t acknowledge Jason when he enters the diner, just continues with his coffee. The diner is fairly busy for a Thursday evening. He spots what looks to be a bowling league taking up most of the bar seating. 

He’s in a booth toward the back. The light above his particular table is flickering, setting an uneasy ambience that feels just slightly too on the nose for the meeting that’s about to happen. There’s a jukebox to his right with a couple teenage girls skipping through the various track options. One of them keeps popping her pink bubblegum, and Clint does what he can to not give her a dirty look with each pop that causes him to glance over. His eyes raise slightly as Jason slides into the booth. 

“Hey Clint,” he says, his voice laced with either exhaustion or exasperation, Clint can’t quite tell. 

Regardless, Clint doesn’t say anything, just sets his mug down and leans back, waiting for whatever the hell it is that Jason has to say to him. It doesn’t come quickly. The waitress spots a new addition to Clint’s table, making her way over and topping off Clint’s mug as she asks the other man what he’d like. He orders a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke, and the waitress gives an empty smile as she retreats to put in his order. 

Finally, when it’s just the two of them again, Jason starts. 

“So uh, The Guy said you didn’t finish the job.” Jason reaches over and thumbs the small container of sugar packets as he talks. 

In the meantime, Clint has inserted a toothpick into his mouth, subtly chewing on it as he responds, “Bullshit. Job’s done.” 

Jason shakes his head and says tauntingly, “Nuh, uh, uh…there’s another guy.” 

“The hell you mean, another guy?” Clint’s paying attention now, already angry and preparing to dispute whatever comes next out of Jason’s mouth. 

“There’s another guy.” Clint rolls his eyes as Jason speaks. His posture is stiff and stoic, but inside his guts are churning. 

Jason continues, “The money’s all there, but I guess there was a witness.” He looks up at Clint, wagging his finger side to side as he says, “tsk, tsk,” under his breath. “Now whoever this guy is has threatened to go to the cops if he’s not paid off.” 

Clint shakes his head, “Not my fuckin’ problem.” He takes a sip of his coffee but can’t ignore the churning in his gut. 

“Well, it’s about to be.” Jason is interrupted by his food coming out. He gives a nod to the waitress then looks back at Clint. “Your mess to clean up, man. Afraid there’s not a way around it.”

Clint knows there’s no point in arguing. He saves his breath and finishes his coffee, preparing to slide out of the booth. 

“You’re gonna want this..” Jason slides a small piece of paper to Clint. He takes it and pockets it without looking at him and heads out of the diner, leaving Jason to his dinner. 

The air outside smells wet, like it’s about to rain. He’s thankful for it. He hopes that maybe it will wash away the sins he’s about to commit. He thinks of you - of how much you love storms, but how the thunder still scares you. His heart aches when he realizes he won’t be there to hold you tonight. 

He’s lost count of the number of times he’s told you he’s done. He’s not even sure how many promises he’s broken at this point, but he knows it’s too many. Clint has never made a promise with the intention to break it, but he’s learned over time that he’s not great at keeping them. He holds his phone in his hand, debating on just telling you the truth, but he knows how upset you’ll be. He doesn’t want you worrying. 

Eventually, he settles on texting you that he is wrapping things up with The Guy and will be home by morning. He leaves out what he’ll be doing and that this is indeed another job he’s taking. He doesn’t feel right as he sends the text, sitting in his car with a lit cigarette as he looks out across the dash. Then your response comes through, and he somehow feels even worse. 

You already know how I feel. Do with that what you will.

It doesn’t feel like a scolding; it feels like a warning. Clint rubs his brow and then takes another drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t have a choice. He knows there’s nothing he can say to make you feel better, so he tucks his phone back in his pocket, pulls out the piece of paper, and starts driving toward the address.

When his text comes through, it hardly phases you. Your heart sinks slightly, but in the back of your mind, you knew it was coming. It wasn’t until you registered your own lack of a reaction that you realized how little you trusted him and his words. If you chose to marry him, you’d also be choosing this life. 

There were parts of it that you loved. He’d given you all of the best moments of your life - you couldn’t deny that. But the scale was tipped too far in the other direction now. 

Tears stream down your face as you pull out your suitcases. You didn’t need everything, just enough. Everything you picked up to pack away carried weight with it. The folded clothes and jewelry felt heavy in your hands - a constant reminder of the weight of the decision you were making. 

You pull out your second suitcase and catch a glimpse of your wedding dress tucked in the back of the closet. Hand outstretched, you touch the delicate lace. The tears flow faster now, you can’t shake the image of how Clint would’ve looked at you in that dress. How do you just walk away from someone that you love so very much? 

For a few minutes, you kneel in front of the closet - one hand on the dress and the other on your suitcase. It doesn’t feel real. This can’t be the place you’re finding yourself now. You debate whether you’re making a mistake. Closing your eyes, you will your heart to choose the right thing.

It’s late when Clint parks in front of the house. He rushed the job as much as he could in order to get home before morning. He texted you a couple updates, but never heard a response other than a thumbs up emoji sent his way. 

He takes a deep breath as he approaches the front door. He’s relieved that it’s finally all over. He finished the job, told The Guy he was done, and he’s more convinced than ever before that he’s fully out of that whole mess now. Clint knew that he never should’ve gotten involved in the first place, but he needed money, it seemed easy, and when he first started, he felt like he had nothing to lose. 

That all changed the day he met you. Everything became infinitely more important and he wanted nothing but to be with you, every day. It didn’t take long for you to piece together what he did for ‘work’ and you voiced your displeasure immediately. In hindsight, Clint wishes he had tried harder to get out. But he did it. He’s done now. 

The key clicks into the lock, and he opens the door, stepping inside and taking a breath as he takes his shoes off. It’s quiet, per usual. But it doesn’t take long for something to start feeling off. Clint looks around, nothing seems out of place. He isn’t sure why his stomach is in a knot until he goes to walk upstairs and out of the corner of his eye, spots a piece of paper on the coffee table in the living room, where the two of you had just done the cake tasting.

He knows what it says in his gut before even picking it up. And yet, when he sees just two sentences written on the paper, his heart shatters. 

I love you. I did what I had to do.

It's the first time, though, that Clint is sitting so close to her, completely relaxed and comfortable, with their chairs so near that the armrests are grazing, and she feels his heat radiating on her skin. It is the first time, that she's wearing Clint's jacket, enveloped by the black leather imbued with his scent, almost drunk in the hints of cedar wood and tobacco, and his palm rests on her knee. The right one, to be precise. Big and warm enough to feel it through the fabric of her light blue jeans. Heavy, sketching abstract shapes with his thumb and squeezing her flesh every couple of seconds, as if he wanted to remind her of his presence, while he talks with Frank, one of the oldest neighbours in the building. It's driving her insane. Completely and absolutely.

Clint’s touch. His behaviour. The last couple of hours. The entire situation. It’s bewildering.

How had she ended up like this? It's a good question. One really easy to answer, and at the same time, not.

Her day had begun nicely, as she favours on the weekends, waking up early enough to welcome it, slowly, wrapping herself with her favourite dressing gown -a light blue silk decorated with an aquamarine, pink, and mauve flowery print, now that the spring has fully arrived, and indulging in a fancy breakfast of French toast, eggs, and a big cup of tea while reading for a little while.

The rest of the day? It's a whole different story. 

It's her fault, honestly. Her own stupidity. Not that she's going to acknowledge it anytime soon. She's not ready for it. At all. It's much easier to guilt someone else, to settle for an answer that includes two words she has used many times before: her mother. And not admit that her rash decision is the cause of it.

She and Clint had only been neighbours until today, still are, theoretically. The usual kind of neighbours, and maybe a bit of a cliché, one that she liked a lot, and still does. The kind that allowed a friendship to grow between them while helping each other, usually with Clint fixing things around her apartment and she taking care of Valentina when he had to work. A friendship that bloomed between shared silent understanding, fitting perfectly in the spaces between them, and showed her the gentle and respectful man he was beneath his hard shell. Goofy and intelligent. Able to make her smile and laugh with a few words. The man she had started to daydream about. Long for. Mused how it would be if they nurtured something further, deeper, but forced herself to disregard as unattainable, to encase him under the title of ‘friend’ after he had shared his past, his grief, and resolve to focus on his daughter. 

What they have never been is this: two people who date, who are in a relationship, and touch each other with intent, who are part of an us. 

She had been helping to set up the folding tables she and the other residents in the building kept in the roof storage room for the barbecues they liked to celebrate once the spring provided warm and sunny days. While Clint helped to ignite the fire, and Valentina played with the other children when her mom arrived with Marcus at the neighborhood get-together. Shattering her peace.

Inviting her mother had not been her preference, but after she had mentioned her weekend plans during one of their coffee dates, conscious that she would be alone, Nia had felt pressured to ask her to come. Reluctant but ready to accept her mother's presence, heedless that she would trap Nia like this.

Her awareness settled as soon as she saw Marcus: her childhood nemesis, the next-door neighbor who had stuck gum in her hair when they were eight years old and taken joy in ridiculing her for years during high school.

Marcus had come up the last time she had seen her mother. He had been living with his parents for a couple of months after coming back from Philadelphia. Her mom had lauded his intelligence, good manners, and bright future in his career, stating how much he had changed, or at least she wanted to believe, after declaring him a perfect candidate for her daughter. But a glimpse of Marcus had been enough to reaffirm Nia’s opinion of him. She still finds him slimy, too arrogant and snobbish, too worried about the money, and with a leering gaze that makes her uncomfortable.

Nia hadn’t planned the words she had blurted to her mother. There had been no whiff of premeditation on her lie, just a mix of dread and fear, topped with a good ounce of foolishness, at the blind date she saw herself being cornered into with Marcus.

She had freaked out as her mom reintroduced them with an obvious purpose. Clamouring before her mom could say anything else, that she and Clint had started dating recently and had expected to use the barbecue to introduce him officially. Aware that she's mentioned Clint enough in her mom's presence to expose her feelings more than she would have preferred. Crossing her fingers that it would be enough to make her confession credible enough to survive her mother's scrutiny.

And if her predicament isn’t difficult enough, there's Clint, the cause of her perplexity, whom she still has to find a moment to apprise him of his involvement in her deception, and yet, he's behaving like the perfect boyfriend.

"Hey," Clint murmurs, squeezing her knee a little harder than he's been doing to get her attention, halting her reverie. "Frank says that Ms Jacobs has a bicycle from her grandson. It's still in good shape. He didn't use it much, and it's the size Valentina needs." 

"Oh," she hums, aware of the girl's desire for a big girl bicycle, and her father's wish to gift her one on her sixth birthday. Gripping the armrest to restrain herself from reaching for him and covering his hand with hers. "That's great."

"Yeah," he nods, standing, leaving her bereft without his warmth. "Frank thinks he can take advantage of her good mood and help me convince her to sell it to me. You ok with keeping an eye on Valentina?”

"Of course." There's mirth in both of their eyes, remembering Ms Jacobs moody temperament. She's a good woman, but her character is strict.

"You know..." Clint starts, lowering his head to her level, stealing her breath, forcing her grip on the plastic chair to harden to keep herself in place, and not scratch his scruff with her nails, as he whispers in her ear, not keen on being overheard, "Frank calls her Minnie."

"What?" The surprise is evident in Nia's voice as she regards Clint. Her hand shields her mouth as she giggles at what Clint has revealed and his waggling eyebrows as he starts to walk away, following Frank. She's not an avid gossiper, but as far as she knows, very few people are allowed to call Ms Jacobs by her first name, Minerva. Neither she nor Clint are among those. And to call her by a nickname? There must be much more between those two that they let anyone know.

She's staring at Clint's back as he crosses the rooftop, bewitched by his broad shoulders and pert ass framed by his dark-washed jeans. So focused on solving the riddle, deciphering the motive fueling his demeanour, questioning what has changed between them to prompt all the actions she has accepted through the day, flustered, praying that her acting has been credible, that her reactions have been genuine as she built their façade with careful phrases, not using any word that would explicitly frame their connection and make Clint demand an explanation, so her secret remained concealed. Wondering if it's him extending an offer for something more, being exhilarated at the chance, that she doesn't hear her mom until she's sitting in the chair Clint has just vacated. 

“You shouldn’t be so obvious," her mother warns her, breaking Clint's spell on her. "It gives men power if they see your attachment to them.” 

"Where’s Marcus?" Nia asks, trying to deflect the unsolicited wisdom imparted, rubbing Valentina’s back to have an excuse not look at her mother.

"He left a while ago. I think he got a booty call. His excuse was too flimsy to be believable," her mother muses, obviously disgruntled at his conduct.

“Mom!?" Her reproach has no power, drowned by the laugh at her mother's cheek.

"What I’m just being honest." She smirks, sharing her daughter's mirth. But not completely; her cheer is tainted by a hue of regret. 

“I’m sorry. I really thought Marcus had changed," her mom says, holding her hand. "I know I’m a bit pushy sometimes. I just want you to have the best. To be happy and have a good man by your side. It's what I have always wanted, since the first time I held you in my arms."

She knows that. And she loves her mother for that, for loving her unconditionally, and always ensuring she had everything she needed, even when things were hard, and being a single mom added more challenges. 

They have always had different goals when men are on the table, though. Economical security, even some level of wealth, has always been a must on her mother's checklist, but while appreciated, it has never been on hers. She understands her mother, the struggle she had to face when she got pregnant with her, but her well-intentioned and misplaced views won't be something she will acquiesce with to appease her.

"Clint is not what I envisioned for you. But a man who is so committed to raising his daughter, and does such a wonderful job, is a good one." 

Clearly, Clint isn't her mother's ideal. He is too old. Too rugged. Too scarred. And on top of that, he works as a mechanic at an auto shop five blocks down their street. She had seen her mom’s displeasure as soon as she had seen him. But of course, Valentina had been the key to earning her mother's blessing.

Nia has never said it out loud, but her mother is aware of her uneasiness about children in general, about having her own, and how Valentina could be her only shot at having a granddaughter. Children have never been her thing. As a teenager, she took any part-time job open to avoid babysitting. Valentina is the exception to her rule. She had pushed Nia, not accepting a no for an answer, until they had become thick as thieves; she makes it easy. 

"And he seems really doting," her mother adds, praising his constant attention to her through the day, unaware of Nia's inner turmoil, sentencing her.

She had thought telling her mom about their breakup in a month or two would be easy; that she could simply mutter some incompatibility issues and leave their fake dating stint at that. But now, how can she after this? After getting the approval, she tried to convince herself that she didn't need or aspire to.

She has truly outdone herself.

Gosh. 

She's fucked.

"Mom, we just started dating.” She tries to placate her. But it doesn’t work; her mother knows her too well.

"And you're already in love with him." Nia tries to rebuff her, but her mom halts her, raising her palm. "Don't even try to deny it. You're my daughter. I know you. It's written all over your face."

Her mouth is open, but her tongue finds no excuse, no way to deny her mother before Clint comes back, interrupting their conversation, being her salvation.

"How was it?" She asks him, needing a distraction.

"Good. New tires and a coat of paint, and it will be as good as new."

She raises her eyebrow at Clint, the corners of her mouth beginning to curl upwards as he gazes at him, knowingly.

"Yes. I know, fire red with purple pompoms on the handlebars. Jesus, I don’t understand my kid's color taste," he grumbles, fondness permeates every word, making Nia chuckle with their inside joke.

"I just have to be at Ms Jacobs’ door tomorrow at noon, on the dot. Not a minute earlier or later." 

"It’s ok. I’ll make you a batch of my peanut butter cookies; they will help you ease your quest. She loves them." Or that's the conclusion she had reached after watching Ms Jacobs eat five of them on a row from the stack she had baked for today.

Her mom's stare beckons Nia to look at her. It forces her to witness the smugness in her mother's eyes, as if the brief exchange between Clint and her, how easily they had slipped into their bubble, forgetting about her mother's presence, is the proof of what she had previously stated.  

“Yes. Anyway…" She starts, needing space, feeling too exposed under her mother's sharp eyes. "I think Valentina needs her bed. She’s had a long day.” 

"It’s time for me to go too. Clint, it was a pleasure to meet you. You and Valentina should join us for dinner next Sunday. "

He lifts Valentina into his arms before Nia rises from the chair, accepting her mother's invitation as his palm rests on her lower back once she's standing beside him. Nia shivers at their closeness, as he tilts his face towards her, pressing his lips to her forehead and inhaling her scent as he kisses her.

A forehead kiss, an honest-to-God forehead kiss. Not rushed or an afterthought. Not another first between them or a fraud. It's the kind of kiss that lingers, done a thousand times but still relishes in the contact, the intimacy shared for a spell. Three seconds that threaten to stop time. She counts them as she leans on him, biting her lip to swallow the sigh coiling in her throat and grabbing his elbow to ground herself, yearning for more.

The farewells happen fast after that. She’s too focused on herself, dizzy, still reeling from the kiss and the hunger she had seen mirrored in Clint's irises when he had moved backwards, to care about her mother right now. And how her offer for dinner seals her sentence.

The small talk between them dies down once she and Clint are alone. Her mother makes her journey down the stairs while they stay on their floor. Silence settles between them quickly as they cross the hallway towards their apartments.

The day had passed in a flash, full of good food, laughter, and joy. And Clint had been the best part and a curse at the same time. 

They had clicked together, as always. Easy, effortlessly. 

He had been perfect. Caring as he always is with her, but with a newfound liberty, he had seemed not only happy with but surprisingly greedy for. Polite with her mom, but not trying to impress her, just being himself, focused on her. Being near her constantly, without being overbearing or controlling, sharing the space with her, bringing her drinks and food, gazing at her with fondness in his chocolate brown eyes. Caressing her arms, her back, and holding her hand, teasing her, softly sweeping a strand of her hair behind her ear, flustering her, acting like a boyfriend.

Exposing the undeniable truth she's been ignoring for far too long: she had fallen for him. Slowly, intensely, and so deeply that it stole her breath.

And now, after getting a proper taste, a glimpse of what she has been craving for, what it could be to have a relationship with him, to call him his and be hers, a hope for a future for them, she can't fit him back in the box she created for him anymore. She doesn't want to.

"We can tell your mother that Valentina got sick at the last moment," Clint offers her, fracturing the stillness surrounding them. Anxious at how tense she had become, her back straight as steel under his hand, as they walked, worried that he had overstepped.

His words, sharp and definitive, reverberate against the walls, cutting her soul as their meaning settles, and the truth obliterates her desire.

It had all been fake. 

“There’s no need to keep doing this, Clint. We’re already alone,” she states, with harshness, flinching away from his touch, furious with herself for believing his actions meant more, for being so naive, needing space to think, to breathe. Ignorant of the pain bleeding in Clint's expression, as if she had physically hurt him with the sudden hostility in her tone.

“Of course.”

Clint leaves her there, standing in the middle of the corridor, as he goes inside his apartment to put Valentina into bed. 

She follows him, needing to know the truth as the pieces click in her mind and her questions, the reason behind his behaviour, his lack of surprise at her mother's demeanour, get answered, dirtying every caress and tenderness he had bestowed on her.

“When did you know?” She mutters, not looking at him, mortified at being caught doing something so childish, ripping the bandaid in one painful yank, “Gosh, I’m so ashamed,” covering her eyes with her hands.

“As soon as you came to me,” he admits, honestly, she’d even dare to say flustered, picking up her curiosity. “Fuck, I thought I was facing a jury ready to sentence me to death when you introduced me to your mother. I didn’t understand it at first. But between what you’ve told me about her and the man she brought," his hand goes to his neck, betraying his nervousness," and, uh... how tense you were, almost hiding behind me…”

Clint shrugs his shoulders, saying the rest with his expression, connecting the last puzzle pieces. And her anger deflates. 

It had been Clint protecting her, being her friend.

“No, I…” She tries, but there’s no force in her voice.

“You don’t know how to lie, sweetheart. At least to me,” he says, coming closer to her, crowding her, blazing her with his regard, the twirl of feelings shimmering in his irises he's allowing her to behold for the first time.

“I’m sorry.” The whisper slips from her lips as she bites them, suddenly nervous at the growing tension in the room. 

“Why?”

“I put you in this mess.”

“Why did you do it?” He asks again, not satisfied with her answer, cognizant that there's more to unravel. But she stares at the floor, refusing, attempting to hide from him, until he caresses her jaw, gently grasps her chin, and tugs, seeking her eyes, and threatens to break her resolve. She doesn't relent, centering her sight on his plaid shirt, till his plea persuades her, “Your words, Sweetheart.”

He always craves them. He doesn’t mind waiting for them. Never gets impatient or tries to force them out of her before she's ready to express them.

"I trust you," she confesses, "to have my back, to be respectful, to not take advantage of me", she keeps going in her mind, gasping at his reaction, how he has heard what she hasn't revealed, and the evident desire as his pupils dilate. 

“So, Marcus?”

She snorts. “He stuck a bubble gum in my hair in middle school and ridiculed me during high school. He was a bully. We were never friends.”

“People change,” Clint offers, memorizing every inch of her as the weight of the moment settles between his ribs.

“Yeah, well…” 

“Well, what?” He prods, not releasing his hold on her chin, looking at her with an intensity that sparks butterflies in her belly, igniting her soul.

“Maybe I’m already interested in someone else.” Clint’s palpable lust, the obvious want he's unleashed, feels like a hum of energy moving through her, giving a new pair of wings to the hope she's been feeling, emboldening her as her body starts to buzz with anticipation, confident, exhilarated, urged to take a leap of faith, take what Clint is offering.

“Mmmm… “ Clint runs his thumb along her jaw as he hums, making her shiver.

“Why did you do it?” It’s her turn to push. She's no longer scared. She's avid for his response as giddiness and excitement pulse through her veins. 

“You needed help.”

“Only because of that?” She whispers as he presses his forehead to hers, and Clint's stomach flips.

His hands travel to her hips, pressing Nia against him as Clint shakes his head.

“And Grace?” Nia’s concern is tangible and understandable. Giving in to what has been developing between them won't be a tumble between the sheets; it demands a relationship, a shift they won't be able to step back from.

Losing Grace had destroyed him, almost to the point of no return. It had taken him years to navigate his grief, glue the pieces of his heart, and reach a point where loving his wife didn't devastate him anymore, while struggling with the terror of raising his daughter alone, of hurting her, that overwhelmed him constantly.  

He hadn't expected to be blessed again to find a soul capable of drawing a smile on his countenance and making him yearn for the intimacy of a partner.

Nia had sneaked between the cracks before he realized it. Loving her, falling for her, hadn't been hard and fast, the whirlwind romance he had with Grace, getting married six months after knowing each other. This time, it had been slow and steady. Taking years. Effortless. Natural, a privilege Clint couldn't regret even if it awoke an oppressive stream of guilt, and a sense of betrayal for Grace during the months when he had realized his feelings.

Clint had been ready to stay at a distance, happy to be her friend and bask in Nia’s presence and attention, but not beg for anything else, finding himself unworthy, too damaged for her light. Afraid to risk what they already had, when she had never shown any interest in coveting more. Until a couple of hours ago, when she changed the rules.

It had been easy to understand her intentions, to see in her panic what she needed him for. Clint hadn't thought about it, just acted, backing her up, ready to be her shield and support her, oblivious of how, once finally at peace with his past, the mirage of having her would do to him. It had ruined him, freeing his yearning, his desire. He’d become greedy. Of Nia's fragrance, the spicy blend of her perfume sweetened with the strawberry shampoo she uses, her curves, her affection, the way she fit perfectly against his body, the way she shivered under his touch, and beckoned him to caress every inch of her skin and discover her taste. 

"I’m ready for more. For you," Clint reassures her. There will be more to explain, but for now, this is enough. And the resurfacing mischief in Nia's irises is proof of that. 

“So, your behaviour was not so fake?” She keeps whispering, nuzzling their noses together, shaping her question against his lips, relishing in the growl she thieves from him, sensing it in her palms, resting on his chest.

Clint surrenders to her demand; he's powerless to resist her, pressing his lips to Nia's, baring himself to her, inviting her to take what she wants. 

Nia purrs, kissing him deeper, meeting him with the same fervour, raising one hand to bury her fingers in his hair, while the other tugs at his shirt, seeking his skin, his chest, the hair she's seen peek from his neckline. Swallowing the sigh, Clint grunts, giving himself to her, licking her lips, teasing them to open for him, as his hands knead her buttocks. Nia shudders, sliding her tongue to Clint's mouth, lust burning through them as the kiss turns heated and lewd, chasing each other's taste, wet and noisy.

"You sure?" He asks, voice hoarse, wrecked by their first kiss, taunting her mouth with tiny kisses, chaste compared to what they have just done. 

"Yeah," she eagerly nods. The smirk on her face promises trouble, cupping the back of Clint's neck for a second, before she starts to unbutton her blouse, looking at him with so much love and desire that it leaves him shaky as she begins to walk backwards towards his bedroom. 

His journey hasn't been easy. He will always love Grace; she was his everything. And a part of her still lives in their daughter. However there’s nothing wrong with this. 

There's nothing wrong with the future that is standing right in front of him. His heart is big enough to love Nia -deeply, faithfully, and passionately. Different from the love he shared with Grace, but just as meaningful. 

Clint follows Mia, grabbing her hips to tug her towards the bed, closing the door with a light kick of his boot, making her giggle as he starts to nibble her neck with devotion, and his scruff tickles her. Grasping this chance, finally ready for it, finally letting himself have what he's been longing for.

When you suggested Clint stay home on Valentine's Day, he was disappointed. Underneath all that tough exterior lied a kind heart. Romantic even. 

"Look, honey, I'm so tired…I just want to stay home with you, cuddle, eat pizza on the couch, and watch a movie, okay?"

He stifled a sigh in the back of his throat, shrugging in his leather jacket. 

“Whatever you say, love.” He replied.

But you saw it in his gaze, that brief moment of disappointment passing silently, just a quick movement of his pupils downward and a micro-wrinkle at the corner of his eye.

You huffed, "Work is really hellish these days. Speaking of which, I'd better go." You kissed him briefly on the mouth, hissing immediately after, "Damn," separating yourself from him and slipping away from his hands that were already wrapped around your waist.

“I love you so much!” You shouted, heading to hallway, grabbing your purse and sprinting out the door right away. 

Clint leaned against the kitchen counter, finishing his coffee. The house was quiet, empty, a stack of papers fluttering under the open window in the living room. Flap flap flap. Clint walked over and closed the window with a dull thud. He was slightly frustrated. He had planned a romantic dinner at your favorite restaurant and a jazz club for after dinner.

The kind of things you did at the beginning of your relationship, long before you got married. He missed those moments a bit, and not because his enthusiasm for you had waned. Your relationship was solid, just a little stuck in a rut. Work was always on your mind, you often even worked from home. You'd come in carrying your clients' folders, huffing and puffing under that ton of weight.

Clint stopped being a henchman thanks to you. He got his life together, paid off his debts, and found a real job.

You had made him want to be a better man, and he would never forget that. He owed you a lot, so this year, your fifth year together, he wanted it to be a special Valentine's Day. Last year, he had caught a stupid flu right around that time.

He had spent the whole day in bed, coughing and sneezing, using up two boxes of tissues. Not exactly sexy. You didn't complain, you made him chicken soup and watched a movie with him before giving him his medicine. He fell asleep at 9 o'clock like a baby. 

He would have liked to treat you like a queen this year,

He left the house and drove to work. Curiously, he had become the head of security for a large company. And this was thanks to your connections; the boss was one of your college friends. 

No more gangs, no more threats, no more fistfights in alleys.

Just a clean, regular life together with the love of his life, you.

“Honey, will you go pick up the movie from the video store?” He read on his phone in the middle of the afternoon.

He replied immediately, “Yes, sweetheart, don't worry.”

“Thanks. I promise I'll be home by six. And no files today, just you.”

He smiled at the screen as he typed, “I can't wait, baby, I want to see you in that lingerie I got you for your birthday. I'll rip it off with my teeth.”

He could see you at your desk, giggling sheepishly, one hand over your mouth, your clit doing a little jump in your panties.

It was a delightful image.

“Clint! I have to be in a meeting in five minutes!”

“I could say I'm sorry, but I won't. I miss you.”

“Me too, I can't wait for tonight. Pick something spicy for us to watch together, okay? You know what I like.”

Oh, he knew very well.

“Sure. I won't disappoint you. See you later, love.”

After all, staying home wasn't so bad.

“What are you doing, Flood?” his colleague asked him as he smiled at the phone without looking at the monitors.

“None of your business, Ralph,” he replied jokingly.

He liked Ralph, he was a good guy, level-headed and a hard worker.

“I guess you're only thinking about your lady today, huh? Hot Valentine's Day coming up?” Ralph glanced at him sideways, one eye on the monitor, his hand fishing in a large bag of chips.

“No comment.” Clint chuckled, “and give me a chip, after all, I'm still your boss.”

He didn't really consider himself anyone's boss, and Ralph knew it. He handed him the bag, teasing him, “Whatever you say, boss.”

Clint left work at 5. Getting into his car, he lit a cigarette, a habit he hadn't yet kicked, despite trying nicotine patches and gum. A cigarette after a long day at work, after sex, after coffee. His fingers felt empty without it. You didn't disdain it either, but only occasionally.

 He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke, picturing the scene that awaited him at home. You, dressed only in the balconette bra and thong he had chosen for you. 

His cock swelled in his pants. He smiled, taking another long drag before starting the engine and turning around to reverse, one arm behind the passenger headrest, cigarette tucked safely between his lips.

What Clint finds sexy about you is the way you carry yourself, really. You're beautiful, but that's not all. There's a sweetness about you that's uniquely yours, combined with dedication, intelligence, a great sense of humor, and empathy. He loves that you're not only his wife but also his best friend. You could talk for hours without getting tired. And you listen, you really listen.

And this feeling of being completely understood and accepted is the most seductive thing of all. 

He stopped the car in front of the video rental store, humming “I wanna be the one” which was playing on the radio.

A little corny perhaps, but it made him think of you.

He got out of the car, pushed open the door, and headed to the counter.

He's known the guy at the video rental store for years; you and he were regular customers. 

Actually this is where you two met the first time. You were renting Stand by me and he walked behind you searching for Alien. 

He asked you if it was good and you shouted “oh my god, you’ve never seen that?”

“Came out last year, darling, I’m the slow type” he blurted and you laughed “that’s not exactly what a girl wants to hear” 

He picked up your joke immediately, couldn’t do anything else the moment your silvery laugh made his stomach churn. 

“Slow can be good” he prodded 

“Yeah? In which field exactly?” 

Clint risked it all, he didn’t fear making a fool of himself, you put him at ease just standing there, watching him amused, the fact that you were enjoying the conversation written all over your face.

“Kissing, for example.” 

You tilted your head, thinking about it and smiled softly whispering “true”. 

And just like that, Clint knew he was a goner. 

So yeah, he knew the place like the palm of his hand. 

He rarely ventured behind the red curtains lately, but when it happened, he did it with pleasure. Watching them with you was much more fun than doing it alone, especially when you stopped halfway and knelt between his legs or straddled him impatiently, too horny to wait for the end. 

He waited nervously in front of the empty counter, picking at the skin around his thumbnail, but no one appeared from the back.

“Uh, weird,” he thought, “where the hell is he?”

The owner was a bizarre guy who enjoyed telling him trivia about all the movies he rented. Sometimes he quizzed him, and Clint couldn’t answer a third of the questions, but the guy was nice, so he played along. 

“Is anyone there?” he said aloud at last.

Silence.

No kids messing with the tapes, no girls browsing the romantic comedy section. He seemed to be the only living soul in the place.

Suddenly, he heard someone moving behind him and locking the door.

“Hank?” he called out, turning around.

It was you.

Gorgeous, in a black silk robe.

“Honey? What are you doing here?!” he asked, bewildered, as he felt a smile instantly curving his lips.

You approached him, swaying on high heels, your voluminous hair falling over your shoulders.

He was breathless, even after all these years.

“I was waiting for you” you purred.

Your arms wrapped around his waist. “Would you be my Valentine?” you whispered, looking at him through your eyelashes, your eyes sparkling with desire.

“What'd you do, did you kick Hank out?” He joked, toying with the strap on your gown. 

“I just asked him to rent me the place for tonight.” 

“On Valentine’s Day?! Damn, you must have lost him quite a few customers.”

“I paid for it. A lot.” You stated, your knuckles running down his stubble, the other hand making its way underneath his shirt. 

“Clint…” you cooed “this is where we met for the first time, remember?” 

“Of course I do,” he smiled, drinking in your charming gaze. 

“I wanted to do something special” 

“Aw, darling” 

“I saw you were a little disappointed this morning… didn’t expect that, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, you fooled me so hard” 

“Happy now?” You smiled, prodding him. 

“More than you know, baby” 

He kissed you right there, in the middle of the shop, your chest flushed against his, his hands flying to your ass, squeezing it just right. 

Your lips parted instantly giving him full access to your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours, tangled in a dance that left both of you breathless. 

“I've set up a little private spot for us.” You winked at him, taking him by the hand.

Passing through the red curtains of the adult section, Clint saw that you laid down a blanket between the shelves.

He chuckled, looking at your face full of anticipation for his reaction.

He then spotted some candles and a bottle of champagne, nicely placed near the blanket.

“Honey, this is...”

“Cheesy?”

“I would say kinky…and beautiful, just like you” he corrected you, big paw wrapped around your waist. 

Clint pulled you toward him, laughing, his hand on the small of your back.

“You're incredible, Mrs. Flood.”

“You're not bad yourself,” you whispered in his ear, before moving along his pulse point in a trail of kisses, your hands slipping off his leather jacket.

 You didn’t  even wait for him to unbutton his shirt, you just popped out every single button, small piece flying all over, your hand running over his chest. 

“Jesus, girl!” Clint let out, voice all raspy and hoarse. 

You were surrounded by a thousand eyes staring at you from the covers of the videos on the shelves, but he only had eyes for you.

“Show me what's underneath.” he urged you, his hand running over the silk, down your side, grabbing one side of your knotted belt, pulling it playfully.

What he saw once the robe fell to the floor was exactly what he expected.

You struck a mischievous pose, a wide smile on your face. 

Your curves embraced in black lace, the thong sinking deliciously into your hips, your breasts spilling out of your balconette bra. 

“My God…” he exhaled, feeling his cock pushing against the seam of his jeans. 

He pulled you by the arm, bringing you closer to him.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

You giggled, teasing him, “Flatterer...” and then your voice lowered to a sensual whisper, “Fuck me,” your fingertips caressing the scar on his cheek, one of the few tangible traces of his previous life.

Clint felt goosebumps rising on your skin under his touch.

“Whatever you want, honey,” he replied, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your nipples. 

He licked his lips, his mouth watering as he lowered himself, sucking on one of your buds.

Your hand instinctively reached for his dark curls, buried there you pull gently, letting out a moan as his tongue circles your areola.

“Mmm yes, baby, keep going”

Clint's teeth grazed your nipple before his mouth closed around it, sucking greedily before moving on to the other one.

He made you arch your back, pushing your breast into his mouth as a shiver ran through your entire body. 

The scent of your soft skin filled his nostrils, sweet, warm, familiar. 

Even though he knew every inch of your body, he never ceased to marvel at how perfect it was. 

“Could suck on your tits all day…” he rasped 

Your hand rested on his shoulder, gently pushing him down further.

He grunted, “do you want to see me on my knees, isn’t it, honey?” his fingers hooking into the sides of your thong, pulling it down with him in one swift motion as you moaned a “yes”.

His eyes were level with your pussy now, his knees planted on the linoleum floor, the smell of your arousal wafting through the air.

His cock protested in his pants, pushing to be freed, he felt rivulets of precum sliding down his shaft.

With two fingers, he parted your lips, licking a long strip up to your clit, teasing you. 

His beard brushed against your folds as he pressed his lips against your bundle of nerves. 

Clint loved to take his time with you, alternating between sucking and licking, patiently, feeling you get wet little by little. He loved to feel your body tense, your clit swelling against his tongue, increasingly loud moans escaping from the back of your throat.

He loved to feel you throbbing, dripping onto his chin.

“Such a needy girl…” he smirked, gently biting on the tender flash on your inner thigh stammering right after “you’re so pretty like that, all wet and messy for me”

One of his hands cupped the curve of your ass, while the other tightened around your thigh. He sucked your clit into his mouth, you gasped, your hips bucking as he held you in place. 

“Fuck” you whined

He pulled away from you, slapping your clit, then immediately massaging it as you gasped in surprise.  “You’re good, baby” he whispered, a trail of kisses under your navel before wetting two of his fingers with his spit. 

He prodded at your entrance, slowly gliding his fingers inside, curling them to reach your special spot, his lips latched on your clit, sucking. 

He moved gently, pressing once, twice, three times, until your body tensed. He increased the pace, your clit spasming on his tongue, until he felt you clamp down on his fingers, trapping them in a warm, wet grip.

He didn't stop licking as the orgasm washed over you, holding you steady as your knees went weak.

Your moans filled the room, Clint fondled your folds until he felt you calm down. 

“You did so good for me, baby” you moaned, as you stroked his dark curls. 

Clint loved seeing that expression on your face, dreamy, completely enraptured with pleasure, but still eager for more. 

He took his shoes off, kicking them. 

“Ride me, baby” he murmured and your hands immediately flew to his pants, fiddling with his belt.

It fell to the floor with a dull clang as you unzipped his fly and slipped your hand into his boxers.

Your warm hand wrapped around his shaft, while the other pulled down his pants, which bunched around his ankles.  

He took them off by stepping on them. You looked him in the eyes as you stroked his cock. “You're so hard...” you grinned, before gently pushing him down onto the blanket.

He lay down, feeling the soft blanket on his back, as he lifted his hips slightly to allow you to remove his boxers.

You unhooked your bra, biting your lip in anticipation, staring at his hard, throbbing cock.

“Come here, baby.” 

You straddled him, taking his length in your hand and pushing it towards your entrance.

The feeling of you stretching for him was inexplicable, unparalleled. Clint felt his pulse quicken and sweat trickle down his neck as you lowered yourself onto him.

Your warm, wet walls wrapped around his cock, adjusting to make room for him. 

Clint knew he was bigger than average, but you were never scared. You took it as a challenge when he first asked if you could handle him. 

“Babe, I was made for this,” you replied, your hand stroking him over his pants. And damn, it was true.

You liked taking it in your mouth, pushing your limits, and you liked feeling it inside you even more, filling you to the brim.

You moved your hips above him, your hands resting on your chest, your tits bouncing, your eyes veiled, your mouth half-open, your disheveled hair cascading down the sides of your face. 

His hands clung to your hips, his fingers digging in as he guided your swaying motion over him. “God...” you moaned, your nails biting into his flesh.

You lowered yourself onto him, embracing him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, his stubble brushing on your delicate skin, while Clint took advantage of the new angle, thrusting inside you, reaching your g-spot again. 

His hands moved to your ass cheeks, grabbing and kneading, while your breasts slid against him with every thrust and your mouth was planted on his neck, leaving love bites on his pulse point.

“Oh my God,” you whined against his skin, “yes, right there, don’t stop,” your clit brushing onto his happy trails, wetting it. 

You drew him to you, sitting back down, your arms around his back, pulling him against you.

Your mouth sought his, nibbling his lower lip, as Clint slowed the pace a little, your hips swaying languidly against his. 

“Fuck, this is…” he growled 

“Incredible” You finished his sentence, your voice barely a whisper.

Your bodies seemed to merge together, a thin layer of sweat beaded on them, your hearts beating in unison.

It was so beautiful, holding you in his arms like that, feeling every part of you yearning for him, kissing your mouth, welcoming your moans into his, while your tongue chased his, looking into your eyes and reading the same intense desire there, your brows furrowed and that little wrinkle between them that he loved so much.

 He felt you stiffen above him, your back arching, a flash of awareness lighting up your gaze, your walls tightening around his cock. “I... I'm close,” you stammered, and he held you even tighter, reassuring you, “I know, baby, I'm here, just let yourself go.”

You closed your eyes, throwing your head back, letting yourself be overwhelmed by your second peak, your body trembling next to his, your mewls bouncing up the walls. 

In the dim light of that room, with red X lights hanging on the wall, hundreds of porn tapes on the shelves, tits, huge cocks, pussies on display, for Clint, only you and the way pleasure flooded you existed, the way your pussy pulsed around his cock, your essence sliding down to his balls, wetting both your thighs.

As unusual as that environment was, it had become your love nest. 

He exploded inside you immediately afterwards, in a sudden thrust that made you jolt, filling you, his seed coating your walls. 

Clint had never imagined he could be so happy, that he would get a second chance, that he could leave behind his life of crime, fights, and shootings.

He felt like he had no way out before he met you. It hadn't been easy to pick up the shattered pieces and rebuild himself, but you had held him close the whole way, just as you were doing now, as he emptied himself inside you. 

He collapsed onto the blanket, making you lie down on top of him, his breath short, his chest heaving.

“Fuck” he groaned, savoring the last twitches of his cock inside you, before feeling it soften and his seed drip onto his crotch.

He didn't pull out, he stayed inside, enveloped by your warmth, while you peppered his chest with little kisses, your smile spreading across his skin. “It was amazing,” you cooed. 

“It really was, baby…I love you”

You craned your neck to look up at him, your radiant smile melting his heart, and whispered, “I love you too.”

npt for the people who showed interest in this wip: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @rosharanfiction @mcthsman @ess-evo @missadangel @sawymredfox

He brings your panties to his face, pressing it against his nose and inhaling the scent of you in, his eyes rolling back when he breathes in your essence. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. "They're still so soaked."

Your fingers dig into the soft muscle of his thighs stabilizing yourself so you can slowly let the warm, heavy weight of him fill your mouth. He stretches your mouth, your throat relaxing to let him push himself deeper. He groans out a long "fuuuuuck" that makes your pussy clench as the pad of his thumb presses against the divot of your cheek as you hollow them, sucking and slurping, staring into his eyes as the joint hangs from his lips.

The straps of your dress slip down as you reach back, struggling to unzip the back of it as your mouth stays on Dieter’s cock.

A sudden woosh of chilled night air hits your heated skin when the heavy, wooden front door swings open. Your eyes widen in shock as the tall, broad-shouldered sillhouette of a man fills the doorframe.

Clint. Dieter’s ever-present shadow, his personal bodyguard, the opposite of your boyfriend. Intimidating, gruff, and serious, now stands frozen in the doorway. His face shifts from neutral professional to something darker and primal as he takes in the scene before him.

You, on your knees, Dieter’s cock in your mouth, your dress hiked up your back exposing your bare ass, while Dieter stands unabashedly naked. You immediately try to pull away, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Dieter’s hand plants against your skull firmly.

“It’s okay baby, Clint wants to see you like this. Don’t you Clint?” he asks, looking over towards the menacing force of a man. Dieter doesn’t seem to mind, a lazy smile spreads across his face as he takes another hit from the joint.

Clint steps inside, out of the shadows, closing the door behind him. “Sir,” he says gruffly, now standing so close to you, you can feel his domineering presence, smell the scent of his leather jacket mixed with heady scent of Dieter’s smoke. He doesn’t move, he just stands there, his hands planted against his belt buckle, his dark eyes focused on you.

Your pulse quickens at both men’s attention. Dieter’s grip on your hair loosens slightly, allowing you to pull away, but there’s something in the way Clint’s watching you, that holds you in place.

"See how beautiful she looks?" Dieter asks, running his thumb across your bottom lip, slick with saliva. "I've never seen anyone take me so well."

Clint takes a single step forward, then another. The heavy thud of Clint’s boots matches the heavy thud of your heart against your chest. His shadow overtakes you, you forget how to breathe around Dieter’s cock as you feel Clint’s hand grab a strand of your hair and pet it.

“She’s perfect,” Clint says, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it.

Dieter chuckles, a puff of smoke escaping his lips. "You've been watching her for months, haven't you? I've seen how you look at her when you think I don't notice."

“Mm,” Clint lowly hums an affirmative noise.

“You like watching how she sucks my cock?”

Dieter gently taps against your head reminding you to move, you obey immediately, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue.

Clint’s rough fingers thread into the hair against your scalp, joining Dieter’s, as if he can’t deny himself.

“Go ahead baby, show Clint how good you are. Show him what the pretty mouth can do.”

Both of their hands guide you along Dieter’s length. Pushing you all the way down to the base of him dark with curls, saliva pooling in your mouth as you slightly gag, your wide eyes staring up at Dieter unblinking with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he watches you deep throat his cock. Clint’s grip is firmer than Dieter’s, less forgiving, as he pushes you forward.

The marble floor is hard against your knees, but you welcome the discomfort as your thighs clench together, slick with arousal for the two men. You’re writhing, as both men pull against your hair in tandem, making you suck and slobber all over Dieter’s cock. You accept their power, moaning around Dieter's cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

“I think you like watching her,” Dieter says with a arrogant smirk. “I think she likes you watching. Don’t you baby? You like having an audience?”

You manage a small nod against their hands, writhing on your knees, hands clamped around Dieter’s thighs, trying to balance yourself as you pray for a taste of friction against your cunt.

You can feel the tension in Clint’s body without even looking at him, much different than Dieter’s unworried stature.

“Looks like you’re suffering down there, aren’t you babygirl?” Clint grits, you can feel his labored breathing behind you.

You whimper along Dieter’s cock before he pulls himself out of yout mouth. “Answer him,” Dieter commands.

“I am,” you respond breathless.

“Good girl,” Dieter praises. “Clint, you think you can take care of my girl?”

“I think I can Mr. Bravo.”

"Please,” you plead.

You feel Clint's heavy boot sliding forward between your knees, pushing them apart. The toe of it nudging at your inner thighs.

“Spread wider for me,” he commands. The gravel of his voice causes a new gush of want to spill out of your pussy.

You obey instantly, your legs trembling as you let your knees slide against the floor, widening to let Clint position his boot directly beneath you.

Hard leather presses against your cunt, a gasp leaving your lips as Clint applies just enough pressure. You feel exposed, vulnerable, caught between the man you love and his powerful bodyguard.

Clint begins to rock his foot slightly, your wetness covering the leather. You moan, grinding your cunt down, relishing in the friction from the leather.

“That's it, babygirl," Dieter encourages, his hand guiding your mouth back to his cock. "Show Clint how good you can be for both of us."

You’re dizzy between eagerly taking Dieter back between your lips as the tip of Clint’s boot rubs against your swollen pussy.

Clint’s hand tightens in your hair, his breathing growing more ragged behind you. “Look at her, she's soaking my fuckin’ boot.”

“She’s a greedy girl,” Dieter chuckles, tapping your cheek affectionately as you hollow them around him. "Aren't you, baby?”

You nod eagerly around Dieter’s cock as you look up at him with veneration. Your movie star boyfriend, too cool and calm to care that another man’s boot against your pussy is making you squirm.

“Tell her what you want to do to her,” Dieter regards to Clint, low and commanding. “She likes it when you talk.”

Clint's hand slides from your hair down to your neck, his calloused palm wrapping around your throat from behind. Not squeezing, just holding you there, reminding you of his strength as his boot continues to press against your aching center.

"I want to watch her cum on my boot first. Then I want to taste her ‘n clean her little cunt off.”

Your entire body shudders at his filthy words. A moan vibrates around Dieter’s length as Clint’s grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your pulse beat harder.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Dieter asks, his thumb tracing your stretched lips. “Another man’s mouth all over your pretty pussy.”

You nod desperately, grinding harder against Clint's boot. Your thighs tremble, dress bunched around your waist as you rock shamelessly against the leather.

"Look at her," Clint grunts. "Fucking desperate for it."

Frantically nodding, your hips swirling down, working in earnest against Clint’s boot as your mouth worships Dieter’s cock. Clint’s hand around your throat sends currents through your body, making you feel owned and possessed by both men.

“She’s close,” Dieter groans. "I can tell by the way she's sucking me. Gets sloppy when she's about to cum."

Clint increases the pressure of his boot, angling it so the hard edge presses directly against your clit. "Cum for us," he orders. "Show us what a good girl you are."

Your body responds instantly to his command, crying out around Dieter’s cock as your orgasm given to you by both men crashes into you. Your pussy gushes out against Clint’s boot as he continues to rub it against you. Your eyes rolling back as your release washes over you in overwhelming waves.

"That's it," Clint grits, his grip on your throat tightening slightly as you ride out your orgasm. "Give it to me."

Dieter pulls out of your mouth, letting you gasp and cry out properly as your body convulses. "Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he admires, stroking your hair tenderly as you collapse forward, catching yourself on your hands.

Clint moves his boot from between your legs, before he kneels behind you, gripping your hips. "Sir?" he asks, looking to Dieter for permission.

"She's all yours," Dieter says as he lazily strokes his cock, still wet with your spit. "Show her what you've been thinking about all these months."

Clint wastes no time, flipping you onto your back against the cold marble floor. He looms over you, a fire in his eyes. His usuaully stoic face is transformed with hunger, jaw clenched tight as he stares down at your disheveled form.

"Been watching you parade around in those little dresses," he says, resting his large hands on your knees. "Listening to you moan through the walls when he fucks you."

You’re heaving for air as you watch him take you in, slowly spreading your knees apart exposing your glistening pussy. Your dress is bunched around your waist, straps hanging off your shoulders, your tits spilling from the top of your low neckline.

“Look how pretty my girl is,” Dieter muses, sitting cross legged on the floor next to you, his joint still burning between his fingers as he watches. “All swollen and ready for your tongue Clint.”

Clint doesn't respond with words. Instead, he lowers himself to his knees, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider as his rough hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly off the cold marble.

“Let me taste what’s yours, sir,” Clint growls, his possessive, hot breath searing against your pussy.

“Oh god,” you whimper as Clint lowers his face between your thighs. The first dash of his tongue makes you arch your back.

While Dieter's tongue is playful and teasing, Clint's is methodical and precise, flat and firm as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Jesus,” you gasp, one hand grasping Clint’s slicked back hair while the other finds Dieter’s soft thigh beside you.

Dieter strokes your hair as he watches Clint devour you. “Let him hear how good he makes you feel. Say his fucking name for me.”

“Clint,” you moan.

Clint groans against your flesh, vibrating against your cunt. His mouth works against you with precision making your thighs quiver around his head.

“Give her more,” Dieter directs. Clint immediately obeys, sucking your clit between his lips, his large hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider as his tongue delves deeper. He's relentless and focused, his dark eyes occasionally flicking up to watch your face contort in pleasure.

"Look at her," Dieter says lazily, taking another hit from his joint as he strokes your hair. "So fucking beautiful when she's getting her pussy eaten. In fact...” Dieter says, climbing across the floor and laying down next to Clint. “Move over, share my girl with me.” Dieter grins lazily, nudging his shoulder.

It’s almost comical watching two broad shouldered men try to fit in between your thighs, your muscles burning as both men stretch each leg open with a gripping hand.

A twitch of frustration passes through Clint’s usually stoic features before it turns into lust as two tongues work against each other lapping and sliding across your pussy.

“Oh my god,” you cry, clutching Clint’s hair with one hand as the other grips Dieter’s.

It’s obscene, the wetness between your legs being shared by them both as they devour you.

“I— I can’t—“ you stammer, struggling to breathe through it. Your body twitches, trying to pull away but Clint’s firm hands hold you in place.

"Yes, you can," Dieter says, his voice commanding even though he sounds just as wrecked as you. “And you fucking will.”

The two men create a rhythm against your swollen flesh that has you writhing between them, your body suspended in their grip.

Their tongues dance around each other, sometimes meeting in the middle against your flesh. Clint’s strong hand grips your thigh with bruising intensity while Dieter’s hand softly holds your thigh, trailing his hand teasingly along your inner thigh.

You’ve never made these noises before, crying, keening and wallowing both men’s names.

"Watch," Dieter commands, and you force your heavy eyelids open to see him slide two fingers inside you while Clint focuses on your clit. The visual alone—Dieter’s soft waves of chaos mixed with Clint’s perfectly swept back hair working together between your thighs—nearly makes you cum.

"I can feel her tightening," Dieter growls. “She’s close.”

Clint responds with a deep groan that reverberates through you. His dark eyes locking with yours as his tongue works faster.

"That's it," Dieter encourages, his fingers fucking you faster. "Give it to us, baby. Let us feel you”

The pressure inside you builds. You’re caught between the two men—Dieter’s fingers stretching you open, Clint’s steady tongue, two pairs of dark brown eyes watching you, the cool marble against your hot skin. It’s all too much.

“I’m—I’m…” you moan, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, as your orgasm builds within you.

"Say our names," Dieter commands.

"Dieter," you gasp, your voice breaking. "Clint—oh god, Clint!"

The dam walls shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating force, your body arching off the floor as you’re pulled under by both men.

Dieter slides his fingers out of your quivering cunt with deliberate slowness, the wet sound echoes in the marble entryway. Your release coats his fingers, glistening in the dim light as he holds them up between himself and Clint.

"Look what she gave us," Dieter purrs as he presents his fingers to Clint. Your slick drips down toward his wrist.

Clint's usually impassive face transforms, his dark eyes fixating on Dieter's hand with an almost religious intensity. He leans forward slowly, his broad shoulders shifting between your spread legs.

"Go ahead," Dieter encourages, a lazy smile playing across his lips. "Taste what's ours."

Clint's large hand wraps around Dieter's wrist, steadying it as he leans in. His lips part, revealing the pink of his tongue before he takes Dieter's fingers into the heat of his mouth. Your breath catches at the sight—Dieter's fingers disappearing between Clint's full lips.

Clint's eyes lock with Dieter's as he sucks, hollowing his cheeks around Dieter’s fingers, just as he watched you do earlier.

Dieter groans as Clint’s tongue works between his fingers, cleaning every drop of you from his skin. You watch, enamored by the scene—big, strong and intimdating Clint sucking your boyfriend’s fingers before he releases them with a wet pop.

“She's delicious isn't she?” Dieter asks with a cocky smile.

“Better than I imagined,” he rumbles.

You’re still sprawled on the marble floor, dress in disarray, body shivering with aftershocks from your orgasm. They both watch you, your chest heaving, eyes wide, and mouth agape.

"Look at her," your boyfriend admires. "Fucking wrecked and we've barely started."

His bodyguard growls low in his throat as he rises, standing over you, his prescence large and controlling as he begins unbuckling his belt.

Dieter crawls across the floor, gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest as he sits cross-legged on the marble with you perched atop his lap. He grabs the hem of your dress lifting it over your head.

“You want to suck him, babygirl?” Dieter asks against your ear, his hands roaming your naked body. “You want to feel Clint’s cock inside your pretty mouth?”

You moan out a long yes, as Dieter’s hands cup your tits.

Clint’s eyes don’t leave yours as his hands work at his zipper, lowering his fly.

“She’s eager Clint, look how she’s watching you.”

You’re squirming on Dieter’s lap, his cock pressing hard against your lower back as he licks a line across your neck.

You feel each heavy step in your body as Clint slowly prowls over, the top of his jeans opened, the metal of his belt clinking with each step.

He stops in front of you, staring down at you. “Open,” he commands.

You instantly obey, parting your lips as he frees himself from his boxer briefs.

Fuck, he’s just like Dieter, but a little thicker and longer, with a prominent vein running along the shaft. A bead of precum glistens just for you as your tongue darts out to taste him.

Clint hisses through his teeth as you tongue at his tip, his hand immediately coming up to tangle into your hair.

"Such a good girl," Clint praises.

“She is, isn’t she?” Dieter asks, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face upward. “You like how my girl’s mouth feels?”

Clint hums an affirmative as you part your lips wider, letting him feed his cock into your mouth inch by inch. He’s heavier, more insistent than Dieter as your jaw stretches to accommodate him.

“Fuck,” Clint snarls. His stoic composure cracking as your warm mouth envelops him.

Dieter chuckles against your ear, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips. "She's good at taking cock, isn't she? Should see how she takes it in her tight little pussy."

Clint’s hips jerk forward when he feels the vibration of you moaning at Dieter’s filthy words.

He glides his cock deeper into your mouth as Dieter’s fingers trail along your body, pinching and pulling at the stiff peaks of your nipples.

You’re pinned between them again—Clint’s cock heavy on your tongue, Dieter’s cock jutting into your back.

Clint’s head tilts back, a long, low groan slipping out as he begins to fuck slowly into your mouth. “Feels so fuckin’ good,” he growls, eyes half-closed in pleasure you’re providing him. “Better than I thought it would.”

Clint’s fingers splay across the back of your head, guiding you, controlling the movement as he thrusts. He handles you with the same commanding intensity you see him excude everyday.

Each time he eases his length from your mouth, you gasp a quick breath before he fills it again.

“You like that? My pretty girl likes getting used by us?” Dieter nips at the shell of your ear.

Clint's hips rock faster, his grip on your hair tightening as he fucks into your mouth.

Dieter's hand slides down to the apex of your thighs. “Spread for me, baby,” he whispers against your ear.

You stretch out as much as you can on top of his lap. Dieter hums his approval as his fingers trail between your folds.

"Mmm, sucking Clint's cock is getting you all worked up again, isn't it?" he muses, slowly circling your clit with the pads of his fingers.

You whimper a yes around Clint’s cock, he groans above you as he looks down, watching Dieter stick a finger into your entrance. "Fuck, look at her, taking it so well at both ends."

Dieter chuckles. “The more she gets, the more she wants,” punctuating each word as he slides in and out of your tight cunt.

Muffled moans spills from your lips, vibrating against Clint’s cock as your hips jerk in Dieter’s lap.

Clint snarls, fucking into your mouth more erratic, his breathing huffing in deep breaths. The wet, obscene sounds of him fucking your mouth echo off the tile as drool drips down your chin.

Dieter trails his other hand down, drawing deep, long circles against your clit as he fucks you open with three fingers. You’re insatiable, whimpering around Clint’s cock as you writhe all over Dieter’s lap. "Cum," he demands in your ear. "Now."

You instantly cum at Dieter’s rumbling command. Your cunt clenching around his thick fingers as you orgasm. You’re pulsing electricity as both men use your body.

Your screams should be echoing across the room, but all you can do is suck and slurp against Clint’s cock as Dieter’s fingers continue pumping your overworked pussy as you shudder and shake atop his lap.

Clint pulls out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp for air. A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock, and he uses his thumb to wipe it away before pushing his thumb past your lips.

"Suck," he instructs.

You’re gasping, overwhelmed with the sensation of filling your lungs with air. Clint's thumb traces along your swollen bottom lip as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving. His dark eyes boring into yours.

"I said suck," he repeats.

Youre too dazed to immediately comply. Clint lightly slaps your cheek, catching your attention. Not enough to hurt, but with just enough of a sting to make you gasp. Your chin is grasped firmly, your face tilted to meet his eyes.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?"

You give him a shaky a nod, your pulse quickening at the sharpness in his tone. Dieter lowly chuckles behind you, amused by Clint taking charge.

"Answer him properly, baby," Dieter instructs.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “I understand.”

You open your mouth, he slides his thumb back between your lips and you suck obediently, swirling your tongue around the pad of his thumb.

“That’s a good girl,” Clint rumbles. He withdraws it, rubbing the pad of his thumb around the tip of his cock.

"What do you say, Clint?" Dieter asks. "Want to try out her sweet little pussy for yourself?"

Clint swallows hard, his intense gaze roaming over your face. "Yes, sir. I'd like that very much."

"Good man," Dieter chuckles, helping you stand on shaky legs. Clint reaches out to hold your hips, steadying you as you slightly sway.

“Why don't you sit on that chair in the living room?” Dieter instructs tilting his head over the the leather chair in front of the large window overlooking the city.

“Baby, why don’t you come help me pour us some drinks." He leaves a sweet smack against your ass when you head towards the bar.

Clint sinks down into the leather chair, watching as you grab two tumblers for Dieter to fill with whiskey.

“You good baby?” Dieter asks lowly.

“Yes,” you shakily breathe out. “More than good.”

Dieter smiles and winks, handing you one of the glasses before taking a sip from his own. “You’re so fucking hot, go ahead, give Clint a drink.”

Clint sits up straighter as you approach, his eyes raking over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s still perfectly clad in his zipped-up leather jacket and dark shirt, while his jeans hang open, his half hard cock lying in his lap.

You climb onto his lap, straddling his muscular thighs as his hands rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing soft, tiny circles against your hipbones.

You haven’t kissed another man in years, not ever since the night you met Dieter. Until now, when you lean in and press your lips to Clint's. His mouth moves against yours, tracing the seam of your lips before you part them, allowing him to devour you.

You unzip his leather jacket without breaking the kiss, dragging it down his arms before Clint shrugs out of it and throws it to the side. You unbutton his shirt, letting it fall down his arms.

His tongue dances against yours, as his cock hardens beneath you, leaving you feeling wanted and desired by the statue of a man. Your hips rolls, grinding down and earning a low groan from deep in his throat.

"Getting him nice and hard for you aren't you?" Dieter asks from behind. "Go ahead ‘n fuck him for me.”

Climbing off his lap, you help Clint quickly tug off his jeans and boxer briefs. His cock stand tall and thick for you. You turn around, backing up slowly to position yourself over his lap, reaching between your legs to grasp his cock. Clint hisses through his teeth, hips twitching up.

You keep your eyes locked on Dieter’s as you slowly sink down onto Clint. His thick length stretches you in a way unlike Dieter, your head falls back aginast Clint’s shoulder as he fills your cunt completely.

Dieter leans forward, elbows braced on his knees as he watches you take another man’s cock.

“Amazing,” Dieter whispers incredulously as you begin to move, rising up until just the tip of Clint’s inside you before sinking back down. Clint groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back to him, his plush lips licking and kissing against your neck as he fucks up into you, thrusting into your cunt with more force than Dieter, his hands more calloused and steady. You're bouncing on his lap, head thrown back against his shoulder, a litany of moans spilling from your lips.

Dieter rises from the couch, prowling towards you with dark eyes. He kneels in front of you, hands skating up your thighs. "Look at you, taking his cock so well. Such a good girl for us."

He leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, reminding you that you’re his even as Clint’s cock splits you open.

He pulls back, lips wet and shiny as he looks over your shoulder at Clint. "How does her pussy feel?" he asks.

"Like heaven, sir," he replies, gritting out each word with a hard thrust. "So fucking tight and wet."

Dieter laughs darkly, happy with the way Clint praises you. He tilts his head, moving his face closer to Clint’s. You watch, transfixed, your breath catching in your throat as Dieter closes the gap and press his lips to Clint’s.

It's filthy and hot, watching your boyfriend kiss his bodyguard whose cock is driving into you. Their tongues slide and tangle against each other, both men grunting while you moan watching them.

Dieter pulls away, his gaze turning back to you. “Like seeing me kiss another man while he fucks this perfect pussy?"

"Yes," you gasp, grinding yourself down harder onto Clint's cock. "God, yes."

Dieter reaches over, picking up Clint’s whiskey tumbler and takes a slow slip.

“Open,” Dieter commands to Clint. He obediently parts his lips as Dieter tilts the glass towards him. Clint doesn’t swallow immediately, instead he lets the liquid pool in his mouth.

“Let me taste,” Dieter lowly says.

Clint’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest as he tilts his head forward. He slowly opens his mouth, the whiskey flows from it in a small stream, cascading down your collarbone and breasts. Glistening trails are left across your heated skin as it trickles down your body across the plane of your stomach.

Dieter’s tongue follows the path of whiskey down your body before he lowers himself to the floor, his face hovering in front of your pussy. A shock of pleasure is lit through your body when you feel a sweet lick against your clit. His tongue trails down your pussy as Clint’s cock pumps in and out of you. Clint groans beneath you, his hips stuttering when Dieter’s tongue grazes against his shaft.

A path is licked down to Clint’s balls and up to your clit, following the trail back and forth. Dieter hums against you when he tastes both of you together.

It feels so filthy and intimate, just as you’d expect from Dieter fucking Bravo. His dark hair bobbing between your thighs, his pink tongue darting out to taste another man’s cock as it fucks you.

Clint makes a choked noise as Dieter laps at his shaft.

Dieter pulls back slightly, his face shining with your’s and Clint’s arousal.

"You like watching me lick his cock, baby?”

“Yes. Fuck, Dieter, it’s so hot.”

He smirks. "You know Clint, I bet she'd love to watch me suck your cock, hm? Take you deep in my throat while she rides your face."

Clint makes a strangled sound at the suggestion, his cock twitching inside you. "Jesus Christ.”

“Let’s move this to bedroom then,” Dieter suggests, rising and reaching his hand out to you. You take it, Clint’s hold on you loosening as you slowly lift yourself off his thick cock. A small grunt from him mixes with your soft whimper at the loss of each other. Dieter leads you by the hand toward the bedroom. Clint follows closely behind, his breathing heavy, his cock still soaked in your wet.

You’re thankful this huge mansion has a massive bedroom with a California king bed that can fit both men currently flanking you. You feel so small sandwiched between Dieter’s broad body and Clint’s even larger and intimidating form.

“On the bed," Dieter tells you with a gentle slap against your ass. You climb onto the mattress, kneeling at the foot of it waiting for more instruction. “You too,” Dieter instructs, lightly swatting at Clint’s ass. “Lie back.”

Clint’s body easily takes up half of the mattress as he lays down on the bed. He’s so broad and strong, his dark eyes watching you as his cock stands hard and soaked between his thighs.

“Good. Now, baby,” Dieter turns to you, “why don’t you climb on his face?”

You nod, crawling across the mattress, positioning yourself above Clint, your knees planting on the bed bracketing his face.

He grips your thighs, pulling you down until your swollen pussy hovers just above his mouth. His hot breath fans against your sensitive cunt, dripping with need and ready to feel Clint’s mouth on you again.

“Ride his face baby,” Dieter encourages.

You’re pulled down against Clint’s mouth, his deep groan vibrating against your cunt as he tongues at your swollen clit. A tight gasp and long moan leave your lips as he devours you—methodical, thorough and relentless. Your hands grasp against the firm muscles of Clint’s thighs to brace yourself, Clint’s hands plant against your ass, spreading you wide for him.

Dieter’s eyes darken with each step he takes as he watches you moan and writhe atop Clint’s face. He crawls between Clint’s spread legs, his hands sliding up Clint’s thighs until they meet yours.

“Watch me,” Dieter orders, staring in your eyes as he lowers his head.

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to try. The sight of Dieter—your Dieter—wrapping his fingers around Clint’s thick cock almost makes you dizzy. Clint’s hips jerk up at the contact, a gasp puffing against your pussy.

Dieter holds Clint's cock in his fist, giving it a few lazy strokes before lowering his head. His eyes never leave yours as his pink tongue darts out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip. Clint's entire body shudders beneath you, his groan vibrating against your cunt.

"Holy shit," you breathe, amazed by the sight before you.

Dieter smirks, his lips hovering just above Clint's glistening tip. "I told you to watch," he reminds you before taking just the head into his mouth.

Clint's fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth anchoring himself to you.

Your hand reaches out to thread through Dieter's soft waves, tightening your hold to guide him further down Clint’s shaft.

Dieter's eyes light with mischief as you push him further onto Clint's cock. Clint's body tenses beneath you, his hips bucking upward as Dieter deep throats his cock.

It’s beautiful, your boyfriend's lips stretched around another man's cock as that same man devours your pussy.

Dieter pulls off Clint's cock with a wet pop, his lips shiny with saliva. His hand continues to stroke Clint's length as he locks eyes with you.

"Spread his legs wider," Dieter commands, his voice dropping an octave.

You push at Clint’s inner thighs, spreading him open for Dieter, who hums appreciatively, lowering his head to lick a long stripe from Clint's heavy balls up his shaft.

Clint groans against your pussy, his tongue circling your entrance before dipping lower, circling your asshole with light, experimental licks.

"He's licking my ass," you gasp, eyes wide as you look at Dieter.

Dieter's grin turns predatory. "Is he now? You like that, baby?"

You nod frantically, unable to form words as Clint's tongue presses more insistently against your tight ring, his hands spreading your cheeks wider.

“You know baby, I think Clint would like the same treatment,” Dieter says lowly as he moves lower between Clint’s spread thighs. Dieter’s hands push Clint’s thighs up and back, exposing him completely.

His tongue trails from Clint’s balls to the sensitive skin below. You watch, enamored by Dieter’s tongue circling Clint’s tight hole.

“Fuuuuuck,” Clint whispers against you.

Dieter pulls back with a devilish smile before he spits across Clint’s asshole. You moan when you watch Dieter press his thumb against Clint’s entrance, circling it slowly.

"Jesus Christ," Clint hisses against your ass, his tongue stilling.

Dieter’s thumb slowly pushes in Clint’s tight ring of muscle. Clint's entire body tenses before he forces himself to relax, his shoulders sinking deeper into the mattress beneath you.

You can feel Clint’s reaction through his entire body as Dieter's thumb sinks deeper and deeper—the way his stomach muscles clench, the slight arch of his back, the firmness of his grip against your skin, the desperate “fuck” that vibrates against your ass.

Clint grips your hips, moving you up and down against his mouth, licking long lines from your asshole to your clit and back.

"Look at him," Dieter purrs. "Big, tough bodyguard taking my thumb in his ass while he eats my girl's pussy. You like that, don't you, Clint?"

Clint groans against you, a shiver running across his body.

"I think he likes it," you gasp, grinding down harder on Clint's face.

Dieter laughs darkly, leaning down, taking Clint's cock back into his mouth while working his thumb deeper.

You’re all connected, Clint's mouth on your cunt, Dieter's mouth on Clint's cock, Dieter's thumb working Clint's ass, Dieter’s eyes on you.

A long moan leaves your lips when Clint sucks hard on your clit, your back arching as his hips rock upward into Dieter’s mouth.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, clenching your thighs around Clint's head as he continues to feast on your drenched pussy. "I'm… gonna…"

Dieter looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. "Cum for me baby. Cum all over Clint's face."

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your entire body trembles and convulses under the power of your orgasm, grinding down on Clint’s face as he eats you through it. Your arms go weak, and you slump forward against his body, breathing hard. Running your cheek along the soft nest of coarse curls above his cock. Dieter grips your chin, guiding you to turn your head, taking Clint’s cock out of his mouth, guiding it into your mouth. You’re still humming and moaning from your release, your mouth working over Clint’s shaft as he groans against your overworked clit.

“I think you got her nice and worked up for me Clint,” Dieter says. “It’s time for me to fill my girl’s pussy.”

Dieter grabs your limp, overwhelmed body, laying you down on the bed next to Clint, your back nestling against the soft sheets.

Clint’s dark brown eyes watch as Dieter lines up, his tip dipping between your folds and rubbing against your clit before thrusting into you, burying himself in your cunt. Your body jerks forward with the force of him, a loud scream bursting from your lungs. Clint groans, as he watches Dieter’s hips slap against yours, ruthlessly pounding into you, owning your pussy after Clint’s had his way with it.

Clint can’t take his eyes off of you, staring into your eyes, watching as your face contorts in pleasure as Dieter fucks you harder and deeper. Your back arches off the bed, hands grasping the sheets tightly as you take Dieter’s cock.

"Fuck yes," he grunts. "Get behind me Clint. Finger my asshole while I fuck her.”

Clint moves behind Dieter, his large hands running over Dieter's ass before spreading him wide. Dieter groans when Clint's finger circles his tight ring of muscle, teasing him.

Dieter growls, slamming into you harder, staring into your eyes as Clint pushes his slick thumb past the ring of muscle, pressing deep into Dieter's ass. “Holy shit,” Dieter gasps, a wide smile lighting his face before he leans forward and kisses you, his hips jerking against yours as Clint works him open.

Dieter’s head tips back, groaning loudly as he drives into you even harder, pushed to the edge by Clint’s finger stretching him open.

“Fuck my ass,” Dieter orders, pressing you farther down into the mattress under his weight.

“Yes sir,” Clint growls, spitting in his hand and slicking up his cock before he slowly notches himself against Dieter’s asshole.

Dieter’s hips stutter as he pauses, breathing hard as Clint stretches him open with his wide cock.

“Fuuuuuck,” Dieter hitches. “You’re so fucking big.”

You watch Dieter’s face, a blissed-out smile lifting his lips, his eyes fluttering shut before he opens them, staring down at you as Clint starts to fuck him in long, slow strokes.

You clutch on Dieter’s strong arms, gripping his golden skin tight as he moves with Clint, the slow drag of his cock pulling out of your cunt before thrusting back in steers you closer to another orgasm.

You’re tangled in each other, Clint’s large body laying over Dieter’s, Dieter’s lips biting and licking at yours, your moans and groans echoing off the walls of the expansive room.

Dieter’s head drops to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as Clint surges in and out of him.

“Gonna cum,” Dieter whines against you. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up while he fucks me.”

The three of you move as one, your pussy clenching around Dieter’s cock, Dieter’s asshole taking Clint’s cock. “Cum for me baby,” you urge. “Give me your cum.”

Clint’s pace turns brutal, pounding into Dieter deeper and harder. Both men’s weight bears down on you—pinning and claiming you as the center of their desire.

“Fuck,” Dieter lifts his head, staring into your eyes as he begins to cum, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as he empties himself inside you. His handsome face contorts with pleasure, teeth gritting, eyes locked on yours as he shoots his big load inside you.

“That’s it,” Clint growls behind him, fucking into him as Dieter’s body tightens around him. “Give her every drop, sir.”

Dieter’s cock pulses inside you, filling you with his heated release that triggers your own orgasm, your walls clenching him hard, milking every last sweet drop of cum from his cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint groans, pulling out of Dieter. "I’m close.”

“Cum on my girl’s face,” Dieter orders, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms.

Clint stalks forward, his knees dipping into the bed as he kneels in front of you, stroking his cock, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

You reach a hand up, massaging his balls, firmly pressing against them, giving him the perfect amount of pressure.

“Gonna cum," he grunts through gritted teeth. "Fuck, I'm gonna..."

Dieter's hands slide up to cup your breasts, squeezing roughly. "Do it," he encourages. "Give her what she wants. Paint that pretty face."

With a strained groan his cock pulses in his hand as he strokes himself, aiming the tip at your waiting face.

"Open," he commands again. You obey, sticking out your tongue in offering.

Thick ropes of cum spurt from Clint's cock, striping across your cheeks, your chin, your outstretched tongue. You moan as he marks you, claiming you as his own.

"So gorgeous covered in another man's cum. My perfect little cum slut,” Dieter admires.

You whimper as Clint milks the last drops onto your waiting tongue before he looks down, admiring his work, your face glistening with his release.

"That's my good girl," Dieter praises, his fingers tracing through Clint's cum on your cheek before pushing it between your parted lips. You suck his fingers clean, moaning at the taste as both men watch you with hungry eyes.

Clint collapses onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving.

“Well done Mr. Flood,” Dieter chuckles, running his hand through Clint’s hair. “I think we’ll keep you.”

—-

Read the second installment here.

Proof it's 6969. lol

Also, please know I referenced this GIF by @perotovar A LOT while writing this.

—-

Tagging some moots and people who were interested: @sawymredfox, @sp00kymulderr, @almostfoxglove, @evolnoomym, @ace-turned-confused

@bitchesuntitled, @beefrobeefcal, @magpiepills, @joelmillerisapunk, @arcanefox207

Return of the Living Dead is nowhere to be seen on the shelves. You search the surrounding areas in case it’s been put away in the wrong place. Sometimes customers are careless.

“Hey Eddie, you’ve got more copies of Return of the Living Dead, right?” you call out to the desk.

“You’re joking, right?” He calls back over his shoulder, rewinding one of the tapes brought in. “B horror movie? Classic but unfortunately not enough to keep more than one copy circulating.” 

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, then you feel a light tap on top of your head. Looking up you find Clint, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face that, for a brief moment, hides the scar on his right cheek. In his hand he presents the store’s sole copy of the movie you’ve been searching for. He taps you again on the head with it, just to tease.

“I found it first. You know what that means.”

“Clint! Where the hell was it?”

He can’t help grinning. “I may or may not have called ahead and asked Eddie to hold it for me.”

“That’s cheating!”

You hear Eddie laughing at his place behind the desk and you sigh in exasperation. “It doesn’t count,” you insist.

Every Friday night you and Clint play the same game. You decide on a movie and the first one to get it from the shelf and take it to the checkout counter gets a prize later. This is the first time you’ve lost in a few weeks.

Clint keeps the video just out of reach from you as he teases you, heading towards the counter. “Fine, if you insist on being a shit,” you mutter. “Here. Buy me some SweetTarts.” You grab a pack and slam it on the counter.

“Maybe they’ll make you sweet on me later. Because you’re sure acting feisty right now,” he shares a laugh with Eddie.

The glow of the TV illuminates your faces as you sit together on the couch, Clint’s arm around you, your head on his shoulder. There’s a faint whiff of his Old Spice cologne he never seems to go without, along with a staler smell of cigarettes which you’ve come to associate with him. You’ve forgiven him for the time being, getting lost in the cheesy zombie flick as misfit teenagers try to hide from a zombie attack in their small town.

“Why would anyone be naked in a cemetery?” Clint mutters. “And she’s singing a whole song about sex? I don’t see why you like this movie.”

“Shut up,” you whisper.

“But I wanna cash in my prize.”

“Already?”

“There’s a naked chick onscreen. I can’t think of a more perfect time.”

“I thought you said it’s silly that she’s naked in a cemetery.”

“Didn’t say that. I questioned why she’d do that. I mean, you’d look pretty damn good naked in a cemetery.” He kisses the side of your neck.

“We are talking about this way too much.” Still, you let his lips linger on your skin as you crunch into a sour SweetTart.

“What flavor did you get?” he murmurs against your neck.

“I dare you to find out.”

He gently pulls your hair back to get to your sweet mouth and licks into it, his lips sealed around yours. Your tongue pushes back against his, both of you sighing as the need for each other grows.

“Cherry, huh?” he says, nibbling your lower lip. “Almost as sweet as you.. Now you gonna give me my prize, sugar?”

You feign annoyance with him, knowing he loves it when you act like he’s a pain in the ass, even though Niagara Falls currently resides in your panties.

“Pause it?” he asks, his stubble tickling your neck as his hand dips into the front of your shirt, cupping your breast.

“No, keep it playing..” Your eyes flutter shut as he pinches and rolls your nipple with his calloused fingertips.

“You’re not gonna be able to see it though.”

“I can hear it. That’s enough.”

“Good girl.” He pulls away slightly, his big, rough hands moving to unbuckle his belt. Saliva pools in your mouth as he shoves his jeans down, his bulge showing thick and hard in his Hanes. You run your touch over it, feeling it twitch before you pull the material down enough to release him.

If there’s one thing that can tear you away from your favorite horror movie, it’s Clint’s cock. All eight cut inches, he’s thick, with a dusky pink head that’s already oozing precum. You swipe at it with your tongue, a playful kitten lick.

“Just gonna tease?” he rasps. “C’mon, you can do better than that..”

Smirking, you pull away and get yourself comfortable on the couch, giving his nice hard dick a couple of nice long strokes before settling your lips around the tip, adding pressure, using your tongue to brush against the sensitive underside.

“Baby,” he whispers, his hand on the back of your head, urging you for more. You know exactly how much you can take without gagging, letting your saliva flow freely down his shaft, using your hand to stroke the part you can’t fit in your mouth, tugging in time with your sucking. Clint’s breath hitches, his fingers tighten the hold on your hair, hips shifting up to thrust into your mouth. “Just like that..work it just like that, baby..”

You moan in appreciation around him, giving him a shudder up his spine. His hand curves around your ass, into the seat of your jeans, firmly gripping your fleshy bottom. “Pull these down a little. Wanna feel you..”

You sit up, lips glossy and full, chin shiny with spit as you smile at him wickedly, pulling off your jeans and snapping the waistband of your thong. “This too?”

“Oh yeah, baby, that too.” He licks his lips, watching you peel off the piece of scrap that barely constitutes as underwear and flick it to the floor. Your back arches as you go down on him again, using your tongue against the length of his rigid shaft, smiling as he twitches, another couple drops of come spilling from his tip.

Clint groans, lifting his hips again, stretching back on the couch. He’s so beautiful like this, all laid out, made vulnerable by the pleasure you happily give, taking him deep into your throat, slowly, making sure he feels every inch that you can cover, your lips forming a tight seal as you suck him off. You’re oblivious to the action onscreen, the group of people stuck in a mortuary as zombies rise from their graves to feast. Lazily stroking him, your lips wander down and his hips shift up, allowing you to run your tongue along the seam of his balls. Clint makes a sharp intake of breath, his hand fisting in your hair as you let your licks linger, slow and purposeful, before bringing one of his balls in between your lips, giving a satisfied hum as you gently suck.

“Christ, girl, you’re killin’ me,” he grunts. “Keep doin’ that..nice and slow..keep fucking stroking me, baby.”

Your hand tightens around his cock, thumb flicking over his sensitive head, gathering the drops of come still oozing out and using them to lube him up. Beneath your tongue his balls are thick, swollen, and you already know he’s gonna give you a big load when he comes.

“Get up here,” he says, voice strained. 

“You sure?” you ask, out of breath. “You’re gonna share your prize with me?”

“I did cheat..kind of,” he admits. “It’s only fair you get to sit on my face while you give me mine.”

With a barely suppressed moan you climb onto him, pressing kisses along his torso until you reach his mouth. He groans as he tastes the slight saltiness of himself on your lips. “C’mon, baby..sit on my fuckin’ face,” he commands quietly against your kiss.

You push yourself up and straddle his face, his hands already gripping the sides of your ass as you ease down, his nose already tickling your folds before his tongue flicks out to get a little taste. “I love tasting you like this,” he mutters against you. You lean down to grab hold of his cock, still hard as a rock and weeping, sweeping your tongue across the tip. Clint groans against you, his tongue delving inside your sweet heat, planting his feet on the sofa and pushing his hips up further against your lips. You take the hint and wrap your mouth around him, letting him slide in and thrust into you.

Behind you, Clint’s mouth works in a slow, methodical manner. He teases your cunt before licking up every drop of your dew, using his big rough hands to guide you on him, positioning you so he can latch onto your throbbing clit. You moan around his dick, the vibrations making him pulse in your mouth. He does his best to keep himself at bay, but you already know exactly what’s going to make him cum so hard he’ll see God.

You release him from your mouth, saliva glistening on your lips, your chin glossy with drool while you stroke him. “Clint! Yes.. suck my pussy.. you’re so fucking good..”

With a growl he continues, alternating between lapping up your honey and tickling your clit. He’s better than any vibrator, more fun than any dildo. His hands grab your ass, lifting and squeezing the firm globes of flesh. Just as you take him into your throat again you feel the tip of his tongue playing at the tight, puckered ring of your ass, teasing and testing. Clint growls low in his throat. “Mhm,” you moan, slobbering over his cock and fondling his balls. You squeeze his thigh, giving him the okay to wander and explore. His mustache tickles your skin as he goes to town on it, gathering more saliva on his tongue. He can’t get enough of how sweet you are, everywhere. And the way you’re deepthroating him, he’s gonna explode any minute. He needs to make you come too.

“Do it, baby, I can feel you tensing,” you tell him. “Come in my throat.” The blood is rushing to your head, only serving to make your neediness stronger. Clint obeys, thrusting against your willing mouth, sawing in and out even as you come close to gagging, and with a broken cry he spills inside you. You swallow every drop, humming around him as he finishes eating you out, using his fingers to reach deep where his tongue can’t until he has you trembling and screaming his name, dousing his face with your release.

You’ve forgotten all about the movie. It’s already close to the end as you bask in the afterglow, your head on his lap as he strokes your hair. “We’ve gotta rewind it,” you tell him. “You missed the best part.”

“Nah, I’ve got the best part right here.” He smacks your butt, smiling when you squeal in surprise, and then watches the way your lips part and eyes flutter shut as his fingers find their way inside you again.