#clint x reader

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.

But then you introduced yourself and…

No, actually, it wasn't then either.

It wasn't even the first day you stepped into the shop and asked him to work on your tools. It wasn't the flower dance, or the luau either.

He couldn't pinpoint it to a specific day that you came in with your pack stuffed full of geodes, watching him crack them open one by one.

He hadn't even really noticed you were watching to be honest, too distracted by wondering if he'd said the wrong thing to notice your gaze trained on him.

Before long though he noticed his face grew hot every time he thought of you. It always did. He realized his foolish heart had hopelessly latched onto you, and that was so damn nervous at the prospect of talking to you he quickly locked the door to the shop every time he saw you hurrying toward it at the end of the day. He dared not even entertain the thought you might like him back.

It all happened little by little and all at once.

One moment he was the town's lonely blacksmith, doomed to be a bachelor for life, the next he was yours. But then he had been yours for a while.

And still he could scarcely believe it.

Your kisses left him burning hotter than the forge and breathing heavier than the bellows. Your hands were so hungry for him he didn't know what to do with himself. So he simply perched with his ass on the edge of his anvil, mind racing, heart hammering while you stood in the narrow valley between his thighs and kissed him.

How desperately he hoped you'd tell him what he should be doing.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your lips so close to his he could feel the flutter of your breath.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say, when what he really wanted to do was sprint a victory lap around town with you in his arms. “It's fine.”

Fine? Fine?? He could smack himself with his own hammer.

But you laughed, thank Yoba, your hands slipping around his back to untie his apron, and his noisy thoughts quieted down.

"Well, tell me if it stops being fine."

The moment your palms slid under his sweater to caress the plush of his body, he felt it: a wave of relief and a desperation for more, so potent it nearly brought tears to his eyes. To be touched, to be wanted, to belong to someone, he hadn't just wanted it, he'd needed it for so damn long.

And you didn't just stop at those hungry touches, no, soon he was naked from the waist up, big and bare and so overwhelmed by the gentle caress of your lips exploring every curve of his body. You doted on the parts of himself he couldn't see the beauty of, made him quiver, made him yours.

You kissed the parts of him he never would have guessed you could like; his freckled shoulders, and the soft, downy plush of his chest. You nuzzled and kissed his hips and the fluffy mound of his belly with such hunger and adoration it left him breathless.

His head was swimming by the dying embers of the forge, and he had never been happier.

“We should s-slow down…” he managed to say.

“Is it too much?”

He shook his head. “No. No, it’s not… if you keep going I'm going to want more. I'm never going to want you to… to stop…”

He could hardly finish the lie, because he was already there. Smitten, addicted, and absolutely in love so quickly and so intensely.

“Well,” you said, your fingers seeking his calloused and soot-stained hands, “if it helps, I don't want to stop. I like you, Clint.”

“Oh… well, good.”

You didn't give him time to overthink that or chastise himself for not saying what was on his mind. You simply smiled and kissed him, and nothing else mattered.

He'd never felt so grateful that his room was attached to the shop, the two of you crammed into his creaking single bed, so close he knew he'd never catch a wink of sleep.

But he didn't mind, not when you lay in his arms with your head nestled against the softness of his chest, his skin still tingling from the magic of your kisses. Especially not when your passion caught its second wind in the middle of the night, and you rode him until you were both seeing stars. And then you held him close, kissed him softly, and told you were excited to spend tomorrow with him.

And perhaps that's when it struck him that his life had completely changed.

Clint is often written or portrayed as inherently dark because he's already a tough guy, right?? I mean he beats the shit out of people for a living, even if it's not his choice. Now don't get me wrong, I love Dark Clint too, I love all the Dark Pedroboys, it's fun to use our imagination, to play, in fact I think we need them. But that's not Clint Flood from Freaky Tales. That's not who I *fell in love* with.

I fell for the gentle giant who loves to laugh, be with others, take care of people, dote on his wife with sweet romantic guestures. He bought a 90 usd movie for his wife which was about 260 usd back then and a movie he didn't even like. That's a lot of money on a frivolous item being spent by a non frivolous person. And blowing kisses to his wife in the middle of the street where everyone can see him being sweet, celebrating his fist of fury turning into an ordinary hand, putting on his mark's jacket for him and offering him a ride home after Clint breaks his finger for a job, giving advice to strangers on taking on bullies* - Clint doesn't want to be rough, he wants to dote, to comfort, to help, to be a gentleman.

*Clint's not rough but he does have a mountain of unresolved anger, especially towards bullies as he is a victim of bullying himself. The anger comes out as violence towards those who bully others and in an attempt to correct injustices.

Clint doesn't act tough because he wants to be tough, it's how he lives to see another day. He didn't subconsciously or consciously choose to become a tough guy as an unhealthy coping mechanism or because it was a familial pattern, he was forced into it.

He treats the violence he has to work on other people as just that, business. And conducts himself as a no nonsense businessman, always polite...until the anger surfaces.

Clint's rage takes over when it feels like the walls are closing in, when the helplessness and shame are too much to bear, so he repeats "it's over when The Guy says it's over" like a mantra, like a curse, while his fists turn someone's face into pulp. Trying to justify it because probably that someone hurt others too. Until the hurt circles back around to him again, that endless infinite cycle of hurting others. And then the guilt becomes a bottomless pit, his rage had a hand in killing his wife, even if not directly. And so he lets his wife's killer go free, because he can see his responsibility in it and the cycle, and makes a decision for peace instead of vengeance, not just for himself but for the kid also. What kind of rough tough guy is that??

Now I do have to point out I enjoy Clint's rough persona, because if not I have to take back a few edits and I also wouldn't be honest. And by his persona, I mean as in how he has to *appear* tough, the black leather jacket, the black monte carlo, the gun in his waistband, the quiet stern confident way he moves and holds himself (until he's chatting with someone he likes), the chain smoking. Some of that behaviour also isn't rough it's just tired bitterness. And it's a persona, it doesn't define Clint. What I'm trying to convey here is if we look beyond the obvious, the exterior and stereotypes there is a more complex character. And that goes for people in general. We are all more multi-faceted than we give ourselves and each other credit for and this concept is also the hallmark of Pedro's acting.

Clint as a Lover

Clint doesn't like rough sex.

Pain for Clint is business, a transaction, a punishment. He inflicts pain for The Guy as a sentence and a warning. He would never inflict pain on his lover, he handles them like glass, like a treasure.

He works out his own pain on other people when he's on a job and for some reason becomes angry, it gives the overwhelming feelings a place to go. This is where he can feel in control and have some power. And yes it is ironic that one can be overcome by rage and acting on it makes you feel both out of control and in control. Not that he thinks or feels that through. Because he experiences control in a violent way, he does not view his lover as a means of gaining control or power, he does not connect power with sex.

As I already mentioned, Clint is a nurturer and giver, he values camaraderie, he is not a selfish taker. Clint would want his lover to give full consent (as much as a straight middle aged male would understand in the 80s) and would be focused on his lover's pleasure rather than his own.

He does know what he's doing in bed (because he wants to please his partners and he pays attention to them) and is very passionate (he's full of life and love) which makes him more assertive, but there's always a gentleness to it, and he loves to praise. He might try to steer you at times but it's because he wants to show you something new or wants to experience something new with you, not because he's greedy or inconsiderate of your needs, and there would be a firm gentleness in it, he might also beg or try to sweettalk you into it.

Clint likes dirty talk but not derogatory terms, he won't call you his dirty slut. He's a softie gentleman living in the 80s. I can't for the life of me imagine him spitting in someone's mouth. On their clit, sure, that's poor man's lube. But he's not into degradation.

Clint treats his lovers like beautiful gifts, he loves to make them moan his name, he loves watching their bodies transform from his touch, he loves eye contact. Clint is "a pleaser" (shhh who said that), he knows how to give. He knows more than how to fuck, he knows how to be intimate.

Don't tell me you watched Clint with his wife and didn't think he treated her like a fucking goddess in bed.

He loved to work her up, ate that pussy every time, kissed, teased and rubbed her from head to toe, eye contact every time, suckled her everywhere, he probably massaged her before or after, ran his fingers through her hair, spooned, brought her treats in bed afterwards, ran his fingers up and down her back burying his face in the crook of her neck, said I LOVE YOU, always made sure she was wet and ready for him.

And you know the pregnancy sex would be out of this world, he would be even more gentle but also would be even more attentive and insistent on getting her off, like her cumming was the only thing that matters in the world, he just wants to ease her burden of carrying his child, make her feel good while she's doing this miracle for him, for their family, make her feel good because of *him*.

Please feel free to comment on any of this, including if you disagree. I would honestly welcome any kind of thoughtful commentary on Clint, this wonderful but often underrated and misunderstood character.

And if you've made it this far you deserve the biggest kiss:

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

A/N: This is from @tateypots' PPCU Naughty or Nice Writing Challenge! I had Clint Flood (Naughty) & Enemies to Lovers trope. Thank you so much for hosting this challenge for us. This was out of my comfort zone, as I've only written for Joel Miller before, but I really enjoyed this! I'm looking forward to reading what others have written as well. 🫶🏻

Divider: @/saradika-graphics

AO3 | masterlist

April 21st - 9:45 P.M. [The Hidden Pokergame]

You were working the first time you met Clint. Standing in the corner of a dimly lit room, holding an empty tray down by your side, you passively watched the poker game occurring in the center of the drab space. 

The men chattered, making crude jokes or thinly veiled insults at each other, sipping their assorted alcoholic beverages. You waited for them to finish so that you could collect their glasses and refill their drinks. 

When Clint walked in, it was quiet. He slipped in as if he’d been there all along. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat, nearing the table, that the men looked up and their chatter slowly died. His focus was on one of the men on the far end of the table, Jerry, you thought his name was. Clint hadn’t so much as glanced at you when he entered. 

You could tell by his clothes and how he carried himself that he thought he was hot shit. Every man sitting around that table did, but Clint, in particular, looked pompous. He wore a weathered leather jacket, zipped three-quarters of the way. His brown curls were slicked back, and he had a prominent mustache with a patchy beard, as well as a scar that ran across his right cheek. He reeked of cigarettes as he strolled past you. The smell didn’t particularly bother you, though, after being around it so often.

“Jerry,” Clint spoke as he stood at the opposite end of the table. His voice was monotone and nonchalant, disguising his intentions. It sounded like a normal greeting, but you knew that it was anything but. 

“Mr. Flood, I-I,” the man stammered. He pushed his chair back, putting his hands in front of his chest, palms facing Clint. “I’ll have the money by next week. Promise. There was a snag and-” He was cut off by the approaching of Clint. 

“You know next week is no good, Jerry. Grace period is up.” Clint was now standing about two feet from where Jerry sat. “C’mere,” he motioned with his two fingers. 

Jerry stood up with a shuddered breath and feebly walked over to him, mere inches now separating the men. 

“Which hand?” Clint may as well have been asking what the weather was like with how casually he spoke. 

“Listen, man…I can-” He was once more interrupted by Clint. 

“You want to cry in front of your friends here, Jerry?” Clint motioned to the table of weary-eyed men. Jerry shook his head and muttered a simple, “No,” before raising his left hand to Clint. 

There was still a splint on his ring finger and you rolled your eyes in disbelief that he was stupid enough to get himself in the same predicament twice. Clint couldn’t hide his smirk as he reflected on the man’s idiocy. 

The man didn’t even have time to wince before Clint snapped his finger backwards, the crack echoing through the room followed by a yelp and groans. Clint clapped him on the back as he was doubled over, grabbing his hand. 

Clint strolled back to the table, picking up one of the whiskey glasses and downing it in one gulp then plopping the glass back down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Have a good night, fellas,” he said, readjusting the sleeves of his jacket and turning to leave the room. 

His arrogant attitude was grating and as he walked by, you couldn’t help but scoff. The sound caught his attention and he turned to look at you. 

“Something wrong, miss?” You hadn’t felt intimidated before, but having his firm voice directed at you was enough for your stomach to knot, just a little. 

You wanted to knock him down a peg. “No, it’s just that you seem to pride yourself on how you command a room, but you didn’t even notice me when you came in. Can’t be very observant then.”

“What makes you think I didn’t notice you?” His eyes bore into yours and you held eye contact, unwavering. 

“Well, you didn’t even look at me,” you stated simply.

“Maybe I didn’t think there was much to look at.” His words were a punch to your gut as he slowly turned and walked out of the room, letting the door thud behind him.

You stood, speechless. The other men at the table were wise enough to not make a comment, ducking their heads when you looked over and returning to their game.

April 29th - 10:05 A.M. [The Diner]

The second time you saw Clint, he’d actually spotted you first. You and your friend, Gabby, walked into the diner closest to your home. You were vaguely hungover and in dire need of some coffee and pancakes.

You were mid-conversation as the two of you navigated your way to a booth, and it wasn’t until you went to take a seat that you glanced up and happened to spot Clint eating at a table diagonally from where you were about to sit.

He was watching you, this time without his leather jacket and instead dressed in a button-up flannel. When you took a seat, the back of the booth shielded you from him and your shoulders relaxed, turning your attention back to your friend.

Gabby was in the midst of a messy break-up (hence the hangover), so the breakfast was spent listening to her and offering support. The pancakes hit the spot and you’d already sucked down two cups of coffee.

You didn’t see Clint walk by until two twenty dollar bills landed with a heavy hand on the table. By the time you’d registered what he’d done, he was already at the door.

“Who’s that?” Gabby asked, just as shocked as you.

“No one,” you muttered, shuffling out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

When you exited the diner, Clint was just unlocking his car, a cigarette already hanging out of his mouth.

“Hey!” you called, irritation laced within your voice.

Clint looked up, peering at you over his car before he looked back down and pulled the door open.

You jogged over to him, “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

“Okay.” He paused with his car door open, looking at you with a blank expression.

“Why did you put that money on the table?” Your tone was accusatory, and you crossed your arms, trying every which way to show him that he didn’t intimidate you.

He shrugged and replied, “Figured you needed it. No one in their right mind would willingly serve those idiots.” He was referring to one of your many side hustles, and it aggravated you that he felt he had the right to comment on anything you did.

“Well, for the record, I don’t need it. So you can keep your dirty money and shitty opinions to yourself.” You nearly spat the words, your chest huffing out, feeling proud of yourself.

The corner of Clint’s mouth pulled up ever so slightly as he replied, “Doesn’t seem you’re too eager to return that money you don’t need, considerin’ you didn’t bring it out with you.”

You deflated, realizing that in your haste to confront him, you’d forgotten to grab the money.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, turning on your heel and hurrying back into the diner.

Gabby spotted you as you came in, confusion on her face and in her tone as she asked, “What’s going on?”

You didn’t have time to respond, just snatched the money and rushed back outside just in time to see Clint’s blue Monte Carlo zip out of the parking lot and cruise down the street.

“Motherfucker,” you whispered harshly to yourself, over-enunciating in your anger. If you never saw him again, it would be too soon.

May 2nd - 7:27 P.M. [The Casino]

It was only a few days later that you had the displeasure of seeing Clint for a third time. You were working at your dad’s casino, swinging your hips side-to-side as you passed poker and black jack tables, looking to see if anyone needed a drink.

You always dressed up when you worked the casino, this time wearing a gold-sequined form-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. You had on tall, glittered heels that you’d already received a couple compliments on. Dressing up brought you good tips, and you were never one to shy away from extra money (unless it came from Clint, apparently).

“Sweetheart,” your father’s voice called to you from behind.

You pivoted with a smile, “Hi daddy,” you said with a twinkle in your eye.

Your dad always made sure to take good care of you. You never went without, but you also enjoyed making your own money, not just using daddy’s credit card.

His smile widened as you turned to face him, you’d always be his baby girl. “Hi honey,” he said, standing beside you then pointing to the desk for the hotel check-in, “Do you see that man over there?”

You followed his line of vision and had to suppress a groan when you saw none other than Clint standing with his usual broad stance at the front desk. He wore his signature jacket and slicked-back hair, hands shoved into his pockets as it looked like he was in a tense conversation with the girl working the desk.

“Yes,” you tried to say nonchalantly.

“Well, sweetie, he’s a friend of mine…and he needs to be escorted to a room upstairs. Could you be so kind as to take him? Room 219.” He patted you on the back lightly then gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you.” He kissed the top of your head then left, slipping back into the shadows of the casino.

Your dad never talked about his actual business. The casino was a front, for the most part. His real money came from his underground businesses that he didn’t want you to worry about. Aside from serving drinks at the occasional high-end poker game, you typically had no idea what your dad was up to. It had been this way your whole life, so you didn’t think much of it anymore.

Raising you as a single father, you’d been accustomed to late nights when he was “out working” and you had to warm up a frozen meal for yourself, or find your own way home from school. But your dad made sure that every minute he was home with you, he made the most of it. You had fond memories of movie nights with all the snacks you could imagine, or luxury shopping sprees where you could buy anything you even looked at.

You always felt protected, safe, cared for, even when you’d hardly see him for days at a time. So, even though it wasn’t a conventional way of growing up, you didn’t mind. 

Clint’s voice grated against your ears as you approached the desk. “I told you, I need to check on my friend, but I don’t remember their room number.” 

“I hear you, sir, but unfortunately we cannot share any information related to our guests. It’s strictly confidential,” the woman said in her most-polite voice.

“Hi,” you looked down at her nametag, “Elizabeth. I can help this gentleman. Thank you,” you said with a smile.

Elizabeth nodded quickly. While you weren’t familiar with everyone who worked at the casino, they were all certainly familiar with you. Your dad made sure that everyone treated you with the same respect he demanded for himself.

When Clint turned to look at you, you caught his expression shift, the frustration that had been etched into his features transformed into subtle amusement at the sight of you. “Hi,” was all he said in his quiet, gravely voice.

“Follow me,” you commanded coldly, turning and walking away without so much as a look back to see if he was following you. Still, you continued to sway your hips, ass pushed out, sure that he was watching you.

The idea of teasing him was alluring to you, as you wanted to create as much discomfort for him as possible. And, while you tried not to pay much attention to it, it aroused you as well.

You led him to the elevator, stepping to the side and pressing a button as he stepped onto it. He stood on the opposite end, creating as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Workin’ the casino too, huh?” He spoke to you while looking straight ahead.

“Yep. Family business,” you replied coolly.

Clint turned to look at you. “Family?”

“My dad owns the casino.” You had to fight your smile, sure that Clint was shitting himself with your reveal.

“Your dad is Hugo?” He didn’t sound concerned, but curiosity certainly coated his voice.

You gave a “mhhm” and stepped out of the elevator when the doors opened. The hallways were quiet as Clint followed close behind you. You didn’t know what business he had in room 219, and you had little interest in finding out.

Clint stalked behind you silently, but his sheer presence was palpable. He just had that way about him.

“Here we are,” you said as you pulled out your keycard and tapped it against the lock. The door clicked and you pulled on the door handle, just barely opening it so that Clint could enter.

“Thank you,” he said with a wink, stepping forward as you stepped to the side.

You hated the pull you felt between your thighs and sauntered down the hallway quickly, hoping that Clint hadn’t had a chance to see your reaction to his wink.

When you reached the end of the hallway, turning to go down the next corridor, you glanced back to where you had left Clint.

He was watching you, and upon you looking back at him, gave another wink along with a smug smile as he pushed open the door and walked inside.

“Motherfucker,” you whispered to yourself yet again.

May 24th - 10:50 P.M. [The Hidden Pokergame]

“C’mon sweetheart, just give us a little show. I won’t tell no one,” he drunkenly slurred, the words barely leaving his tongue as he swayed in his chair.

“Tony, you’re gonna get us all in trouble ‘f ya keep this up…she’s Hugo’s daughter, man,” another man tried in desperation to put an end to the situation.

You’d become skilled at ignoring drunken men, it was necessary in your line of work, and you’d realized over time that ignoring them was much more effective than arguing with them. So, you stood in the corner, tray gripped in front of you, and your eyes passively watching the table.

But then he stood up, stumbling slightly forward as he moved toward you. None of the other men stood. They didn’t care about your wellbeing, only concerned about the wrath of your father that they might end up experiencing if they bore witness to any mistreatment of you.

Tony stood in front of you, trying to stay steady but awkwardly shuffling so that he didn’t fall. His eyes roamed up and down your body and you gulped, trying to maintain a calm appearance. “You should take a seat,” you said softly but assertively.

“Y’wanna help me with that darlin’?” He said, more clearly than you thought he was capable of.

“Hey guys,” the other man spoke, “Waddya say we end the game f’the night?”

He was met with nods from the other men as they cleared their tokens and emptied their drinks. No one had dared to even look at you as they filed out of the room. The last man cowardly said right at the exit, “Come on Tony, time to go home,” but didn’t even wait for a response before he left.

You drew in a shaky breath, preparing to confront the drunk asshole. He set his hand on your waist and you slapped it away, taking a step back and scolding him, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh baby,” he drunkenly cooed. “I know you’re gonna taste so sweet though.” He leaned forward, his chapped lips trying to come in contact with yours.

“Get away from me!” you shouted. Your heart was pounding and fear had its ugly talons wrapped around you. “Fuck off!”

He didn’t say anything more, just frowned and shoved you back against the wall. His hand came between your thighs, pressing against your mound through your panties. You attempted to close your legs but he pushed his leg between yours, forcing you to spread for him.

A tear escaped your eye and only added to your anger, not wanting to show him an ounce of vulnerability. His fingers pinched at your pussy painfully and you had no option but to resort to begging. Your hands desperately pushed at his shoulders as you pleaded, “Please, please, stop. I’m begging you. Please!!”

Your cry was interrupted by the door flying open and banging loudly against the wall. A broad frame blocked the doorway and you couldn’t tell who it was initially, just relieved to have another person in the room with you.

The figure shot across the room, ripping Tony off of you and sending him crashing into the poker table. His back hit the wood, splintering it as he crashed to the ground. The other man’s back was now to you, but you would have recognized the leather jacket from anywhere.

“The fuck is your problem?!,” Clint spat at the man, bending down and lifting him up by fisting his shirt.

Tony held on to Clint’s forearm as he was lifted into the air, feet dangling and panic in his eyes. “Clint! Hey-Hey man…I was just fuckin’ around. I-I promise…I wasn’t gonna hurt her or nothin’...”

“Yeah?” Clint swung his arm to the side, releasing the man into the wall where he slammed and then slid to the ground.

“Ah, fuck!” Tony yelped, throwing his head back and attempting to take a breath. It was clear that his back was injured.

“How ‘bout I just fuck around then?” Clint stalked toward him. “Promise I won’t hurt you or nothin’...”

Tony’s eyes widened even more than before. He shoved his hands in front of them, shaking and pleading. “Please, man…I-I’ll leave…I’ll never come back.” His voice was quivering and tears came to his eyes.

“How ‘bout I help with that?” Clint grabbed the man by the back of the neck, pulling him up to his feet but moving with him before Tony could get his footing, causing him to stumble toward the open door.

Clint dragged him outside and around the corner, out of your view. You were still trying to compose yourself. Your dress was smoothed down now but the tears had started flowing, so you swiped underneath your eyes, trying to clear the mascara mess.

You had your hand pressed to your chest, trying to guide your breathing, when Clint came back into the room. He entered slower this time, taking just a couple steps into the doorway before pausing and looking at you.

You glanced at him before looking back down at the floor in front of you, still taking in deep breaths. “I’m fine,” you asserted.

There was a pause. He didn’t move or say anything, just stood there like a solid presence, unwavering in its solidity. You could smell cigarettes off him, but also a heavier, almost sweet scent. Cinnamon, maybe, you wondered.

You looked at him through your periphery and said, “You can leave now.”

A moment passed, and then he moved toward you, causing you to look up at him. His eyes were soft, and they conveyed compassion despite his mouth being in a straight line. He stopped when he was just a foot away from you.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was like sifted gravel, the harsh edges removed until it was dissolved to fine sand.

You took a breath and shook your head, “I don’t think so.” You didn’t notice the bruise on your upper arm until Clint’s knuckles ran over it softly.

“He do that?” he asked through gritted teeth, clearly trying to quiet the storm in his voice.

You looked down to see Clint’s hand pull away, revealing a blue mark on your arm. “He must have,” you muttered. “My dad’s gonna fuckin’ kill him if he finds out…” You covered your face with your hands, shame and forebodement taking over.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Clint corrected, and it was unclear whether he meant of is own volition, or of your father’s command.

You lowered your hands from your face and looked around. “I have to clean this place up then get home.” You walked around Clint and began to pick up the glasses that had fallen to the floor after the brawl.

“Don’t worry about that,” Clint said, stopping you with a hand on your shoulder. “You just get home. I’ll take care of this. Are you good to drive?”

You swallowed down the tears threatening to spill. As much as you wanted to argue, you knew that you really did just need to be home. So, with a quiet nod you moved toward the door. You didn’t notice Clint following you until you entered the alleyway and glanced behind to see that he was standing in the doorway.

You walked down to your car parked on the side of the road. It was sprinkling out and you were thankful, feeling like it was cleaning you of what you just experienced.

When you unlocked your car and got inside, you looked back toward the alley to see Clint still watching you. Rain fell onto his jacket as his hands were shoved into his front pockets. For once, you were thankful for his presence. For once, you could walk away from him without calling him a motherfucker.

June 6th - 7:02 A.M. [The Coffeeshop]

You were in line, yawning, with bags under your eyes. Sleep had been evading you since the night of the poker game. Every time you closed your eyes, you pictured Tony’s face hovering over yours, his stale breath and painful hands eclipsing you.

Tears of fear and frustration stained your pillowcase as you tossed and turned. Nothing seemed to shut the thoughts off and you yearned for a night when this didn’t feel so encompassing. 

So, it had become common for you to make early morning coffee runs. You’d been avoiding Gabby, lying to her about needing to work more to help your dad out. And you’d been lying to your dad, saying that Gabby was having a rough time post break-up and needed extra support. 

You still worked at the casino here and there, but had completely avoided working poker games, even though you were sure Tony didn’t dare enter that room ever again.

“Ma’am?” The barista was looking at you concerned and you realized that they’d been trying to get your attention. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mumbled the apology and stepped closer to the counter. “Large Americano with an extra shot, please. And a splash of almond milk.”

You paid and then stepped to the side, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while you waited. Your head felt heavy, as though you could pass out at any moment. It was a cruel joke, because you knew that as soon as you laid your head down, your eyes would shoot open with a burst of adrenaline that would wake you up again.

You hadn’t noticed that you were swaying in place until your shoulder bumped against someone standing next to you. “Shoot, I’m sorry,” you said as you took a step back, looking around for a table to sit at. You didn’t look up at the individual, instead keeping your head down and moving to the side.

You heard someone clearing their throat right next to your table. When you lifted your head from your phone, you were met with a broad chest wearing a checkered button-up. The smell alerted you that it was him before you even looked up at his face. Something about the cinnamon and cigarettes warmed your chest, letting your shoulders drop slightly.

“Mornin’,” Clint said, nodding toward the chair opposite you. “May I?”

You didn’t say anything, but motioned with your hand to the chair. Clint slowly lowered himself, eyes on you. “You look like shit.”

You scoffed, “Thanks.”

He exhaled and shook his head, “I don’t mean like that…Are you sleeping?”

“What do you care?,” you shot at him, realizing that it was probably unfair to direct your venom toward him.

He opened his mouth but was interrupted by the barista who called your name. He instead waited patiently for you to retrieve your drink and come back to the table. You’d ordered your coffee to-go, but it was clear that Clint expected you to stay.

Taking the lid off to let the drink cool, you leaned back in the wooden chair and looked out the window. Your whole body was tense, like a coil about ready to snap.

“So…” was all he said, awaiting your answer to his previous question.

“No, okay? I’m not. I…” you huffed out a breath, sitting up straighter in your chair and looking down into your cup of coffee. When you went to speak again, your voice caught and you had to stop yourself so that you wouldn’t cry.

Clint stiffened in his chair. His body went rigid as his jaw tensed. The barista called his name but he didn’t move.

You’d successfully repressed your tears, so you looked up at him. “Your coffee,” you said softly but still guarded.

He didn’t even look at the counter, just kept his eyes on you. You shrank under his gaze, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

You jolted in your seat when he pushed his chair back, standing up. His body loomed over you, but not in a threatening way. 

“Here,” he said, tossing a card onto the center of the table, “if you need anything.” He walked over to the counter, retrieving his small to-go cup that looked ridiculous in his large hand and then exited the coffee shop without looking back at you.

You picked up the card, the only thing written on it was his name followed by a phone number. It was the most nondescript business card you’d ever seen. Still, you pocketed it and took your first sip of your bitter coffee.

Leaving the coffee shop, drink in hand and card in your pocket, you felt a small sense of peace for the first time in weeks. “Motherfucker,” you whispered to yourself with a smile.

June 7th - 8:35 P.M. [Your Apartment]

You were three glasses of wine deep, a random rom-com on the TV, when your phone rang. “Hello?” you answered, trying your best to not sound intoxicated. Before you heard the voice, you realized that you hadn’t even glanced at the caller I.D.

“Hey sweetheart.” Your dad. “I know you’ve been busy with Gabby, but I was hoping you could help me out with something. You have a moment?” 

You sat up on the couch, “Hey dad. Yeah. What’s up?”

“You been drinking, darling?” He didn’t sound critical, just concerned. 

“Just some wine. What do you need, dad?” You attempted to redirect the conversation, which apparently worked. 

“Well, one of the guys, one of my main customers actually, ran into some trouble. You may have seen him at some of the poker games…Tony?” Your stomach dropped and you gripped the phone harder in your hand. 

“Um, yeah, I think so. What happened?” you worked to even your voice. 

“That’s the thing,” he replied, “I’m not quite sure. He, uh, was supposed to come to the game last night, but apparently hasn’t shown up to the last couple. None of the other guys seem to know anything. Did you see him the last time you worked?” 

“Um, yeah,” you answered. 

“He do or say anything odd?” Your dad was speaking casually, as though he didn’t expect you to have any information for him, so you gave him just that. 

“No, not really.” You were picking at your cuticles as you spoke. 

Your dad sighed then said, “Damn it. Okay. I’ll have to let his wife know I don’t have anything for her. Poor woman’s losing her damn mind.” 

Your stomach twisted. “He has a wife?”

“Yeah, poor fucker’s gotta wife and two kids. I hope he didn’t run into any trouble. Ya never know with these assholes,” he muttered. “Anyway, kiddo. I’ll let you get back to your evening. Goodnight, honey.” 

You said goodnight through a strained voice, rushing to the bathroom and dropping to your knees as soon as the phone clicked off. 

After finishing your business, you washed your hands and brushed your teeth. The reality of the situation seemed to come crashing down again and you had to brace yourself on the bathroom counter as the dizziness worked through your body. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you walked back to the couch to retrieve your phone, picking up the card that you’d left on the table. 

The phone only rang twice before he answered. “Hello?” the deep voice vibrated through the phone. 

“Hi,” you took a breath, “It’s-”

“I know who it is,” he said with a degree of arrogance that made you want to end the call then and there. “What do you need? Everything okay?”

You scoffed, “No, everything isn’t okay. I…I know what you did, Clint.”

There was a beat, and then he spoke quieter, “Let’s talk about this in person.”

You gave a real laugh this time. “No, absolutely not. Do you think I’m stupid? You’re a fuckin’ murderer, and I’m just going to meet you in some dark, creepy spot so you can-”

“Stop,” his voice stayed quiet but the severity of it shocked you. “I’m not discussin’ this over the damn phone. If you want answers, you meet me.”

“Fine,” you huffed out. “But you’ll have to come here. I’m not going to anywhere you tell me.”

“That works,” he answered coolly. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait- I have to give you my address. I’m at-” You were interrupted once again. 

“I know where you live.” Click. 

It was the stuff from nightmares, horror movies, so why had you just agreed to let this maniac of a man into your home? 

Your brain started replaying events, trying to figure out what you could piece together on your own. The first thing you realized was that you’d played a part in Clint’s whole plan…When he asked you to go home and that he’d clean everything up after the fight with Tony, that was so that he could go after Tony. He didn’t want to leave you a witness to what he was going to do, so instead he ushered you out and watched you get in your car and drive away. 

You also realized, sickeningly, that he must have been at that poker game just for you. You knew the men at that game, and while some of them were assholes (clearly), they were all in good standing with your dad. None of them would have owed any money. There was no reason for Clint to be there. 

Your brain was rattling. Had he been waiting for you in that alleyway all along, and then approached when he saw all the other men left? Another wave of nausea hit you as you realized that you truly didn’t know this man or his intentions. 

The events from the coffee shop replayed as well, did he follow you there, too? What were the odds that he had shown up at the same time as you did? You took a sip of water in an effort to not vomit again.

You even questioned Clint’s motives for killing Tony. Had he done that for you or did he have his own vendetta against the guy, and you just gave him a good opportunity? 

Your heart started pounding and you looked over at your front door to see that you’d left it unlocked. You hurried across the room in a panic, realizing that you’d made a grave mistake by inviting him to your home.

Just as your hand reached for the lock, the doorknob turned and Clint appeared in front of you - large and looming, his broad shoulders pulling his jacket taught as he looked down at you. You couldn’t see his face because of the light shining behind him and the dimness of your apartment. 

Stumbling backwards, you placed your hands in front of you, much like Tony had done just days prior. “I-I think you should go…” you managed to stammer. 

Clint shut the door behind him and began stepping toward you. You could make out his features now, and he was smirking. “But I just got here,” he said with a subtle grin and low voice.

Your blood ran cold as you continued backing up, looking around your apartment for anything to protect yourself with. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time…” Clint spoke firmly. “You were bound to invite me over at one point or another…” He was standing in front of you now, your back pressed against the far wall of your apartment. “Just didn’t know it’d be this soon.”

You kept your hands held in front of you. “Don’t-don’t come any closer, please…don’t hurt me…” You knew how pathetic you sounded, but you hoped that he might take some pity on your begging. You just needed to get over to your phone, call your dad.

“Hurt you?” Clint cocked his head slightly. “It’s not pain I wanna inflict on you, baby…”

Your breathing was so shallow and rapid that you were starting to feel faint. You brought one of your hands to your chest to try and calm yourself. 

Clint stopped. “Look at me,” he commanded. 

You looked up, trying to keep your tears at bay. 

“I need you to know you’re safe. Say it.” 

“Wh-what?” your voice shook. 

“You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you. Say it.” His tone was sharper this time, less patient.

“I-I’m safe…you’re not going to hurt me.” You swallowed after you spoke. 

Clint nodded, taking another step to close the gap and brushing his calloused thumb against your cheekbone. “Can I kiss you?”

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Your survival instincts were kicking in and you felt like pacifying him was the safest thing you could do, but why did this feel like more than just pacifying him? You shifted, and that’s when you felt the unmistakable wetness between your thighs.

You nodded your head slowly at him and he leaned down, pushing his lips against your own. You were taken aback at how soft they were, at how gentle the kiss was. 

His hands stayed put, one of them still in his front pocket as the other was cradling your face. He continued kissing you, breathing you in and exhaling himself into your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon gum. A warmth started to spread in your chest and he deepened the kiss, licking slowly into your mouth until your tongue met his. 

When he pulled back, you instinctively leaned forward, causing the corner of his mouth to lift. “Gonna make ya see stars, angel,” he said as he reached forward and picked you up, hoisting you off the ground easily and pressing his lips against you once more.

He carried you to the bedroom with your legs wrapped around his. You could feel the firmness of his cock through his jeans and without thinking, started to grind yourself against the bulge. It felt so good. Your brain was already starting to shut off just by feeling his strong arms wrapped around you and his thick heat where you needed him most.

He laid you on the bed, reaching forward and wrapping his thick fingers around the band of your sleep shorts. He paused, watching for your reaction. 

You arched your back with a small whimper, and it was all he needed to continue. He yanked them down your legs, letting them drop to the floor behind him. You hadn’t been wearing underwear and you saw his throat bob at the realization. “Sit up,” he commanded in a soft voice. 

You did as he said, and he pulled your shirt upwards, letting the soft material leave your skin to fall onto the floor. He stood there for a moment, just looking down and observing your naked body. 

Your eyes moved to his bulge and you could see his cock throb, even through the thick denim. You scooted to the end of the bed, reaching forward and placing your fingers on his belt buckle. Looking up at him, you waited for his command. 

He didn’t need to work hard to get you under his spell. One kiss had been all that it took. And he was mighty proud of himself for that. He’d anticipated that he’d need to work much harder. 

He reached down to pick up one of your hands that was on his belt. Bringing your hand to his lips, he planted a soft kiss on the very top, giving you a smile and lowering your hand back to his belt buckle. 

You were practically salivating as you pulled on the buckle, then watched him thread it through his jeans and drop it. He put his hands back at his sides and let you unbutton then unzip his dark jeans. 

He helped you by pushing down the denim and fabric of his briefs, standing back up so you were eye level with his dripping cock. His eyes stayed on you as he shucked off his leather jacket then unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it into the ground. 

Leaning forward, you kissed the tip of his cock then opened your mouth, sucking the head onto your tongue. He exhaled deeply, moving his hands to your head and gently brushing the hair away from your face, looking down and watching as you began to take more of him into your mouth. 

The silence between the two of you made the sounds of your sucking even louder. You hollowed your cheeks to suck harder, moving forward so that your nose was brushing his dark curls. He shuddered and you felt his cock throb in your mouth. 

“Relax.” His voice caught you by surprise and your eyes shot up to look at him. He gave a single nod and you worked to relax your jaw. 

He began moving in and out of your mouth in a sawing motion, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled in pleasure. He gripped your head just a little tighter as he began to use your mouth. You could feel every vein of his cock as he slid against your tongue. The tip of him nudged at the back of your throat, but he was being careful to not gag you. You were surprised by his level of self-control. 

He withdrew slowly, tapping your thigh and motioning with his hand for you to stand. There was something about his silence that was even more arousing and you could feel your slick running down your inner thighs. You stood, clenching your legs together and feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. 

Clint sat on the bed, legs spread slightly, his cock jutting out. “C’mere, sweetheart.” And this time it felt more like a request than a demand, one that you wanted so desperately to give into.

You straddled him, your knees pressed against the mattress on either side of his hips and your glistening pussy hovering right above his meaty cock. His hands came to your waist and bowed his head forward to kiss your breasts. His tongue swirled around one of your nipples and he groaned against the soft skin just to move his mouth to your other breast and give it the same treatment. 

“Please,” you whimpered. You couldn’t take anymore of the teasing. You’d never felt so empty before, so untouched with someone still touching you.

He didn’t say anything, just pulled his mouth away from your chest, and looked into your eyes as he started to pull you down onto his cock. His grip on your sides was light, and he let you do most of the moving, looking down to watch his cock slowly disappear into your sinking cunt.

When he was fully inside you, your head fell against his shoulder. “Oh my god, Clint…” you gasped, staying still as your body acclimated to the intrusion. He began to rub circles onto your skin with his thumbs, letting you take the time you needed and soothing you through it. 

You took a deep breath, then started to slowly rock your hips back and forth. Your clit brushed against his coarse hair with every grind and you threw your head back, enjoying the sensations that began to flow through you. 

Clint hummed, just watching you take what you need. He felt you dripping down his cock, your arousal flowing to his balls. His eyes moved up and down, watching your pussy needily grind against him and also looking up to see your scrunched face and slack jaw as your coil started to tighten.

As the sensations continued building, you squeezed his shoulders and started to bounce up and down. Clint groaned as you picked up speed, your pussy sliding up and down his hard shaft. You lifted off of him halfway before dropping down again, creating wet slapping sounds in the dark room. 

Clint’s hands came to your nipples, squeezing and gently twisting. The feelings quickly became overwhelming as you were nearing your peak. “Clint!” you called out, bouncing on him faster and faster. “I’m gonna-”

“You got it, you can do it, baby…come on, come for me, come on this cock.” His words of encouragement were all you needed to tip over the edge. 

You slammed down onto him as you came, gripping his shoulders, head tossed back as you moaned and whimpered through the waves of pleasure. When your body began shaking, he brought you closer to him so your chests were pressed to each other. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other hand stroked soothing lines up and down your spine.

He stayed completely still as you came down from your high, letting you recuperate and steady your breathing. 

He was still solid inside of you, filling you completely. You pulled back so you could see his face. He swallowed and took in a deep breath. You saw his jaw clench and knew that he was still holding back. Any of the fear you felt for him earlier seemed to dissipate as you looked him in the eyes and said, “Do what you need, Clint…Do whatever you need.”

You yelped as he flipped your bodies around, slamming you against the mattress and then bracing himself above you, panting like some sort of animal. His face was still stoic, mouth in a straight line as his eyes bore into yours. The scar on his cheek was accentuated by how the moonlight was streaming in through the window. 

“Gimme a word,” he said. 

You felt lightheaded and couldn’t make sense of what he was asking you. The room felt hot and cold at the same time, and all you knew was that you needed to feel him again, that the absence alone was overwhelming. 

“What?” you replied breathily. 

“I need a word,” he murmured, leaning down and nipping at your ear before pulling back again. “Y’know baby, a safe word.”

“I-I don’t…” You tried to think, but nothing was coming to you. No one had ever asked for a safeword before, but you’d also never had sex like this before. 

“How ‘bout VHS?” he asked, leaning forward again to suck on your earlobe. It sent prickles throughout your body and you moaned, arching your back. “Need ya to answer me…”

“Yeah, yeah…” you trailed off, your head fuzzy. 

He gave a soft chuckle and replied, “Can you say it for me, baby?” 

You nodded while whispering, “VHS.”

As soon as the last syllable left your mouth, Clint was pressing his lips to yours and reaching down to line himself up with your neglected pussy. You could feel yourself fluttering before he even pushed all the way in. 

He continued kissing you as he snaked himself inside you, inch by inch. You gasped as he pushed in all the way, followed by a groan of his own. He licked from your collarbone up your neck to your jaw, where he sucked a mark as he found his rhythm inside you.

It started steady, a rocking that moved you back and forth against the sheet underneath you. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your hands clasped around his neck as he made the occasional grunt, working within you. 

The conservative pace increased to firmer thrusts and his hips snapping against the backs of your thighs. He was pushing your body into the mattress, deeper and deeper as the thrusts became more of a pounding, his pelvis seeking you over and over, chasing your wet warmth.

“Can’t get over how you feel.” He moved his lips to the shell of your ear, whispering lowly. “You feel so good around me, hugging me so tight, baby.”

Your hands were slipping around his neck, both of you too sweaty to get a proper grip. You reached instead up to his hair, feeling the sheen from his hair gel and the beads of sweat leaving his scalp. You tugged and he groaned deeper, slamming against you. 

“Do that again,” he muttered with his lips against your cheek. 

You tugged harder this time, and then he began railing into you impossibly fast. You screamed out as he shoved in fully, just to pull out and slam in again as deep as he could. Continuing to pull on his hair as he fucked into you, you both were moaning messes, utterly wrecked for the other. 

“Where?” he panted, his rhythm now completely erratic as he neared his release. 

“Inside me, please. I need it, Clint. Ohhhh,” you moaned louder as his thumb began swirling around your clit. “Please! Please!!”

“Gonna fill you, baby….” he groaned, lowering his head and pounding into you, his thumb still rubbing desperately on your bundle of nerves. 

Your nails dug into his back as your orgasm built and then shattered over you. You became a quivering mess underneath him and then he stilled, shooting his load against your velvety walls. His groan was so deep and loud that you swore you felt it inside your body.

He landed another soft kiss on your lips before pulling out and rolling onto his back. Your mind started traveling back to an hour ago, before Clint arrived and you were piecing together the danger you were in. 

You rolled onto your side, laying your head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you and brought you in tight. He was warm, and surprisingly soft, his tenderness like a much-needed hug. And you decided that maybe some questions were better left unanswered.

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.