#CRECS

[milla-frenchy]

oh yeah, gimme that man right in front of the vhs 😍😍😍

reader is something else 🥰🥰🥰

that was hot 🫠🫠🫠

Big boy.

Gif by @berryispunk

Pairing: Clint x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 2065 Summary: You enter a video rental shop looking for something spicy and end up finding the best fuck you've ever had. Basically PWP, I'm FERAL for this man, okay. Tags/Warnings: reader has no description, she wears leggings and a top, smut, sex in a public place, a dash of nipples play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (do better irl, please, especially with strangers), sex with a stranger, pet names, dirty talk, Clint has a filthy mouth of course, no reference to the plot other than the video rental, reader is absolutely unhinged and feral, cream pie, reader is on the pill, some stereotypical ideas, reader doesn't like the name 'Clint', other filthy things I don't even remember, I wrote it basically in a frenzy LMAO. A/N: Inspired by the gif above, I saw this post by @berryispunk on my dash earlier today and started typing right away LOL English is not my first language, no beta, no proofreading, no nothing, I apologize for any mistake.

Thank to anyone who will read!

Masterlist

Your idiot boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, and you haven't seen a cock since. 

Nothing. 

Absolute desert. 

Until a few weeks ago you were too grossed out by the male gender to think about it but you need something now. 

You are thirsty. 

Hungry.

Working from home some days a week was distracting, and you found yourself increasingly brooding, taking long breaks to linger in long sessions with your favorite toys. 

The fantasies going on in your head, however, were always the same and as satisfying as they were, you felt you needed something more. 

At least until you had met a man worthy of your time.

That's how you found yourself after work in the video store near your office. You frequented it often but had never entered the adult video section. You were embarrassed, but you had no other way to find material of the kind you were craving.

The section was divided from the rest of the video store by a thick red velvet curtain, and as you approached it the guy behind the counter gave you an 'eloquent look. He was a thin guy in his early twenties, long black hair, a lower lip piercing, his tattooed arms poking out from a T-shirt cut off at the sides. 

“Hey baby, can I help you?” he had said with a grin painted on his face.

You had raised an eyebrow in response, “No thanks.”

Definitely too young and looking like someone who spends his time getting stoned and playing video games every day all day.

You peeled back the curtain and entered, prowling around the various shelves. Naked women everywhere on video covers, big boobs, bleached blond hair, full lips and winks. On another shelf, black women were smiling at you, on the one below Asian women. And a then shelves and shelves of everyone together.

The world of porn was organized.

Everything was silent, shrouded in the red light of three large neon X's hanging on the wall.

You were perusing at a video with a nice redhead woman, a black woman and a man with a huge cock when you heard steps coming from the opposite direction you were. 

A man appeared right in front of you. 

A very handsome man actually. 

Tall, broad shoulders, a face sculpted by God in person, big nose, kissable lips and slightly messy beard and mustache, thick deep brown hair and a gorgeous pair of brown eyes. 

Please tell me you are looking for my pussy, you thought. 

Fuck. I’m really unhinged at this point.

He ignored you and continued to search the shelves for something. You follow him with your eyes, drinking in his figure dressed in light jeans, a plaid shirt and a black leather jacket. 

He had a little too much gel in his hair, a scar under his right eye and seemed like a troublemaker. But at the same time he was certainly not someone you should have to explain where the clitoris is to, like the guy in his early twenties outside.

You spotted his big hands, long thick fingers, they seemed a little callous but definitely experts.

“What do you recommend?” You suddenly asked. 

You couldn't believe the nerve you'd just shown, but fuck it, we ball, you thought.

He turned and looked at you as if he had only just seen you: “Oh? Sorry, what did you ask me?”

He didn't seem annoyed, just very surprised. 

“What do you recommend?” you repeated as your knees weakened under his gaze. 

“Oh,” he said, as if he didn't care at all about being surrounded by video covers with naked women of all kinds. 

You bit your lip, touched your neck, and looked away after looking at him intensely for a moment. Your winning move, usually. 

“Well, I don't know...” he hesitated, coming closer to you. ”I guess it depends on what you like.”

His voice had become lower, it was hoarse, incredibly sensual. 

As he got closer you looked at his big boots, almost as if it didn't matter. In reality you were noticing his big feet. 

Big feet, big hands, big nose...he must have something else big, I hope.

You looked up, and he was just a step away from you. 

“What do you need tonight?” he teased you, with a sinful little smile on his face.

“Something really wild” you smiled “Do you know where I can find it?”

He smirked “Are you into women, too?” 

“Yes” you replied boldly, licking your upper lip. 

“Sexy” he stated. 

You laughed softly while he took a video from the shelf 

“This one is good” 

It was the one you were looking at when he entered. 

“Uhm.. did you see it?” You asked with a suggestive wink.

“Yes, darling, several times, actually. It never disappoints” he shrugged and looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

Oh yes, I caught him on the hook. You thought.

“Well, ladies are very beautiful... and he has a nice cock” you observed, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“You like big cocks?” it sounded even more raspy and went straight to your pussy.

“Actually…yes” you replied, getting dangerously close to him and looking at him from below, batting your eyelashes. “I bet you have a nice one, by the way”

“No one has ever complained, sweetheart” his hand reached your face, his knuckles grazing at your cheek.

“Then show me” you whispered.

His eyes had become even darker, practically just pupils. 

He ran a hand over his mustache and said, 

“Damn, you're really cheeky. You don't even know my name.” 

“I don't want to know that. I want to know if you want to fuck or not.”

“Here?” he asked, his eyes wide. 

“Why not? You scared?” You teased him.

“I'm no wuss, honey” he growled before slamming your against the shelf behind you

You were left breathless for a moment.

"Show me what you got, big boy" you purred a moment after.

You didn't know what had gotten into you, having sex with a stranger in the adult section of a video rental shop? It certainly wasn't on brand for you, but at that point you wouldn't have backed out. 

His hands had clasped your hips, moving over your ass and groping you strongly.

“Oh baby, when I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk straight for days.” 

“Good. I haven't been fucked properly for a while”

You regretted this confession until he squeezed your ass again, pulling you towards him and saying, “A pretty little thing like you? Fuck, there really is no religion left in this world.” 

“Well, make me shout to God then.” 

His mouth crashed on yours right after, his tongue immediately pushed at your lips and you let it in, licking it and trapping it in a dance with yours.

His hands went up to play with your nipples through your top; you weren't wearing a bra and your nipples immediately stiffened against the fabric.

"Fuck, yeah" you moaned. "I knew your hands were skilled" 

His thumbs kept brushing on your hard buds while his mouth moved to your jawline and your neck, peppering them with kisses, biting at your tender skin and soothing it right away with his tongue.

“You smell so good, baby” he whispered, inhaling the scent of your perfume “like apples and vanilla. It makes me want to eat you up” 

He immediately lowered himself, pulling down your leggings and panties in one go, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cool air in the room made you wince.

“Look at this pussy, she’s weeping huh?” 

He had said this, a moment before starting to kiss your thighs, biting and licking, slowly moving up towards your center.

“Fuck” you moaned burying a hand in his dark curls “please”

He had started by licking your outer lips, then dipping his tongue between your folds, going up to your clitoris and swirling around it.

You would pull his hair and moan, completely enraptured. He was so damn good. 

He definitely knew where your clit was and exactly what it needed.

He began to fondle it, alternating between licking and pressing and then started to jerking it off quickly with his tongue.

You'd completely lost it when he'd taken it in his mouth and started sucking it.

“Yeah baby, you like that huh?” He muttered before nudging at your entrance with his index and middle finger.

He curled his fingers inside you, continuing to suck on your bundle of nerves until you had actually called on the name of God, quivering under his touch.

Your back was hitting against the shelf and it hurt but you didn't care, you were moaning like someone possessed and you didn't care, no one had ever made you come like that with oral sex. 

You couldn't believe how lucky you were, right there and then you decided that your instinct was pretty reliable after all.

“Well, now that she’s nice and wet I think I'll serve her the main course” he groaned. 

“Please” you breathed.

“Still hungry, huh?” he chuckled as he got up. He lifted your top to reveal your tits. ”Gorgeous. Stay still for me”

He unfastened his belt and jeans, letting them fall to his ankles and then pulling them off stomping on them.

His cock was indeed as delicious as you'd thought. 

Big, thick, pink and incredibly hard right before your eyes. 

A small bush of hair all around it and two big balls just below. 

It made your mouth water.

He moved closer to you in an instant, one hand on your tit and the other on your clit as he slowly entered you.

“Fuck, you're so tight.” He grunted. 

“And you’re so big. Just the way I like” you cooed.

He was at least 8 inches and proceeded cautiously, feeling you stretch for him “You're so good, baby, I can't wait to be all inside your hot, soaking wet pussy”

“Make me full, please” you urged him, staring at his gorgeous brown eyes, taking in his lips agape and little beads of sweat running down his neck.

He grunted again before fully sinking inside you. “Can you feel it deep inside, baby? Are you full enough?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s perfect.” You moaned. “Move. Please”

He didn't have to be asked twice before starting to dive in and out of you, at a slow pace at first, making you feel every inch that stretched you, veins on his length gliding against your damp walls, his engorged tip hitting that special spot over and over again.

He increased the pace at your next prayer, squeezing one of your ass cheek with one hand and putting the other behind your back to prevent you from really hurting yourself.

“Christ, babe you’re gripping me so hard, I don't think I can hold on much longer” he muttered 

Your fingers were tangled in his curls at the base of his neck, you lured him into a deep, sloppy kiss, after whispering in his ear “Paint me. I'm on the pill” 

“Fuck, do you want me to come inside you? Do you want to go home with my seed dripping between your legs?”

“Yes” you purred “go on, big boy, that's exactly what I'm hoping for.”

“Come for me first, be a good girl. I can feel you're close”

You came after another couple of strong thrusts, your moans muffled by his lips on yours. 

He came just after you, unloading long, warm streaks of his seed inside you.

He kept thrusting into you until he softened, grunting and groping your tit with his large hand, his thick fingers tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said as he came out from you and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘It's one of the craziest things that has ever happened to me.”

“Um... do crazy things happen to you often?’ you asked smiling

“Sometimes.”

He pulled on his pants, gave you another kiss and headed for the tent.

He didn't ask your name. He knew he didn't need to.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Thanks to you. I'm Clint, by the way. I often come here on Thursdays, if you'd like to see me again.” 

He left without saying anything else. 

Clint. What a crappy name. Good thing he doesn't look like it.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @lemon-nomel @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @baronessvonglitter @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away. ❤️

[ernestdescalsartwok]

ENTES-VIDA PROPIA-CENTRAL TERMICA-FIGOLS-ARTE-PINTURA-CERCS-CALENTADORES-GASOIL-DETALLES-OSCURIDAD-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS por Ernest Descals Por Flickr: ENTES-VIDA PROPIA-CENTRAL TERMICA-FIGOLS-ARTE-PINTURA-CERCS-CALENTADORES-GASOIL-DETALLES-OSCURIDAD-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS- En la oscuridad de la gran habitación, en la parte de arriba de la antigua y cerrada CENTRAL TERMICA de FÍGOLS y Cercs, dos calentadores de gasoil me contemplan como Entes con Vida Propia, sus ojos me observan con recelo, no vaya a enturbiar su descanso antes de su desparación total, estan condenados a desaparecer convertidos en chatarra, creo han entendido que los amo en su descanso eterno, ellos eran agentes muy activos enla funcionamiento de Central Térmica, ahora son temporales supervientes de la descomposición del lugar. Espero que con mi cariñosa compañía hayan vivido para siempre en mi Pintura que quiere ser documental y histórica. Detalles de los cuadros del artista pintor Ernest Decals, siempre he creído que algunos detalles albergan verdades profundas.

[orangefrr]

"You have already left kudos here. :)" WELL FUCK YOU FUCK YOUR MOM FUCK YOUR LIFE HOPE YOU GET FUCKING RUN OVER LET ME GET MORE KUDOS TO THIS AMAZING WORK OF ART YOU IMBECILE YOU REDFACE FOOTSHAPED BUTTHEAD WHO TF YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE LITERALLY A MERE PIECE OF SHIT YOU ARE NOT EVEN WORTHY OF SWIPPING W A PAPER YOU ARE AN INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE DOT ON A PAPER YOU CUSHIONFUCKER

[milla-frenchy]

Odi we need to taaaaaaaalk 🥵🥵🥵🥵

This was SO hot jfc, I want him, I need him, ughhhhh (damn what were they thinking about, filming him in this video store???? Now we're fucked - and we're so here for it 😏😏😏)

“Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

I think I fell in love with him right here (yes, I'm that easy 🤭)

You scoff. "Not happening." Clint exhales, long and slow, like this is just another inconvenience to him. Then, he says it. "You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts." Your stomach drops. "Are you—" You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. "Seriously?" He grins, all teeth. "Dead serious."

He's such an asshole 😂 (I love him)

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. "Relax, sweetheart. You act like I just asked you to do somethin’ real dirty." You whip your head toward him, scowling. "This is dirty." He grins, slow and lazy. "Yeah?" His gaze dips lower, raking over you in a way that makes your skin prickle. "Ain’t even touched you yet." Fucking hell.

The banter is chefs kiss, as usual in your fics 🤌👌

His smirk deepens, voice dropping lower. "Aw, sweetheart. You nervous?" You swallow hard, forcing your body to stay still. "No." Clint tsks, shaking his head. "Liar."

biting my own fist rn!!!

Your breath catches. "Excuse me?" Clint just pats his thigh, lazy and casual like he’s offering you the comfiest seat in the house. "Ain’t gonna bite. Unless, y’know, you ask real nice."

dead

"You gonna help me out here?" he drawls, mouthing along your jaw. "Or you just gonna lay there all pretty and let me do all the work?"  

this mf lmaooooo 😁😁😁

The whole smut is CRAZY. This man's got a fn mouth 🥵🥵🥵

And then...

Your brows furrow as you shift on your knees, the dull throb of your own arousal making you restless. “What the fuck?” you snap, your voice breathless and frustrated. Clint sighs, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s already settling in for the night. “Sorry, baby,” he drawls, his tone dripping with smug amusement. “Daddy’s tired.” Your mouth drops open in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.” He smirks, reaching down to tuck himself back into his jeans before grabbing a nearby tissue to wipe his hand. “Nope.” His gaze flicks over your flushed, trembling body, your thighs still pressed together, desperate for friction. He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, look at you—so fuckin’ needy.”

OMG!!!! HE DID NOT?????

Ok baby, I need to know... Will she bring another tape the next day? 👀👀👀

Babe, you nailed it ❤️❤️

sweet surrender

Clint x f!reader // 6k

summary: your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

warnings: mdni, 18+, porn with minimal plot, sleazy!clint, daddy kink, oral f! and m! receiving, unprotected p in v, fucking at work, fucking to a porn video, reader has titties, edging, orgasm denial

notes: a big huge thank you to @itwasntimethatdidit40 for reading this and being the sweetest cheerleader and for making me a moodboard when I was going through this crisis I love you so very much, @milla-frenchy for reading and leaving me the best comments you are the sweetest bb <3 and a big thank you to @evolnoomym for reading this over too. You are all the best and I love you veryyyyy much. // ty @/darkissoulmybody on Pinterest for the clint pic <3

masterlist

The bell above the door jingles as you step into the dimly lit video store, the scent of old VHS cases and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The neon glow from the ADULT SECTION sign flickers in the back, casting shadows over the rows of tapes Clint probably hasn’t dusted in a decade.

You spot him behind the counter, feet kicked up, flipping through a magazine like he’s got all the time in the world. His aviators rest low on his nose, and when he glances up at you, a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your bag onto the counter. “I’m five minutes early.”

Clint shrugs, shutting the magazine with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Coulda fooled me. Felt like I was sittin’ here all alone for hours.”

“Tragic.”

“You have no idea.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter, eyes raking over you in that way that’s become annoyingly familiar. “Lucky for me, I’ve got entertainment.”

You don’t have to ask. You already know. Like clockwork, there’s a VHS case sitting right by the register, an X-rated title in bold, red letters across the front. He picks out one every damn week like it’s just part of his routine. Sometimes he even makes you ring it up for him, just to see if you’ll get flustered.

Clint taps the tape with two fingers. “Think this one’s gonna be good?”

You glance at it. Sweet Surrender. Jesus.

You arch a brow. “Didn’t take you for a romance guy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

You scoff, moving past him to clock in. Clint watches you go, the heat of his gaze pressing into your back. It’s always like this—him looking, teasing, toeing the line just enough to make you wonder if he’d ever actually cross it.

You haven’t figured out yet if you’d let him.

The night drags on slowly, the hum of the old fluorescent lights blending with the occasional creak of the front door. A couple of regulars come and go, renting their usuals, nodding at Clint. You organize the counter, stock a few shelves, and pretend you don’t notice the way Clint always seems to be near.

At some point, you duck into the break room, craving a moment of quiet. The tiny space is cluttered—half-empty soda cans, an old couch that smells like dust, and a mini fridge stocked with questionable leftovers. You lean against the counter, letting out a slow breath.

And then Clint’s there, filling the doorway.

“Escapin’ from me already?” he muses, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You don’t look at him, reaching for the fridge instead. “Just needed a break from your endless charm.”

He chuckles, low and rough. “That so?”

You grab a soda, cracking it open. “Mhm.”

Clint takes another step closer, and this time, you feel it. The heat of him, the scent of cigarettes and cheap aftershave, the way his presence always seems bigger than it should be in a room this small.

"Y’know, sweetheart," he drawls, voice dipped in that slow, southern thing he does when he’s feeling extra cocky, "I don’t think you appreciate me enough."

You take a sip of your soda, deadpan. "So sad."

"That’s what I’m sayin’." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I’m here, night after night, keeping this fine establishment running—"

"You sit behind the counter and read Hustler."

"—And in return, do I get so much as a thank you?" He sighs, like he’s been personally victimized. "No, I do not."

You roll your eyes, setting your soda down with more force than necessary. "Thank you, Clint, for gracing this dump with your presence."

He smirks. "Anytime, sweetheart."

You turn to leave, but before you can, Clint starts talking.

"You ever get curious?" he asks, voice all low and knowing.

You frown. "About what?"

Clint taps the VHS tape in his hand. The one he brought into the break room with him. The one he’s now pushing into the old, busted TV set in the corner like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Your stomach drops. "Clint—"

The screen crackles to life. A grainy, oversaturated image flickers on—the unmistakable opening of Sweet Surrender, complete with cheesy saxophone music and a woman moaning through the static.

You stare at the TV. Then at Clint.

"What the fuck, dude?"

Clint just grins, sinking down onto the old couch like this is all one big joke. Like he planned for this reaction. He stretches out, legs spread wide, arm slung over the back like he owns the place.

Like he’s settling in.

"What?" He gestures lazily at the screen. "Figured we could do some, y’know, quality control."

You gape at him. "You did not just put on a fucking porno in the break room."

Clint shrugs, completely unbothered. "Looks like I did."

You’re about to cuss him out, maybe throw your soda at him, when he takes it a step further—because of course he does.

He pats the cushion beside him, smirking. "C’mon, sweetheart. Scared you might like it?"

You scoff, folding your arms tight across your chest. "Oh, fuck off, Clint."

But he just grins wider, eyes glinting. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

"That a no?" he drawls, tilting his head. "Shame. Thought we were friends."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Friends don’t put on softcore porn in the break room."

"Softcore?" Clint clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you wound me. You think I’d waste my time on soft anything?"

You open your mouth to fire back, but then a particularly loud, breathy moan cuts through the static, and you feel your face heats up.

Jesus Christ.

Clint watches you, eyes flicking between you and the screen like he’s waiting—hoping—to catch you slipping.

"Y’know," he muses, stretching his arms up behind his head, "you could just not watch. Seems like you’re thinkin’ about it awful hard, though."

You shake your head, biting back the urge to tell him to go to hell. "I’m not thinking about shit."

Clint hums like he doesn’t believe you, like he can see right through you. He stays lounging, legs spread, fingers drumming lazily against his thigh as he turns his attention back to the screen.

Another moan filters through the static.

You grab your soda gripping it tighter. "You’re disgusting."

"And yet, here you are. Still talkin’ to me."

You glare at him, turning for the door. "I have actual work to do."

But before you can take a step, Clint clicks his tongue. "Ah, ah, ah—why don’t you sit down, sweetheart?"

Your spine goes stiff. "What?"

He gestures to the empty space beside him. "Take a load off. Ain’t like we’re busy."

You scoff. "Not happening."

Clint exhales, long and slow, like this is just another inconvenience to him. Then, he says it.

"You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts."

Your stomach drops. "Are you—" You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. "Seriously?"

He grins, all teeth. "Dead serious."

Your pulse kicks up, anger boiling under your skin. "You’re gonna fire me—because I won’t watch your shitty porn with you?"

"Don’t be dramatic," Clint says, patting the cushion again. "Just tryna boost morale. You don’t wanna be a team player? That’s fine. I’ll just start lookin’ for someone who will."

You glare at him, every part of you screaming to tell him to fuck off, to storm out and never come back.

But rent is due. Your car needs gas. And Clint knows it.

You don’t sit right away. You stand there, arms locked tight, fighting every instinct telling you not to give him the satisfaction.

And Clint just sits there, watching, waiting for you to crack.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, you place your soda down again and drop onto the couch beside him, arms still crossed.

He chuckles low, tilting his head toward you. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Your jaw is clenched so tight it aches. "Go to hell, Clint."

Clint just smirks. "Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well enjoy the view."

Clint spreads his legs enough to make sure you notice. His arm drapes across the back, fingers barely grazing your shoulder, like he’s settling in with you. Like this is comfortable.

For him, anyway.

For you, it’s fucking not.

"Ain’t too bad, huh?" he murmurs, voice all slow and smug.

You fix your gaze on the TV, jaw clenched. "Shut up."

But Clint isn’t the type to shut up.

He watches you instead of the screen, studying the stiff set of your shoulders, the way your arms stay locked tight across your chest. Like you think you can make yourself smaller. Like you think you can ignore him.

But he’s relentless.

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. "Relax, sweetheart. You act like I just asked you to do somethin’ real dirty."

You whip your head toward him, scowling. "This is dirty."

He grins, slow and lazy. "Yeah?" His gaze dips lower, raking over you in a way that makes your skin prickle. "Ain’t even touched you yet."

Fucking hell.

You snap your head back toward the TV, desperate to look anywhere else. The scene playing out is typical cheap VHS smut—bad lighting, a low-budget set, and a woman fake moaning as some guy runs his hands all over her. They’re both already naked, sprawled across a tacky, leopard-print couch that looks stiff and uncomfortable. Her curls bounce as she arches exaggeratedly, lips parted in an over-the-top gasp.  

“Mmm, yeah, just like that,” she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down his back, though the gesture looks more like a routine than genuine pleasure.  

The guy—tan lines stark against his skin, hair slicked back with too much gel—grunts, his expression unfocused. “You like that?” His voice is low, but the words sound hollow, like he’s said them a hundred times before.  

She lets out another moan, forced, too high-pitched to be real. The camera lingers on his hands moving over her, on the way she spreads her legs obligingly, even as her expression flickers—boredom creeping in beneath the act. The whole thing feels mechanical, like they’re just going through the motions, a loop they’ve rehearsed a hundred times before.

“God, you feel so good,” she sighs, her voice sweet, syrupy, and just a little too rehearsed.  

The man doesn’t respond, just keeps moving, his rhythm unchanged, like he’s punching a clock. The camera zooms in slightly, grainy and unflattering, the colors oversaturated in that distinct VHS way. It’s all so obvious—cheap, impersonal, bodies going through the motions for the sake of getting paid.

And yet, you can’t quite look away.  

Clint hums, tapping his fingers against the couch. "Gotta say, Sweet Surrender ain’t half bad. Got a nice lil’ build-up to it."

You exhale sharply, your patience hanging by a thread. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Clint just chuckles, low and amused. "Not when I’m enjoyin’ myself."

And then—he sprawls out even more, shifting so his knee knocks against yours.

You jerk away. "Clint—"

"What?" He feigns innocence, head tilting. "Ain’t my fault there's not much room on this ratty ol’ couch."

Your hands ball into fists in your lap. "You’re the one who told me to sit here."

He grins again, wolfish and filthy. "And lucky for you, I’m real good at sharin’."

You’re about to snap, about to say something vicious—but then his fingers brush your thigh. Just a ghost of a touch, casual as anything, but pointed.

Deliberate.

Your breath catches, and he notices.

His smirk deepens, voice dropping lower. "Aw, sweetheart. You nervous?"

You swallow hard, forcing your body to stay still. "No."

Clint tsks, shaking his head. "Liar."

And then, the fucker has the nerve to nudge his knee against yours again, slow and deliberate, his fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your thigh.

"You sit here actin’ all stiff, like you don’t wanna be here," he murmurs, his voice damn near silky. "But you haven't left yet."

Your nails dig into your palms. "Because you threatened to fire me."

Clint just grins. "Uh-huh." He leans in again, voice dipping into something rougher. "That the only reason?"

Your heart slams against your chest.

You should get up. Should shove him away, tell him to fuck off, storm out and let him deal with this shitty store all by himself.

But your legs won’t move. Your body won’t move.

And Clint? He just keeps watching you, looking at you like he’s already won.

Like he knows something you don’t.

His smirk turns downright predatory, all lazy amusement and smug satisfaction. "See," he drawls, fingers still moving up your thigh, "you talk a big game, sweetheart, but you like this, don’t you?"

You inhale sharply, turning your head to glare at him. "I do not—"

He chuckles, slow and deep. "Mmm.”

His hand drags a little higher, not quite a grope, but enough to feel. Enough to let you know he’s testing you, waiting for you to stop him.

You should stop him.

But your body betrays you, staying right there, locked in place, heat curling in your stomach in a way you hate.

Clint grins like he can taste your hesitation. "See? Ain’t so bad, am I?"

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re a fucking creep."

He hums, unconcerned. "Maybe." 

The TV hums in the background, the flickering glow casting shadows across his face. Another moan filters through the static, obscene and drawn out.

And Clint? He doesn’t look at the screen.

He looks at you and winks.

"Y’know," he muses, voice all slow and smug, "coulda left five minutes ago. Could leave now." His fingers press a little firmer, teasing the edge of your inner thigh. "But you won’t."

Your breath shudders, hands curling into fists.

His lips twitch. "So, tell me, sweetheart. You gonna sit here, act all mad, or you gonna do what we both know you wanna do?"

Your whole body is burning—rage, humiliation, something else you refuse to name.

You need to leave.

And Clint fucking knows it.

His smirk deepens, hand creeping higher, his voice dipping into something rougher, darker. 

"That’s my girl."

Your whole body is wound tight, muscles locked, breath shallow.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you.

His smirk turns downright wicked. "C’mon, sweetheart," he murmurs, tilting his head toward his lap. "Why don’t you get a little more comfortable?"

Your breath catches. "Excuse me?"

Clint just pats his thigh, lazy and casual like he’s offering you the comfiest seat in the house. "Ain’t gonna bite. Unless, y’know, you ask real nice."

You should slap him.

He leans in a little more, breath warm against your ear. "I ain’t making you do nothing, doll," he says, slow and deliberate. "You wanna leave? Walk. But you stay sitting here, pretending like you don’t want it? Now that’s just wastin’ both our time."

Your stomach twists, heat coiling low. "You’re so fucking full of yourself."

Clint chuckles, dark and knowing. "Yeah? You ain't gotta pretend you don't like it.” 

You hate that he’s right.

Hate that your thighs press together, that your breath is shaky.

You inhale sharply.

Then, slowly, finally—you move.

You shift, hesitating for just a second before you swing your leg over and settle onto his lap.

His hands immediately slide to your hips, gripping firm, like he’s been waiting for this all goddamn night.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, voice all rough approval. His hands flex on your hips, warm and steady, holding you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he knew you’d end up here eventually. You hate how he leans back just enough to take you in, like he’s already imagining exactly how this is gonna go.

You glare down at him. "Wipe that look off your face."

His smirk only deepens. "What look?"

You don’t answer, because if you do, your voice might shake. Might give something away. Instead, you grab the collar of his cheap button-up, fisting it tight like you’re considering shoving him away. He doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks even more pleased.

"Feisty," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "Always figured you had a little fight in ya."

You roll your eyes. And then you do it.

You yank him in and crash your mouth against his, all heat and frustration, and fuck you wrapped up in a kiss. Clint makes a sound—low, satisfied, almost like he’d been daring you to do it. His hands tighten, fingers digging in, and then he’s kissing you back, deep and consuming, dragging you under like he owns you.

It’s messy, all clashing teeth and the faint taste of cheap beer and cigarettes on his tongue, but fuck, it’s good. Too good. His hands slide up your sides, rough and sure, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing warm skin. You arch into it without thinking, and that’s all the invitation Clint needs—he groans, low in his throat, and suddenly you're moving, flipped onto your back before you can blink.

"Fucking finally," he mutters against your mouth, hands already pushing up your shirt.

You barely have time to register the old couch beneath you before Clint is on you, pressing you down, pinning you like he’s been waiting forever for this moment. His weight is solid, and grounding, and when he dips his head, dragging his lips down the side of your neck, you barely bite back a sound.

"Damn, you smell good," he rasps, voice thick, rough like gravel. "Been driving me fuckin’ crazy for weeks."

Your breath stutters as his teeth scrape over your pulse, the heat of his mouth making your head swim. You should say something, throw one last smartass remark his way—but then his hands are everywhere, tugging your shirt up, palming greedily over your ribs, thumbs teasing just beneath the edge of your bra.  

"You gonna help me out here?" he drawls, mouthing along your jaw. "Or you just gonna lay there all pretty and let me do all the work?"  

His voice is thick with something dark and amused, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your stomach tighten. You lift your arms, giving him exactly what he wants, and he wastes no time pulling your shirt over your head. The cool air hits your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, but it's nothing compared to the warmth of his hands as they slide over your bare shoulders, and down your sides. Your bra follows, unhooked with practiced ease, and he groans as he takes you in—eyes dark, hands already reaching.  

"Look at you," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen."  

Then he dips down, mouth hot and eager, dragging wet kisses along the swell of your breast before he takes one into his mouth. His tongue is slow, deliberate, circling, flicking, while one of his hands kneads the other, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.  

He hums against your skin, lips dragging lower before he sucks at the sensitive underside, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him.  

"That feel good, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice rough, breath warm against your skin. His other hand rolls your nipple between his fingers, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet you like being taken care of, don't you?”

You let out a shaky breath, head tilting back as heat coils low in your belly. His mouth is everywhere—kissing, sucking, teasing—turning you pliant under him. His words send a shiver down your spine, and you barely realize you’re nodding before your lips part to speak.  

"Yeah," you admit, voice soft, a little breathless. "I— I like it."  

Clint hums against your skin, dragging his teeth along the curve of your breast. "Yeah, I bet you do," he murmurs, fingers rolling your nipple, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet no one's ever really taken care of you before, huh? Not like this." His voice is all gravel and heat, thick with certainty. "Not by a real man.”  

Your breath stutters, your fingers twitching where they rest against the couch. The way he’s looking at you—hungry, possessive, like he already knows the answer—makes your pulse race.

"S’okay, sweetheart," he soothes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss between your breasts. "Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you."

Before you can even process the rush of heat his words send through you, Clint just grins, teeth flashing, and suddenly his hands are on yours, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one quick, easy motion.

You open your mouth—to argue, to tell him he’s full of shit—but then he grinds himself against you, and whatever insult you were about to spit out melts into a choked-off gasp.

Clint’s breath is hot against your skin as he leans over you, the flickering light of the TV casting a sinful glow over his face. The low, breathy moans from the video playing beside him fill the cramped break room, mixing with the sound of your own unsteady breathing. His grip on your wrists is firm, keeping you pinned as his hips press hard against yours, the thick outline of his cock grinding insistently where you need him most.

“You hear that? You sound even prettier than she does.”

You bite back a whimper, but he catches it anyway, grinning like the devil himself. His free hand slips under your pants, between your thighs, fingers stroking over the damp fabric of your panties, slow and teasing. The woman on the screen lets out a desperate little cry as the man behind her fucks into her deep, and Clint groans low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You wanna try it?”

Your breath stutters. “What?”

His teeth scrape over your jaw, fingers curling tighter around your wrists as his other hand slides beneath your waistband, fingers dipping into your slick heat. “The way he’s got her. Bent over that couch, takin’ it like a good girl.” He drags his fingers under your panties and through your wetness, teasing, torturing. “Bet you’d look real pretty like that.”

A shiver runs through you, half defiance, half raw, burning need. “And if I say no?”

Clint chuckles, a dark, knowing sound as he draws his fingers out of you, lifting them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Then I’ll just have to fuck you right here, just like this.” His hips press harder, the thick length of him straining against his jeans. “Either way, you’re gettin’ wrecked, sweetheart.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears, breath shallow as you glance at the screen—at the way the man’s hands are gripping the woman’s waist, pulling her back onto him, the obscene sounds of slick skin meeting skin filling the air. Clint’s watching too, tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he can already taste the way you’ll come apart for him.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he orders, voice rough, commanding. “Tell him how you wanna be fucked.”

Your pride wars with your arousal, but the heat in his eyes, the way he’s holding you down, leaves you with only one answer.

“Like that.” Your voice is breathless, shaky, but firm. “Fuck me like that.”

Clint exhales a low chuckle, fingers tightening on your wrists. “Yeah? Knew you had it in you, baby. Knew you’d give in.” His voice is smug, dripping with satisfaction as he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Say it again. But sweeter this time.” His lips brush your jaw, teasing. “Come on, princess. Call me daddy like you fuckin’ mean it.”

Heat prickles down your spine, your body betraying you as a shiver rolls through you. You grit your teeth, but the way he’s looking at you—like he owns you, like you’re already his—makes resistance feel impossible.

“Fuck me like that… Daddy.”

His eyes darken, his cock twitching against his jeans. “That’s my good girl.”

In one swift movement, he releases your wrists, flipping you onto your stomach against the couch. The cushions sink beneath you as Clint tugs your pants and underwear down in one rough motion, his large hands knead at your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you gasp. “Goddamn, look at that,” he groans, spreading you open with both hands, his thumbs pressing into your skin. “Can’t wait to see this pretty ass bounce on my cock—gonna make you work for it, baby.” he groans, palming himself through his jeans before undoing his belt. 

He tugs the leather free with one sharp pull, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he slides a hand down between your thighs, his fingers spreading you open even further.

“And look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger. “Fuck, baby, she’s already so wet for daddy.” He drags a finger through your slick folds, slow and teasing, before bringing it to his mouth. His groan is low, filthy, as he sucks your taste from his fingers.

“Sweet as fuck,” he mutters, gripping your hips, dragging you back toward him. He leans in and his tongue flicks out, tasting you properly this time. His groan vibrates against you as he licks a slow, wet stripe up your cunt, his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks.

“Mmm,” he hums, licking his lips. “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess outta you.”

He leans back, and the sound of his zipper sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, your body humming with anticipation. He doesn’t waste any time, shoving his jeans down over his hips, kicking them off completely along with his boxers. His cock stands thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he wraps a hand around the base, giving himself a slow stroke while his other hand spreads you open again.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, making you squirm. “Just like in the video, huh?” He presses in just enough to drive you insane before pulling back, smirking when you whine.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he taunts, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you jerk. “Gonna make a nice mess for me?”

Please,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whine.

He stills, his grip on your hips tightening. “Please what, baby?” His voice is smug, low, full of satisfaction as he waits, knowing exactly what he wants to hear.

You bite your lip, pride warring with need—but the way he’s holding you, the way he’s teasing you, makes it impossible to resist.

“Please, daddy,” you whisper.

Clint groans, his cock twitching against you. And then he’s sliding into you, slow but deep, stretching you open until you’re gasping. His hands grip your hips tight as he bottoms out, his head falling forward with a low, guttural moan. “Oh baby, she feels good,” he grits out. “Takin’ daddy so damn good, like you were made just for me.”

The video is still playing, the sounds of pleasure in the background spurring him on as he starts to move. His pace is steady at first, measured, but you don’t want slow—you want exactly what he promised. You want to be fucked like the woman on the screen, raw and dirty and desperate.

“Harder,” you gasp.

Clint growls, snapping his hips forward with a punishing thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. His fingers dig into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the tiny room. The couch creaks beneath you, but you barely notice—your body is burning, strung tight, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

His grip tightens as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice dark and commanding. “Look at the TV.”

Your dazed eyes flutter open, and the sight in front of you makes your breath hitch. On the screen, a woman is getting absolutely wrecked, her body bouncing with every deep, relentless thrust. Clint moans at the way your gaze locks onto it, his fingers move to your neck and tighten around your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

“See that?” he murmurs, thrusting harder, deeper, making your body jolt with each snap of his hips. “She looks so pretty takin’ it—just like you.” His hand slides down to your chest, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your nipple.. “Look at how her tits bounce, baby. Just like yours. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimper, your back arching into his touch, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Clint’s grip moves from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head back so you can’t look anywhere but the TV. “Bet you like watchin’ it, don’t you?” he taunts, voice thick with sin. “Bet you love seein’ how good she takes it while I fuck you just the same.”

A deep, broken moan rips from your throat, your nails clawing at the couch as pleasure coils tight, ready to snap.

Clint groans, hips stuttering as he watches your body shudder beneath him. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let daddy wreck you just like that?”

You let out a choked-off whimper as the scene on the TV shifts—the man shoving the woman onto her back, spreading her wide before diving between her legs. Clint watches, his breath going ragged, and then his dark eyes flick back to you.

“Mmmm.” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your trembling body. “Bet you want that too, huh?”

You don’t even get the chance to answer before he moves, gripping your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the couch. The sudden motion has you gasping, but Clint just grins as he kneels between your legs.

“Keep watchin’,” he orders, voice low and rough.

Then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and devastating. His tongue drags over your clit in slow, deliberate circles, teasing, making you squirm. You grip his hair, tugging hard, but Clint just groans, sucking harder in retaliation.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin. “drooling for me. You like this, don’t you? Bein’ my plaything while we watch?”

The only response you can manage is a desperate, breathless moan.

Clint chuckles, the vibration making you shudder. He glances up at the screen, where the woman’s back is arching, her hands gripping the couch as the man devours her. Clint growls and follows suit, wrapping his hands tight around your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking you deep, messy, like he’s starving.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice muffled against you. “Lemme hear those pretty little sounds, sweetheart. Show me who does it better—me or him?”

Clint groans against you, his tongue flicking faster, rougher, his fingers digging into your thighs as he devours you like he’s got something to prove. The filthy, wet sounds of his mouth on you mix with the moans from the TV, the whole thing makes your head spin.

You’re so close—right on the edge, your body tensing, ready to snap—when suddenly, Clint pulls away. You whine at the loss, your hips bucking up instinctively, but he just grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos. “You’ll get to come—just not yet.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gripping your wrist, pulling you up off the couch and onto your knees in front of him. His cock is right there, flushed, thick, slick at the tip from how worked up he is. He fists himself lazily, giving it a slow stroke as he watches you, his other hand brushing through your hair.

“Open up, baby,” he murmurs, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth on me.”

You part your lips, letting your tongue flick over the tip, and Clint groans, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you look so fuckin’ pretty like this.” His hips jerk slightly as you take him deeper, your tongue dragging along the thick vein on the underside. “Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d suck Daddy’s cock like a fuckin’ dream.”

He tilts your head up, making you look at him as you hollow your cheeks, taking more of him. His jaw clenches, a dark look flashing in his eyes. “Fuck, baby—look at you,” he groans. “So fuckin’ eager. You like it, don’t you? Like being on your knees for me, takin’ Daddy’s cock like a good little thing?”

You hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding your pace, making you take him deeper. You relax your throat, letting him use you, and the sound he makes is downright filthy.

“Shit, baby,” he grits out, his abs tightening as he thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher. “Gonna fuck this pretty mouth—gonna come down your throat.”

His other hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling how full your mouth is. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, ain’tcha, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

His pace stutters, his hips jerking as his breathing goes ragged. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it—look at you, so perfect for me—”

With a deep, wrecked groan, he comes, spilling hot and thick down your throat, his fingers gripping your hair tight as he holds you there. You swallow around him, taking every drop just like he told you, and the way his body shudders from it sends another pulse of heat straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, gathering the last drop of his release before pressing it against your tongue.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, sucking it into your mouth just to tease him, hoping he’ll get the hint—hoping he’ll finally give you what you need. But instead of pulling you back onto the couch, instead of touching you the way you’re aching for, Clint just chuckles, leaning back against the cushions with a lazy, satisfied grin.

Your brows furrow as you shift on your knees, the dull throb of your own arousal making you restless. “What the fuck?” you snap, your voice breathless and frustrated.

Clint sighs, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s already settling in for the night. “Sorry, baby,” he drawls, his tone dripping with smug amusement. “Daddy’s tired.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

He smirks, reaching down to tuck himself back into his jeans before grabbing a nearby tissue to wipe his hand. “Nope.” His gaze flicks over your flushed, trembling body, your thighs still pressed together, desperate for friction. He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, look at you—so fuckin’ needy.”

You glare at him, gripping his knee, half tempted to crawl onto his lap and take what you need yourself. “Clint—”

But he just tuts, wagging a finger at you. “Uh-uh. Don’t be such a fuckin’ brat about it.” He reaches forward, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him, his smirk deepening. “Tell you what, sweetheart—bring me another tape tomorrow. Somethin’ real dirty.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip again, grinning when you shiver. “Then maybe—maybe—Daddy’ll let you come.”

Your breath hitches, your thighs clenching together involuntarily.

“Better be a good one,” he murmurs. “Now be a good girl and clean up, yeah?”

npt to those interested in the wips: @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @mushgloomz @arcanefox207 @gothcsz @probablyreadinsmut @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox @whocaresstillthelouvre @myownwholewildworld @ace-turned-confused @jokesonthem

[guillemelgat]

FOLKTRONICA IBERICA - A Playlist

Hello everyone, @minglana and I have been working on trying to compile a playlist of all the incredible folktronica-adjacent music coming out the Iberian Peninsula in the past couple of years, and it's finally here and ready for your listening pleasure! Including everything from electro-fado and trance-like muiñeiras to arrangements of 14th century liturgical chants and revamped jotas, and spanning from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, the playlist is roughly ordered by geographical location, starting in Portugal and moving up across the north from Galicia and Asturias through the Basque Country to Aragon and the Catalan Countries, then south to Andalusia and Extremadura. Languages include Portuguese, Galician, Asturian, Basque, Aragonese, Catalan, and Spanish. If there's any artists or song you'd like to see included, let us know and we'll add them!

[thisbibliomaniac]

Trad Guy #1: He's such a simp.

Trad Guy #2: What's a simp?

Trad Guy #1: It's what we call guys who are nice to women, because they're simpletons.

[livelaughlovepedri]

lyon in the final oi this is personal to me

[milla-frenchy]

Bat delivering as usual, ughhhhh 🥵🥵🥵

He's an ass, and that's why I'm here 😌

He pulls them back out and holds his slick shiny fingers in front of your face so you can see your arousal stretching between his fingers. “Look at that. I know Angelo won’t let anybody bust in this pussy. This is all you, baby. Slick as fuck.”

degradation my loooooove 😍😍😍

“Legs up. Spread your pussy for me. Let me see how fucked open you are.” You drew your knees up and rubbed your clit in a messy circle, then dipped two fingers into your wet hole, followed by a third that made you groan. “You’re so fucking sick, Clint.” “Yeah? I’m sick? You’re the one selling her greedy snatch in the street. Spread your pussy.” You did as he said, your manicured fingernails framing your delicate folds, swollen and wet so he could see how your entrance clenched for him. “Look at that,” he marveled sarcastically, "Angelo's million dollar pussy.” He stared at your body, then spat, a thick glob of saliva dripped over your nails and mixed with your arousal.

“Clint!” you yelped, nails cutting into his biceps. “Clint!” You couldn’t get out the words you needed. He kept you pinned in place while he devoured you, making the pressure and heat you felt grow. “That’s it, say my name. Tell everybody in the place who’s got you screaming like a bitch.”

Bat, you queen. Thank you

Got Your Money

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Clint x sex worker!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: you’re a hooker who owes her pimp money and his right hand man, Clint comes to collect.

Warnings: SMUT! Including but not limited to: Porn with minimal plot, dub con, mean Clint, name calling and degradation, unprotected PIV, misogyny, rough sex, creampie, big dick, no beta, no proofreading, typos are all my own. You know what I’m about.

A word from the author: thanks to @youandmeand5bucks for the prompt that has had me in a tizzy for several days!

Masterlist

You’d barely made it past the front door when he knocked. Your dress was half unzipped down your back and your heels were left on the carpet where you’d stepped out of them.

It gave you pause. Nobody knocks this late. Not in this neighborhood. Not when you do the kind of work you do. You never did business here. You were careful and discrete and so was Angelo. He hustled and bargained and sold your ass for as much as he could. He made a pretty penny and paid for that Coupe Deville he liked to drive real slow around town when he took his cut, and he gave himself a very generous cut. He was a greedy son of a bitch, but he knew he better treat his top girl right. He wouldn’t put you at risk by letting anyone know where you stayed stashed away.

“I saw you walk in two minutes ago and I know you hear me. Open the fucking door,” the voice on the other side growled with the barest restraint. Clint. Of course.

You rolled your eyes and unlocked the door but kept the security chain latched, giving Clint three inches of room to say whatever dumb shit he needed to before he left to go back in whatever squalid shack he stayed in until Angelo yanked his chain too.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit, open the fucking door,” he boomed through the gap. “I’m coming in one way or another. You want your door on the hinges or off?”

He’s always like this.

You mutter under your breath at him coming between you and a hot bath after a long day, but you open the door anyway. He’s a fucking asshole but you know he’s safe. Angelo doesn’t trust many people anymore.

Clint pushes into your living room while you lock the door behind him, replacing the little chain that seems sort of useless now that you think about it. He stands in the middle of the room, hands on his slim hips, looking around. It offends you.

“What do you want, Clint? I had a long day and I’m going to bed. This better be important.”

His tongue flicks out over his bottom lip as he looks at you with that cold, detached look he likes to wear but doesn’t answer. Infuriating.

“Ok, just make yourself at home, then. I’m going to bed.” You turn a quarter step and tug up your sagging strapless dress, red, garish like they always like and aim casually for your bedroom.

“Let’s make this quick sweetheart. You know what the fuck I’m here for. Don’t play dumb. It’s dangerous.”

“Fuck off, Clint. I’m not doing this with you tonight,” you run your hand over your hair in exasperation and wished you’d never opened that door.

“Oh yeah?” he spits. “Tired after a long day of sucking and fucking? Yeah I bet you’re real worn out.”

In a fraction of a second your hand lands square across his scarred cheek, catching him by surprise and he’s a lot faster than you’d expect him to be for a man who smokes like a chimney and has all that grey hair. He grabs your wrist before you can run or defend yourself and twists your arm around your waist until he’s got your back to his chest and his arm braced against your now bare tits in a too-tight hold.

“Where’s the money?” He is too loud next to your ear and you wince, trying to be as cool as you can. Of course he wants the money. Good luck, you think to yourself. You learned a long time ago about keeping much cash around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Clint. If Angelo sent you, you can tell him he’s got his cut. He’s never the one with rug burns. He gets his share and I get mine.”

It does nothing but instigate Clint further. He shakes you. “Do you think I’m stupid? You think you’re the first whore who tried to short a pimp?” He is hot with anger. He wanted to be at home too. He’s old and he’s tired but maybe he doesn’t mind so much since your dress has slipped down and he has the perfect view of your tits over your shoulder. Angelo never said he couldn’t have a little fun on the job.

To your shock and surprise, Clint slaps your breast. It stings before he soothes it with his big bear paw palm covering the welt he left and squeezing. You can’t stop the whine that creeps from your throat.

“If you don’t have the money I guess I gotta take it out in trade.”

You pant nervously, wriggling in his arms at the insinuation. Clint smiles against your neck and sinks his teeth into the slope of your shoulder just enough to make you whine for him.

“Just business. Doesn’t have to hurt if you can play nice. You know I’ve seen you playin real nice before.” You can feel him thickening against you, the length of him jutting against the cleft of your ass. You try half heartedly to shake out of his arms, but it just makes him laugh. “Alright. Act like you don’t want it. Like I can’t smell you dripping. Take dick all day long and you’re still ready for more,” he drags his hand across your sensitive nipple and up to your throat, pressing just softly against your pulse. “I can feel your heart beating and I know it’s not cause you’re scared.”

His hand moves again, moving down, over your belly and the fabric bunches around your waist. He helps himself to your body, rubbing and pinching. He pushes your dress down the rest of the way, letting it drop to the floor around your feet and covers your mound with his hand. You don’t realize that your head has tipped back against his shoulder as he spits you unceremoniously with two fingers.

He pulls them back out and holds his slick shiny fingers in front of your face so you can see your arousal stretching between his fingers. “Look at that. I know Angelo won’t let anybody bust in this pussy. This is all you, baby. Slick as fuck.”

He crudely sucks your wetness from his fingers and pulls you down with him when he flops down onto your sofa, pretty and creamy and soft, a stark contrast to his roughness, his dark, plaid.

“Does Angelo even know you’re here? You think he’s gonna let you come over here and threaten me?” You struggle against his hold, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Clint shifts you over to unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans, freeing his turgid member.

“Angelo’s the one who told me where to find you. Told me how good you ride him, too,” He says as he positions you back over his lap with his cock hot and hard as steel against your throbbing pussy. “You owe Angelo, Angelo owes me. So I think we can sort this out right here and now.” You can’t help the way your body heats. The men you see are often rough. They pound into you and take you with harsh strokes on half limp dicks, blaming you when they can’t stay hard. They want you to watch them or they want to watch you or they cry with their heads in your lap.

They don’t talk to you like this. They don’t use their cockhead to rub your clit until you’re moving your hips yourself to chase the pleasure the way Clint’s doing now. He covers his impossibly thick length in your slippery wetness, spreading it all around.

“You gonna give it to me, or am I gonna take it?” he asks with a sharp swat against your ass.

You lick your lips and close your eyes, you’re still focused on how big he feels between your legs as you sigh. “Take it,” you breathed.

He was going to do it anyway. He presses you down on his cock, stealing your breath with the sheer size of him. He takes a moment with his hands firm on your hips, pushing down and thrusting up to full depth, holding you there, giving you that deep ache that so many men can’t.

Before you could even get your head around the way he stretched you past what you thought was possible, he was driving into you with enough force to make you wail. You were grateful that such noise wasn’t something that would raise an alarm in this building. People minded their business.

You arched your back and planted your feet on his thighs for a little control, but Clint was in charge.

“Yeah, that’s right. You feel this cock all the way in your throat? You still want to act like a bitch?”

You whined a response to his vulgar talk but he didn’t care. He liked hearing how fucked up you were on his cock.

“Fuck,” he shoved your knees down. “fuck your self on this dick.” You rebalanced on shaky legs and slowly slid your swollen, soaked pussy up and down the length of him. His hands found your ass and slapped it while you worked him up and down, making your skin sting and heat. “Come on, you got a debt to pay. Show me what this little whore pussy’s worth.” Your thighs trembled, and Clint grew impatient.

“Up,” he commanded. You stood and he shoved you toward your bedroom, following close behind you.

The streetlight shone in the window, casting stripes of light and shadow through your blinds and across the bed. You crossed your arms over your chest as Clint undressed himself, clothes heaped on the floor, along with his heavy boots. He scoffed at the way you tried to hide your body. “Get on the bed. Lay down.”

You climbed to the middle of your queen size bed, neatly made as it was every morning, with your heart shaped pillow between the two regular pillows, the chenille bedspread tucked in just so. Clint stood at the end of your bed, stroking himself while he inspected your body.

“Legs up. Spread your pussy for me. Let me see how fucked open you are.”

You drew your knees up and rubbed your clit in a messy circle, then dipped two fingers into your wet hole, followed by a third that made you groan. “You’re so fucking sick, Clint.”

“Yeah? I’m sick? You’re the one selling her greedy snatch in the street. Spread your pussy.” You did as he said, your manicured fingernails framing your delicate folds, swollen and wet so he could see how your entrance clenched for him.

“Look at that,” he marveled sarcastically, "Angelo's million dollar pussy.” He stared at your body, then spat, a thick glob of saliva dripped over your nails and mixed with your arousal. “You’re never gonna be happy with another dick again. You’ll be begging me to come over and shut you up.”

Clint tapped his cock against your pussy and entered you in one powerful thrust, bottoming out while he held the back of your knees. He leaned over you, folding you in half to hammer hard and fast, punching into your squelching pussy. He grunted above you, his body warm and sweat gathering along his hairline.

“Clint!” you yelped, nails cutting into his biceps. “Clint!” You couldn’t get out the words you needed. He kept you pinned in place while he devoured you, making the pressure and heat you felt grow.

“That’s it, say my name. Tell everybody in the place who’s got you screaming like a bitch.”

You felt delirious, your body was all raw nerves and that familiar pressure, until one snap of his hips and scrape of his coarse hair over your clit did you in. Your orgasm was intense. Rippling and wet and hot, you were suspended in protracted pleasure. You didn’t even notice Clint was coming too, pumping you full. He never even offered to wear a condom, and you kicked yourself for not insisting. Of course he wouldn’t have worn one, he never does.

Clint slipped out of you, followed by a trickle of cum that dripped onto your sheets. As you caught your breath, your body limp and exhausted, he pushed your knees apart and spread your tender pussy with his thick thumbs.

“I wish I had a camera,” he said with an ugly pride. “Bet you this pussy won’t ever be the same now.”

Without sentimentality, Clint got dressed, tied his boots, and turned to where you remained on your bed and said with a sinister wink “We’ll call that a partial payment.”

[aroaceofthesea]

Ho faig o no (es una bestie de primaria, no ens hem vist des d fa com 5 anys, lestiu passat em va obrir ella pero al final no ens vam veure)

[tornoaserjo]

.

[milla-frenchy]

well. fuck me

inescapable

clint “freaky tales” x f!reader

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him.

warnings/tags: MDNI. DARK CONTENT. dubious consent, and finely toeing the line of past non-con. stockholm syndrome. implied that reader was given to clint as a debt. clint is a hit man. explicit smut. unprotected piv. breeding/breeding kink. man-handling. choking. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. pet names (baby, sweetheart, little girl, (2) princess, don’t know what came over me lol). sir kink. lots of praise despite his roughness. not beta’d and hardly proofread. wc: 1.5k

➻ a/n: we obviously know very little about this character thus far, so please, consider all of this au! i genuinely don’t know what this is! i just had the inspiration, and in these trying times, i cannot shy away from it. this is obviously much darker than what i usually write, so if that’s not your forte, no biggie. i’ll see you for the next one. <3

Time is but an allusion to you now. You’re not even quite sure when you lost track of it.

“That’s it. That’s a fucking good girl, fuck.”

Or when your predicament stopped feeling like a punishment and more like freedom. An escape from a life before, one hardly remembered, that brought nothing but pain, and struggle, and loneliness.

God, you were so lonely.

“I know. I know, baby. It’s so much.”

Even when you had it all, you had no one. Surrounded by those you called kin, meant to uphold you, protect you. But when it came down to it, you were just another pawn in the game. An asset. Something to be borrowed and bartered for the right price, or out of sheer, pathetic desperation.

They never cared for you, did they? Not really.

But he does. He wants you. He protects you. And at what cost? Pleasure that, once discovered, you couldn’t give up for the world. You would be lying if you said that, for some time, the obsession didn’t frighten you. Now, it only solidifies that freeing truth: he will never be like them. He will never let you go. You belong to him, and once you accepted it and all the privileges that came with it, you set your soul to rest.

Your brain is numb, nothing but white noise, and you tingle all over. It’s soothing. As is the weight of him—all of him, broad, and sturdy, and smothering—draped over your back and pinning you into the mattress. He’s shoved a pillow under your tummy, the perfect little angle for him to pound the tip of his cock against the deep spot that makes you see stars. His left hand pins one of yours beside your ear, threaded through the knuckles, and the other is wrapped securely around your throat, keeping your chin propped up enough that you don’t suffocate your face into the pillows.

You can’t see anything, anyways. Eyes glazed over, the luxury of air seemingly less important than the impending buildup in your belly.

You aren’t sure how many times you’ve come now—three, four? How many different ways he’s dragged your body across the too-stiff mattress, and folded it whatever way he pleases to see you squirm and leak all over him.

But this one is your favorite, you think. The heat and breadth of him, warm and everywhere all at once, the heavy sack of his balls tapping your swollen clit with every thrust. The one that makes you mindless, the one that makes you remember why this life, this new life, is so special.

“C’mon, little girl,” his gruff voice, a distant echo, finally breaks its way through the surface. It’s accompanied by a firm squeeze to your carotids, sending your eyes rolling back into your skull. “Talk to me. Tell me how you feel.”

You open your lips, but all that comes is a pool of drool and an indiscernible moan. Your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the mixture of slick, sweat, and come burning friction between your bodies.

You try once more. Long lost is the shame of how brittle or broken you sound; Clint accepts it all, and he never judges you for it.

“S-so g—ahh—f-full. M’so, so full, sir.”

His lips press into the back of your neck, and you swear you can feel them spread into a smile.

“Yeah?” he says, and it’s a little condescending. A little mean, but you don’t mind. Despite his nefarious ways and demanding job, Clint has placed you on a pedestal at the center of his universe. The way he plays you is just a reminder that there won’t be, can’t be, anyone else.

“Feel so fuckin’ full of this cock, huh, princess? Can’t even think straight.”

And you’re nodding, because he’s right. All else has lost its importance. All but the shape of him inside of you.

It hits you suddenly, a slight shift of his hips, and you’re gasping, babbling as if your life depends on it: “I’m g-gonna, I’m gonna come again. Please, p-please sir, can I-can I come?”

He places a wet, searing kiss against your jugular and loosens his grip on your neck to bury his hand in your hair. He yanks up, and your back arches off the mattress, adjusts his thighs so they’re cradling your ass and resumes his ceaseless pace.

Your feet kick desperately against the mattress, tears brimming your eyes and fingers digging into the sheets as you try to starve off an orgasm you know you’ll only see through upon his command, his permission.

“Hold on now, baby. Hold it,” he demands sternly, reaching his other hand around to palm at your tits, a squeal of ecstasy coming off your lips when he pinches one of the hardened nipples. “Just a little longer for me.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip until you taste iron, trying to focus on anything other than the tightly wound wire in your gut and the beast of a man behind you. You can’t help it, the way your slick walls start to flutter around him, dripping down to the base of his cock, and you hear him growl behind you until you’re being smothered again. He knocks the wind out of you, the entire weight of him pinning you down until the legs of the bed frame start to squeak and the headboard hits the wall.

He doesn’t hold you up, this time. Now, your noises are muffled into the pillows, and he drapes one of his calloused paws across the crown of your head, and presses his lips to your ear.

“So good, baby. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he grumbles, his words slurred and heavy. “Gonna fill you up again, yeah? As many times as it takes, right?”

It’s the same spiel every time, only now, instead of panic, the prospect of it makes your heart thrum in your chest. Your belly stir with butterflies. Something like hope, delight.

And you’re nodding again, garbling yes, sir, yes sir, into the pillows, repeating the mantra to yourself—as many times as it takes.

Until your belly swells, and you’re full of him, a piece of him.

“That’s right, that’s it, sweetheart,” he’ll tell you. “Gonna keep you nice and full of me till it takes. Keep you both forever.”

Forever. Forever. Forever. It doesn’t sound so bad now, when you weigh it in an empty head run on nothing but the scent of him. You would want for nothing. You, and whatever this piece of him would come to be, protected, loved even, by a man you are supposed to despise.

“Now,” you suddenly hear him command, and your body does the rest of the work for you. Releasing the flood of euphoria and drenching your trembling limbs in it.

He’s grunting in your ear, cock swelling, and spilling inside of you with a roar. Even when he’s finished, he’s still thrusting into you—slower now, carefully fucking every last drop of his seed inside of you.

Every last drop is precious, he’d tell you those first few times, back when you would scream and thrash in a feeble attempt to get him out of you. As if you could ever conquer a man like him, an unmovable force, austere in his pursuit of anything and everything. He always gets what he wants, and what he wants now—

“Easy. Easy, there, sweetheart.” He’s petting the side of your head, turning it for you so that your cheek is pressed into the pillow and you can gulp down mouthfuls of air. “That’s right, deep breaths. Just gonna stay like this for a little while,” he coos, and you hardly notice the stretch of him, plugged all the way up inside of you, until he wiggles his hips a bit and a residual spurt of come leaks into you. You both groan in unison.

Your eyelids grow heavy as your breaths even out; even with the overwhelming sensation of him still all around you, inside of you, you feel an odd sense of peace. Every muscle in your body was pulled taut, now utterly relaxed, satiated. He must feel you settled, because he begins to trail open-mouth kisses across your shoulder, your neck, the base of your sweaty scalp.

“Have a good feeling about this one,” he whispers, and you shudder when one of his hands squeezes between your body and the mattress, and splays firmly over your belly. “Be all swollen before you know it, princess.”

He nibbles at your earlobe, and you whimper. He chuckles rather darkly in response.

“Yeah, you like picturin’ it, don’t you?”

Maybe it’s conditioned, or self-preservation.

“Yes…. yes, sir,” you sigh.

But you can almost hear it yourself. That semblance of truth come to the surface.

You trail a shaky hand under you, finding his, and laying it atop. If you try hard enough, you can feel the phantom outline of a different body, bigger, accommodating new life.

A new life is all you’ve ever wanted.

You feel yourself slip past the threshold of slumber before you can dwell on it any longer, but for a fleeting moment, you acknowledge that truth once more.

It feels strange.

It feels like home.

[ernestdescalsartwok]

CENTRAL TERMICA-FIGOLS-PINTURA-ART-DIPOSITS-OXIGEN-RELIQUIES-FUNCIONAMENT-ENERGIA-ELECTRICA-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS por Ernest Descals Por Flickr: CENTRAL TERMICA-FIGOLS-PINTURA-ART-DIPOSITS-OXIGEN-RELIQUIES-FUNCIONAMENT-ENERGIA-ELECTRICA-PINTOR-ERNEST DESCALS- Reliquias en la abandonada CENTRAL TERMICA de FÍGOLS, antiguos depóritos de oxígeno necesarios para el funcionamiento del centro energético y la generación de energía eléctrica, en la entrañas de la cerrada Central Térmica puedo Pintar estos lugares que forman como bodegones tecnológicos, distintos colores, distintas formas, pero enlazadas entre ellos por las tuberías, preciosos elementos en los vibra el color rojo y el color azul, me encantan los tubos de conexión en un lugar con cierta luz entre la oscuridad. Pintura del artista pintor Ernest Descals sobre papel de 50 x 70 centímetros con la historia y sus piezas concretas, todo ello en una mágica atmósfera de otros tiempos. Obras sobre las minas de carbón del Berguedà, en Cataluya y la generación de electricidad.

[apricior]

i wish more of you knew about spanish culture so you knew what i mean when i say that the oak-garcías are all perroflautas

[milla-frenchy]

omg Aly 😍😍😍

I was hooked from the start, the vibes are so good (the mood board is perfect 🫠🫠)

And although Clint understands perfectly well what you're afraid of, he can't help but snicker arrogantly, because you still don't know where the threat really comes from.

I was sitting on the edge of my chair the whole time I was reading it. Oh my god, it was so good. The tension is immaculate 👌🤌

What a treat! Thank you for sharing 💛💛

tell her to stay away from the light

Clint x f!Reader

summary: 1982, Clint parks at the screening of ‘Poltergeist’ in the local drive-in. Somewhere between ghosts intrusions and seances, he finds a much more appealing thing to look at in the car next to him. warnings: DARK FIC, DO NOT READ IF ARE EASILY TRIGGERED! Clint POV, voyeurism, edging, unreliable narrator (?), not thoroughly edited a/n: this is my too early of a submittion to @pedgito's spring fever challenge ! it was something new for me since it's not straight up porn but i hope y'all will still be able to enjoy it!

The light reflecting from the flickering screen plays ornately on your skin, giving it a cold hue. Clint is used to seeing those colors on those he dealt with. Bluish, purplish, grayish. Lifeless. The shades he knows so well. It is odd to see now, like you are going through the premature postmortem hypostasis while your heart is still pumping hot, thick blood through your veins, and your pupils are dilating with a range of emotions.

Diane Freeling's heart-rending screams are accompanied by the hum of gasps and yelps that come from dozens of different cars. Clint can’t tell what is happening on the screen anymore. All his thoughts are focused on you. So beautiful, so pitifully lonely. No girlfriend, no boyfriend, whose shoulder you can bury your scared face in when fear takes over your body. Instead, you lean back, pressing into the seat of the old Honda as if it can save you.

Clint doesn't take his eyes off your heaving chest. The white tank top clings tightly to the skin, leaving no room for imagination. It's too hot in a cramped car with the windows closed, but as if sensing an external threat, you don't rush to roll down the windows. 

The car parked to your right is packed with a bunch of obnoxiously loud guys. They laugh every time the people on the screen or in the neighboring cars scream in horror. The fear of others is just entertainment for them. Clint had seen dozens of guys like them, pompous dicks in soccer jackets, confident as long as they were in a crowd of equally muscular jerks. However, they squeal louder than a pig on a slaughter when they finally sense the danger themselves. When the only working convolution signals them about a deadly predator, when the instinct of self-preservation screams to run. Clint laughed himself when he heard their screams, their panic, their pleas. He's who they pretended to be.

And although Clint understands perfectly well what you're afraid of, he can't help but snicker arrogantly, because you still don't know where the threat really comes from.

A foggy gradient whitens up the windows in your rustbucket – a consequence of your heavy breathing combined with the usual stuffy and humid southern night. Clint returns his gaze to the stretched canvas where the movie scenes change. He is trying not to miss your movements with a peripheral glance, while not being obvious.

Leaning over the center panel, you reach for the passenger door, and soon the window is down, and a cool air seeps inside the car. The windows in Clint's car were rolled down from the very beginning, and now the last barrier between you has been eliminated. Everything is going according to plan.

For a second, Clint feels your searching gaze on his face, and makes an effort not to turn, not to meet your curious eyes. He concentrates on the film, even though the plot has been lost to him for some time.

After a few moments, you return to your usual position, fragile shoulders pressed into the old upholstery of the driver's seat, eyes darting across the screen from one character to another, lips parted. At the same time, Clint allows himself to return to scrutinizing you. He is pleasantly surprised by the way the movie captures your attention completely. Maybe he'll come back to watch it again, it looks like the story is worth it. But now his evening is coming up with a much more attractive story.

As if you can physically feel his caressing gaze, he smoothly glides it along the column of your neck, descending below, where the neckline of your almost see-through top teases him with a view of your chest, rising and falling to the rhythm of your fear. Your skin is glowing, a thin film of sweat has left its mark on the flawless canvas. Your body, that was so hungry for some freshness, is covered goosebumps as soon as a breath of wind actually invades your car. Following with his eager gaze lower, Clint feels the familiar tension in his groin area just as his eyes land on your taut nipples. No shame, no bra. Clint loves summers in the South.

He imagines how hard your heart is beating. If he looks closely, maybe he'll see how your tits shake with the influence. He could feel how fear makes adrenaline rush through your veins. Cold sweat, slippery and salty, is now accumulating on the back of your neck. Greedily, he sniffs the air, his nostrils flaring, as if trying to completely absorb the smell of your sea.

His hand reaches for his swollen dick, but he doesn't take it out, doesn't even unzip his fly. On the contrary, with a wide palm, he rubs himself slowly, applying the perfect amount of pressure over the rough material. The movement would have made him growl if he wasn't so close to you. But he doesn't want to scare you off, so he just clenches his jaw, not letting even a sigh leave his mouth. 

The caresses over his jeans do not bring any relief. His arousal, unable to spill in the heat of orgasm, courses through his veins, teases, tickles. 

Without taking his eyes off you, he continues to torment his suffering dick. The head was so swollen that any touch felt like torture. He knows that the plain cotton boxers already have the shameful stain of his arousal on them. And it's your fault.

So beautiful, so scared. So lonely. Clint thinks about your skin prickling up with chills, but now because of him. The way your hard nipples would feel against his palms. The way you’d scream when he lets his teeth mercilessly close on the sensitive buds. The weight of your soft breasts would pull them down painfully, but his teeth wouldn’t let go of the delicate skin. In his imagination, tears are spurting from your eyes. Now he regrets that he didn't look at them after all. What color are they? Blue? Are they green? Brown? Maybe black? It didn't matter, red goes with any color equally well.

Involuntarily, and as much as his jeans would allow, his hand begins to tighten around his cock, which has been begging for release. Clint has learned to enjoy this torment caused by you. He'll pay you back in kind later.

As soon as you start fidgeting, he freezes. Only his cock is pulsing helplessly in the captivity of his pants. Your hands reach for your head, gathering up your unruly hair, trying to peel off each strand from your sweaty temples and neck. That neck. Clint bites his lip, the familiar iron taste hitting his tongue. Such a thin, fragile neck. He is sure that one hand is enough for him to wrap around it almost completely. His thick fingers will be too rough compared to your delicate skin, even if he does everything more gently than usual. There's nothing to do about it, swans like you always have breakable little necks. 

Will you gasp for air, kick him, scream for help? Will you beg? Clint's gaze returns to your face, as if trying to find an answer, but in vain. Will you ask for more? Moan with pleasure? Squirm with desire? You will. Just like all those who came before you.

Lost in his thoughts, Clint himself flinches when the drive-in descends into darkness for a couple of moments. His eyes lazily trail across the noisy field of cars until they stop on the screen. The film had come to an end, as the opening credits indicated. 

With diligence, he unclenches his fist, which was lying like a sledgehammer on his left thigh, and removes his right hand from his groin. The loss of pressure and heat almost makes him whine like a beaten dog. Steadying his breathing, he raises his palms and wraps them around the leather of the steering wheel. 

All that remains is to wait, and he does. He waits for the cars to slowly start leaving the site; he waits for you to start your car. To his delight, he notices that you're not in a hurry. Apparently, you wanted to let that group of noticeably intoxicated guys from the car on your right side go ahead. By the time your Honda makes the pitiful sound of the engine starting, the field is almost empty. Clint pretends that his car won't start. An act that he has performed dozens of times, the one that would with a standing ovation if he played it out in front of an audience. Everything is going right as he directed it, and here you are, throwing a pitying glance in his direction and pursing your bitten lips. Gotcha.

“Do you need any help?” You lean towards the window, which is still open, trying to shout over the noise of the engine. Clint just shakes his head in fake annoyance.

“Don't worry,” he rubs his eyebrow where an old scar cuts through the short hairs that are starting to turn gray. The sound of his sad laugh is frankly unnatural, but, unexpecting, you don't notice anything. “The damned thing breaks all the time, maybe it's easier to just leave it on the side of the road and walk.”

You shrug, clearly not knowing what to say to that. Clint can see the cogs turning in your head. 

“Maybe,” as if doubting your own decision, you paused for a second. Clint pulls the key out of the ignition and slams on the steering wheel, hoping that the little scene won't scare off a trusting lamb like you. “Maybe I can give you a lift to the station? You can still catch a bus.” 

He doesn't miss the way your gaze appraisingly runs over the part of his body that you can see. You're evaluating whether you can handle him if he turns out to be a psychopath. And now it’s Clint's turn to shrink, try to make himself smaller, even though it's impossible with his stature.

“Are you sure?” He adds embarrassment to his voice, a slight tremor, a question. “I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I understand what it looks like: a creepy old man in a broken-down rust bucket abuses the kindness of a young girl. Just what they write in those scary newspaper stories.”

You laugh, your shoulders relax, and he finally gets out of the car, having previously closed the windows of the Toyota he rented a couple of hours ago. Clint pulls down his shirt, covering his still painfully hard cock. Black jeans are always a good solution.

“It's okay, I'm passing through the station anyway. Besides, you don't look creepy or old at all.” You push the passenger door open, inviting Clint to climb inside.

“You haven't heard my knees pop yet.” 

You laugh again, twisting the steering wheel. Clint takes the last look at the screen. The credits stopped flashing with the names of the actors and the characters they played. The movie was over, but his evening has just begun.

tag list: @toxicanonymity @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @pascalispretty @imaswellkid @joelemillersgirl @laurrrra @kyloispunk @codenamekitten please LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG <3

[saltcover]

Putz, como eu nunca subi isto aqui? O dia em que satirizamos um console de videogame - também, com esse formato é bem mais fácil, diferente de um outro que está vindo por aí... rs Nunca tive nenhum dos dois, curiosamente. O único Sega que a nossa família teve foi o Game Gear, no qual tive o privilégio até de jogar Sonic 2, que só cheguei até a terceira fase uma vez. Mas era legal pra caramba. (E dizem que é um dos mais tristes da série, tinha que ser o único que eu mesmo joguei no console original na época....) Sei lá, a Tec Toy me traz muito boas lembranças. Aquela virada de 1989 pra 1990 teria sido muito mais deprê sem eles! Os consoles até tem uma lore própria, que é algo além dos seus próprios jogos, como as caixas com um fundo quadriculado e uma tipografia serifada meio incomum para vender games.

Ah, espero que os produtos da vida real tenham sido bem mais resistentes que o da marca que nós inventamos, rsrs

[unwelcome-ozian]

CREC Saint-Cyr definition of the enhancement of the combatant under the terms: “Enhancing a soldier is the action of rendering him/her more efficient during military operations by strengthening or optimizing intellectual skills (mental, psychological, cognitive to assist in decision making help or perception) and/or physical abilities (to last), or by letting the soldier acquire new ones (like seeing at night);

Using technological equipment worn by the soldier to enhance performance;

Using non-therapeutic substances or using static dynamic implants (nanomaterials, prostheses) or applying suitable gene therapeutic treatment;

For short or long-term use that can even be irreversible provided its effects are controlled. By efficiency we mean operational efficiency. In other words, an individual’s capacity to achieve results in fulfilling a mission. This definition is intentionally broad in scope and unrestrictive to encompass enhanced performance derived from different techniques.”