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pedroscurls · 1 month ago

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teach me a thing or two (one-shot)

summary: you meet clint at a low point in your life. ironically enough, he meets you at his lowest too. what happens when you both realize you could teach each other a thing or two?

pairing: clint flood x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), mentions of grief (losing a partner), clint is a widower (just like in the movie), alcohol consumption, reader is inexperienced (but not a virgin), implied age gap (not specified though), unprotected p in v, size kink, creampie (oops!), dirty talk, oral (f! receiving), fingering (in public), no use of y/n. word count: 13k (wow this is a long one lol) a/n: this is part of @clubsoft's HAVE YOU EVER TRIED THIS ONE? writing challenge! thanks so much for hosting this challenge dulsè - i had so much fun writing clint (and it's my first time writing for this character so please bear with me lol). this was the prompt i received <3. honestly this is just complete filth (what's new lmao), so please heed the warnings and most of all, enjoy ;)

Oakland—it was supposed to be a place for you to settle down, lay your roots, and build a life with the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your days with. You had been naive—clueless—over the reality of what he really wanted.

And what he really wanted was someone to pass the time with until someone better came along, someone who knew what she was doing because you—well, you didn’t. He had to guide you, had to show you how to please him and you could feel him becoming more impatient—annoyed.

So when you came home after work one night, you could feel his absence. You could feel the emptiness, the haunting silence that filled your small apartment. You tried to call him, thinking that this was a mistake. Instead, you were met with an error message—he had disconnected his line.

All that he left was a small piece of paper on your coffee table—Can’t do this anymore. No other explanation. You crumpled the piece of paper in your hand, balling it into a tight fist as tears began to stroll down your cheeks.

He had made promises—promises that you believed to be true. You couldn’t move back home and you certainly couldn’t afford a plane ticket to even leave, so now here you are, stuck in a city that you still hadn’t gotten used to.

Clint had managed to complete his last job over a year ago, but not without a price. He should be relieved that he’s finally retired—having been forced into a world that he didn’t choose, coerced into paying off his own father’s debt. Clint never had a chance, he knew that early in his life, but when he met Grace, it finally felt like he was finally given the opportunity to have his own life.

And when he found out she was pregnant and that they were going to have a little girl, Clint made a vow to himself that he didn’t want to raise her in this kind of environment. He wanted to give her the choice to live the way she wanted—something he was robbed of himself.

He shouldn’t have been so hopeful. He shouldn’t have celebrated so early because now Grace is gone and he’s all by himself, raising a little girl. His hands—once called the fists of fury—are now so gentle with his daughter.

The first few months had been rough—how could he take care of this little person while trying to grieve the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with?

He knew he had help—Sleepy Floyd had reached out to him and he had bumped into Tina and Lucid since losing Grace. His life and theirs were tangled with one another after that one fateful night. Sleepy Floyd had lost his mom and his girlfriend—something that he and Clint had bonded over the last few months.

He thought of leaving Oakland, of starting fresh. But he couldn’t. Oakland was home.

“Let me take care of her tonight,” Sleepy Floyd says, rocking the little girl in his arms. “You need a break.”

“I’m fine,” Clint mumbles, running a hand over his face.

“I can call Tina and Lucid—they can help out.”

Clint shakes his head. “What am I gonna do?”

“Just go out and grab a drink. Socialize,” he shrugs. The little girl in his arms squirms sleepily. “Or just go for a drive. I don’t know, Clint.”

“I just—I don’t want to leave her. What if she needs me while I’m gone?” He whispers, looking down at his hands.

“We’ll be okay, Clint. You’ve made sure that I was taken care of. It’s time I return the favor.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know you don’t owe me anything.”

He scoffs. “Just—clear your head, yeah?”

Clint tightens his jaw. He loves his little girl—he’d do anything for her—but there’s a part of him that wonders if she would be better off without him. Sometimes, she’d cry and cry and nothing he’d do would work. Not until he’d play Grace’s mixtape that they both had created specifically for their daughter. It brought tears to his eyes, but it calmed her down.

“Okay,” he sighs in defeat. “I’ll be gone for one hour.”

Sleepy Floyd chuckles. “Wow. That’s a real long time. You sure about that?”

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift upwards before he stands from his couch. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and take care of my girl, will you?”

“With my entire life, Clint,” he says seriously. Both men stare into each other’s eyes for a moment—an unspoken thought that passes across their features. They’re both remembering that night.

“One hour,” Clint repeats. “That’s all I’m taking.”

He didn’t know why he pulled up to this bar. It was calling out to him the moment he passed it, but when he stepped inside—clad in his normal leather jacket, dark denim jeans, boots and slicked back hair—that he realized misery loves company. It’s a hole in the wall kind of bar—small, quiet, and a few solo patrons scattered around the area. He felt like the people who were there might also have felt a pull to this bar for the same reason he did—he didn’t want to be noticed, didn’t want to be bothered, and this was the perfect place.

No one even spares a glance in his direction once he steps inside. The music is quiet and he moves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. As he approaches the bar, he nods at the bartender and the older man walks towards him.

“What can I get for you?”

“Beer is fine, thanks.”

“Keep the tab open?”

“No, you can close it out. Thanks,” he answers. Clint passes him enough money to cover the drink, plus tip, before he takes a seat on the barstool.

He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Clearing his throat, Clint can’t help but allow his eyes to take in your frame. You look so casual—light washed denim jeans that seem to cling to every curve from your waist down to your hips, a low cut black tank top with an oversized flannel. He watches you raise your chin in the air, signaling to the bartender—there’s a familiarity that he senses between you and the people in this bar. You’re a regular, he deduces. He sees the way you greet the people, how your smile meets your eyes, but he can’t help but notice how miserable you really look.

It takes one to know one, he assumes.

Then, your eyes meet his and Clint straightens in his seat. He turns around and faces ahead of him. He doesn’t spare you another glance until he feels you sit next to him.

“You’re new,” you say first.

“Hm?” He mutters.

“You’re new,” you repeat. “Haven’t seen you around here before and I’m here almost every night.”

“You work here?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“And you’re here every night?”

You tighten your jaw. “It’s comfortable. Quiet.”

Clint nods, but he still hasn’t glanced over at you. The bartender approaches the both of you and he sets down a glass of beer in front of him and a glass in front of you—yellow, fruity. It catches his attention—the color of the drink and how it looks so out of place in a bar like this, just like how you look like you don’t belong here.

“That orange juice or something?”

You let out a quiet laugh and that finally causes him to turn. Clint looks up at you as you’re laughing and he can’t help the smile that begins to line his lips. You’re cute, he thinks, and there’s something about you that feels lighter—like you’re adding color to the very dark atmosphere of the bar (and his life).

“You think I’d come to a bar for orange juice?”

Clint shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t look like a drink to me.”

You lean over the counter of the bar and grab an extra straw. “Try it.”

“What?”

“Try it,” you repeat.

Clint chuckles dryly. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“Am I?” You set the straw next to his hand on a small napkin—a gesture, an invitation, an offering. You’re being friendly.

“What is it then?” He asks.

“It’s called a Fuzzy Navel,” you answer with ease

Clint almost chokes on his beer and he looks over at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. “What kind of drink is named that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, but it’s good.” You take the straw that’s already in your glass and wrap your lips around it, slowly sucking the contents into your mouth. Clint drops his gaze momentarily—eyes mesmerized by the way your soft lips look.

“It’s peach schnapps and orange juice,” you continue. “So I guess you’re partially right. Guess I do come here for the orange juice.”

He chuckles to himself. You’re funny and you’re beautiful. He feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach as his left thumb absentmindedly brushes against his ring finger—now naked and bare without his wedding ring.

“So…” you begin. “You wanna try it?”

Clint looks at you—there’s a hopeful glint in your eye and something he can’t quite place. He shrugs a shoulder and grabs the straw before he turns in his seat. His entire body faces you now and he leans forward, placing his straw in your drink. He watches your eyes move from his own to his lips—oh, it’s that kind of look.

He takes a small sip of your drink, makes a face at the sweetness and then leans back in his seat. Clint watches your eyes move across his face, taking note of the scar across his cheek and he can see you lean closer.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles.

You smile, taking the straw that remains in your glass—the same straw that he just used—and you wrap your lips around it. You’re looking up at him through your eyelashes, batting them innocently in his direction. This isn’t what you’re used to, but after seeing the new girl that your ex-boyfriend was with, you were determined to just spend one night with a complete stranger.

You needed someone to look at you the way your ex-boyfriend had looked at the woman he was with.

You weren’t sure what would happen if this man—this stranger—would take you up on your unspoken offer. The entire relationship with your ex-boyfriend consisted of him telling you what to do and after a while, he grew impatient and bored.

But this man—he was older and you knew that he could teach you a thing or two.

If he was willing.

“You don’t like sweet things?” you tease. The straw is still in your mouth, but you’re playing with it—teasing him and you can see the way his eyes move to where your teeth grazes the straw.

“Oh, I do,” he answers instantly. “Believe me, baby, I do.”

Baby. You clear your throat and for a moment, your faux-confidence falters and he smirks. This time, he leans in closer as his knees bump against yours. “And something tells me that you,” he whispers lowly. “Taste sweet too.”

The gasp leaves your lips before you could even stop yourself. The heat in your cheeks rise and you can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs. You had never felt like this with your ex-boyfriend.

Slowly, you dare to lean forward as you set aside your glass. Hesitantly, your hands rest on his thighs and you hear him inhale sharply. He doesn’t move, though—a clear indication that what you were doing was completely fine and he was more than willing to allow you to touch him.

“You want to find out?” You ask quietly.

Clint can feel the warmth of your palms on his thighs and he looks down to watch you slowly inch your way upwards. Something in him breaks and he takes your hands and slowly pushes you away. He sees the look of disappointment flicker across your features before you put up that same wall that he’s put up around himself. You’re hurting and he can see it.

“Too old for you,” he finally answers. “Pretty sure someone like you has someone waiting for her at home.”

You shake your head and turn back in your seat, now facing ahead of you as you reach up to let your arms rest against the counter of the bar. “Nope,” you reply. “Just me.”

Clint’s brow furrows—your demeanor changes drastically and he’s sure that it wasn’t because he turned you down. He sees you remove the straw he used and place it on a napkin. He figures you didn’t want to talk about it any further, so he turns in his seat and faces forward too.

“That scar,” you begin. “What happened?”

Clint doesn’t look at you. He takes his glass of beer and takes a long swig of the contents. One drink. One hour. That’s all he promised himself, but the way the question comes out of your mouth—so soft, hesitant, and curiously gentle has him answering without a second thought.

“Got into a fight. The other guy had a knife. All I had were these,” he answers, lifting his hands and balling them into fists.

You glance over at him, taking note of his large hands. You don’t say anything for a while—too engrossed in the mystery of this man sitting next to you. For a while, you had gotten used to the people that would usually come to this bar. They were regulars, like you. This bar—there was a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging that you felt because you weren’t the only one who felt like shit.

Then, Clint turns his gaze to you. His deep brown eyes bore into your own and you can see the scar so clearly again. The tips of your fingers itch to reach out for him, but you don’t move an inch. He had already rejected you anyway.

“Did you win?”

Clint chuckles. “Yeah. I did.”

You smile at that, but your eyes drift towards the dimple in his cheek. Just as it appears, the smile drops from his lips. His brows furrow slightly and he tilts his head.

“Your eyes…” you whisper. “There’s sadness in them.”

Clint looks away and his jaw tightens. “I’m just tired.”

You sigh quietly. “My ex-boyfriend left me a few months ago. I’m new here, having moved because he had convinced me and then he just… left. Disconnected his phone. Left me a fucking note and no explanation. Then tonight, I see him with his new girlfriend.” Your own hands ball into fists and Clint looks down at them—they’re much smaller than his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. After all, he isn’t sure if he had the ability to make anything better. “That’s shitty.”

“Took everything from me. I was so naive thinking that my first real boyfriend would be the one I settle down with,” you mumble. You down the rest of your drink and raise your hand in the air to signal to the bartender for another refill.

Clint clears his throat. He can see the pain so clearly etched on your features—the unshed tears glistening over your eyes, your lips pulled into a small frown, brows furrowed like you’re still trying to understand yourself how this could happen. There’s something about the way you trust him that eases his nerves.

He takes a deep breath and says, “I lost my wife about a year ago… almost lost my little girl too.”

Your eyes look up at him and there’s a sense of comfort he feels at the way you’re gazing at him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You feel embarrassed—here you were, talking about your asshole of an ex-boyfriend and this man had lost the woman he was married to. It explains the sadness in his eyes, you figure.

“Me too,” he says quietly. Clint doesn’t get into detail about how she died—it isn’t something he wants to relive or tell you about.

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air and he feels your hand gently rest over his own. He sees the way you brush your thumb across the back of his hand and he can’t help the way your touch seemingly manages to calm him down, and he lets out a relieved, yet shaky exhale.

“I bet you’re a really great dad,” you whisper quietly.

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift as his mind drifts to his daughter. “I try to be,” he answers. There’s a deeper meaning behind his words—he wants to say that he’s trying to be better than his own father, trying to give his little girl a chance at life… which was something he never had.

When you pull your hand away from his, Clint turns his gaze to you. The bartender sets another drink in front of you and he can’t help the sudden desire to feel your touch again. You—a stranger—managed to get him to talk about things he normally wouldn’t talk about.

He wonders if you could teach him a thing or two about that, about how important it is to talk about the difficult shit that he’s been pushing down—hoping they’d just go away.

“So, you’re here every night?” Clint asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah, I live close by actually. So, after work, I come here.”

“So, if I’m here again this week, I’ll see you?”

You turn to him and there’s a small smile on your lips. “Yes, you’ll see me.”

“And maybe we can just… talk?” Clint asks, almost hesitantly.

“As long as you don’t make fun of my drink, then yeah, we can talk,” you laugh quietly.

Clint chuckles and nods in agreement. “Okay, that’s fair. You and your orange juice with a splash of alcohol,” he teases.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you’re still giggling. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh, right. I’m Clint.” He extends a hand out for you and he sees you look down at his hand.

You reach for his hand and gently shake it in your own. Your eyes move to his and you smile, telling him your name in return.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling as his dimple makes another appearance. He slowly lets go of your hand and then finishes his beer. One drink. One hour. He glances at his watch and then stands from the stool he had been sitting on.

“Have a nice night, Clint,” you tell him.

“You too, baby,” he winks, seeing the way you bite your lower lip. “I’ll see you soon.”

Clint steps inside his home to see Sleepy Floyd shut his daughter’s bedroom door. He removes his leather jacket and sits on the couch, leaning his head back against it as he shuts his eyes.

“Thanks for watching her,” Clint says, feeling the other man sit next to him.

“Of course. You know I’m happy to watch her anytime. How’d it go?”

“Fine,” he shrugs, his mind drifting to you.

“Where’d you go?”

“To a bar.”

Sleepy Floyd grins. “You talk to anyone?”

Clint glances over at him. “Yeah, she was nice.”

“She?”

“Don’t make a big deal.”

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and reaches over to grip Clint’s shoulder. “I’m not. I’m just—I’m happy for you.”

“It’s nothing,” Clint shrugs. “It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of bar. Quiet. I think I’m gonna go back there again this week.”

“Yeah?” His grin broadens. “Are you going back for the vibe of the bar or because of this woman you met?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be going home now?”

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and stands up from the couch, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I’m going. I’m glad to hear you had a nice time, Clint.”

Clint looks up at him and nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Can you watch her again this week?”

“You bet,” he nods.

Once he leaves, Clint stands up from the couch and quietly walks into his daughter’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully and he reaches down to gently run his finger across her cheek. She squirms in her sleep but leans closer to his touch and a small smile lines his lips.

“Good night, sweet angel,” he whispers and leans over the crib to kiss the top of her head.

When you finally get home, your mind drifts to Clint. Tonight had started off as a nightmare, but seeing him—meeting him—made you hopeful. You were no longer thinking about your ex-boyfriend or the woman that he was now with, but instead, thinking of the next time you’d get to see Clint.

You still couldn’t believe that you had tried to get him to sleep with you tonight—it would have been your first ever one night stand. Though, his initial rejection didn’t hurt you like you thought it would. You were inexperienced and you certainly didn’t want only one night with him.

For the next few days, you didn’t change your routine. You still went to the bar like you normally would, but you would be lying if you said that you weren’t disappointed every time you didn’t see him.

Tonight, though, a part of you didn’t want to go to the bar. You didn’t know if you could be disappointed again and your mind has started to drift back to your ex-boyfriend. It didn’t help that when your phone rang that night, it was your ex-boyfriend asking if you could check to see if he had forgotten a few of his things at your apartment. He didn’t bother to ask how you were doing or provide some kind of explanation for why he left. You should’ve hung up on him, shouldn’t have entertained the idea of looking for the things he was asking for, but you set the phone down to search for what he was looking for.

When you did find it, you walk to pick up the phone again. Then, you hear another woman’s laughter on the other end of the line and you lie to him. You tell him you couldn’t find it and that it’s likely not here. Without allowing him to even respond, you hang up the phone and feel tears trickle down your cheeks.

Clint is a distant thought and you grab your bag, pull on a hoodie and leave your apartment. You’re not watching where you’re going as you’re walking to the bar—it’s just about a five minute walk anyway. Suddenly, you bump into someone and you mumble an apology, not bothering to look up.

It isn’t until you hear your name and his voice. You turn and look up at Clint. He’s dressed in that same leather jacket, but he’s wearing a plaid shirt underneath paired with his dark blue pants and boots. You can see the streaks of grey along his slicked back hair and in his beard, but his eyes—while still sad—holds some kind of surprised excitement at the sight of you.

The tears fall from your eyes without warning and his entire expression softens instantly. “Whoa, hey…” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

You nod, despite you bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. “I’m fine. Are you heading to the bar?”

Clint nods slowly. “Said I’d see you again this week.”

“Yeah, well guys say things they don’t mean all the time,” you shrug.

Clint scoffs quietly. “You’ve been with some boys, baby. Men keep their word.”

You glance up at him, eyes still watery. “Well, only ever been with one person—”

“Surely you’ve had some flings before or after that?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m an inexperienced woman. Who’d want that?” You don’t bother to wait for him to respond, having begun walking towards the bar.

Clint clears his throat as he watches you walk away, eyes drifting to your backside as the denim pants cling to every curve yet again. Inexperienced, he thinks. He couldn’t believe it—you had so much confidence the last time you two saw each other that it’s hard to believe that you hadn’t been with anyone else other than that ex-boyfriend of yours.

He sighs and jogs to catch up with you, hand resting lightly on your lower back. “So, we gonna drink anything different tonight or are we drinking your spiked orange juice?”

You look up at him, a smile now lining your lips as you let out a quiet laugh. “Hey, that’s my go-to drink. Don’t make fun.”

Clint chuckles and steps inside with you. You’re walking towards the bar, but instead he leads you to a booth instead. “Is this okay?”

You nod up at him, sliding into the booth across from him. Before you can say anything though, he points towards the bar and flashes you a small smile. “First round will be on me. Spiked orange juice for you and just a beer for me,” he winks and then turns on his heel.

You roll your eyes playfully and watch him from your table. You look at him from top to bottom, seeing him lean forward against the counter of the bar. The leather jacket he’s wearing pulls tight across his broad back and you clear your throat quietly—the same attraction you felt the first time you met him making an appearance yet again.

The phone call with your ex-boyfriend lingers as Clint makes his way back to the table. He slides in across from you and sets down your glass in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a small sip of your drink. “This spiked orange juice is good,” you grin.

Clint chuckles to himself and takes a sip of his own beer before he sets it back on the table. He had been looking forward to seeing you all week and he can’t help but feel a sense of comfort around you—it had been something he was craving since the first night he met you.

“So,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” you interrupt. “About earlier,” you continue, playing with your straw.

“Don’t be,” he answers. “Everything okay?”

“My ex-boyfriend called,” you respond, biting the inside of your cheek. You don’t look up at him, slightly embarrassed about your reaction to the fact that your ex-boyfriend still has such an effect on you. “It’s stupid. I’m okay.”

Clint furrows a brow and then stands from his side of the booth to move to your side, taking a seat next to you. One of his arms drapes over the back of the booth, allowing you to scoot closer to his side if you wanted.

You glance up at him and inch closer, but still decide to keep a reasonable amount of distance between your bodies. You can’t help but feel safe with him nearby and when you look into his deep brown eyes, there’s a sense of calmness that washes over you. It’s oddly comforting.

“You’re not stupid,” Clint finally responds. “You must have really loved him.”

“Not sure if it was ever really love to begin with,” you answer. “He was my first real boyfriend who made a lot of promises that he probably never intended to keep.”

Clint sighs quietly and reaches over the table to grab his beer with his free hand. He moves his eyes away from you for a moment—he’s had plenty of moments where he’s made promises that he didn’t keep. Couldn’t keep.

“Then I suppose he did you a favor,” he says. “You don’t want someone like that anyway.”

“I just—do men really care if a woman is inexperienced?” You ask honestly.

Clint shrugs. “Can’t speak on behalf of the entire male population,” he answers. “But personally, I don’t care.” He takes a sip of his beer and sets it back down on the table. He can see the way your eyes slightly widen in his direction. “Makes it more fun.”

“Fun?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. Being able to teach her, show her the ropes…”

“I’m sure you’d be a great teacher,” you blurt out. Heat rises in your cheeks and you turn your attention to your drink, taking a long sip of it to ease some nerves. The conversation with your ex-boyfriend lingers, but you can’t help but feel the tension that builds between you and Clint.

“Maybe,” he smiles. He doesn’t want to push, despite the pull that he feels towards you. There’s an obvious attraction he feels for you, but there’s something else that he can’t put his finger on. You make him want to talk about the serious and difficult conversations that he’s tried so hard to just ignore.

“I’m assuming that’s one of the reasons why my ex-boyfriend broke up with me. I guess he got tired of—of having to constantly show me what to do.”

“Another reason why you wouldn’t want someone like that,” Clint repeats. “Did you at least enjoy yourself?”

“Myself?” You furrow a brow, looking up at him with a genuine confused look on your face. “I mean, it felt nice…”

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly as he leans in closer to you. “Nice?” He asks. “Did you ever finish?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. I was just—I was following his lead.”

Clint sighs quietly as he leans in further, moving his lips to hover near your ear. He can hear you inhale sharply at the close proximity and he smiles to himself. “Oh, baby… He had no idea what he was doing.”

With a quiet gasp, you pull away and look up at him. Still confused, but definitely aroused. “W—What?”

“The goal isn’t for him to finish… I mean, not necessarily.” He answers. “Men will make sure that the woman finishes first before he does. Sounds to me like you were with a boy who had no idea how to please a woman.”

You bite your lower lip and can feel the throbbing between your legs—you’ve never been this excited before. You gently reach out to rest a hand on his thigh, his legs moving in your direction from beneath the booth. You stare up at him, seeing the way his brown eyes darken in your direction. “And you?” You ask quietly—innocently—as your hand slowly inches up his thigh. “Do you know how to please a woman?”

His hand gently brushes along your back, keeping his arm loosely draped over the back of the booth. You’re warm under his fingertips and he can feel his jeans tighten around the center—manhood throbbing, becoming hard from beneath the fabric. “In a way you never experienced before,” he answers quietly.

“If I ask you to come home with me, will you reject me again?” You ask honestly. You stare into his eyes, fingertips rubbing circles on his thigh. “If I ask you to teach me, Clint, will you say yes?”

Clint exhales shakily as he stares into your eyes. The guilt that he feels in the pit of his stomach comes back and lingers—reminding him that he had lost Grace over a year ago. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of saying yes, of going back to your apartment, of teaching you what it means to feel good, but fuck—you’re looking at him in a way that makes him want to say yes.

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” he finally answers, but he makes no move to pull away. Clint’s eyes deviate to your lips, seeing it form into a small pout. Without hesitation, he reaches up and brushes the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. A flicker of shock flashes across his features, but when he sees your lips part and you lean in closer to him, he relaxes. You want this just as badly as he does.

“No?” you ask, moving one of your hands from his thigh up to his chest, beginning to play with the button on his flannel. “How about you tell me what you’d teach me?”

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly. “How about you tell me what that ex-boyfriend of yours taught you?”

You falter for a moment as your mind flashes back to the plenty of times where your ex-boyfriend had guided you during sex. “Oh… Um…” you whisper, feeling just slightly embarrassed now.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. You’re the one that started this,” he says, thumb moving down your lower lip to your jawline.

“How about I show you instead?” You ask, feeling his muscles underneath your touch.

“I have every reason to say no,” he answers quietly, leaning in closer. Clint can feel your breath fan against his lips—inches separating the two of you now. “But for some reason, I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply.

“You barely know me.”

“And you barely know me,” you quip back.

“Is this really what you want?”

You nod slowly—eagerly. “Yes,” you breathe out.

“I’m broken,” Clint admits. “I lost my wife because of my own mistakes. I’m not a good man.”

You see the sadness in his eyes again and you gently reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard against your touch. “Something tells me you’re very hard on yourself,” you whisper. “Even for the small things.”

“I still love my wife,” he replies.

“I’m not expecting anything out of this,” you sigh quietly. “And I wouldn’t ever force you to forget your wife.” He leans into your touch and his eyes fall shut momentarily. “And I also don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.”

Clint opens his eyes and stares into your own. He leans closer as the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I do want this. Want you.”

You let out a relieved sigh. “I was beginning to think that it was just me,” you tease. “Besides, we can just talk. I’ve got a feeling that you rarely talk about what’s bothering you or what’s on your mind.”

Clint nods slowly in agreement and he turns his head to press his lips on your cheek. He pulls away and looks down at you, watching your own hands move back to your lap. “Talking never got me places,” he admits.

“Ah,” you say, grabbing your glass. “Your fists do all the talking, huh?”

Clint shrugs—Grace had been such a safe haven for him. She understood his upbringing and never pushed him to talk about things that he wasn’t comfortable with. Over time, though, Clint felt more at ease with the difficult topics. He had felt safe with her—a feeling he had never felt before.

But now she’s gone and while Sleepy Floyd, Tina, and Lucid have tried to get him to talk, Clint never goes into too much detail about what he’s feeling. About how lost he feels… or the failure and guilt that eats at him.

“Yeah,” he finally answers.

“Well,” you continue after taking a sip of your drink. “If you ever do want to just talk, I’m always happy to listen.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s hard… talking about the difficult shit, but I think talking is better than keeping it bottled in.”

“You speaking from experience?”

“Yeah, actually, I am.” You sigh and look up at him. “Why else do you think I’ve been here almost every night? I’m drowning my sorrows like everyone else here. I haven’t even talked about my ex-boyfriend since the break up… but you make it easy.”

“You make it easy too,” Clint admits. “Talking about my wife—it’s fucking hard, but you’re making it easy. Or as easy as it can be.”

“Tell me about her?” You ask, biting your lower lip after you finish your drink.

Clint lets out a sigh and brings his drink to his lips, taking a quiet sip of his beer. “She was too good for me,” he begins. “I don’t know what I did to ever deserve her.”

“What was her name?”

“Grace,” he answers. His eyes fill with sadness as he remembers all of the memories that he’s shared with her, but it doesn’t last long. Her death overshadows every memory he has of her and all he can think—can remember—is the pain of losing her without even saying goodbye. “And she loved movies.”

“And she was the woman of your dreams?”

Clint nods. “The love of my life,” he answers honestly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and reach over to rest your hand over his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “You know, it’s been so hard to talk about her that I just… don’t. Seems easier that way,” he admits. “Does that make me seem shitty?”

You shake your head. “It makes you human,” you answer. “And you’ll eventually find your own way to deal with losing her.”

Clint looks up at you—still a stranger in his eyes—and for once since losing Grace, he feels like the heaviness he forced himself to carry feels just a little bit lighter. It’s still there; it isn’t going to just disappear after one brief conversation, but it makes him hopeful.

Hopeful that one day he’ll be able to think and talk about Grace without the feeling of guilt.

“You just have a way with words, don’t you?” Clint asks, his eyes glistening with tears that threaten to spill over. He blinks them away and tears his gaze from you to look down at your hand still resting atop of his.

You shrug and give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Grief isn’t linear, Clint. And not only did you lose your wife, but you also have a child that you have to think about. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” you sigh. “But I hope you continue to talk about Grace. I’m sure one day your little girl will ask about her mama and I hope when that day comes, you’ll be more than ready to talk about her.”

“Will you help me?” Clint blurts out.

“With your grief?”

He nods, almost shyly. “Yeah… and in return, maybe I can help you too.”

“With…” you whisper, voice trailing.

“Yeah, with that,” he answers for you.

“I’m sure you’d be able to help more than I can help you,” you reply quietly. “And I don’t think that’d be fair—”

“You’ve helped me more than you know already,” Clint interrupts. “But only if you want this too.”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. “I want this, want you to teach me.”

Clint smiles and then pulls his hand from your own, now reaching up to rest gently on your cheek. “Good.” His eyes deviate to your lips, watching you bite your lower lip and he lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, Clint runs his thumb across your bottom lip, your lips parting for him. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want your spiked orange juice?” He teases.

Your eyes narrow up at him. “Fuzzy Navel! It’s called a fuzzy navel, Clint.”

He laughs quietly. “Hmm, I think my name for the drink is better.”

You roll your eyes playfully and gently push him away. Once he stands from the booth, you do so as well. “You know what, you’re mean so I’m just gonna buy my own drink.” As you begin walking away, Clint takes your hand and gently tugs you back into him. Once your body collides with his, his hands immediately move to your hips as your hands move to rest on his chest.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re gonna go back and sit down like a good girl and wait for your drink.”

You clear your throat as you stare up at him. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as the front of his body presses firmly against your own. “I—Uh, I—,” you stammer. Dirty talk was something your ex-boyfriend used to do and you had never found it arousing, but the way Clint’s speaking to you now, you begin to realize that maybe your ex-boyfriend truly had no idea what he was doing.

Clint leans forward, lips brushing against your ear. “You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?” He squeezes your hips and he hears you let out a quiet whimper.

“Y—Yes,” you answer, eyes falling shut as you feel the same throbbing sensation between your legs once again.

“Attagirl,” he smiles, pulling away and beginning to walk towards the counter of the bar.

You slide back into the booth, hands wringing in your lap as Clint’s words echo in your mind. You look over at him and he’s gazing at you from over his shoulder, a small smirk lining his lips as he waits for the bartender to make your drink.

After a few minutes, Clint’s walking back to the booth with your drink in tow. He sets it down in front of you and slides back into the booth next to you. He opts to keep his arm at his side instead of draping it over the back of it. He’s slowly losing his resolve, especially with the way your lips wrap around the straw once again.

“So,” you begin, setting your glass down once you’ve taken a sip. “You’re distracting.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Can say the same thing about you.”

You roll your eyes playfully but find yourself inching closer to him. He glances over at you and takes a long swig of his beer before he, too, sets it down on the table. The tension lingers in the air and you both catch each other’s gaze—pupils dark and filled with lust.

Desire.

Need.

“Y—You always talk like that?” You finally ask.

“Like what?”

“You know what.”

Clint smirks and turns to face you as his arm once again drapes over the back of the booth. He leans in close—close enough to hear a quiet gasp leave your lips. “Tell me.”

“D—Dirty talk,” you mumble. “You always talk dirty like that?”

“Why?” He asks. “Did you like it?”

You nod slowly, feeling his large hand move to rest on your knee. “Yes,” you answer. “My ex—he used to talk dirty but never like that.”

“Maybe we should talk about what he taught you, or what he thought he taught you and we can go from there. That okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think that’s a good plan.”

“Great,” Clint smiles, rubbing small circles on your knee. He feels you lean forward and press your soft lips onto his cheek—his eyes fall shut at the sensation, leaning into you. “But we aren’t doing anything tonight,” he says quietly.

“W—Why not?”

“We’ve been drinking. Don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”

You smile to yourself and wrap your arms slowly around his neck. You move your legs to drape over his lap, feeling his hand move from your knee to your hip. “I wouldn’t regret it, wouldn’t regret you, Clint. I’ve thought about you the entire week.”

Clint clears his throat. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning in to bury your face against the crook of his neck. Your lips move lightly along his neck, teeth grazing his pulse point. His grip tightens around your hip as a result. “Yeah… Would you at least teach me one thing tonight?”

Slowly beginning to lose his resolve, Clint pulls back enough to look into your eyes. You’re staring up at him with feigned innocence and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. “And what’s that?”

“How it feels like to come? Would you be able to teach me that?”

Clint’s eyes darken instantly. “W—What?”

“I mean, I know how to make myself come, but at the hands of someone else?” You shake your head. “I don’t really know what that feels like. Surely it won’t feel any different than if I were to do it myself, but—”

Clint grunts lowly and leans forward, nose brushing against your own. “Your ex never took care of you, did he?” He clicks his tongue and moves a hand from your hip to gently tug at the waistband of your pants. “And how long were you with him?”

“Couple of years,” you answer, breath hitching in your throat as you feel his hand slowly tug down the zipper and undo the button on your pants.

“Shame,” he whispers, hand now sliding into your pants as he brushes his fingers along your clothed sex. You’re warm between your legs and he can feel the wetness on the fabric of your panties. “Something tells me,” Clint mumbles, eyes staring deeply into your own. ��You’ll come right here, right now with my hand in your pants.”

“Clint,” you whimper, legs slightly parting for him. You’re both still seated in the booth in the corner of the bar—it’s dark and no one else here is paying attention to either of you. “I—I don’t think I can stay quiet,” you tell him honestly.

“Guess you’ll have to try real hard then, huh?” He smirks, running the pad of his thumb across your clothed clit. Clint applies pressure and slowly begins to rub you in circles. A strained moan escapes your lips as your hands link together at the nape of his neck—foreheads still pressed firmly against one another. “You’re real wet, baby,” Clint whispers.

Your eyes flutter at his movements—you had experienced this before, but never this slow, never this careful, never this strategic. Usually, your ex-boyfriend would rush this, never fully giving you a chance to enjoy yourself. “Clint, I—I need more,” you whimper. “Please…”

“Patience, baby,” Clint smiles. He pulls his hand away from you only to slide it back in—this time inside your panties so you can feel his touch without the fabric getting in the way. When the pads of his fingers touch your lips, he lets out a low groan at the feel of your wetness. “Yeah, real wet…”

You gasp quietly and feel one of his thick fingers slide into you. You can already feel yourself trembling—a sensation that you hadn’t felt. When Clint slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you, a strained moan leaves your lips. You’re trying so hard not to make any noise, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with how quick his finger moves in and out of you. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel him slide another finger inside of you.

“Can feel you getting close,” Clint whispers, feeling you bury your face against the crook of his neck. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds that you’re making. He’s focused solely on you and your pleasure that the chatter from the patrons in the bar and the music that filters the room fades into the background. All he can hear is the sound of your moans and the quiet squelching from between your legs.

“I—I don’t think I can,” you mutter, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as you hold onto him. You lift your hips off the seat to thrust up into his hand. “It feels—” your walls begin to tremble and the tightness builds in the pit of your stomach and unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You try to push it down, to push that sensation away, but Clint speeds his movements and reaches down with his free hand to rub circles on your clit. “Oh… Oh, Clint, I—”

“Come for me,” he mutters into your ear. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Without warning, the pressure finally tips over and your body shakes against him. Clint smirks against you, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers with a gush of wetness. He slows the pump of his fingers and pulls his hand from your clit to cup your cheek. You lift your head from his shoulder and look up at him, a quiet gasp escaping you when he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Lifting it to your view, you both see his digits glistening with your arousal.

Then, Clint does something that you don’t expect. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks your wetness clean from his fingers—eyes staring into your own. “Mmm,” he grins. “I was right. You do taste sweet.”

You move a hand down to the center of his pants and immediately feel the hardness of him from beneath the fabric. He grunts unexpectedly and gently takes your hand, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles once he sucks his fingers off clean. “Next time,” he says softly.

“Will you teach me how to please you?” you ask innocently.

“That’s not the goal,” Clint answers. “I’m going to teach you what it means to feel good.”

“B—But what about you?”

“Believe me… I’ll feel good too. Just seeing you come undone like that, just from my fingers alone, makes me excited for when I can finally feel you around me.” Clint gently kisses your cheek and then pulls away, helping you zip your pants and button you back up.

“Will you come over to my apartment when you have the time next week?” you ask quietly. “If you want…”

Clint nods, smiling softly in your direction as you notice the dimple on his right cheek. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

It’s a little over a week the next time you see Clint. He knocks on your door and when you open it, you see him with a bouquet of flowers and dressed in his usual leather jacket and dark pants with boots. His hair is slicked back and he gives you a small smile when your eyes finally meet his.

“Hey,” Clint says.

“Hi,” you smile, opening the door even further for him to step through the threshold.

Clint carefully steps inside and leans down to place a light kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t know what kind of flowers were your favorite so just got you a bit of everything.”

“That’s sweet,” you tell him, shutting the door behind him and taking the flowers from his hands. “Let me put these in a vase.”

You disappear into the kitchen and Clint leans down to remove his boots, setting them neatly aside. He steps further into your apartment—it’s small and cozy, very fitting for just one person. He’s about to follow you when you re-enter the living room to set the flowers onto your small coffee table. It makes him smile—how delicate and careful you’re treating the flowers he’s gotten you.

“Did you have a nice week?” Clint asks, sitting on the couch when you motion for him to sit.

“Kept thinking about you,” you admit. “But other than that, it’s been alright. What about you?”

Clint shrugs, keeping his hands on his lap. “Yeah, it was—it was a nice week. Was looking forward to this though. Looking forward to seeing you.”

The heat rises in your cheeks as you look up at him. You’re now fully aware of just how casual you’re dressed—you’re wearing a very large oversized shirt with short sleep shorts, hair pulled into a loose braid.

“You want anything to drink?” you ask, standing up from the couch. You can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Water’s fine,” Clint answers.

You nod in response and walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see him shrugging off his leather jacket and neatly place it on the small loveseat nearby. You let out a shaky breath and grab two glasses, filling it with ice and water. As you’re about to turn around, Clint’s large hand rests on your lower back and you can feel the thick tension now fill the air.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No,” you respond. “Maybe?”

“We don’t have to do anything, you know.” Clint reassures, hand dropping from your lower back as he rests back against the counter of your kitchen. “I’m fine with just being here with you.”

“To talk?”

Clint nods. “Yeah, baby. We can just talk.”

“Maybe… Maybe I can tell you what my ex-boyfriend has taught me?” you offer, biting the inside of your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby.” Clint takes one of the glasses of water from your hand and lifts it to his lips, taking a long swig. He allows you to lead him back to the couch and when he sits first, he notices you take a seat closer to him. Your body’s facing him now, legs tucked underneath you as your knees touch the side of his leg.

“Okay, so he taught me how to give head,” you begin, causing Clint to clear his throat. “I’ve only done a couple of positions—missionary, cowgirl… Lots of cowgirl, so I think know how to do that well, and—”

“Wait,” Clint mutters. He reaches for one of your throw pillows and places it over his lap. He’s surprised that his body is reacting almost instantly at your words and he can feel the center of his jeans slowly begin to tighten. “You’ve been with the guy for two years and that’s all he taught you? That’s all the positions you’ve done?”

You shrug, resting your arm on the back of the couch as you prop your head against it. “Is that bad? I mean, he seemed to enjoy himself.”

“What did he do for you?” Clint asks.

“I—I’m not sure how to answer that…”

“Okay,” he sighs. “How about… what did you like to do?”

“I did enjoy giving him…” you trail off, glancing down at the pillow on Clint’s lap. “Giving him head… and I did like cowgirl too, but there are things I wish I had tried.”

“Y—Yeah? What’s that?”

“Doggystyle… and I’ve always wondered what it would like feel like having someone go down on me too—”

Clint groans lowly and then looks at you, eyes dark and filled with lust. “And what do you want to do tonight?”

“Anything. Everything.” You bite your lower lip and gently reach for the pillow, setting it aside as you climb onto his lap. Straddling his hips, you slowly lower yourself onto him and feel the bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans. “What about you? What do you want to do tonight?”

Clint’s hands move to your hips, staring up at you. “Anything you wanna do. I just want you comfortable and—”

“I’m comfortable,” you interject. “With you, I’m comfortable.”

Clint nods and lets out a gasp when he feels your hips roll against him. You’re hesitant—he can see it in the way you’re looking at him, making sure that what you were doing was okay with him. His grip tightens around your hips, eyes glued onto your own. “How about we try something new tonight? Things you’ve never done before? Would that be okay?” He asks.

“Like doggystyle?” You ask, hopeful.

Clint smiles, stilling your hips as he nods. “That’d be one of them, yeah.”

“That’d be great,” you answer with a smile. Your eyes move to his lips and you lean forward slowly. “Clint,” you whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

He brings a hand up to your cheek, leaning up as he nods slowly. “Yeah, baby.” Without waiting for you, Clint leans forward and presses his lips firmly against your own. He feels you melt into him as your arms wrap around his neck loosely.

There was a part of him that had been second guessing this entire thing until Sleepy Floyd had talked to him. Clint would always love Grace, but he wonders if this is the first step in moving on—in healing so that he could fully be present. You’re still very much a stranger to him, but he can’t help but feel an odd sense of calm whenever he’s around you.

You move your lips slowly—the kiss is slow, intimate, careful. He wants you to set the pace, wants you to lead, wants you to use him for your own pleasure. You roll your hips against him in unison with your lips parting as a quiet whimper escapes. Clint takes this opportunity to flick his tongue against your upper lip, sliding it past your lips as he deepens the kiss.

The hand on your cheek moves back to your hip—both hands now gripping you tightly as you continue to roll against him. His jeans become increasingly uncomfortable and increasingly tighter as his manhood strains against it. He had felt himself getting hard when he first stepped inside your apartment, seeing you dressed so casually with your legs on full display for him.

Slowly, you pull away from the kiss and Clint uses this opportunity to lean forward and begin lining kisses along the side of your neck. You moan quietly, the feel of his facial hair scratching against your skin with the softness of his lips causing the throbbing between your legs to become more prominent.

His hands move to your upper thighs, running them along your bare legs as you ground into him. “C—Clint,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel his teeth graze your pulse point. You can feel the warmth of his large hands on your legs and you have to pull back to look into his eyes, chest heaving as you stare at him with slightly parted lips.

“Gonna teach you that it’s okay to feel this good,” he whispers, hands moving upwards to the waistband of your shorts. “That you deserve to feel this good.” Clint watches you stand up from his lap, his hands falling from your legs. He stares up at you, watching you carefully as you begin to lower your shorts and panties down your legs. When he sees it fall from your legs, he clears his throat quietly and then sees you grab the ends of your shirt. You slowly begin to lift it over your head and Clint leans forward, hands wrapping around the back of your legs to bring you closer to him. You stand between the space of his legs and let your shirt fall onto the floor, making a small pile of your clothes nearby.

You had always been self-conscious about your body and it didn’t help that your ex-boyfriend never looked at you the way Clint was looking at you now. He peppers light kisses along your lower abdomen as his hands run along the backs of your thighs. He’s staring at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You try to cover yourself, but Clint clicks his tongue and shakes his head, standing up from the couch as he reaches up to push your hair away from your face.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Clint’s so broad, so big as he towers over you, but god—he’s making you feel so confident and so sexy. “Your ex-boyfriend is a fucking idiot because now I get this—I get you—all to myself.”

You’re not sure why that causes a shiver to run through you, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss. This time, it’s no longer careful or slow. Clint feels like you’ve gained a surge of confidence because you immediately dart your tongue out that easily slides past his lips. His hands move from your waist down to your ass, large hands gripping each cheek as he brings you flush against him.

Clint brings one of his hands lower, fingertips brushing against your wet slit. Something overtakes him and he lifts you into his arms with ease, turning so that he can set you onto your back on the couch. You land with a soft thud, propping yourself up on your forearms as he kneels in front of you. Subconsciously, you bring your legs together but Clint just shakes his head and keeps your legs parted for him. He looks up at you for a moment, seeing a flicker of hesitation in your features.

“Is this okay?” he asks, using one of his hands to undo the button on his jeans and push down his zipper to alleviate some pressure. “You said you wanted to know what this would feel like, right?”

“Yes,” you answer. “But what do I do? Do I just—”

Clint smiles and leans up to peck your lips. “You just lie there and look pretty… And enjoy yourself. Let me do all the work, okay?”

You nod and then lie back on the couch, seeing him begin to press kisses lightly along your chest. You let out a moan when you feel his lips brush against your peaked nipples, tongue darting out to taste as he continues to move down your body. You can’t see him, but Clint pushes down his jeans and boxers just enough to release his manhood, his free hand wrapping around himself.

Now at eye level with your wet heat, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh—moving closer and closer towards where you’re throbbing. Clint stares up at you and pulls his hand away from himself momentarily. He brings both hands between your legs, spreading your lips as he sees your heat slick and glistening with your arousal. As he stares up at you, Clint licks a stripe up your sex. He smirks to himself when he sees you toss your head back, hand now coming down to curl into his hair. He keeps your lips spread apart as he flicks his tongue against your clit—eyes still focused solely on you and your reactions. The sound of your moans immediately fill your small apartment and Clint’s trying to take this slow, to savor the taste of you.

He moves one hand to wrap around himself again, pumping his length as his lips remain on your heat. You’re so wet and Clint laps at your arousal eagerly—like a man who hadn’t had anything to drink in days. Your slickness drips down his chin, dampening his facial hair as he uses his free hand to slowly slide a finger within your depths. He sucks your clit, beginning to pump his single digit in and out of you as his other hand strokes himself.

“Clint!” you moan, the grip in his hair tightening as you arch your back off the couch. “O—Oh fuck…”

Clint pulls away for a moment and slides another finger inside of you. He smirks up in your direction and releases himself to slide his hand up your body to massage one of your breasts into the pit of his palm. “Feel good?” he asks, slowly lowering himself to flick his tongue against your clit. “Tell me, baby… Tell me how it feels.”

“I—I’ve never felt anything like this,” you admit, opening your eyes briefly to look down at him. Your mouth remains parted as you try to keep yourself from practically screaming from the pleasure that overtakes you. “I think—oh god—I think I’m close…”

Clint nods, thrusting his fingers all the way to the knuckle. He curls both fingers inside of you repeatedly as he wraps his lips around your clit once more, his tongue flicking against your bud repeatedly. He can feel your walls begin to tremble and tighten around his fingers. Feeling greedy, Clint slides another finger inside of you as you welcome three of his digits without issue—you’re so wet that it slides in without any resistance. Once his third finger slides into you, you sit up abruptly and place both hands to the back of his head, holding him flush between your legs.

“Clint—fuck!” you moan loudly, toes curling inwards at the feeling of reaching your high. Clint pulls his fingers out of you suddenly and laps at your arousal, growling against you. Once he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening with your slickness and he stares at you—your hair now a mess with strands coming undone from your braid. Your chest rises up and down rapidly—you’re breathless and your entire body feels like jell-o.

“So fucking sweet,” Clint grins, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand as he uses your wetness to lubricate himself. He reaches down and lazily strokes himself. When you finally catch your breath, your eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s still kneeling down in front of you, but he’s sitting up, giving you a clear view of his big and girthy length.

“That—You’re—Fuck,” you whimper.

Clint smirks and pulls the end of his shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He stands up and pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking it off to the side to join your smaller pile of clothes. He looks down at you, hand still stroking himself. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit,” he winks.

You sit up and lean forward, lips parting as you dart your tongue out to lick the precome off his tip. He shudders against you and bites the inside of his cheek. “Show me your room?” he asks.

You nod, standing up and gently placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Yeah, come on. Legs are a little wobbly, so—”

Clint doesn’t let you finish because he releases his hold on himself and gently picks you up, one arm underneath your legs and the other to brace your back. You wrap an arm around his shoulders as you lean forward to kiss his cheek. “Room’s down the hall. Second door to your right.”

Clint nods and walks down the hallway, passing one door. He feels your lips run along his neck and he’s suddenly reminded of his throbbing erection—yearning to bury it between your legs. Once he stops at the second door to the right, he kicks it open and looks around the dark for the lightswitch.

“You want the lights on?” you ask.

Clint nods. “Yeah, is that fine?”

“I’m just—I’m not used to it.”

He reaches over and turns the light on, illuminating your entire room as he walks you back towards your bed and sets you down. “Baby, I want to see you when you come because you look so fucking gorgeous when you do.”

“Really?”

Clint nods, climbing on the mattress as he hovers above you. “Yes, really.” He settles himself between your legs, tip brushing against your opening. “And I want to see you when I finally push into you.”

You bite your lower lip as he takes hold of his base and runs the head of length along you the length of your sex. Clint lets out a quiet groan when he feels the tip catch against your opening. He watches you let out a quiet moan as your eyes flutter. He knows you’re already so sensitive, but Clint’s determined to make you come at least two more times tonight.

“Gonna make you feel good,” Clint says, pressing the head of his manhood firmly against your clit. “You won’t even be thinking of your ex-boyfriend anymore.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to watch him, to admire him. He’s so beautiful—broad and tanned skin, more scars than the one across his cheek that you’re sure has a story to each one. “You promise?” You ask, hands moving to run along his chest as you gently pull him down firmly on top of you.

Clint smiles and presses his lips lightly on the tip of your nose and then up to your forehead. Staring into your eyes, he finally pushes into you. Your warmth and wetness surrounds his tip tightly and he can see you fight to keep your eyes open and staring at him. “Yeah, baby, I promise.” He moves his hand from the base of his length to rest on your hip. “You doing okay?”

You nod as another moan leaves your lips. “Big—Really fucking big,” you note, feeling him push further into you.

Clint smirks and rests his forehead against your own. His hands tighten its grip on your hips as he fills you to the hilt—tight, wet, and warm encompassing his throbbing girth. “Told you we’d make it fit,” he whisper through a quiet groan. “Y—You really only ever been with your ex, huh?”

You nod, tilting your head back as you allow your eyes to fall shut. There’s slight pressure as he pulls out of you only to slide back in slowly—stretching you from the inside. You hadn’t ever felt this full before. “Yes,” you gasp as he thrusts into you fully. “T—That obvious?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “You feel so fucking tight,” Clint growls, burying his face against your neck. It has been so long for him and he has to remind himself to take it slow; he doesn’t want this to end so soon.

You moan loudly when he delivers a sharp thrust into you, your arms moving around his shoulders tightly. You lock your ankles at his lower back, holding onto him as he slowly begins to pick up the pace. “Clint,” you say breathlessly, the tension in your lower half building and building once again. Your entire body tingles as you feel yourself near yet another orgasm.

Clint presses his lips firmly against the side of your neck, grunting against you as the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo throughout your bedroom and filters out the hallway. Your moans mix in with his and he can feel you getting close again. “You feel so good,” he mutters, the feel of your tight walls dragging along every inch and vein on his throbbing length. “Fuck me, baby…”

Your nails dig into his back as you drag it down, hearing him let out a loud and muffled groan. You feel a pulsating tingle shoot through your body, trembling and shaking against him. Your walls tighten further around him and he slams into you, rolling his hips slowly to help you ride out your climax. You’re breathing heavily once he slows his thrusts and he props himself onto his palms at either side of your head.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open as Clint remains still and deep inside of you. “H—How did I just come again?” You whisper, asking honestly. “I never—That has never happened before.”

Clint smirks and slowly pulls out of you, his length bobbing against you as he looks down at himself. Your arousal glistens along his entire girth and he grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your abdomen. He hovers over you and settles himself between your legs as you prop yourself onto your forearms. With his lips near your ear from behind, he presses a soft kiss and grins. “We’re not done yet, baby.”

“Clint, I don’t think—”

He kneels behind you and grabs one of your legs to throw it over one of his, opening you up even further. Clint keeps a hold on your ankle with your leg draped over him as he slowly slides into you. You feel tighter this way and he slides in so easily, your sex still leaking with your arousal. “Yeah, you can,” he finally says, interrupting you quietly.

“Oh god,” you moan loudly, hands gripping your sheets tightly. When Clint pushes into you all the way, filling you once more, you gasp. He feels bigger and deeper like this. His thrusts start out slow, making you feel every inch of him as he pulls out of you to his tip only to slide fully back into you. “Clint, baby—”

He growls at that, slamming into forcefully as he keeps a tight hold on your ankle. Clint’s legs keep you fully spread open for him and your wetness allows him to slide into you repeatedly without any issue or resistance. A couple of thrusts cause him to slip out and he shifts his hips to find your opening again, slamming into you—chasing and yearning for your tight warmth. “You’re so wet,” he groans. “So wet that I’m slipping out of you.”

Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have around your sheets, toes curling as he continues his thrusts into you. “Clint, oh god—please…”

“I’m right here,” Clint whispers, lowering your leg back onto the mattress. He watches you fall forward, no longer able to keep yourself propped up as he grips your hips and thrust into you from behind. He pulls out of you abruptly, holding onto his base as he thrusts into you. Clint pulls out of you again and grunts at the sight of how wet you are—so wet that your arousal trickles down the inside of your legs and his length glistening. “Gonna come for me again, baby? Hm?”

“Y—Yes!” You moan into the mattress as he rams into you from behind. You feel one of Clint’s hands rest on your hip as the other comes down to smack your ass roughly. The sting of his slap reverberates through your entire body as you push back into him, yearning for more.

“Oh, you like that,” Clint grins, bringing his hand back down onto your ass. He remains still for a moment, watching you push back into him—bouncing back against his girthy length. He leans back on his knees, watching you use him to chase your own release. You prop yourself onto your knees as your hands move to rest on the headboard in front of you, using that as leverage to push back into him. “God, your ass looks fucking—”

You interrupt him with a loud moan, firmly pushing back into him as you reach your peak yet again. Your entire body is trembling—shaking—in a way that you had never felt before. Clint growls to himself and grips your hips tightly as he begins to thrust into you again. Your walls remain tight and trembling around his manhood as he continues to thrust into you—now chasing his own release. He can feel the pressure build in the pit of his stomach beginning to unravel as he slams into you repeatedly.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, eyes falling shut. “Baby, I’m gonna—Fuck, where do you want it?”

“I—Inside,” you answer, body still shaky. “Please, Clint…”

That was all it took for Clint to come undone. He thrusts into you a few more times before delivering one final thrust. His entire body tenses and spasms as he paints your walls with his come. His mouth parts as the grip around your hips tightens even further. Clint slowly rolls his hips, your tight heat milling every last drop. When he pulls out of you, Clint moves to lie on his back next to you, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

You slowly lower yourself onto your tummy, gently reaching over to rest a hand on his chest. His eyes flutter open, the corner of his lips lifting upwards at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hi, baby,” Clint smiles, slowly reaching out to pull you into his arms. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you answer, gently leaning up to kiss his cheek. “That was—I have no words.”

He chuckles and reaches up to push your hair away from your face. “I did good then.”

“Good? You were the best,” you smile.

“We can…” Clint bites his lower lip. “We can do this again… if you want.”

Your eyes light up. “Really? I mean, I think you taught me so much already tonight, but…”

Clint smiles and leans in, pecking your lips lightly. “Oh, baby,” he says softly, hand moving to cup your cheek. “I have more to teach you.”

“Yeah, I think you do,” you agree with a grin.

“And you still have more to teach me,” Clint finishes.

“We can teach each other a thing or two,” you nod. Slowly, you move away from his arms to lie on your back. You glance down between your legs to see his come begin to trickle out of you. You’re about to stand up to clean yourself, but Clint stands up for you.

“Stay there,” he says softly. “Let me clean you up.” Clint turns on his heel and leaves your room, giving you a good view of his bare ass as he walks away.

Within moments, Clint comes back into your room with a warm and damp towel. He climbs back onto your bed and parts your legs, letting out a very quiet groan at the sight of his come leaking out of you. Gently, he uses the towel to clean you up, watching your eyes flutter at the feel of the towel brushing against you.

“Sensitive?” He asks, continuing to clean up the mess he’s created between your legs.

“Very,” you answer, biting your lower lip.

Clint smiles to himself and then leans over to kiss your forehead lightly. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” you smile, watching him set the towel aside as he collects you back into his arms.

Clint bites the inside of his cheek as he looks into your eyes, bringing a hand up to brush his thumb across your cheek. You look at him like you can see through the walls that he had put up to protect himself, to protect others.

“Who knew a Fuzzy Navel would make this happen,” he teases with a grin, his dimple appearing on his right cheek.

You smile broadly, the light in your eyes making him feel good about himself. “You remembered the name of my drink!”

“I still like my name of the drink,” he chuckles. “Spiked orange juice.”

You roll your eyes playfully and slowly straddle his hips, hands resting on either side of him. You lean down, nose brushing against his as your lips remain inches from his own. “Not my fault I like my drinks sweet.”

Clint smiles and moves up his hands up your thighs and up your chest, slowly beginning to massage your breasts into his palm. He smirks to himself when you let out a quiet moan, eyes beginning to flutter at his touch. “Mm, you’re right. Can’t blame you. I like sweet things too,” Clint winks, brushing his thumbs across your nipples.

“Clint,” you whimper.

Clint slowly rolls you onto your back and moves his hands to your hips. He leans down and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only slightly—lips still touching. “I just can’t get enough of you,” he whispers.

“Clint,” you repeat, breath catching in your throat.

He nods slowly, moving his lips to brush against your cheek down to your jawline as he reaches down with his free hand to brush his fingertips against your clit. A gasp escapes your lips and he looks up at you—your eyes now shut tight. “Okay, baby,” he whispers softly. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fanfic #clint flood #freaky tales #clint freaky tales #freaky tales fanfic #freaky tales fanfiction #clint flood x female reader #clint flood x reader #clint flood x f!reader #clint flood smut #clint freaky tales smut #HYETTO?WC

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lethalbreadkills · 8 months ago

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i think the sprinkle mod should be related to sprunki just a thought

i saw them and i went "what if they were younger siblings...." insane ramblings and relationships underneath the cut. oops

OKAY SO. they have names. we named them. by we i mean me and @afuntimepartyy (hi mangy) in order of how they show up in the mod . all colours are used for ease of reading oops Sporen (he ate mushrooms as a child), Radical (well. duh. raddy sprinkle), Clink (head go clink clank), Fun Bot V.2 (v2 for short), Rinkle (i dont have an explanation), Grinkle (gray crinkly kitten), Sprunk (funny), Garnickle (like barnacle), Dipsy (i think its cute), Skip (again, cute), Miss Sun (shes the older sibling for once), Purdle (durple but switched), Mrs Tree (theyre married), Laa-Laa (yellow and sings cute), Tupper (well. like tupperware), Fun Computer (hes not old enough to be a mr. yet), Spinda (hehe), Punkii (it just Felt Right), Biv (i think its cute!), and HACK :]

As for the relationship chart. Well. Smiles. here it is ^-^!!

heh. smirks. Most are self explanatory, these are their younger siblings and they love each other!!

Garnold, quite honestly, is just a good 20 years older than his sibling, and WOW an age gap like that can cause issues with understanding each other. Garnold just doesn't understand the kid, and he's busy with his own (his and Clukr's creations) OWAKCX and Dipsy are complicated because. uh. i'll be honest i didn't read until recently that OWAKCX is like that because Raddy hit him with a hammer and went "ah. that man is an addict isn't he." and went with it ^o^ and it causes an odd relationship with family. they're trying their best, though. they still love each other so much. Tunner and Tupper. Well. I don't have them fully fleshed out yet i'll be honest. Tunner is trying his hardest to bond with Tupper, and she would much rather be left alone and talk to her friends. at the point in life where she just hates everybody, and there's not a whole lot Tunner can do about it. Jevin and Biv. well. he never liked his family anyways, and his little sister following him when he ran away is no exception. she loves him. she wants to be just like him. he wants her to leave him alone and stop reminding him that they're "family", or whatever. Black... well. There's a reason HACK can't feel anything toward his older sibling. Black killed him before he had a chance to grow up too much.

As for Gray and Wenda... funnily enough, they're in very similar boats. They love their siblings, they really do!! It just.. would be so much easier if their "siblings" weren't their children, y'know? (just to specify, they are NOT both gray and wendas kids. they were had separately, we just happened to have the same idea for the two of them, lmao)

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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

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if I knew you write for jenson I would've ordered long time ago! can I get tiramisu with a side of champagne with jenson? (after he won his championship not very dilf yk)

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of things to submit and i do accept orders outside of f1, so hit me with it!! as for this anon, thank you for submitting a jenson button order, haha. i do think it is very funny that you had to specify before his dilf era, haha. but thank you for the clarification. there is tons of dirty talk (oops)

tiramisu (“my little slut to ruin.”) + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by jenson button (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, 2009 era, dirty talking, driver's room sex/semi-public sex, mean!jenson, couch sex, clothed sex, panty ripping (oops)

you should've known that the moment jenson got his hands on the trophy, he was going to be all over you. you had went to see him at the final race of the season, and when it was clear that he was pulling through points wise. you should've taken your panties off under your skirt.

because jenson was going to rip them off of you.

the sound of tearing fabric filled the driver's room as he got you thrown over the back of the couch, your ass on display for him. he tossed the fabric away, no longer unusable as any kind of garment.

"i liked those!" you squeaked.

he chuckled as he groped his cock through his driver's suit, "you act like i can't buy you new panties. you dumb little slut, i pay for everything else."

you swallowed and arched your back a little more. you knew your place, it wasn't your fault. you let a formula one driver flash a bit of money in front of your broke student face and you followed him to the ends of the earth.

and now when he wanted to poke the base of your cervix with the blunt tip of his cock. you let him. like a good girl should.

he got out of as much of the suit as he could and got his cock out of his pants. it was a bit awkward, but he couldn't have the luxury of undressing both of you. not right before the press circus.

he gazed at your soaked cunt for a moment and licked his lips. he flipped the skirt of your dress up and sank into your pretty little cunt. it was an easy fit, he had trained his girl quite well. all to lead up to this moment, he got to celebrate his win with his cock buried in his girl.

it was perfect.

his hands on your hips, feeling the meat under his firm grip. he was practically fucking you face first into the couch. he just wanted to feel his beautiful slut. the pretty hole that he gets to fuck between races. originally this sugar daddy agreement was to help you pay for the nice school you went to in england.

but you haven't been on campus in over a year, why would jenson let you? you were prettier on his arm at events than in between the stacks of books. you were both only in your twenties, but he wanted to make sure that you couldn't get out of his grip.

eventually you'll go back to school. just later.

for now, it was about celebrating. and he was doing that while your pussy drooled around his cock. he panted heavily and continued his forceful thrusts. you were a dream to him, making the lust throb in his back of his head.

"my little slut.' he groaned, "but you know that, you know that you get a nice little payment in exchange for letting me ruin your pussy." his words were venomous but it made you see stars behind your eyelids.

you whimpered, "please, jenson." you arched your back a little to get a better angle of his cock pushing into your soaked cunt.

“my little slut to ruin.” he said, "right? all mine." he continued to thrust up into you. his force was tight and his tongue was loose. he wanted to make sure that you knew that you were a taken woman.

that he was the champion and you were the cute little thing that he sank his cock into. he held onto your hips tightly and battered his cock up against you.

"pretty thing." he said, "you know how to be good for me." he groaned a little bit. you were still on the track, and the driver's room was only so private. but his mouth still ran, "pay for your rent, your clothes, anything you need. and you in return let me make a mess of your little cunt. i guess it's only fair. i empty my wallet for you and i empty my balls in you." he chuckled a little as he felt the sweat on his back.

the adrenaline was still high.

you let out a small whimper and he continued to thrust into you. you felt so good enough him, like a proper fit. his pace was aggressive as he pushed you further into the couch.

sadly the sex couldn't last long as he had places to be with you on his arm. he was the world champion after all. he licked his lips at the sight of your pussy trying to accommodate his girth.

a sweet little thing you were. all his.

he gave it a few more heavy thrusts before he came inside of you. he buried his cock as deep as it would go inside of you. he felt hot all over in the clothes he was still in, but his core throbbed with a deep need for you.

"mine. my little slut." he groaned as he gripped the back of your head to keep you pinned under him. he hissed through his teeth before he slowed to a stop.

he kept his cock inside of you as his other hand worked at your clit. which made you freeze up, the pleasure melted in your brain like chocolate in the sun. you whined a little louder and he told you to shut up.

he played with your poor clit, already throbbing for a deep need. you covered your mouth with your hands as you curled up as you came. you tensed all over as it washed over you. then you relaxed over the back of couch. a bit of cum stuck to your pussy lips and jenson loved the sight of that.

a beautiful little slut.

he patted your bare ass cheek before he got the skirt of your dress over your ass. he chuckled a little, "better pray that it doesn't leak out of you. because if it does." his tone got a little darker, "i'll just have to put it all back in you."

he watched you try to compose yourself before you both had to get out in front of the cameras. he hoped that the press got a picture of his cum running down your leg. after all, he was number one and he was allowed to stake claim on your sweet pussy. <3

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fenjamaus · 6 days ago

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I should probably specify that this is After Episode 5 lol oops, I forgor

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yourfaveisintersex · 2 months ago

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Hi! So I know I'm intersex, but I've had some issues putting a name to my symptoms. I know for a fact that I was born with hyperandrogenism, it's something I've been told and I'm pretty sure affects me to this day. I'm also pretty sure I went through IGM, but I'm not sure. So sorry if this is TMI! I just don't really have any intersex friends and I wanted a second opinion.

When I was pretty young- like, around 3-4 years old- to my understanding my vaginal canal was trying to close. I tried looking this up and never found any terms for it. Upon looking at this page I think it may fall under vaginal hypoplasia? But I'm not sure. That's something else I'm looking for an opinion for.

I was prescribed estrogen cream to try and prevent this from happening, but it had little effect. That's when I think the IGM happened. I know for a fact I had surgery to "fix it" / keep the canal open. I was always told this was medically necessary, and growing up not knowing a word for people like me, I assumed they were right. But hearing stories from other people about their own traumatizing experiences with IGM I started to feel doubt.

I'm sorry if this is pretty cut-and-dry, but I'm someone who still has concerns about not being intersex "enough" (these are standards I only hold myself to) so I'm constantly second-guessing the things I went through. Thank you for your time, and I'm sorry if this is considered TMI ^^'

No yeah this is pretry cut-and-dry intersex experience. I'll tell you right now I know of people who have went through different IGM, who have/had ovotestes, who are the types of people you'd think are 100% intersex through and through, and I've heard them doubt "but what if I'm not intersex tho". This is systemic intersexism at work to narrow down people into believing the idea "you're not intersex, you're just a disorded male/female"; to shove undoubtedly intersex people into the sex binary, by force if necessary, and deprive them of community.

This post turned into rambling as I was writing it because I went "Oh shit I think this is related to your situation I should toss it here" so, oops. I hope you or possibly someone else can find benefit to all of whatever's under the cut here ??

And as for what you went through, you miiiight benefit from knowing what labial fusion (link) is? I have to specify it is considered different from "labial adhesion" within the intersex community aa opposed to the medical community effectively using it as a synonym. Adhesion is generally normal for people with vulvas when young for the labia to stick together a bit and often mended with estrogen cream, not unlike what was prescribed in your case. Fusion, as far as I understand, is a direct symptom of virilization and it's sort of your labia trying to turn into a scrotum?? And can cause some issues with penetration, so I've heard. Or it could be vaginal atresia (link), which is basically the vagina being closed or absent.

You should see if you have any other traits like persistent urogenital sinus (link) (<- warning for surgery pictures in link near the end of the article), PUGS for short, where your urethral meatus (the opening) is inside the vaginal canal. The meatus generally should be Around the midpoint of the vestibule between the clitoris and vaginal introitus... not enough medical documentation talking about and defining vulvar hypospadias, frustratingly.

Plus there's something called anterior-deflected urinary stream (ADUS), that's not uncommonly comorbid with the above few structural things. Basically just means "pee stream goes (too far) forward". TL;DR if you have frequent and/or chronic UTIs you might wanna be suspect about the above few terms I mentioned since UTIs are a common symptom.

#not a fave #answered asks #intersex #intersex education #intersexism #tw intersexism #tw igm #cw genitalia #cw genital mention #tw genitalia mention

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proudhamarsing · 1 year ago

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(I AM ON A HIATUS/BREAK FROM TUMBLR, HOWEVER I JUST WANTED TO MAKE THIS LAW OF ASSUMPTION/MANIFESTATION POST THAT I KNOW THAT MANY OF YOU WILL BENEFIT FROM: PLEASE READ!!!)

The Power of Umbrella/Blanket Affirmations (Edit: THIS IS NOT JUST FOR AFFIRMATIONS, BUT ALSO FOR OTHER MANIFESTING WAYS!!! LOOKS LIKE I TOOK AFFIRMING AS THE MAIN FOCUS POINT, SORRY!!) Manifesting Without Stress.

Hey there! Have you ever felt totally stressed out trying to make sure you say every single affirmation perfectly (the life threatening urge to specify all the details </3)? Or maybe you’re overwhelmed by the idea of affirming for each and every one of your desires? If so, don’t worry you’re not alone, and there’s a much simpler way to manifest your dreams!

Why Details Don’t Matter.

First of all, you know what you want, and what for an example AN affirmation, visualization, a statement that you script Imply/mean! You assign the meaning/description. (IT COULD EVEN BE AN EXTREMELY LONG description, you don't have to repeat what the meaning or description to you Is, once you know, or even have the slightest Idea about, you know It for as long as you'd like! You're actually more than powerful!!!!!) You are God; you put your desires there for you to experience them, so you know exactly what you’re refering to and talking about when you’re affirming. You know yourself for an INFINITY well. You can even create the assumption that affirming (Or just state/say. Creating the assumption, or Impressing the subconcious mind, your higher/god self or WHATEVER you believe In should also NOT be your concern. IT IS ALREADY DONE, BEAUTIFUL SOUL.) "You know what" will automatically bring your desires to you effortlessly, or imply that you already have your desires which you really do (I MEAN IT, BUT IT IS YOUR PREFERENCE THAT MATTERS, IF YOU WANT TO HAVE YOUR MANIFESTATIONS NOW OR IN THE FUTURE IS EITHER WAY MORE THAN JUST VALID, AND OBVIOUSLY UP TO YOU) <3 (The phrase "You know what" Is a random example, you can create your own short or long phrase!!) (Seems like I took affirmations as the main example, but this goes for EVERY AND ANY manifesting way!!!! I can't stress this enough so I repeat In a rush.)

Don’t Panic Over Affirmations. (Took affirmations as an example, but this Implies to any and every way to manifest ♡ I JUST NEED IT TO BE CLEAR THEREFORE I AM REPEATING THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN)

You don’t need to go into panic mode, trying to affirm every single desire for a specific amount of time. Manifesting shouldn’t make you feel drained or overwhelmed. If you’re feeling like you want to procrastinate or avoid your affirmations because they’re too much, it’s time to simplify. Cut down to three or ONE (In this Instance affirmation, but this Implies to all the ways you can manifest. (Visualization, scripting, Inner conversations, State akin to sleep, Rampage/Vauting, reading affirmations istead of affirming In a "thinking way", placebos, subliminals, affirmation tapes, etc, ANYTHING (YES, Including the ways that I didn't mention here.) affirmation(s) that Invokes the feeling of wanting to affirm It or them 24/7. This is how you fall In love with manifesting that you've been naturally doing your entire life. Isn't that wonderful?

Umbrella/Blanket Affirmations to the Rescue.

This is where umbrella or blanket affirmations come in. These are general statements that cover all your desires at once. They’re perfect when you have a ton of things you want to manifest. Instead of stressing about each detail, and making the "time" (OOP ILLUSION SPOTTED, TIME IS AN ILLUSION, DO NOT STRESS ABOUT THAT NON-EXISTENT "THING") to affirm for each desire, you can use blanket affirmations to manifest everything you want quickly and easily.

For example, instead of saying, "I have an A in math, I have a great friend group, I’m confident," you can use a umbrella/blanket affirmation like, "Isn’t it wonderful how everything in my life is perfect?", this covers all your desires without the need for a long list of specific affirmations that you feel like you have to go through every minute of the day.

The "Isn't It Wonderful" Challenge

Neville Goddard, a famous teacher of the Law of Assumption, came up with the "Isn’t It Wonderful" challenge. The idea is to simply say, "Isn’t it wonderful?" and feel the joy of everything working out for you/your manifestations being manifested now or ever since the past/get go (revision). This one simple phrase can help you manifest multiple desires at once, effortlessly.

The Joy of Simplified Manifestation

Remember, manifesting is supposed to be a joyful experience. By using umbrella or blanket affirmations, you’re making it easy and fun. You don’t need to stress about getting every detail right, or to affirm 3-4 long affirmations for THE TRILLIONS (or even more) of your desires that Is your birthright and life's purpose to have, and YOU. DO. HAVE. YOUR. DESIRES. RIGHT. NOW. NOW. NOW!!!! Or you will have them by a certain time If YOU WANT to have your manifestations by a date in the future. You can absolutely also manifest always having had your desires since the get go, or by a certain date In the past. You know what you want, and you obviously have your back, bringing yourself everything you desire Instantly every nanosecond!!!!!!

I am extremely sorry If this post contains grammatical errors, or ain't organised. I am writing this post In a rush, but I tried my best making It crystal clear as possible.

There are a lot of great YouTube videos on this topic, BUT WHY WOULD YOU NEED 5 VIDEOS, WHEN YOU CAN WATCH ONE VIDEO ON A TOPIC THAT AIN'T EVEN COMPLICATED. (TWO RULES: DON'T OVERCONSUME, DON'T PROCRASTINATE. DON'T IDENTIFY WITH THOSE ILLUSIONS, DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THEM. And for Illusionary "unecessary/negative" "thoughts": Pretend that you're looking to your left and your right In your mind, or do It really, when you catch your human self being on a rodeo bull of these Illusions, do not react to these Illusions, just look to your left and right to ensure that there Is nothing unwanted going on, wether It Is in your human self's mind or their ""3D""".

youtube

I apologize for linking three videos, but CHOOSE whichever ONE that you like (If you even In the first place want to watch a video on umbrella/blanket affirmations. Remember: It Is up to you. It Is not an obligation! ) and ENJOY!

[P.S Umbrella affirmation(s) and blanket affirmation(s) are the same thing In different names. It Implies the same thing. They are affirmations that hold an umbrella over EVERY single one of your manifestations/desires (Doesn't matter how many), or you can also say that they are affirmations you use as a blanket that covers all of your manifestations/desires, and you are affirming for every single one of them just by stating ONE umbrella/blanket affirmation (ISN'T IT WONDERFUL? 🥰)

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socialfakes · 1 year ago

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crossing enemy lines -connor bedard-

part 3: just a little longer

nhl players x platonic hughes sister

connor bedard x hughes sister

series masterlist

Liked by jackhughes, mackinnon29, lhughes_06 and 296,009 others

y/nhughes | to my very pretty, dominant golden retriever boyfriend; i love you so much ❤

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jackhughes you're too young to have a boyfriend | y/nhughes you had a girlfriend at 16 years old. how is 21 too young? | jackhughes it just is 😏 | y/nhughes the double standard here is ridiculous

trevorzegras our very own baby hughes is dating someone? | y/nhughes yes sir 🤓 | jackhughes but she's too young. tell her she's too young | trevorzegras sorry dude. we have an understanding | y/nhughes trev is now my favorite

lhughes_06 he's such a golden retriever but he makes you happy so i'm okay with it | jackhughes who is he? | lhughes_06 🤐 | jackhughes 🙄

_quinnhughes how can my baby sister be talking about any guy being dominant? you're too young to be using this language | jackhughes exactly | lhughes_06 oh leave her alone. she's happy. we should be too | _quinnhughes i'd be happier if i knew who it was | y/nhughes in due time, good brother | y/nhughes on another note, i think luke is my favorite brother now

bboeser he better be good to you 👑

tdemko30 baby hughes has a boyfriend? congratulations 🥳

user8 love seeing my favorite hughes sibling happy 😃 | y/nhughes awe i love you

calemakar_ am i really the prettiest boy you've ever seen? 😉 | y/nhughes duh of course 😉

user12 i think they're messing with us

user14 who is this about?

user5 i know who this is about | y/nhughes 👀 | user6 how did you figure it out? | user5 intense detective skills 😂

user9 really hoping this is about cale

elblue6 glad you're happy honey ❤

user19 if he's a golden retriever, he's automatically the best

Liked by jackhughes, _connorbedard, calemakar_ and 319,408 others

y/nhughes | golden retriever ✨💕

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user3 cale's shadow

jackhughes is he the reason you haven't visited me in a while? | y/nhughes course not 😊 | _quinnhughes it's because you're annoying 😊 | y/nhughes quinn, that is not the reason. i've just been busy with work but i promise when i have free time, ill be there to see you jack ❤

_quinnhughes whoever he is, i hope he treats my baby sister with love and respect because i'm not afraid of getting my hands a little dirty 😠 | y/nhughes oh quinny i love you ❤😂

user6 it's connor | y/nhughes what makes you say that? | user6 you live in chicago and once said you prefer "centers" so i did some digging & came up with a bunch of evidence & unless you're dating a blackhawks center who's a lot older than you, i'm 90% sure it's connor | y/nhughes impressive skills, but i never said i was 'dating' a center. just said i prefer them over any other position 😊 also never specified he played for the blackhawks | user6 touche

lhughes_06 he better be keeping his hands to himself | y/nhughes oops 🙊🙈

tdemko30 lovely couple actually | jackhughes how do you know who it is but i don't? i'm her brother | y/nhughes awe is jacky boy upset? | jackhughes obviously 🥺 | y/nhughes learn how to keep a secret & i'll tell you more stuff 😊

user12 can we get a hard launch soon? | y/nhughes of course 🥰

nhlblackhawks we love his increase in points as of late 😊

user7 is he a captain? | y/nhughes nope 😊 although captains are notoriously hot 😲🔥 | user7 so it could still be connor | user15 or now that i think about it, could be nico since she's pretty close to him 🤔 | y/nhughes 🤷🏻‍♀️

user9 ugh i just know he's incredibly cute 😭❤

trevorzegras oh whatcha watching? | y/nhughes no idea. he picked it 😂

lukasreichel44 hi 😊🌸 | y/nhughes hi hi 😊🌸 | lukasreichel44 i miss you 🥺 | y/nhughes i miss you more 🥰

rutgermcgroarty cute 😋 | y/nhughes you're cute 😋

mackinnon29 this has got to be cale. that looks exactly like his bedroom 😂

taglist: @worldlxvlys @fearfam69691

#connor bedard #chicago blackhawks #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #new jersey devils #fake social media #instagram au #hockey player social media #nhl #hughes brothers

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mercillery · 1 year ago

Text

Falling Devil Yandere Alphabet

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + YANDERE THEMES + HUMAN READER + MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM + NOT PROOFREAD + AT SOME POINT I JUST GAVE UP + OOC I THINK OOPS

NOTES: I literally watched Shrek, Hotel Transylvania, and Ninja turtles 1 and 2 while making this. It’s ridiculous how easily I get distracted when writing but whatever.

A = Affection (How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?)

She may have existed since the beginning of time—I forgot whether this was implied or theorized—but I think someone like her is resistant to influence. let alone by such powerful emotions as love or obsession, or in this instance, both...

Thus, she finds herself engulfed in the boundless depths of her obsessive love for you, a sensation she embraces wholeheartedly. She revels in the overpowering emotions she feels, expressing her affection through tangible acts of care—such as babying you. You could say she embodies the role of a devoted butler or caregiver. While she also yearns to demonstrate her affection by preparing meals for you, she respects your aversion to the idea of consuming human food—since you’re literally a human yourself.

B = Blood (How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?)

For someone typically so polite and mature, she won't hesitate to spill blood in your name if necessary.

Key word: If

If anyone or anything dares to come between you and her or threatens your safety, she will paint every corner of the earth with their blood and guts. There is no force on earth, in heaven, or in hell that she will allow to endanger you or her relationship with you. So, if you wish to avoid a gruesome bloodshed, you better remove that person yourself before she takes matters into her own hands. With that being said, she takes both your safety and the sanctity of your relationship with her extremely seriously.

C = Cruelty (How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?)

No, she would not mock or make fun of you in any way. There's not much to elaborate on here. Just know that she won't make you feel bad for being so easily abducted by her. On the contrary, she’ll only express her pleasure and satisfaction that you’re finally with her. She'll gently caress your teary cheeks, her touch tender but completely dismissive of your tears, focusing solely on the joy she feels at finally having you all to herself.

D = Darling (Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?)

I have a strong feeling that she likes to baby you a lot. Do you know what this means?

This means that she'll hover over you, constantly attending to your every need as if you're incapable of managing on your own. Each morning, instead of allowing you the autonomy to dress yourself, she takes charge, dressing you in outfits she deems the cutest. It's akin to a child's intense fixation on their cherished doll, with her playing the role of the child and you, unwittingly, cast as the doll. It's a twisted dynamic where her sense of power is derived from your perceived reliance on her, blurring the lines between caregiver and captor.

To add to that, her control extends beyond mere clothing choices. Understanding your human needs, she recognizes the necessity of regular meals for your well-being. However, unfortunately for you, her culinary expertise lies in cooking humans for sustenance. Despite this, she will persistently coax you into sampling her cuisine, assuring you that it is as delectable as any other meat. But don’t worry, she refrains from actually preparing the meal unless you explicitly express a desire to try it. And should you muster the courage to taste her food, it's important that you maintain a facade of enjoyment, for the consequences of expressing your dislike for the dish she so lovingly prepared for you are dire. In essence, she wouldn’t force you to eat her dishes—but if you express wanting to try them, you better finish it all.

E = Exposed (How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?)

She's not particularly emotive, nor does she wear her feelings on her sleeve. It's not that she's ashamed of her emotions—she simply tends to maintain a cool and composed demeanor most of the time. However, since she's fallen deeply in love with you, she has no qualms about revealing the extent of her love. The only emotion she may hesitate to display around you is her anger. Nevertheless, she'll willingly show you her vulnerability.

F = Fight (How would they feel if their darling fought back?)

Honestly? The first few times you rebel against her, she'll stay composed, not lashing out at you. However, if you start fighting against her consistently…

She’ll be offended. Very offended.

She's given you all her patience, tolerance, love, and support—and this is how you repay her? By infuriating her with your constant disobedience? How disrespectful of you! She isn't one to tolerate such defiance. You've tested her limits, and now you must face the consequences. Prepare for some very strict scolding from the chef herself.

G = Game (Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?)

Absolutely, this isn't a game to her, not in the slightest. She doesn't joke about this—her relationship with you is far from anything resembling a game. She regards the relationship with the utmost importance and doesn't even entertain the thought of trivializing it as such.

You're sorely mistaken if you think she derives any amusement from watching you attempt to escape her loving embrace. Because spoiler alert: she doesn't. I'll concede that, depending on the ingenuity of your escape plan, she might be slightly impressed. However, her predominant emotions will be disappointment and frustration at your decision to flee from her and the love she offers.

H = Hell (What would be their darling's worst experience with them?)

Anytime you’re eating.

She's the sole creator of your meals—breakfast, lunch, dinner, you name it. After all, she's literally hell's chef—whose culinary prowess could possibly rival hers? Admittedly, her dishes typically feature ingredients of the human variety, but just because you're human doesn't mean you can't partake! However, since she respects your reluctance to try them, she prepares normal food for you (steak, spaghetti, soup, or whatever). Surprisingly, despite her expertise in cooking humans, her skills extend seamlessly to crafting dishes that humans typically enjoy, something you’re very grateful for! Otherwise, if not for that, you’re sure she would’ve made you a cannibal long ago.

The reason I consider this your worst experience with her is because every single time she insists on coaxing you into trying her food, persuading you to try something different, and promising it will delight your taste buds. It gets to the point of annoyance. Once, in an attempt to end her relentless persuasion, you reluctantly accept—only to discover she had prepared a rather huge meal made entirely of human flesh. You're left with the choice of either eating it all or giving it a try but then spitting it out, leading to voicing your dislike of the food she so lovingly made, which ultimately results in her extreme frustration—which then escalates to the point of endangering your life, making it an unforgettable and traumatizing ordeal.

I feel like this part didn’t make much sense. Oops.

I = Ideals (What kind of future do they have in mind for/ with their darling?)

Her vision of a future with you isn't unreasonable, at least not in her eyes. All she desires is your total and complete obedience, love, and loyalty. She envisions a time when you abandon every trace of rebellion and disobedience from your soul, mind, and body, allowing her to love and care for you without resistance. She wants to choose your outfits, pamper you with her affection, follow you everywhere, and shower your face with kisses. The ultimate fulfillment of her dream would be you finally letting go of your human morals and indulging in the delicious meals she prepares: limbs and body parts of humans.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?)

When our beloved chef is jealous, she maintains a veneer of professionalism. Well, kind of. She confronts the source of her jealousy without hesitation, but there's an unmistakable edge to her demeanor. You can sense her annoyance, even if she tries to mask it. Think of it like this: she addresses the situation directly, yet her words and actions carry a subtle, simmering irritation that makes her feelings clear.

"Excuse me, this is my partner," she'll assert calmly, her tone tinged with a hint of annoyance, her closed eyes twitching slightly in suppressed anger.

Now, depending on the response of the other person, things can unfold in one of two ways: she unleashes her wrath, using her powers to invert gravity on the offender, therefore making that person fall upwards into the sky, inevitably plunging them into the very door that leads to hell. Or she’ll opt for a warning, her tone conveying the gravity of the situation without resorting to immediate punishment.

K = Kisses (How do they act around or with their darling?)

She remains the same: polite and composed. However, some wouldn't be mistaken if they claimed to notice a faint smile on her face whenever you're around—a silent expression of her pleasure and relief at having you near. Regarding possession, it's likely evident to most people. Depending on the situation, like when she's on the hunt for humans who have the ingredients required for whatever dish she’s working on, she might have her arm firmly around your waist or wrist—perhaps to the extent that you're lifted slightly off the ground, unable to touch it anymore. She's tall, very tall, and she's aware that there will come a point where you can't keep up with her anymore, so she occasionally employs one of those long arms of hers to lift you off the ground, if only just slightly.

L = Love letters (How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?)

She wouldn’t. She strikes me as someone who watches from afar.

But the moment she realizes the intensity of her feelings for you, she won't hesitate for a second. She'll approach you directly and declare, "You belong to me now."

No matter your answer, you're hers now.

M = Mask (Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?)

Absolutely not. She couldn't care less about who witnesses her overwhelming love and obsession for you. If anyone were to dare to call her out on it, she'd simply turn her head in their direction, her eyes closed as always, and dismiss them, urging them to give you and her some space.

N = Naughty (How would they punish their darling?)

Scolding. That's her method of discipline. She'll be as stern as necessary during scoldings, but physical harm is off the table. Still, she's strict and unforgiving in her approach. You might initially believe that a mere scolding won't affect you much, but trust me, when she scolds you, you'll find yourself feeling surprisingly remorseful. She has a way of making you question yourself, leaving you wondering why you feel so guilty after her scolding is over. In short, you may underestimate the impact of her scolding at first, but eventually, it starts to hit you.

O = Oppression (How many rights would they take away from their darling?)

Honestly, she wouldn't strip away many rights from you. The only ones she'll take are your right to privacy and your right to choose your own outfits, as she insists on selecting and dressing you herself. If you dare to voice complaints, she'll simply brush them aside, reminding you that she's seen countless human bodies—after all, she literally cooks humans.

P = Patience (How patient are they with their darling?)

She's patient enough to tolerate a few complaints from you, but insults are where she draws the line. Just keep yourself in her good graces, and the chances of her becoming angry with you decrease significantly. By staying on her good side, I mean offering her your complete and unwavering obedience, love, and loyalty.

Q = Quit (If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?)

If you were to meet your demise, she'd make it her mission to avenge you and ensure that whoever was responsible for your death pays the ultimate price. She'll deliver a punishment far worse than hell itself. So rest assured, if you were to meet such a fate, she'd be seeking revenge in your name. Until she looks in every corner and crevice of the earth to avenge your death, she won’t be able to move on.

The only time I can see her actually moving on from your death is if you were to die under natural circumstances.

If you were to escape, resentment would begin to fester and swell within her heart at your sudden departure. The idea of her beloved leaving her so abruptly would fuel an ever-growing sense of bitterness within her. Each passing moment would only serve to intensify this gnawing feeling of resentment, pulling at her heartstrings with increasing force day by day. Consequently, she won't be able to move on until she finds you again. However, her motivation for seeking you out would no longer stem from her immense love but from the overwhelming resentment and anger that now consumes her.

R = Regret (Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?)

No, she doesn't experience a single iota of guilt when she abducts you. Guilt isn't an emotion she's familiar with, nor does she see a reason to entertain it. After all, why should she feel guilty? She now has the person she loves most closer to her than ever, and if anything, she's pleased by the outcome.

Moreover, she won't ever release her hold on you. You'll never be granted freedom from her grasp until the day you draw your final breath, which will likely occur due to natural circumstances such as old age, a heart attack, or any other form of disease.

S = Stigma (What brought about this side of them? childhood, curiosity, etc?)

Curiosity.

As a devil who typically sees humans as nothing more than necessary ingredients for her dishes, she doesn't usually care or think much of them. That is, until she meets you. You must have caught her eye because there was something undeniably different about you, something that sparked her curiosity and ultimately caused her to fall for you—hard. I'm talking about the kind of fall where she face-plants the floor type hard.

T = Tears (How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

She still doesn't feel a drop of guilt when she sees you cry, isolate yourself, or scream. The closest she ever comes to guilt is disappointment—and guilt and disappointment aren't even in the same realm, so you can already imagine how that goes. However, she won't feel disappointment toward you unless you scream; in that case, her disappointment is directed at you. If you isolate yourself or cry, she'll be disappointed in herself for making you feel this way—I guess you could say this is her own way of feeling "guilt." In those instances, she'll try to comfort you—so that's a small consolation. But if you scream, she’ll simply tell you to knock it off.

U = Unique (Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

My mind is actually so blank at this point that I cannot think, so please just take this: She won't ever physically harm you—not even mentally.

V = Vice (What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?)

Remember all the times I mentioned how she desperately wants you to try her food, but you refuse because eating human meat would make you a cannibal? Well, here's a potential advantage: if you tell her you want to try her dishes, you’ll surprise her. She'll enthusiastically prepare the meal, and that's your moment—it's either now or never. While she's cooking, you have your chance to make a run for it. But be cautious; she's a long-legged woman with enough stamina to catch up to you within mere seconds. So, act wisely.

W = Wit's end (Would they ever hurt their darling?)

No.

Not sure if this counts, but you know how she only targets humans if they're necessary ingredients for her dishes? Well, here's the great news for you: you're not and will never be an option as an ingredient for her. You are the only human she will never, ever consider attacking, regardless of whether you possess one of the ingredients she's seeking. Even if all the ingredients for her dish happen to be everything that you are, she will never turn to you as a food source. She'll scour every corner and crevice of the earth if necessary, but she'll never resort to cooking you. (This part was supposed to go into the unique section, but I changed my mind because it felt wrong. So if this doesn’t make sense, sorry💪😞)

Yeah, in essence, she'll never inflict harm upon you. While your worst experiences with her may have been near-death encounters, she'll never actually harm you. The most she'll do in terms of hurting you is exert a firm grip. That's it.

X = Xoanon (How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?)

She's not a worshipper, but her actions might suggest otherwise. The way she cares for you feels akin to that of a devoted caregiver. She insists on dressing you herself, feeding you, and accompanying you everywhere. It's understandable if you interpret her actions as worship, but to her, it's not about worship—it's simply about loving you that much.

And no, she's not going to any extraordinary lengths to win you over because in her mind, you're already hers. There's no need for her to go to such lengths when you're already with her.

Y = Yearn (How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?)

Y’know how I just mentioned that in her mind, you're already hers? Well, I doubt you share the same sentiment, do you? She's not oblivious, and she's well aware that you likely don't reciprocate her feelings. If your feelings toward her remain unchanged even with all her persuasions, she'll remain surprisingly patient for quite some time. What I'm getting at is that her endurance in trying to win you over during the relationship is remarkable. I can't envision her snapping at you, no matter how much time passes as she endeavors to capture your heart.

Hoping this part made sense 😗

Z = Zenith (Would they ever break their darling?)

Like I've hammered home countless times, no—not mentally, not physically, but perhaps emotionally. Remember when I mentioned how her scolding can make you question whether you're truly ungrateful for her love? Well, emotions play a significant role in that scolding too. She doesn't necessarily toy with your emotions, but she aims for you to feel at least a tiny tinge of guilt for every instance you've angered or disappointed her.

#chainsaw man #csm #falling devil #csm x reader #csm x you #falling devil x reader #falling devil x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere csm #csm falling devil #yandere alphabet #the way you can see my writing gradually decrease each section actually bothers me #I like writing alphabet stuff but dang I really start running out of ideas the lower I go #anyways I hope this was at least somewhat in character

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rorywritesjunk · 2 years ago

Text

We'll cry later or cry now, but baby, Heartbreak feels so good

Buggy messes up, there's a fight, and he realizes how much you mean to him.

Rating: PG-13ish. Swearing. Warning: A couple fight, angry crying, damage to personal property (kind of not really unintentional). Is mentioning Shanks a warning? I'm gonna say it is. Buggy has Big Feelings and Regrets. A/N: Drama and some angst. Upset Buggy, upset reader. Everyone's upset. I needed to do some angst to balance out some of the other stuff. I have another story later to post as well. Also, at this point the reader in this fic is apparently just the same as the makeup stories and Pampering Buggy. Unintentional at first but it just... happened. Oops. Title comes from "Heartbreak Feels So Good" by Fall Out Boy.

Your screaming was heard throughout the entire Big Top.

Buggy was convinced you were being murdered, so he stopped what he was doing and hurried to see what was going on. He could hear your screams coming from the kitchen and they weren’t letting up, so when he rushed in, he frantically looked to see what was causing you to make that much noise.

You were standing at the counter, gripping your hair as you stared down at it. He approached cautiously, hand moving ahead of him to touch your shoulder, letting you know he was there.

“Babe?”

You jumped and smacked his hand away, turning to glare at him; the intensity caused him to stop in his tracks. He finally saw what you were so focused on. Your good knives were laid out on the table, the blades bent with chips and cracks along them. One of them even had a broken handle. Next to the damaged knives was your favorite cutting board. He could see the knife marks in it, as though someone had used it as target practice.

Oh, shit.

“Who did this?!” You demanded as you pointed at your damaged tools. “Why?!”

“I can explain.” He held his hands up, hoping maybe you’d calm down, but instead it seemed to make you angrier.

“Those were my things, Buggy!” You exclaimed, fists clenched as your eyes began to well up with tears. “Wh-Why does it look like someone used them for target practice?! They’re ruined!”

“Someone asked to use some knives for practice… and I said grab some from the kitchen.” Buggy said; your eyes went wide and it was dawning on him how stupid that suggestion now was. “Now, I didn’t specify which knives…”

“Clearly!”

“But they’re just knives, babe.” He said with a shrug. “I mean, you can still use them, right?”

Your response to that was crying. The tears were coming now and you couldn’t help it. How could he be that stupid? Those were yours. You brought them onboard when you joined the crew. You even told the crew not to touch them, that they were yours for food prep and nothing else. They weren’t meant to be thrown around!

Buggy didn’t really expect you to start crying.

“Babe, babe, come on.” He took a step towards you, reaching out to pull you into a hug, but you pulled away, picking up the knife that had the worst damage to it: a broken tip, bent, chips in the blade. You pointed it at him.

“I can’t prepare meals with this, Buggy!” You wailed. “You wrecked my knives!”

He stared at you in shock. He didn’t like being accused like that.

“I didn’t touch them!” He shot back. “How was I going to know they’d be used?! Maybe you should have hidden them better!” He crossed his arms and snorted. “They’re just knives. Stop crying over them, it’s not like you can’t use them. Stop being stupid!”

Oh, he regretted that when he saw the crushed look in your eyes, but was he going to say anything? Was he going to apologize? Of course not.

“Fine.” You rubbed your nose and sniffled, taking a deep breath. “Fine! I hope you have an appetite for spiced boiled water, because without good knives, I can’t do much else!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Buggy rolled his eyes. You glared at him as you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Fresh tears started rolling down your cheeks instead as you shoved past him, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

The two of you really didn’t fight that much. Arguments happened from time to time, disagreements, typical couple things, but this type of fight where one of the sides fucked up and wouldn’t admit it, well, it was ugly. The crew even noticed that you hadn’t spoken to Buggy for a few hours. He tried to get you to acknowledge him, asking you your thoughts on how the performers were doing, but you ignored him as you helped one of the performer’s with her costume, or made sure another’s hair was done right.

Buggy tried to ask you how his makeup was looking, tried to see if you’d help him with it, but you turned your back on him and walked off.

Dinner that night was boiled water with random spices thrown in and you served Buggy the ‘dinner’ in the largest bowl you had.

And you did return to your shared room with him but you wouldn’t talk to him. You bathed without inviting him in the tub, you dressed with your back to him, and you crawled into your side of the bed without giving him a goodnight kiss. When he got into bed and tried to roll over to cuddle with you, he pulled back once he felt how you stiffened at his touch and curled up away from him. He went back to his side and listened to your crying.

When he woke up the next morning, your side of the bed was empty, no warmth left behind. You must have been awake for hours at that point. He rubbed his face, wondering if maybe he needed to apologize. He really should have, it was his fault, but he couldn’t admit that. He was stupid, he knew that. He was still trying to figure out how to be in a relationship. With a sigh, he got out of bed and dressed before heading to the kitchen to look for you.

He was surprised to find an empty kitchen. He winced when he saw the damaged knives and cutting board still in the same place as yesterday, a reminder of how he fucked up. Why didn’t he just apologize instead of saying you were stupid and being dramatic? He picked up one of the knives, looking it over. It didn’t look like it could easily be repaired. Maybe he needed to get you a new set to make up for it.

“Captain?”

He turned to see one of the performers standing in the doorway. He glared at him and they recoiled just a bit. “What?!”

“Uh, just… have you seen the cook? She was going to help me with my hair, and…”

“What?! What do you mean you haven’t seen her?!” He snapped. “Where the fuck did she go?”

“I-I don’t know, that’s… why I’m asking…”

Buggy threw the knife in his direction; it almost hit him, instead hitting the frame of the door and clattering to the ground. The performer hurried off, not wanting to become Buggy’s own target, leaving his captain alone. You weren’t there. You had been gone for hours. They had been docked for two days at a port.

He swallowed heavily as he considered that maybe, just maybe, you had enough and decided to leave.

No, no, no, it wasn’t that bad of a fight, right? You loved him. You told him all the time. You wouldn’t leave him over something silly like this, but he remembered how he reacted to your words, how instead of saying sorry he made it seem like it was your fault. He fucked up, not you.

Could he blame you for leaving? You did so much for him and he was just there. You took care of him, you made sure he was fed, that his clothes were mended, that his makeup was how he wanted it. You did all of that for him, and all he could do was fuck up and blame you for his own stupidity.

He swore loudly as he stomped out of the kitchen to go start his day. Maybe stringing a freak up by their ankles would make him feel better.

You weren’t home by dinner and by then he knew you left for good. He overheard several performers mentioning how they saw you leave with a bag that morning, and that they missed their chance to talk to you. Buggy couldn’t believe you’d leave without saying goodbye to him, but he figured that’s what he deserved after how he treated you the night before. Hell, he never deserved you in the end. How did you put up with him for as long as you did when he was just a pain in your ass? You deserved so much better than him, someone who would treat you the way you deserved to be treated, with treasures, love, everything you wanted.

Yea, he loved you, and he treasured you, but he knew he didn’t ever tell you enough, if at all.

He couldn’t help but imagine someone like Shanks meeting you and sweeping you off your feet. Of course it would be Shanks who you would meet by chance, fall in love immediately, and leave Buggy behind. The thought of it frustrated Buggy. He should have appreciated you more.

He returned to what was now his room, now that you were gone from his life. He went to your side of the bed and stared down at it, knowing that the last time you slept in his bed, you cried yourself to sleep because of him. He never wanted that, and he wished he apologized last night instead of being stubborn about it. He grabbed your pillow and laid down on the bed, hugging it close to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling.

He wasn’t going to cry but he definitely wanted to. Instead he held your pillow over his face, taking a deep breath, hoping it still smelled like you. If he stayed like that, maybe he would never forget you. The feeling of your skin, your smell, the sound of your voice.

It was almost like you were still there when he thought he heard you say his name but he was imagining things. You left because he didn't treat you well or appreciate you enough. You were the one always making him feel better when he had a bad day, you always said I love you first, and if he ever did, it was always followed by some bawdy comment. You always initiated those little acts of love and he just… was there.

You’d make his favorite meals for him and he’d offer to wash the dishes, but there were countless times he’d wake up for a midnight snack and find you in the kitchen, cleaning up after he forgot to do so.

You’d tell him how much you loved him, and he’d make a stupid joke before even saying it back, because he didn’t know how else to respond.

And he was pretty sure he was already going crazy without you there because he swore he heard you say his name again and something hit the pillow. He pulled it down off his face and sat up, eyes widening when he saw you standing at the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing to my pillow?” You asked.

“You came back.” Was his response.

“What?” You looked confused. “Yea? We’re at a port, we needed some kitchen supplies.” He winced slightly and you glared at him. “I took one of my knives to see if they could get fixed but as I suspected, they are beyond repair.”

"Babe-"

"I can't believe you let someone use my things like that, Buggy!" You exclaimed as you sat at the foot of the bed to remove your shoes. "I asked one thing when I came onboard and was for the crew to respect that the kitchen was my space, that if they needed something to ask me! And then you went and let someone go in there and use my things! Those were expensive knives, I paid good money for them, and I can't go and-"

"'Msorry." He spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

"Buy replace- what?" You turned to look at him. He wasn't looking at you, instead he was sitting up now on the bed, legs hanging over the side as he stared down at his feet. You got up from your seat and walked over to him, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. "Look at me, Buggy." He winced at your tone but did as you asked. "Repeat what you just said but I want you to look me in the eyes when you do."

He hesitated, it was difficult, but he did as you asked, slowly looking up at you, locking eyes with you, almost muttering again under your glare but he managed to get the words out.

"I'm sorry." He said, trying not to let his voice waver. "I'm sorry for ruining your… things. And for how I spoke to you. And for not apologizing." He looked back down at his feet and slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. "I just don't want you to leave me."

You inhaled sharply, did he really think you left him without telling him? This was starting to give you a headache.

"First off, thank you for apologizing." You said as you stepped closer to him, putting your hand on his head. He took that as an invite to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he pressed his face against your stomach. You sighed. "And second, Buggy, if I was ending things with you I would tell you. I was gone because like I said, we needed some supplies, and I needed a break from here for a while.”

"'msorry." His voice was muffled against your shirt as he tightened his hold on you. "I can't lose you to someone else."

"Buggy, you're not going to." You told him as you reached down to move his head away from you, just enough for you to cup his cheeks and you could look into his eyes. "But Buggy, all I want now is another apology for how you spoke to me, and I want a new, nicer set of knives and cutting board that is off limits to everyone, understand? Because if I catch anyone else so much as touching them then I'll cut their hands off with those nice sharp knives and use their blood to oil the board. Do you understand?"

Buggy could only nod, leaning into your touch as his hands came up to cover your own. "I'm sorry for… how I spoke to you, you're not stupid or dramatic… that's all me, I'm sorry. I'll get you new things, I promise."

"Thank you." You stroked his cheeks gently before pulling back. "Now, I am damn exhausted from all of this and am taking a bath."

He pulled you back to him before you could get too far away from him. He wanted to be sure you were real, that this wasn’t his imagination, that you were really there. He wrapped his arms around your waist once more, resting his head against your stomach as you put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them slowly, trying to get him to relax. You were still hurt from the night before, especially how he spoke to you, but it made you feel a little better to see how upset he was, that he did regret his actions.

After a few minutes, you finally pulled away from him and went to get undressed. You heard Buggy get up behind you, and you wanted to tell him that you were taking a bath by yourself, but when you turned around you were surprised to see him getting the tub ready for you.

“Thanks?” You were a little confused by the gesture, but you weren’t going to question it.

“I… love you.” He said as he checked the temperature of the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot for you. “And thank you for everything you do for me.”

You smiled a bit and went over to him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Buggy.”

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