Answer
“Better, but you are forgetting one thing!”
His tail has delicately curled it’s end about Clint’s ankle, like a creeping snake. If it were a snake perhaps it’d have bitten Kurt’s sparring partner, but there is always the chance he knew and set himself up for this on purpose.
Either way, Kurt is on his back, belly open to any number of attacks, and this is his last resort. His laugh is a cackle as he snaps his tail like a whip, causing it’s light grip to tighten and his strong pull to drag the archer down to Kurt’s level.
“I have more than just my four limbs!”
Answer
as it turns out, clint has a limit. who knew? bucky was wondering if he’d ever find it–though he knows barton entertains a particular veneer of stupid at times, it was a question worth asking, in bucky’s mind, how much of it was authentic and how much of it was an affect. something he was doing, deliberately, as a means of defanging himself.
(logan told him the ronin and hawkeye smelled the same. bucky knew right away he was a hypocrite, then, and wanted him all the same. the idea of supping upon the same shed blood like a pair of feral vampires was frightening and intoxicating both: you could’ve been one of us.)
he finds the collapse point over the span of three days. three days of prodding at his temperament to watch it unfold, watch subtle acts of petulant resistance amount upon clint’s self-respect and the core of his libido until, upon the third day, clint drags him into his lap by the bridle of his hips as he passes. a football game blares undercurrent, the television flickering between plays and commercial breaks. bucky hasn’t the slightest idea of whose winning, and now he’ll never know; everything else melts away as clint swings bucky’s thick legs up over the arm of the chair, opposite arm serving as his back rest.
you’re done teasing me, clint whispers into his skin, the thrum of his jugular, where it fans against bucky’s jaw and drifts to his ear. barton opens his mouth into a roll of the tongue, and when bucky shivers, he bears down on the flesh beneath his lips, sucking hard marks into the slope of his throat. a half belligerent moan cleanly punches from bucky’s chest, quick and short.
’ i have work, clint. ’
no you don’t. i know you don’t. you’d’ve left already if you did.
fuck. okay, maybe he’s just a little better than bucky ever gives him credit for. a lackluster attempt at annoyance devolves into stoking arousal, clint’s free hand sinking between bucky’s hefty thighs. he gingerly palms his cock through his shorts before sliding one bow-weathered hand up the leg hole, snaking ample thigh and the tent of silky nylon. blindly, he feels about the line of his groin, slipping fingers just beneath bucky’s panties. you’re wearing the thong again? his query comes on a ragged breath, evidently elated at the thought of what awaited him. he teases a finger at the rim of him, seemingly entertaining the idea of fucking bucky dry, watching bucky’s face. when he notes an unpleasant twitch of the jowls, clint decides against it.
it would’ve been at bucky’s discretion. pain had to be wanted, not insisted upon. not after the life he’d been forced to lead.
’ mhm. ’ bucky returns, finding barton’s crystalline stare. ’ you like them. right? ’
clint nods, slow and low. the arm nearest bucky’s head folds at the fore-joint, fingers crawling bucky’s chin. they graze the edge of his mouth, following the plush of one lip with a carnal appreciation.
open. suck.
bucky obliges. his lips part, giving way to the hot vice of his soft palate and wettened tongue; clint dips in his index finger, a full body throb reminding him just how good bucky was with his mouth the second he seals his lips around the intrusion. how badly he wished it was his cock head instead, that pretty pink-red tongue flexed against the underside, those gorgeous brown eyes cast up at him through a wreath of heavy lashes. that’s a good girl, buck.
once appropriately wet, clint offers the middle finger, then the ring. spit was better than nothing, though he wished he’d had lube within reach.
bucky doesn’t mind. even as his forefinger returns to insistently press at his hole, he clenches his jaw, willing himself to relax.
’ clint, ’ he gasps, his name crushed between bucky’s teeth all the same. barton sinks to the first ligament, the broach quick and keen. bucky feels the muscles in his thighs and lower back flex insistently, responsively. there’s no pain yet, only a strange and familiar sensation of being tugged open. it’s only when he feels the index hilt at the knuckle does a dull sting accompany clint’s ministrations, a live wire of tenuous pain supplemented by the exquisite buzz of languid pleasure each pass his finger makes across bucky’s sweet spot.
the middle joints the index. you’re gorgeous, he says. bucky’s cunt squeezes around clint’s fingers, muscles fluttering responsively. the way he rakes his fingers inside him, the flush of clint’s firm body beneath him, the adoration in his lingering gaze, his verbiage–it sends electric currents right down barnes’ spine, his amounting need evermore desperate and obvious. he bites his lower lip to stifle a girlish whine, yet it ekes from him seconds later regardless the second clint’s ring finger nests into him beside the others. the euphoric bliss that roils inside him is comparable to nothing else: it is uniquely bucky’s, here to overtake him, sending a jolt of weepy precum that beads at the head of his cock. clint uses his thumb and pinky to pry off the nylon and satin hugging bucky’s dick, letting it bob free, half hard and soaking wet.
’ ple–please, ’ bucky chokes, his cry devolving into a needy sob, ’ clint, please, fuuh–fuck, fuck, baby, please, want your cock inside me s-so bad. Трахни меня, пожалуйста. Я хочу, чтобы ты меня оплодотворил. ’
Answer
Text
He’s in the middle of charming a svelte dime piece when Clint’s whine breaks through his seduction concentration. He ruefully kisses the back of her hand before slinking away, jaw muscle jumping as he makes for somewhere private to respond, tugging on his earlobe in frustration.
❛ Figure it out, Birdbrain, ❜ he enunciates, the Texan-softened vowels of his alias foreign to his own ears. Eugh. He hates playing Texan oil tycoons, but they’re the easiest for a man like him. ❛ Can’t do yer job for ya. ❜ He can feel someone cutting in close, and he holds up a finger, miming a bluetooth conversation.
❛ Comb through those files like yer life depends on it, Henderson, or you ain’t got a job to come back to when my plane touches down on Monday, I promise ya that! ❜ He mimes pressing down on the earbud in his ear canal before turning to the interloper, voice still carrying through their secured connection. ❛ Underlings, am I right? Todd Duncan, of the Duncan pipelines dynasty, don’t think we’ve been introduced. ❜
He’s got a feeling this is going to go down south quick. This is what he gets partnering up with the world’s unluckiest hero. Still, Gambit comes from resourceful stock; if he can’t find luck, he’ll make his own. He fiddles with the white queen chess piece in his pocket as he follows the burly henchmen, devilish eyes darting around under expensive shades and absorbing as much information on the fly as he could.
Answer
SEND ME YOUR MUSE’S HEIGHT, AND I’LL COMPARE IT TO MY OWN’S! (always accepting)
@broarrow
got him by a smidge—GOOD get that smugness off his face forreal
Answer
“don’t mistake me for my brother, barton. I’m not the stupid one.” the god counters lazily, rolling his eyes at the other. there’s a long pause before a sly smirk spreads across his lips and a flash of mischief crosses his emerald eyes.
“… I make no promises.”
Answer
put 😈 💭 in my ask and my muse will admit one dirty thought they’ve had about yours.
Wonder if he’d still run dat damn mout’ o’ his wit’ a gag in it. Mebbe one of dem ball ones.
Answer
put 😈 💭 in my ask and my muse will admit one dirty thought they’ve had about yours. || ACCEPTING
Oughta have a pretty strong back, drawing a bow that heavy and that often.
…
Bet I could still make it arch.
Text
@broarrow continued from here –
Once they manage to tumble into Clint’s apartment, a tangle of limbs and bad decisions, he leans back against the door. “Okay, listen…” he’s breathless from laughing the entire way up the stairs. One hand pressed to his abdomen while the other braced back against the door. Bob laughs, too. He comes closer and Clint straightens back against the door, gaze even on him and smile crooked. Cheeks flushed, gaze pupil blown.
“y'know, I thought about all the things I wanna do to you once I got you here.” Clint slurs a little, head knocking back against the door. He laughs fondly– clearly drunk. He hiccups a little. Bob isn’t drunk but he’s still there and putting up with Clint’s shit.
“Mmm… but I kinda just.. wanna pet your hair n’ curl up on the couch. S'just kinda– sad, huh? My sexy fantasy is you n’ me cuddlin’ in front of the tv until we’re droolin’ on each other.” He groans, stupid smile on his face as he closes his eyes like he’s imagining it.
He pauses for a beat. Quietly, “I sleep better when I stay over, y'know? at the tower. With you. Fuck, best sleep I get.”
For a quiet beat, Bob doesn’t really know what to say. In front of him are gorgeous, dreamy blue eyes, messy blonde hair and the promise of something– someone– that would stay.
At the back of his mind, he’s already thinking of a million things that could go wrong that would mess this up. Himself, for one. Bob had a tendency to self-sabotage anything good that came his way; whether on purpose or not. His constant battle with the shadow that lurks beneath his psyche would prove to be a hard obstacle.
Clint was so sincere it hurts. About him. About all of this, about everything that’s going on between them. Bob doesn’t hesitate, and leans in to press a kiss up on the older’s forehead, then further down to his cheek, and a final one right on the curve of Clint’s jaw.
And then he signs.
It’s a little clumsy. He knows the archer would understand, anyway– as rough as his gestures were.
‘Sounds pretty sexy to me,’ Bob signs, laughing softly. 'Nothing sexier than you with drool on your face.’ He then holds Clint by the waist and unlocks the door behind them, keeping the older upright as he takes off his shoes.
“Stay for a few days. We can rot and stuff. Whatever. Just.. you know. Be with me for a bit.” The boy continues, leading both of them to the couch.
Answer
Send me Ⓐ and my muse will rate yours:
Attractiveness:
repulsive || hideous || ugly || not attractive || unappealing || not unattractive || meh || no preference || ok || mildly attractive || nice looking || cute || adorable || attractive || pleasant on the eyes || good looking || hot || sexy || beautiful || gorgeous || hot damn || would tap that || perfect || godlike || holy fuck there are no words
Personality:
grating || irritating || frustrating || boring || confusing at best || awkward || unreasonable || psychotic || disturbing || interesting || engaging || affectionate || aggressive || ambitious || anxious || artistic || bad tempered || bossy || charismatic || appealing || unappealing || creative || courageous || dependable || unreliable || unpredictable || predictable || devious || dim || extroverted || introverted || egotistical || gregarious || fabulous || impulsive || intelligent || sympathetic || talkative || up beat || peaceful || calming || badass || flexible
How likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending || fuck no! || never || no way || not likely || not sure || indifferent || I’m asexual || maybe || probably || it depends || fairly likely || likely || yeah sure || yes || would tap that || hell yes || fuck yes! || wishing that could happen right now || as many times as possible || we are already having sex
Level of Friendship:
never in a million years || worst of enemies || enemies || rivals || indifferent || neutral || acquaintance || friendly toward each other || casual friends || friends || good friends || best friends || fuck buddies || bosom buddies || practically the same person || would die for them || true friends || my only friend ||
First impression of them:
I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them
Current impression of them:
I hate them so much || I don’t like them || I don’t trust them || they annoy me || they’re weird || I’m indifferent || meh || they seem alright || they’re growing on me || truce || I think I like them || I like them || I’m not sure if I trust them || I trust them || they’re cool || they’re genuine || I think we’re going to get along || I really like them || I think I’m in love || oh fuck they’re hot || I love them
How good of a kisser:
worst kisser ever || terrible || bad || awkward || just okay || alright || pretty good || good || makes me moan || excellent || exciting || oh god they’re good || I dream about it || fucking amazing || absolute perfection || we haven’t kissed
Answer
“Wait… what?”
Buck’s head tturned so fast that he incidentally cracked it. In a matter of seconds he was up out of his chair and automatically walking towards Clint.
“Why was it out? Did you get it back? Where is he now? Did he drink any of it?”
Who do you call if your otter gets into caffeine??
“Chop chop, answers Barton,” he said as he repeatedly snapped his fingers.
The sooner the situation got resolved, the sooner people could stop yelling at him.
Answer
Emotions had always been his weak point. Whether in controlling his powers or his own sick desires, Bob always feels too much all at once.
It’s why Clint’s begging almost kills him. Not literally, of course– but the older spread out on his bed pleading for an ounce of his affection; anything to relieve the throbbing pain between his legs has Bob unable to restrain himself.
The light above flickers. It always starts off this way. A meek attempt at trying to self-regulate (and to not explode the building’s fuse this time) as he hovered over the archer’s flushed frame. “Easy, Clint..” Bob takes his time, leaving wet kisses down the side of Clint’s neck and trailing a firm hand to wrap around the base of his cock, pumping at a painfully slow rhythm.
He wanted to savour this. The younger never takes any of Clint’s vulnerabilities for granted; but something in him thoroughly aches– wishing these moments would last forever, where nothing else mattered but the two of them in the four walls of his room.
One slight friction of the blonde’s knee against his own shaft elicits a deep groan from him, and Bob sufficiently breaks. “Fucking hell–”
He doesn’t miss vulgar trail of his pre-cum over Clint’s knee. Gripping at the archer’s hips, he forcefully turns him over– stomach flat on the mattress– as the familiar gold of his irises wash over the blonde’s frame. Fuck, was he perfect. He lands a harsh smack on their ass, unrestrained strength making the flesh bloom red.
Leaning down, he slots his own throbbing cock between, pressing up against the man beneath as he slowly chases some sort of friction for himself, rutting into his ass. “This what you want? God, you make me want to spoil you so bad–” The younger boy groans, trailing a hand up to push two digits past the archer’s mouth. “That’s it, get them wet and nice for me baby..”
Answer
𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (always accepting)
@broarrow
The arrows that this man was shooting were annoyingly accurate; he’s dealt with archers before, but he’s been one of the better ones, if not the best, unfortunately. With every clone Billy created, not long after was an arrow coming towards them from the abandoned building that this guy was oh so comfortably perched on.
Thankfully, he had been able to make any in-danger duplicate disappear before they got pierced—well, at least seriously pierced since one or two got an arrow to the arm. Making them disappear after the fact, the original only felt a fraction of that pain and had no damage done to himself, but it was still annoying nonetheless.
With the help of his clones distracting the archer, Billy himself was able figure out how to get up to where the other was. Of course, he could’ve probably just ran from the scene instead with this distraction, but where was the fun in that? He wanted to see what this marksman was all about; it was a curiosity he had with any new person that would surely kill him one day.
With quickness after spotting him, the duplicator managed to tackle and take him down, mostly to knock away the bow from his hands. He made all the clones from below disappear, while creating a few around him now just in case. With the man then saying this line to him in response, he didn’t even really realize that he was technically still on top of him after bringing him down. A bit embarrassing, but oh well.
He just let out an amused laugh towards him, overall being very entertained by this entire situation, before getting up and off of him.
“Sounds like a line I would say. Stealin’ from my book?” Billy asked with a smug grin, now holding up hands in mock-defense at what the other man may do next. “I just needed those arrows ta stop rainin’ down like hellfire—that n’ I was just oh so curious ‘bout the dude b'hind 'em.” He didn’t know this man, so curiosity may kill the cat.
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Anonymous asked:
🎲 @broarrow
kiss roulette
inspired by the infamous “i want the k” meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear
@broarrow
28- A kiss in parting.
“I hate you. Lose my number,” Robert grumbled as he avoided eye-contact, like some petulant sort of child. Clint had only just gotten here, and now he had to leave again. Most his bags had never even been unzipped, and now his ride to the airport was here.
“Tell your dog I said hi,” he added … and after a long pause, he kissed Clint on the cheek. The touch is lingering and bittersweet. He takes in one long last whiff of Clint’s hair and while close, he smuggles a small, smooth object into the man’s pocket before pulling away.
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Danny knew better than to pursue the hero types ( … ) super or, in this case, otherwise. The Ghost Face, for as much of a legacy as he’d taken upon himself in carrying the mantle, was afterall only human. Yet, even the ones without powers were stubborn. Put up a little too much of a fight and could actually take a more than one or two hits … but, he’d found himself - hung up on Clint. Hawkeye.
Between paper cups of plain, black coffee on the job and late night alleyway pursuits? Danny couldn’t help, but entertain the idea that the feeling was mutual .
The ghoulish visage cants. Stood tall ( taller than Danny’s real height thanks to heeled boots one size too big ) and looming overtop him. Hands and feet neatly tied to the wooden chair. With a bit of force? Danny knows Clint had the wherewithal to break it. To loose his bindings given time and enough feigned ignorance. It was, afterall, the chase he liked.
“Unfortunately, for you, Clint …” Voice modulator upped in volume to compensate for the fact Danny knew Clint couldn’t read his lips. One hand mounted on Clint’s opposite knee while the other curled around the handle of the knife. “I can’t be leaving that sort of evidence with you.” Yet, he wouldn’t withdraw the blade … not yet. Instead pressing in deeper to raw muscle before twisting.
「 Danny caught Clint on camera … 」
@broarrow[ continued from x]
Answer
a prompt list i shall not look up right now, but that i know exists
barton should’ve never brought clint back with him to his home — and by that, i mean forced him to it, then imprisoned him, before subsequently acting like they were boyfriends rather than anything more than a captor who fell in love with his captive. it was a very delusional and dangerous way to think, really; along with something that could’ve easily made barton feel ‘set off,’ which today had proved. clint hadn’t come back to his home at the time that he said he would that day. he arrived hours later, and barton couldn’t stop himself from spiraling all the while. because of course he knew that keeping clint here the way he did for weeks on end was wrong, to say the least, but he still held this twisted sense of love for clint. so barton had thought that the worst case scenario might’ve happened to clint while he was away and that’s why he was late…
like he was badly hurt, or maybe he’d finally told the avengers about him, and he was just waiting to be carted to either arkham or some other mental facility somewhere because he obviously 'wasn’t well.’ but of course clint couldn’t truly be blamed for how barton had reacted to this as he had no control over his actions. the doctor was just of the mind that this was the only thing that could make him feel better, and by that, i mean destroying things in the kitchen in addition to pulling on his hair until he eventually pulled a wad of it out. barton just ended up wailing after that as if he were some sort of sickening lovesick puppy (in his own mind) and collapsing on his bed out of exhaustion.
he apparently still had some tears to cry, though, and so he hadn’t yet fallen asleep. barton was just in the middle of being in a state of 'about to fall asleep but still somehow awake’ after a long while of that, however, since it had been five hours since clint promised to come see him. that was when the door 'clicked’ open, signaling clint’s arrival, but he didn’t even register that sound in his mind. barton had been abandoned by him, and it was all his fault. it was only when he curled up into a ball in bed that he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, trying to rouse him, but barton couldn’t bring himself to respond to even that. all he could hear was something muffled coming from whoever it was that was next to him — speech, no doubt, but he couldn’t even begin to understand it.
barton only came back to reality fully whenever he was rolled onto his back, hair even more unruly than usual, and eyes completely bloodshot from crying that he saw clint. i mean, really saw him, and comprehended that he was on the bed on his knees next to him. ’ … tell me what to do. i’ll do anything’ is what came next out of the other’s mouth, but all barton could wonder to himself if whether this was even real. he reached a hand up to cup clint’s cheek then, the tearstains on his cheeks still present as another tear slipped out of the side of his left eye. barton spoke in a whisper and with his voice raspier than normal to clint next, caressing his cheek with wide eyes. ❝ tell me why you came back. is it to see me off because i kept you prisoner here and have clearly lost my marbles, so someone is coming to pick me up? ❞
he leaned up to directly voice his thoughts into clint’s ear then, cradling his head with his other hand, ❝ or did you come back because… you feel something for me, even after all the things i put you through? ❞
Answer
₀₁. ㅤ CLINT, ㅤ 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗧. ㅤ𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶.
He couldn’t say he didn’t understand. Whether or not the people who knew him now wanted to believe it … once upon a time, he blamed God for all of his problems, too. Feeling abandoned, feeling alone, soaking in all of that rage and letting it filter into every crack in the veneer … these were almost universal experiences. Disregarding religion entirely, it was just human. John hums softly in acknowledgment, fingers lifting as he readjusts the frames of his glasses to sit firmly on the bridge of his nose. His hands clasp together in his lap as the two sit across from each other, perched in their separate chairs.
“Mm. Yeah, very true. People do like to do that. It’s almost always easier to blame someone else,” John starts, not a hint of judgment in his voice. He watched carefully, gazing upon the man with hints of curiosity flecked across his expression. “Are you a religious man, Clint?”
Answer
₀₁. ㅤ CLINT, ㅤ 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗔. ㅤ𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶.
There’s a pause as he tries to pick apart the question. Pale eyes begin flickering over the planes of the other man’s face to try and decipher why he was asking, seemingly out of the blue. There’s a late night Vegas style neon chapel with an Elvis or a Marilyn on just about every corner in this area of the strip. It was one of the few universal constants that anyone had left; a given truth. People have always gotten hitched in Vegas, only to more than likely get it annulled when they woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of their lives. So why, why was he asking?
“Uh … yeah, guess so,” Bucky says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, smoothing invisible lines that didn’t exist. Don’t overthink it, Barnes. He’s probably just talking to fill the silence.
“Our intel says they’ve got a hideout, in the basement of one of these buildings … probably because anyone who’s hanging around here is too drunk to notice. Why?”
Answer
just one day. just one peaceful, tranquil day that didn’t feel like a bullet whizzing past the soft parts of bucky’s skull. just one easy, predictable day that didn’t leave him torn up and, and..
he basks in the sun, rays breaking through a thick deluge of misty grey like narrow, reaching fingers. the heat feels good on his skin, especially the thinnest parts. the moment of meditation affords him the lenience he requires to remain pliable and patient.
is it too much to ask for? that one day?
[SMS]: You know, it’s a Saturday. I’m not supposed to be working on a Saturday.
[SMS]: Keep that right at the front of your mind, pal.
[SMS]: I like you, Clint. Hell, against my better judgment, maybe I even love you. But I value my off days.