marvel reader inserts

You rested your cheek in your hand as you watched Tony rim another batch of shot glasses with salt, setting the glasses he’d already filled on the board in front of you. He was dressed surprisingly casually in a black polo shirt and oil-marked jeans, his hair stylishly mussed. Your eyes idly travelled to the muscles of his biceps for a moment despite yourself.

“This still feels like a really convoluted way to get drunk.”

Tony smirked, pouring the last round of shots into his prepared glasses. “Are you worried you’re not up to the challenge?”

“I’m worried you’re an even bigger nerd than I already thought you were,” you replied dryly. Tony snickered, meeting your eyes from under his brows as he set the remaining glasses in place on the board. You returned his smile despite yourself. He’d found you raiding his bar about twenty minutes prior, and after a few semi-irritating jibes aimed your way, he’d offered to blow off his evening plans in favor of joining you for a night of commisatory drinks. “Let’s just start already.”

“You’re so pushy,” he teased, turning the board ninety degrees with a finger. “It’s kinda hot.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Keep your kinks to yourself, Stark. I’m just here to get drunk.”

He snickered again, waving a hand at the board between you. After you’d agreed to drink with him instead of alone, he’d produced a chess board from under the bar. Instead of pieces however, he’d brought out what felt like way too many shot glasses emblazoned with the different chess pieces – presumably so you could keep track of which piece was which. He’d made some joking excuse of it being a ‘training exercise’ for your problem-solving skills. The dick.

“Ladies first.”

“Alright…” you sighed, cracking your knuckles. “But, just as a warning… I have no idea how to play.”

Tony laughed aloud, rounding the side of the bar so that he could pull up the stool beside you.

***

You wrinkled your nose as you downed yet another tequila shot, the alcohol making your head pleasantly fuzzy. You reached for the bowl of limes you’d cut while he was pouring, sucking on a quarter with a frown. “So… am I winning yet?”

Tony chuckled, his knee bumping against yours in a way that you were almost sure you could mistake for affection. He’d pulled his stool right up to yours, and now one of his knees was pressed between your parted thighs. You tried to ignore the warmth that tingled along the inside of your thighs at the feeling of it. His temple rested against his fist, his elbow on the bar as he watched you set the glass down beside the board. He was watching you with an amused smile, the deep brown of his eye ridiculously warm and strangely comforting.

“Not even close. But I love the enthusiasm.”

“I ever tell you that you’re kind of a dick?”

He sighed, faux-resigned. “No, but I’m familiar with the tune.”

“Yeah? Well, let me sing you a reprise.” you sniped, staring at the board for a long moment before picking up a shot glass and replacing it with one of yours. “A-ha!”

Tony hummed, taking the shot from you and downing it with practiced ease. You swallowed as his fingers brushed against yours, surprised again by the way something so casual made your stomach flip. He set down the glass beside the board. “You get cocky fast, sweetheart.”

“Says the world’s biggest…” you rolled your eyes as his smirk widened. “Shut up.”

Tony laughed loudly, picking up another shot and tossing it back.

“Hey, I didn’t even make a move!”

“I’m levelling the playing field,” he replied easily. You stuck your tongue out at him childishly. “God, you’re cute.”

You scowled, moving another glass across the board. “I am not.”

“Ridiculously so,” he insisted teasingly, selecting a slice of lime and replacing that glass with one of his own. You sighed, taking the shot obediently. Your frown deepened as you picked up another quarter of lime. “Hell, you’re even cute when you make that face.”

Your lips parted to make some biting response, falling silent as you met his eyes. He seemed to be studying you as he sucked on the lime, and the moment hung between the two of you before he reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. He tossed the lime aside seconds before his mouth met yours, his hand curled in your hair.

The sweet burn of salt and lime lingered on his lips, heat radiating wonderfully from where his lips pressed against yours to tingle through every one of your limbs and curl within your belly. Your hand came forward to brace yourself against his thigh, fingers pressing into the denim. Tony hummed against your lips, his fingertips tickling at the back of your neck.

His other hand came up to clutch at your hip pulling you further towards him. The sound of surprise you made as your stool tipped was muffled by his lips, your hand tightening on his thigh. Tony chuckled into the kiss, standing and pushing you back so your stool was upright again without breaking away from you.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teased against your lips, his stubble teasing your chin. “Can’t have you—”

“I swear to God, Stark, if you’re about to make a ‘falling for you’ joke this ends right here.”

He laughed, pressing another kiss to your mouth. He tucked hair behind your ear, trailing his fingertips down the side of your neck to tease along the neckline of your shirt. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” you replied, hooking your fingers in the front of his shirt. You smiled up at him, warmth rising in your cheeks and settling in the pit of your stomach. “Because you’re on thin ice, Tony.”

“Noted,” he grinned as you tugged him forward and brought his lips back to yours. His kiss was languid, his hand continuing its journey down to claim your hip. His other hand came ton rest between your thighs, bracing him against the edge of the stool. The heat in your belly flooded through you; your head was spinning with it.

Tony’s lips travelled down over your throat as your hands moved to fumble with the buckle of his belt. His fingers covered yours, intertwining them. “Eager.”

You brought his lips back to yours, kissing him again for a moment before speaking against his mouth. “I need you to fuck me, Tony.”

Tony gave a soft groan, his forehead resting against yours. “Yes, ma’am.”

His lips met yours again, hungrier than before, and you curled the fingers of one hand in the hair at the back of his head. Your other hand cupped the bulge in his jeans and squeezed, shivering at the way he moaned into your mouth. Tony’s hands smoothed up over your knees, skimming along the bare flesh of your thighs. Goosebumps followed as his fingertips slipped under the hem of your skirt.

Tony’s lips returned to the side of your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin as he hooked his hands under your thighs and tugged you to the edge of the stool. Setting your knees against his hips, you moaned, head falling back, as his fingers found your cunt. Even through your underwear the brush of his fingers against your clit was godly, and you unbuckled his belt eagerly.

“Already so wet, baby,” he murmured against your throat. His teeth caught your earlobe, and he exhaled heavily as you slipped your hand past his waistband to wrap it around his hardening cock. “God, you’re gorgeous…”

You ground against Tony’s hand as he pushed your underwear aside and teased your clit in earnest, his mouth sucking a heady pressure into your collarbone. You stroked the length of him, squeezing him at the base with each downstroke.

“Evil little hands,” Tony muttered, running his tongue along your pulse point before kissing you again. His breath caught as you wrapped your legs around him and urged him closer, the head of his cock pressing slowly into you. “Fuck…”

“You sound so pretty, Stark.” you teased, your next words devolving into a moan as he thrust further into you. “Oh, Christ…”

Tony laughed brokenly, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he began fucking himself into you steadily. He pressed a kiss to the mark he’d left on your collarbone before returning to your face, dusting kisses over your cheeks and nose before claiming your lips.

His grip was bruising on your hips, and each inch he filled you with made you whimper with need. The stool rocked with each thrust, and hands clutching at his shirt. The rough denim of his jeans teased the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and Tony broke away from your lips so you could pull his shirt off over his head.

Your hands found his chest greedily, your mouth finding the base of his throat. Tony moaned, his fingers on your clit. “Needy little…”

“D’you think…” you moaned as he adjusted his hips and he brushed against the sweet spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. “…that we could stop making fun of each other for the next… five minutes?”

Tony chuckled, kissing you again. His tongue slid against yours, his hands tightening deliciously on your hips.

“Depends,” he replied, kissing the tip of your nose in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. You moaned aloud as he contradicted it with a particularly hard thrust. “Think you can control yourself?”

You pinched his nipple, and he laughed. “Nope.”

“Good,” he replied. “’Cause I’m gonna need more than five minutes.”

***

You were quickly coming to the conclusion that fucking Tony was like some kind of drug. You could feel your first orgasm dripping down your thighs, the second building quickly inside you. Tony’s hand was spread against the small of your back, his head dipped down to tease the soft skin of the swell of your breasts with his lips and tongue. You had your fingers curled in his hair, rolling your hips forward to meet his with every thrust. Your other hand clung to the edge of the bar in the hopes it would be enough to keep you from falling off the stool.

“Fuck, Tony…” you wrapped your arm around his neck as he brought his mouth back to yours. Your hand clutched at his shoulder blade, nails scoring his bare skin. His fingers found your clit again and your hips jerked against him. “We’re going to get caught…”

He chuckled, quickening his hand. “Sweetheart, if nobody came running the first time you screamed my name, they’re not coming.”

“Asshole.”

“See, that’d hurt if you weren’t currently dripping all over my—”

Tony gave a muffled laugh as you cut him off by kissing him again, your teeth grazing his bottom lip. His thrusts quickened just as he pinched your clit, and you moaned brokenly as you came again, your whole body jerking into his. Tony took hold of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he thrust into you firmly a few more times before pulling out. He groaned, gripping the base of his cock as he spilled himself over your thighs, his shoulder shuddering as he exhaled.

You closed your eyes as you fought to regain your composure, and felt Tony dust blind kisses over your face as you did. He lingered each time he caught your lips, his own chest heaving as he came down. He smoothed a hand over the side of shoulder and down your bicep, his thumb brushing over the bare skin.

“Remind me to invite myself to drinks more often.”

You breathed a laugh, letting your head fall forward to rest your forehead against his, your hands still resting on his shoulders. Tony moved to press a kiss to your hairline as his breathing steadied.

“Wouldn’t have hurt to wait ‘til we found a bed, though.”

He smirked softly, moving back to meet your eye. You felt warmth in your cheeks as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know, you look so pretty sitting there all dainty, thighs covered in my—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “Tony?”

“Mm?” he hummed from behind your palm, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You smiled despite yourself, removing your hand and kissing him again.

.

.

.

.

tags:

@trekkingaroundasgard @ccbsrms @lina-mar @lovely-dreamer19

@wittyforachange @glossyloner @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes

@capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @drakelover78 @castieltrash1 @s0ftness

@queenoftheunderdark @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lol-you-thought

@sebbystanlover-vk @mikariell95 @csigeoblue @abrunettefangirlnerd @babyblues915

@aar-journey @moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

@sentimentalalien @agustdowney @akumune @xxboesefrauxx

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years, Eighty-Five Days

“Holy shit, you got any idea how fuckin’ hard I am right now?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Oh, gross.”

Clint frowned.

“What? It’s seedy as hell,” you waved a hand. “You take me to the worst places.”

You swore, you could actually see him roll his eyes from the other side of the building. “Not exactly poetic, are they?”

The two of you were on top of an old disused warehouse in Harringay, listening with distaste as the men inside discussed their, ugh, merchandise. What was it with men and guns?

The weapons ring you’d fought in Holland Park was still at large, and Clint had spent the last two weeks tracking them down again. Honestly it was a testament to them that it had taken him this long, even without his old SHIELD connections. Whoever they were, they weren’t street level thugs.

…It made you feel the tiniest bit better about them getting the better of you in the park.

Clint had scrubbed through the local police files for any clues as to where they were setting up house. Between that and his own reconnaissance, he’d managed to track one of their prominent dealers to right under your feet.

“You still clear on the plan?”

Nodding, you unhooked the safety hood of your holster. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

“Y/N…”

You looked up with a raised brow, fixing him with a pointed look. “Are you really about to lecture me about not taking revenge?”

Clint met your eye with an almost exasperated expression. “Point taken.”

“You ready for this?”

“That’s my line.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” you smirked, stretching out a kink in your neck. “Let’s go to work.”

***

You were really getting tired of these guys.

That’s the only thought that came to you as you rolled behind the crates to your left, gun still in your hand. You came to a kneel, your back meeting the wood with a dull thump. They were too prepared, to ready for the two of you.

This wasn’t supposed to end in a shootout. This was supposed to be a quick job, and yet… how did they know about the two of you? They’d mentioned a boss in the park, someone who had guessed you’d been Clint’s back up, but still… they knew you were coming. Not well enough to lay a proper trap, to ambush you before you got inside, but well enough to be ready.

You ducked lower with a curse as wood shattered above you, large splinters raining down on top of you. Thankful for the hood that kept them out of your hair, you exhaled and turned to fire two shots back around the corner. One shot went wide, but you smiled grimly as the second bullet buried itself in a man’s shoulder. He cursed in a heavy Eastern European accent as you ducked back behind the crate.

“Did you have a plan B for tonight, or are we winging this?” you said into your comms. You heard a cry go up among those shooting at you, followed by shouts of confusion and a few wild shots. You winced despite yourself for a second, waiting for a response in your ear to assure you that they’d missed.

“I’m working on one,” Clint replied gruffly, and you released a small, relieved breath despite your faith in him.

“So… winging it, it is then,” you sighed wearily, setting a new magazine into your handgun and adjusting your hold on the grip. “You know, I kinda hate being the one to draw their fire.”

“I’ll make note of it for next time,” he replied dryly, and another gurgling cry went up among the men between the two of you as Clint shot back out of the shadows long enough to take one of them down. He sliced up two – the one you’d wounded and the man closest to him. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright? We’ve got this under control.”

“Do we?”

“You doubt me?”

“I—”

“Fuck this!” shouted one of them – a burly brunette with a greying beard and tattoos scattered over his biceps. “Get one of the pushka out here and end this!”

“Clint—” you said warningly, stealing a glance over the crates.

“Don’t panic,” he warned, and you swore you caught the glimpse of silver in a brief shift of the light to let you know exactly where he was. “You’re not their biggest problem right now.”

“Clint—”

A deafening blast sounded and you fell forward, hands flying automatically to your ears. The craft to your left exploded – as did the wall in front of you, burst apart in a wave of electric blue energy.

“Holy—”

“Y/N!”

“I’m fine, just—”

“Forget the bitch! Get the Ronin!”

You scrambled away from where you’d hidden, throwing yourself behind an old forklift. Too late, you realized you’d left your gun behind, having dropped it when your hands had flown to your ears. Swearing to yourself, you winced as another blast fired. The building itself groaned as they blew another hole in a wall.

“What the hell is that thing?!”

“Just get outta here, Y/N! I’ll distract—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Barton!”

“Just go!” he barked back. “Now!”

“Goddamn it!” you growled, standing as you heard the men shout that they’d spotted the Ronin above them. You saw the gun – a bazooka-like cannon – turn upward, point directly at the shadowy figure above. “Stubborn-ass-son-of-a—”

The blaster fired, and you swept your arm upward in the same moment. A shield appeared seconds before the energy wave could hit Clint, knocking him to the side. The energy wave just barely glanced off the shield before blowing a hole in the roof and sending debris collapsing down on the men below.

“What are you—?”

“Take the moment, Clint; you can yell at me later!” you spat back through gritted teeth, sprinting towards the group still shielding themselves from falling bricks and timber. “Get out! I’m right behind you!”

Pulling the knife from the back of your belt, you turned it in your grip and plunged it into the hand of the man closest to the crate they’d pulled the pushka from, ignoring the way he screamed. You released it, instead grabbing the first weapon you could from the crate – thankfully, a much smaller hand-gun style weapon – and kept running. A few men managed to get off a few shots before you were clear, and you winced as you felt a bullet tear through your sleeve to graze your forearm.

Feet pounding too loud on the pavement, you made it quickly to an alleyway across the street, tucking your prize under your injured arm as you grabbed hold of the rung of a fire escape ladder with your other arm and swung yourself upwards. You could hear the building behind you continue to collapse as you climbed the ladder, and you winced as a hand gripped yours as you reached the top.

“Are you insane?”

“Are you?” you shot back breathlessly as Clint pulled you up onto the roof beside him. “What the hell kind of plan was that? You were gonna let them shoot you with that thing?”

“I’m faster than I look, Y/N,” he pointed out sourly. “And now they know—”

“They don’t know shit,” you argued. “There’s no way they could see the difference between that shield and whatever the hell they were shooting at us with.”

“It was still really stupid, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clint gave you a look that somehow managed to look grateful and exasperated all at once.

“Oh, and I totally get MVP this mission.”

“Is that a thing?” he replied dryly.

“It is now,” you said proudly, finally managing to catch your breath. Ignoring the pain throbbing in your arm, you held out the gun you’d stolen. “Ta-freakin’-da, Barton.”

***

“Lat—”

“What?”

Clint repeated himself louder, but his voice was still muffled by the wood of the door and the spray of the shower.

“What?”

You heard the shower door open and a few dull sounds before the bathroom door in front of you opened. Water dripped over Clint’s bare torso and soaked his hair, one hand clutching the towel slung around his waist. You watched him hesitate as he met your gaze, watched the adam’s apple in his throat bob. “Latveria.”

“Lat– Latveria?”

“This is starting to feel dangerously like a bit,” Clint said dryly, stepping back into the shower stall. You felt heat rise in your face as he closed the door and the towel was thrown up over the top of it. You stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before closing the lid of the toilet and perching on the edge of it. “That’s where the weapons are being made.”

“And they’ve made it all the way out here?” you replied, swallowing as you tried to pointedly avoid staring at the shower. The stall was made of textured, frosted glass, and while it granted Clint modesty, you could still just make out his silhouette against the screen. His hands rose to scrub through his hair, his profile turned just barely away from you.

“They’re global,” Clint told you, raising his voice over the spray. “I heard reports of them turning up in New York back before… Fury had someone else working on it.”

“And we just happened to stumble onto them in a park in London?”

Clint’s hands lingered at the back of his neck. “They’ve been making bigger waves lately. Guess she’s been getting a little cockier since the Decimation wiped out half the authorities that could work their case.”

“‘She’?”

Clint’s hands moved down his chest to his stomach, and you lowered your gaze to the floor, face burning. Your thighs pressed together despite yourself. You knew your voice had broken slightly as you’d spoken that one word.

“Lucia von Bardas.”

The water shut off, and you straightened slightly, your hands threaded together in your lap. The towel disappeared into the stall. “Should I recognize the name?”

“Only if you’re trying to be familiar with Eastern European politics,” Clint told you, the shower stall opening after a moment. “She’s a pretty big name in Latverian political parties. She’s got interests in most of the big exporters coming out of that place, including Von Doom Industries. There’s been rumors of her dealing in some… less than legal businesses for a while now. Guess now we’ve actually got some proof.”

Clint stepped out; the towel tucked securely around his waist once more. He seemed to be avoiding your eye, wiping down the foggy mirror with his palm.

“And?”

“And what?”

“We’re going to take her out, right?”

You stood up, and Clint met your eye in the mirror. He sighed.

“That expression tells me you’ve already decided on the answer for us.”

***

“I’m starting to miss Stark’s money.” Clint sighed, settling back into the seat beside you.

“You’re the one who books these oh-so-deluxe travel arrangements,” you pointed out, attempting to find a comfortable position against the firm back of the bus seat. “You’d think with your super-ninja-spy-magic you’d be able to get us a fancier ride.”

“I’m not a ninja,” he told you patiently. “Or magic.”

“You’re a little magic.”

Clint shook his head with a smile; you were sure there was faint color on his cheeks as he dropped his head back against the headrest.

“So, how long exactly is this ride?”

He answered with his eyes closed. “…About two days.”

“Two days?!” you repeated, when you saw his smile grow slightly, you scowled. “I kinda hate you, you know.”

“I thought I was magic.”

“Magic and despised.”

He chuckled; eyes still closed. The bus pulled away from the curb, surprisingly empty. The sky outside was already dark, and the glow of the streetlights passed over the archer’s face. “We’re less likely to be recognized on the bus.”

“Curse you and your logic.”

Clint didn’t reply, and the two of you sat in silence for twenty minutes before you spoke again.

“It’s a little annoying how easily you can fall asleep.”

He smirked; eyes still stubbornly closed. “I’m not asleep.”

“…How about now?”

“Were you always this annoying on road trips?” he teased.

You laughed, closing your eyes too. “Oh, please. You’d be so bored without me.”

***

You opened your eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep still lingering. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep, but the wide expanse of road ahead of the bus told you you’d left the city a long time again, as did the faint pink glow tainting the deep purple of the night sky. You shifted, brow furrowing as you felt the warmth pressed up against your side and the rough fabric against your cheek. A comfortable weight rested against the crown of your head, and you frowned against the fuzziness still clinging to your tired mind.

Your eyes finally cleared to settle on the color of Clint’s jacket, and you felt his breath fan softly against your hair. You’d fallen asleep, your head falling against his shoulder, and he’d apparently done the same. His cheek was pressed against your hair, his breathing steady and even. A smile touched your lips as you let the sensation of his chest rising and falling lull you back into rest, and you ignored the sensible part of your brain that was trying to remind you that you were supposed to maintaining your distance from him.

Your eyes fell to your lap as your eyelids began to droop, and warmth flared in your cheeks. Your hand was on your thigh, and Clint’s rested beside it, his fingertips settled on the back of your hand. Your skin was warm and tingled under his touch.

Had he… had he been holding your hand?

.

.

.

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years, Sixty-Four Days

Early afternoon sunlight urged your eyelids to part, and you woke reluctantly, cocooned comfortably in the sheets. Your body ached pleasantly as you stirred, and heat rose in your cheeks as the night before came back to you. Squeezing your thighs together briefly, you finally opened your eyes properly. The warmth in your face increased as your gaze focused on the expanse of Clint’s thigh, the tanned skin only interrupted by the dark cotton of his boxer briefs.

He was sitting up against the headboard, his chest still bare, his hand wrapped around the coffee cup balanced on the thigh closest to you. The scent of it teased at your sleep-addled senses, and you groaned softly. His gaze had been fixed blankly across the room, a furrow between his brows, but at your stirring he turned his attention towards you.

“You’re awake.”

“Looks that way,” you mumbled, your voice rough from the night before.

It was so worn after what you’d done only hours ago, and the memory of your eyes rolling back as Clint’s mouth had found the side of your neck made butterflies rise in your stomach. His mouth on your throat had meant that he’d felt your moan build before it even escaped you, and his teeth had grazed over your pulse point. Even then, the sound had been hoarse, torn and desperate as his hands had tightened on your waist and his cock had filled you again.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to both improve your voice and draw your own attention back from what you’d done the night before. “…And you’re still here.”

You regretted the words as soon as you said them, but a self-deprecating smirk touched Clint’s lips. “Yeah.”

Face still tucked against the pillow, you nodded towards the mug in his hand. “Is there any more of that?”

“Behind you.”

You rubbed at your eye, holding the sheet against your chest as you rolled over to find another mug sitting on the bedside table. Smiling, you pushed yourself up as you picked it up, leaning on your elbow as you turned back to him and took a grateful sip.

And immediately grimaced. “It’s cold.”

“Yep,” he replied simply, taking your cup and setting both his and yours on the table on his side of the bed. “But it was a nice gesture about half an hour ago.”

You breathed a quiet laugh through your nose, playing with the edge of the blanket as you lay back against the pillows again. Somehow, despite his attention being in his lap, the light of day had you feeling much more exposed than before. “So, uh… how long exactly have you been awake?”

Clint shrugged a shoulder noncommittedly. His hair was still mussed – from sleep and the way you’d carded your fingers through it – and you swallowed as you noticed the red lines marking his shoulders and arms. “A while.”

“Clint.” you said guardedly. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Hmm? Yeah.” he nodded distractedly. His tone sounded light but you could hear the way he forced it. His hand moved towards you for a moment as though he was about to touch yours reassuringly, but it returned to his lap. Clint’s voice dropped further, and the tired note in his tone had nothing to do with how much sleep he’d missed. “Yeah. ‘Course I did.”

You sighed heavily at his tone, sitting up and turning your back to him. “Right.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not doing this again, Clint.” you said, shaking your head and turning your eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t do this again.”

“I…” Clint pushed himself up straighter against the headboard, his brow furrowed as he searched for a response.

You pressed your lips together, closing your eyes as you forced back the nerves climbing in your chest. Your tone turned gentle but firm. “I know what you’re going through, Barton. I know it’s something I… that I can’t even pretend to understand. And while I’m here for you, I really, truly am… I can’t do this.”

You picked up the first shirt within reach – his – and pulled it over your head before turning around to face him. The worn, thin cotton did next to nothing to build your confidence, but it was easier to get the words out while not completely naked. Still, you felt goosebumps rise on your exposed skin as you met his eye.

God, you’d left a hickey on the side of his neck.

“I can’t be doing… this—” you gestured to the mess of sheets between you. “—with someone when they’re not here with me.”

There was something unreadable in his eyes. “I am—”

“You’re not, though.” you said, resigned. “You’re really not.”

He stopped, swallowing as his eyes fell towards the mattress. When you’d turned to face him, you’d leaned on your hand, your fingers curled in the sheets a few inches from his own. Maybe you saw his hand move forward… maybe… but you stood, stepping back away from the bed before his hand could make contact with yours.

You met his eyes, teeth digging into your bottom lip. His shirt barely brushed against your thighs, a scare inch or so of thin fabric protecting your modesty. You really should have waited to have this conversation until after you’d put on pants. “Yeah, maybe you stayed this time, but… did you really want to?”

Clint’s gaze remained on his hand, and you sighed, rounding the bed towards the bathroom.

“I did.”

You stopped mid-step, folding your arms around your middle.

“I…” Clint exhaled. “I wanted to… I want…”

You heard him shift on the mattress, and you turned around as he swung his legs off the side of it. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers fisting in at the nape of his neck for a moment before his hand fell back to his lap.

“I felt… I feel guilty. Being with you.” he explained, his voice quiet. He waved a hand back towards the sheets. “Being with you like this. It’s like I’m… betraying Laura.”

“Clint…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the rest of the sentence.

She’s gone.

“I know,” he said, swallowing thickly. You watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I know she’s… but it’s not just that it feels like cheating, it’s…” he met your eye again, and you almost broke in your resolve. “When I’m with you… when I’m close to you, I… I don’t feel so bad.”

“And that’s…?”

“It’s wrong, Y/N.” he sighed, his gaze falling again. Like looking at you was… tempting? Painful? “And I can’t feel that way. I can’t forget them like that.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly before moving towards him again. Kneeling in front of him, you forced him to meet your eye again You wanted to touch his cheek, but you felt your hand shake. Instead, you reached out to where his hands were clasped tightly together in his lap, covering them both with your palm.

“I understand, Clint.” you said softly. “I do. But I can’t keep doing this if all it is is a moment of weakness for you. I can’t be something you regret.”

“…Are you leaving?”

You shook your head, withdrawing your hand. “No. I’m not leaving. But I’m taking this – what we did, what we’ve been doing – off the table. I’m putting distance back between us. No more blurred lines – it’s confusing for both of us. If you can find a way for you to…” you stood, taking a step back. “Until you can let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling for me without… I’ll keep my distance, okay?”

There was a long moment between you as your words sunk in, but finally, Clint nodded.

“Okay.” you forced a small smile onto your face. “I’m going… I need a shower. Don’t disappear, okay?”

He nodded again, and you could feel his eyes on you as you finally retreated to the safety of the adjacent room.

As soon as the door was closed, you leaned back against it, closing your eyes. This was the right decision. It was. But a very loud part of you was screaming at you to turn around and tell him that you were taking it back.

The mirror hung on the wall opposite you, and your gaze lingered on the litany of evidence of your night together. The mussed hair, the light pattern of bruises on the side of your neck that continued down beneath his shirt. His shirt…

“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Your eyes caught the mark he’d left on the swell of your left breast and you turned away, slamming the handle for hot water as far as it would go.

This was the right decision.

Right?

***

The tension in the apartment was heavy when you’d finally pulled yourself away from the shower’s scalding spray, but Clint had mercifully vacated your bedroom by the time you’d come back out. You’d tried to pull on the first clothes you could find, wincing as the burn on your back pulled against your skin. You should have asked Clint to re-dress it, but apparently, you’d used up all your confidence before you’d showered. So, instead you’d spent twenty minutes haphazardly taping a new patch of gauze over the burn with your back to the mirror and found a tank top that was cut low enough the back to not snag any of the tape you might not have reached to push down against your skin.

You’d tried to ignore the clothes still scattered across the carpet in your room, ignore the scent of sex still clinging to the mess of sheets. You stripped them from the mattress, tossing them into the corner and sat down, taking a shuddering breath.

Well… fuck.

You’d given him an ultimatum.

Just how quickly was it going to come around and bite you in the ass?

You’d left the apartment with the claim that you needed to pick up more supplies; Clint had nodded, his back to you as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Okay.”

That had been four hours ago, and all you had to show for your time gone was a paltry bag of medical supplies and a couple of sandwiches from a nearby gas station. Sighing heavily, you unlocked the door, the hooks of expectation digging deeper into your flesh as you were suddenly sure that you’d find him gone.

Again.

The apartment was much in the same state in which you’d left it, and you felt something in you release as you saw Clint’s gear still propped up near the kitchen counter. Your shoulders loosened, and you ran a hand through your hair. He was still here.

You barely made it a few more steps before a noise suddenly came from behind the wood of his bedroom door; the muffled sound of something shattering and a pained groan. The bag fell from your fingertips immediately, and you summoned a sphere of psychokinetic energy to burn against the palm of your hand.

“Clint?”

Your voice came too softly, and you cleared your throat as you approached his door, the energy in your hand swelling to the size of a baseball.

“Clint?”

“Y/N…” the response was quiet and strained, a low groan, and anxiety sunk its talons further between your ribs. Sparks danced down over your wrist, your other hand clutching the door handle and pushing it slowly open.

The room was dim, curtains drawn against what was left of the early evening light; your eyes adjusted quickly, and you released the energy with a sigh despite the worry still knitting your brow. Clint was in bed, sheets tangled around his legs and a lamp broken on the hardwood floor beside him, a casualty from the bedside table.

He whimpered, turning in his sleep, his brow furrowed and his hand fisting in the sheet. Frowning, you hurried to his side, reaching out to touch his shoulder as he rolled towards you.

“Clin—”

You broke off suddenly as Clint’s eyes snapped open, his hand grabbing your outstretched arm by the wrist in a painfully tight grip. His other hand moved so quickly you barely saw it, a knife clutched in his fist. You reacted in the same moment, a shield expanding in front of your chest just before the tip of the blade could meet your throat.

Clint blinked, the remnants of sleep slowly clearing from his eyes. The two of you stayed frozen in that tableau, the blue light of your shield casting shadows over the two of you as though you were suspended in water. The archer swallowed heavily, his grip on your wrist easing incrementally.

“Clint?” you repeated softly, twisting your wrist in his hand to touch gentle fingers to his arm. The sensation seemed to bring him back to the surface, drag himself out of where ever his mind had taken him, and you reduced the shield as the knife was lowered back to the mattress. “You with me?”

He nodded slowly, finally releasing your wrist. A dull ache thrummed through it, but you ignored it, kneeling beside the bed and reaching out to carefully ease the knife out of his hand. He let you, his fingers warm against your own before you set the blade on the bedside table.

“You were dreaming,” you explained softly, watching him run a hand through his hair, propping himself up on his other arm. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you were still having dreams like that.”

“Yeah…” he muttered; his voice rough. “It’s easier to keep them to myself when we’re not sharing a Winnebago.”

You frowned, hesitating a moment before reaching up to smooth your hand over his cheek. Clint’s eyes closed briefly at the touch. His hand moved upward, as though to cover yours, but it retreated, curling in the sheets.

“What can I do?”

Clint shook his head, pulling away from your touch. “’m fine.”

“I’m starting to think we should get that tattooed on our foreheads,” you muttered to yourself, noticing the corner of Clint’s lips twitch into a momentary smile. It was tiny, then it was gone. “How much sleep did you actually get last night, Clint?”

He cleared his throat, rubbing his hand over his bare chest. “I don’t know… a couple of hours, maybe.”

You frowned, studying his face, the shadows under his eyes.

“Move over.”

His expression unreadable, Clint did as you asked, pushing himself back on the mattress to make space for you. You straightened, toeing off your boots and shrugging off your jacket before lowering yourself onto the mattress beside him. The bedframe creaked softly under the new weight, and Clint watched you with a kind of careful curiosity as you tried to find a position to settle in.

You finally came to rest stretched out on your side beside him, your face pressed against the pillow. You tried to ignore the way the bed smelled of him. Clint didn’t need to ask what you intended, but he hesitated before moving to mirror your position. He watched your expression with those clever eyes for a long, weighted moment before he moved, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. Warmth rose in your cheeks as he settled his head against your chest, his arm moving down to instead wind around your thighs, banding just below the curve of your backside. His fingers curled against the small of your back. You wrapped an arm around him, trying not to let your mind linger on the warmth of his skin beneath your hand.

“Doesn’t this… what we’re doing right now…” Clint began quietly, as though unwilling to continue the sentence. The warmth of his breath tickled against the base of your throat. “…Doesn’t this violate the whole ‘distance’ rule you put in this morning?”

Your other hand rose to run fingers through his hair carefully, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck. He sighed under your touch. “Will this help you?”

He nodded; his face still buried against your chest. “Yeah… Yeah, it will.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to close your eyes and relax. “Then it’s okay.”

.

.

.

tags:@trekkingaroundasgard@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@lol-you-thought@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@enna-core@hearmyharmony@katsies@youralphawolf72@maenji@rhymesmenagerie@gwianasky@melaclintbartoncorner@loki-is-loved@whovianayesha@bradfordbantams@alice-the-nerd@fanofallthefics@ace-fandom-dumbass@kaelyn-lobrutto24@twsssmlmaa@earth-pig-fish@meeksmusic83@hallothankmas@justanothermagicalsara@janineb86@darsynia@rhymesmenagerie @thatwelshbi @lauraashley93@darkwhisperswolf

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years, Sixty-Four Days

Your hands were still trembling as Clint led you back into the apartment with a reassuring hand on the small of your back. Ushering you through the apartment, he didn’t bother to turn on the overhead lights to the living area until you’d crossed the threshold to your bedroom, as though the direct light would rekindle your anxiety.

Clint set you carefully on the edge of your bed, brushing hair away from your forehead with gentle fingers. “Take your coat off for me, okay? I need to get a look at where the taser hit you. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You nodded dumbly, a pained grimace staining your lips as you shrugged off your coat. Your fingers brushed against scorched leather as you tossed it to the floor; the bolt had burned right through the material. A scratching against your back told you it had ruined the shirt beneath it as well. You unbuckled the armor set against your torso and were pulling the shirt off over your head when Clint reentered the room, his own armor gone in favor of the t-shirt he wore underneath.

He stopped as he noticed your undress. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.”

Neither of you spoke at barely more than a whisper, and you held the shirt against your chest as Clint came to sit beside you on the bed. You turned your back to him, tucking your hair over a shoulder as he opened the first aid kit. You stiffened slightly as you felt his fingertips trace the border of the wound.

“It’s not so bad,” he said quietly, and you heard him fumbling with the first aid kit before his touch returned, cooling this time as he applied burn cream to your skin. “A pretty bad burn, but I think your jacket took the worst of it. How do you feel?”

You shrugged a shoulder non-committedly, your eyes closed.

“Y/N.”

“I’m fine.” you replied, your voice quaking slightly.

You heard him exhale softly, not quite a sigh, and the two of you fell into silence again as he taped a piece of gauze over the wound. His hand smoothed over your shoulder blade for a moment before he moved away. He cleared his throat, standing and collecting the kit.

He was almost to the door again by the time you found your voice again. “Clint?”

He stopped, haloed by the light of the next room.

“I… I know we do this thing where we don’t talk and we don’t…” you swallowed. “But can we just… be for a minute? I… I don’t want to be alone.”

There was a moment’s pause, where your heart sat throbbing in your throat. Then, Clint returned to the bed, retaking his seat beside you. He didn’t speak, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently into his side. You relaxed gratefully into his embrace with a quivering sigh, resting your head on his shoulder.

The rise and fall of Clint’s chest soothed you, and you felt that terrible, anxious fluttering of your heart begin to finally slow. Clint rested his chin on the top of your head after a few moments, the hand on your arm squeezing you gently, reassuringly. The scent of him was comforting and wonderful; the faint notes of leather, coffee and the surprisingly pleasant combination of his deodorant and sweat. You inhaled it, exhaling slowly.

It could have been hours that the two of you sat there; it could have been only minutes. The darkness wrapped the two of you in its own embrace, the soft light from the next room casting you in an intimate glow.

“I’m sorry, Clint.” you murmured, unwilling to break the silence between you. “For shouting.”

He chuckled quietly, his cheek pressing against your forehead. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure I deserved it.”

You smiled despite yourself, and Clint’s breath tickled against your cheek. You tilted your head back to meet his eye, your breath catching as you found he was already watching you. His eyes were dark in the low light, and your lips parted, that fluttering once more returning to your chest.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as Clint’s hand came up to touch your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear. His fingertips trailed back along your jaw, cupping your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone.

Clint’s voice was barely a whisper when he said your name.

His lips met yours hesitantly, his kiss barely more than a brush of his lips against your own. He kissed you almost carefully, his thumb stroking your cheek. Your lips parted, your tongue meeting his as you felt it touch your bottom lip. Clint’s arm slipped from around your shoulders, moving to touch his hand to your bare waist, and you shivered under his touch.

It was so soft, almost… you could have sworn it was almost reverent, but still you could feel that same need you’d felt the first time burning inside his kiss. You whimpered as his lips moved across your cheek and jaw, lowering your arms from your chest. Clint’s hand left your cheek to help tug your shirt from where it still hung from your forearms and you tossed it aside before catching his lips with your own again.

Clint’s hand moved to your knee, sliding up your thigh. You took his face in your hands as he deepened the kiss, smiling slightly against his lips as the hand on your waist glided upward, his touch tickling your ribs. Clint’s lips didn’t leave yours as he lowered the two of you down onto the blankets side by side.

Kissing Clint was intoxicating, and even without the aggression and hunger you’d shared in the alleyway, your whole body felt as though it was coming alive under his touch.

Your hand slipped into his hair and Clint moaned as your fingers curled into it, the sound of it so soft that you almost could have believed you imagined it. The hand on your thigh tugged it toward him, bringing your leg up to hook over his.

The move pressed you almost flush against him, and you thrilled at the feeling of the hard planes of his body against yours. His hand was almost possessive on the back of your thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. It moved further up your leg to claim your ass instead.

His lips left yours to trail along your jaw and down over the side of your throat. Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive spot below your ear, your hands moving to his chest. They curled in his shirt, urging it upward, and Clint pulled away long enough to tug if off overhead and toss it to the floor with yours.

Clint rolled on top of you as soon as the shirt was gone, bringing his mouth back to yours. His hand took hold of your hip, pinning you to the mattress, his arms caging you in beneath him. You ran your hands down his torso, slowly mapping out the muscles of his chest and stomach, fingers lingering on the lines left by near-invisible scars.

Clint’s hand moved up along your ribs, tracing the edge of your bra, and you reached behind yourself to unclip it. He pulled it off of you, his tongue sliding against yours as he palmed your breast in his hand. You moaned into his mouth as his thumb teased over your nipple.

Your hands returned to his stomach, nails grazing over the soft hair below his navel before finding his belt buckle. Pressing your lips to his jaw as you unfastened his pants, you watched Clint’s eyes roll back as you curled your fingers around his cock. His lips parted, his breath fanning over your face as he exhaled a groan.

Clint’s lips brushed over yours again before he pulled away with a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against yours.

“Y/N…” he murmured again; his voice heavy with want. With need. “Fuck…”

Your other hand fumbled to push his pants further down his legs and he broke away only long enough to remove them. He was thick and hard in your hand and he twitched under your touch. Clint’s breathing was labored, his lips finding yours blindly as you squeezed the base of him, his kiss deep and heated. His hand left your breast to ghost fingertips down over your stomach, and you swore you could feel him smile into the kiss as you shivered in response.

“Oh, god…” you whined as soon as he had unfastened your pants and slid his hand into your underwear, his expert fingertips finding your clit with ease. Clint circled it slowly with a teasing pressure, his teeth and tongue teasing their way over the sensitive skin of your throat. “Clint…”

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he muttered, his breath tickling the damp flesh of your neck. His words sent heat straight down your spine and you arched up against his hand. Your eyes rolled back as he pressed a finger into you, and you met each gentle thrust of it with a roll of your hips. Clint continued teasing your clit with his thumb, his ministrations earning him a long, soft moan into his ear. “Fuck, baby…”

When you came against his hand it was with wide eyes and a long, shuddering breath, your hand wrapped around the back of Clint’s neck. He watched every moment on your face as he withdrew his hand slowly, replacing your hand on his cock with his own.

Anticipation tightened in your belly as you felt the length of him slide against your cunt, but you pressed a hand to his chest. “Wait.”

Clint stopped immediately, a furrow appearing between his brows.

You kissed him again in quick reassurance, reaching above yourself towards the bedside table. You wiggled further across the mattress beneath him, stretching to open the drawer. You fumbled blindly inside it, eyes rolling back again as Clint used the new positioning as an opportunity to trail his lips down your chest to tease over your breasts. His teeth grazed your hardened nipple and you gasped, arching up under his attention. He curled his tongue around it and sucked lightly, his hand possessive on your hip.

As distracted as you were, your fingers finally closed around a condom, and brought it to eye level. “I found these in the drawer when we first ‘moved in’ here,” you explained, struggling to read the label in the muted light. “I have no idea if they’re…”

Clint took it from you, studying the label for a moment before sighing in relief, tearing it open with his teeth. “It’s not expired.”

“Oh, thank God,” you said, and Clint cut off your relieved laugh with another heady kiss.

You took his face in your hands, your fingers curling in his hair. Your mouth parted against his in a silent moan as you felt his cock press into you slowly.

“Fuck, baby, I almost forgot how good you feel,” Clint murmured breathlessly, his eyes closing as your fingers tightened in his hair. Your other hand clutched at his bicep, his shoulder… every inch of you was burning with sensation as he fucked himself into at an agonizing pace. Your nails dug into his flesh as you felt every inch of him as he thrust into you, marking his skin with your pleasure. “God, you’re amazing…”

His hand slid up along your thigh, hooking it over his hip as he thrust deeper into you, his hand claiming the soft skin behind your knee. Clint kissed your neck, your shoulder, your chest and always, always brought his lips back to yours, his mouth catching yours between moans.

His hand returned to the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You turned your head to kiss his palm, your lips wrapping around his thumb as he brushed it over your bottom lip. You sucked it gently, tongue curling around it. Clint exhaled what was almost a sigh, eyes closing.

“Clint…” you moaned his name quietly, as though saying it too loud could break the spell between you, and he ran his fingers through the hair by your ear. “God, Clint, I’m…”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, his hand trailing down from your hair to ghost along your torso. It lingered over your breast before continuing down, and you gasped aloud as he returned his fingers to your clit. He held your gaze, his lips parted and his breathing heavy. “I know; I’ve got you…”

“Oh, fuck, Clint—”

Your eyes rolled back and your hips pitched upward as you came, bringing him so far into you that pain flared inside you briefly. You clutched at his shoulders tightly, your nails biting into his skin, and Clint groaned his face falling into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed over your collarbone, and you continued meeting his thrusts with your own, one leg wrapping around his thigh.

Clint breathed curses and nonsensical praise against your skin, his fingers still an intoxicating torture against your clit. You could barely think anything other than ‘more’.

You clutched at his hair and brought his lips back to yours. Clint moaned into the kiss as your fingers tightened in his hair, and you felt another orgasm wash over you just as Clint came too, his hand moving from your clit to grasp tightly at your hip.

“Oh, baby…” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw as he pulled away slowly, rolling off of you. The two of you lay in silence for a few long moments, chests heaving as you both caught your breath. You could feel yourself shaking as you came down, your fingers curling in the blankets beneath you. You could feel a wet patch beneath your thighs and your face warmed.

You heard the sound of the condom being removed and Clint pushed himself up off of the bed, rescuing his underwear from the floor and pulling it on. He stood, moving away from the bed without looking at you. Nerves twisted in your gut as he tossed the condom in the bin in the corner of the room and left the room.

You sighed heavily, but rather than follow him, you only rose long enough to pull back the blankets and slide beneath them. If he was going to do this again, you weren’t going to fight with him. Not again. You pulled the blankets up over yourself, turning on your side to face petulantly away from the door.

The lights in the other room switched off, bathing you in darkness.

Fine, Clint, you thought, closing your eyes against your emotions. But I’m done.

You started slightly as you felt the bed shift behind you, eyes flying open as the blankets shifted and Clint lay down in the bed beside you. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t pull you into his side or roll over to wrap his arms around you. But you felt his hand come to rest gently on your thigh as if to reassure you that he was, in fact, still there with you.

You felt a small, tentative smile touch your lips, and it stayed there until you fell asleep.

.

.

.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years, Sixty-Three Days

“Hungry?” you asked without looking up from the fridge. You pulled a plastic bag of leftover takeout off the shelf, fishing out a plastic container of curry. When Clint didn’t reply, or even acknowledge you at all, you dropped it onto the kitchen counter with more force than was strictly necessary. The lid wasn’t completely in place, and sauce splattered the countertop. You cursed to yourself, irritated further. You spoke under your breath, reaching for a towel. “Or I could just go fuck myself, I guess.”

It was catty, you supposed, but Clint had been oscillating between his usual self and frustratingly cold and dismissive over the last two months, and it was driving you insane. One day he’d be fine – for Clint, anyway – and the next, you’d be on the business end of the silent treatment. The normal days had gotten fewer and far between since the anniversary, and what triggered the silence, you still had no idea, but it was very quickly beginning to grind on the very last of your nerves.

Tossing the container into the microwave, you hit a couple of buttons and leaned against the countertop as the turntable began to rotate. You let yourself stew as it warmed, arm folding across your chest as you watched the archer head for the shower. He continued to avoid eye contact as though you weren’t there at all, even as the microwave beeped to announce its completion.

You sighed irritably and leaned your elbows on the counter as you picked petulantly at the curry. When Clint finally reemerged, he was dressed in most of his mission gear, and you tossed your fork in the sink. He didn’t even glance up as it clattered against the metal.

“You ready?” he asked gruffly from the couch, tugging on one of his boots.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you talking to me?” It slipped out before you could stop it, annoyance dripping from every word.

Clint looked up; an eyebrow raised. “What’s the matter with you?”

You probably should have just shut up, should have just gotten changed and followed him out the door. But instead, you wiped your hands on a tea towel and tossed it on the counter in front of you. The words kept spewing out bitterly. “I just didn’t realize today was one of the days you actually speak to me like I’m a human being.”

“…What are you talking about?”

Shut up, Y/N.

“What am I—” you scoffed, shaking your head as you rounded the counter towards him. “Clint, this is the first time you’ve spoken to me in three days, and its to ask if I’m ready to go on a mission we haven’t even talked about.”

“We—”

“No, we haven’t!” you snapped, brandishing a finger at him as you closed the distance between you. “Honestly, most days you treat me like I’m furniture around here and I am fucking sick of it! You disappear for months; you come back and tell me you ‘need me’ and, fine, I roll with that, but then you act like I’m not even here—”

Clint’s tone turned a shade of defensive, his jaw tightening and releasing. “I’m not—”

You stabbed him in the chest with your finger. “You act like I’m not even here, and you know what, that would be fine too, except when you finally do talk to me, I actually believe for a moment that things could be going back to normal between the two of us.”

“Everything is—”

“No, it’s not!” you shouted, your face inches from his. “Clint, I get emotional whiplash every time you decide to talk to me!”

“Would you just let me—”

“And I sit here and I pretend everything is fine, and meanwhile you’re pretending I don’t exist and you’ve got me yelling like some kind of sitcom reject and if you could just man up and stop being such a—”

Your words caught in your throat as Clint’s hand suddenly closed around it. He pushed you back against the wall, his thumb pressed hard against the corner of your jaw. In your anger you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been to him, and now even that limited space was gone, Clint’s body so close that you could feel his chest brush against yours with each of his breaths.

His fingers were tight, unforgiving, against your throat. And still you felt a thrill shoot through you, and your lips parted without breath. Clint’s eyes were dark. Anger and something else that sent a shiver straight to the small of your back burned in his gaze.

Your fists clenched and unclenched by your sides; a shield could force him away from you, release you, and maybe you should have been scared of this side of Clint, but his eyes fell for a moment to your parted lips and you couldn’t move.

Do it.

Clint released you, stepping away as though he’d suddenly woken up. He cleared his throat and you inhaled, still leaning back against the wall. Your breath shook as you caught it, your palms pressed against the wall by your thighs. Clint ran a hand through his hair, turning his back to you, and you exhaled as that tightness that had bloomed in the pit of your belly began to ease.

“Get changed,” he said finally, and you swore his voice was unsteady. “We’ve… we’ve got a window closing. We’ll talk about this later.”

***

The ‘window’ had turned out to be a weapons deal in the middle of Holland Park – even three years after the Snap and with society beginning to rebuild its law enforcement within the populated areas, criminals seemed to have no problem with committing grand scale felonies in what were still considered major landmarks. Still, the park was very much deserted at this hour, and you found yourself using the silence around you to continue stewing over your… conversation with Clint as you made your way towards the Kyoto Gardens fountain.

You should have just ignored your feelings and followed after him obediently as usual. The helpful little sidekick just doing what she’s told. But no, you had to go postal on him, and now…

You sighed as you clambered up to the top of the fountain’s rock formation, carefully avoiding the water running between the stones. The foliage would mostly block you from view, and the darkness would do the rest. Clint would be nearby, waiting for his opportunity to strike.

Clint…

God, he was going to withdraw even more, wasn’t he? He was going to pretend everything was fine for a few days and then get even more monosyllabic. He might even disappear again.

You’d made a big show of telling him you didn’t care about him sleeping with you and taking off – you didn’t – and then you’d gone and acted like a frickin’ insane girlfriend.

Settling in a crouch on the outcrop, you continued to mull petulantly as you waited for the targets to show. It was almost an hour before anyone turned up, and an ache was starting to settle into both your head and your thighs. A furrow appeared between your brows as the man approaching the fountain arrived empty handed. You recognized his face – he was supposed to be doing the dealing here.

You reached up activate the comms device in your ear. “Hey, something’s off here, I—”

Your head jerked automatically as you heard a pebble skitter down the stones behind you. Hand flying automatically to your belt and you barely managed to roll out of the way as a baseball bat suddenly swung down toward you. Without your skull to stop it, it cracked against the stone you’d just been kneeling on.

Landing on your back on the uneven stones left you in just as bad a position and with a sharp pain in your shoulder, but going any further would have had you rolling right off the edge of the outcrop. The limited light now worked against you, and you stopped fumbling for your gun as the bat came arching down out of the darkness again.

You rocked back onto your shoulders and kicked upward with both feet. The grunt of your assailant told you you’d caught him in the stomach, and you scrambled back into a crouch long enough to pull the blade from the holster on your boot. The sound of voices below and the agonized cry of someone meeting Clint’s blade suggested the man on the ground’s back up had arrived at the same time as your attackers.

Straightening, you held the blade tightly in your fist. The metal shone as it briefly caught the light of the nearest lamppost.

“I told you the boss was on to something.” a gruff, eastern European voice said in the dark, and you raised the blade warningly. “There’s more than one Ronin.”

Oh, shit.

“Yeah, yeah.” came the cockney reply, the man still winded from his meeting with your boots. “Ronin’s got himself a girlfriend. Just get on with it.”

Oh, SHIT.

You swung wide with the knife as the first man approached, ducking under a swing from another baseball bat. The European caught you in the shoulder and you grunted, the blow hard enough that you dropped the knife. You heard it clatter against the rocks below. The cockney guy shoved past him and swung, and you dodged to the left, the move sloppy on uneven ground.

The urge to force them away with a shield was growing along with your nerves as they forced you back closer to the edge of the outcropping, and you swallowed it back. They were already far too informed, and you couldn’t risk them actually unpuzzling your identities. The cockney man rushed you, sensing your hesitation, and you dropped just as quickly. You used his momentum to throw him over your shoulder and send him crashing into the water below.

“Hülye kurva!” the European spat, and you stood quickly, slugging him in the jaw. He grunted, spat, and swung the bat again. You cursed as you moved too slow and the bat glanced off your side. Your fingers twitched in an automatic gesture; forcing the bat out of his hands would be so easy, but—

You jumped, grabbing hold of a tree branch above you. You swung forward, both feet meeting his chest. He fell and you landed in front of him, kicking the bat out of his hand. Removing your gun from its holster, you leveled it with his stomach, finger curling around the trigger.

And then your body suddenly seized as an excruciating pain exploded between your shoulders and set your whole body on fire. Fifty thousand volts coursed through you from the taser bolt in your back and you felt your limbs tense uncontrollably. Your eyes rolled back and you collapsed backward, off of the ledge. A sick, rushing sensation overcame you before you felt your back hit the water and the back of your head cracked against stone.

Then everything went black.

***

“Come on, Y/N. Come on, baby, breathe…”

An almost painful pressure on your chest forced you back into consciousness, the same feeling repeating four more times before you finally coughed the water from your lungs. You rolled onto your side and threw the rest of it up, your chest heaving and your hair dripping in your eyes as you tried to force them open again.

You’d been dragged from the water, a pool of it spreading from your clothes onto the stone beneath you. Your throat burned as you tried to gulp down air, and you coughed again. “Wh—?”

You felt yourself pulled upward, arms banding around your shoulders. Clint’s hand curled in your damp, tangled hair, your face tucked against the curve of his neck. “You gotta stop scaring me like this, Y/N.”

You coughed a laugh, wrapping an arm around his neck as tears burned your eyes. “I’m working on it.”

.

.

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tags:@trekkingaroundasgard@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@lol-you-thought@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@enna-core@hearmyharmony@katsies@youralphawolf72@maenji@rhymesmenagerie@gwianasky@melaclintbartoncorner@loki-is-loved@whovianayesha@bradfordbantams@alice-the-nerd@fanofallthefics@ace-fandom-dumbass@kaelyn-lobrutto24@twsssmlmaa@earth-pig-fish@meeksmusic83@hallothankmas@justanothermagicalsara@janineb86@darsynia@rhymesmenagerie @thatwelshbi @lauraashley93

AN: this chapter was short and took far too long to write, but I promise the next one will come much quicker!

The smell of stale liquor mingled with the usually comforting mix of warm spices and stewed meats as you stepped into the commissary, making your nose wrinkle in distaste. Slowing to a stop in the doorway, you pressed your lips together as if to brace yourself for a confrontation. A small, selfish part of you suddenly wished that you’d decided to skip dinner. That same part of you had you glance over your shoulder in case another Guardian had just happened to appear behind you so that you could dump this issue on them instead. You’d thought you’d been safe, choosing the commissary instead of the bar much closer to your quarters.

You sighed heavily, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stepped further inside.

The issue in question was sitting slumped against the wall beside one of the booths, an almost empty bottle of something undoubtedly alcoholic resting tipped against his knee, his fingertips on the neck of it. His head was lowered, chin to chest, and you weren’t immediately sure as to whether he was even conscious.

You glanced behind yourself again; at this hour, the convoluted pathways of this Knowhere neighborhood had been almost empty. And they seemed to be stubbornly remaining that way.

Goddamn it.

Well, at least you wouldn’t have an audience for this.

You cleared your throat. “Quill?”

He groaned, and you swallowed, moving to his side and kicking him lightly in the calf. Squatting down beside him, you pulled the bottle gently from his hand and set it on the table above you. Quill blinked slowly as he raised his head, a deep crease forming between his brows as he met your eye.

“Quill,” you repeated. You raised a hand hesitantly, touching it to his cheek. Peter leaned into your palm, his stubble scratching lightly at your skin. You smoothed your thumb over his cheekbone. “What are you doing in here?”

He groaned again, his hand fumbling blindly for your knee. He found it; his touch warm even through the denim of your jeans.

“Hey…” he smiled, his voice slurring. He shifted, trying to turn to face you properly. “You’re talking to me again.”

A guilty frown pulled at the edges of your lips at his words. Ducking your head to avoid his eye, you felt his hand squeeze your knee.

“C’mon,” you said finally, slinging his arm around your shoulders and hauling him to his feet with a labored grunt. “We need to get you sobered up and showered. You… you really stink, dude.”

Clint chuckled drunkenly, leaning heavily into your side. You adjusted your hold on him with a grimace, slinging an arm around his waist and leading him with some difficulty back to his own quarters.

After that night two weeks ago, the night he’d spent in your bed, you’d woken first. Morning light had urged your eyelids to part, and you’d frowned at the idea of waking fully. The two of you had moved in your slumber; you’d woken on your back and Peter had to have shifted with you. His cheek was pressed to your shoulder, his curls tickling your chin. Quill’s arm had been wrapped firmly around your waist, his hand clutching at your hip as if, even in his sleep, he’d been worried you were going to disappear.

Which is exactly what you did.

You’d let yourself linger in his embrace for a few minutes, reaching up to run your fingers through the hair by his ear. His lips had parted, a soft, sighing breath leaving him. His hand had tightened reflexively on your hip.

You’d extricated yourself carefully from under his arm and your breath had caught as his hand had dropped and skimmed over your upper thighs. He hadn’t stirred, other than a small, wordless grumble and a crease between his brows. You’d managed to clamber slowly out of the bed without waking him, and you’d cast him another glance as conflicted emotions swirling in your chest as you’d tugged a pair of pants and a jacket on over your pajamas and fled your own quarters.

You still felt guilt twist in your gut that he’d woken up alone that morning, and the feeling had only increased when he’d come looking for you the next day. You’d spotted him before he’d seen you, surprisingly alert and mostly sober as he’d approached. The decision to avoid him had been made at lightning speed, and you’d slipped out the side entrance of the building you were in and left him brushing off his curiosity about your location to Drax.

It was childish, maybe, but an awkward conversation about your near miss with him was the last thing you could face; it was easier, better to close those doors up between you again and let him wallow in peace. Let you wallow, too, for that matter. He’d taken the hint, and you’d gone back to keeping a much more sensible distance.

Quill huffed a breath as you leaned him back against the wall of the bathroom. It wasn’t much bigger than those on the ship, but standard in the quarters on Knowhere. A slim-set, wet-room style setup had the shower had hanging from the ceiling above you and the control panel for it was set into the wall opposite Quill.

“What’re we—?”

“You need a shower, Quill,” you reminded him, turning away from him to turn on the water. “And I kinda don’t trust you to not choke on your own puke if I put you to bed. So, you’re taking a shower, okay? Not we. Get… get undressed.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t make any kind of joke. Instead, you felt his hand take hold of your shoulder, steadying himself to pull off his boots. They landed with twin dull thumps in the other room as he tossed them aside.

You caught him pulling his shirt over his head as you turned back around, your face burning. You forced your eyes not to linger on the way the muscles of his torso stretched and relaxed with the movement. The booze in his system was still playing against him – against you – and he stumbled as he lost his balance again. You moved automatically, one hand catching his bicep, the other landing on his ribs. His skin was warm under your palm.

Quill met your eye, his body suddenly so close to yours, and your eyes widened as you heard the buckle of his belt clink.

Your hands shot downward instinctively to stop his, your fingers catching the waistband of his underwear He’d managed to lower both his pants and his briefs a couple of inches, and your fingertips grazed the soft, downy hair that led down from his navel.

His stomach flexed as he inhaled at your touch. You swallowed.

“I, uh…” you cleared your throat, withdrawing your hands as though they’d been burned. Tucking both hands into your back pockets, you fixed your gaze on his collarbone. Peter’s eyes were on your face. You could feel it. “Just… just keep your briefs on, okay? At least until I’m gone.”

You could feel the heat of the shower clinging in steam to the back of your neck as Quill removed his pants, catching him by the elbows as they caught on his feet and tripped him. Uncertain that he’d be able to stand on his own, you lowered him almost unceremoniously to the floor under the spray. You managed to get a hand between the back of his head and the wall before it met the metal.

Quill coughed, blinking water out of his eyes. His curled pasted themselves to his forehead and he pushed them back, tipping his had back to catch a mouthful of water. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, and you tried not fixate on the rivulets of water that ran down his neck.

Busying yourself awkwardly by collecting his clothes and adding them to the already considerable pile in the corner. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the myriad of empty bottles littering the room. But after a few minutes you gave up on feigning ignorance and tossed the lot of them in an empty storage crate. Glass shattered against glass, but at least his quarters looked less like an actual dive bar.

“So, uh…” you called out, moving to leave. “Try not to drown in there, okay?”

“Wait.”

It was the first time he’d really spoken since the commissary, and you froze, turning back to the bathroom again. His eyes were open, one leg bent and his elbow resting on his knee.

“Stay?”

You cast another look towards the door, towards the walls you’d been carefully rebuilding between the two of you. “Quill…”

“Please?” he entreated. “Stay? I need you here.”

You honestly couldn’t figure out what would make you a bigger asshole this time; staying or leaving. “I guess I can… wait out here ‘til you’re—”

“Y/N,” he said, the word barely audible over the sound of water hammering against the metal floor. “Stay here with me.”

“I don’t…” you swallowed as his meaning became clear, a shiver settling in the small of your back. “Okay. Just… keep it respectable, yeah?”

He smiled crookedly, head falling back against the wall again. You hesitated as you considered your options – wearing your clothes meant a modicum of modesty, but the idea of walking back to your bunk in soaking clothes screamed obvious. And the idea of being seen leaving Quill’s quarters in wet clothes…

You exhaled shakily before toeing off your boots and unfastening your jeans, shoving them down your legs before you could reconsider your choice. You kicked the pile towards his bedroom, pulling your t-shirt off overhead. You held it against your chest awkwardly, a tingling sensation as your eyes returned to Quill.

Peter’s head was still lolling back against the wall, but he watched you with lidded eyes. You swallowed again, cursed your sudden bashfulness, and tossed the shirt aside. He held out his hand again and you took it, letting his fingers curl firmly around yours and pull you down in front of him.

You sat between his legs, gasping at the heat of the water. Quill tugged you gently back against his chest, and you shivered as his skimmed a hand down over your bare shoulder, his fingers catching against the strap of your bra for a second. Pushing your hair back out of your face, you positioned yourself close enough to him that the water hit your chest instead of your face, you head tucked against his shoulder. Peter wrapped his arms almost hesitantly around you, finding your own in your lap. Your breath caught as his fingers curled around yours, grazing against your underwear. Fixing your eyes pointedly on the wall opposite, you turned your hands over and let him interlock his fingers with yours.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair.

Your tried for humor, ignoring the way your stomach flipped as his breath tickled your ear. “If you hurl on me, Quill, I swear to God I will beat your ass.”

He chuckled, his cheek bumping against the side of your head. He still sounded kind of drunk. “Why’d you go away?”

You didn’t see the point in playing innocent or dumb. Instead, you sighed. “You know why, Peter.”

Gamora.

He echoed your exhalation, his fingers squeezing yours lightly. “I… I miss you.”

“I’m…” Sorry. “I’m right here.”

You barely heard his response over the water, but his voice was in your ear. “I miss you even when you’re around.”

Your brow furrowed, and you turned in his arms to face him best you could without breaking away from his embrace. Quill met your eyes, blinking away water, and as your lips parted to respond, he leaned down to bring his lips to yours.

He caught you by surprise, just as he had the first time, his kiss just as heady as it had been before. His hand released yours and moved to claim your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone as his hand continued, coming to rest by your ear as his fingers curled in the hair at the back of your head. His other hand tightened on yours, his tongue touching your bottom lip.

You whimpered against his mouth, tongue meeting his tentatively as your free hand clutched at his thigh. Quill urged you closer and you released his hand to turn in his arms, thrilling at the feel of his hands taking hold of your hips. Your lips didn’t leave his – as long as you were kissing him the logic screaming in the back of your head was reduced to a whisper – and you found yourself straddling his lap.

Peter’s hand slid up your back, a shiver following it as his fingers slipped under the band of your bra. His other hand tightened on your waist. You took his face in your hands, shuddering as he moaned into your kiss. The sound was intoxicating, a throb-inducing rumble that vibrated through his chest and went straight between your legs.

Between the heat of him and the heat of the water you could barely breathe as you parted. The hand on your hip moved to the small of your back, pressing you further against him. You exhaled shakily; your forehead pressed to his as you felt him harden between your thighs.

“Don’t…” Peter murmured, his thumb brushing over the small of your back. You pulled back slightly, immediately apprehensive at the word, but his hand left the space between your shoulder blades to tuck hair behind your ear. “Don’t disappear, okay?”

You ducked your head, and you felt tears suddenly burn in your eyes. “Peter…”

His mouth found yours again, his hand still in your hair. His other hand retook your hip, and your breath caught, teeth catching on his lip as he rolled your hips against his. Quill moaned brokenly at the sensation of your teeth grazing his lip, of your hips moving against him, and you clutched at his shoulders to balance yourself over him. That moan was enough for you to forget your worry, at least for now, and you met his gaze, your own wide-eyed wonder mirrored on his face as you rocked against him again. Both his hands took your waist, fingers massaging into the sensitive flesh as he helped you in a slow, even pace against him and brought his lips to the side of your throat.

“God…” you whimpered, blinking against the shower spray as your head fell back and his teeth and tongue teased against your pulse point. You could feel the firmness of him pressing between your thighs, each roll of your hips against it sending a spark into the fire building inside you. “…Fuck.”

His lips moved to your collarbone, the base of your throat, before catching on your jaw and returning to your mouth. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were…

Your hands slid up either side of his neck to claim his cheeks, curl in his hair. He was still guiding you against him, his breath hot against your flesh. His hands were tight on your waist, his cock hard against the thin, soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Gorgeous…” he muttered before his lips found yours again. His hands moved to clutch the swell of your ass, and you groaned into him. “Fuckin’ gorgeous…”

“Quill…” He shook his head, a crease between his brows. Your correction came with your next, breathy moan. “Peter…”

“Fuck…” he replied hoarsely, his hands tightening on your ass. “Fuck, you feel so good. I—”

You moaned aloud as you felt all that wonderful pressure inside you finally burst, the rhythm of your hips stuttering as you came. Quill groaned against the underside of your jaw as your thighs squeezed around his. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you fought to steady your breathing, the pressure he sucked into the base of your throat sending ripples through your cunt.

Peter shuddered as you shifted against him, his hips moving automatically towards yours, desperate for the return of that glorious friction. His eyes rolled back and he cursed as you curled your hand around the length of him, hard as stone even between the soaked cotton blend of his underwear. “Christ, fuck, baby, I… God…”

Oh, when he called you ‘baby’…

You stroked him steadily through the fabric, the sound of his ragged breathing making you shiver. One of his hands moved to grasp your thigh, kneading into the flesh of it with each move of your hand. The other returned to your hair, balling in it, gripping it at the nape of your neck to hold you against him, your forehead pressed to his. He continued to mutter brokenly, hoarsely, half his words washed away with the water. He thrust up disjointedly into your hand, moaned as you squeezed the base, and brought his lips back to yours as he came.

You could feel him quivering against you as he came down, his hand loosening in your hair. It moved to your cheek, fingertips tracing along the edge of your jaw. His lips touched yours once, twice as he broke away, his nose bumping against yours.

“Y/N, I—”

Just as before, the sound of your name was like ice down your back, and you jerked away from him. His chest was still heavy in slow, steady breaths, and you braced a hand against it to push yourself unsteadily to your feet.

“What… what the fuck am I doing?” you berated yourself, pushing your hair out of your eyes. Your other hand passed the sensor by the controls, and the water shut off, leaving the two of you in sudden, encompassing silence. “What the fuck are we doing, Quill?”

He shook his head, water dripping from his curls. He sighed, his head dropping forward like it was suddenly too heavy to hold it up any longer. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” you repeated, scrambling to pick up your clothes. A shiver wracked through you as the water still clinging to you rapidly cooled against your flesh. “I don’t… goddamn it!”

You’d tried to pull on your jeans, the fabric sticking stubbornly to your wet legs and refusing to move past your knees. You sighed in irritation, dropping them defeatedly.

“Do you have a towel?”

Quill nodded towards the cupboard built into the wall, a furrow between his brows. “You said you’d stay.”

You froze at the almost helpless note to his voice as he spoke behind you, and you closed your eyes. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I still…” you heard him stand, stiffening as you felt him step up behind you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the warmth of his presence. “I need you here. With me.”

You shook your head helplessly. “I can’t… I can’t be what you need, Peter. I’m not what you need.”

She is.

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tags:@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia​ @bellarkeselection​ @nix-rose-q​ @blue-chup

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years

Springtime in London might have been lovely, had it not been for the blanket of solemnity hanging over every square mile of the city. The third anniversary of the Decimation had been looming over you, over everyone, for weeks now. And now that it had arrived… you had spent much of the day locked away in your room, hoping to simply sleep through it.

Clint had stayed, and the two of you had returned to old routines, making your way west until you’d finally found yourselves on the outskirts of London. If possible, the two of you communicated even less than before, and you found yourself avoiding him just to make it easier to ignore the tension between you. The longer it went on, the more frustrated with your situation you became. Much of your time seemed now to be spent expelling the energy building inside you.

So, when Clint knocked on the door to the room you had claimed when you’d found yourselves an apartment on the outskirts of the city in a building too rundown for the city to relocate locals into, you were surprised. You sat up in the bed, pushing hair out of your eyes.

“Come in?”

“Hey,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes as if you were in some way indecent. It was almost normal to you now; you swore the only time you ever really felt his eyes on you was when yours were turned away. “Did I wake you?”

You shook your head; you’d been laying there for the last two hours, staring out the window at nothing but the sliver of sky you could see between the curtains. But that didn’t feel like something worth mentioning. “What’s up?”

“Get dressed. We’re going out.”

You frowned, pushing the blankets off of your legs. “You’ve got a target?”

“It’s not work,” he replied, his tone unchanging. “Civilian clothes.”

“…Okay.” you said, confusion furrowing your brow. “Okay, just, uh… Just give me five minutes.”

***

Hyde Park was crowded, throngs of people choking the pathways that led to the lake. Lingering in any one place with this many people made you feel exposed in a way that you’d come to loathe over the last three years, and you tugged the baseball cap you wore a little lower on your brow.

“What are we doing here?” you asked quietly.

Clint shrugged a shoulder as though his leading you out that evening had been no more than a whim. But despite his reluctance to talk, to even spend time with you outside of a hunt, this was where he’d brought you. “It’s a memorial.”

Daylight was beginning to ebb as you approached Serpentine Lake, and the lights that marked the edges of the path the two of you were following were starting to glow against the soft light of dusk. The crowds around you collected in smaller parties, and the atmosphere that hung like a mist around the park kept their tones hushed. Reverent. The result was an almost hypnotic hum, and you found yourself stepping closer to Clint’s side at the noise.

He didn’t move away.

You didn’t understand quite what he meant until you finally reached the Lake proper. And your breath hitched.

Countless lights bobbed along the surface of the lake, slowly moving in and out of view between the bodies lining the shore. Each light was carried by a delicate paper lantern, the underside waxed against the water. As you drew closer, you could just make out the lines marking the sides of the lanterns still in the hands of the people ahead of you; the names of those they had lost.

“Clint…”

He didn’t say anything; and you didn’t know how you were supposed to finish that sentence. Booths had been set up about thirty feet back from the shoreline, and you followed Clint wordlessly towards one of them. The table was carefully piled with paper lanterns and tealights, and after collecting two of each from a kind-faced woman, he led you to an unoccupied patch on the shore.

The sound of water shifting joined the soundscape around you, the scent of it at the edge of your mind. Clint knelt down on the grass, handing you one of the lanterns and a marker. You paused after taking them, running your fingertips over the dense paper before you joined him.

You wrote their names slowly, carefully, turning the lantern so the letters formed a morbid crown around its head.

Wanda… Sam… Bucky… Vision… Hill… Fury… Peter… T’Challa… Shuri…

You hesitated for a long moment before following their names with two more words.

I’m sorry.

***

The crowds grew so slowly and steadily around you that you barely noticed it before you stood and found yourself surrounded by bodies. Clint’s arm brushed against yours as he straightened too, the two of you holding your lanterns carefully before you. Your fingers tightened briefly on yours as though it would be ripped from your hands; wax slid under your nails.

Your eyes dropped to the near-identical lantern in Clint’s hands. His thumb stroked over the rigid paper almost idly, and you turned away again before your eyes could focus on the words that he had written on the side of it. Instead, you shouldered your way through the people crowding the shoreline until the toes of your boots were kissed by the soft ebb and flow of the water.

Once again you felt Clint’s presence by your shoulder, and you resisted the urge to lean back into the warmth of him. Instead, you turned to face him, swallowing as you took his lantern gingerly. You held them steady, your eyes meeting his in brief, flickering moments as he lit the candles within.

And the two of you set the lanterns down on the water, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as they ever so slowly bobbed out to join the others to reflect golden light on the mirror’s surface.

***

It wasn’t long, despite your best effort, before you lost sight of which lanterns were yours, eyes blurring with the pinpricks of light in front of you. Clint still stood by your side, and the more time stretched out before you the more the sounds of murmured conversation and the acoustic guitar someone played nearby fell away. It all fell away until all that anchored you to reality, to that spot you stood on, was the soft sound of Clint’s steady, calming breath.

The crowd moved around you in the same kind of slow ebb and flow as the water; the two of you standing sentinel on the edge of the lake. The sky darkened above you, and the lights on the lake warmed as the water turned to ink. Someone was speaking over a microphone, a grave voice intoning a eulogy to everyone that had been lost.

What you noticed of the speaker’s words soon turned to messages of hope and ‘togetherness in the face of adversity’, and Clint’s own voice broke you out of your revery.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand touching the middle of your back. “Come with me.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as he led you away from the bulk of the crowd. You found yourself needing to fill the silence that hung between you, and you spoke quietly. “How did you hear about all this?”

“There was something on the news,” he replied, an almost forced casualness to his tone. “I thought… I thought this might be good for you.”

You raised a brow in touched disbelief at his concern, a small, snide smile blooming at the corner of your lips. “Just me, huh?”

You saw his own smirk flash over his features beneath his hood despite himself, but he didn’t reply.

“Thank you, Clint.”

He nodded; his eyes still turned ahead of you. A part of you wondered what if would take for him to meet your eye again. He’d shaved, for the first time in weeks, and you cursed yourself silently even as you considered briefly what it would be like to trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

A shoulder knocked into yours – a passerby unaware of either of your identities – and you stumbled slightly. It was only for a second, but it was enough to separate the two of you for a brief moment. And you looked down in surprise as Clint turned back towards you and caught hold of your hand with his own.

You watched his hand slip around to take yours, his fingers lacing with your own. His palm was warm and softer than you remembered. He tugged you back into step beside him gently, and something selfish in your chest flipped when he didn’t immediately let go.

***

Clint led you to the bridge that overlooked Serpentine Lake, tucking his hands into his pockets as you stood against the rails. He’d later, when he’d heard your breath shudder, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you in against his side. You hadn’t questioned the change in his demeanor – the anniversary had granted the two of you a brief reprieve in his staunch avoidance of you – you’d just let your head rest against his shoulder.

It was hours before you left that spot, long after the last mourners had gone, and after the very last candle had gone out.

.

.

.

The door sounded with a quiet, welcoming ding as the elevator arrived on your floor, the lights of your suite already on and pleasantly dimmed to accommodate to the tenderness of your eyes this late at night. It was a little before three in the morning, and while your flight had had no major issues and the traffic between the airport and Avengers Tower had been blessedly in your favor, it was still agonizing to be getting home so late.

Home.

It still surprised you how quickly you’d come to think of this place as more than just a place to sleep, more than what had originally felt like a ridiculously over-sized hotel room. It had been only six months since Loki’s attack on New York, and while the renovations to the Tower were not yet finished, your suite had been one of the first floors to be completed. And now it somehow felt far more familiar to you than any of the countless beds you had claimed over the last twenty-seven years.

“Welcome back, Ms. Y/L/N,” the cool, friendly voice of Tony’s personal assistant sounded from the invisible speakers above you. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“It was, for a nine-hour flight in a broken seat,” you replied with a sigh, stretching out the lingering kink in your lower back. You set your suitcase down by the elevator doors. “And how many times do I have to tell you; it’s just Y/N.”

“I’m sure only once more,” he replied. “As always.”

You chuckled, a small, tired smile lingering on your lips. “Are the others here?”

“Only Mr. Stark is in residence at the moment,” the A.I. informed you as you made your way further into your suite. You toed off your shoes, shedding your jacket and tossing it onto the nearby sofa. “Shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to wake him.”

There was a slight pause. “Mr. Stark is not asleep, Ms. Y/L/N.”

How an A.I. could have a variation in tone, you weren’t sure, but you stopped halfway to unbuttoning your jeans. “And how long exactly has Tony been awake?”

“…Almost eighty-three hours, ma’am.”

“I think I hate ‘ma’am’ even more than my last name.” you sighed, casting a glance towards the room to your left. The door was ajar, and you swore your bed was calling to you. “Where is he?”

“In the lab.”

“…Okay.”

***

A wall of sound greeted you as you stepped into the lab, and you flinched. It lowered immediately to a more bearable level, and you silently praised whatever part of JARVIS’ programming it was that could pick up on your discomfort like that.

“JARVIS,” Tony said without looking up from his work. “Don’t mess with my music.”

He was at the far end of the lab, moving between a couple of workbenches and the hologram of his latest designs with the disorganized, staccato rhythm you had begun to recognize as being a sign of sleep deprivation. There was a half-empty coffee pot on the bench closest to you, the scent of it gone stale. Tony’s clothes were rumpled, as was his hair, and you frowned when you noticed the shadows under his eyes. They were made darker by the blue light of the hologram between the two of you.

“I think we can do better on these reflector panels, J.,” he continued as though he hadn’t noticed you enter. “If this suit is going to work for stealth, I’m going to need the change to be instantaneous.” He waved a hand, and parts of the suit projected in front of him dropped away. “Scrap ‘em. Take it from the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hello to you, too, Stark.” you said snidely despite your concern. “Or am I expected to call you ‘sir’ in here, too?”

“Only if you want me to get all tingly over it,” he retorted teasingly, finally pausing long enough to meet your eye. He gave you a genuine, if distracted and exhausted, smile.

“Most people just say ‘welcome home’.”

Tony returned to one of the benches, eyes fixating on a tablet screen. “Are you implying that I could possibly be ‘most people’?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, sidestepping an abandoned helmet prototype. There was an empty coffee mug sitting inside it. The crockery was stained with dark brown rings. You made you way around to his workbench, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of it beside him. “Tony, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, pointedly avoiding your eye and focusing his gaze on the work in front of him. “Or did you come all the way down here just for a hug?”

“A hug? Hardly,” you said with a scoff.

Tony met your eye, raising a brow. There was a teasing tilt to his lips, a challenge in his expression. “I don’t accept that.”

“Accept what?”

“I can’t believe that you don’t like hugs.” he said, straightening. He moved to stand in front of you, his hands claiming your knees. You felt a warmth spread up from where he touched you to heat your belly, and you straightened slightly, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “I refuse to accept it. I mean, for a woman completely capable of breaking every bone in my body with her bare hands, you’re downright cuddly.”

As he said the last words he reached up and touched the tip of his finger to your nose tauntingly, and you wrinkled it in response. He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him. Something about sleep deprivation always made him lighter, more teasing. While his usual jokes were witty and occasionally flirty, when you found him like this, he was… softer. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a massive dork?”

Tony’s grin widened, and he stepped back, holding up his hands as though you’d just proved his point. “See, anyone else would call me an asshole, but you – sweet, innocent thing that you are – go with ‘dork’.”

“Oh, Stark. Trust me,” you snickered, pushing yourself up off the edge of the table. It closed much of the distance between the two of you, your chest almost meeting his. You made a show of casting your eyes down over him before meeting his eye with a smirk. “If you actually knew me, the last word you’d be using to describe me is ‘innocent’.”

Intrigue flashed in his eyes, a curve to his parted lips sending an unexpected thrill up your spine. He made move to speak, but you pressed a finger to his lips. His smile widened against your skin.

“I’m sure whatever you were about to say would have been rife with innuendo, Tony,” you said. “But honestly, you kind of stink. How long’s it been since you had a shower?”

***

“Y’know, I’m not really sure why I had to stick around for this.” you called out over the sound of rushing water, folding your arms over your chest. You were standing outside the penthouse bathroom, your back against the wall beside the door. Steam billowed out of the open doorway, clinging to your bare arms.

The water shut off, and Tony’s reply came a few moments later, his voice echoing off the tile. “And here I thought you were worried about my wellbeing, sweetheart.”

“You’re not exactly at risk of drowning in the shower, Tony,” you pointed out. You heard his answering chuckle and the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of shaving cream being sprayed and a razor against skin. “And you survived it. So, can I go to bed now?”

“And miss out on this quality team-bonding time?” he called out. “Shudder to think.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smile. “‘Team-bonding’? We’re missing a couple of key members here. Unless you’ve got Rogers stashed in your shower caddy.”

“Not exactly the member I’d pick for that,” he replied as he stepped through the doorway, wiping at his jaw with a towel. Another was slung securely around his hips. Rivulets of water marked his bare torso, droplets clinging to his chest. There was a teasing smirk on his lips, and you swallowed. “Now, Romanoff on the other hand—”

“I’m going to stop you there before this conversation devolves into casual misogyny,” you eye-rolled, holding up a hand.

“I’ll have you know I’m an equal opportunity lech.” Tony shot back, amused. “I just didn’t think Thor would fit in the caddy.”

You snorted a laugh.

“Right…” you said. He’d missed a tiny patch of shaving cream on the corner of his jaw, and you reached up to wipe it away with two fingers. Tony’s smile widened as you wiped it on his bare chest. You cleared your throat as you realized the intimacy of your actions. “Well, you’ve managed to navigate the perils of a penthouse bathroom, Iron Man. Congrats.”

“So, what’s your excuse now?”

Confusion creased the skin between your brows. “For what?”

Tony’s smirk twitched, and you recognized the challenge in his eyes. Something in the pit of your stomach fluttered. “For turning down a hug.”

You laughed, shaking your head disbelieving. “God, Stark, you are such a—”

Tony took hold of your arm, surprising you by pulling you toward him and bringing his lips to yours. They were soft and warm, teasing with the taste of spearmint. The clean scent of his body wash enveloped you, his fingers gentle but firm on your arm. The warmth of his body – still bolstered by the heat of the shower – leached into your skin, wrapping you in a ghost of an embrace that made you lean into him. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled back again, that expression of taunting flirtation still in place.

You pressed your lips together, your skin tingling. “What was that for?”

He shrugged a shoulder, tightening the towel around his waist. There was an annoying note of nonchalance in his expression, and self-assuredness that told you he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you. “Call it a thank you.”

“I—” you swallowed, forcing your breath to steady. “Most people just say ‘thank you’.”

He grinned, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t we agree that I’m not ‘most people’?”

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Days Since the Decimation: Two Years, Two Hundred and Fifty-One Days

“‘Happy birthday’?” you repeated incredulously, ignoring the pain throbbing in your knuckles. “Are you ser—give me back my gun!”

“Okay,” Clint nodded, his free hand pressed to his jaw. A sense of grim, childish satisfaction rose in your chest as you noticed the red welt rising on his cheek between his fingers. “I deserved that.”

“Give me back my gun, Barton.”

His expression shifted, a familiar twist of exasperation at your words marred by an ever so slight wariness at your tone. He held up his hands in surrender, the gun hanging loosely against his palm, the trigger guard hooked on his thumb. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Oh, I really don’t want to hear it,” you said bluntly, waving a dismissive hand as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the front door. You heard him say your name again, heard the gentle creak of the floorboards as he made move to follow you. You threw up a hand irritably and a shield expanded in the bedroom’s doorway, trapping him in there.

You were tempted to just leave, to walk right out of the apartment. The shield would last at least halfway down the stairs… But you heard him say your name again, and you couldn’t bring yourself to cross the threshold. Instead, you rolled your eyes to the ceiling and collected the bag you’d left at the door and moved to the kitchen.

Clint watched you impotently, your gun now tucked into his belt. You forced yourself to ignore the weight of him, the feel of his eyes on you. It was like you could almost feel the heat of his body against your back as you tugged an icepack out from under the haphazardly stacked microwave meals in the freezer. Taking a seat carefully at the kitchen table, you couldn’t help but wince as the ribs you’d bruised the night before complained at the movement.

Still, you refused to press the ice to your side in front of him, and you tucked the icepack over your burning knuckles instead.

After a few tense moments you sighed, releasing the shield with another wave of your uninjured hand.

Clint hesitated, not moving from the other room. His gaze swept over you in what ironically could have been considered concern, the shadows under his eyes even more prominent than the last time you’d seen him. Despite your anger, you found yourself wondering if he’d been sleeping. He’d lost weight again, just enough to add to the hollowness around his eyes. The bruise on his jaw only added to the picture his face painted.

“You’re hurt.”

His tone was soft, genuine, and you swallowed.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, even as your breath hitched with pain as you straightened in your seat. “And I’m pretty sure you didn’t come all this way just to check in on me.”

He ducked his head.

“Why are you here, Barton?”

Clint approached the table slowly. “Y/N, I know you’re angry, but I—”

“‘Angry’?” you scoffed, almost incredulous. You shook your head, forcing yourself on to your feet. Abandoning the icepack despite the throbbing in your hand, you moved past him as quickly as your ribs would allow. “You know what, I can’t do this.”

Clint opened his mouth to speak but you gave him little chance, slamming the bedroom door behind you.

You cross the room, sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the pillow by the headboard. Pulling it against your face, you let loose a frustrated scream into the fabric. You collapsed back onto the mattress, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

***

You woke in darkness, only realizing after a moment that you’d even fallen asleep. Lights from the street outside reached through the slender window to your left to leave long fingers of orange glow over the carpet. You sat up, rubbing sleep out of your eyes to find the time on your charging phone. A little after two a.m.

It took your mind a few moments to dredge back up the emotions you’d fallen asleep with, and you set your gaze on the closed door. Dim light lay beneath it, and you watched that little strip of light as you let the turmoil of your emotions roil through your stomach.

Was he even still here?

Still the shock of seeing him again… you’d resigned yourself to solitude over the last months. You hadn’t… the last thing you’d thought to be a possibility was that he would find you.

That light under the door remained unchanging.

You stood slowly, swallowing, your ribs still aching. You took a breath, discharging the energy you felt building with your nerves, the force of it pushing the bed a foot or so away from you, the sound of it muffled by the carpet lining the floor. The energy lit the room in that familiar blue glow for a moment before it dissipated.

Exhaling, you ran a hand through your hair before you finally made the decision to leave the room. And face him again.

The creak of the bedroom announced you, and you found the main room of the apartment as you’d left it, lit only by the weak overhead light of the kitchenette and the standing lamp beside the sofa.

Clint was standing in the kitchenette, his back to you, and the warm, rich scent of coffee teased your nose. He looked up over his shoulder as soon as he heard the noise, the shadows under his eyes grimmer in the low light. “Hey.”

His voice was gruff, worn from lack of sleep. He’d shed his jacket, the lines of his back hinted by his shirt, and you paused as he turned to face you. Your eyes fell to his arm, the once unmarked skin now covered in lines of black, tracing out shapes too complex to recognize through tired eyes from your current distance.

“Nice ink.”

Clint looked down at him arm as though he’d almost forgotten the tattoo was there. He glanced behind him, picking up the coffee he’d just poured and held it out to you in an offer. You nodded, and he turned to collect the milk from the fridge.

You sat carefully at the tiny kitchen table – a formica-style table built for four – your good hand pressed to your side. Clint joined you after a few moments, setting the mug of steaming caffeine down in front of you. Unable to find another clean mug, he’d brought the remaining coffee over in the pot for himself.

In the light, you could now see the damage to your knuckles, and you studied them too-carefully, avoiding his eye. There was a light patchwork of bruises over them, but underneath the ache, nothing actually felt broken.

“What happened to your ribs?” Clint asked quietly, taking the seat to your right. His knee bumped against the leg of the table, making your coffee dance in its cup.

You shrugged a shoulder non-committedly, still focusing on your hand. “I didn’t stick the landing.”

“You should…” he started. He cleared his throat. “I can tape it for you. It might help.”

You met his eye finally, holding his gaze for a few long moments before relenting and sliding the bag you’d brought home across the tabletop towards him.

Inside were supplies you’d picked up, including strapping tape and fresh bandages. You lifted your shirt hesitantly, revealing the purple bruises blemishing your side. Clint frowned slightly as he took them in, but didn’t comment as he pulled out a length of tape and tore it off with his teeth.

You spoke, if only to distract yourself from the feeling of his fingertips smoothing the tape down along your skin, pulling it taut gently. “How’d you find me?”

A touch of a smile curved one corner of Clint’s lips; his eyes focused on your side. “News reports of the Ronin making trouble places I wasn’t. Seemed like a good place to start.”

“And the rest?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Good old fashioned spy work.”

You nodded, your eyes on the ceiling. Of course, he knew how to find you. He’d been the one to teach you how to hide.

“‘Happy birthday’? Seriously?”

“I thought it’d break the ice,” he shrugged a shoulder, touching a careful hand to his tender jaw. “Not my jaw. I forgot what a wallop you had on you.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to apologize for that…” you told him, flexing the fingers of your injured hand. “Especially since my birthday was two weeks ago.”

Clint coughed a chuckle, grimacing apologetically. “Points for effort?”

“They wouldn’t make a dint in the deficit you’re running here, Barton.”

Your tone came out sharper than you’d strictly intended; a spark of the fury at his abandonment still burning inside you. Your eyes fell to the tattoo again, still surprised to see it marking his skin. The sound of another strip of tape tearing, and his warm fingers against your side again.

“So… are we just not going to talk about the tattoo?” you asked. You lifted the coffee mug, enjoying the warmth on your hands and in your chest as you took a sip. “That’s a lot of ink, Barton… it had to have hurt, right?”

Clint swallowed; his eyes still fixed almost pointedly on your ribs. His expression twitched apologetically as he pulled up the tape where it had laid crooked before he lay it flat against your side again. You suppressed a shiver.

“Clint?” you said when he didn’t respond, your brow furrowing as slow realization dawned on you. “Did you… you, you wanted it to hurt, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, but you took his silence as confirmation. He’d wanted to… to punish himself? To feel something?

He pressed the final piece of tape into place carefully, frowning apologetically as you hissed slightly as it pulled at your ribs. You lowered your shirt back into place, pressing your lips together for a moment before you broached another question. The only real question you had for him.

“Why are you here, Clint?”

The man in front of you remained quiet for a long moment, as though weighing the words before he chose them. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost hoarse, barely more than a whisper. You could have almost been convinced that he hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re still looking out for me.”

A crease formed between your brows, but you didn’t speak. You could feel the warring blend of sympathy and anger bubbling in your stomach, burning in your chest, your throat.

“I’m a piece of shit, Y/N.” he said, his choice in words surprising you. Still, you didn’t blink, studying his expression. What did it say about you that even with how royally pissed off you were at him right now, it felt good to see his face?

“I shouldn’t have done what I did… I shouldn’t’ve let myself…” he sighed, his hands wringing together in his lap as a kind of anchoring gesture. “I shouldn’t have let what happened happen, Y/N. I—”

You scoffed, pushing your seat backward. It screeched against the hardwood as you stood up, holding up your hands.

“Are you serious, Clint?” you asked incredulously. “Are you—Do you seriously think I’m mad because you fucked me and didn’t call me afterwards?” Clint flinched at the word ‘fucked’. “I’m not some moony-eyed teenager after prom night, Barton. You left me. That’s what I’m pissed about!”

“I know, I—”

“No, you don’t know!” you shouted. All the anger you’d been holding back ignited inside you. Sparks of frustrated psychokinetic energy danced along your fingers, and you squeezed your fists closed to quash them. You paced furiously, running a hand through your hair. “We’re supposed to be partners, Barton! We’re supposed to look out for each other! We’re supposed to keep each other safe and you left me behind and I had no way of knowing you were okay! Do you have any idea—”

“Y/N—”

“You seriously thought I was sitting around pining after you like some kind of… some kind of starry-eyed… it wasn’t even that—” you found yourself stumbling over your words before you could say it wasn’t that good, your mind flaring with the memory of the growl of his voice, the heat of his breath on the underside of your jaw and the way his hands had clutch so possessively at your flesh as you…

Heat rose in your face, and you shook your head, gaze raised to the ceiling. “What was all that you said in Russia, huh? You said you needed me, Clint, and I—”

“I do need you.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him again. He was still sitting with his hands clasped together, but now he met your eye, staring up at you from under his brows. There was an earnestness in his gaze that made all the fury inside you dissipate, and you froze in place.

“I can’t… I can’t keep making myself believe I can do this alone, Y/N.” he told you quietly. “I tried, and I… there’s something inside me, Y/N, that I can’t pull myself back from. Something that wants to watch the world burn and that part of me doesn’t care who gets caught in the crossfire… I can’t…” he sighed, running a hand over his face slowly. “There’s something about you, Y/N, that makes me… stay myself. At least, it helps me hold myself back. I’m not going to stop what I’m doing, I can’t. The people I hurt when I’m working with you, they’re getting what they deserve. But you… you point me in the right direction. Even when you weren’t there, I swear, I could hear you in my head, telling me when I’d done enough, and…”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, teeth digging into the inside of your lower lip.

“I need that,” he said softly. “It’s selfish and it’s caustic, and it’s… but you stayed out here. You’re still watching my back, trying to help me out, and I…”

“I get it,” you told him, and Clint looked up at you again. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and you nodded to your left, avoiding meeting his eye. “You can take the couch.”

You turned, coffee forgotten and a shiver between your shoulder blades. The tape on your side kept your back straight, and you touched a hand to your ribs.

“Y/N.”

He said your voice again just as you made it to the bedroom door.

“Thank you.”

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.

“You know, if SHIELD wants us to keep doing all these recon missions in plain clothes, you’ve either got to stop blowing our cover, or they’ve got to start reimbursing me for clothes,” you called out drily as you stepped out of the bathroom, flinging your ruined shirt away in disdain. An unplanned brawl had ended with your shirt torn and your jeans stained, and you’d forgone reporting in in person to make a pitstop at your partner’s apartment. He’d drawn the short straw to call it in, and you’d made liberal use of his shower while he patched himself up.

“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose,” Clint called back from the other room. “There were…”

“Honey, if you say ‘extenuating circumstances’, I’m gonna kick your ass.” you replied, grabbing a shirt out of a drawer and slipping it on over your head. Pain thrummed through your shoulder, and you grimaced but otherwise ignored it. The shirt dampened with the wet hair clinging to your neck, the hem of it skirting along the top of your thighs indecently.

“Safe to say I wasn’t, seeing as I can’t even pronounce…” Clint trailed off as he entered, a couple of fresh bandages taped over his ribs. His phone was still in his hand, the screen dark. “Is that my shirt?”

You looked down at yourself for a brief moment, nodding. “Uh, yeah? I don’t have any clothes here, and I didn’t think you’d—”

“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help a disbelieving scoff. “Seriously? I—”

The phone fell from Clint’s hand, bouncing on the carpet. He closed the distance between you, took hold of your waist and pulled you into a kiss. His hands bunched in the shirt over your waist, tugging the fabric taught against the small of your back and urging you closer to him. You whined against his lips, your own hands moving to clutch at his biceps. When you parted, Clint spoke a breath away from your lips, a surprising roughness in his voice that sent a thrill right down through the middle of you.

“Yes, seriously. Now stop arguing.”

You laughed as he pushed you gently back against the bedside table. It rattled as it hit the wall and Clint’s mouth met yours again. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips parted in a gasp as Clint’s mouth moved from yours to kiss the side of your throat. He lingered there teasingly; his breath hot against your neck as his fingertips trailed up the outside of your naked thighs.

Your fingers ran through his hair as he moved lower, kissing his way down over the skirt to the hem of it. You whimpered as he knelt in front of you urged your thighs apart. “Clint—”

He gave your thigh an open-mouthed kiss, his teeth teasing over the sensitive flesh as his hand journeyed up your other leg. Clint hesitated as he realized you hadn’t had the chance to put your underwear back on, sighing almost reverently. His breath made goosebumps rise on the inside of your thighs. You shivered.

“Fuck…”

“Oh, God, Clint…” you moaned as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue immediately finding your clit. You almost fell back against the bedside table, your hand grasping at the top of the bedhead to your left. Your other hand ran fingers through his hair, the answering ache in your shoulder worth the way he groaned into your cunt. His arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, grabbing at the flesh of them holding you in place under his tongue.

The edge of the wood bit into the back of your thighs, and Clint pushed them further apart. You obliged by sitting on the table, planting one foot on the mattress beside you. Clint rewarded you by sliding a finger into you, his eyes meetings yours from between your thighs.

Fuck, he was good at this. He seemed to truly relish it, and the feel of his bare shoulders pressing up against your thighs, forcing them to stay spread wide, made you shudder. You arched further into his touch with a moan as he reached up to squeeze your breast through his shirt.

Bucking under his tongue, your shoulders falling back against the wall, you heard his too-old alarm clock crack dully against the carpet. Your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, and when you came it was with a drawn-out moan of his name, your thighs quivering on either side of his head.

Before you could even catch your breath Clint rose, a pained grunt quietly leaving him as he pressed a hand to the bandages on his side. Still, he didn’t hesitate to kiss you again, his erection pressing against your stomach as he leaned into you. You shuddered as the fingers of his other hand continued to tease against your clit slowly.

Palming him through his sweats, you smiled as Clint groaned against your mouth, and he broke away to press his forehead against yours. Standing on shaking legs, you gently forced him to turn so you could urge him back onto the bed. Clint snickered as his back met the mattress obediently, but the sound died in his throat as he watched you move to straddle his lap slowly, the shirt riding up on your thighs.

You tugged his sweats down to his mid-thighs, tracing your nails up along his sensitive skin. Clint’s head fell back against the bed as you lowered yourself against him, mindful of his injury.

“So, I got all that just for borrowing a shirt?” you asked, grinding yourself slowly against the length of his cock.

Clint’s hands found your legs, sliding up along them take hold of your hips. “Oh, you’re keeping the shirt.”

You giggled, leaning down and bracing yourself on your good arm to kiss him again. Clint wrapped his arms around your middle, hand slipping up under the soft fabric to spread over your lower back. “And just like that, step one of my evil plan is complete.”

Clint smiled, his nose bumping affectionately against yours. “And what’s the endgame here, mastermind?”

You kissed the underside of his jaw. “I’m going to keep on stealing your clothes until you’re left butt-ass naked and at my mercy.”

Clint chuckled, cupping your cheek and bringing your mouth back to his. He kissed you slowly and long, another wave of delicious giddiness swirling in your belly.

“Downright devious,” he mumbled with a smile against your lips, the words melting into a deep, heady moan as the next slow roll of your hips over his pressed the head of his cock into you. Your eyes closed as you lowered yourself further onto him. His lips caught yours again, moving to your chin, the underside of your jaw, the base of your throat. Clint cursed breathlessly as you began to fuck yourself lazily on his cock. “Shit, baby…”

His hands moved to your backside, massaging the flesh, pressing your body tighter against his. Clint’s lips dusted over your jaw, cheek, and your forehead, your nose crinkling as his lips brushed lightly along the tip of it. The light filtering through the blinds cast his skin in a warm glow, his eyes alight with an affection that warmed the very core of you.

The way he looked at you… the heat in his eyes mixing the way he filled you… the both of them sent a dizzying high dancing up your spine. You barely moved, the two of you near-breathless just from the feeling of him inside you. You lay your head on his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace and the sun. The next words left you unwillingly. “…Exactly how soon do they expect us to report in?”

Clint groaned softly, his hand sliding up your back. “I was hoping you weren’t going to ask me that.”

You pouted, turning your head to rest your chin on his chest. “That soon, huh?”

You whimpered as Clint pushed his hips up into yours, agonizingly slow. His hand moved into your hair, fisting in the locks as he pulled you into another kiss. This was deeper than the brief, affectionate brushes of his lips, hungrier. More passionate. You moaned into it.

“We’ve got time,” he told you softly, groaning into another kiss as you began to roll your hips against his again. You fucked him slow, steadily, your body tingling wherever it met his. Clint slipped a hand between you, and your eyes rolled back, closing as he touched two fingers to your clit.

“Fuck…”

“Uh, uh, sugar,” he murmured, his other hand cupping your cheek. “Eyes open for me.”

You cursed again, too focused on the building sensation in your core to respond.

“C’mon, baby, please,” he urged, his voice torn with desire and his own steadily approaching release. After teasing each other, after just feeling you squeezing around him, he was too far gone already. “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open dazedly, lips parting as you hovered inches over him. Clint’s breath tickled your lips, his hands tightening on your hips before you both came, your body shaking over his.

“Damn…” you sighed, letting your head fall back against his chest. Clint chuckled breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His arms encircled your waist again, fingers linking together loosely.

“You can say that again.”

“Damn.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clint snickered, shaking his head against the mattress. “I meant what I said about you keeping the shirt.”

“Good,” you replied with a smile. “Because there is no way I am ever going to give it back now.”

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