#clint barton x reader

When he found the other man, he was standing in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand and an agitated expression on his face. “What—”

Clint shook his head sharply and shot Tony a glare to shut him up.

Okay.

Tony moved to his side and stood beside him. Clint lifted his chin in a gesture that said over there without him uttering a word. Tony followed his gaze.

You were on the couch with Natasha, laughing at something she’d said, your head tipped back and one hand pressed to your chest. The sight of it had him smiling as your laughter normally did. But then his gaze traced the line of you as he realized what you were wearing.

A dress in your favorite color, fitted in all the right places. It was subtle but caught his attention all the same. You clearly had plans. His mind raced as he tried to remember if there was anything on the schedule.

Clint lifted his mug to hide his mouth “She has a date,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. What? Surely, he hadn’t heard that correctly. There was no way you had a date. It wasn’t possible.

Not because you couldn’t get one. No, they knew better than anyone how stunning you were. How sweet. But you were theirs.

Okay, so maybe they hadn’t asked you to be theirs, or even mentioned they liked you that way, but still. It was understood. At least he had thought it was. Apparently, you’d missed the memo.

Clint set his mug on the counter in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath the stubble. They watched you talk to Natasha, your hands moving as you spoke. Something about the way you looked in that moment had Tony feeling rather hollow.

You turned and caught sight of them standing behind the kitchen island and your face lit with a smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize you two were here.”

They straightened at the same time, Tony crossing his arms to unconsciously mirror Clint’s posture. They stepped around the island, moving into the living room to close the distance between you. Tony got there first.

“You look incredible,” he stated then wanted to smack himself for his lack of originality. Really, incredible? He couldn’t do better than that?

“You really do,” Clint said as he held your gaze. The words were weighted, as if to say far more than they actually did.

Natasha’s gaze moved between the three of you slowly. One eyebrow lifted then settled back into place.

“Thanks,” you said, a shy smile curving your lips. “I should…I have to finish getting ready.”

“Have fun,” Natasha said, her voice teasing.

You nodded, gave her the flash of a smile and then you were gone, the sound of your footsteps fading down the hall toward the elevator.

The moment the doors slid shut, Natasha turned to face them, the corner of her lips kicking up into a smirk as she stood. “Sterling. Eight o’clock reservation.”

Tony looked at Clint. Clint looked at Tony.

A full second of silence stretched between them then they both moved at once.

You’d been to Sterling once before. Everything was dark wood, cream linens and dim lighting. The food was good, but it really wasn’t your sort of place. Too formal, too quiet. Just too much, truth be told. Tony and Clint had brought you here for your birthday and you’d left halfway through the meal to get a greasy burger at a diner a few blocks away.

You sighed at the thought of the two men. You’d rather be anywhere with them than here right now. And that was precisely the problem. You were hopelessly in love with two men who were in love with each other. They loved you too, you knew they did. Just not the way you needed them to.

After you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what ifs one too many times, you decided you needed to do something about it. So, you’d joined a dating app for the ‘rich and famous’. You couldn’t exactly join Tinder when you were an Avenger. Well, you could, but that would be kind of stupid. Much better to join a service that carefully vetted its members.

You were the first to arrive at the restaurant, five minutes early. The host showed you to the table and a server appeared moments later. You ordered a glass of wine to sip while you waited. After deciding what you wanted, you set the menu aside and surveyed the room around you.

Quiet conversation hummed through the air, the clink of cutlery against fine china. Couples filled the tables, with an occasional group sprinkled throughout. God, you really hated this place. But Josh had informed you where you would be dining and you hadn’t argued.

You blinked at that thought. What the fuck was wrong with you? Stupid question. You knew the answer. Tony Stark and Clint Barton, certified menaces.

The minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

You glanced at your phone. Nothing.

Ten more minutes passed and your server informed you that you’d need to leave if you didn’t order soon. Embarrassment flooded through you as you nodded. “Give me just a moment, please.”

His smile was tight. “Of course, ma’am.”

You pulled out your phone again and pulled up the app to message Josh. Instead, you found yourself blocked.

What. The. Fuck? He couldn’t even send you a message to cancel? Asshole.

You glanced at the still half full glass of wine you’d been nursing for the past half hour, wishing you’d ordered something stronger. You signaled for the server and placed your order. Your date may have bailed but you were starving and weren’t really in the mood to go anywhere else.

“She’ll be at our table and on our ticket,” a voice interrupted as you finished.

You turned in surprise to find Clint smiling at you. Your gaze flicked over the length of him. It was rare to see him in a suit, but he wore them so well.

“Is that alright with you?” the server asked and you nodded absently in answer.

Clint reached past you to grab your wine glass and held out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Tony’s waiting.”

Your hand slipped into his without thought and you allowed him to lead you to a table tucked in the corner. Tony stood to greet you, kissing your cheek and pulling out your chair. Once you were settled, you looked between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner,” Tony answered automatically.

You shot him a narrowed eyed gaze, shifting it to Clint and back again. “No. I want to know the real reason you’re here.”

Clint pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Nat told us where your date was. Well, where it was supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Barton.”

He sighed and looked at Tony who straightened in his seat and cleared his throat. “We should have said something months ago.”

Clint’s fingers traced an absent pattern on the tablecloth. When he spoke his words were slow, measured. Careful. “We were worried about making things strange, or losing you entirely if we got it wrong.”

Your eyes moved between the two men trying to decipher what they were saying. Tony turned the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. You reached over and snatched it from his hand, downing half of it in one swallow. He blinked in surprise, then his lips curled up in a smile as he laughed.

“I love you.” The words were light, full of mirth. Nothing he hadn’t said to you before in relaxed moments. His laughter faded and his gaze studied your face. “I am in love with you. So is Clint.”

Everything seemed to pause for just one moment. “I…what?” you finally managed to stutter out.

Clint nodded once in confirmation as Tony continued. “We’d rather risk this conversation, risk you walking away and wanting nothing to do with us than watch you sit alone at a table waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The silence that followed had weight as they waited for your response. Your hand tightened around Tony’s glass as you searched for any sign that this was some cruel joke.

“I’ve been trying to get over you,” you finally admitted, your words so quiet, both men leaned forward to catch them. “Both of you. For months. You had each other. I assumed there was no room for me.”

They went completely still, their gazes running over you as you’d just done to them. It had the corner of your lips curling up in a smile.

Tony reached out and plucked his glass from your hand and set it on the table. Then he laced his fingers with yours and pulled your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it.

“There’s always been room for you,” Clint said. “Just took us a while to let you know.”

The server appeared with your food, setting your plate in front of you. The interruption gave you a moment to collect yourself, to process what was happening. When he left, you looked at the food, suddenly not hungry. You finally looked up to meet Tony’s gaze. “What happens now?”

He glanced at Clint before turning back to you. “That’s up to you. We’ve laid our cards on the table.”

“There’s no pressure here. If you need time to think, we understand. And if the answer is no, we still want to be your friends. You’re too important for us to lose you,” Clint added.

Time. The thing you’d already wasted months of apparently.

“I don’t need time. I’ve wanted this for so long I thought I was going insane.” Your voice was steadier than you’d anticipated.

Tony’s smile was immediate, lighting up his entire face. Clint’s expression softened and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Tony lifted a brow as he looked at your plate. “So, should we blow this place and go somewhere less stuffy? More greasy diner perhaps?”

You laughed. “God, yes. I hate this place.”

Clint grinned. “Noted. No more fancy restaurants for dates.”

“Dates.” The word felt right on your tongue. Perfect even.

Maybe being stood up wasn’t such a disaster after all.

“Hey, hey. No, no, no.” The familiar voice came from the left and you turned just in time to see Clint Barton fall to his knees at your side. “I need help here. Now,” he said into his comms.

You huffed a laugh then groaned at the stab of pain that accompanied it. “It’s fine, Clint.”

“This is not fine. This is the furthest thing from fine.” He applied pressure to the wound that seemed to be bleeding the worst, pulling another groan of pain from you.

“Ow, you bastard, that hurts.”

“Good. Pain means you’re still alive.”

You watched him for a minute, eyes tracing his face, taking in his panicked expression. “Clint.”

He made a questioning sound but didn’t look at you.

“Clint,” you repeated.

This time his eyes met yours.

“Just let me go. It’s okay. It will be better. Everything will be better.”

His brows snapped together and you watched grief swallow his features followed quickly by sharp, hot anger. “Stop it. Just shut up. You’re not dying. Not today.”

And that was all you heard as the world went black.

You woke slow in a room that was too white with much less pain than you expected. Your hands traced the nearly unblemished skin of your stomach. They must have put you in the cradle. Damn. You huffed out a breath in annoyance. Well, just wasn’t your time, you guessed.

“Do you want to die?”

Your eyes darted to where Clint stood silhouetted against the window, back turned toward you. He stood so silent, you hadn’t even realized he was in the room. You clenched your teeth before sucking in a breath.

“I’m not going to kill myself but I’m not opposed to dying.”

He kept his gaze out the window, shoulders tense, hands clasped behind his back. “What exactly does that mean? You taking stupid risks in the field until it sticks?”

“I wouldn’t put anyone else at risk,” you said, needing him to understand.

That got him to turn, spinning to face you. He had that same grief stricken, angry look on his face. “That’s not what I asked.”

You met his gaze for a long moment before looking away with a hard swallow. “My fucked up head isn’t your problem, Barton.”

“The hell it isn’t,” he snapped, loud and angry, drawing your gaze back to him. He paused, taking a deep breath. “The hell it isn’t,” he repeated at a normal volume. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Everything about you is my problem. Don’t you understand that yet?”

When you just continued to stare at him without saying anything, he headed for the door. “I’ll tell Bruce you’re up.”