A Hawkeye Fanfic
Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi
Character pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader
Word Count: 1658
Warnings: Talk of cam work
Synopsis: You had chosen your apartment for a lot of reasons. It was quiet. It had good light. It was secure. Your landlord was an Avenger. It was a good space to live and work and feel safe. When you become friends with your landlord Clint Barton, it also comes with the potential of a pretty special boyfriend. You’re just not sure how the public will react to finding out that one of the Avengers is dating a Camgirl.
Living next to an Avenger was an interesting experience. You liked it because in a lot of ways it felt safe. Your job tended to attract people who couldn’t quite tell fantasy from reality. It meant that in the past a client or two had overstepped and you’d had a few stalkers. So far living next to Clint seemed to be enough to keep anyone with bad intentions away. Even if that was just a coincidence, you felt safer with him there. You knew if you asked him for help he’d give it. You didn’t trust the police to do the same.
Yet, him being there didn’t exactly mean you were safe. The thing about being an Avenger was that you made yourself a target for bad people. More than once you had been sitting in your apartment minding your own business when Clint had been attacked. On one occasion his door was blown out and he’d jumped out the window, swung around to yours, and then snuck up on his assailants from behind.
Yet, even with the rather violent and explosive interruptions, you loved living next to Clint Barton. Not just because you felt safer being there, but because you were starting to really like Clint.
He came over a lot. To begin with, he’d always knock, but it had now gotten to the point he’d just let himself in and start making coffee. You did the same with him – letting yourself into his apartment to talk over cold pizza while his dog sat with his head in your lap.
You were becoming close in an odd way where you didn’t really know anything about each other. He never talked about his work or his ex-wife. The only friends he ever mentioned were Kate and Natasha, and while you were aware of who they were, you had never met either of them. You had never talked about his family or where he grew up, but that was okay because you’d never talked about your family or childhood either. You weren’t even totally sure he knew what you did outside the fact you worked from home in a robe.
When you talked, it was about favorite foods and people you were crushing on, weird dreams you had, and who you thought was behind each mask in the Masked Singer. You each whined about aches and pains and argued about which pizza place sold the best pizza. Once a week you’d catch up on shows you both watched together over popcorn, take-out, and copious amounts of alcohol. Everything you talked about was important to the two of you but unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and he was quickly becoming one of your favorite people to hang out with.
You were starting to think it might be time to go deeper with him. At the very least, you thought you should tell him what you did for a living. It would break your heart if you found out he was closed-minded about your chosen profession, but it would be better to find that out before you started getting into the real deep stuff than when he already knew practically everything about you.
You were coming out of your bedroom after a session, very dehydrated and reeking of sex when the perfect opportunity presented itself.
Clint was in your kitchen making himself a sandwich and while you were used to his random drop-ins, after the rather intense orgasm you just had it was a little startling to hear the sounds of him rustling around on the floor below. You had been planning to take a shower, but you deviated from your path downstairs to the kitchen.
“Just help yourself to my stuff, Clint,” you huffed as you came over and stole a pickle from his sandwich.
“I was out of bread. And well – everything actually,” he said and tilted his head, giving you a look much like Lucky did when he wanted one of your fries. “You don’t mind do you?”
You sighed and sat down on one of your bar stools. “No. But make me one too. I’m starving.”
“Oh yeah, you look like you’ve worked up an appetite,” Clint teased as he pulled out some more bread and began assembling a sandwich for you too. “What have you been doing? You smell like sex. Taking a little break from work? A little mastur-break?”
“No,” you snarked. “I was working.”
“Oh yeah right,” he teased. “Don’t play coy with me. I know what an orgasm smells like.”
“I’m not playing coy,” you said. “And I didn’t say I didn’t have an orgasm. But I was working.”
Clint looked at you with his brow furrowed. You could practically see the gears working as he tried to work out what you were saying. You let him think about it while you went to pour yourself a glass of water. “You jilled off during work?” Clint asked.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t just jill off, I did some full-on ass play,” you said, making Clint choke on air.
“Wha – you did what?!” Clint yelped. “You did not!”
“I did too,” you said.
“How the hell could you focus on work doing that?” Clint argued. “You’re full of shit.”
“Because that is my work, Clint,” you said.
His brain seemed to blue screen again and you could practically see the little rainbow wheels spinning behind his eyes. You ran your hand up into the back of his hair and tugged on it. “I can see you’re not quite getting there on your own. Clint. I’m a camgirl.”
The slow realization lit up his face like the sun rising in the morning until he was grinning at you. The weight lifted off your shoulders as you realized he wasn’t going to reject you or shame you for your life choices. That kind of rejection was something you tried not to let get to you. After all, if someone couldn’t accept you and what you did, you were better off not having that negativity in your life. Still, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt at all, and you did like Clint, you were glad his first reaction wasn’t puritanical.
There was still the fetish reaction though, and going by his expression, there was the strong potential he was going to assume that because you were a sex worker you’d have sex with him. You winced, hoping you were reading it wrong.
“Oh my god! How did I not know that?” he said and started laughing. “It explains everything! I mean seriously – I’m a spy? How did I not pick that up?”
His laughter was infectious and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. “That explains the state of the country,” you teased and ruffled his hair before returning to your seat with your glass of water.
“Hey now,” Clint said as he returned to making the sandwiches. “You can’t blame that on me. I don’t need to spy on them to see them messing everything up.”
He sliced your sandwich into two neat triangles and pushed it over the bench to you. “There you go,” he said. “Carbo load for your next show.”
You couldn’t help but laugh and as Clint began to ramble about who he thought was under the unicorn mask in the masked singer, you wanted to go back around the kitchen bench and hug him, thank him, and ask him a million questions about how come he just accepted that so easily when just about everyone else in your life you’d told about your job had at least had questions about it, even if it was just how good was the money. You wondered if he had those questions rumbling around in his mind and he just wasn’t asking them because he was trying to be polite.
The fact you were questioning Clint’s reaction – a reaction that would be normal for most jobs – made you want to cry. You felt both grateful to him and angry at the world that it had made you so distrustful of people showing you basic respect.
“Are you okay?” Clint’s voice, cut through your reverie and you looked up at him blinking.
“What?” you said before his words had fully sunk in. “Oh – yeah. I guess the unicorn could be Deadpool, but would that mean a double demasking?”
Clint snorted. “I guess they’ll have to,” he said. “But really? You looked like you were about to cry.”
You shook your head, but the fact he’d even noticed that you were getting teary seemed to exacerbate the condition. You covered your face and shook your head harder. “No, it’s nothing.”
Clint moved quickly around the table and wrapped his arms around you. “Hey – hey. It’s okay. Did I say something? I’m sorry.”
You hid your face in his chest as you started crying properly. “No. No. You’re fine. Perfect.”
“Then why are you crying?” he asked.
“Misogyny,” you answered.
Clint started laughing. “You’re crying because of misogyny?”
“Yes, misogyny is bad,” you sobbed.
“Oh, baby,” he giggled. “I know. I mean, it works in my favor, but yes, it’s terrible.”
“No, it hurts you too,” you argued.
Clint choked on his laughter and patted your back. “Okay. Okay. It’s terrible for everyone and a completely reasonable reason why you’re crying.”
You let him hold you while you got yourself under control, and when you pulled back you looked up at him. “You okay now?” he asked.
“Well, there’s still a lot of misogyny in the world,” you said.
He started laughing silently, his shoulders rising and falling as he kept it back. “That’s true.”
You wiped your eyes and smiled at him. “I really like you, you know?”
He smiled at you and his hands ran down your arms, his well-worn callouses scratching over your soft skin. When he spoke the teasing laughter had completely left his voice. “I really like you too.”