Posted in clint barton, fanfiction, reader insert

Apartment X – Chapter 3

A Hawkeye Fanfic

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Character pairing:  
Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 1814

Warnings:  Talk of cam work, nudity

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.


Chapter 3

There was nothing scarier than falling for someone.  There was a lack of control and a fear of the unknown that followed you everywhere.  The potential to get hurt was enormous and there seemed to be no way to fully protect yourself from it.  Yet, it was exciting too.  It came with a rush of adrenaline and endorphins and the small glimmer of hope that maybe something good was going to happen.

It was called falling for a reason.

It felt particularly terrifying for you because on top of the fact that you weren’t sure if he felt the same way about you.  Even if he did, it took a certain kind of person to date someone with your job.  They needed to be open-minded and lacking in jealousy.  They needed to trust you and be trustworthy.  To be able to keep up with you but not fetishize you or try to control you. Finding people like that was hard, though not impossible.  You had dated a couple of people who fit that criteria and you had friends in loving relationships with partners who were fully supportive of their jobs.  They still seemed few and far between, especially outside of your usual social circles, a place inhabited by Clint Barton.

Clint had been so good about your job so far, neither pretending it wasn’t happening nor only ever talking about it the way some people did.  He’d happily talk to you about your work and brainstorm problems or ideas with you the same way he would talk about his.  He’d ask you how a session went if he saw that you’d just had one, just like you’d ask how a mission went when he came home from one.  He never asked for your URL or joked about trying to find it, and never made lewd comments about coming in to watch a performance – something way too many guys had done in the past.

On top of all of that, Clint was the easiest person to be around that you had ever met.  He was funny, relaxed, a little snarky, and a huge dork.  He was easy on the eyes and so talented.  If you could put the details of your ideal partner into a computer you were pretty sure it would be Clint that popped out.

There were so many risks though.  He was a good friend and you didn’t want to lose that – especially if things didn’t work out.  There was the question of whether he could deal with your job in a relationship.  It was one thing to accept your friend was a sex worker, it was another to dampen down jealousy enough to accept your partner was one.

It wasn’t just about Clint accepting and being able to live with your job – you had to accept and live with his too.  Dating a guy who went out and risked his life all the time wouldn’t exactly be easy.  You’d have to get used to the fact there might be times you wouldn’t hear from him for weeks or he’d come home hurt.  You had to accept that any time you said goodbye to him might be the last time you ever saw him.

Then there was the question of potentially merging your worlds.  Would your job make him a target for moral criticism?  Would the conservative right question his ability to protect the world if he was dating someone who worked in the sex industry?  And would him being an Avenger make your channel inundated with people just using you to get to him?

You wanted to know the answers to all these questions before you even mentioned your feelings to Clint, but it wasn’t exactly an easy topic to bring up.  It would help if you knew if he felt the same way about you.

To help clear your head, you decided to take a run.  You put on shorts and a tank top and strapped your phone to your arm so you could listen to music.  As you stepped outside you were met by Clint with a redhead that could only be Natasha Romanoff.

You had heard a lot about the ex-Russian Assassin and Spy.  Clint spoke about her more than anyone else.  You knew they’d dated once.  You knew she was his best friend.  This was the first time you’d ever seen her in person.

“Is this her?” Natasha asked as you pulled your earbud out of your ear.

“Shush you,” Clint scolded and grinned at you. “Hey.  You going for a run?”

“Yeah.  Gotta keep in shape,” you agreed.  “Give the audience what they want.”  You turned to Natasha and offered her your hand, as you introduced yourself.

“Natasha,” she replied as she shook your hand.  “Clint’s told me a lot about you.  Can’t shut up about you, would be more accurate.”

“Nat!” Clint yelped as his face flushed red.

“He talks about you all the time too,” you said. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Natasha said. “It’s good to put a face to the name.  We should get drinks sometime.”

“I’d love that,” you agreed.

Clint put his hands in the middle of Natasha’s back and pushed her forward.  “Okay.  Enjoy your run X!  See you later!”

You laughed and waved them off as you practically skipped downstairs.  You just got your first answer.  Clint Barton liked you back.

Unfortunately, finding that out meant that rather than clearing your head, you spent the whole time doing the mental equivalent of scribbling your initials in hearts in the margins of your notebooks.

You were sweaty and your muscles ached when you finally arrived back home, but you were determined to go and speak to Clint and get this all out of the way.

You stopped in at the bodega on the corner, grabbed two black coffees and two everything bagels with cream cheese, and headed up to Clint’s apartment.

You didn’t knock on the door of the apartment with the H on it.  Neither of you knocked anymore.  You could hear the shower running when you went in, so you took a couple of steps up to his loft and called out to him.

There was no point calling up to him.  If he was in the shower it meant he had his hearing aids out.  So instead you just got everything ready for him.  You put the coffee and bagels on the table and grabbed a couple of plates.  You were just sitting down to eat when Clint came downstairs with his towel wrapped around his waist.  He had it tied dangerously low so that if you followed the trail of hair down from his belly button, over his unfairly taught stomach to the edge of the towel, you could just glimpse the base of his cock.

You swallowed thickly as your eyes grazed down his body.  He had the body of an athlete.  Lean and muscular in a way that you could tell that he was both agile and strong.  His practically flawless physic was littered with scars and bruises and you had an almost overwhelming urge to trace them all with your fingers and lips.

“Hey, my face is up here,” he teased, clicking his fingers and pointing up.

Your eyes snapped up and you quickly grabbed your cup and took a much too big gulp of the much too hot coffee that you nearly spat it out all over him.  You somehow managed to force it down before opening your mouth and breathing hard over your now burned tongue. “Thit,” you cursed.

Clint burst out laughing.  “Jesus, that was amazing.  Now you know how I feel when you come out in that tiny satin robe after a stream.”

“You keep it together better than I do,”  you said, going to his freezer and grabbing some ice.

“Yeah.  Which is not something anyone has ever accused me of,” he cackled as he took a seat and picked up his coffee.  He sat with his legs spread which didn’t help matters at all.

“You are killing me,” you said, gesturing to his legs.  “What are you doing?”

He laughed harder but didn’t say anything.

You sighed and sucked on the ice for a moment, trying not to look up the gap in Clint’s towel.  “So,” you said, around the piece of ice.  “You like me.”

“What?! I do not,” he argued, sitting forward and bringing his legs back together.

“That’s a pity,” you said.  “Because I like you.”

Clint furrowed his brow.  “You do?”

“Yeah, I do, but if you don’t like me, I guess I better go get laid and try and move on,” you said and sighed dramatically.

“No – wait,” Clint said quickly.  “Wait.  You really do?”

“I really do,” you agreed.  “But I have to admit I’m scared.  I usually date people in my field or social circles, because a lot of people don’t get what I do.  They can’t handle the idea of people paying to watch me get off.  They get jealous or possessive.  So I need to know if we do try dating, you aren’t going to try and rescue me.  I like my job.” 

Clint nodded and folded his arms over his chest.  “Well, I usually date people in my field too.  Because a lot of people don’t get what I do.  They freak out when I have to go out of town for a long time and there’s no contact.  They worry every time they see a news story that features me in battle.  They can’t handle the fact I have fans.  They try to convince me that I need to stop doing the right thing, the thing I’ve trained all my life for because I should prioritize them more when I’m out saving the world.”

You smiled and tilted your head.  “It’d be hard.”

Clint nodded.  “It might be.”

“Could be worth it though.  If we can both handle those things,” you said.

“Oh yeah.  I mean – look at us.  It could be fantastic,” he agreed.

You leaned forward in your chair and sipped your coffee again, the heat from it reminding you that you’d just burned your mouth.  Clint just watched you, his face remaining impassive.  “Well then,” you said, putting down your cup.  “Clint Barton, knowing what we know about each other and how risky it is – do you want to grab dinner with me sometime?”

Clint picked up his cup and took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs again.  He looked at you over the top of his cup with an eyebrow raised.  “You know what?” he said, as he put the cup down and his eyes slid up and down your body like he was assessing every piece of you, inside and out.  “I think we should give it a go.”


// NEXT

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