Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.

Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)

Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 2: Thanks for the Warning

Your father told you once many years ago that one day you would return to New York City. You’d been seven at the time, eager and excited to be somewhere so starkly different from your home in Arizona—and to see your father at work. All the glitter, all the lights, so many people! You couldn’t wait to come back with your parents someday soon, someday when it was safe, someday when there wasn’t a job to do.

As you watched the dark shapes of the many skyscrapers covered in squares of brilliant whites and blues slide past your taxi window, you couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm of your childhood. Your father probably hadn’t imagined that everything would be different the next time you saw the city, except for the city itself. No family, no safety, only work to look forward to. You wouldn’t even be in the country long enough to enjoy the sights if all went according to plan.

“So, how long are you in town for?” the cabbie asked. The brown eyes set underneath his thick, dark eyebrows flashed at you in the rearview mirror. You appreciated his breaking into your thoughts; answering him prevented you from dwelling on what could not be changed.

“I leave first thing tomorrow.” You slipped easily back into the American Midwestern accent you’d adopted since arriving in the city. “I’ve got business to take care of out of the country.”

“And you only got in this evening?”

“I had a layover. Why waste it?”

“That’s some turnaround just to see Central Park!”

“I couldn’t resist looking at the ice-skating rink. My dad took me there once when I was a little girl.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s he now?”

“Dead. Like the rest of my family.”

Your driver made a strange spluttering sound. Lucky for him, a spot along 5th Avenue opened up, allowing him to pull in without inflicting any further awkward conversations upon either of you. You hopped out, paid him his fare—plus a tip—and then headed for the information kiosk ahead on Terrace while he waited for someone new to flag him down.

Early March after sunset was not as popular time for the Central Park skating rink as earlier months might have been. It could not be helped. You had left Paris as soon and as surreptitiously as you could without attracting suspicion. A few slow laps around the ice were enough for you to find a crowd of young adults to follow back out of the park. Their chattered faded when you parted from them to turn right on 5th, but by then you could gauge your speed by walking with the other pedestrians. No one gave the woman carrying a pair of ice skates and a heavy backpack a second look.

And there was your destination in front of you, lit up like a beacon piercing the glowing sky above. Avengers Tower shone brighter than all the buildings around it; you could not have missed it if you tried. Nothing major must have been going on that night either. More people than you’d seen in Central Park spilled across the tower’s steps. Many of those people were in costume; enough weren’t that you blended in with the numerous fans and protesters as you climbed up to the glass doors.

You expected the empty lobby at nine o'clock in the evening. Nothing stirred the shadows less than an inch from your nose. Not a light blinked. Tony Stark would have the best security system in the world installed, though, probably one he’d built himself. That you could count on. One wrong move, and all your careful work just to get this far would come crashing down around your ears.

“I wouldn’t stand there too long if I were you.”

Turning at the sound of a male voice, you found only one person close enough to speak to you. A few feet away stood a man painted head-to-toe in metallic gold and red. He rotated his entire body to meet your eyes, and it hit you: He was a street performer decked out to match his location.

“I mean it.” His fingers mechanically motioned you closer. “Too many fans attempting to breach the lobby after hours lately. They’ve updated their security. I saw a girl get blasted down to the sidewalk last night. Unless you’re looking for that sort of thrill…”

You quickly stepped away from the danger zone and over to your new friend. An upturned hat filled with coins and dollar bills sat at the base of the pedestal he stood atop. Well, preventing you from getting caught before you got started had to be worth something.

“Thanks for the warning,” you said, and pulled out a dollar from your wallet to drop in the hat.

Through the throng of Iron Mans, Black Widows, Thors, and Captain Americas you traipsed. Occasionally, you stopped to take a selfie with one that stood at a strategic point along your path. The photos, however, told you nothing other than that Tony Stark didn’t keep a security guard stationed in his building’s lobby at night. And why would he? They had a Hulk, and you wouldn’t doubt the team would utilize that the second they caught wind of anyone trying to force their way through the front doors.

Fortunately, you’d only ever planned to use the front door as a last resort.

******

Nine o'clock. The stage was set. All the lamps in Tony’s living quarters were dimmed. Most of the glasses next to each person’s seat were drained of liquor. A mound of cash sat in the center of the table. Only two players remained. Tony and Steve eyed one another warily. No one else moved. Everyone held their breaths, waiting for the big reveal.

“Four of a kind,” Steve announced as he slapped four aces and a ten of spades on the table.

Whatever Tony had, he didn’t bother saying. He scattered his cards across the table and dropped his head into his arms with a theatrical groan. Even from this angle, Clint could tell Tony’s hand hadn’t had a hope of beating Steve’s. Natasha and Bruce cheered.

“That’s the third time tonight, Rogers.” Tony lifted his head high enough to glare at the man across from him. “You’re cheating. There’s no other explanation for it!”

“If he is, you haven’t managed to prove it yet,” Natasha said.

“That’s because you’re all aiding and abetting him. You want me to lose.”

“Hey,I was rooting for you,” Bruce put in.

Tony glowered at him, too. “You’re sleeping with the enemy now, Big Guy. I can’t trust you. Who knows what she can convince you to do once she’s got you between the sheets?”

As if to prove Tony’s point for him, Natasha entwined her fingers with the hand Bruce had resting on the table, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Bruce turned pink but shot her a shy smile. Clint rolled his eyes away from this nauseating sight.

“See?” Tony said. “She probably told you to drop out as soon as you could to make sure I’d be trapped in a game alone with Le Chiffre here!”

“That’s putting an awful lot of stock in Bruce’s poker skill that I haven’t seen yet,” Clint remarked.

“This coming from the first guy to fold.”

“It’s not my fault you guys play for such high stakes. Some of us aren’t made of money, you know? I’m practically homeless.”

“Please. You live rent free in the most exclusive place in town. I think you can afford to put a little something in the pot.”

“Says the billionaire,” Clint grumbled. What little money he earned from a paycheck severely cut by superheroics he preferred to keep to himself, not that Tony cared. But Clint supposed he wouldn’t care much if he raked in the kind of cash Tony had for his entire life.

“Anyway, that’s not the point!” Leaping to his feet, Tony pointed dramatically at Steve. “My point is, how did someone whose entire shtick is embodying truth, justice, and the American way get so good at poker?”

Steve eyes flitted around the table, perhaps looking for an out. No one offered him one. “When I couldn’t keep a job, I had to find some way to help Bucky pay the rent. I’ve had a lot of practice playing people a lot tougher than you.”

“So you admit it! You arecheating.”

“Well, if you’re so sure, I can think of one way for you to prove it.”

“What’s that?”

Steve smiled. “Play another round. And this time, pay real close attention.”

The same tension as before filled the room. Bruce and Natasha’s gaze remained riveted on Tony. Clint idly wondered if he could slip away unseen while everyone waited for Tony to make a decision. Then, before Clint could push out his chair and make a run for it, Tony sat back down.

“Deal me in,” he said.

“I’m game,” Natasha agreed.

“I can go one more,” said Bruce.

“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice cut smoothly though the renewed trash talk. He didn’t wait for anyone to acknowledge him before continuing, “My sensors indicate someone is attempting to scale the building.”

That brought an end to the dealing at once.

“What?”

“Again?”

“Now?”

“I guess this puts an end to our game,” Steve said ruefully. “I was going to go for Tony’s Spyder next.”

“In your dreams, Rogers. I’ve got your number. I was just about to win everything back.”

“If you’re so sure about that, why not wager the car?”

“This hardly addresses the problem at hand, boys,” Natasha interrupted. “The game can go on, but first we need to decide who has to go retrieve the intruder, preferably before they find anything to put up on eBay.”

“It’s probably just another one of Tony’s ex-girlfriend,” said Bruce.

“So that’s me out of the running,” Tony said.

“Why does that make it not your job?” Steve asked.

“Because if I go, who knows what she’ll do? I break her heart, she grabs the nearest potted plant and breaks my face.”

“A real tragedy.”

“Maybe a plant to the face would improve your looks, Rogers, but some of us don’t need an adjustment.”

“I’ll go.”

Natasha and Bruce exchanged a look. Tony and Steve went as far as pausing in their bickering to stare at the man now standing next to his chair.

“Clint? You sure?” Bruce asked.

Clint had already made it to the door. He waved Bruce’s concern away. “This game’s too rich for my blood anyway. You guys go ahead.”

“Hey, better you than me, Legolas,” said Tony.

“You might not feel that way here in a few minutes,” Steve said.

“Mark my words, Rogers, in a few minutes, you’re gonna be the one wishing he went on peel-the-fangirl-off -the-wall duty.”

“That’s right. Keep your eyes on each other. No one consider how badly I might like a new car,” Natasha said.

As the argument over who would win this round of Texas Hold'em resumed, Clint moved rapidly away from Tony’s sitting room. The floor containing the more common areas, such as the bar and Bruce’s laboratory, was only a few floors away. Clint shoved the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder and dashed up the stairs, relieved to be away from the rest of the group. Hanging around Bruce and Natasha was sickening enough; throw in Steve and Tony’s near-inability to pay attention to anyone but each other (especially whenever Pepper flew back to Malibu for work), and Clint felt like the fifth wheel on a very ungainly bicycle.

He made a beeline for the weapons cache the second he reached the correct floor. From there, he pulled out the waiting bow and a quiver of trick arrows—then grabbed a few real arrows just in case. There’d been an influx in attempts to break in to the various Avengers’ living quarters since Tony displayed the whole place in a Home and Gardens magazine, but they couldn’t assume every intruder would be someone relatively harmless and in search of nothing more than celebrity underwear to sell for a quick buck.

“Which way are they coming up, JARVIS?” Clint asked the ceiling, once he was prepared.

JARVIS answered promptly: “The unidentified climber is making their way up the northeast side of the building. Their current whereabouts are near floor 83.”

“How about that? A new record.”

Whoever they were, they didn’t have far to go. Clint picked up the pace. As he reached the building’s back wall of windows, he snapped his bow into shape and nocked one of the trick arrows. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to fire anything more dangerous than a rope should the stranger slip upon seeing him.

“I have unlocked the panel directly in front of you,” JARVIS announced.

“Thanks, pal.”

Wind blasted into the room the moment Clint pushed the window open it. Nearby objects rattled and papers skittered across the floor. No noise issued from outside except for the faint and steady honking from the traffic one fatal drop below. He stuck his body out only enough to aim his bow and arrow downward.

“You know, we’ve got an awfully nice public lobby about 85 floors from your current position. Maybe you could try visiting that sometime, preferably during daylight hours. Someone there might even agree to sign something for you, provided it’s legally purchased.”

Silence. Clint slowly lowered his bow and squinted into the darkness below. The alley, though not as well-lit as the front of the tower, caught enough of the blue glow from the giant “A” for him to confirm his immediate suspicion: No one clung there to respond to his quip. He waited there for another half a minute, though, as if expecting someone to poke their head out from a lower level once they thought he’d left.

“JARVIS?” he said as he ducked back inside. “You sure they were on the northeast side of the building?”

“Yes, sir,” the AI replied.

“Do you sense anyone there anymore? ‘Cause I didn’t see anybody just now, and we both know my sight’s about the only thing I contribute around here.”

“I sense no one actively touching the building outside at all. How odd. It’s as though they simply vanished.”

“Let’s hope it’s some hocus-pocus like that. The alternatives are a hell of a lot worse.”

Maybe it was his many years as a SHIELD operative. Maybe it was his time as Loki’s unwilling puppet. Whatever the reason, Clint didn’t let go of his bow or remove his arrow from the string. His eyes scanned every window he passed on his way back to the rest of the group. This time, he took the elevator, ears straining every second for the sound of shattering glass or an uninvited passenger coming along for the ride. Nothing like that happened, and he returned to the room without incident.

“That was quick,” Tony remarked at Clint’s appearance. “You holding out some latent teleportation powers on us, Barton?”

“Do you need help restraining them?” Steve asked, eyeing Clint’s still-readied weapon.

Clint shook his head. “There was nobody there.”

“Were you doing any experiments with JARVIS earlier?” Bruce asked Tony.

“No.” Tony sat his cards facedown on the table and sat up a little straighter. “JARVIS? Is there something going on with your programming?”

“Not that I can tell, sir. One minute, my security systems detected a human biosignal moving up the northeast side of the tower. The next, they did not,” JARVIS replied.

“Run a self diagnostic.”

“I’ve already begun. Nothing seems amiss. I can find no signs of a break-in either.”

Bruce tossed his hand to the table without further discussion. “I’ll go to the ground floor and see if I can find anyone. I wasn’t going to last much longer anyway.”

“Might want to grab a spatula on the way out!” Tony called as Bruce disappeared into the hall.

“Very funny,” Steve said stonily.

“You know, I imagine Pepper’s going to say the exact same thing when I tell her she has to file a claim with our insurance. Same tone and everything. Amazing.”

“That really shouldn’t be our primary concern right now.”

“What should be?” Natasha asked with a cheeky smile. “You really have a one track mind if you’re still focused on the game.”

“I—”

“I am detecting multiple human biosignals now, sir.”

“Outside?” Clint asked, already headed back the way he’d come from.

“No. Inside the building. One is in the bar. One is Miss Potts’ private office. I have third reading in the lobby, a fourth in Captain Roger’s bedroom, and another in the records room.”

Natasha, Steve, and Tony joined Clint on their feet. Everyone gazed expectantly at Steve for orders. He looked at each of them in turn as he rattled them off:

“Tony, you check Pepper’s office. I’ll get the one in my quarters. JARVIS, tell Dr. Banner to check the lobby since he’s the closest.”

“I’ll hit the records room,” Clint volunteered.

“Oh, sure, the one that’s probably a false alarm?” Tony smirked. “No one’s getting anything out of there with JARVIS on the job. Why don’t you join Natasha at the bar? At least I’ve got some unprotected valuables there.”

“Hey, might as well send the least capable person to the least likely spot, right?” Clint said.

Natasha took off like a shot in the direction of the stairs without waiting to see what the outcome of Clint and Tony’s spat would be. Steve, Tony, and Clint all followed. The former two stopped at the door to the stairs through which she had disappeared.

“Remind me why you’re on the payroll again, Barton?” Tony asked.

“Someone’s got to be the pretty one.”

Clint sped off for the lift again. The records room was quite a bit further down than either Steve or Tony’s destination, and the stairwell would be too crowded for Clint to maneuver if they ran into trouble there. Bruce must have already made it all the way down to the first floor, because the elevator arrived quickly and with no one inside.

This second trip took longer than Clint would have liked. He returned his trick arrow to his quiver and replaced it with a real one. As confident as Tony seemed in JARVIS’s ability to throw off a hacker, Clint himself didn’t feel so sure. If someone had gotten into the tower that night, they’d already managed to fool a supposedly foolproof AI once. The last thing he needed would be to find himself with his pants down and an actual supervillain ready to jump him the moment the lift doors opened.

But the floor that housed all the Avengers’ records—paper and electronic files both—seemed empty when he stepped out into it. He saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary, yet something prevented him from turning right back around and joining Natasha at the bar. Clint held his breath, listening hard for any unusual noises. The thought of asking JARVIS to check if he still registered an unknown human nearby occurred to Clint before he realized that would let any intruder know someone was on to them.

Down the hall he crept, silent as could be. His breath burned in his lungs. Just a few feet more. The door to the records room hung open. He could see the first few inches of tile floor. The moment he reached the opening, Clint pressed his back against the wall and pulled his bow string taught. Then he carefully inched his head closer and closer to the doorframe until he could peer around it.

At once he could tell just how wrong Tony had been, not just about JARVIS, but about everything else that night, too. There in the records room, surrounded by open boxes and neatly stacked manila folders, crouched a woman with [color] hair—and the moment Clint spotted her was the same moment she spotted him as well.

Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.

Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)

Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

Posting Status: In-Progress

Notes:Now that I am feeling better, I want to write again (especially since I didn’t get any requests). Honestly, though? My old stories are…old. I’m not abandoning them. It’s just that I really wanted to write something new that reflects where I am as a writer now. This plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain since I wrote the “Factory” one shot for my “One Small Step” collection. Clint Barton isn’t the most popular Avenger, I realize, but I hope someone out there will enjoy this story. I thought about swapping Clint out for Steve or Bucky. That’s just not the story I wanted to tell.

One more Important note: I’m not French. I’ve never been to France. The only person I know who speaks French is my friend from Canada. I’ve done a lot of research for this, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got it all right. Please shoot me a note if you find any discrepancies that need addressed! I will be happy to correct them.

Chapter 1: A Beautiful Job

Chapter 2: Thanks for the Warning

Pizza Boxes and Rug Burn

Pairing: Hawkeye x reader

Word Count: 1,089

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, Smut, Language! Oral-m rec, f rec

Author’s Notes: I’m challenging myself to write some fics using the list of 410 Smut Prompts that I came across from @devildomqueen.  This is a special treat for my Hawkeye fans with the Hawkeye series dropping today!! Yay!!

Prompt:  You need a place to stay for the night?

You wandered down the street, not realizing where your feet were taking you until you were standing in front of a building and you saw the name on the buzzer in front of you.

Barton.

“This better be good,” the sleepy voice said over the intercom.

“Ryan broke up with me.”

The door buzzed and you walked in, up the stairs and down the dimly lit hallway. His door was open, waiting for you to enter.

You flopped onto the couch, and a familiar paw landed on your knee.

“That fucker. You need a place to stay for the night?”

“Hey, Lucky,” you said, reaching out to scratch his favorite spot. “And yes, I do. Four years. Four years, Clint. Down the drain.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but I did tell you I thought he was a piece of shit. What happened?” he asked, setting a mug of coffee on the table next to you.

“Well, you were right. He was cheating on me. Now he’s in love with her and wants me out of the apartment. I never should have moved in with him. Not without getting my name on the lease, anyway.”

“You know you can stay here as long as you want. You might want to clean up a little though,” Clint said, looking at the stacks of pizza boxes around the loft.

“Umm, no. You might want to clean up a little. I didn’t make this mess,” you laughed, grabbing the warm mug.

“Earn your keep, Y/n,” he said, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“Fuck off, Clint,” you laughed.

That’s when the dam broke, and your eyes flooded with tears.

“Shit. Come ‘ere, Y/n,” he said, pulling you into a tight bear hug.

“Ugh! I just… what’s wrong with me? Why was I not good enough for him?”

“Fuck that! Ryan’s a moron! You are amazing. You’re beautiful. Any man with half a brain would realize he’s lucky to have you. If you were my girlfr…” he trailed off. You felt his cheeks get hot as he moved to pull away.

“What? What if I were your girlfriend?” you asked, grabbing his shoulder to face him toward you.

“Look, I don’t want to do or say anything out of line, but you have to know how I feel about you. I’ve felt it for a long time, but you were with Ryan, so I didn’t say anything. Now I’m kicking myself, Y/n.”

“Tell me. I need to hear something good, Clint. Tell me how you feel about me.”

“Look, Y/n. I know I’m a mess of a man. I’m messy, I drink too much coffee, I’m constantly getting myself into some kind of trouble, and always getting hurt. But I love you, and I know the timing sucks, but I think we could be really great together.

I’ve known you for a few years, and I have always wanted to be with you, but you were always with someone else, so I never thought you were interested in me. So there – it’s all out on the table. That’s how I feel.”

“Clint… I… I had no idea. I wish I would have though. I wouldn’t have gone out with Ryan in the first place. Not that thatis going to make you feel any better. I just… oh, fuck it!”

You grabbed Clint’s face and pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. As his arms enveloped you, you moved to straddle him, your hands moving down his shoulders and biceps, brushing over his abs. You pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, making one of the holes slightly bigger as you pushed it over his head and threw it on the floor.

He made quick work of your own shirt and bra, grabbed your breasts with his hands and began his exploration of your nipples with his tongue.

You tossed your head back, moaning softly, running your fingers through his soft blonde hair.

You could feel his erection growing harder and harder between your legs, straining against his black jeans, rubbing against your clothed sex as you moved your hips.

“Fuck,” he said softly, gripping your ass as he moved to stand.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked with purpose up the stairs to the bedroom, his lips and tongue all over your chest and neck, teeth grazing your nipples.

He slowly leaned forward, your bare back on the bed. He moved quickly, removing your pants and underwear in one swift motion. He stopped and leaned back slightly, taking you in.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered as he knelt before you. As his knees hit the floor, his tongue dove into  your pussy.

“Oh! Fuck! Clint!” you screamed, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Your hands found their way to his hair as his found their way to your hips.

He tongue-fucked you into oblivion, and after two orgasms, you sat up and pushed him backwards onto the floor. After deftly removing his pants and boxers, your mouth was on his glistening cock.

“Shit! Y/n… oh fuck!” he grunted.

You released him from your mouth with a pop, and moved to straddle him. His thumb found your clit as you sank down onto his hard length, causing a loud moan to escape from deep in your chest.

You put one hand on his chest and the other on his abs to steady yourself as you bounced up and down, his thumb still circling your clit as his other hand grabbed your hip.

“Fuck, Clint… you feel so good!” you pant, feeling the rug burn on your knees.

He grabbed your hips with both hands to still you for a moment, then began to fuck up into you at a bruising pace.

The noises you both made we as obscene as the slapping of skin to skin.

You threw your head back as you came hard. Clint followed right behind you.

You both collapsed onto the floor, panting – your sweat-slicked bodies curling into one another.

“Holy shit, Y/n,” he gasped, a slight chuckle following.

“Yeah, who knew we’d be so great at that?” you smiled, looking into his eyes.

“Wanna order a pizza and do it again?” he asked, looking around the room for his pants. He laughed as he saw Lucky coming up the stairs with your bra on his head.

“Fuck yeah! But can we do it on the bed this time?”

“Floor wasn’t really my idea, but I suppose we could try that, sure.”