Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 2,023 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. GIF found on Google Images with no source.
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Y/N didn’t show up to class a week later. Or the next day, for that matter. Given the extent of her migraine on the previous Sunday, Clint wasn’t too worried by the time Monday was over. But, going into Tuesday, he started to grow concerned. To the point that he felt compelled to stop by her place, make sure she was okay.
He didn’t, though. Not because he changed his mind, but because Bucky was being an asshole. And when Bucky was an asshole, Clint was grumpy. He didn’t want to see Y/N and pick a fight over something stupid.
“You don’t get it, man,” Clint sighed. “She dropped to her knees.”
“It was just a headache,” Bucky said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Besides, you’ve been blowing us off a lot.”
It was Clint’s turn to roll his eyes. “Twice, Buck. Hardly constitutes a lot. Besides, if I don’t do this, study with Y/N, I’m going to fail.”
“Failing isn’t going to ruin your life,” his friend huffed.
“But hanging out with Y/N will?” he scoffed.
“Wait, since when are you hanging out with her?” Bucky demanded to know.
Clint groaned angrily. “Oh, my God, Buck. Studying, hanging out, it’s the same thing.”
“It’s really not,” Bucky argued. “We’re your friends, not Y/N. She’s just someone that took pity on you, man.”
“I’m not doing this with you,” Clint advised Bucky before storming out of their shared apartment.
When he walked into Fury’s classroom on Wednesday, the sight of Y/N sitting in the front row made his heart stutter in relief. He dropped down into the seat next to her with a smile.
“I was ready to send in a search party,” he partially joked. If Y/N hadn’t shown up in class today, he would have gone up to Fury after class and see if he knew anything. If Fury didn’t, then Clint would have gone to Y/N’s apartment.
She gave Clint a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t feeling well,” she explained.
“Yeah,” he murmured in a concerned tone. “I can see that.”
Y/N groaned as her eyes fluttered shut, the dark circles more prominent than before. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you tonight, Clint. I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t explain the way his stomach dropped in disappointment. “I can come over, if that would help. Maybe cook up another amazing dinner,” he offered with a wink.
“Yeah?” Y/N breathed. “That would help tremendously.”
“Only if you’re feeling up to it.” Clint didn’t want to push her into doing more than she was actually able to do, and right then, she looked as if a good wind would knock her over.
“Tell you what,” she rasped. “Plan on coming over at four. If I’m not feeling up to it, I’ll shoot off a text.”
Clint was nodding his head in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”
After class, you made your way home as quickly as you could. It was entirely too bright outside, there were too many people, and it felt as if there were a jackhammer inside your head. By the time you got inside, the rush of blood in your ears is so loud, it was deafening.
Your purse and bookbag hit the floor before you stumbled around as a nasty case of vertigo slammed into you. Using your hands, you maneuvered through the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom where your medication was. Even though the prescription said to take one or two pills, you normally took one. Not this time. You greedily swallowed two of the painkillers, gasping for air once you drank the water.
With your eyes screwed shut, you crossed the hall, hands held out in front of you. Once inside your room, you stripped out of the clothes you were wearing, turned on the fan, and made sure the blinds were pulled before dropping onto your bed.
It took almost a half hour before the raging inferno inside your head started to dwindle, and another fifteen minutes before you could get comfortable enough to fall asleep. And when you did finally drift off, you had strange dreams about Clint.
By the time quarter to four rolled around, Clint had probably checked his phone fifteen hundred times. He couldn’t explain the butterflies that were swarming in his stomach and chest at the mere thought that she would call and cancel. He wanted to see her, and it wasn’t because of the tutoring. He was actually looking forward to seeing her, like, really looking forward to it.
Unable to wait any longer, Clint left the apartment and hurried to Y/N’s place. He got there a few minutes after four, completely out of breath thanks to sprinting the entire way, and started knocking.
“Come on, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath.
When she didn’t answer the door, he tried the knob, but it was locked. He gave another round of knocks, louder than before, fear clogging his throat. He was absolutely convinced that something was wrong, that she had passed out and maybe hit her head, or worse. After knocking once more, the door was ripped open, revealing a disheveled Y/N.
“What?” she hissed, her eyes barely open, wearing only a tank top and a pair of underwear.
Clint gulped loudly and quickly diverted his gaze. “It’s uh, it’s four.”
“And?” Y/N sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Guilt rushed through him, quickly dousing the worry that had previously consumed him. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I did… I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just… you said that -”
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. “Oh shit,” she rasped. “Clint, I… I’m sorry. I fell asleep after I got home. Please, come in.”
“Are you sure?” He was working really hard at not staring at every inch of Y/N’s exposed skin.
She must have realized her lack of clothing, because a blush colored her neck and face. Without a word, she disappeared into the darkness of her apartment and slammed the bedroom door.
He was tentative to step inside, only doing so when Sam, a fellow classmate, emerged from his apartment down the hall. They exchanged a nod before Clint stepped inside and closed the door. He waited there, hands in his pockets, his head shaking back and forth as he waited.
“Stupid,” he chastised himself. “Shouldn’t have come.”
“You say something?” she asked as she emerged from her bedroom, clothed, her hair pulled back into a braid.
Jesus. Even with the minimal lighting Clint found he couldn’t stop staring at her. “I just uh, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s fine, Clint,” she assured him, her eyes screwing shut.
“You don’t look fine,” he noted softly, stepping closer.
Y/N pulled in a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m tired. Migraines really take it out of me,” she explained flatly, as if she had been saying it her entire life.
Clint wanted to believe her, but deep down, he wasn’t sure that he could. There was too much pain behind her eyes, her voice would crack just the slightest, she would wince when she thought he wasn’t looking.
It was weird, he may have seen her every day for the last four years, and she had started tutoring him a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t really know her. Yet, he wanted to help her, to make whatever pain she was feeling disappear, never to be heard from again. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her it would be okay, that no matter what, he would be there for her, to protect her from whatever life may throw her way.
She looked at him strangely as he raised his hand, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Clint?”
He hummed, his moss-and-honey eyes flicking over her face before settling on her lips. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her mouth, his heart racing, pummeling his chest. He brushed his nose against hers then he gently kissed her.
Y/N stood there, surprise radiating off of her, her hand on his chest. Time stood still, building and building until it snapped when she melted into him, her fingers drifting to the back of his neck, curling in the short strands of hair. She let out a small gasp as his mouth slanted over hers, their tongues tangling together, his hand falling to the small of her back, the other twisting in her freshly-braided hair.
Clint’s entire body was thrumming and he was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life holding her, kissing her, loving her. And he thought that maybe she felt the same way, until both of her hands were on his chest and she shoved him away.
“What the -”
“You need to leave,” Y/N demanded breathily, her lips perfectly swollen and dark pink, her chest heaving.
Confusion twisted painfully in his chest and gut. “What are you… I don’t understand.”
She was shaking her head and there were tears in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that, Clint.”
“I wanted to,” he admitted, daring to step toward her.
“Clint,” she sighed, her voice cracking. “You promised.”
He scraped a hand over his face as his mind swam through the endorphin-induced fog. “Ye- yeah, I know. I… I just -”
“Out,” Y/N directed him, her finger pointed to the door. “I want you to leave.”
“You’re serious,” Clint scoffed. “What about tutoring me?”
She was holding the door open now, staring hard at him. “Find yourself someone else.”
“There is no one else that can help me.” Yeah, he knew how pitiful it sounded, but it was the truth. He was going to fail Fury’s class if Y/N refused to help him.
Way to fuck it up, Clint.
“Talk to Fury. He’ll find you someone else,” she rasped, her eyes downcast.
Clint stood in front of her, desperately wanting to take her hand in his, to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face. “Please, Y/N,” he begged.
She stood there, her knuckles turning white, unmoving, unwilling to meet his gaze. The only thing she did was open the door wider and waited for him to leave. She shook her head and sniffled, murmuring something he couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears.
Rejection swirled through him, making him feel as if he were going to explode. “Fine,” he bit out a moment before storming out. He was swiping angrily at the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks when the door slammed closed.
Responding to the kiss had been a bad idea, but you hadn’t been able to help yourself. Before you could register what you had done, it was too late; your body was molded to his and you were kissing him as if your life depended on it. Good thing you got your bearings before things went too far.
After kicking Clint out and slamming the door, you leaned against it and tried to catch your breath, tried to calm down the anxiety bubbling in your chest, but your heart was racing entirely too fast. You screwed your eyes shut and fumbled for the phone in your pocket.
“Breathe,” you tried reminding yourself, but your lungs refused to listen.
It had been a while since you’d had a full blown panic attack, and this one came at you like a freight train, barrelling down on you. You dropped to your knees and worked with shaking hands to unlock your phone. You could call Clint, he couldn’t have gotten too far, but you knew how bad of an idea that was. Instead you dialed your next door neighbor.
Sam answered the phone after the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart.”
You gasped his name and fell to your back, a hand over your chest. “I ca- ca- can’t bre- breathe.”
“Shit. I’m on my way.”
The last thing you heard was the pounding of his feet as he exited his apartment and rushed down the hall.
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry]
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