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: 2,424
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 Credit [X]

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Tutoring Clint went slightly better than you had imagined it would.

True to his word, he was completely sober, not even a hint of a hangover showing in his eyes or voice. He brought his textbook, a notebook, and a pen. He even surprised you with a cup of your favorite coffee.

“How did you know?” you asked him in a surprised tone.

“I told you that I know you,” Clint chuckled, tapping your cup with his.

You gave a bemused smile. “You really don’t.”

He hummed in disagreement, but said nothing other than, “Where did you want to start?”

You pushed down the pang of annoyance, huffed out a breath through your nose, and took a seat across from Clint. “Might as well start at the beginning.”

Four hours and a pulsing headache behind your eyes later, you and Clint walked out of the library.

“You wanna get something to eat?” Clint wondered, books tucked under one arm, holding the door open.

That sounded like a good idea, it really did, but you knew that if you didn’t get home and take something, the headache would quickly spiral out of control.

“Thank you for the offer, Clint,” you started to politely decline. “I’ve got a killer headache, and I just want to lie down.”

“Are you okay?”

Even though you shook your head, you said, “I get migraines quite a bit. I’ll be okay.”

Clint’s hand was on your elbow, steadying you. “I can walk with you, if you like.”

“No, Clint,” you snapped. “I can get home on my own.” You weren’t mad at him, you just really wanted to get home.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Don’t say I never tried to help.”

He spun around and started storming off, but it was as if a flash grenade went off behind your eyes. You cried out as you dropped to your knees, the bag strap falling out of your hand so you could clutch your head.

Clint was on his knees, asking you… something, but his voice was garbled, drowned out by the hum in your ears. He dug in your bag and quickly found your wallet. After shoving it, and his books in your bag, he threw the strap over his shoulder and gathered you in his arms.

Once Clint managed to get Y/N to take some tylenol and ibuprofen, followed by drinking a large glass of water, he put her in bed and set a cold compress over her eyes and forehead. He closed the blinds and turned on the ceiling fan before sneaking out of the room. With the door left open a crack, he dropped onto her couch with a heaving sigh. After the way Y/N dropped to her knees, crying out in pain, there was no way he was going to leave without knowing she was okay. He tugged out his phone and sent a text to his friends.

C: Sorry guys, can’t make it tonight. 
S: You okay?
N: Tell me you’re not ditching us to study.
C: I’m not ditching you to study.
B: BULLSHIT!
C: I’m not, Buck. Something came up, and I gotta take care of it.
B: What could possibly come up on a fucking Sunday?
N: It’s Y/N. You had a study session this morning. You’re ditching us for her. That’s fucking great, Clint.
S: Stop it, guys.
C: I’m not ditching you guys. Jesus, grow up. It is possible for you guys to go out without me. The world will not implode.
B: I see what’s happening.
C: Do tell, oh, wise one.
B: You’re going soft.
C: Shut up.
N: Buck’s right. Y/N just started helping you and you’ve already changed so much.
C: For real guys, shut up.
S: Do what you need to do, Clint. They’ll be fine once they get over themselves.
B: Zip it, goodie-goodie.
N: Come on, Clint. We’ve had this night planned for months. Those tickets weren’t easy to get.
C: So? Give mine to someone else. I’m sure that won’t be difficult for you.
N: What the FUCK? You wanna do this now?
C: God, no. I don’t ever wanna do ‘this’ with you again.
N: Piss off.
C: Whatever. Fact of the matter is, I ain’t going with you guys. Get over it.
B: Fine. Just don’t come crying to us when you get bored with her.
C: Fuck you.

Clint growled and turned off his phone, throwing it across the room a moment later. Thankfully, it landed on the plush chair instead of smashing into the wall. He raked a hand over his face and shook off the frustrations from the texts.

He pushed away all thoughts of the people he called his friends, selfish assholes that they were, and started worrying about Y/N once again. He had never seen someone go down like that before, and honestly, it had scared him. Though Y/N was always smiling whenever he saw her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she got migraines that bad often. And if she did, how on God’s green earth was she still alive? Because if Clint had to experience what she had just gone through, he was sure it’d kill him.

Still wired from the event, Clint shoved himself off the couch and started wandering around the room. He said he had known Y/N; from the clothes she wore, to what she did on the weekends, and down to the kind of coffee she drank. But he hadn’t realized how much there was left to find out.

Take her family, for instance. She talked about her dad quite a bit, but it turned out, her dad was the only other one in any of the pictures decorating the walls and bookshelf. No mother, no siblings, no grandparents, aunts, or uncles. There were no family gatherings or vacations to another state, no road trips or nights out with her cousins. It was just her and her father.

Then there was her taste in music. Clint had her pegged for a soft rock kind of gal; Coldplay, James Blunt, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac. Nope, not the case. Y/N liked rock music from the eighties; Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard, AC/DC, and Queen. So much so, that there were three rows packed with vinyls, and there were more stacked off to the side.

“Learn something new every day,” he mumbled, a smirk on his lips.

After thoroughly looking through the records, Clint picked out a Metallica album and started playing it. Clint then hauled himself off the floor and headed into the kitchen in search of something to drink. When he opened the fridge, he groaned in disappointment. Instead of having a stereotypical college student’s fridge – leftover pizza, cans of beer, some random tupperware container that had started growing mold – Y/N’s fridge was full.

Of healthy food.

Every kind of fruit and vegetable Clint could name – and a few he couldn’t – lined the shelves, along with ready to prepare proteins. Her freezer wasn’t any better. There were bags of pre-prepared meals, the name and date in black marker. Things like butternut squash apple soup, mediterranean quinoa burgers, broccoli parmesan meatballs, kale roasted pepper, and feta egg muffins.

Shaking his head, he closed the doors and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it up with cool tap water a moment later. Thankfully, there had been some ice cubes in the freezer, which he dropped in, spilling some water on the counter. He wiped up the mess and grabbed his phone from the couch as he walked past, turning it on long enough to make one phone call.

“Quill’s pizza,” answered Gamora.

“Hey Gam,” Clint chuckled.

“Your usual?” she laughed as she waited to punch in his order.

Making sure to be careful, Clint slid off his shoes and set his feet on the table. “The only thing that’s changed is the address.”

“Where you at this time?”

“Y/N Coulson’s,” he admitted.

“No fuckin’ way. How’d you weasel your way in there?”

“Helped her get home,” Clint sighed wearily. “She got hit hard with a migraine.”

“Aren’t you a knight in shining armor?” Gamora snorted.

Clint tsk’d his friend. “Just make sure my pie is hot,” he joked before hanging up.

When Clint leaned further back into the couch, he looked over at a picture he hadn’t seen on his previous trek through. It was of Y/N, senior year of high school, and God, it took his breath away.

She was walking through a field of flowers, every color imaginable surrounding her, wearing a simple blouse with dark blue shorts, and no shoes. Her long hair was braided loosely and pulled over her shoulder, exposing her skin thanks in part due to the scoop neck shirt. The sun was shining down on her, bright and warm, causing her to close her eyes as she turned back toward the camera, a wide smile on her lips.

It was at that very moment, when his heart lurched in his chest and his mouth went completely dry, Clint knew he was in trouble.

It was your bladder that woke you. Only when you dug yourself out of the blankets and the ice pack fell onto the floor did you remember what had happened.

Four hours of tutoring Clint led to a headache which quickly escalated into a migraine. Shit, it had been a while since you had one that stole your vision. It was still there, pulsing heavily behind your eyes, but at least you could navigate through your dark room.

You shuffled into the bathroom and, without the lights on and the door firmly closed, emptied your bladder. You washed your hands before filling a glass with water and took one of the migraine pills the doctor had prescribed you. It was bitter and stuck to the back of your tongue, but you finally managed to get it down a moment later.

Food was next on the agenda. You didn’t know what time it was, but your stomach was protesting loudly to the lack of food you were giving it. When you opened the bathroom door, you caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong; pizza.

Despite the pain in your head, your heart hammered as you went on high alert. You crept down the hall and grew more confused as the sounds of Metallica reached your ears, along with someone humming. It was clear that you weren’t alone in your apartment, and you really wished you had located your cell phone before leaving your bedroom.

After the unknown visitor pushed off your couch, the humming grew closer, so you went into defensive mode. You kicked your leg out and tripped them, sending an empty plate clattering on the floor, quickly followed by the intruder. They landed on their knees with a groan, which made it easier for you to take them down. Only when your knees were on their biceps and you were straddling their chest did you realize who it was.

“Oh, shit,” you grumbled, embarrassment chasing the adrenaline through your system. “Clint.”

“Hi,” he huffed, an eyebrow arched in unamusement. “You, uh, gonna let me go?”

You blinked heavily a handful of times before you registered what he had said. You blamed it on the fact that it had been over two years since you had gotten laid. Huh, you had forgotten how amazing it felt to have a man between your legs.

“What? I mean, yeah, yeah,” you muttered as you scrambled off of him. You grabbed the plate off the floor and hurried into the kitchen, setting the plate in the sink.

“Thanks,” he said after he was standing upright. He adjusted his shirt before looking at you, his emerald orbs drilling into yours. ‘Hey, how’s the head?”

“It’s attached,” you answered. “How did you -”

“You don’t remember?” Clint was crossing the room and standing on the other side of the counter, his head tilted to the side.

You shook your head as you tried digging through the jumbled mess your brain was currently in. “We left the library and…,” you shrugged your shoulders.

“I asked if you wanted to grab a bite to eat, but you said you had a headache, that you wanted to get home” he explained. “And then, in the blink of eye, you dropped down and grabbed your head. I uh, I went through your bag, found your ID, and brought you home.”

“How’d I get into bed?”

“Me,” he answered coyly. “I mean, I got you to drink some water and take some excedrin before helping you into bed. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

It had been so long since you’ve had someone take care of you, someone that wasn’t a parent, someone that didn’t feel like they had to, that you didn’t know what to say except, “Thank you, Clint.”

He let out a huffing laugh, thankful that he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. “You’re welcome.”

“That doesn’t explain why there’s delivery pizza,” you teased, pointing to the box between you.

“Look,” he started and rounded the counter. “I was going to see if you had something, but all I found was this rabbit food.” He opened the fridge with a grand gesture, one that made you snort in laughter.

“What? I like my fruits and veggies,” you said, defending yourself.

Clint was trying really hard not to smile. “It’s rabbit food, Y/N,” he repeated himself.

“There’s steak in there,” you pointed out as you marched over to the fridge.

“What, where?” he gasped before bending over and actually taking his time to look through the food.

You pushed yourself up onto the counter and watched for almost a minute before instructing him to, “Open the bottom right drawer.”

When he did, he gave a grunting cheer. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I mean, I’d share, but you already ate,” you couldn’t help but say.

Clint closed the fridge and faced you. “I’m twenty-two. It takes more than a pizza to satisfy my hunger.”

At his words, electricity shot down your spine and settled right between your legs. “You do- don’t say.”

The pizza box was pushed into the garbage and the steaks took its place. “You’re lucky you got a migraine today.”

“Why is that?” you asked breathily from your perch, watching as he made himself at home.

“Because I’m gonna cook you one hell of a steak,” Clint announced with a wink.

FOUR

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Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap @chook007 @shhhs3cret @lilmissperfectlyimperfect