Summary: It’s time for your family’s annual vacation and, just like every previous year, you are single. Unwilling to put up with the snide remarks and being the butt of everyone’s jokes, you make a drastic decision and ask your very attractive friend, Clint, to be your boyfriend for a week.
Word Count: 1,277
Warnings for the series: Angst, language, fluff, maybe some smut, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: There simply aren’t enough Clint Barton fics out there. Also, I’m a sucker for a good trope. GIF credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Your phone was ringing, which you expected; your mother was anything if not prompt, almost to a fault. What you hadn’t expected was for your stomach to somersault before dropping almost painfully. You briefly thought of not answering it, let it go to voicemail, but you didn’t think you could handle hearing the disappointment in your mother’s voice. Either way, you’d hear that tone. Might as well get it over with.
“Hey, ma,” you greeted with a fake smile.
“Y/N,” she cooed. “Are you alright?”
“Peachy,” you lied as you pushed off the couch and started pacing around the small apartment. “Why do you ask?”
She was in the kitchen, as always, pulling something out of the oven, probably a tray of cookies. “You took a while to answer the phone is all.” There it was, the tone.
“I was in the bathroom.” Another lie, but you couldn’t very well tell your mother that you were thinking about ignoring the call.
“Oh, well, I hope you washed your hands.”
You pulled in a deep breath before saying, “Yes, mom. I washed my hands.”
“Phones are filthy, you know,” she continued. Her voice had only recently become irritating, especially when she told you something for the millionth time.
Another deep breath, in through your nose, and out through your mouth. “The filthiest.”
“Anyway,” she hummed. “The family vacation starts next weekend and -”
While other, seemingly normal people enjoyed the company of their family members, the annual Cargill family vacation was the bane of your existence. It was up north, secluded, no wi-fi – which didn’t really bother you, for an entire week. No one else, just you and your ever-growing family.
You weren’t an only child, but you were the oldest, and also very single. Pietro and Wanda, two of your siblings that had been adopted when you were seven and they were two, were married and each had two children. Next was Sam, he was adopted when you were both ten, and his wife was currently expecting their third child. Last, but certainly not least, was Wade; adopted when you were thirteen and he was twelve. He had been severely burned when he was a toddler, covering almost every inch of his body. Even he had someone to call his own; Vanessa, and she had just started sporting a two-carat diamond engagement ring.
It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family, you did, but there were times you wanted to punch them in their faces, every single one of them. Being perpetually single in a family full of soon-to-be-married and married siblings, and a set of parents that were about to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary, you were the odd woman out, and therefore became the butt of everyone’s jokes.
“Are you listening to me?” your mother demanded to know.
“Yeah,” was your answer.
She blew out a huff of annoyance. “Then what was I talking about?”
“This is Vanessa’s first time, and you don’t want her feeling left out,” you rattled off, surprising even yourself.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Which means no running off -”
“Mom,” you groaned. “I’m a grown ass woman, not a child.”
“Language, dear,” she chastised. “Now, will anyone be joining you?” Her voice was dripping in patronization.
You don’t know what came over you, but instead of giving her the answer she expected, you said, “As a matter of fact, there will be. His name is Clint, Clint Barton.”
There was a moment of silence, a rare occasion for your mom. “Oh, that’s unexpected.”
Gee, thanks, mom.
“I didn’t want to say anything sooner because it’s still pretty new.” You were cracking the knuckles in your right hand, a nervous tic you had developed over the last couple of years, something that helped you tolerate the looks of pity your family members were always throwing at you.
“Well, I’m excited to meet him.” The oven door closed loudly, making you jump where you stood.
You ran a hand through your hair and swallowed down the anxiety that was clogging your throat. “He’s excited to meet you, too.”
After struggling through the next fifteen minutes of your mother’s excited ramblings, you disconnected the call and dropped to the couch. Lying to your mom was one thing. Lying to your entire family for a week was completely different. Plus, it wasn’t a small lie, like faking an illness or injury. You had just told the biggest lie of your life, and it was too late to turn back.
All you needed to do now was convince Clint to be your fake boyfriend.
Ninety minutes, one large pizza, and a six pack of beer later, you finally told Clint what you had done. To his credit, he didn’t run away into the night, screaming at the top of his lungs. He dropped the crust into the pizza box and finished off the can of beer, his green eyes searching your face.
“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?” he asked, voice steady and low.
“I know, it’s stupid, and I’m sorry,” you groaned. Your squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. “I just… you have no idea what it’s like.”
Clint shifted in his seat. “What what’s like? If you haven’t noticed, I’m single, too.”
Oh, I noticed. Trust me.
You and Clint had been friends for almost five years, having bumped into each other as you were moving into the building. After dropping his mail off, Clint helped you bring in the rest of your belongings. From that moment on, if he wasn’t at your place after work and on the weekends, you were at his; eating and watching Netflix.
Did you have a crush on him? Sure, and not just because of he was good looking. Clint was empathetic and always listened, offering his advice only when you asked for it. He laughed at your jokes, even the lame ones, and held the door open for you. He had a wicked sense of humor, and wasn’t the kind of man that hid his emotions.
Clinton Francis Barton was the kind of man that you knew would make you happy and take care of you for the rest of your life. Too bad you had been too scared to pursue any other avenue than the current relationship. Until your mother called, that is.
“It’s not that, being single,” you sighed. “It’s my family. They’re… they mean well.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table.
Obviously, Clint knew about the annual vacation. What he didn’t know was that when you got home, you would cry in the shower, staying there until the water ran cold. He didn’t know about the journals you kept, or the therapist you had seen for six months, the one that gave you a prescription for Xanax.
You blinked away the tears that pricked your eyes. “They make jokes, and at first I laughed right along with them, but -”
“Words hurt like a bitch,” Clint interrupted.
“You got that right,” you scoffed. “So, what do you say? Will you pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Say yes. Oh, God, please say yes.
Clint gave a lopsided smile before answering. “It would be a privilege.”
“Really?” you gasped. You were positive he was going to say no, that you needed to tell your mother the truth. Then again, Clint was the type of friend that never left you hanging.
“How could I say no to a week with my favorite girl?” He gave you a wink before standing up to throw away the pizza box.
Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.
TWO
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