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: 907
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.

As soon as Clint walked into the classroom, Fury pulled Clint into his office.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Clint wondered, his nerves still frayed from the day before when he kissed Y/N.

“No, nothing like that,” Fury answered, rubbing at the skin around his eye patch. “It’s actually about Y/N.”

Panic swelled in Clint’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “What’s happened?”

Professor Fury gave a heaving sigh before saying, “There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll just say it. Y/N is in the hospital.”

A man that Clint recognized from the pictures in Y/N’s apartment was standing outside of a hospital room, hand raking over his face. It was Y/N’s father and he looked exhausted, worried, petrified.

“Mr. Coulson,” Clint murmured, hoping not to scare him. “My name’s Clint, I’m in class with Y/N.”

“Call me Phil,” he said, his hand held out. “Y/N’s talked about you.”

After shaking Y/N’s father’s hand, Clint shoved his into the pockets of his jacket. “Good things, I hope,” he quasi-joked.

“Mostly,” Phil chuckled. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

Unable to help himself, Clint looked over Phil’s shoulder to find Y/N lying in a bed. From what he could tell, her eyes were closed and she was hooked up to multiple monitors, pumps, and an IV drip.

“Oh, my God,” he gasped, a hand coming to his mouth. “Is she okay?”

Phil let out a huff through his nose and shook his head. “Is she okay?” he deadpanned, his eyebrow arched. “No, she’s not okay. She hasn’t been okay for years.”

Despite the emotion clogging his throat, Clint asked, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, shit. She hasn’t told you She has cancer, Clint. Leukemia,” Phil explained gently.

Clint felt as if his heart dropped into his stomach, and his stomach plummeted through the floor at his feet. He swayed back and forth, his mind swirling, his chest tight, too tight, his lungs unwilling to work. The walls were slowly creeping in and, God, it was so hot all of a sudden.

“Ca- cancer?” he managed to sputter, a hand raking through his hair.

Phil grabbed Clint’s elbow to steady the younger man. “Let’s go outside.”

While the cooler air helped Clint catch his breath, it did little to ease the mounting pressure in his chest. “Ho- how long does she have?”

“Honestly? We don’t know,” Phil answered with a shrug. “Could be tomorrow or next year. Y/N was diagnosed when she was thirteen and, at first, she responded well to the aggressive chemo treatments. The doctors gave her a seventy percent chance of going into remission.”

“Then what happened?”

Phil sat down at the picnic table, elbows on the edge, and a hand scraping over his face. “She went into remission, believe it or not. She went back for countless follow-up appointments and testing, and it was starting to look really good.”

Clint sat down across from Y/N’s dad and waited until Phil was ready to continue.

“The cancer came back freshman year of college, and it was manageable, at first. But then, late into her sophomore year, she stopped responding to treatment.”

“Wait, she… she stopped responding to treatment? Wha- what does that mean?” Clint desperately needed to know.

Phil rested his hand over Clint’s shaking ones. “It means the cancer is spreading a little more every day.”

“Her migraines,” Clint sighed heavily as he fully understood the gravity of the situation.

“They started as soon as the cancer started spreading to her brain.” Phil sniffled loudly as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Clint blew out a stuttering breath as tears stung his eyes. “Oh, my God,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s the reason for the promise.”

“What promise?” Phil wanted to know.

“When she agreed to help tutor me, she made me promise not to fall in love with her. I blew it off, thinking it was just a joke,” he explained.

Phil watched Clint carefully, gauging every microexpression that flashed across his face, reading his body language, and listening closely to the weight of his words. “You’re in love with her.”

“I… I think so, yeah,” Clint stammered, the corner of his lips pulling up in a lazy smile. “I didn’t mean to, it just… it all happened so fast.”

“Does she know how you feel?”

Clint was shaking his head. “No, I haven’t been able to.”

“Why don’t you go in and see her,” Phil offered.

“I thought she was sleeping.”

“She’s been sleeping for almost twelve hours,” Phil admitted with a sigh. “She’s bound to wake up soon.”

The butterflies that took up residence in Clint’s chest every time he saw Y/N came flooding back. “You don’t mind?”

“Truth be told, I could use some coffee.”

Clint shuffled into Y/N’s room and took his time making his way over to her bed, and when he was finally by her side, the sight of her about drove him to his knees. Her skin was ashen, her hair was greasy and stringy, pulled into a thin braid that was placed over her shoulder, and the circles under her eyes were almost black, making her closed eyes appear to be sunken deep into her skull.

He dropped into the chair that Phil had no doubt been sitting in, carefully took hold of her hand, and waited until she woke.

SEVEN

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang​ @sunriserose1023​​ @moderapoppins​ @nomadstevergxrs​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @fatalcrossbow​ @phoenixwench​ @cattfeine​ @jbarnes87​ @shynara51​ @kanupps06​​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos​ @mcdanno71​ @female-accountant​ @badassbaker​​ @mittenskittie​ @icysquares​ @jobean12-blog​ @bella-ca​ @brieannakeogh​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @pebblesz892​​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @andiyholly​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @akamaiden​ @glitterquadricorn​ @carls1022​ @marvelellie​ @neeadinghugs​ @minahraven​ @gigistorm​ @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl​ @tinyfistwarrior​ @coal000​ @capsheadquaters​​ @sebstanwintersoldier27​ @denise1605 @alyssaj23​ @rainbowkisses31​ @piensa-bonito​ @absolutelydreadful​ @oldwhalien @brastrangled​ @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @roonyxx​ @doewhisper-of-windclan @feelmyroarrrr​ ​ @starryeyes-sadmind​

Clint: @yavanna80​ @bookscoffeeandracoons​ @whisperingwillows​ @lovelyladylilac​ @thricethechrises​ @proudhufflepuff77​ @mysterysiria​

Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap​ @chook007​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @shhhs3cret​ @stark-red19​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​

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.

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.

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.

SIX

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang​ @sunriserose1023​​ @moderapoppins​ @nomadstevergxrs​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @fatalcrossbow​ @phoenixwench​ @cattfeine​ @jbarnes87​ @shynara51​ @kanupps06​​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos​ @mcdanno71​ @female-accountant​ @badassbaker​​ @mittenskittie​ @icysquares​ @jobean12-blog​ @bella-ca​ @brieannakeogh​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @pebblesz892​​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @andiyholly​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @akamaiden​ @glitterquadricorn​ @carls1022​ @marvelellie​ @neeadinghugs​ @minahraven​ @gigistorm​ @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl​ @tinyfistwarrior​ @coal000​ @capsheadquaters​​ @sebstanwintersoldier27​ @denise1605 @alyssaj23​ @rainbowkisses31​ @piensa-bonito​ @absolutelydreadful​ @brastrangled​ @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @roonyxx​ @doewhisper-of-windclan @feelmyroarrrr​

Clint: @yavanna80​ @bookscoffeeandracoons​ @whisperingwillows​ @lovelyladylilac​ @thricethechrises​ @proudhufflepuff77​ @mysterysiria​

Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap​ @chook007​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @shhhs3cret​ @stark-red19​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​

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: 1,204
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.

It had been so long since you’d had dinner with another person who wasn’t your father that you almost forgot how to hold a simple conversation. The fact that the steak practically melted in your mouth didn’t help matters, nor did the fact that your company, Clint Barton, kept looking at you the way he was.

“What?” you finally asked, reaching for the napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clint gave a chuckle and shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” you wanted to know, growing self-conscious under his gaze.

“Nothin’,” was his simple answer.

You didn’t believe it for one second. “Liar,” you mused, your eyebrow arched.

Clint grabbed his left pec with an exaggerated groan. “Your words hurt me, my lady.”

You gave a snorting laugh. “Sticks and stones,” you teased him before shoving a bite of steak in your mouth and moaning in appreciation. You hadn’t meant to let it slip out, but there it was, clearly audible and sensual-sounding.

One of Clint’s eyebrows rose and he shifted in his seat. “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

A blush colored your cheeks and neck. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “I just… this steak is really good.”

“My dad left when I was little,” Clint admitted, his eyes falling to his plate. “My mom taught me how to cook.”

“Oh, Clint,” you lamented, your heart clenching in understanding. “I’m so sorry.”

Clint gave a small wave of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the one that drove him away. He didn’t want to be a father, said my mother trapped him.”

You reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Neither of you deserved that, especially you. You were just a kid.”

“Thank you for saying that,” he murmured, turning his hand over, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in a way that made a shiver roll down your spine.

You slid your hand from his and took a long pull of your water, which you then choked on when Clint asked a question.

“What about you? I noticed there were only pictures of you with your dad. At least, I assume it’s your dad,” Clint chuckled, a tinge of pink coloring his neck. “You don’t have a secret older boyfriend, do you?”

After you got your coughing under control, you gave him an answer. “No, no, nothing that salacious. It’s just me and my dad, nothing exciting or crazy.”

“We’ve got more in common than I thought,” Clint admitted. “Me without a father, you without a mother.”

Grief clogged your throat and made your heart stutter painfully in your chest. “Yeah, look at us,” you muttered sullenly before pushing away from the table. The rest of your food was dumped into the trash with a loud scrape of the fork against ceramic. You were rinsing off the plate when Clint approached the island.

“What happened there?” he wanted to know. “What did I say wrong?”

Tears sprang to your eyes whether you wanted them to or not. “No- nothing. I’m fine,” you lied.

He murmured your name with something that sounded like pity. “You can talk to me, you know. I know I’m only here because you agreed to tutor me and because of earlier. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

You gripped the edge of the counter, groaning at the bite of it in your palm. “I was six when she died. She went into town to get some more fruit juice. She got hit by a drunk driver doing seventy through a red light. The doctor said she didn’t feel a thing, that she died on impact.”

“Jesus,” Clint hissed, a hand scraping over his face.

“It’s my fault she’s dead,” you choked out, your head falling forward.

Clint was at your side, a large hand smoothing up and down your back. “I know that it can feel like that, but it’s not your fault.”

“It was my bir- birthday, Clint,” you managed to say. “And I threw a damn fit because she didn’t get the juice I wanted.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, comforting you as the overwhelming grief and guilt took hold, spilling over as the dam holding it at bay shattered to a million pieces. You hated how all it took was one question for you to fall apart. It had been almost twenty years, and there you were, crying in the arms of a man you hardly knew as if she had died only yesterday.

Clint didn’t say anything, just stood there and held you until you gained your composure, which took entirely too long, in your opinion. When you pulled back, you wiped the tears from your face with a paper towel and wouldn’t look Clint in the eye.

“Look, I really appreciate you helping me home and cooking me dinner -”

“Yeah, no, I’ll get out of your hair,” he sighed, disappointment glittering in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Clint.” God, you hated apologizing all the damn time.

Clint was shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of day. God knows I didn’t help matters.” He grabbed his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and gave you a warm smile before he left.

The guilt you were feeling before made your stomach roll. “Way to go, Y/N.”

After cleaning up the kitchen, you took a quick shower, slipped into your pajamas, and called your dad. It had been about a week since you had talked to him, and after the intense migraine earlier, you knew he’d be pissed if you didn’t tell him.

“Hey, kid,” your dad greeted you warmly.

“Hey, old man,” you joked, settling into bed.

Phil muted the television before asking, “How ya been?”

You really didn’t want to tell him, but even if you tried lying, he’d call you out on it. “Today wasn’t the greatest.”

“One of your headaches.” It wasn’t a question.

“It came out of nowhere,” you tried to explain. “I was helping a friend study -”

“Y/N,” he sighed heavily. “You’re doing it again.”

“I am not, dad,” you argued.

“Yes, you are,” Phil shot back, not in anger. “You’re taking on too much. Again.”

You swiped a hand over your face, barely able to suppress a yawn. “If I don’t help him, he won’t graduate, dad.”

“Kid, it’s not your job to help everyone, all of the time. You’re not a superhero.”

“Helping Clint isn’t going to kill me,” you snapped, grunting in frustration in the next breath. “I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t… I’m just tired.”

Phil blew out a shuddering breath, and if you closed your eyes, you could see his eyes grow teary. “Get some sleep, okay? And do me a favor, kid.”

“What’s the favor?” you asked, even though you already knew what he was going to say.

“I know helping people is ingrained in your DNA, just take it easy, okay?” he begged of you.

Despite having cried your heart out earlier, tears pricked your eyes. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Phil sighed. “Sleep well, love.”

“I love you, dad,” you rasped.

“To the moon and back.”

FIVE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang​ @sunriserose1023​​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @moderapoppins​ @nomadstevergxrs​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @fatalcrossbow​ @phoenixwench​ @cattfeine​ @jbarnes87​ @shynara51​ @kanupps06​​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos​ @mcdanno71​ @female-accountant​ @badassbaker​​ @mittenskittie​ @icysquares​ @jobean12-blog​ @bella-ca​ @brieannakeogh​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @pebblesz892​​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @andiyholly​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @akamaiden​ @glitterquadricorn​ @carls1022​ @marvelellie​ @neeadinghugs​ @minahraven​ @gigistorm​ @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl​ @tinyfistwarrior​ @coal000​ @capsheadquaters​​ @sebstanwintersoldier27​ @denise1605 @brastrangled​ @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @roonyxx​ @doewhisper-of-windclan

Clint: @yavanna80​ @bookscoffeeandracoons​ @whisperingwillows​ @lovelyladylilac​ @thricethechrises​ @proudhufflepuff77​ @mysterysiria​

Promise Me…: @dean-in-the-devils-trap​ @chook007​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @shhhs3cret​ @stark-red19​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​

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

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang @sunriserose1023 @feelmyroarrrr @moderapoppins @nomadstevergxrs @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @fatalcrossbow @phoenixwench @cattfeine @jbarnes87 @shynara51 @kanupps06 @girl-next-door-writes @palaiasaurus64 @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos @mcdanno71 @female-accountant @badassbaker @mittenskittie @icysquares @jobean12-blog @bella-ca @brieannakeogh @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @speakinvain @diinofayce @pebblesz892 @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @prettybubblesintheair @unlikelygalaxygiver @andiyholly @everythingisoverrated @akamaiden @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl @tinyfistwarrior @coal000 @brastrangled @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Clint: @yavanna80 @bookscoffeeandracoons @whisperingwillows @lovelyladylilac @thricethechrises @proudhufflepuff77 @mysterysiria

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

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: 1,959
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.

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.

Six o’clock came a lot faster than normal. Probably because you were dreading going to the campus library. Between high school and college, you had tutored many students, even going so far as to help several adults that had gone without their GED. You also volunteered at the local animal shelter and rescues; spending time with the depressed, scared, and heartbroken animals.

But Clint Barton wasn’t any of those people. He partied every night of the week, hung out with the wrong crowd, allowed them to influence his decisions. Yes, he was a grown ass man that could do as he wished, therefore, you had no right to sit there and think of him as if he were someone you cared about. You didn’t have time to care about someone like him.

Wow. How had you become that person? You had been compassionate and empathetic your entire life, putting others before yourself, no matter the situation.

Angry at yourself, you shoved out of bed, took a quick shower, got dressed, grabbed your bag, and headed out of the apartment. It wasn’t a long walk, which you were thankful for, but the air was crisper than you thought it would be. So, upon seeing that your favorite coffee stand was open, you grabbed a cup, put on your best game face, and strolled into the library.

To your surprise, Clint was already there. Granted, he had his feet kicked up onto the table and was leaning back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs. His head was hanging back and his eyes were closed.

“Of course he’s sleeping,” you grumbled yourself.

“I heard that,” Clint chuckled.

“Damn it,” you ground out before approaching the table.

“I heard that, too.” Clint managed not to tip the chair over as he brought his feet off the table.

You set your bag on the table and noticed the lack of books. “Uh, where are your things?”

“What things?”

Your shoulders sagged slightly and you had to work really hard at not rolling your eyes. “The textbook? A notebook and pen? Or a laptop. I’d be happy with a laptop.”

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got none of that.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you groaned.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

You were shaking your head at his half-assed apology. “You can find yourself another tutor,” you said matter-of-factly before turning on your heel and marching out the way you had come.

Clint quickly caught up to you and grabbed your elbow. “I don’t want another tutor. I want you to tutor me.”

“You’re not even taking this seriously, Clint,” you chastised him as you turned around. “Why should I waste my time with you?”

“Ouch,” he murmured, scratching at the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought nothing.”

“Clint,” you sighed. “You might not graduate. You need to drop whatever act you’re doing, and take this seriously.”

He scraped a hand over his face. “I know, Y/N.”

“I really don’t think you do,” you insisted.

“I know,” Clint said sternly.

Ignoring his tone, you went on. “You can’t do this if you continue to show up unprepared and hungover.”

Clint’s green eyes flashed as he ground out, “I know.”

“Speaking of, if you think that you are going to catch up in Fury’s class while going out and getting drunk every night -”

“I know,” he shouted. “Jesus Christ, I know.”

You took a step back and shook your head. “I can’t do this, Clint. You need to find yourself another tutor.”

“Y/N, please,” he begged. “I need your help, and if I know anything about you, it’s that you can’t just walk away from someone in need of your help.”

“Please don’t pretend like you know me, okay?”

Clint’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “But I do, I do. We’ve had all the same classes since freshman year. Why you’re Y/N Coulson. You sit at lunch table 7, which isn’t exactly the reject table, but is definitely in self exile territory. You have exactly one sweater. You like to look at your feet when you walk. Oh, oh, and yeah, for fun, you like to tutor on weekends and hang out with the cool kids from ‘Stars and Planets.’ Now, how does that sound?

“Thoroughly predictable, nothing I haven’t heard before,” you say without missing a beat.

He narrows his eyes as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “You don’t care what people think about you?”

“No, I don’t.”

When you say nothing more, Clint shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet.

“I really am sorry,” he lamented, his head dipping to catch your eye.

“Careful, Clint. You sound like you actually mean it,” you teased.

“I do mean it,” he insisted softly. “I really, really need your help, and I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

You pulled in a series of steady breaths as you figured out what you were going to do. At the thought of walking away and not helping him, guilt rushed through you, settling heavily in your chest. It was thick and uncomfortable, making your heart race and a sheen of sweat appear on your forehead.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” you started. “I’ll help you as long as you show up fully prepared and sober.”

“Can you clarify sober?” Clint asked as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

After clearing the arguing tone from your throat, you said, “Not hungover, not impaired in any kind of way, sober.”

“I mean -”

“Non-negotiable,” you added, cutting off his disagreement.

Clint blew out a heavy breath through his nose. “Fine,” he ground out.

“Shall we get started?” you asked with a wide smile.

“You, sober?” Bucky snorted. “That’ll be a first.”

“Shut up, Barnes,” Clint snapped before throwing back the shot that had been placed in front of him.

Bucky clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I get it, man; you want to graduate. And if my GPA was as bad as yours, I’d be askin’ for help. But, Y/N, really?”

“What’s wrong with Y/N?” Steve piped in, confusion heavy on his brows.

“Oh, nothin’,” Bucky laughed, his smile widening when Y/N walked into the bar at that moment. “If you like that kind of style.”

Nat poked her head around Clint. “Yeah, I wore that dress in the fourth grade.”

Y/N was carrying several large boxes that were overflowing with clothes, her hair was haphazardly tucked into a low knot, and she narrowly missed several patron’s heads as she wove through the crowd.

Bucky draped his arm around Clint’s shoulders after he turned in his seat. “Hey, it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for. I mean, little maintenance, she might not look too bad, you know.”

As Y/N drew closer, Clint couldn’t help but notice the bags under her eyes. He was about to ask if she needed help when Nat called out, “Nice sweater.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N gives Natasha a sweet-sounding and heartfelt, “Thank you.” And then, she looked at Clint.

For some odd reason his mouth went dry and his heart kick-started in his chest. The moment was over almost as fast as it started, and Y/N was turning away, heading towards the back of the bar.

Bucky stood in front of Clint and twirled around. “Thank you,” he giggled in a mocking fashion.

Clint rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Whatever, man.”

Natasha made a groan of disappointment and wrapped her arm around her ex-boyfriend’s. “What’s happened to you, Clint? You used to be fun.”

“Back off, Nat,” Clint ground out, signaling the bartender for another shot of tequila. “We broke up, and me not being fun, wasn’t the reason.”

“Fuck you,” she sneered.

Clint yanked his arm free as he turned to face the fuming redhead. “Been there, done that.”

“Better get back to your shitty apartment and get sober before teacher gets upset.” Natasha stormed off, curly hair bouncing with each stomp of her feet.

When the door slammed closed, Bucky cringed. “Why you gotta piss her off all the time, man?”

“Back off, Barnes,” Clint warned his friend through his teeth.

“Jesus,” Bucky laughed. “I was just playin’ around.”

Steve finished drinking his water. “Come on, Buck,” he urged his boyfriend. “You’re drunk.”

Bucky tried arguing, but Steve tangled their fingers together and pulled Bucky into him to press their lips together. Without another word, the couple wound their way through the crowd, disappearing for the night.

Clint, in his newfound loneliness, turned around and signaled for the bartender. “One more.”

The clothes that no longer fit, you threw into a couple of boxes and brought them down to the bar. Your friend, and owner of said bar, had a daughter that was about your size. You tried explaining that all your clothes were either hand-me-downs or bought from a thrift store, but that didn’t matter. Money was tight, and the need to save money was greater than having the latest fashion.

What you hadn’t expected to see when you got there was Clint, surrounded by his friends, drinking the night away. You had hoped he would take the second chance to heart, but the sight of him made your stomach clench painfully with disappointment. You tried to ignore it, but it only twisted tighter the closer you got.

The stunning redhead pretended to pay you a compliment. “Nice sweater.”

Without missing a beat, you smiled sweetly at her and said, “Thank you.” And then you looked at Clint, which was a bad idea.

Clint’s dark hair was slicked back, sides and back shaved close to the scalp, and the leather jacket he was wearing looked as dark as oil in the dim lighting. When he licked his lips, you knew you had to get out of there before you made a fool of yourself.

Shaking your head, you turned away and headed toward the back of the bar.

Once the boxes were on your friend’s desk, you dropped onto the beat-up sofa and worked to catch your breath. Your back ached, and your legs and arms were shaking as if you had just ran a marathon. You made a note to use a dolly next time, if there was one.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest when you stood up, turned off the light, and locked the door behind you. On your way around the bar, you found Clint still sitting there, only he was completely alone. You watched as he signaled for another drink, tossing it back as soon as he could.

Just as he was finished, you sidled up to him and said, “Never had you pegged for self-sabotage.”

He gave a shake of his head before facing you. “Looks like you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I suppose you’re going to give up on me.”

The anger and disappointment that were bubbling in your gut and chest dissipated as soon as your eyes met his. There was something you hadn’t seen before in his green orbs; sorrow and honesty. Whatever happened both before and after you got to the bar had really upset him.

“No,” you said, surprising even yourself.

“You’re not?” he inquired with a lopsided smile. “How do you know I won’t continue to drink, that I won’t show up tomorrow hungover?”

“Call it a hunch,” you answered with a shrug. “I’ll see you in the morning, Clint.”

He was pulling cash out of his back pocket to settle his tab. “I’ll be prepared.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you mused, shoving away from the bar.

THREE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang​ @sunriserose1023​​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @moderapoppins​ @nomadstevergxrs​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @fatalcrossbow​ @phoenixwench​ @cattfeine​ @jbarnes87​ @shynara51​ @kanupps06​​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos​ @mcdanno71​ @female-accountant​ @badassbaker​​ @mittenskittie​ @icysquares​ @jobean12-blog​ @bella-ca​ @brieannakeogh​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @pebblesz892​​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @andiyholly​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @akamaiden​ @glitterquadricorn​ @carls1022​ @marvelellie​ @neeadinghugs​ @minahraven​ @gigistorm​ @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl​ @tinyfistwarrior​ @brastrangled​ @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @roonyxx​ @doewhisper-of-windclan

Clint: @yavanna80​ @bookscoffeeandracoons​ @whisperingwillows​ @lovelyladylilac​ @thricethechrises​ @proudhufflepuff77​ @mysterysiria​

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

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: 1,596
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. 

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.

It really wasn’t that difficult, getting the bare minimum to pass Professor Fury’s class. Yet, Clint Barton managed to do just that.

Fury said that Clint was, “Partying too much, coming to class drunk, hungover, smelling like an ashtray. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Clint couldn’t deny it; he had done all of that, and so much more. Although, he didn’t smoke, it was his friends that enjoyed the sting of tobacco in their lungs. Clint had tried it once, but ended up coughing so hard that he threw up. He was twelve, and had gotten a hell of an ass whooping from his dad when Clint came home smelling of Marlboro Menthols.

Then at fifteen, he snuck one of his dad’s beers from the fridge in the garage. At sixteen, he tested the boundaries of his newfound freedom in the form of his freshly-acquired driver’s license. He stayed out late, got pulled over, then arrested; seemingly doing anything he could to defy his parent’s wishes.

And then, on his eighteenth birthday, his parents died. Some drunk asshole had run a red light and plowed through the car, passenger side. Edith, his mother, died on impact. His father, Harold, wasn’t so lucky. He was a twisted and bloody mess of a man that didn’t die until the firemen began peeling away the layers of the metal that surrounded him.

Understandably, Clint was a mess. He drank all the time, dropped out of high school, became that kid in the neighborhood. Whereas other people might go to the gym, or find someone’s ass to kick at a dive bar; Clint took out his rage on the targets in the backyard with his bow and arrow. The set had been a gift from his parents on his sixth birthday, and he had taken to the sport extremely well, earning himself the nickname Hawkeye.

When he was nineteen, he got sober and went back to high school. He knew that if his parents had been alive, the way he had been behaving would have sent them into a fit. He worked hard and graduated the following spring, even earning himself a scholarship from the state’s college.

He had done well for his freshman year, kept his nose in the books and had a healthy relationship with his professors. But then, he got bored, started slacking off every now and again. Those times grew closer together, until he was only making it to class once a week, and cheating off of several people. Sometimes he got a good grade, other times he didn’t, but he managed to skate his way through sophomore and junior year.

And then, at the start of senior year, he found the perfect person to cheat off of; Y/N Coulson. She was quiet, kept mostly to herself, and she was insanely smart. She’s also part of the reason Fury was red in the face, yelling at Clint as if he had been the one to poke out his eye.

“Relax, Fury,” Clint said. “It’s not that big ‘a deal.”

The woman to his right scoffed loudly as she glared at him. “Not that big of a deal? You cheated.”

“To be fair, sweetheart,” he sniggered, turning to face the drably dressed Y/N. “It isn’t the first time.”

“Why do you think I wrote all the wrong answers, jerk?” she spat out. “Now, Professor Fury, if you don’t mind, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Fury gave her a small smile. “Sure thing, Miss Coulson. And say hi to your old man for me, yeah?”

Y/N assured Fury that she would do exactly that before sending a scowl straight at Clint. She hurried out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

“What’s got her panties in a twist?” Clint joked.

“Look, Mister Barton,” Fury said after pulling in several deep and relaxing breaths. “I know you haven’t had it easy the last handful of years -”

Clint was out of his seat and glaring at his professor. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“But let me be crystal clear on this,” he stated calmly. “Due to your… repetitive cheating and your behavior in class, you are hereby put on academic probation. In order to graduate, you need to maintain an average of a 3.5 GPA.”

“But I have a 3.5,” Clint protested.

“You had a 3.5,” Fury clarified. “You have a 2.3.”

Feeling absolutely defeated before he had even begun to formulate a recovery plan, Clint rolled his eyes. “Might as well just fail me now.”

Wearing a smirk, Fury began to gather up his files. “You could always ask Miss Coulson, she’s an amazing tutor.”

“No, no fuckin’ way,” Clint argued. “First of all, she hates me.”

“With good reason.”

“Whatever,” he murmured. “Secondly, I can do this on my own.”

With the files in his bag, Fury rounded the table and came to a stop in front of his student. “Clint, there are less than four months until the end of the school year. You don’t have time to do it on your own.”

As soon as you were inside the small apartment you had been renting, you made a beeline for the couch, slipping off your shoes and setting your books on the table before dropping onto the ratted piece of furniture. God, you were so tired you could feel it in the marrow of your bones. If you could, you’d probably try and sleep for a month straight, but there was the small matter of the make-up exam the following morning.

In the twenty-two years of your life, you had somehow managed to never hate a single person. That was until you met Clint Barton. He was arrogant, boisterous, and rude, bringing it upon himself to always comment on the second-hand clothes you wore. And then, if that weren’t bad enough, he had the audacity to cheat off of you!

The first time you knew it happened, you were seeing red. You wanted to tell your professor, an old friend of your father’s, but you knew that it could be difficult to prove. After all, you weren’t the only person he sat behind, and several other students had provided the same answers.

Then it hit you; the only way to prove that Clint was cheating off of you was to give the most ridiculous and asinine answers you could think of. You hadn’t actually thought he would fall for it, but he did; hook, line, and sinker. God, what an asshole.

Rather than taking the opportunity to sleep in, to semi-recover from the hellacious week you’d experienced, you were going to spend your entire Saturday morning taking the exam. You couldn’t even have a glass of wine tonight; talk about a buzzkill.

With a protesting groan, you pushed yourself up, got a large glass of water, and went about studying the material once again. Sure, you could quote it verbatim, with your eyes closed, while twirling around in a circle, but you couldn’t be too careful, right?

Clint, the last person you wanted to see at that very moment, was leaning against the wall when you emerged from Fury’s classroom. You shook your head and stormed away.

“Y/N,” he called out as he gave chase.

Without slowing down, you looked over your shoulder and gave a heaving sigh. “What do you want, Clint?”

“I need your help to pass Fury’s class,” he explained quickly.

That got your attention. You turned around to face him. “Clint Baron’s asking me for help?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a shy smile.

You pretended to give it some thought before saying, “Okay, I’ll pray for you.” Without waiting for his reaction, you spun around and resumed walking across the quad.

“Y/N, no, look,” Clint called out.

“You’ve obviously never asked anybody for help before, right?” you inquired, glancing over your shoulder.

Clint was scratching the back of his neck as he muttered, “No.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly amused at the sight of him; campus hottie – or so you had been told – all flushed and shy because he was out of his comfort zone. There were a million micro-expressions flashing across his face, sparkling in his mischievous eyes, and you were most definitely enjoying watching him squirm.

“A request like yours requires flattery and groveling. It can’t be all about you. It has to be for the common good of everybody,” you went on to explain.

“It is for the common good,” he argued. “Please, Y/N. I’m… I’m not going to graduate if you don’t help me.”

Damn it. How did he know exactly what to say to get you to give it even a second thought? You couldn’t do it, could you, help him, not only study but, graduate? Your plate was already full, threatening to spill over. So, why were finding it easy to agree?

Pulling in the cool air deep into your lungs, you turned to face Clint. “Okay. One condition though.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” Why you had said that, you hadn’t a clue, but once the words were out of your mouth, you couldn’t take them back.

Clint chuckled low in his throat. “That’s not a problem.”

“Okay. Meet me tomorrow morning in the library,” you instructed coolly. “Not a minute after six.”

He went to argue, but the words died on his lips the minute you arched your brow at him. “Okay, okay. Six on the nose.”

TWO

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @badassbaker @fatalcrossbow @sunriserose1023 @alyssaj23 @ssweet-empowerment @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @palaiasaurus64 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @nyxveracity @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @melaninmarvel @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @wildefire @capsheadquaters @saharzek @speakinvain @diinofayce @mizzzpink @pebblesz892 @stevieang @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @lea—-b @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @moisttoas-t @nuggsmumreads @jobean12-blog @fireismysaftey @msshadowboxer @vechkinfan @prettybubblesintheair @kanupps06 @rainbowkisses31 @janeyboo @banlaochranda @ellie-bee242 @shieldsandsunsets @evanstandream @punkrockhufflefluff @winters-beauty @unlikelygalaxygiver @thirtiethnovember @sexyvixen7 @whope123 @mscaptainjones @awkward-walking-potato @memory-of-a-goldfish @somethingwitty-somethingsweet @minarawr @xserenax-13 @andiyholly @bionic-buckyb @princess76179 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @female-accountant @whitemoonstag @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake @nerdgirljen @everythingisoverrated @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87 @akamaiden @part-time-patronus @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @emmawatsonbelle @joannie95 @jamesbbbarnes-blog @buckysothiccbarnes @paintballkid711 @teafocus @cxptain-bxcky @letsdisneythings @gonnadiereading @nomadstevergxrs @kaliforniacoastalteens @marvelcomicsz @tutis24 @i-speak-sarcasmmm @thebiggestmarvelnerd @attemptsatliving @thisismysecrethappyplace @glitterquadricorn @carls1022 @marvelellie @feelmyroarrrr @neeadinghugs @minahraven @gigistorm @sea040561 @brastrangled @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @xtina2191 @roonyxx @doewhisper-of-windclan

Clint: @yavanna80 @bookscoffeeandracoons @whisperingwillows @lovelyladylilac @thricethechrises @proudhufflepuff77 @mysterysiria

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