Chapter Text
When Kate was a teenager, she would daydream about one day meeting her favourite hero. She’d zone out in class and imagine a thousand different scenarios, ranging from the implausible, like another alien attack that she would jump in to help with, dazzling the Avengers with her skill but especially Hawkeye, who would fawn over the girl emulating him with a bow; to the believable, like sneaking into a press conference, or one day using her mother’s company’s prestige to finally get herself invited to one of the banquets. She’d gotten into trouble more than once for not paying attention in class, but she never cared enough to change her behaviour, because staring out the window and making up entire conversations between herself and a certain tall, strong, rugged hero was much more interesting than AP calculus.
Then the world ended, sort of. Half of it did, anyway. The other half descended into anarchy and war, for a good while, before things finally started to settle down and people came together to cry and mourn and ultimately, move on as one world. The Avengers were a thing of the past. Sure, there were some members left and other new ones, keeping some peace on and around the earth, but the OGs were scattered, retired, gone, they lost hope just as much as the rest of the world did, and everyone knew only the Black Widow was left. Kate would have believed Clint Barton to be part of the decimation too, if it weren’t for the press release and the fact that she went to the Wall of the Vanished more than a few times, not only to read the names of her lost friends and classmates, but also to ensure herself that he wasn’t on it. It didn’t escape her notice that the other Bartons were on the Wall.
She often pondered about him, though perhaps not as dreamily as she used to. World tragedy really made you grow up fast. She didn’t daydream of battles she could jump into or banquets she could catch his eye in anymore. She felt guilty sometimes of how she’d wished his wife and family hadn’t been real so she could continue in her little fantasy world of meeting him as a single man that would take one look at her and had to have her, despite her age. She no longer dreamed she was old enough to be dating someone like him. She looked at the hearts with C+K and cupid arrows she’d drawn before all over her notebooks with derision now. There was a heaviness that hung around the world now and Kate was no exception. Now, she dreamt of him coming back to New York stronger than ever, having fought through his grief and ready to take on the mantle of an Avenger once more. She dreamt of his press conferences and news reports with his name on it with his teammates. She dreamt of better days.
Some days she hated him for giving up everything she admired him for, for dropping off the face of the earth and leaving the Avengers. Some days she admitted that what she was feeling was abandonment, rational or not. Other, clearer days, she understood, because there were times she couldn’t appreciate why she was alive while her teacher and lab partner weren’t, and she cried and thanked God her mother was still with her. She understood he’d lost everything, and he had a right to want to give up.
It had been more than four years since the world ended (sort of), and everyone still had good days and bad days. There were the days she daydreamed of simply running into him at a shop or in the street, and there were days she dreamed of him coming back to be a hero. There were the days she thought of him triumphant in his return, and others where she thought he’d be exactly the same as before. She’s not sure why she rarely thought of the more realistic return, of his sadness and grief showing as he pulled on his bowstring. She also didn’t like to think about his most likely reality, somewhere drunk and depressed, like many, many other people that had lost everything, maybe even dead, face down in a ditch somewhere. These thoughts still came to her on bad days, though.
But nothing, nothing, could have prepared her for the truth. For the man that stepped out of the broken window. He was like a shadow, all in black with a mask and a hood, dripping with what she soon realized was blood. And she recognized him. He’d been on the news a few times, blurred photographs here and there, the merciless assassin Ronin. Her heart beat in her throat as he stared her down with piercing blue eyes, taking a menacing step in her direction.
She tried to make a run for it, but he was much faster, a strong hand gripping her clothes yanked her back. She twisted to the side, not willing to give up. She tried to punch him but he deflected easily, and she used that second to kick her knee up. She managed to hold her own against him for all of 30 seconds, dolling out as many hits as she could that barely landed before he once again deflected and this time threw her against the brick wall, knocking the air right out of her lungs. It wasn’t too much trouble after that to immobilize her and wrap his hand around her throat, not choking her but definitely gripping her.
“Who are you with?”
His gruff voice surprised her, her chest doing a strange swop because somehow, something in her brain twinged. It was vaguely familiar. What? Her mind wasn’t cooperating at the moment though, something in the back of her head strumming like a guitar string but she couldn’t hear the note. Why was his voice familiar?
His eyes narrowed at her silence and she opened her mouth to try and answer, “I…” But nothing came to mind, because his eyes were blocking her brain too, the furrow between his brows stealing her common sense. What was happening?
“I’m gonna ask you this just one more time.” His voice was a lot more threatening now and his hand tightened slightly around her throat, bringing her crashing down to the present situation with a vengeance. Holy Shit. “Who-”
“No one! I swear! No one!” Kate screamed out, suddenly thrashing in his grip but he tightened around her and she went stock still. “I swear! I was just walking by, I was just walking and I heard the gunshots and I have the worst hero complex because I was just at a party but I left because I was bored so I walked and walked and then there were the gunshots and-” She took in a ragged breath, impeded by his grip tightening around her throat as she rambled on. “and I have a death wish so I walked towards it instead of away from it like any sane person would but I didn’t know they were bad guys, I swear, I mean, you kill bad guys so you don’t need to kill me because I wasn’t with them or with anyone here, I swear!” She was panting but she couldn’t get enough air and was faintly dizzy. His eyes just kept scrutinizing her, harsh blue eyes that kept tugging at her but she pushed it away because she had more pressing matters than the strange sense of familiarity that kept trying to drag her down.
I should have stayed at mom’s party, she thinks hazily.
Police sirens suddenly echoed in the distance and it hit Kate that all in all, it had been maybe 5 minutes since she first heard the gunshots, and how shitty would it be that she would really be strangled to death seconds before the police made it to them. He undoubtedly heard the sirens too, but he neither tightened his grip nor did he let her go. She saw his hand move but his blue eyes once again caught her attention before he delivered a swift hit to her temple, and she was out cold.
When Kate opened her eyes again, she came face to face with eyes and brows that she would know anywhere. But it was in that moment that reality slammed into her and she moved, finally feeling the ties and the chair she was bound to, and the Ronin standing menacingly over her. Oh, crap.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her voice small when she said “You didn’t believe me.”
It wasn’t a question, and she spent the next half hour doing everything in her power to convince him of her innocence. He only hit her once, when she’d cracked a joke, so she decided to try and keep her tongue in check, even if she hadn’t been able to do that a day in her life. She almost laughed when she realized it was her love for heroics that had gotten her into this mess. She didn’t feel very heroic right then. She fought back tears while trying to keep up the bravest face she could, because she’d be damned if she let this vigilante see how affected by this she really was.
All the while his eyes and his voice kept confusing her beyond belief, but she was sure she was in some sort of shock. Her brain kept trying to form a connection and getting away from her, leaving her floundering for words to answer him with. She was sure it wasn’t really helping her case.
“Yeah, well-” She didn’t hear the rest of his question because it was finally, at that moment, that her brain cried eureka!
“Holy Shit! You’re Hawkeye!”
He froze.
She stared, eyes wide, taking in the little she could see of his face, eyes and brows and the little furrow between them, but she was sure of it, more than sure. That, and his voice was unmistakable to her, even gruff as it was.
The silence was deafening, pressing into her ears as she shrunk into herself, more confused than ever before. “What is happening?
He couldn’t believe what this girl had said. Four years and five continents, no one had ever figured him out. How was it that this kid could take one look at him and size him up like that?
He had kept his mask and hood on, not taking any chances in case he did decide to let her go. She had no ID on her, so he couldn’t track who she really was, he only had her word to go on, he couldn’t be sure of her innocence to let her go, or her guilt to kill her. He might have been inclined to believe her rambling, if it weren’t for how good she fought him for her life. There was definite professionalism in her stance and her moves, calculated and precise. It didn’t add up to a kid walking home from a party that just stumbled upon a crime ring in the middle of Chicago. She was trained.
She’s begged him to believe her, giving her name and her mother’s name and company, the event they were in Chicago for. She spoke of training and martial arts, and he’d just about gotten ready to release her, having looked up some of her information, but now he couldn’t move. He was sure his reaction had already confirmed her words, anyway. He stared right back at her and he just couldn’t move.
“What is happening?” She repeated, the fear in her pretty eyes she’d been trying to hide now slowly changing, curiosity and also, awe, taking over her face. He couldn’t stand it. She was looking at him as if he was someone else now, as if he wouldn’t kill her if she wasn’t who she said she was, as if the last four years hadn’t happened.
He moved, wait wait wait she cried out franticly because he was ready to knock her out again but she pulled back so hard she overbalanced and fell backwards, her lithe body landing with a harsh thump and a groan.
He cursed and stepped over to her but she scrambled to meet his eyes before he reached her, her long, shiny black hair tangling around her. “Is it because of all the people gone? Your family?” He froze again, the pain lancing his chest almost crippling, but he’d had four years of practice in turning it into vitriol and instead bent down to lift her. She winced at his grip but caught his eyes with her bright gaze, boring into his soul as she said “I’m so sorry.”
He dropped her.
“Ow!” She whined, shifting restlessly to get her weight off her hands tied behind her back. He towered over her and stared, once again frozen in place. She was.. she was… He couldn’t understand. Bright blue eyes landed on him again. She was clearly uncomfortable but she didn’t mention it, instead, she again said “I’m so, so sorry.” Her gaze too earnest, her voice too soft. “I can’t imagine the pain, the grief.” His fists clenched and she stopped shifting, a little less sure of herself now, but she was a brave one, this girl. “It must be like drowning.”
His jaw clenched in irrational anger and he had a quick moment to see her pretty eyes widen before he knocked her out again.
The silence that followed was a relief.
He couldn’t stand her words. He didn’t need his misery captioned and labelled. He didn’t need condolences and he didn’t need a star-struck, beautiful (he hated that his brain provided that word) girl looking at him like he was someone else, someone he wasn’t anymore. He watched her breathe in and out, her face slack, lashes fluttering and pink lips slightly parted. How had she figured him out?
He breathed hard, ignoring the fact that he was still staring, staring down at the girl named Katherine Bishop, rich girl from Manhattan that had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When Kate awoke once again from the darkness with an even worse headache, she was completely confused by her surroundings. It took her most of the morning and her mother’s scolding to figure out she had been found passed out in one of the couches in the lobby, that her mother and a concierge had had to carry her up to the room and that she’d slept past lunch time in her hotel bed. Her mother thought she was hammered, and that she had a hangover. Kate would have believed it to be true as well if it weren’t for the bruises around her neck she could make out in the harsh bathroom light. Last night had really happened.
Holy Shit.
Holy Shit.
Holy Shit.
“Oh my God.” She agonized over every single second she could remember of the entire interaction. “The Hawkeye.” Her left cheek still hurt a little from when he hit her. “He was right there!” Her back ached from when he’d slammed her to the wall. “I can’t believe this.” Her wrists burned from the rope she’d been tied up with, but she had no visible marks. “Oh my God.”
Turtlenecks were thankfully ordinary enough in the middle of winter, and the fact that she was grounded was hilarious considering this was an event she had been forced to go to. She’d promised her mom to attend at least two events this break, and she’d carefully chosen this one as the first one, seeing as it was in Chicago and had the least amount of people she knew so she didn’t have to pretend to socialize. It seemed like the wisest choice at the time; now she was hard pressed to start believing in fate, or something else like it.
Back in New York, she spent the next however many days combing through every bit of information she could amass regarding the Ronin. She felt her heart hurt more and more with every piece she found. So many deaths. Tears spilled over her cheeks when she remembered his eyes when she spoke of his family. It was shocking, the darkness behind his eyes. She could only remember him in pictures and press conferences, one of the least photographed Avengers next to the Black Widow, but whatever pictures there were of him on the internet, she had found them and saved them. In none of them did he look like that, with eyes so hollow they threatened to swallow her up, the hard look on his face no longer one of determination, but more of devastation. So much pain. She sobbed into her bed that night. He didn’t give up. Neither would she.
There was some sort of masked, wannabe hero roaming New York at nights now, although she would turn up in other cities sometimes too, helping out people here and there and all in all just being a pain in the ass to lowly criminals everywhere. She would remind him of the Spider kid, if it weren’t for the fact that she used a bow and arrow, and he had a hunch he knew exactly who it might be. Bright blue eyes flashed in his mind and he shook himself. Some news reporter somewhere even threw the term ‘Lady Hawkeye’ out there, but it didn’t really take off. Either way, it wasn’t his problem. If it came down to it, Natasha would take care of it.
What did become a problem though was when in the following weeks, one out of three hits he made there was then a sighting of the ‘Hawkgirl’ right after. It happened again and again, and he knew exactly what she was doing. It irritated him that she had stayed, not only on his mind, but now on his tail. He didn’t want to care what the stupid girl did with her life, chasing after a dangerous criminal and putting a target on her back, but in a couple of months it soon became too frequent to ignore, and he had to step in before Natasha came knocking.
Which is how he found himself in her apartment in the evening, dodging the book she threw at him that would have hit him right in the eye, staring her down in her candy cane flannel pyjamas, her wide eyes taking him in. He watched as this girl (because that’s what she was, just a girl, and he refused to ask himself why that was an important point to remember) tried to compose herself, something inside him shifting uncomfortably, because her eyes were just so, so...
“You don’t knock?! What the Hell!” The shock of the Hawkeye standing right in front of her, no mask, just, him, looking right at her, was overpowered just barely by the adrenaline rush of someone suddenly standing right behind her in the middle of her living room. He stood there, nonchalant, eyes narrowed in a glare like he hadn’t just scared her half-to-death, and made no move to apologize, or say anything, at all. He had a Mohawk now, of all things, and she couldn’t deny how fucking good he looked, just standing there in her apartment all tall and strong, like all her teenage fantasies come to life. Nevertheless, it was very different, because well, he was real, and he was clearly very angry, and clearly very angry at her, but most of all, something about him just didn’t feel… right.
Her chest rose and fell quickly while she got her breath back and his eyes strayed before he quickly looked away, berating himself and instead, taking in the organized chaos of her apartment, immediately landing on the bow and quiver full of arrows leaning on the wall. He had no doubt who she was, but this just made her inexperience so evident. She of course noticed and gulped, shifting slightly. “Uh… How’ve you been?”
She mentally face-palmed. How’ve you been? WTF Kate smooth, real smooth. There was a dangerous glint in his eye as he turned back to her and lifted one eyebrow, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, but continued to say nothing.
This stupid girl had been blatantly chasing him across the continent, making a target out of herself and a nuisance to him that he now had to take care of, all this after he’d spared her life. So he glared and watched her purse her lips, pink lips, long legs shifting restlessly, watched as her composure slowly crumbled. But just when he thought she’d break, she instead gathered herself and raised her head up high.
“I know you’re here to tell me to stop or something like that, but that’s not going to happen.” Her haughty attitude was back with a vengeance and he remembered hitting her across the face for it a few weeks ago. He had the same urge now. “All I’ve ever wanted is to help people.” He continued to glare at her, but she was not deterred. “I’ve always looked up to you, you’re my favourite Avenger-”
“I’m NOT an Avenger.” He snarled at her, startling her, a harsher look taking over his face. Kate watched him carefully, gaze searching his face for anything of the Hawkeye she knew and loved, slowly sinking into the realization that this wasn’t him.
“Right.” Her voice was quieter now, cautious this time when she tried again, “But you’re still out there, doing what needs to be done, doing right-”
He lunged forward, seizing her around her forearms too tight, slamming her back until she hit the railing of her stairs, ignoring her grunt of pain and looming over her with a dark look that made her quickly question her trust in this hero. “You think this is a GAME!?” His voice boomed in her ears and she was frozen. “You think I’m doing this out of the goodness of my Fucking Heart!?!?” He crowded her against the railing and shook her by his grip on her, rattling her like a ragdoll. “This isn’t a fucking training exercise for a dumb wannabe superhero!! You brat!” It was at this point that she tried to lift her arms to maybe push him away, or maybe cover her ears. He slapped them away and stepped even closer, ignoring how good she smelled and grabbing her face with one hand and squishing her so hard she felt her teeth dig into the soft skin of her inner cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her senses. It forced her gaze on him though, close enough to count his lashes and she could finally see that this wasn’t Hawkeye anymore, and he hadn’t been for a very long time.
His voice was quieter but no less terrifying when he said “This is fucking real and you’re starting to get in my way.” Her heart hammered in her chest but his voice sent a shiver down her spine, her breath hitching. He was so close, and fuck, she tried not to notice, but how could she not? With him so close and his strength all around her, even in her fear she found her body reacting embarrassingly quickly. Worst of all, it took him less than a second to notice, his eyes narrowing slightly before he sneered at her, shoving her to the side and away from him so hard that she stumbled. Her face went red, looking anywhere but at him, biting her lip hard in utter mortification.
She’ll never know the strength with which he pushed her away was proportional to his anger at his own body for betraying him and reacting to her beautiful blue eyes darkening with lust. He didn’t even glance back at her as he stepped away, going to her equipment while she stood there contrite, at a loss for words.
By the time she got her bearings back, he was gone. So were her bow and arrows.
He flipped one of the goons over his shoulder, his sword lancing viciously through the one next to him, slicing him open and spilling his guts, before he twisted and threw a knife, stabbing the henchwoman through the throat. He swung his sword and relished in the blood that splattered as he took out the last one with a slice so deep, it nearly decapitated him.
He stood for a moment, panting, savouring the stench of death and blood, the pleasant burn in his muscles, and the calm that settled over him for a short moment, knowing he’d scrapped a little more dirt off of the world. Although it was short lived, as it always was, and the weight of his despair came right back.
He walked away, slinking through the shadows, only thinking about cleaning up and planning the next job.
A few hours later, the police scanner he kept at full volume (his right ear had been bothering him lately) broadcasted something about a robbery nearby where he’d just hit, and arrows shooting out of nowhere.
Fucking kid thought this was some kind of challenge.
It didn’t take him long at all to find her in some other squabble a few blocks north, after all, she was hard to miss, clad in some purple uniform and brandishing a brand new bow. He watched her for a moment from the shadows, watched her perfect stance, long, lithe body strong and capable, watched her fight and take her shots effortlessly, hitting the mark every single time. In another life, he might be impressed. In another life, he might even tell her so. But here, he just watches her, tracks her every move, and ignores how his breathing speeds up.
After she flees from the scene he follows, making sure there’s enough space between them and the bloodbath he left earlier before finally cornering her. He pulls her through the back door of a closed shop, not bothering with the lights and leaving her to try to read his storming face through the little light sipping in through the window. He rips off the silly little eye mask she’s wearing, and can’t breathe when her bright blue eyes meet his again, nervous, but definitely challenging. And fuck, why did she illicit this kind of reaction out of him? Angrier than ever, he rips the bow from her and throws it aside, and this finally gets her to speak up. “Hey! That’s new!”
“What the fuck did I tell you?!”
She raises her chin, like a fucking brat, and he wants to throttle her, or, or, just, wipe that fucking look off her face. She fixed him with a determined look. “Do you really think you’re the first man to tell me to stop doing something just because it inconvenienced him?”
The audacity.
“Just because you’re my hero doesn’t mean that I’m going to crumble and, and accept it.” She gestured widely with her hands. “You might have given up on the Avengers and on the good image you had,” He narrowed his eyes at her, because she was on thin ice, but she was too stubborn for her own good. “but you can’t stand there and tell me that you’ve given up on being a hero, because you’ve been getting rid of the bad guys, and that’s exactly what heroes do.”
The silence was deafening. Kate tried her best to stay perfectly still, but he just kept glaring at her, the darkness around them suffocating her, or was that the darkness in his eyes? She refused to back down though, because she knew she was right, and she wasn’t about to give up on the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Finally, he spoke. “How many dead?”
It took her by surprise. “What?”
“Back there,” He gestured with a nod of his head to the direction they just came from, and she found herself looking away. He hated that he missed her pretty eyes.
“I- I don’t know, they haven’t finished going through the scene yet.”
“Crime scene.”
She looked back up at him questioningly, bright eyes wide and raw.
“Crime scene.” He reiterated. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” She looked away again, not wanting to have him so close, so unbearably striking and strong but still not her Hawkeye. He was having none of it though. He stepped up to her, and she couldn’t help but flinch slightly when he brought his hand up to her face, but he didn’t grab her roughly like last time, just took her chin firmly and lifted her eyes to meet him. “It was a crime scene, wasn’t it? Blood and dead bodies? People slaughtered?”
Her voice was small. “Bad people.”
“Even the accountant?”
“What?” He was so close, she could smell him, and she couldn’t help the shiver that racked her. His eyes bore into her.
“The accountant. He just ran the numbers, barely left the office, kept his head down. Had a pregnant wife waiting for him back home. Sure, a home paid for with dirty money, but the nursery’s all set up.”
She tried to pull her face away, wanting to look away from him, because he looked just like him, he felt so right, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t…
He gripped her tighter, leaning down so her scent invaded his senses and she couldn’t escape his wild eyes. “How about the lady that watched the shop at night? She never even picked up a gun, but she bled out right next to her boss.” He watched her pretty eyes fill with tears, her lips quivering and her lithe body trembling.
Her chest hurt with his horrible words, tearing apart the hero she admired, ripping him out piece by piece. His eyes roamed her up and down as he recounted the people he had killed mere hours ago, their blood still gritty under his fingernails, slowly digging into her skin, until a tear slid down her cheek.
He chuckled humourlessly at her, shaking his head as if he were reproaching a small child. “You wanna be a hero, Kate? Let me give you one piece of advice.” She held her breath, her heart breaking in her chest. “That’s not what heroes do.”
She fought so hard to hold her composure, and fuck if he didn’t admire her a little bit for it. Her wide eyes looked even brighter in her tears, and he pushed her face away from him before he could continue to ogle her. He moved to walk away, almost out the door, but then her small voice
“Clint-”
And he snapped, pouncing until she was backed right up to the table and he slammed his fists down on the wood, the booming sound making her jump, squirming in what little space he left her as he screamed in her face “Shut the fuck up! You have no idea! No fucking idea what you’re talking about!!”
She shrunk into herself like she had never done before, shoulders hunched and eyes screwed shut, more tears rolling down her face. He yelled right in her face and it took her a moment to gather herself, to open her eyes, feeling his hot breath and spittle as he raged, but she finally managed to look him straight in the eye. The pain she saw again threatened to cripple her, her chest bleeding from all his sorrow.
Maybe it was the look of full compassion that finally did it, because he was holding her against a piece of furniture and screaming at her and she was fucking scared of him but she could still lift her eyes and look at him like that, like she felt all of it, like she wanted to take it all away, like she would if she could. Her eyes were so beautiful and her lips were so full and he wanted to wipe that look off her face and maybe he just couldn’t resist anymore.
He slams his lips to hers and she gasps out, completely taken by surprise, but he doesn’t deter, buries his hands in her hair and shifts her to kiss her better, and she melts against him, because fuck, fuck, was this really happening? She arches into him, pressing tight against him, her hands coming up to grip at his sides hard, and he pulls away. He groans, she has no right, no right, to have that pretty wide-eyed look on her face. Her lips are shiny now, her cheeks are still tear stained, her nose a little red, and she feels amazing pressed up against him, her hair soft and divine between his fingers, and he’s already half-hard, rubbing up against her. Her eyelids flutter, and he has to get a grip, because she’s just a kid, he reminds himself, young and strong and so, so exquisite. In another life, he wouldn’t do this, he would stop. In another life, he wouldn’t have started.
But here, he was no such qualms, because he’d completely taken leave of his moral compass. Dropped it somewhere back in Iowa and didn’t bother to pick it back up.
She hisses when his cold hands dig under her top but he kisses her hard again, invading her mouth and thrusting his tongue deep into her, leaving her scrambling for breath. Her mind is spinning; thoughts scrambled or nonexistent when he shoves her bra down and grabs a handful of her perky tits. She jumped, her nails digging into his sides before she finally has the sense to push his hoddie up. She feels all hard muscle and moans when he shifts and rubs his hardness right against her centre, his harsh breaths hot on her lips when he pulls away, gripping her hair and pulling her head back, his lips now at her neck. She shivered and gasped, pulling him closer, wanting more, more.
He doesn’t take her top off, but she pulls his over his head and he throws the garment away before his hands are on her belt, and this is fast, this is all moving too fast, and he was so angry at her, yelling and screaming, but now he’s half naked in front of her and she can feel her insides clench at the gorgeous sight of his strong chest, strong shoulders, strong arms, and one has a tattoo sleeve, that must be new, she reaches up to touch it but then he’s turning her around, shoving her pants down just enough.
She’s panting, suddenly tensing up, because oh god, this was, this was really happening, this was Hawkeye- but he wasn’t anymore, was he? He was someone else now, and she was bent over a table in a dark back room and she could hear his belt and she was breathing too hard now and was she even ready? but it was him and she’d wanted this forever but-
She wanted to say wait, but then he was hot and hard and right there and she didn’t want to say wait.
“Oh, fuck.” His gruff voice couldn’t drown out her sharp cry, because fuck, she wasn’t ready, but he was groaning, his hands so so tight around her hips, working her back against him, not hard but also not gentle, and tears once again filled her eyes. She tried to relax, tried to widen her stance but her pants were constricting, and when he pulled back, pushed back in much further, she whined, her hands scrambling for purchase somewhere. He lays over her, trapping her and slams home. She squeals, writhing under him but he has her flat against the table with his hand holding her head down, his hot chest pressing into her back, his cock all the way deep inside her, his legs right up against hers, and she squirms.
She’s panting, tears rolling down her face, but his hand sneaks in front of her and rolls at her clit, and she can finally feel some semblance of herself coming back.
“You’re so tight.” His voice is so gruff, chest rumbling against her back and right in her ear, and she gushes. “Fuck, can’t handle your tiny cunt.” He thrusts his hips once, pushing a wail out of her lips. “You gonna relax for me?” She doesn’t know why but she nods, moaning when he pinches her clit. She shifts her head, pressing her cheek against the table and trying to look at him. He in turn presses his face to hers, panting right in her ear, rubbing her clit and then licking her cheek once, cleaning her tears. She shudders, and he groans. “You feel so fucking good.” So did he.
His skin was on fire, too good and too hot all at the same time. He couldn’t remember the last time anything felt this good, this fucking amazing. There was nothing else he could focus on, there was nothing, nothing but the striking feeling of her clenching around him tight and fucking hot, the sound of her hitched breaths as he started to move in and out, in and out, and fuck, fuck.
She was shuddering hard, trying to keep quiet he knew, but he endeavoured to make her efforts pointless by shifting his stance, lifting her hips slightly against him and fucking into her again and again, a sardonic smile pulling at his lips at the surprised whimper that tumbled out of her lips without her permission when he hit right there, followed by a half held back cry, and another, and another, her right arm coming up behind her to push half heartedly, but he grabbed her hand and slapped it back down on the table by her head, rewarding her with harsher thrusts, sobs now spilling from her pretty lips and she mewled oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, aah, fuck, fuck
She was clenching so tight around him, all wet and slippery now, squelching with every hard thrust, shifting and shivering and her pretty voice moaning and fuck, she was going to make him come. His hips stuttered, so close already, but two more hard thrusts right there and she screamed, jerking hard, almost head-butting him, gripping so fucking hard and hot around him he couldn’t hold back, slamming as deep as he could and letting go, coming and coming, pressing his whole body down on her, squishing her hard into the table and coming inside her, her eyes overflowing with tears again with the intensity of her own orgasm.
When it was all said and done, it was almost 5am by the time she made it home. She climbed into the shower and watched his cum slide down her thighs. Her face hurt from how hard he’d pushed her face into the table. She washed away the sweat and the stickiness. Her insides still fluttered. But it also hurt a little when she moved. She washed her hair; she washed her face, where he’d licked her. Her lips still felt full from his intense kisses. It was the best sex of her life. Her heart was so heavy, but she barely felt it. She couldn’t seem to come back to herself.
She didn’t sleep, she’d need to be up soon. Earlier than usual, but she had something to do first. She stared out the window, felt time pass as the sky lightened, but didn’t react. She got dressed and left, catching her bulls eye out of the corner of her eye, something in the back of her head reminding her that he’d taken another bow, but she didn’t connect, and kept walking. She wants to wonder why she’s so far away, but can’t be bothered to right now. Her feet know where she’s going.
Somewhere around the 20-minute mark she somehow makes the connection to the destination, and her footsteps falter. She’s never purchased the morning-after pill before, and her hands tremble. She doesn’t want to connect, and keeps walking.
She used cash, because god forbid her mother saw it on the credit card bill. Something young inside of her trembled when she swallowed it, wondering quietly will it hurt?
Of course it wouldn’t, and it didn’t.
She went to class because she kept skipping this semester and it was going to bite her in the ass soon. Franny sat next to her and did a double take, eyes wide. “Kate, you ok?”
It takes Kate a moment to realize she’s talking to her, and she finally looks at her and nods. Her friend doesn’t look away from her, studying her features carefully. “Kate…”
Kate’s still not quite there, but she manages to ask “What?”
Franny frowns, leaning in close. “Kate, you look…” She trails off, eyes roaming over her face. “You look roughed up.” Kate wonders if maybe the pain in her face has turned into a bruise. Her lips hurt too. Maybe she should have stayed home.
“It’s fine.” Her voice is hallow, and Franny doesn’t miss it.
“Kate, what happened?”
Something inside Kate shifts, a little more present, shaking her head “No, no, it’s not like that.”
“Like what?” Franny looks truly worried now, but she needn’t be, because Kate had been there, and it had been intense, fucking intense, and maybe too rough, at first, but it had been good.
She tries to reassure her friend. “No, it’s not…” Kate couldn’t understand it either. She was suddenly too present, and the question was glaring. What was wrong? She didn’t know. “I…”
Franny reached out to touch her face and Kate pulled back, because it still hurt, no need to poke at it. “Kate, what happened?”
“Nothing bad!” Why was her voice defensive? She didn’t want to be here anymore, she stood up to leave but Franny grabbed her hand and Kate winced. Her wrist hurt from how hard he slammed her hand down. But it hadn’t been bad.
She left quickly, sprinting back to her apartment, because she was too present now and she wanted to be alone. Her brain replayed everything that happened the night before and her heart broke all over again when she remembered his vicious words, her shoulders hunched all over again when she remembered his menacing stance and him screaming at her, and her body fluttered all over again when she remembered his intensity inside her, deep inside her. She could still feel him, it hurt. But it was so good, what was wrong?
She made it home and almost collapsed because she hadn’t had anything but a bottle of water since dinner last night, but she sat down at the table instead of getting something to eat. She tried to sort out her feelings, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the coldness in her chest. She thought about how rough he’d been, and wondered if he’d always been like that.
That’s when it hit her.
Hawkeye, it hadn’t been him last night. That hadn’t been him, the man she idolized and called her hero. Maybe her hero wouldn’t have hurt her at the beginning, maybe he would have waited. A sob escaped her lips when the startling realization came to her that if he had been the man she had always admired, then last night wouldn’t have happened.
She’d liked it, soooo much, but that hadn’t been him, it hadn’t been him from her dreams, her fantasies, and even if one knows reality will be different from dreams, this wasn’t even the same man she’s always looked up to. And she suddenly hates so much that she did it, that she liked it, that she did it!
Kate doesn’t often cry, but tears spill down her face once again, her breath hitching in a sob. What have I done? Clint wasn’t himself and he was hurting, she both felt like she had taken advantage of him, and let him take advantage of her.
It was all wrong.
She hadn’t stopped, again. She had a new bow, and turned up near one of his hits again, even all the way down in Chile. Rich kids.
He had no idea what to do, short of killing her. But he did draw the line somewhere. He lets her follow him this time, wondering what he could do to make her stop this bullshit.
She stands there and takes in his small motel room carefully, observing, noting the small bag opened on the table, the shirt drying on the chair, the gun on the bedside table, the knives spread on the bed.
He thinks of her pretty eyes bright with tears, salty on his lips.
She wonders about his day to day life. She wonders about the darkness he keeps himself in.
She wanted to apologize, or something, but it didn’t feel right to say, so she didn’t say anything, and simply stood to the side as he washed the blood off his hands in the kitchenette. He was in a tank top and she could see his strong shoulders and the outline of his muscles. She could also now see the tattoos clearly. They were bitching, for lack of a better term, and suited his new hairstyle and new persona. She wondered if she could ever suit this new persona. She wondered if she could have suited the old one any better. Nevertheless, she was here, because despite everything, no matter who or what he was now, he was still Clint Barton, and she wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to be in his life, one way or the other.
“I, I was thinking, maybe sometime, I could help you out.”
He completely ignored her.
She shifted, setting her bow down carefully on the bed next to the knives. “I know how to throw knives too, also cards, like the card throwing tricks where you slice open a piece of celery or stab a watermelon. Not that that’s any good in the field.” His shoulders are tense, but he still doesn’t say anything. “I’ve been doing really good so far, but I could use some pointers.”
She sees the sword leaning against the wall, and she knows she’s pushing it, but she can’t help it, she reaches out “and I’m really good with a sword too, won lots of championships.” The next second, his hard grip is around her hand, stopping her just before she touched the magnificent sword, his body heat close, his strength over her. “Sorry.” She mumbles.
He gruffs. “Don’t you ever shut up?”
He lets her go and slinks back to finish cleaning up. She feels a little empowered by his allowing her into his space, smiling slightly. “Well, according to you, I’m a spoiled brat, so you know, I always get what I want.”
“I thought you already got what you wanted.”
She blushed furiously, literally feeling her face heat up. “No, n- I mean, that’s not, what I mean- You…” Her tongue tumbles along with her scattered thoughts, completely embarrassed. His back is to her again, ignoring her as she stumbles through “I’m sorry, that wasn’t- I mean it was good, I mean great, but it’s not, I didn’t-” She’d give her right arm for the earth to swallow her up right now.
Thankfully, he finished in that moment and turns to her, all hard eyes and stern face and she shuts right up.
“This isn’t a game kid,” He was being polite but his voice was a dark timber that demanded her deference. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop sticking your nose in my business.” There was a threat somewhere in there and she felt it to her bones.
Her voice was meek when she tried to defend. “You can’t stop me.”
He looked right at her. “I can break your arm.”
She shivered. She believed him. But he also had to believe her. “I can still shoot a gun.”
“And I can break your other arm, too.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, because she wanted to rage at him like a little kid, at the absolute unfairness of it, at the injustice, at the fear she felt in her chest that she fucking hated. She did not want to fear anyone, and that it was him that elicited this reaction in her, even among all the other feelings, it made her want to take that sword and show him what she was made of.
“I’ll find a way.” Her voice was strong with her anger.
He sighed, turning back around, this time to clean some of his equipment, a quick “Get out.” thrown over his shoulder. He didn’t want to be around her anymore, hating how his mind flooded with the memory of her pretty voice all high and wrecked, her perfect ass against him, her tight wet heat. She was right there but he didn’t want to encourage her any further, he wanted her out of his business, out of his life.
There was silence, until she finally moved, right up next to him, and he turned to make good on his threat, but her blue eyes were wide, nervous, determined, and they stopped him short. Her black hair shone in the low light, and he remembered running his fingers through it. The girl, Kate, she didn’t let her eyes waver from his, and slowly, slowly, sunk to her knees. His breath caught, eyes clouding with lust, and when she reached for his belt, he wasted no time in burying his finger in her soft, dark hair. “Fuck.”