Marvel Imagines

[Pt. 2] Trouble in Paris (Clint Barton X Reader)

A/N: This was wayyy too long and frankly, by the end of it, made zero sense. But hey. It was fun. Comment your thoughts and any other Clint related ideas you may have!

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So far, things were going smoothly.

You and your Partner hadn't raised a hair of suspicion as you'd waded into the sea of partygoers, immediately bee-lining towards the bar at the far side of the grand ballroom.

You'd stayed by the elegant bar for quite some time, making small talk with the other folks all while sipping your drinks and keeping an eye out for your targets.

And as of right now, you're beginning to feel like all of this had been some kind of mistake.

"It's been at least an hour," You mumble, raising the thin glass in your grasp to your lips and taking the slightest of sips, the high alcohol content making you wince.

Clint just sighs, shifting towards you as a new figure joins the line of barstools, his neatly put together appearance and evidently structured physique earning an eyebrow raise from you.

"I couldn't help but notice you've just been nursing that drink all night," Another new voice sounds from behind you, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder, making you bristle at the unwanted contact.

You notice your Partner's gaze narrow towards the man standing behind you, though he makes no move to free you of this uncomfortable position - not yet, anyway.

"How very observant of you," You chuckle airily, forcing a small smile as you turn in your seat to face him, cold realization instantly flooding you as your gaze skims him over.

This is him.

"I wouldn't mind buying a gal by the looks of you something a little..." The newcomer trails off, shooting Clint a glare over your shoulder.

You can feel your Partner's presence behind you, his own figure no likely already on his feet and quickly putting two and two together.

"Less strong," The man in front of you finishes, which earns a huff from you.

"I'm just fine. Thank you, though."

At this, his eyes narrow, a dangerous look beginning to trace his features.

"You sure you're supposed to be here?"

"Are you? Your accent is lousy," You retort, bolting to your feet and shaking his grip away, the comforting feeling of Clint's presence now directly at your side calming your heightened nerves slightly.

"And so is yours. You American circus freaks."

"I think you've got the wrong idea," The man at your side interjects, passing you a glance that you take as something along the lines of, 'we've been made.'

Grimacing inwardly, you allow Clint's arm to slide around your waist, keeping you close to him as you both begin to retreat backwards, the attention of the nearby people falling upon the two of you.

"This isn't good," You hiss through your teeth as two more men wearing the same suits as the two men from the bar had been wearing join the advance, forcing your figures deeper into the crowd.

"No kidding."

But then, almost as if the universe had sensed your panic, the tune of something upbeat being played by the orchestra fills the ballroom, earning cheers from the partygoers surrounding you on all sides.

And before either of you can comprehend what's going on, you find yourselves swept up in amongst the dancing, your aggressors momentarily vanishing from your view.