Avengers x Reader One Shots

One Final Goodbye✨Clint Barton

A/n: Fair warning, there will be a LOT of Clint Barton/papa!Clint because... it's Clint
⚠️Warning⚠️: Mention of suicide, implied cursing. No smut in this one.

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You storm up to the floor where everyone except Tony—who had his own private floor—lived, stopping when you reach Clint's area. About to barge in the bedroom, you think the better of it and calm down before entering. No need to upset him.

"Clint?" You ask softly, opening the door to his bedroom. He closes his book, looking up at you with a soft smile splayed over his normally gruff features.

"Hey baby, how was the mission?" He had stayed home this time, still not up to par since his shoulder injury two weeks ago. He was recovered, but just hadn't gotten back in the groove with training.
You walk over to the bed, biting your lip to hold back tears. "It was okay," you lie, leaning over to kiss him chastely. He turns so you can't, grabbing your chin and gently forcing you to look at him. He noticed the shine in your puffy eyes and dropped his hand to his side.

"Seriously, Peeta, what's wrong?" Clint pressed softly, not buying your calm demeanor. It was pretty obvious anyways—you never were one for hiding your emotions.

The use of his pet nickname for you (you calls him Katniss, he calls you Peeta) causes tears to well up in your eyes. "Nothing," you respond, your voice breaking as you look down at your shoes. Your boyfriend took your hand in his, gently rubbing it as he waited for you to speak, knowing you would. The two of you sit and stand on silence this way for a few moments.

"Okay," you sigh finally, looking into his eyes as tears well up in your own. "I- I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" Worry creased Clint's features as he furrowed his brow.

You gesture at the two of you, resolve growing despite the break forming in your heart. I have to keep him safe—I'll only hurt him. Pushing past the lump in your throat, you continue. "I can't do us anymore, Clint. We're-" the words were poison to say, but you swallow and speak up again. "We're over."

You run out and slam the door behind you before he can respond, crying as you run to your room. He just stares after you at the now-closed door in shock, confused and not yet processing what just happened.

You lay on the bed, sobbing. Thankfully, Steve stops everyone from checking on you, telling them you need space—which you do, as usual, just for a different reason this time. As your sobs quiet and you stare up at the ceiling, you know what you have to do.

"F. R. I. D. A. Y., lock the door, please," you ask.

"Yes, Miss (y/l/n)," the AI responds. Getting up, you grab a duffel bag and pack it with necessities—some clothes, shampoo, soap, money, tools, weapons, etcetera. Once that is done, you push the dresser, bed, nightstands—all of your furniture—up against the door so it's harder to get in. Then, you grab a screwdriver and unscrew the vent, pushing your duffel bag through, and hide the vent lid. Last but not least, you open the window, unintentionally making a screeeech, and curse. You then close the curtains and break the lightbulb, before sending a solid mirage that you used your powers to make look of yourself tentatively jumping and dying, out the window and off the balcony.

Finally done, you climb into the vents, hoisting yourself up. You hear the banging on your door growing softer and softer as you crawl away.