𝙱𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚍𝚎 •𝒞. ℬ𝒶𝓇𝓉ℴ𝓃•

Chapter Two

Y/n's POV:

You had had an 'interview' with Fury after the battle, which was more of a formality than anything else, and then you were shipped off to S.H.I.E.L.D. training. Having completed it, you now live on the New York City S.H.I.E.L.D. base.

You are a field agent, not an avenger, but that means you go on more missions. Agents Romanoff and Barton are agents as well as avengers, and most of your missions are assigned with one of the two.

Agent Romanoff, with whom you grew close, is your roommate. By now, you call her Nat, and you call Agent Barton, Clint.

You spend a lot of time with the duo, more than the others that you know (although you are rather close to Phil, Melinda, Daisy, Jemma, Fitz, Yoyo, Mack, etc) and slowly develop a crush on Clint—after getting over your initial distrust of the man.

Apparently, he feels the same—or so you found out in training a little while ago.

•flashback•

You head to the gym after a long day, exhausted but needing to get your anger out.

While there, you see Clint. He is one of the few people left training, punching a punching bag. You set your water bottle and bag down and begin stretching, before moving to the punching targets. Right. Left. Right-cross. Left-cross. Left. Left-cross. Right-cross. Left.

So you continue, until a tap on your shoulder startles you. You move your right-cross from the target to your assailant's face.

"Ow, Y/n!" Clint exclaims as you turn.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry," you apologize, repeating it as your grab a pack of ice from your bag and put it on the bruise beginning to form. He holds it to his cheek, which you notice has grown a little stubble over time.

"You're good," he interrupts you, wincing as he speaks. "Damn, that's a pretty good right hook you got there."

"A-are you sure you're fine?" You ask, concerned.

He laughs, removing the ice pack. "I've had much worse. Although, I will have a pretty nice shiner," Clint teases.

You take a sip of water. "So, why did you come over here, if not to get whopped?"

"I came to ask if you wanted to train," he explains.

You eye him warily. "Like, archery train?"

His eyes widen. "Oh, god no. You're hopeless at it, and I've just decided to leave it at that."

You pout, slapping his arm lightly. "Hey!"

The archer just shrugs. "It's the truth."

"Doesn't mean you have to say it!" You insist. He just smirks, and you sigh, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the mats.

You take off your shoes, as does he, stepping into them. You wait, having learned how to tell when Clint is about to strike, and having learned that you're better at starting out defensive and moving to offensive than the other option.

He flicks his thumb almost imperceptibly, and you dodge as he swipes the air. You lunge forward, out of the way of his thrown punch, uppercutting his abdomen. He kicks his leg, catching your neck, and you begin to fall, rolling and popping up behind him. A swift jump and you're on his shoulders, putting him in a headlock as he struggles to get out. When his attempts prove futile, he leans back, falling onto his back and causing you to loosen your grip as you land on your back, him landing on top of you. Your grip barely loosens, but does so enough for him to get out.