MCU (Avengers) Imagines Part Two

Clint Barton X Reader - Your Love (Requested)

A/N - This chapter was requested by user: @UnrandomHumanBean. I ended up using the song 'Your Love' by The Outfield for a little bit of inspiration. I hope you all enjoy it.

In all the time you had known Clint, you had never seen him look so out of his element. Usually, he could walk into any room and be comfortable. It was a skill that you'd silently envied from day one. There had been no nerves when he'd met your friends for the first time. No discomfort when your parents had tried the whole threatening act when you'd brought him over for dinner. He took to everything like a duck to water. But now, standing off to the side of the room whilst the doctor checked you for a concussion, he looked lost. 

"Baby," you hummed, and it was like his eyes came back into focus, meeting yours and offering up a half-hearted attempt at a smile. 

You held your hand out to him, encouraging him to link his fingers with yours. It was a gesture that had become pretty regular in your relationship, though usually, he was trying to comfort you. In any situation when you seemed a little overwhelmed, he would link his fingers with yours and press a kiss to the side of your head, and you would know that you weren't on your own; that he was right there beside you, and nothing bad was going to happen.

Clint was at your side the second your hand was extended, his other hand running over your back as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "Is everything alright?" he finally started, his eyes focused on the doctor. "She's doing okay?" he pressed on, desperate for some sort of confirmation. 

"Y/N's going to be fine. There's no concussion. The head wound needs to be taken care of, but she'll live," she told him. "I want you to come back tomorrow so I can take another look at the stitches. Avoid getting them wet," she added to you with a wide smile. 

"That's it?" Clint pressed, his brow furrowed as he stared at the doctor. "Shouldn't you send her for a scan, or a second opinion, or something?"

Your fingers squeezed his, drawing his attention down to you. "Baby, I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt that bad," you told him.

"But-" 

"You heard the doctor. No concussion. There's nothing to worry about."

Clint looked like he wanted to argue with you, his eyes flickering between you and the doctor for just a second before he finally gave in and nodded. 

"I am starving though," you murmured, pushing off of the bed and giving the doctor a bright smile. "I'll see you tomorrow-"

"Are you good to walk?" Clint interrupted, hovering at your elbow. 

"I'm fine." You turned your attention away from him again, rolling your eyes and causing the doctor to chuckle. "I'll swing by tomorrow afternoon for you to sort the stitches," you pressed on, trying to ignore the disgruntled murmurs coming from behind you. 

Clint had followed you all the way back to your rooms in a similar manner, his eyes scanning you the entire way as if he thought you were going to drop dead at any minute. And then, once you were in the comfort of your bedroom, attempting to change out of your uniform without disturbing the stitches on your forehead, he'd just continued to watch you, hovering a couple of feet away, completely on edge.

"You're staring," you murmured, throwing the blood-stained shirt into the laundry hamper. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" 

You sighed slightly, moving forward and taking his face in your hands. "I'm fine," you told him, leaning up to press your lips against his. "If it wasn't for all the blood, I wouldn't have even bothered going to see the doctor."

Clint looked horrified at your comment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "That's dangerous," he chastised, his brows all furrowed and concerned. "You need to see the doctor if you get hurt-"

"I did."

"I don't want you just dropping dead on me someday because you didn't bother to get your injuries checked." He cleared his throat slightly, shaking his head. "I don't want to lose you."

As soon as the words had registered with you, all of the frustration at the over-protective nature of your boyfriend had faded. Your expression softened slightly. "I'm always careful, baby. I'm not just going to keel over." You paused, your words falling off into nothingness. "I still get my regular checkups just like everyone else. Steve wouldn't let me out on missions if I didn't."

He nodded, his eyes lifting to focus on the wound on your forehead, freshly sewn up and covered with a bandage, the skin surrounding it looking all red and angry. "That's supposed to be my spot," he grumbled, lifting a finger to run it over the skin just below the bandage.

"Your spot?"

"When we're out together," he started, a small frown pulling at his lips. "I've always kissed you right there."

A small chuckle slipped out of you at his comments, and you let your hands drop to his chest. "You'll only have to stop for a little while. It'll heal up soon enough."

He grumbled slightly, wrapping his arm around your middle and pulling you tighter against him. "Guess I'll have to be more creative for a while, huh?" You released an honest to God giggle when he buried his face into your hair. "No," he murmured, pulling back slightly and pressing a kiss to your cheek. "No," he repeated, shaking his head slightly, his face full of faux concentration. 

You looked up at him with a wide smile, the corners of your eyes all wrinkled with how much you were enjoying the attention he was giving you. And then you lifted your hand and tapped your lips, and he smirked down at you before leaning down to kiss you properly. 

He hummed as he pulled away. "Yeah, I guess that'll have to do for now."

"It works for me," you agreed, nuzzling closer to him with a soft content sigh. "I promise I'm being careful," you added softly, feeling his arms tighten their hold on you. 

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