marvel imagines.

clint barton | competition

You have never really had anybody who tried to beat you at your own game in your whole life, you just couldn't help being so good at it- not in a self-absorbed way whatsoever.

It just happened that Archery was your thing, you always excelled in it. You hit the bullseye every time.

But now, there was somebody else- and he was good. Infact- he was amazing at Archery, and you were stuck being second place next to him.

At every competition, he'd get first place and you'd always get second. I mean, I guess it didn't bother you at first, seeing as you were just focusing on your own skill and technique rather than seeing who was best at the sport.

But when he began to tease you about it, calling you names like 'my backup, next best, or, clint's runner-up', it made you quite angry.

It made you strive to win at every competition in the near future. You trained harder, eager to beat him by just even a point.

Sure, he was good-looking, smart, and totally amazing at archery but he was also egotistical and ignorant. Like his success was key to make you feel bad about your own ability- which made you angry as well.

So when the day of the next big competition came, you were ready. You had everything you needed- along with a small plan of course.

"Good luck runner-up." Clint smirked at you, from your left as he got his gear ready.

"Yeah, break a leg." You gave him a fake smile.

"But this is a sport and you usually say 'break a leg' in theatre?" Clint said, clearly confused.

"Exactly." You exclaimed, the fake smile still on your face before you turned to get your own gear ready.

But not before seeing him just smile at you amusingly and giving his head a small shake.

                                 -

You rose your arms as you held the bow in your hand- aiming at the bullseye, your heart beating dramatically in anticipation. So far, you were tied with him.

The score was 78-78, and you needed him to lose this round so you'd win but that was way too much to ask seeing as how amazing he is at the sport.

Clint stood beside you, waiting for his turn after you. He looked pretty amused and annoyed at the same time.

You took in a calm, deep breathe as you released the air you were holding in, releasing the arrow with it. The crowd watched in anticipation as the arrow hit the bullseye swiftly.

You turned to look at Clint, giving him a little triumphant smile and shrug as he just rolled his eyes before grabbing his bow and aiming at the bullseye.

Your targets were quite close to each other, so you stood pretty close next to him. As he took his breath, you whispered, "Clint."

He looked down at you before your lips met his. For a short moment, your lips lingered on his before you heard his arrow shoot.

You smirked inwardly, knowing you had distracted him from hitting the bullseye perfectly before pulling away and instantly your jaw dropped to the floor.

His arrow had landed perfectly on the bullseye and he just looked at you with a smirk, "What did ya' do that for (Y/N)?" He questioned, although knowing exactly why you did it.

You just stood there, not answering to his stupid remark before you turned to grab your gear, but he stopped you.

His hand grabbed your elbow gently, causing you to turn around and look up at him. "Whatever that was, I didn't mind it at all." He smirked, and with that he walked off.

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Hey! Oh my gosh I'm such a bad person. I'm so sorry I haven't been updating frequently! But, I just finished summer school so yay more time to write!!

But, the main reason as to why I haven't updated in awhile is that I'm currently going through writer's block and idk what to do. :S

Here's a Clint imagine because I haven't done him in such a long time and this book needs more Clint in it, in my opinion.

I'm so sorry also if this imagine is terrible I'm writing this at like 1am lol.

Don't forget to vote/comment/follow!

Ly all xx