Before You Go (Avengers x Reader)

Clint - when you go on holiday

The hotel has a beach hut feel right from the lobby. If anything, it works a little too well – the staff looking like they're on vacation too. From behind the low reception desk, a huge chunk of driftwood covered in sea shells, sits a man slumped in a deck chair. His straw hat is tilted to obscure his face as he dozes, his hands over his stomach, knitted together by interlocked fingers. Before you can open your mouth the phone rings, jolting him from his slumber. At first, he has wild eyes, alarmed by both the telephone and you standing so close. Then he picks up the phone only to set it back on the receiver unanswered.
"Can I help you?" He grumbles, picking at his nails as he relaxes back into his chair.
"I've got a reservation, under the name (Y/L/N)." You smile sweetly.
"There's no reservation under (Y/L/N)." He grunts, closing his eyes.
You sigh. "You didn't even check."
His brown eyes snap open and he leans forward.
"Are you telling me how to do my job, princess?"
You slump your backpack on the floor and cross your arms. This guy is not going to ruin your relaxing holiday!
"Excuse me, sir. But I made a reservation at this hotel for one week in a double room. I have all of my booking details on my phone."
You fumble in your pockets for your phone and start showing the man. He just shrugs.
"Well, you ain't in the book."

Your (E/C) eyes narrow in suppressed anger. Relax... you're here to relax ... and this stupid little man is stopping you from doing that. You try to remain calm, but you can feel the suppressed annoyance bubbling inside your gut.
"I want to speak to your manager!" You demand your face flushing red.
He sniffs, glaring at you.
"I am the manager."
Those four simple words force you to snap. You slam your hands on the desk and lean forward.
"Listen carefully to me, I have travelled seventeen hours in a car that smells like week-old pizza when I turn the aircon on, eaten crappy diner food, and peed in a bottle, only to arrive at my hotel and have some man tell me that I haven't booked in!" You take a deep breath. "Now, what are you going to do?"

You stand at the side of the road as rain beads the broken paintwork of the cars and bounces from every heard surface. The sound comes from every direction except down the storm drains bubble with grey-brown run-off. For once the weather man got it right, twenty millimetres by noon. Your hands are frozen around the handle of your bag as you watch the world go by. He threw you out! The bloody manager of the crappy hotel threw you out! You clench your jaw, only for your phone to start ringing.
"What?" You screech, ignoring the caller ID.
"A hello would be nice, (Y/N)." Clint says through the speaker.
That voice. All your anger seems to float away as that voice talks to you.
"What's wrong?" He questions.
You run a hand through your wet hair.
"Stupid manager at a stupid hotel."
He chuckles. "Please, be more vague."
"I booked a room for me and Matt, but something went wrong with the booking and now I'm stuck in Waverly with nowhere to stay."
Clint pauses. "Waverly, Iowa?"
"Yep."
"I have a friend who lives there. I'm sure they'll put you up for a week."
Your eyes go wide, and you start grinning like crazy.
"Are you sure? Thank you, Clint. Thank you so much. I owe you one."
You say your goodbyes and wait for Clint to text you the address. Clint Barton is a different kind of guy.