Avengers x Reader One Shots

I Don't Have To Kill You Now, Right? ✨ Clint Barton

Imagine: Soulmark AU where your mark is the first words your soulmate says to you. Note: all the dialogue is spoken in Russian

You were raised in the Red Room. There, you were forced to cover your mark, punished every time a superior saw it. Most girls were lucky--they were unmarked, blemished.

Though you didn't know it at the time, in the outside world, marks were celebrated. Those lucky enough to be graced with one put it on display--as long as it was in an appropriate area to do so, that is.

These marks were part of what connected you to another Black Widow, Natalia Romanova, who had one as well--hers was only one word, tattoed behind her ear, Ma'am. Far easier to cover up than yours on your shoulder blade, Drop the gun, Widow.

As all Black Widows, your outfits were the same--black with a red hourglass and lining; the only difference was the shade of red. Nat's was a dark red, yours a maroon, and the others varied from burgundy to rosewood.

Now, Nat is gone. You and the other three Black Widows--the others you trained with are just regular operatives now, there are only five coveted spots--are spread out, receiving and executing your missions, and usually your targets.

You have a new target, one Agent Clint Barton. The bastard that killed Nat, apparently--or so you were told.

You don't know who to believe. Nat probably didn't die at the hands of one man, so either there was a team (which would still be easy for her to take out) or she left and it was a cover-up.

You guess you'll figure out tonight. After all, Agent Barton is either a really great person, or a really bad one. There's always the chance that he is an innocent bystander who somehow found out about something, but that seems to be rather unlikely, seeing as how he is presumed to have taken out Nat.

You suit up quickly, grabbing your gun and getting ready. You leave your small cabin, more like a run-down shack than anything else, heading out to the woods where you have intel that Agent Barton will be sent to complete a mission.

You aren't stupid; the mission is you. They traded intel, wanting you to kill each other. The question is, why? Oh, and who, but you already have half of the answer, so it doesn't seem as pressing.

You lie in wait in a tree, knowing that this is the drop point for Agent Barton. Hidden from the eye, you exhale slowly, fighting the shivers from the cold so as not to give away your position.

A small aircraft hovers over the wood and he flies down the line hanging from it, landing with experience and precision. The line is withdrawn and the aircraft disappears.

He begins to move away from the area, towards town. His actions give you pause, as you thought you were about to be killed. But no, you assume he is going to his hotel or something.

Silently and lightly as a feather, you move through the treetops, an untouchable shadow. Dropping, you land in front of him, pulling your knife. You can use a gun well, sure, but you prefer knives. Quieter in usage.

Immediately, he has his gun trained on you. With precise movements, you knock it lit of his grip, and he does the same with your knife. Momentarily disarmed, you stare at each other before drawing like it's a race; you with your gun and he with an... arrow? He does realize you're at close range, right?

"Drop the gun, Widow." His voice is gruff, but as he says the words, you know. And if you didn't realize, your mark also heated up as he spoke—giving you unnecessary conformation.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Agent Barton." At your words, his expression slips momentarily. You force yourself to look cold, as memory fills you. Your words are a mark—when you hear them spoken, you must take them out. Immediately.

You have no idea what the words signify, but apparently he does. Another pop culture thing I don't understand? Not that you care to.

"You don't have to do this," Barton says calmly, lowering his bow and his hands. You gaze at him confusedly.

"You're... letting me kill you?" You ask doubtfully. What the fuck is he playing at?

"More like, giving you an opportunity. Like I did with your buddy, Natalia."

Your grip tightens and you level the gun again. "You. Killed. Her." It comes out through gritted teeth.

"What? No. She defected. Became my best friend. Yeah, no, didn't kill her."

You lower the gun slightly, still ready to shoot at a moment's notice but less defensive. "And why spare me?"

He just stares at you, mouth agape. "Because you're my soulmate?"

"What is a 'soulmate'?"

He shakes his head in exasperation, muttering something in English. "It's the person you're destined to spend your life with. You know, the person you fall in love with, your other half, your missing piece." It was weird, he sounded part sarcastic and part... sincere.

"So, do you believe in this 'soulmate' thing of which you speak?" You ask cautiously.

Barton shrugs. "To an extent."

He doesn't elaborate. Something you understand, so you don't press. The two of you stare at each other, weapons still in hand, but loosely gripped and not even pointing in the other's direction.

"So... what now?" You question.

"Well, if you want, we can go to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. I can get you an extraction with mine, we can set you up like with Tasha. Speaking of, you can see her again."

"Tasha?" You repeat.

Barton smacks his head. "Sorry, I forgot. Natalia. When she defected, she changed her name. Now goes by Natasha Romanoff."

You snort. "Wow, what a difference," you agree sarcastically. "They aren't similar at all."

He laughs. "Yeah, yeah. Now, you coming?"

You shrug nonchalantly. "Might as well. Plus, this way, I don't have to kill you, right?"

"I mean, you don't work for the K.G.B. anymore, so no."

"No. Like, you have my- what did you call it? 'Soulmark'?" At his nod, you continue. "So that doesn't mean you kill me?"

"What kind of twisted-" Barton begins in English before cutting himself off abruptly, switching back to Russian. "Yeah, no, we don't kill soulmates here."

You nod. The two of you stand there as he calls someone, someone he refers to as Coulson. This Coulson sends the aircraft from earlier back, and you and Barton are lifted up via some ropes.

You sit down silently, watching Barton. He stands beside you, leaning against the wall nonchalantly and going over his bows.

"So?" He finally says, not looking up from his work.

"So what?"

"Your name?"

You shrug. "Might as well change it. You said Natalia did that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then... my name is Y/n. Yes, Y/n Y/l/n."

"What was it before?"

You shrug, not wanting to say. "Ask Nat."

He nods, and the two of you are silent. Then, "Clint." At your surprised and confused look, "My name. Clint Barton."

You gingerly shake his offered hand, feeling the roughness and callouses. "Nice to meet you, Clint," you tell him in English. He grins, despite your heavy accent.

"Nice to meet you too."