#i noticed there weren't really any gifs of him from the trailer so i fixed that

[itsonlymyecho]

ECHO IN THE BAD BATCH SEASON 2 TRAILER

[threeminutesoflife]

Circling Fate

Pairings: dark!Clint Barton x Reader Series: Under the Big Top When the circus comes to town: part 1- Clint x Reader, knife throwing Summary, part 1: Reader tries to figure out if circus life w/ Clint is still for her.  Warnings: non/con, knife throwing/knife play, mentions of blood Word Count: 3k

“You missed your cue,” Clint growled from the entrance of the trailer, the door bouncing off the wall. “Again.”

You sat on your knees sorting outfits, multi-colored costumes wrapped your arms and discarded pieces draped your thighs, before Clint startled you with storming into the costume trailer. Gathering a fallen garter, you peeked over the top of the folding table and readied yourself for another fight.

Recently, everything led to a brawl between you both. And each argument made you question how much more you could take. Especially when a fight proceeded a show.

Because on those nights, he'd strap in you against the wood target with harsher grabs and tighter restraints. All the while, grinning handsomely out into the packed crowd. A wide smile under vengeful eyes. Unapologetic and furious when he got in this mood, a twisted lip and a promise of pain.

The restraints kept you braced against the spinning target, but it was his rage that truly immobilized you against the board. Each rotation taking you closer to an inescapable fate.

You always wondered on those nights, with your feet circling over your head- an endless repetition of stationary cartwheels- would his intentions veer direction when he released the knives? Would they be thrown to hit you instead of miss you?

Those nights, his blades nicked your arms and thighs. Because how fast could you run away with chafing and bloody thighs?

Everything and nothing you did seemed to antagonize Clint. It was always more gas to an already lit temper and you were too tired of skipping through his mine field. So you shut down and wouldn't argue back. You saved time by apathetically agreeing with him- it was the quickest way to get him to leave you alone.

Thumbing the garter, you gave in once again without meeting his eyes. “You're right. I missed it.”

But belly up and submissive was the wrong response tonight. With a hot snarl, Clint stepped further in the trailer, annoyed with your mindless agreements.

“Stop fucking around out there! If you want me to hurt you, come out and say it- I will.” he said, tightening his threat around you. His knuckles whitening on the table’s edge when he bent down to your field of vision. “Christ girl, are you even aware of what you're doing anymore?”

You remained quiet on your knees, garter and garments in your hands. You weren't usually a person to admit defeat but you were too tired, too apathetic from constant fighting.

In the beginning, the arguments led to makeup sex- boisterous, rough and fun. But now they left you drained and him disgusted with your lack of response. The quick barbs that were once traded cheekily, now left a residue of despondence and boredom.

You were starting to fear it wasn't just the disagreements you grew tired of- but your husband as well.

These days, the less emotions you held for Clint- the more his boiled, because he noticed all your lackluster movements. Even the light reflecting off the scratched and cracked costumes' sequins held more life than your eyes.

The only times you showed him any emotions were during your acts, and a part of him grew envious and resentful of that. He knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to fix it since you weren't sharing.  

So maybe he did grip you tighter and pull your restraints harsher. Maybe this was a small way to ensure himself that he could still keep you close. A way to see if your blood still moved under your dull skin and cold shoulders. And maybe he became resentful how you needed to be anchored down and spinning with blades hurled at you, in order for him to witness the slightest sign of life in your eyes.

It's been too long since you really looked Clint, even longer since you held a gaze of adoration. Weeks ago when you last fucked, you stoically told him to take you from behind.

He started off with dominating kisses, trying to pull some form of passion from you. He trailed his hands down your body but was met with no response. He didn't feel you shiver or lean into his touch like you once did. Even with his fingers deep inside you, hooking themselves how you liked- you remained emotionless, reaction less.

You fought with yourself in showing him any positive responses. The man still made you wet and edged you closer for release, but you withheld any satisfaction for yourself or him. As the moments ticked by, his temper ticked higher. He knew what you were doing- even before you told him to hurry up, get it over with.

He wished he had removed his hearing aid earlier when catching what you said next.

“Just… take me from behind so this can end,” you lamented.

It ended with you flipped over, face roughly smashed down in the bedding. Clint chased his own orgasm, cursing you under his breath with each harsh thrust. Finally, you let yourself feel something- and you felt like shit- even after your thighs trembled through your orgasm.

The door slammed behind him and the costume trailer rocked over the waves of Clint's anger. Dropping the garments, you locked the trailer door behind him and watched him walk towards the lunch tent. The fortune teller's words echoed in your head from last night's reading.

The tarot cards hated you, you were sure of it. You could practically hear them snickering at your future; colorfully arranged on the table, a mosaic of misfortunate fate. Your friend flipped the last card over, dragging her eyes up to meet yours. The incense circled in the air, spiral patterns aiding the message. Your friend braced herself before translating the cards, the soft jewel-tone lighting in the room did little to soothe as you waited for her to speak.

“He's your person,” her ringed fingers ran along the last card's edges.

“Can't be.”

“He's your forever person.”

“Repeating that doesn't make my reaction change.”

“And you denying it, don’t make my cards any less true.”

“We fight... all the time.”

“Oh love, you two will get past this. It'll take time and bending on both sides, but it'll get better.”

“No,” You shook your head admittedly. “My person wouldn't pick fights with me like he does and his wouldn't feel like I do towards him.”

“And yet, I don't need my cards to know you both love each other. The arguments will stop,” your friend held up a card. “This shows it will, but you both need to communicate. Have you tried? And not in your usual way of communicating, one shouts- the other remains silent.”

“Hate that you wasted the good incense on me for this crappy message,” you muttered, glaring at the table.

“Stop trying to burn holes in my cards, love. They don't lie. People do, especially to themselves. But not my cards.”

You knew what she meant. You might still love Clint but you were having a hard time with liking him.

Slouching back in the chair, you looked around your friend's trailer. Scarves draped over lamps creating a serene, glowing rainbow. Soothing music mixed with the incense. All these aids for calmness but you still felt anxious and confused. Were you annoyed you'd still be stuck with him or relieved you’d still have him? Maybe it’d be better to be away, at least for a little while?

“Don't do it,” your friend warned, giving a knowing look to the thoughts rolling in your head.

“What are you on about now?”

“I know that look. Stop plotting. Stop avoiding. No more playing possum. Don't make a run for it and leave him behind. One, he wouldn't let you. And two, you're fated. You can't out run fate, love. No one has enough endurance for that.”

Narrowing your eyes at the unintentional challenge she gave, you pondered, “I could try though, couldn't I? We only need some space for now.”

“Look love, all the best tragedies tried running out fate. That's why they're tragedies. And you know what they found out? In the end, fate treated them far worse for their escape attempt. Don't make fate drag you back home by your ear. You may not have an ear left, if you do. ”

“You are insanely dramatic and that doesn't even make sense. If you're fated to an ending you don't want, it's already a tragedy. Regardless if it's accepted or not.”

“Oh be quiet, you knew what I’m getting at. You're stubborn and stupid, but I still find a way to love you,” your friend chided. “Find a way to clear your head and not lose your husband. Go home- and stay home. Think about talking to him- and then, talk to him. That’s what’s needed. We both know you'd be worse off if you left. Could you really leave this showman life? Because that's what would happen.”

“...I could always come up with a solo act.”

“How much time would that take? Which company would you join once they hear you ditched yours mid-act? What are you going to do- throw knives at yourself?” your friend scoffed. “How fast can you run? You going to throw a knife from one end of the tent and then race up onto the target before the blade lands? Go home, to him.”

Maybe you couldn't permanently leave this life, but you sure as hell could take a short reprieve from it. There was a gap between shows after tomorrow's performance. You could slip away after the act and take some time for yourself before arriving to Minneapolis for next week's show date. It'd give you at least four days to yourself. Small but promising, if you timed everything correctly- you were starting to feel better already.

That night, you packed a bag while Clint drove to town with Thor to promote the show. While hiding your bag, a soft knock came at the door. Your friend stood outside your trailer, the setting sun and her colorful skirt clashing with one another.

Before you could greet the fortune teller, she warned, “Don't do it, love.”

You exhaled a huff of disbelief before an inhale of annoyance took its place, “I'll see you in Minneapolis.”

You closed the door on her, her reminder that you couldn’t run away from fate dying in her tongue.

___

“What changed?” Backstage Clint wiped his face with a towel, the crowd still cheering for your completed act.

“New day, new attitude?” you quipped playfully.

Clint hummed lowly at your response, “We need to go over the new trick before Minneapolis' show.”

Shit.

“Um, yeah sure. How about tomorrow?”

“No,” Clint was all business when it came to new routines. “It'll be tonight after this one ends. We'll lose too much practice time between now and next week with the traveling.”

“Clint, it'll be fine. We can wait till Minneapolis.”

He hissed out your name and pulled you away from the acrobats lining up for their cue. “I'm not fucking around. We practice tonight. Stay by me, I don't need you trying to sneak off just yet.”

____

“Stand by the target,” Clint instructed. “We only have an hour before the next group comes to practice.”

“Just one group? Why aren't they here now?”

“Most are resting or packing for tomorrow's departure. Loki and his new assistant are the only ones adding anything new to their routine. Said he's rechecking the water tanks before he'd be able to get in here.”

“Wait, another assistant? Already?”

“Claimed to have a good feeling about this one. Slide the ramp up to the target and climb up, we need to sort some things out.”

Kissing the tips of your fingers, you pressed your hand on the edge of the target for good luck. Positioning yourself against the large circular target, you slid between the hip bars and twisted around on the small foot ledge. Hearing the ramp creak, you looked up startled to find Clint right in front you.

“God, you scared me. Why are you up here, what's wrong?”

Clint stepped to the ramp's edge and crowded your minimal space.

“Clint?”

He brought his finger up to your lips, “Shh, gonna see which side I need you to be angled at.”

“This isn't how we usually-”

His fingers ran over your cheekbones and trailed them under your chin. Left to right, his slowly manipulated your head to each side.

“Clint?”

He hummed, raising a leg off the ramp's edge and wedged his knee between your thighs, “Figuring things out, seems I need to memorize you.”

You bit your bottom lip feeling Clint settle more of his weight on the target's ledge, spreading your legs further apart. His body heat began seeping into your skin.

“O-oh, okay..” you said, uncertain of his next movements.

This was not how he usually planned a new act. Normally he'd stand at the throwing line, practice his arm movements to spot his placements. Then he'd tell you how to angle your body for the knives to landing accurately.

But with him right there, pressing you back against the target and crowding your space- your body was slowly waking up.

His chest rubbed over yours as he leaned in further, running his hands over your arms. Collaring your wrists, he drew them away from your body and guided your arms higher up along the target. The raised edges from the knife markings scratched your skin, snagging your sleeves as he moved your arms above your head.

The warm touches and slow movements teased your body more. The familiar mold of your back against the dimpled target made you relax and drop your guard.

Clint ghosted his large hands down your arms and over your breasts, making you moan softly. You realized how much your body missed him.

As you got lost in Clint's comfort and leaned your chest into him, you missed how his anger gradually brewed. You started to feel again, started to yearn again- and the more he noticed your eyes brighten, the more you missed his darken.

He suddenly took a step back. You grabbed the target's hip bars to steady yourself, your foot almost slipping. Before you had a chance to shake yourself out of the haze his touch put you in, Clint strapped your wrists down to the hip bars and walked off the ramp.

He positioned himself at the throwing line and pulled a knife from his back.

The target shook as the blade landed next to your strapped hand, grazing your knuckles.

You hissed, more surprised by Clint launching a knife without signaling you first than the slice he gifted.

The target shook again, vibrations radiating out and the wood rattling against your back. Turning your head, your reflection greeted you in the large blade by the side of your head.

Your heart rate quickened- none of this was routine, “Clint- what are you-”

THUD. The target shook harder. Vibrations smacked into the back of your calves and ass.

This time you hissed from the pain. Two knives on either side of your thighs; your leggings ripped, skin cut.

“What the fuck, Clint?!”

THUD.

A knife hung above your shoulder, more vibrations knocking into your back.

“I can only get a reaction from you when you're up there,” Clint seethed.

THUD.

A knife speared the hem of your shirt, catching your waist. You winced from another cut he delivered.

Light flashed off the blade Clint twirled in his fingers, “Found your fucking bag. You were just going to leave, huh? Just like that?”

THUD.

The knife embedded itself into the target, next to your neck.

“Clint, stop!”

“Why? You're only you when you're up on that thing- in danger. I'm helping you find yourself, baby.”

THUD.

Straining your neck up, you saw the knife's handle over your head.

“What the fuck do you want, Clint?!”

By the time you moved your head back to face him, Clint was on you. He reached between your legs and pulled the knife stuck between your inner thighs.

“I want you,” Clint spat out. “Only ever wanted you.”

He grabbed the top of your leggings and pulled at the waistband. Before you could yell, he ran the knife between the apex of your thighs and cut the seam of the leggings.

“Gonna fuck some life back into you.”

The strips around your wrists and hands cut into your skin as you tried moving them off the bars, “Not like this, Clint!”

You didn't recognize him as he pushed your sliced panties to the side and ran his fingers over your folds.

“Clint, please-”

“Baby,” Clint smirked at you. “I can feel your pulse starting up already.”

He dipped two fingers in you, your slick helping his way. Your breath hitched and your back smacked against the target as he circled his knuckle around your clit.

Pulling his fingers away from your core, he brought them up to your trembling chin and ran them over your bottom lip. His mouth covered your moan as he undid his pants.

“No baby,” Clint moved back from you and grabbed the knife embedded over your shoulder. Taking his free hand, he squeezed your cheeks open and laid the flat of the blade between your lips, “Me first.”

He ran a hand over his length and stepped up to you. Your ass pushed against the target as he pushed himself into you, one of your legs involuntary wrapping around his waist.

The edge of the blade scrapped the corners of your mouth, your teeth bit down on the steel. Clint rocked into you, the back of your head knocked along the target as he gripped the blade's handle.  

“Fuck, baby,” Clint grunted, tightening his grip on the knife. “Feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered around the metal, Clint's hips snapping dangerously into you. Your core tightened around him when your whimpers grew. Clint took the knife from your mouth and smashed it into the target above your head. He pace quickened as he grabbed your hips

“Undo my wrists,” you begged between moans, “want to touch.”

“Fuck what you want,” Clint growled out your name and drove himself deeper in you. “Tell me you're staying..”

“..Clint...”

“Tell me.”

Strapped down with Clint deep in your pussy, you didn't want to out run. You just wanted a release.

“Sta-Staying,” you choked out through your orgasm.

Clint’s breath hitched when he felt you squeeze around him, sending him over the edge.   

“I missed you,” you confessed, your head resting on his shoulder.

“We still need to talk and practice the act, baby.”

“We will. Can you untie me now?”

“Nah,” Clint smirked and reached above your head for the knife. “More practice first.”

“Clint, we're not fucking in front of an audience-”

The blade went back between your teeth.