#daisy just watching her partner pale and shake and sweat when hes in the same room as his sister and daisy feels so bad for him

[moeblob]

I kinda maybe put a lot of my OC plot tag lines on a Wheel and gave it a spin so outta 79 options, it landed on "Cellphone Justice" which is... these two.

Matthew "Skittles" Mouse and Daisy Eddington

Partners in justice (of sorts). They're basically vigilantes and their orders are simply text messages. They don't really know who their bosses are but they do as they are told.

Skittles is a very mediocre guy. Doesn't stand out. The most color he has in his wardrobe is blue jeans. He's amazingly asexual and has zero interest in romance regardless of intimacy and yet he gets partnered with Daisy. The gayest lady he has ever met. Great start. She enjoys calling him fun little nicknames but seeing as they're monitored closely (via cell phones/technology) she is scolded and told to pick a single one. So she does. She dubs him Skittles. The candy as gay as her.

The one thing they have in common is their number one weakness: cute girls.

Daisy turns into a stuttering MESS of a human being. A disaster. At the mere sight of a cute girl. Skittles on the other hand is TERRIFIED of them. When asked, he simply blames his life growing up. Daisy doesn't really push the matter just thinks it's a little weird to be scared of every single cute girl (no offense to the not being afraid of her taken).

#my characters #like the entire thing with skittles is just he is SO boring looking and hes so scared of cute girls #and daisy thinks its REALLY FUNNY dude why are you scared of them haha girls are GREAT #and then she meets his younger sister and is like oh dang dude she is ADORABLE and she sees him practically shaking and sweating #surely its not THAT bad but ah no wait #two days pass and daisy is like oh my god shes horrifying ????? what the hell? #and growing up with her and trying to be a good big brother is all fine and dandy until the cute lil sister gets him hurt a lot #like hospital injuries from either protecting her or just .... somehow wrong place with her at the wrong times all the time #so he gets a fear of cute girls bc his lil sister is a cute monster who is the reason most of his limbs have been broken in the past #like broken leg ? that was from amelia and a stair case #the broken arm ? trying to help amelia get something out of a tree #the broken wrist ? catching amelia falling out of a tree #the other broken leg ? amelia - #the list goes on and on and he also got into multiple fights trying to keep her safe from guys #bc she really is just a cute lil innocent looking girl but shes a schemer and it does come back to bite her #except for she has a good big bro who took the repercussions when he could #daisy just watching her partner pale and shake and sweat when hes in the same room as his sister and daisy feels so bad for him #like hes really going through it even after all these years #but meeting amelia puts a lot into perspective for when daisy and skittles are out and about #cause hes very efficient and chill talking to dudes and to mature looking women #then he turns into a bundle of nerves at wide eyed innocence and daisy is like yeah ok i gotta #i gotta be a lil less gay for his sake only if hes around cause i cant make him talk to his biggest fear thats mean #shes still really gay but yeah it works out and she looks out for him and in turn he looks out for her and its great! #they become friends! yeehaw! #lil trivia is she was a drama kid in hs and he was on the baseball team but never really played or put effort into it #she was a straight a student and he very consciously maintained a c average through calculating grades and missing stuff on tests on purpos #anyway thank u if you read all the tags or even ty if you read just hte post itself #im sorry for ocing on main when its my own ocs #ill be back tomorrow with .... idk what

[builder051]

Love the one you’re with

Creedless Assassins.  Current timeline, taking place during coronavirus quarantine.  (Nothing to do with the actual virus, though, if that is scary for you.)

________________________

They’re stateside when the call comes in.  Ohio is completely shutting down, by order of the governor.  

Their target actually pulls a U-turn in traffic drives back to his office, and spends another half hour loading CPUs into his trunk.  

Nat calls Fury just to be sure they’ve heard correctly, while Clint does not-quite donuts in the parking lot of the convenience store across the street.

“Yes, it includes you.  According to the painstakingly fake paperwork in your pockets, you’re Ohio residents.”

“Joy.”  Nat twists her mouth into a sideways grimace.  “You know, I could always just…” She fingers the outline of the derringer in her pocket.

“No.  That’s all kinds of wrong and you know it,” her superior snaps in her ear.  “Lie low.  Looks like he’s gonna do the same.  The threat might even neutralize during the quarantine.  Who knows…”

Nat grits her teeth.  “You’re killing me, Fury.”  

“No, I’m not,” Fury replies.  “And you’re not killing anyone.  Not today.”

The call ends, and Nat reluctantly looks at her partner in the driver’s seat.  “What do you want to do?” she sighs.

“What college kids do best,” Clint responds, yanking the steering wheel and pulling the outdated sedan into a parking space.  “Buy beer and Cheez-Its and hunker down for the weekend.”  

“We’re not college kids.”  Nat rolls her eyes.  “We’re too old.”  She looks at the messy pile of plagiarized papers and textbooks in the backseat.  “Grad students.  There’s a difference.  And if you think I’m hunkering down with you…” She shakes her head.

But Clint’s already killed the ignition and hopped out of the car.  “Gimme five minutes,” he mumbles, digging in his wallet for the crumpled cash they’ve been given as mission allowance.

“Smirnoff,” Nat calls after him.  “Don’t just get Bud Light or whatever you think you call alcohol.”

Nat puts her feet up on the dash, and, true to his word, not five minutes later, Clint returns with two clanking glass bottles, a case of beer, and a bag stuffed with more snacks than should be allowed in human existence.  

“Barbeque flavored pork rinds?”  Nat pinches the package between two fingers and wrinkles her nose.  “What the fuck?”  

“Drink enough of the good stuff and you don’t taste ‘em,” Clint replies.  

“Then why’d you buy them?”

He shrugs.  “Cheap.”

“You are a fucking college kid.”

Clint swerves back onto the road and gets them back to their ghetto apartment, which was supposed to be theirs just for the weekend.  Now Nat considers the air mattress and pair of open suitcases on the floor and wonders just how long they can make this work without blowing up.  Or fucking.  The alcohol will surely smooth things over in potentially a good or a very, very bad way.

They tromp loudly up the metal stairs, complaining about their heavy backpacks, yet blessing the university system for giving them extra time to work on their term papers.  In the joke to end the ages, they’ve traded specialties.  Clint’s studying Russian, and Nat’s working on tactical physics.  They’re not just assassins; they have smarts too.

Once inside the tiny studio, Clint sets up a pair of laptops while Nat hooks in a daisy chain of cords that eventually brings an image of their target onto one screen, and footage of his empty office onto the other.  

“We’re really gonna watch him play soccer with his kids?”  Clint shakes his head.

“I’ll watch that one, if you’d rather,” Nat offers.  “You can watch the dust motes on the other one.”  She points to the empty office, silent save for the low rumble of traffic still passing the window outside.

“Fine, fine.”  Clint pops a beer and opens a bag of snack mix.  

Nat actually watches the sloppy goings on of Beckham, jr. for a while, just to spite Clint.  Then she can’t resist the vodka anymore.  

“Slow down on that,” Clint advises, raising his eyebrows at the half-empty bottle Nat keeps lifting to her lips.  “I don’t want to deal with you when you’ve got a hangover.”

“Hmph.”  Nat throws one of Clint’s three empty beer cans at his head.  “Same to you, princess.”

When half the booze is gone, Clint’s shirt’s off.  He’s sweating, and leaning against the wall.  

“Should I get a bucket or something?”  Nat asks, refusing to admit to the slight slur on her tongue.  

“Nope.”  Clint wipes his brow on the back of his hand.  “’M fine.  But what kind of bra are you wearing?  Is it a cute one?”

He cocks his head in a way that Nat has to admit goes somewhere between her heart and her pants.  Her gut, she supposes.  

“Lightweight bulletproof vest, babe,” she replies.  “Not that cute.”

“Oh.”  Clint’s face falls, but Nat starts to laugh.  Then Clint laughs.  Gags a couple of times.  Insists he’s fine again.

“You sure about that?”

Clint nods emphatically, even though he’s green.  

“Two choices, then.  You either proof my paper, or we can play chess.”

“Internet chess?”  Clint looks confused.

“Nope.”  Nat rummages in her suitcase and pulls the dented magnetic chessboard from an inside pocket.  “I never travel without it.  Just in case, you know.”

“In case of what?”

Nat shrugs.  “This, I guess.”

It’s Clint’s turn to give a hearty harrumph.  “Black or white?” he asks.

“I’m black, of course,” Nat says, setting up her pieces.  “You’re too pure to be anything but white.”

“Riiiiight.  But, really, what’s under the bulletproof vest?”

Nat flicks a pawn at him, which hits him directly in the forehead, leaving a pink indent.

“Concentrate.  Or I’ll do it for you.”

“Scary.”  Clint turns his gaze down to his pieces.

It takes roughly ten minutes of play for Nat to corner his king, but she humors him, going along good naturedly as half-watches the target switch to Frisbee instead of soccer ball on the CCTV.  She expects this to go on for an hour or more, giving her plenty of time to plan how to maneuver Clint into the makeshift bed to sleep off his own stupidity.  Usually it wouldn’t take a nanosecond, but Nat has to admit, she’s a little slammed too.  The last decade hasn’t been the kindest to her once-untouchable composition.

It’s all cut short, though, when Clint opens his mouth, to decry her tactics, Nat thinks, but instead he vomits up warm beer and lumpy orange something all over the board.

“Oh, wonderful,” Nat says sarcastically, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling his head against her chest as she drags him into the cramped bathroom.  “I was waiting for that.”

“Sure,” Clint sputters, gulping and smacking his wet lips.  “I can’t—I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, I know.”  Nat positions him over the toilet, using the overgrown hair at the scruff of his neck as a handle.

“Fucking—ow—“ He retches again.

“Shut up.”  Nat ignores him and looks down at herself, the front of her pale grey t-shirt covered in neon bodily fluids.  She sighs and grabs the hem, pulling the garment over her head and flinging it into the corner of the shower stall.  

“It is kinda cute,” Clint mutters, turning his head so his cheek rests on the toilet seat.  He raises his brows and nods toward the invisible zipper of Nat’s bulletproof vest, buried in the center of her cleavage.  

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Nat replies.  The words hang in the air between them for a moment.  But then the corner of Clint’s mouth ticks up into half a smile. He’s drunk, and he probably can’t help it.

And Nat can’t help it, either.

#creedless assins #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #Black Widow #clint barton #hawkeye #clintasha #lite #sickfic #alcohol #emeto #emetophilia #illumivomi #hurt/comfort #mission fic