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Pushchair- Clint Barton
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Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader
Characters: Clint Barton
Warnings: N/A
Request: Anon- Heyy, could you do something with the following prompts with Clint Barton “Let’s make this work.” 
Word Count: 413
Author: Charlotte
Being a stay-at-home mum involved more energy and work than you ever had to use working as an Avenger. You missed the days where you were getting your arse kicked for work instead of being stuck sat in a mess of toys whilst watching cartoons of animated animals that you were starting to gain an unnecessary hatred for. You loved your daughter with all of your heart even if she was a two-year-old terror, but you were getting to the point where you were desperate for even a moments break.
Luckily for you your husband, Clint, was home for the day and offered to take your daughter out to the park around the corner from your home so that you could have a shower without having a little human point out all of your insecurities. You were grateful for the break and tried not to cry with joy as you waved off your husband with the push chair. You made the most of your time, taking a peaceful shower and getting a snack that you normally had to either sneak or share. The peace couldn’t last forever as you had to scramble to throw away the crisps wrapper before going to greet your family.
Your daughter started to ramble on about the slide as you watched your husband attempt to put the pushchair back down to not take up the whole of your porch. You watched as he fought with it, attempting to push and pull everything he could to get it to collapse but it wasn’t working out the way that he wanted it to.
“Need some help?” You asked.
Clint rolled his eyes at you, taking a step back. He was an amazing dad, but he could never get his head around anything that you had for your child, rarely able to collapse the pushchair, open the baby gate or figure out how to remove the batteries from the annoying toys that his friends had gotten for your daughter.
You stepped up to the pushchair with a cocky smile, knowing that you had to use the pushchair nearly everyday so had gotten the knack for it by now.
“Let’s make this work,” you said to yourself.
You pressed the correct button and pulled the latch, instantly folding it up so that you could slot it behind the coat rack so that you could manoeuvre the entrance of your house with ease.
Clint turned up your nose up at you. “Show off.”
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to ashes, truth
Clint Barton x Reader
To Ashes, Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Summary: clint now knows that you’ve lost control of your abilities, and you have no choice but to tell him what happened during the battle of wakanda.
Warnings: angst, adult language
Word Count: 4,836
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prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14
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A/N: Chapter includes rewrite of scenes from Infinity War. Also, sorry the chapter took so damn long. **********************************
Days Since the Decimation: Two Hundred and Seventy-Eight
Waking up was like pulling yourself out of a river of mud, sleep clinging to your senses as you struggled to keep your eyes open. It took you a long moment to recognize your surroundings even as you finally shook off the remaining drowsiness, and you found yourself laying on your back in the dark. Lights occasionally swept by, slipping part the closed curtains above you and there was an unsettling sensation of swaying in place… you were tucked into the bed in the back of the Winnebago, and you were on the highway.
You sat up cautiously, swallowing heavily as your head throbbed and spun, a reminder of what had happened.
What happened…
You touched a hand to your face carefully – the blood from your nose was gone. Your brow furrowed at the tightness you felt around your fingers, and you flexed them experimentally. A passing set of headlights lit them up for a second; there were bandages wrapped securely around your palms and up to your elbows, and you remembered the bite of your nails into your skin as you’d lost control.
You reached up and switched on the overhead light, wincing as the weak orange light flickered on. You felt dizzy, weak, and the hollowness in your stomach suggested that you’d been out for more than just a few hours. The sterile scent of ointment teased at your senses, and you carefully unwrapped one of your arms. There was a thin film of cream covering your skin, and feather-like burns running down the length of your forearm. They resembled the ones you’d seen on people who’d been struck by lightning – a familiar result of holding the psychokinetic energy of your shields for too long. There was a small trashcan by the bed, and a glance showed it full of discarded bandages… apparently Clint had treated your burns more than once since you’d fallen unconscious.
You rewrapped your arm and pulled back the blankets, swinging your legs over the side of the bed carefully. Your shoes were gone, but otherwise you were still dressed in the workout gear you’d been wearing when you’d passed out. You shivered, pushing wayward strands of hair back out of your face as you noticed one of Clint’s hoodies folded at the end of the mattress. You slipped it on, zipping it up and wrapping your arms around yourself as you stood and made your way shakily to the front of the RV.
“Clint…?” you cleared your throat as your voice came out hoarse, one hand sliding along the kitchenette counter to help you balance as you approached him. You could barely make him out in the dark, but you saw him turn his head as you spoke. You stopped for a moment as the RV hit a pothole, the jolt making you sway unsteadily. A headache was already beginning to form behind your eyes, and you dug your teeth into the inside of your lip as a pitiful attempt at distraction.
“Hey. You’re awake.” you were a little surprised by the relief in his voice, and you slipped into the passenger seat beside him. There was music playing quietly on the radio, and he reached over to turn it down further. “How’re you feeling?”
You drew your feet up onto the edge of the seat, wrapping your arms around your knees. “What time is it?”
“Uh, a little after three, I think.” Clint replied, casting a glance towards you. “Thursday morning.”
“Thurs—I was out for three days?!”
“Technically, about two and a half. You’ve been kind of in and out.” he said with a half-hearted shrug. He fished a plastic shopping bag out from beside his seat and held it out to you. “I, uh… I thought you might need this.”
You took it from him, bemused, opening it to find a bottle of water, another of juice, a packet of saltines and a bag of gummy worms. You felt the corners of your lips tug upward in a small smile, and you picked out the juice before setting the bag aside. “Thanks. Where are we?”
“Somewhere in West Virginia, I think.” he replied, and you noticed the two empty coffee cups in the console beside him.
“Virginia?” you repeated in surprise. You straightened slightly, torn between sudden hope that Clint had decided to call off his mission and fear that he thought you were too much of a liability to keep around. “Are we… are we going back to New York?”
Clint shook his head, eyes on the road. “D.C.”
“Oh.” The two of you were silent for a while, the tension pulling at your senses as you tried to figure out where you stood. “I didn’t think we were finished. In L.A., I mean.”
Clint huffed a sigh, and you saw his shoulder shrug out of the corner of your eye. “We weren’t. You did a lot of damage to that studio. I didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing what exactly had done it. So, we relocate.”
You picked at the bottle’s label, nails scratching tracks in the paper. “Oh.”
“How’s your head?”
You shrugged noncommittedly and took a tentative sip of juice. When it didn’t upset your stomach further, you swallowed down another mouthful. “I’ll be fine.”
“Y/N.” Clint’s voice was soft, but there was a roughness to it, worry. An eighties ballad crooned over the radio, too low for you to really pick up on any of the lyrics. “You’re not in control anymore.”
You sighed, squeezing your eyes closed against the light of an approaching car. You considered lying again, but everything you could think of tasted sour on your tongue. So, you swallowed thickly, tucking hair behind your ear as you directed your gaze away from him, out the window at your side. “No. I’m not.”
Clint glanced over at you for a moment before turning his attention back to the road ahead. “There are painkillers for you in the glovebox.”
You raised a brow, leaning forward to retrieve them. A tiny part of you wondered if he’d been testing you – if you’d lied, and he’d caught you, would he have still told you they were there?
You found a prescription bottle instead of aspirin, and while it didn’t have a label, you recognized the pills as you shook a couple out onto your hand. You looked up at him again, surprised. “These…these are my prescription.”
Clint cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I saw you were out.”
“How did you get these?”
Clint shifted in his seat, and the headlights of a passing truck lit him up as his hands flexed on the steering wheel. There were similar burns on his hands to the ones on your arms, and you remembered the way his hands had gripped at your wrists even as the energy had still pulsed through your arms.
He seemed to be avoiding your eye, even as the truck passed, and you were left in the dark again. “I picked them up on the way out of L.A.”
“My prescription ran out.” you said, an eyebrow arching as realization dawned on you. Your words almost came in a disbelieving laugh. “Clint, did you… did you rob a pharmacy for me?”
He started to shake his head, but he inhaled, changing it to a slow nod. “Only in the… well, literal sense. There are more bottles in your bag.”
You hummed a laugh, amazed, and swallowed two pills with another mouthful of juice. “I… thank you.”
The two of you fell silent again, and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the seat. Your head still throbbed; the ache of energy overload made stronger by your empty stomach. Still, with painkillers in your system, you were sure you only had to wait it out until it lessened to a more manageable level.
Three songs passed on the radio – each one separated by a radio host who sounded far too positive to be awake at this hour – before Clint spoke again. “What’s going on with you? What happened to your powers?”
You opened your eyes slowly, letting them fall to your lap.
His voice was soft. “Y/N?”
You sighed heavily, teeth digging into your bottom lip. You couldn’t avoid this anymore, and you felt bile rise in your stomach as you finally answered.
“Thanos happened.”
***
The heat of the Wakandan sun did nothing to banish the cold you felt at your core, your anxiety making your heart pound against your ribs as you stood alongside warriors far more experienced than you. You could feel the tension in the air around you, the energy almost palpable. Steve, Natasha and the King made their way to the barrier stretched before you, and you shifted from one foot to the other, your battle suit unfamiliar against your skin after so many years.
Even with his adamance that you remain retired, Tony had apparently found the time to make upgrades to it – the neckline was higher, sturdier armor embedded in the material. The black was highlighted with the usual blue but interspersed with lines of gold, and your now-black wrist bracers had been lengthened and turned to fingerless gloves, undoubtedly designed with some high-tech alloy to protect you from the burns your powers could leave behind. The hem of the top had been lengthened at the back and sides, falling almost like a cape to brush your mid-thigh.
You swallowed as you tried to steady yourself, glancing at the man beside you. “We haven’t actually met before… I’m Y/N.”
His lips curved in a small smile even as he didn’t take his eyes of the barrier. Your stomach dropped as you watched warships rise in the tree line. “Bucky.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but, uh—”
“Not really the day for it,” he replied as Steve and the others rejoined you. “They surrender?”
“Not exactly.”
***
An energy beam flew past you and blasted through the chest of an approaching alien, its body falling to the dirt as you knocked back another. You were standing on one of the largest stones that dotted the riverbank, your arms stretched before you as you summoned shield after shield. You could taste dust and sweat and blood, the smell of burnt flesh and earth overpowering.
There were too many of them; every time one fell another three came tearing forward to take their place. You couldn’t maintain shields big enough to protect everyone – instead, you threw them between your allies and their attackers just long enough for them to get back on their feet and return to the fight before dropping it and summoning another.
You knocked back one beast from Okoye as she turned to drive her spear into another, dissolving it as you saw Steve disappear beneath another three. You gritted your teeth, waving your arms and creating a bubble between them, throwing them back as it expanded. They landed a few feet away, and Steve caught sight of you as he clambered to his feet, nodding gratefully before he threw himself back into the fight.
You cried out as pain tore through your side, and you were thrown to the ground, stone and earth knocking the wind out of you. There were aliens on you immediately, and you threw up your arms, a dome of crackling blue energy surrounding you. It tossed them back, but they regained their footing, tossing themselves onto it, claws and gaping maws slamming into the shield.
“There’s too many of them!” you heard Bruce’s panicked voice over your comms, and you turned your head, catching sight of the Hulkbuster falling under the weight of his attackers a few feet away. You gritted your teeth, one hand still extended above you as you reached out towards him, your own shield shuddering as you tried to create another around him. You managed to push back a few, but more took their place, the red and gold armor disappearing under the swarm of flesh and teeth. “Get off! Argh!”
The ground suddenly shook beneath you and a bright light flew past, sending the beasts still trying to push through your shield sprawling into the dust. You shoved yourself up off the ground, shield dissipating, eyes widening as you took in the pillar of light in front of you.
Lightning danced out from it, and you felt yourself break into a disbelieving, breathless grin as the light disappeared.
Bruce’s laughter sounded over the comms, ringing with pride and relief. “You guys are so screwed now!”
Thor stood before you, every bit the god of Norse legend, lightning and fury crackling off his body as he faced down the army before him. You heard him roar as he charged, and you barely had the moment to register the creatures by his side before the sky darkened and lightning rained down from above.
***
“Guys,” Sam’s voice sounded in your ear as you ducked under the arm of another alien warrior. You kicked it in the back, knocking it down long enough for Bruce to fire a repulsor beam into its head. “We’ve got a Vision situation here.”
You saw the repulsors in Bruce’s suit glow and you rushed to his side, tossing back one of the beasts as it threw itself at his back. “Bruce!”
He took your meaning immediately, the giant fist of the suit closing around your arm and swinging you gracelessly up onto the back of the suit. You clung to the metal with aching fingers as the thrusters activated, the two of you rising shakily into the air.
“Somebody get to Vision!”
“We got him!” The suit launched itself forward, and the two of you rocketed towards the base of the mountain, your eyes squeezed shut against the wind.
The Hulkbuster landed heavily between Vision and his attackers, and you fell from its back, landing in a crouch in front of the android. You straightened hastily, scrambling to Vision’s side as Bruce aimed the repulsors at the warriors in front of you. Vision grasped tightly at your arm as you reached him, his face contorted in pain and one hand clutching at his stomach. You helped him to his feet, stumbling slightly as you adjusted to his weight against you. Slinging his arm around your shoulders, you wrapped your other arm around his waist. “It’s alright, man. I’ve got you.”
“Ohhh, no… Oh, no, you don’t.” Bruce warned, and you began backing towards the tree line as quickly as you could without hurting Vision further. “This isn’t going to be like New York, pal. This suit’s already kicked the crap out of the Hulk—”
The larger alien suddenly lurched forward, grabbing ahold of his arm. The thrusters fired, and the two of them were launched into the air. You cursed under your breath, stopping in your tracks as they disappeared, leaving the two of you alone with the other warrior. He smiled.
“Guys!” Bruce shouted in your ear. “Y/N needs back up. Now!”
You released your hold on Vision carefully, your eyes trained warily on the alien in front of you. Vision stumbled back as you did, but your attention didn’t waver; energy crackled down your arms, shifting blue orbs forming around your hands. You swallowed, raising your chin as the alien spun his spear at his side.
“Y/N, let me—”
“I’ve got this, Vision.” you said quietly, tightening your jaw to keep the quiver out of your voice. “You need to get out of here.”
“This is who you have to protect you?” the alien taunted, stalking towards you slowly. “Your last defense? Barely more than a child.”
You jumped back as he rushed toward you, throwing up a shield just as his spear swung downward. The blade met the projection, and your eyes widened as it slid through it unencumbered, pain shooting through your arm as it sliced into your bicep. You stumbled back, the shield falling away as you slapped your hand over the wound.
The alien grinned cruelly, swinging it towards you again. You dodged it clumsily, trying to keep yourself between him and Vision. “The blade of my glaive can split atoms, girl. You think your magic tricks can stop me?”
He thrust the blade towards you, and you jumped away, swinging your free arm up instinctively. The shield you created came in an arc, the edge meeting the spear’s shaft and knocking it off course. He snarled, spinning it towards you again, and you ducked, side-stepping to get yourself in front of Vision again. A thought came to you suddenly, and you released your arm, your hand slick with your own blood. You threw a shield towards his legs, sweeping them out from under him. The alien landed in the dirt, baring his teeth as he pushed himself up again.
You planted your feet, meeting his eye determinedly, teeth digging into the inside of your lip. You had no idea if this was going to work. “Vision. Go.”
The alien’s grin widened as you summoned another shield between you, your bloody hands shaking slightly as you held them aloft. There was more blood dripping from your nose, but you ignored it, even as you tasted it on your lips.
“Foolish.”
He thrust his spear forward, aiming for your gut. You drew your hands together quickly as the blade pierced the shield and the energy shrunk with it, until you’d formed a crackling blue ring around the glaive’s shaft, the blade bare inches from your stomach. The alien’s eyes widened as you turned your hands and twisted it out of his grip, flinging the spear aside. It clattered to the ground, and he turned to you, his expression viscous.
The back of his hand met your jaw so hard it knocked you off your feet, and you hit the ground hard. You saw him raise his arm and the glaive flew into it, his attention turning to Vision. You struggled to your feet, your head spinning, eyes widening as he sunk it into Vision’s gut.
“No!”
“I thought you were formidable, machine.” the alien spat into his ear. “But you’re dying, like any man.”
He tugged the glaive out of Vision’s stomach, letting him collapse before him. He reached for the Stone, and before you could raise a shield between them, he was tackled off his feet by Steve.
“Get him outta here!” he ordered, and you pulled Vision to his feet, the two of you struggling to stay steady. “Go!”
You urged Vision to turn, intent on getting him back to the lab, even as unwilling as you were to leave Cap to fight alone. “Vis—”
He pushed himself out of your grip, and you turned to see Steve on his back, his own shield pressed to his throat. You jerked forward, arms half raised as the alien stopped, his own spear stabbed through his back by Vision.
The android lifted him away from Steve and tossed his body aside, Cap managing to catch him as his knees gave out once more. You wiped the blood away from your nose with the back of your arm, trying to steady your breath.
“I thought I told you to go.”
“We don’t trade lives, Captain.”
***
“We need to wait here for Wanda.” Steve said, setting Vision carefully down against a fallen tree. You were too far from the city; there was too much open terrain. You’d be easy targets crossing on foot. “We’re not going to get him back up to the Princess like this.”
You nodded, falling into a kneel beside the android. Vision gave you a small, wan smile. “You’ve improved, since I last saw you.”
You huffed a short, self-deprecating breath, hand hovering over his latest injury. The last time the two of you had fought together, he was only hours old, and you’d been unconscious for half the battle. This time, you might be still awake, but you were fading fast. You could feel your knees shaking and your head was beginning to pound. “Apparently not enough.”
His response was interrupted as Wanda landed before you, and you stood as she rushed to take your place at his side. She barely spared you a glance, her hand cupping his cheek. “Are you okay?” Vision groaned in pain, the Stone in his head flaring. “What? What is it?”
“He’s here.”
You felt something stick in your throat, nerves rising as you moved to Steve’s side. The air around you felt… eerie, the wind picking up as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “…Steve?”
Steve didn’t answer you directly, raising a hand to his ear to activate his comms. “Everyone, on my position. We have incoming.”
“Do we have a plan?” you asked nervously, eyes still scanning the jungle around you. You could feel it, the dread hanging in the air around you, but there was no physical sign of another presence. Not yet.
Steve nodded, and you felt his hand squeeze your shoulder briefly, reassuringly. “I want you back there, between Wanda, Vision, and whatever’s on its way. You’re our last line of defense, you got it? Stand your ground.”
You nodded determinedly, moving back towards the couple as the others joined you. Natasha’s expression matched Steve’s – she could feel that same sense of foreboding that you did. “What the hell?”
A cloud materialized ahead of you all, black and blue shifting together as it opened. A figure stepped out, purple skin and a golden gauntlet on his left hand, easily as tall as the Hulk. The uneasiness you felt doubled, settling in the pit of your stomach. You steadied yourself, exhaling shakily as you drew the energy into your arms again.
“Cap.” Bruce’s voice was low, tense. “That’s him.”
Thanos.
Steve raised his shield. “Eyes up. Stay sharp.”
You watched as the other charged forward, watched as the Hulkbuster, surrounded in a blue glow was made immaterial, floated ineffectually through his target to the wall of rock behind him, burying Bruce in the side of the mountain.
Watched as Steve was thrown aside in a cloud of purple, untouched by the Titan himself.
Watched as the Panther King launched himself at Thanos, only to be grabbed by the throat and punched to the ground, the kinetic energy of his suit discharging around him.
Watched as Sam flew forward, guns firing, only to crash, his wings suddenly rubbery and useless.
You felt energy ripple against your back as you watched Rhodey’s armor seize up around him, heard Bucky yell as he charged, his gun raised, before being knocked back by a jolt of purple light. Your stomach clenched as you realized what was happening, what Wanda was being forced to do, and you were stuck, torn, unable to offer any kind of hollow comfort as you stared down the approaching evil, fear rising in your chest and clutching at your heart.
Okoye’s spear was stopped midair before she too was tossed aside, and Natasha fell, trapped beneath bands of earth.
The tree-like creature that came with Thor sunk his arms into the earth, cables of roots twisting around Thanos for a moment before he broke them apart. His pace didn’t falter, his approach unhindered by each attack.
The energy behind you doubled, you could feel it against your back, feel the hair on your arms standing on end, and Steve rejoined the fight, and despite all reason you felt a grain of hope as Steve grabbed hold of the gauntlet. You could hear Wanda sob, even as Steve yelled, and that foolish hope burned up as Thanos’ fist crashed into Steve’s skull, and the super soldier crumpled to the ground like any normal man.
Thanos turned his gaze on you and you raised your arms, pushing enough energy out from your mind to create a huge, shining wall between you. It expanded quickly, the tree to your right cracking apart as the shield cut through it. The giant looked unimpressed, and you saw a stone on his gauntlet shine purple before he raised his fist.
You ignored the throbbing of you head and the dizziness you were feeling, pushing everything you had into the shield before you. It shook as his fist met it, splintered but didn’t break, and you felt the bones in your arms vibrate with the force of it. Your whole body was shaking, your knees threatening to give out as your migraine doubled. Your vision was blurry, but you saw Thanos snarl, saw the purple glow brighter, joined this time by red.
His fist slammed into the projection, and it shattered, and with it, so did you.
You felt a scream rip from your throat as your mind broke, but you couldn’t hear it – you couldn’t hear anything over the agony in your head. You collapsed, every nerve in your body firing in pain as your brain lost its grip on your powers. The energy was rebounding inside you, burning along every vein and every muscle you had while the rest of you forgot everything that wasn’t this feeling right now. You clutched at your head, blood in your ears.
The next sound you were aware of was Okoye’s voice, calling out a word you didn’t understand. You forced your eyes open, your stomach churning as you managed to focus on Vision’s lifeless body, his empty eyes turned towards you. Wanda was kneeling over him, tears staining her cheeks, and your heart stopped as you realized your failure.
“Wanda…?”
She didn’t even seem to hear you, lost in her own world of grief, and your eyes widened in horror as she suddenly turned to ash, floating away on the wind. You pushed yourself up, head spinning, blood and dirt sticking to your hands. “Wanda?!”
“Sam?” Rhodey shouted nearby. “Sam?! Where you at?!”
You watched Steve walk slowly past you, collapsing on the ground by Vision’s body and you felt bile rise in your throat. Natasha, finally free of the stone she’d been buried under, approached. Her fingers clutched at the vest she was wearing, a terrible look of comprehension on her face.
“What is this?” Rhodey asked, disbelieving. “What the hell is happening?”
Steve exhaled, his voice breaking. And even through the pain tearing through your head, the realization in his voice was heartbreaking. Horrifying. “Oh, God…”
You’d lost.
***
You swallowed thickly, tears burning in your eyes. You rubbed one with the heel of your hand, focusing on the road ahead of you. “Whatever… whatever it is that Thanos did, it… it broke me.” you murmured, exhaling in an effort to keep your voice steady. “The next time I tried to make a shield, I almost threw Bruce and me through a wall.”
Clint was silent beside you, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He hadn’t seemed to react to anything you said so far, and anxiety tightened your ribs and squeezed at your lungs. Your fingers twisted together, hands shaking. You’d spent months trying to forget what had happened, to keep your failure to yourself… speaking truth to it now made your insides churn.
“I haven’t… every time I try to use my… my abilities now, they—” you sighed, brushing hair behind your ear. “They either blow up in my face or they don’t work at all. It’s just been safer to—to stop using them all together, even with the headaches, and the nosebleeds, and… and when you said to stop using them, I-I just… it felt easier to not—to not tell you what was wrong with me…”
Clint’s silence was deafening, cutting into the raw ache in your chest. You felt tears spill onto your cheeks, and you pressed your lips together tightly, as if it could hold back your words. “I’m so sorry, Clint… it’s my fault… it’s all my fault! If I had just-just stayed with the-the team, if I’d never retired, then I would have been stronger. I would have… I could have stopped him, or… I could have done something different. It’s… it’s my fault… Wanda, Sam, Bucky… your f-family… it’s my fault…”
Clint shifted in his seat, and through the blur of your tears you could see his hands tighten hard on the steering wheel. “We’re still a few hours out from D.C.” he said, his voice gruff, controlled. He wouldn’t look at you, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. “You should sleep off the rest of that headache.”
You froze as his words sunk in, his dismissal. Nodding numbly, you swallowed back a sob that threatened to break past your lips and stood falteringly. You held your breath as you tried to keep your composure, cold air clinging to the tear tracks on your cheeks. You closed your eyes as you turned and moved past him, unable to face him, returning to the bed at the back of the RV.
.
.
.
.
tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @absolutly-me @lol-you-thought @ruderavenclaw @startrekkingaroundasgard @notafraid-bitch-igot9lives @akumune @whovianayesha @bradfordbantams @alice-the-nerd @rimaries @fanofalltheficsx @ace-fandom-dumbass @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @twsssmlmaa @earth-pig-fish​
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bisexual-chupacabra · 4 months ago
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Clint: What did you do to your go cart?
Nat: Um, I’ll let my mechanic answer that. Tony?
Tony: I reboarded the cylinder head, modified the intake valves on the injection system, added a blower and installed a 5 pound nitrous tank.
Peter: I put those stickers on!!! [points at cute stickers on the cart’s sides]
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Since Hawkeye is a Christmas show, for the season finale, Clint Barton’s Christmas gift to Kate Bishop should be his favorite bow. Kate says something along the lines of, “I can’t take that, that’s the signature Hawkeye bow!” and Clint responds with, “I know, kid. I’m looking at Hawkeye right now.”
Cue Kate Bishop hugging Clint as Christmas music plays in the background. Then everyone cries because it’s super emotional, but in a good way.
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clints-lucky-arrow · a month ago
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turn off the stove.
(Comic) Clint Barton x F!Reader 
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SUMMARY: Clint is alone. He's desperate, struggling, and you try your best to be there for him in any way that you can.
And soon enough, it means rebelling against the part of yourself that knows better, and allowing him to bend you over the kitchen table whenever the need grows too strong.
Smut. Friends to Lovers. Soft!Clint. Based on Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye (2012) Series.
18+ ONLY.
WARNINGS: Faint Allusion to Depression. Explicit Sexual Content. Vaginal Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Praise Kink. Dirty Talk & Praise. Not Beta-Read.
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
Word Count: 4.3k
Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.
A/N: If you are a comic's fan, this take place during Volume 3 (L.A. Woman).
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It's a little unclear how exactly it all started. The path of circumstance that resulted in finding yourself on your back on Clint's bed, crying out as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and stroked himself almost desperately into your core. Listening to his ragged breathing and feeling the sweat on his skin as you held him close, and knowing that he was finding some solitude in you, and that the act was a refuge from all that darkness loneliness which had plagued him recently.
After all, Bobbi was gone. Natasha was gone. Kate had stormed off to the West Coast and taken Lucky with her, and so Clint was alone. Or he would have been, if not for you. It had just been friendly at first. Going over to cook some meals and ensure that he was taking care of himself, but then - somehow - it became so much more.
God. You had tried to tell him that you shouldn't. That you both should stop and think about this more logically because you were friends. He obviously wasn't okay, and you didn't want to feel like you were taking advantage. However, those needy blue eyes had settled upon your face, and he had whispered "please" so softly. Before you even knew it those hungry kisses were guiding you down onto the flat of the sofa, his body covering yours as he rolled on top, fingers dipping underneath the hem of your shirt.
Even now, you can feel him behind you. Those eyes burn into your back as you face away - purposefully not making eye contact - and continue to lean over the stove. The pot containing the coiled pasta boils and simmers, while another pan hosting the mince and sauce bubbles off to the side. Spaghetti bolognese. One of the few things that he will eat, because the man has the appetite of a damn toddler. Not that you'll tell him so right now, given his rather precarious mental state.
He shifts in. Moving closer. Approaching until he is nearly pressed right up against you, firm chest brushing your back. You stiffen, trying to focus on the food and not on his proximity. It’s hard when his breath wafts against the nape of your neck. Prickling as it washes over you. Those fingertips rise to settle on your hips, their touch light but insinuating.
The contact resonates even through the fabric of your dress. A tight swallow constricts your throat. Eyes fluttering closed, you lean forward, feeling the steam buffet your already heating face as your hands brace upon the solid countertop on each side of the stove. Your head shakes - just the smallest amount - in an attempt to centre yourself. He rubs small circles on your sides, mouth lowering to ghost across the curve of your neck. You can't help but lean back into his touch, even though you know you probably shouldn't.
Chances are, this is only going to end messily, and your friendship will be ruined. But you can't stop yourself. Being fucked by Clint Barton is like a drug.
So when his teeth catch on the skin of your neck, you can only groan and pathetically grind back into him. The gesture is accompanied by words that are both hoarse, and ringing with strained reluctance. "We shouldn't."
His low groan sounds in your ear. Clint presses himself further against you, until the hidden bulge of his hardening cock is unignorable against your buttock. You can feel him nearly throbbing through the fabric of his jeans. Hard and aching, and it's presence steals away your rational thoughts. Leaving you with nothing but the desire to feel him slide inside of you, and take you right there against the counter. The thought has a futile whine hitch in your throat, and he chuckles ever so slightly, chest vibrating with the motion.
It's a rare sound nowadays, and yet it washes over you in a soothing wave of heat, melting you even further.
"But you feel so good, baby," he whispers against your skin. One hand still leaves your hip, reaching up to fumble against the stove controls. Turning them off. His hips tilt, pressing more firmly against you. Pushing your body slightly forward until there is no space between his own and the lip of the oven. A low heat simmers outwards from it's depths, and presses against your core. There's no room to breathe, or to think. Clint just grinds the front of his jeans against you, teeth catching on your earlobe as he murmurs softly again. "Do you really want me to stop?"
That freed hand returns, palm pressing against the bottom of your stomach before slowly descending further. It skates between your legs. The fabric of the dress flattens with it, and you moan gently again, knowing that although you'll never admit it, you wore a dress for this very reason. So that he could have easy access to lean forward, one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you against him, while the other brushes over the already dampening strip of your underwear. His chin rests just above your shoulder, lips whispering against your skin, and you can feel the slight thrust of his hips into yours, signalling that ever-growing arousal.
"Baby," he says again.
His voice is low and rough, and you can feel his hardened need press against your rear as those fingers slip through the top of your underwear. They travel down, circling your clit as your head sinks even further against his shoulder. A breathless gasp spills from your lips as he brushes downwards, sliding those two digits between your folds to spread the moisture that he finds gathered there. Small bolts of electricity burst through your body as he caresses your centre again.
The contact is slow. Exhilarating. Clint takes his time, needing to hear every sound that you utter. To know that he is the one making you feel this good, and that he's not alone.
Calloused fingers continue to stroke your clit. Those hands - hardened after years of working in the circus, and even more spent wielding a bow - are nimble. Able to provide the perfect pressure against your rapidly soaking core, and massage the spot that has you breathing heavily, hands raising to grasp the forearm that locks around your front. Nails dig into his skin, but he doesn't seem to care. His skin is lightly tanned after a past spent working repeatedly underneath the hot sun, and he smells faintly of sweat and shampoo.
Not that you can blame him. It's so warm in this apartment, even without the fact that his firm body is pressing you right up against the oven, lightly heated by the resonating from the stove plates on top. Not enough to burn, but enough to feel the faintest beginning prickle of perspiration across your skin as he knowingly strokes another fire to life in your centre.
"Fuck."
The curse pours out of you accidentally. However, that single word hosts all that he needs to hear. Arousal. Lust. Surrender. All perpetuated by the pathetic grinding of your ass back into the mound of his stiff cock. He chuckles in response, pleased, but the sound still lacks the majority of his usual past mirth. You sink back into him as his hand delves between your folds, pushing his fingers inside of you until you are writhing while the heel of his palm presses against your swollen bundle of nerves.
Heat runs through your body as he fucks you with those long, perfect fingers. The angle is perfectly curved - because this archer is nothing if not utterly precise - and he repeatedly brings them into that spot deep inside of your aching core. Brushing repeatedly against the patch of something rough and coiled deep within your cunt. God. The sensation is delicious.
How long have you wanted him to touch you like this? How many times have you imagined how he'd feel, firm chest against your back and hot breath on the nape of your neck, taking your body in any way that he wanted? And now, it's a reality, and you can't believe that you're still trying to talk yourself out of this.
No more.
Your head twists, mouth turning upwards to search hungrily for his own. A groan vibrates from within him as your urgent kiss presses against his lips, and the sound nearly has you melt. It's as if everything inside has turned to jelly, and only Clint is keeping you whole. Him, and the glorious pace of his fingers as he pumps them in and out of your needy core. He kisses you back, all a harsh mixture of teeth and tongue. Forcing you to open your mouth fully to him and leaving you gasping. It's filthy and delicious, and you can feel yourself dripping onto his hand, so aroused by the action that your body tremors, letting out another wanting ache for his length.
"God," he rasps, voice low with arousal. "You're so wet for me. Look at you, baby, being such a good girl. Fucking yourself onto my hand. Christ."
His arm slides from your waist, journeying down and back to grab a handful of your buttock. He kneads the cheek almost roughly, but that other hand doesn't stop working itself into your cunt. You can feel how soaked you’ve grown. Almost dripping. The wet sound of his fingers deep inside your soaked cunt fill the air.
"Did you wear this dress on purpose?" he asks, hips gently rocking against yours as his spiral of lust takes over. "Did you know I'd take one look at you in the doorway and want to fuck you then and there? Are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?"
Yes. No. You can’t remember.
Not when his touch has heat curling in the pit of your stomach. Simmering within until you can feel it spreading through your veins. It’s thick and lusty, and you can only pant and reach down to grip the oven door for support. Your hands tighten upon it, knuckles straining, and it groans slightly as it tips marginally open. Clint pushes you harder against it. The hand squeezing your ass travels up to the small of your back, gripping your hair while he breathes another open-mouthed kiss into your own. Fuck. 
You can feel it building inside of you. The climax. White-hot and throbbing. It spreads across your skin, trailing scorching tingles in its wake. Another whimper escapes your lips as Clint ruts against your rear, hissing between his teeth. His fingers continue to work within your core, pounding against that one spot that sends jolts of electricity crackling across your skin. You can feel the pressure bubbling within, driving you higher and higher, right up to the looming peak. 
It ripples. Low and mounting, as his fingers twist further into your hair, yanking it back so that he can inhale each whimper that bursts from your lips with his. You can feel yourself soaking his fingers, the delicious quake of the orgasm beginning to shudder through your body. As you spiral upward - moving blissfully ever higher to the edge - Clint coaxes you on with rasped words of praise and hungry kisses. It’s too much. 
His smell. His taste. His touch. 
All of it sends you right over the edge. Breaking apart on his glorious fingers with a lingering cry. He guides you through the orgasm, fingers leaving your hair so that his arm can wrap around your front once more, gripping your shoulders as he holds you close while you pant and groan, the sounds distorted by the uncontrolled tremble of climax. A rush of slick flutters through your core, roiling in response to the blissful release, and further coating the digits pushed within your throbbing pussy. Your body pulses as the orgasm shudders straight through you.
When the leftover pangs of climax die down, Clint slowly retracts his hand. It slides free of your panties. Glistening fingers lift from the underskirt of your dress to rest upon your hip. His other hand leaves your hair, lowering to settle on the opposite side of your waist. Clothes rustle as he turns you back to face him. Those hungry eyes - deep, powerful blue - rove over every line of your features, drinking in the reflection in your own expression.
He steps forward, leaning to press his lips more gently against yours. Your arms slide up and around his neck. Clint’s hands flit across your clothed back, pulling you in. So close that his hard chest brushes right up against yours, and you can nearly feel the heavy thud of his sturdy heart through his skin. He kisses you hard. Almost roughly. As if he wants to consume you.
And he does. With his unignorable smell, and his touch, and his taste. 
It washes through you. Almost as heavy as a drug. Rendering you utterly compliant as his body guides yours, moving you slowly away from the countertop and the oven. You are blind to where he’s taking you, only focusing on his mouth as he presses you to take step after step backwards, until something unyielding butts against the back of your thighs. The kitchen table.
No affirmation is needed. Clint’s hands slide around the underside of your legs, and then he is lifting you upwards. Jolting you onto the table so that you tip backwards, gasping slightly as his fingers skate your panties free. He lifts them free with flourish, and tucks them into his rear pocket with his signature curled smirk. One eye dips in the briefest wink, and for a moment, he looks a little more like his usual self. Free from all the stress and worry that has populated his recent life, as he steps closer - between your parted legs - to slowly reach up and pointedly unbuckle his belt. 
His right hand glides down his zipper. The left just presses flat against the bulge of his trousers, rubbing in a light circle in a vain attempt to relieve some of the ache. You can nearly see the need pulsing from within. It swells, and how much he wants you is clear and aching across his face. It sends another bolt of arousal to your already soaked core. Fuck. You just want him inside of you already. To be able to feel him within, pumping himself inside of you.
It's all you can think when he finally reaches in to pull his cock free. It bounces clear of the waistband of his boxers, and your throat grows instantly dry. You've had him inside of you before, but every time you see his thick arousal, it's like it's the first time. The perfect length and width, slightly curved. Uncircumcised, so that when his foreskin peels back, the slightly purpled head looms outwards. Clint watches how your eyes bore into his cock, and a small smirk grows upon his lips.
"See something you like, sweetheart?"
Before you can answer, he shifts inward. A low moan bursts from your lips as he rubs the tip of his cock over your aching cunt. It slides between your folds, roughly massaging your clit. His beaded precum perching upon the point spreads, mixing with the slick wetness seeping from your centre. He plays it around teasingly, his sharp gaze drinking in how you writhe and gasp under him. The tabletop is cold between your back, and your hands travel down, fingers curling underneath the ledge for a hold as something coils in the pit of your stomach.
As he continues to tease you, another low rasp rumbles from his chest. "God. You love that, don't you? Do you want me to make you cum with my cock? Have it stroke your clit until you can't take it anymore, before putting it in and giving you exactly what you need. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To have me fuck you so hard that you forget all of those silly ideas of stopping."
All the while those filthy sentences spit from his mouth, his cock continues to sliding through the glistening lips of your pussy. It only further addles your mind. The words bring a new need to your core, and you can't think of anything else. Just the need to have him make true on his suggestions, and to push himself greedily inside of you. The mere idea - accented in Clint's hoarse tone - has you climaxing again. Panting and crying as your body shudders, cunt flexing as it desperately tries to clamp down on a cock that is not actually inside you.
The wet sound of your arousal becomes more pronounced as Clint continues to rub himself through your slick folds. Fucking you without being within. But you want him to, and so, through needy cries, you beg for it. Pathetically whimpering for his length. And happily, he obliges. A grating moan spills from him as he pushes himself inside your throbbing core. Clint's eyes flutter closed, heavily lidded with pleasure, as a low exhale hisses from between his teeth.
The feeling of him inside of you again - thick girth stretching your walls - is heavenly. It grows as he moves, slowly hollowing out before sliding carefully back in. You can feel how his swollen head pops in first, the shaft coming easier afterwards. It's a delicious sensation. One that sings through your cunt and spreads fire in your veins. Your toes curl as his hips stroke into you again. His hand trails down your leg, wrapping one around his waist. Keeping you close to him.
"What was it that you said?" he murmurs, the words rough. "That we shouldn't do this anymore. That we should stop. Do you still believe it?"
His cock presses deep inside of your cunt. Burying himself right to the hilt, and his fingertips trail lovingly over the smooth skin of your calves. You'd shaved today - before coming over, that was - because a part of you had known that you'd ended up in this position. That as much as you thought you should attempt to refrain, there was no way that you could. Not when you'd felt this before, and knew just how good he could make you feel.
"No!" you gasp, lifting your hands to stroke down his hard stomach. The fabric of his t-shirt is warm under your fingers, and the hem flutters as Clint carefully ruts again. Letting you feel him. "I don't want to stop."
"That's good, sweetheart," he replies, voice hitching slightly. "Because neither do I."
And then, in one firm stroke, he slams back into you. Shearing through your walls and sheathing himself so deep that you can feel the heavy pulse of his cock within you. A jagged cry erupts from your mouth at the sensation of being filled, but there's no time for words or any other response. Not when Clint finally begins to fuck you properly - vigourously - with his handsome face twisted into a firm snarl.
Underneath, the table shudders with every jolt of his hard waist. Clint's body is tight. Firmed and strong from years of training. Sunlight pours into his golden brown hair as he works himself above you, a light sheen of sweat growing across his forehead due to the humid apartment. He looks beautiful. Concentrated and controlled, just like when he draws the bowstring back and aims to shoot. And like every other target, he hits each of your marks with brutal precision.
The glorious impalement of his cock has your eyes rolling and whimpers bursting from your lips. Filthy and repetitive, the slap of skin on skin fills the room. The pressure within you - a gorgeous, simmering heart - builds with each perfectly angled thrust. His swollen cock collides again and again with that spot deep inside. The rough patch deep within your cunt that elicits you to writhe and pant, stoking the heat that fills you up to the peak. All the while, Clint hangs over you, illuminated and glowing in the fading evening light.
Those blue eyes bore into your face, his pink lips parted, as he drinks in the sight of you coming undone underneath him. Your keening cry rings through the air. It echoes off dusted countertops and walls of exposed brick. Clint curses as he feels you clench around him. The spat swear is aggressive, accompanied by the tightening of his hands upon your calves. He pitches in further, managing a few more fervent pumps. You can feel how hard his cock is, and the shudder that ripples through the length as arousal overcomes him.
The desire to fill you - to push himself in so deeply that stars burst behind your eyes - is too much for him to hold back. As the Avenger jolts forward, hips stuttering with finality, his cock flexes. Warmth floods your core as his release pumps into your ready cunt. The sensation has you moaning again, and the image of his hot cum dribbling out of your still-filled cunt invades your mind once more. It's a filthy image, but one that almost sends you straight into orgasm again. Feeling the shudder of your walls, Clint's hand tightens upon your thigh.
Nearly growling, he leans forward, trying to push himself inside a little more, while his body spasm with the last few jerks of release. His eyes flutter closed - lashes temporarily obscuring those blue irises - as a small smile graces his lips. The urge to reach up and touch his face swells within you. To stroke a finger down that angular jawline, and feel how he responds underneath your touch. But you're not sure how he would take it.
After all, you're not quite sure what this is.
Clint offers no explanation as he pulls out. Wetness drips down between your legs as he does, and you do not miss the way that his eyes fix on your core. There's pride in the way he looks at your exposed cunt. An apparent satisfaction in knowing that it is his cum that leaks out of you. Still, you can't quite be sure what this means. If it's just him seeking release, or something more.
His touch leaves your leg, gently lowering it back to hang off the edge of the table. You take a few seconds to breathe. To collect both your energy and composure. Once it feels somewhat intact, you push yourself silently upright, and smooth the bunched up skirt. Clint, having taken a step back, just continues to watch you curiously. With his head slightly lowered, gaze angled upwards, something about him seems more boyish and uncertain. It's a hard look for a man - an Avenger in his thirties - to pull off, but somehow, he does. It makes you nervous, and so you search for a distraction.
That comes soon enough.
Nose wrinkling in disdain, you sniff the air. "Is something burning?"
He pauses, as if confused, before his gaze darts backwards. Upon the stove, blackened mince sits. You can only raise a brow, arms crossing over your chest in a manner that is slightly disapproving.
"I turned it off!" he proclaims defensively.
A sigh brushes from your lips as you push yourself off the table, aware of the slight shake in your legs. Your tone is forcibly casual, and it grates in the air between you. "The plate was still hot, idiot. You could have moved it off."
This time, his brow arches, except the gesture is more playful than irritated at your name-calling. "So could you, sweetheart, bit you were a little distracted."
The slight twang in the endearment sends another pang of arousal to your already filled core. Bits of Clint drip out of you, and your eyes snag on the panties sticking out from his back pocket. Holding out a hand, you try to adopt a firm expression. Attempting to ignore the fact that he was just working himself over you minutes ago.
"Can I have those back, please?"
Something drops in his expression. It surprises you. Those eyes blink, shifting away in a sudden bout of uncertainty. You can see how his teeth snag upon his lower lip, rolling it between them. "You're leaving so soon?"
... Did he not expect you to?
Your voice holds both that thought, and the accompanying hesitation. "Do you want me to stay?"
It was new. He had never asked you to before. Nowadays, you left quickly after the sex. Almost scurrying away. Too afraid that if you stayed, something would ruin your friendship. That you'd go too far and make things awkward, because you were quite confident that Clint didn't feel exactly the same. Because, while you knew that he reciprocated your lust, love had been an entirely different matter.
However, now it feels different. As if something has been tugged from your vision, and you can finally read him better. Allowing you to see that the desperation twisting his face is not just for some gratuitous sexual release, but for your company. For your companionship. And that he wasn't able to figure out how to ask you to stay without any other lead into the topic.
"Yes," he says, after a beat of nervous silence.
Oh.
Your throat is a little dry too when you respond. "Sure, I'll stay."
And so, your mouth curls into a slow smile as you stand a little straighter, putting more strut into your step as you cross to pull a take-out menu from the drawer, with the retrieval of your panties forgotten. He approaches from behind, arms encircling your waist, chin resting upon your shoulder, as you tug it open. His body is warm and welcoming, and you feel yourself relaxing back into his chest. Sinking into Clint's embrace is a way that you have never allowed yourself to do until this moment.
Heat warms your palms, and your heart pounds nervously within your chest. All the same, you can't help but be happy. It reflects in your tone as you speak, trying not to sound completely giddy.
"The mince is unsalvageable. How about we get a pizza?"
Warm lips press again your temple, and his voice holds a smile. "That sounds good, darlin'."
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wandas-sunshine · 2 months ago
"If you'd just leave me alone that'd be great" + Clint Barton
Prompt: “If you’d just leave me alone that’d be great”
Character: Clint Barton
Warnings: Descriptions of panic attacks, some severely unedited angst
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You were livid. Beyond that even. Maybe that was selfish; Being angry with Cling when it wasn’t even really his fault. But how else should you handle the terror thrumming through your veins?
When you’d started seeing Clint, you knew about the dangers of his job. He made sure of that from the very beginning. You knew just how often he laid his life on the line for the safety of humanity as a whole. It was always so attractive to you knowing that you were dating a hero in the purest form of the word, but you were bound to worry. After all, that was only natural when he came home beaten and bruised more often than you cared to think about.
You were grateful to be with someone so attentive as well, so constantly aware of how you must be feeling when he was facing danger head on. Your messages never went unanswered for long, your calls never unreturned. Just a little bit of patience, and he’d check in with you as soon as he could.
So you were patient, you waited all day long. A handful of messages and one phone call for the day. After no response from the time you woke up ‘till the time you laid down for bed, you were reasonably concerned. You woke up the next morning with worry simmering in your stomach, and hope floating in your chest. You would hear from him today, you were sure of it.
Morning brought more of the same results. Panic was settling in now, and you called a few more times. You tried Natasha’s number too, then Coulson’s until finally you were left with one daunting option.
You paced your room so many times that you were convinced you’d wear a hole straight through the floor. Every ding of your phone sent you into a flurry, a predictable chain of events; Hope that it would be Clint, fear that it would be bad news, and then crushing disappointment when it was only your friends checking in on you.
You couldn’t control your thoughts as you called numbers and searched the news channels. You kept calling, leaving voicemails until voicemail boxes were full. Maybe you were being too overbearing, but you didn’t care. Finally you gave in, sitting on the floor with a tearstained pillow clutched tight against your chest. You tapped the contact, giving in to the terror and facing your worst option. The name flashed as your phone began to ring.
N. Fury
As the hours dragged on, you found yourself growing used to your calls going unanswered. You were helpless, trapped with nothing but the worst case scenarios in your head. You loved being in love with a hero, it was a constant reminder that the world was in good hands. But this was simply too much to handle. The next few days ran together, a mess of tears and nightmares broken up and held together by protein bars and coffee.
Somehow, with all of the knowledge you had of Clint’s life outside of your relationship, with all of the missions he’d gone on in the past, you had never properly given any thought to what would happen if you lost him.
Your phone said it had been nearly a week without hearing from him. Your tears had run dry, but the sobbing never seemed to stop. It was mid-afternoon maybe? Sunlight tried weakly to filter through the closed curtains. You were simply staring at your phone, not looking at anything in particular. There was a knock at the front door, loud and sharp. You ignored it, but the silence only lasted a few minutes before it came again. Three loud raps, slow and steady. Persistent. You refused to move, you weren’t entirely sure if you could move at this point. The quiet lasted longer now, and it was oddly stifling.
You were sure that whoever had come was one, but then it came again. This time was louder, practically rattling your eardrums. So you dragged yourself to your feel, all of your stiff joints and underused muscles screaming in protest as you trudged to the door. The fourth round of knocking was cut short as you pulled open the door.
Standing there, right in front of you, was none other than Clint. He was beaten and bruised, but most definitely alive and on your doorstep.
“You’re here.” You whispered, not entirely sure how to feel. “You just show up now? After all of that radio silence?”
As you asked the questions, tears once again pricked your eyes, and sheer panic and rage settled in your chest. He couldn’t even be bothered to leave a message? Couldn’t be bothered to ease your worries. You thought he was fucking dead for god’s sake. He let you believe you were going to be all alone again. Had he thought of you?
“Come on, let me explain. (Y/N), please.” He tried to step inside, but you didn’t budge. Tears were free falling now, sliding down your cheeks and dripping off your chin as you gasped for air. You shook your head frantically.
“No! I don’t...don’t wanna hear it. If you’d just leave me alone, that’d be great.” You whimpered. You pushed the door closed with shaky hands. You leaned against the door, sinking to the floor and hugging yourself tight as you let the sobs wrack through you.
Clint listened from the other side, each sob and gasp for air making his heart shatter in his chest. He ached to hold you and fix it all. It was his fault that you were crying, his fault that you were scared. He’d let his guard down, gotten himself caught on a routine mission.
“Please let me in, baby. I need to see you.” He begged. You clapped your hands over your ears. Everything was too much, even the sounds of your crying was too loud, and every inhale hurt your chest. The room felt like it was spinning as you scooched out of the way of the door so he could swing it open. There was a pause as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Then he was at your side, knelt close enough to be in your line of vision but not touching you just yet,
“I’m so sorry. It was an accident, I promise. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, I’m sorry.” He mumbled slowly, finally bundling you against his chest. Your hands fisted into his shirt, as if you would lose all of your sanity otherwise.
Clint had helped you through plenty of panic attacks, he knew how to help. He rubbed slow circles into your shoulder, gently reminding you to focus on the feeling. He continued talking, throwing you a rope to pull yourself out of the spiraling thoughts.
It was a handful of dragging moments before you found that the terror had subsided, and the crying was giving way to exhaustion. You leaned closer to him, not able to force words out in this state. You’d scold him more in the morning when you had more energy.
“I’m not leaving. I love you.” Clint promised. You nodded weakly. With his arms secured tightly around you, and his familiar scent wrapping you up tight, you knew that he meant it.
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kram6496 · 2 months ago
Text
As We Know It
Kate Bishop x Reader
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The love of your life, Kate “Hawkeye” Bishop, had been ignoring you for the past week. It’s been confusing to say the least.
Every time you enter the same room as her, she looks at you and tears begin to form in her eyes. You’ve tried going up to her but she books it out of the room before you have a chance to find out what’s wrong. You’ve given her plenty of space and it’s been the hardest time of your life.
It’s killing you! You finally have had enough. You walk up to her room and knock on the door. “Kate. Kate, honey, please open the door.” No response.
You hear footsteps coming down the hall and there stands Kate. She whispers your name, tears begin to form in her eyes and she books it to the training room. “Kate!” You say as you give chase.
Kate’s always been faster than you and more athletic but something takes over. It’s the fear of losing her that drives you to keep going. You chase her down to “The Nest“. It’s an archer’s viewing point up in the rafters of the training area.
You find her already up there, from the ground you can see that she’s curled herself into a ball. You hate heights but you love her so much, you scale the three story rope up to her.
“Hey“ you calmly say to her. Your heart breaks to see her like this.
“Hey“ she says, her voice drenched in the sadness that’s overtaken her.
“Can I come over?“ Truth you were losing your grip on the rope. Thankfully she nods and you take a seat next to her.
Her eyes tell of sleepless nights, you just want to wrap your arms around her. She seems to sense that as she leans into your embrace.
“So what’s going on Katie? Please baby, talk to me.“ You can feel the tears beginning to bubble up in her again as you rub soothing circles on her back.
“Please don’t hate me“ She whispers through the heartache.
“I could never hate you. I love you so much“ you pull her close.
She takes a deep breath before telling you what’s been bothering her the past week, “Sweetheart, I’m pregnant“ You feel time pause in this moment, had you heard her right?
“I’m...I’m going to be a parent?!?” She turns to you, her eyes full of hope. You can feel the tears beginning to flow. You pull her as close as you can and begin to pepper her face in kisses.
For the first time in forever, Kate begins to laugh, she clings to you for dear life. You pull back just a little and whisper, “You’re going to be a wonderful mother! And I’m with you for better or worse for all time.”
You and Kate stay in that Nest for a long while. Kate later dozes off in your bed with you holding her close. It was the best night’s sleep either of you had gotten in a long time.
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moonlit-imagines · 9 months ago
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warnings:
a/n:
not requested
There was shame in your father’s eyes when you first saw him. It had been less than a day for you, but Clint held years of pain in his smile when he finally saw you again. He didn’t even know where to begin, but he’d have to come clean and explain what exactly what had happened while you were gone.
“Your Aunt Natasha...” He started in a tone of voice that just told you everything you needed to know. “She’s gone.” You didn’t feel anything for a minute, the world had literally been spinning without you for so long, it was overwhelming trying to wrap your head around it. “She sacrificed herself for us, for you. So that we could see each other again.” The two of you just blankly stared at each other for a moment, Clint was hiding so much guilt and he knew you could tell.
“Don’t blame yourself, dad...” You told him as your voice cracked. That didn’t make it any easier for him, he felt so bad about her letting go, it just kept replaying in his head over and over.
“I’m so sorry.” Your dad buried his face into his hands and cried with you, that was all that could be done now. Mourn in her memory. The two of you shared a long hug, something that he’d never again take for granted, and spent the rest of the day in near-silence as you processed all you had lost. You had so many questions, but you just didn’t have the heart to ask them. Another time, maybe.
taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind //
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jammesbarnnes · 5 months ago
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Imagine reuniting with your husband Clint after The Blip:
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The tattoos were new. So was the haircut. But underneath all that, he was the same Clint you saw just a few seconds ago. It hadn't been a few seconds, though. Years, five years had passed. You couldn't believe it. It was as if you blinked. One second you were there, in your home, enjoying his early retirement. He turned for a moment, but you were already disappearing, or dying, you weren't sure at the time. When he turned around you were gone. You didn't have to ask him, you just knew the years had not been kind to him. You could see it in his face, the bags under his eyes, the lines that seemed so much deeper and angrier than you remembered. He was your husband, the same man you married, but he'd lived through something you couldn't imagine, something you were sad you hadn't faced together. None of that mattered though. You were back. You were back and that's all he asked, all he wanted.
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idle hands
Clint Barton x Reader
Prompt: "my butt is not a drum, dude.”
Summary: you’re trying to get work done on a quiet afternoon, but your boyfriend clint barton is nothing if not distracting.
Warnings: fluff, smut, adult language, fingering, unprotected sex.
Word Count: 3,123
Got a Request? Prompt list for: tony | clint | quill
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AN: I’m so sorry this took so long! And once again, I didn’t really do much of a proof-read, so if you see any glaring mistakes, please let me know :)
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You looked up from your work long enough to smile gratefully at Clint as he set a fresh cup of coffee on the table beside you, turning back to your laptop as he moved to flop back onto the couch. You were stretched out on your stomach along one side of the L-shaped couch, legs bent up against the cushions and slogging through the mission reports you’d let pile up in the last two weeks. Clint slouched back against the cushions by your legs, clicking the TV on with the remote.
You turned your head to give him a pointed look, a smirk playing on your lips. “Do you mind?”
The archer grinned crookedly back at you, flipping through the channels without looking. The sounds of sports commentary and midday soaps and infomercials bled together, just loud enough to be distracting. “Not really.”
“Don’t you have reports to fill out?”
“Already did,” he said with a shrug, switching over to Netflix. “Check your inbox.”
Curious, you did as he suggested, opening the files you’d been CC’d on.
Mission Report: We won. -Hawkeye
You shook your head in amusement. There were four separate reports, but aside from the date and mission code at the top of the page, they all read exactly the same. You had no doubt that the reports for the work he’d completed with Romanoff and Rogers read the same. “How you still have this job is beyond me, Hawkguy.”
Clint’s smile widened; his eyes glued to the television as he scrolled through adventure movies. He tapped fingers erratically against his thigh; he’d been bouncing around the apartment for most of the day, but you didn’t see the use in pointing out that a fifth cup of coffee probably wasn’t helping his restlessness. Trying to convince Clint to cut back on coffee was a battle you’d lost months ago. He’d already taken Lucky for a run – the Labrador was sprawled out on the dog bed in the corner, snoring lightly – but it had apparently done nothing to tire him out. “Maybe I just look damn fine in the uniform.”
You smiled, turning back to your work. You suppressed a sigh as an email alert appeared in the corner of your screen; it was from Maria, which probably meant she was sending you the briefing material for your next mission. So much for having the next week off. “If that’s how SHIELD works, Romanoff would be the director by now.”
You felt Clint’s hand slide over the back of your bare calf, giving the muscle a gentle squeeze. “And what would that make you, exactly?”
You shrugged a shoulder. “A little turned on, I guess.”
He snorted a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Yeah, I do.” you replied, smiling widening. “But I’m busy now, so we’ll have to entertain your workplace-based power dynamic fantasies later.”
You felt Clint’s fingers tap along your thigh, drumming out a staccato rhythm against your skin. “Ooh, promise?”
“Hmm…” you took a sip of your coffee, setting it aside again before answering. “If you’re lucky.”
He hummed a laugh, finally settling on a movie. His tapping against your skin continued, following the tune of the film’s opening credits theme music. You did your best to focus on the work in front of you, even as Clint’s hand continued its dance along your leg. You rolled your eyes as it travelled slowly higher, his fingertips drumming along your thigh. You were wearing a sundress, and with each inch his hand rose, he took the hem of your dress with it. You glanced skeptically back at him, but his attention was focused totally on the TV, so you weren’t sure it was intentional at all. Besides, this was better than the wrestling match he’d had with Lucky a few hours ago – they’d broken a lamp and knocked over your breakfast.
The score picked up in the film after a while, and Clint spread his hand over the back of your thigh, his thumb settling along the curve of your ass for a moment before he resumed playing out the beat, patting you ass repeatedly with his palm. Raising your eyebrow, you turned to look at him meaningfully. His eyes were still focused on the TV, but the smallest of smirks quirked at the corner of his lips as you faced him.
“Clint.”
“Hmm?”
You waved a hand at your laptop. “I’m trying to work here.”
“I know.”
His hand didn’t stop.
“Clint.”
“Y/N.”
“My butt is not a drum, dude.”
Clint’s innocent expression finally broke, a grin lighting up his features as he held up his hands in surrender. You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously for a second and he laughed, turning his attention pointedly back towards the TV. “Okay, okay. Look, I’m behaving myself.”
You turned slowly back to your computer, not believing him for a moment. You’d been dating him long enough to know that Clint Barton was never behaving himself.
Sure enough, you soon felt Clint’s hand drifting slowly up your leg again, slowly mapping out the back of your thigh. His hand was soft and warm, and you felt goosebumps follow it, a shiver travelling up your spine. You sighed, turning your eyes to the ceiling impatiently. “Barton, I swear to God…”
“Shhh,” he replied soothingly, his touch still moving higher. “This is a good scene.”
You scoffed, fixing your attention determinedly on your computer screen. Your resolve wavered as you felt his hand continue upward, slipping between your thighs to ghost fingertips along the sensitive skin between your legs. Your breath hitched as he slowly balled his hand into a fist, pushing your legs apart gently. You caught his reflection in a picture frame; he was still dutifully focused on the movie playing out in front of him, and you whimpered as he moved your underwear to the side and slid his fingers against your sex.
“You okay?”
You wet your lips, taking a quiet, steadying breath as he pressed two fingers to your clit. “Fine.”
“How’s the report going?” You could hear the amusement in Clint’s voice, and you stiffened slightly as he circled your clit, biting your lip. “You know Fury wants them in by four.”
You nodded, teeth still digging into your bottom lip. Clint was so good with his hands, and the smug bastard knew exactly how to have you breathless and needy within minutes. You focused stubbornly on the screen in front of you, one hand gripping at the couch cushion. “Mm-hmm.”
“You need any help with it?”
Usually that question would earn him a sarcastic response, but as you felt him turn his hand and push a finger slowly into you, all you could manage was a hurried shake of your head. You heard Clint snicker, his thumb pressing against your clit.
“You sure?” Clint’s tone was playful, dropping to a huskier cadence as he teased you. Still, despite his cockiness, his voice dropped, and you thrilled as he muttered, “Fuck…”
“Clint, I—”
“Uh, uh, uh…” Clint slid another finger into you, and you arched into his touch. “You’ve got work to do.”
“God, I hate you.”
A chuckle played low in the back of his throat, and he circled his thumb over your clit. Your hand tightened on the cushion beneath you, a whine slipping past your lips as your nails dug into the fabric. “That’d be more convincing if you weren’t so… fuck, you’re wet…”
You giggled breathlessly, rolling your hips back into his hand. Clint withdrew his fingers from your sex, and you jerked as he pinched your clit.
“C’mon now, none of that. I told you; you’ve got work to do, Agent.” He pushed your legs further apart before rising, moving to kneel between your knees. He took hold of your hips, pushing your dress up around your waist as he lifted you and shoved a couple of pillows under you. “So, eyes front.”
“Just to be clear, am I supposed to just let you do whatever you want back there while I finish this?” you asked snidely, gesturing to the laptop in front of you had as you arched your neck to look back at him. The screen had gone dark.
“Yep.” Clint said matter-of-factly, smirking as he teased his fingers against your clit again. His other hand was unbuckling his belt, and you thrilled at the outline of his erection against his jeans. He unzipped his fly, and you bit your lip as he reached into his underwear to grip the base of his cock. “Now, shut up and do your work.”
You scoffed despite the anticipation swirling in your belly and tingling up your lower back. “Asshole.”
He smoothed his hand over your ass, fingers digging briefly into the flesh of it. “Don’t tempt me.”
Your retort was cut off by a moan as Clint thrust into you, sliding his cock into your cunt with one slow, steady stroke. He groaned, and you watched his reflection in your laptop screen; his eyes closed and his jaw tight as he filled you. His hands claimed your hips, pulling you back to meet him as he took up an excruciatingly slow pace.
Your dress bunched further up your back, goosebumps rising on your skin as he ran his left hand over the small of your back. It moved to your ass, and he gripped it possessively. Another moan fell from your lips as he tugged your underwear aside, the material pulling taut against your clit. Each thrust of his hips into you made it pull again, and you pressed your face into the couch, teeth gritted. Your arm knocked the laptop, and the screen lit up again.
“How’s your report coming?” Clint asked snidely, humor undercut by the husky tone of need in his voice. You could tell by the tightness of his grip, the way his breathing came sharply, that he was holding back, drawing it out. He wanted to make you fall apart, needy and desperate for release. All the pent-up energy he’d been annoying you with had a new focus, one that you were quickly becoming at the mercy of. He trailed his right hand up over your thigh, grunting as he rocked into you with more force. It made you gasp, eyes rolling back. “I don’t see any progress being made.”
“You are so – fuck – fucking annoying, Barton.”
You could hear the smile, the beginnings of a laugh in his voice. “Y’know, it turns me on when you talk dirty like that.”
You reached back to smack him on the thigh, and he laughed in earnest. You snapped the laptop shut and shoved it to the other end of the couch, all half-hearted pretense out the window. “Oh, just shut up and fuck me, Clint!”
“See? I’m all tingles,” he replied jokingly, the hand on your thigh snaking down between your thighs to your clit. You moaned aloud as he rolled his fingers over it, his thrusts becoming more hurried, more purposeful. You rocked back on your knees, meeting each push of his hips with one of your own, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the apartment as he slid deeper into your eager cunt. You could feel the leather of his belt, the rough denim of his jeans against your ass and thighs with every thrust, and you cursed as Clint increased the pressure on your clit. “God, you feel good, baby.”
“Fuck—” you could feel your body tightening, feel the excitement building. You reached back to grasp blindly at his thigh, eyes rolling back. You came loudly, moaning his name. Clint groaned, hands tightening – delightfully painful – on you as you shuddered and constricted around him, pushing into you in long, slow strokes.
“You know what I find really, really cute?” Clint asked brokenly, his breathing unsteady as he fought to keep himself under control.
“Oh, do—” you exhaled shakily as you relaxed, reaching between your legs to grab at his hand. He let you tug it away from where it was still circling your clit, and he interlaced his fingers with yours against your thigh. “Do tell.”
“How much you curse when you’re screwing.” he teased, his hand grazing over your hip. You jerked under his touch, over-sensitive, and he slid out of you carefully, releasing his grip on you. “You go from professional super spy to foul-mouthed sailor on the docks in like, three minutes.”
You snorted, pulling the pillows out from under your hips and tossing them aside. You moved to a kneel and turned around to face him. He was smirking at you, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “That is such a flattering description, honey, thank you.”
Clint’s grin widened, and he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. It was sweet and loving; you could feel his smile against your lips and a laugh bubbled in his throat. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re the cutest damn dock-dwelling sailor I’ve ever seen.”
You snickered, nose bumping against his. “Spend a lot of time down at the docks, do you, Hawkeye?”
“Only when you’re out of town,” he replied with a shrug. “A guy gets lonely, y’know?”
He interrupted your retort with another kiss, and you melted into eagerly, trailing your fingers over his chest and down his stomach. Clint moaned against your lips as your hand replaced his around his cock, and you stroked him slowly, urging him to sit back against the cushions. You straddled his lap, lips leaving his as he pulled your dress off over your head. He tossed it aside, head falling back against the back of the couch with a groan as you lowered yourself onto him. His cock slid easily into you, and you helped him take off his shirt before grasping at his shoulders and taking up a steady rhythm.
Clint’s hands came to your waist, thumb brushing the underwire of your bra as his lips trailed over your jaw. You reached behind you to unclip your bra and Clint’s hand found your breast, warm fingers cupping and squeezing. You could feel the metal of his zipper grazing your thigh, and you tugged his belt free from his jeans, wrapping an end around each hand and looping the middle around the back of his neck.
Clint groaned, the soft leather of his belt biting into the back of his neck and his hands tightening on your body. His breath was warm against your neck as he ducked to dust kisses over your chest. You felt his lips and his tongue on the sensitive flesh of your breasts, your breath catching as he caught your nipple between his teeth. Clint’s hands slid around to your ass, gripping it hard as you rolled your hips and ground against him.
“God, baby…” he breathed against your breast, and you shivered as his breath played over the wet stripe he’d left on your nipple. He tilted his head back to meet your eye, his own half-lidded and dark. “…I’m trying to think of something poetic here, but I’m coming up all curse words.”
“Good thing I don’t date you for your way with words,” you laughed, tugging on the belt, urging him closer still. He met your lips with a smile, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. His hips pushed up into yours, and you moaned into his mouth, letting the hand he still had on your ass guide you into a quicker, more desperate rhythm. “Fuck, Clint—”
His hand tightened in your hair, his teeth catching your bottom lip before breaking the kiss. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand leaving your hair. It travelled down over your chest, pinching your nipple fleetingly before sliding down to grasp at your thigh, and your lips parted in a gasp as his thumb finally returned to your clit.
“I’m with you, baby…” he muttered, and you came with a moan, the belt cutting into your hands as your fingers tightened on the leather. Clint groaned, head falling back against the coach and his hips jerking up into yours as he followed. His hands slackened their grip where they’d tightened, and you sighed a shaky breath as he began massaging away the ache of it. You tossed the belt aside and let yourself fall against his chest with an almost giddy laugh, pressing a kiss to his sternum.
“Well… damn…”
You felt Clint’s chest shake as he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your middle. “See? The minute we stop, and you’re back to cursing like a PG-13 movie.”
“Well, someone’s gotta keep it civilized around here.”
“Is that what you call that thing with the belt?” he teased, tracing shapes along your spine with his fingertips. “That was new.”
You straightened, meeting his eye. You hadn’t exactly wandered into bondage or airplay there, but you’d definitely toed the line, and the two of you hadn’t really experimented with either up to this point. “New good, or—”
“Oh, good!” Clint grinned, tucking hair behind your ear. His fingers skimmed over the side of your throat and down your arm and you relaxed, taking his hand. “Definitely good.”
You smiled, kissing him. “Good.”
“In fact,” Clint continued, helping you off his lap. He tucked himself back into his jeans, but didn’t bother to rezip. Instead, he pushed you back against the cushions and moved to lean over you, arms braced on either side of your shoulders. “You might want to keep it in mind for that whole workplace-power-dynamic-fantasy you’re dying to try out.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “How can you already be thinking about sex again?”
Clint smirked running a hand up the outside of your thigh. “Oh, baby, when it comes to you, I am almost always thinking about sex.”
“‘Almost’?”
“Yup. Never in a church.” he assured you. “Then it’s mostly just about hand stuff.”
You shoved at his chest and he fell back with a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “When are you ever in a church, perv?”
“Missions take you to the strangest places,” he said with a shrug. He stood, smacking a kiss to your forehead. “Speaking of: you’ve got reports due, Agent. And not much time to do them in. Better get a move on; some of us like to at least attempt to be professional around here.”
“God, I hate you!”
He dodged the pillow you threw at him with a laugh. “That’d be more convincing if you weren’t still half naked and your thighs weren’t drip—”
The next one caught him in the face.
.
.
.
tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @absolutly-me @lol-you-thought​ @ruderavenclaw​ @startrekkingaroundasgard​ @notafraid-bitch-igot9lives @akumune​ 
as always, if you would like to be added to the tag list for clint or any/all marvel character, please send me an ask :)
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dizzydancingdreamer · 5 months ago
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Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton
Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.
Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)
Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)
Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”
Notes: None, requested by an anon
Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)
Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List
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“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.
She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.
“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.
Slap, kiss— same thing.
“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.
Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.
He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.
“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.
God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.
She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”
“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.
She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”
She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.
Nothing more.
“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.
“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”
He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.
He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”
She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.
“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”
He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”
She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”
He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.
He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”
She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?
“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.
“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.
Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”
Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.
His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.
“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.
She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”
He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.
“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”
He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.
“Teach me.”
He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”
She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.
Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.
“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”
Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.
“Clint what are you doing—”
“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”
She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”
He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”
Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.
She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”
He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”
She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”
“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.
“Barton, I said shut up.”
His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.
“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”
As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.
“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”
She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?
She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”
Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.
His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”
His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”
She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”
He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”
She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”
The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.
“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”
She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.
“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.
He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”
“Barton.”
For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.
“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”
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Scenes I’m expecting for the Hawkeye series:
Yelena Belova: “Let’s go save your dad, Bishop.” 
Kate Bishop: “He’s not my...whatever, let’s go.”
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Kate is a great archer but she reaches her limit when it comes to a certain range. By the final episode, Kate is forced to make a shot that goes beyond her range limit. She initially doubts herself, but Clint says that he believes in her and that she can make the shot.
Cue scene where Kate hones in on her target and, after two tense minutes, fires the arrow. She hits the target square on, thus completing her arc in becoming the new Hawkeye.
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Flashback scene that shows Clint growing up as a circus performer, alongside his brother Barney. 
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Clint Barton: “My gut is telling me that I should tell you to quit. Trust me, I’ve lived that Avenger life that you want so bad, it’s not all fun and games. What I should do is tell you to stop trying to be a vigilante and go to college.”
Kate Bishop: (frowns, upset that this may be where her hero journey ends)
Clint Barton: “But...but if this is what you truly want...I’m willing to give you a chance. But just one chance.”
Kate Bishop: “That’s fine! Thank you, I promise I won’t let you down.”
Clint Barton: (sighs, wondering if he’s making the wrong choice here)
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Scene where Clint and Kate have to battle the Yakuza. This is the same Yakuza that Clint went after in Endgame. 
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Episode 1. While Clint and his family are relaxing on the farm, they’re attacked by mercenaries who were hired by the gangs that Clint took down while operating as Ronin. Clint fights them off but his ears are damaged at some point, either by an explosion that was too close to his face or his ears getting slashed by a mercenary. This leads to Clint becoming deaf. 
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Kate brings Clint to her “Hawkeye Cave”, which is just this storage room where she keeps her bow and arrows. She also reveals she has a dog, which turns out to be Lucky. 
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Clint Barton: “I was trying my hardest to die but...well, you know Natasha. There was no way in hell she was going to let me do that.”
Yelena Belova: (wipes away her tears) “Yeah, that’s Natasha. Stubborn to the end.”
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(arrow misses the main bad guy and hits the wall right behind him)
Main Villain: “Hmm...I thought Hawkeye never mi-”
(arrow blows up, instantly killing him)
Clint Barton: “Tick tick boom.”
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toomanyrobins2 · 4 months ago
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One Year: January
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Summary: Clint Barton, college football star, has a new interest: Y/N Y/L/N. But with her father gone all of the time, a younger brother, and going to college, Y/N has no time for dating. Will Clint get the yes, or will life get in the way?
Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Content warning: nothing really yet, douchey dad, occasional cursing, mentions of drinking and sex later
Notes: eighteen thousand years later here is the next chapter 💛
december // masterlist // february
Three days after Christmas, Y/N and Asher’s father rolled into town to throw a New Year’s event at the house for some new investors. As soon as he reappeared, she immediately fell off the grid, ignoring every text and call from Clint. Two days before New Year's had called her and left a message:
“Hey, gorgeous. I haven’t heard from you in a few days and now I know you’re ignoring my calls. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I want you to know that I’m not running. Saying I’m falling or you would be a lie because I’ve already fallen. If anyone ever heard this message, I’d made fun of for being such a sap, but I don’t care. Call me or text me and let me know that you and Asher are at least okay.”
Y/N had broken down in tears when she heard the message and as soon as Asher was in bed, she called him back: “Hi.”
“Hey, gorgeous. What’s going on?”
She sniffled, “My dad’s back in town.”
“Shit, I’m coming over.”
“What, no! You don’t need to do that. It’s just hard on Asher, which makes it hard on me.”
“You gave me a key. I’m coming over.”
Before she could argue, Clint hung up and drove straight over to the house. He immediately walked up to Y/N’s room and found her curled up on the bed. They didn’t speak as he just curled around her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. It only took her a few seconds to start crying and Clint just held her tighter. Eventually, she fell asleep and from the dark circles, this was the first proper sleep she had had in days.
Clint had eventually followed behind Y/N and fell asleep. Around 2, a cry had him jolt out of bed. He felt her grumble next to him, but she was not fully awake. Another cry fully woke Clint up and he realized that it was storming outside and that it was Asher calling for Y/N. He got out of bed and hurried down the hall. When he got into the bedroom, the six-year-old threw himself into Clint’s arms. He wrapped his arms around the little boy and rubbed Asher’s back. “Did the storm scare you?”
He felt him nod against his neck. “Do you want to come to bed with Y/N and me? We could protect her from the storm together.”
“You protect me?”
“Always, buddy.” Clint carried Asher back into Y/N’s room and they crawled into the bed. She immediately pulled her brother close to her and Clint laid on the other side of him, his arm thrown across so that his hand was on her waist.
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The next morning, the trio was in the kitchen making Mickey Mouse pancakes. Clint was determined to cheer up the Y/L/N siblings. Music was playing and laughter echoed through the room. Asher nearly fell off the stool with how hard he was laughing when Y/N flipped a pancake into Clint’s face. As soon as they heard the front door close, the air grew thick with tension.
Clint watched as Y/N’s whole demeanor hardened and she unconsciously moved to stand closer to Asher. He watched a handsome man with grey hair stumble into the kitchen in a wrinkled suit. “Late night?” Y/N’s voice was unrecognizable, hard, and unfeeling.
“Dinner with a client ran long so I just got a room at a hotel,” He looked past and zoned in on the unfamiliar man in the kitchen, “And you are?”
“That’s Clint,” Asher piped up, “He’s my friend and Y/N’s boyfriend.”
He took a deep breath and put one hand on the small of Y/N’s back and held the other out to shake, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Y/L/N.”
“Pleasure. I’m assuming you will be my daughter’s date to the party?”
“Party?”
“Yes,” the older man flashed a charming smile and Clint started to understand how this man got away with everything, “A party for my investors on New Year’s Eve.”
Clint squeezed Y/N’s waist in comfort, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
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Y/N tried multiple times to convince Clint not to waste his time at the party, but he wouldn’t hear it. Even after he arrived with his garment bag thrown over his shoulder, she was trying to talk him out of this. She babbled away as she put on her makeup, “I‘m just saying that I know that Bucky is throwing a party. Nat told me. You shouldn’t have to miss out on a good time because of me.”
Clint had just pulled on his shirt and marched into the ensuite. He spun her around so that she was trapped against the counter, “You are not going to convince me to leave.”
“But--”
He slammed his lips against her, feeling her hands travel up his chest to curl around the unbuttoned shirt. Clint wrapped one around her, pulling her as close as possible to him.
“Ew.” The couple separated and turned to see Asher standing in the doorway to the ensuite.
Clint kissed Y/N’s nose, “Nothing you say will change my mind. So get on board, gorgeous.” She just nodded dumbly, still reeling from the kiss. He went over to Asher and helped him up on the bed, “I have a surprise for you.” He pulled two ties out that were the team colors.
“We can match?” Asher was bouncing up and down.
“We can match.” Y/N watched from the doorway as Clint showed her little brother how to tie a tie. Emotions whirled through her. She hated that their father wasn’t the one having these little moments with Asher. However, she was in deep with Clint as he didn’t just tolerate Asher, but went out of his way to care and love the young boy. Y/N didn’t know how it had snuck up on her but in the last three months, she had fallen in love with the dorky blonde football player who she swore she wasn’t going to give the time of day. She shut the door to the bathroom and pulled on her gown.
When she opened the door, the two boys were taking selfies in the floor-length mirror. They turned to look at her and both their eyes widened. Asher was the first to speak, “You look so pretty, Y/N.”
She grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “And you look so handsome. I’ve got two good-looking dates tonight.” Clint was still staring and moved closer, swooping in for a kiss. Y/N could have cried with laughter at how affronted he looked when helping up a hand to stop him, “I’m wearing lipstick.”
“I don’t care,” he kissed her until she was breathless.
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The happiness and ease that they felt in her bedroom were dashed as soon as they walked down the stairs and were enveloped by the party. Y/N was trying to keep her composure as her father used Asher as a performing seal. Clint’s hand gripped her tightly, trying to keep her calm, but she was dying inside as she watched her little brother try to make their sperm donor proud. It was late into the night at this point and she could see that the young boy was struggling to keep his eyes open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer and wiggled her hand out of Clint’s. “Gorgeous…”
“I’ll be okay. Go see Tony and Pepper.” She made her way over and smiled charmingly at the guests, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but it’s gotten very late. Dad, it is way past Asher’s bedtime.
He waved his eldest child away, “Oh it’s fine, he’s having a good time.”
“He actually has a playdate tomorrow and needs to be rested. So, he should really start his bedtime routine.
Her father’s eyes hardened, “I’m the parent and I’ve decided he’s okay to stay up a little while longer.” She scoffed and her father tried to shoot her a look. Asher started to well up at the tension and Y/N pulled him into her arms. They walked away from the group and she shot her father a glare as he followed them, “He should’ve been in bed over two hours ago. Don’t claim to be his parent when you haven’t done a damn thing. I’m the only mother he’s ever known. I’m the only parent he’s known in the past 6 years.”
“Not right now. This is not behavior for in front of guests. Why don’t we step into the study for this discussion.” He was gripping her arm and that’s what brought Clint back over to their side.
Y/N quickly passed the half-asleep Asher to him, “Would you mind taking him just for a few moments. I’ll be there soon, but I need to have a quick word with my father.”
Clint gripped her waist tight, “Are you okay?”
“No, but I need to be,” she kissed both of their cheeks, “I’ll be up soon. He’s going to need a bath since he’s covered in frosting.”
Y/N didn’t look back even though she felt Clint’s gaze on her as she walked away. The minute the door shut her father exploded, “How dare you! You don’t behave like that when we have guests over. It isn’t proper.”
“Screw proper behavior! I’ve been proper every day for nearly my whole life. Ever since mom got sick. You haven’t been around to try and now you claim that Asher is the product of anything you’ve done. That kid is amazing because he’s done everything without you. I did the midnight feeds and diaper changings. I’m the one that went to the library and checked out parenting books. When he fell off his bike, I helped him up, cleaned his cuts, and told him to try again and not to give up. I’ve done his back-to-school shopping, got his Halloween costumes every year. I helped him with his homework and I got a car so that someone could be there to pick him up every damn day. I’ve been to every concert and sports game. You don’t get to suddenly reappear randomly and use us as a pretty family in front of your friends and investors. You just a sperm donor.”
“I think you forget your place, young lady.”
“Ha. Don’t try to parent me. You’re not a parent!” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to get herself under control, “If you were, you’d know the bare minimum isn’t good enough. Money isn’t enough. Your children deserve love and support. Asher deserves someone who shows up and that’s not you. Never again will you be allowed to use him for your business. I will make sure that he has a sleepover or appointment to take up his every hour when you’re in town. You are a stranger that happens to live under the same roof as us a couple nights a year. We’ve just been along for the ride. You’ve missed every birthday party and every Christmas morning for too many years. That’s over 20 birthdays so far. That’s 6 years of Christmas shopping I’ve done alone. That’s decorating Christmas trees without you. That’s late nights making birthday cakes. That’s the first steps, award ceremonies, and graduations. That kid is my life and I am his. You haven’t been around. Do you know how many nights I spent with him and he would ask why you weren’t there? Eventually, he just gave up hope. I’m glad your business is thriving but in the process of making this all happen, you forget something so much more important. You forgot your kids. Well, guess what, I never forgot. Not for a second. I’ve missed so much of my life for Asher and I won’t regret a second of it. He’s not your kid. He’s mine. And if you excuse me, I need to put him to bed.” She left the study, head held high, and headed straight for Asher’s room.
When she didn’t find them there, she hurried into her room and found Clint reading a book, with the six-year-old conked out on his shoulder. Y/N decided to take a moment and walked down the hallway and sat on the window seat, listening to the party still raging below. She rested her head on the window, feeling the cool January chill on her forehead. Silent tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks. She heard a throat clear and turned to see Clint standing a few feet away. He didn’t say anything, instead, he just let her curl up against him. He picked her up, carrying her to her room. He knelt down and slipped her heels off. Her breathing was shallow, as the argument played over and over in her mind. He pulled the dress down her shoulders and replaced it with one of his shirts that she’d claimed. He toed his shoes off and climbed into bed, pulling her down. They one curled around Asher and Clint looked at her, “You don’t need to talk tonight. You don’t even need to talk tomorrow. Just know that when we do have this conversation, it won’t scare me away. I’m in this for the long haul, whatever that means. I love you.”
It wasn't perfect, at that moment it wasn't even good, but the ball had dropped and it was January 1st. A new year and Y/N was going to make sure that life was better than ever before.
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@be-patient-be-good
@spntiel
@mycosmicparadise
@itsnottilly
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witchield · 4 months ago
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Marvel Characters Being told "I hate you" in a fight (part2):
Boys:
Bruce Banner :
"Of course you do, everyone does"
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Thor odinson :
"Do you know hate it's a strong word right?"
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Clint Barton :
"What can I do about it, lemme know, so we can work on it"
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Tony Stark :
"Take back what you just said"
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Steve Rogers :
"Maybe you hate me, but I don't, live with that"
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Vision :
"In my short time of extensive knowledge, I was never been told that word"
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Scott Lang :
"Not gonna lie, that kinda hurt"
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Howard Stark:
"And do you think I don't have a thousand other people that don't hate me? *he actually don't*
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kram6496 · 3 months ago
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A Thousand Years
Kate Bishop x Reader
Request by @wombatking
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It was a quiet night in. Kate needed these nights, her due date was close so the two of you couldn’t party it up like you once did. You and Kate are lying on your couch. The fireplace is roaring and an old favorite film of yours is playing on the TV.
Kate traded in her tight leather costume for loose fitting hoodies and she’s still the most beautiful sight in the world to you.
Kate’s rubbing small circles on her belly as she cuddles into your chest. A smile makes its way across her face.
“Do you think I’ll be able to teach our baby archery?” She begins to laugh.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Just let her have a normal childhood first.” You ask her.
“She won’t be normal though. She’ll have two Avengers for parents. That’s as far from normal as possible.” She takes your hand and guides it over her belly.
You feel a little kick resonate across the bump. Your baby’s kicking. Each little kick is like the best feeling in the entire world.
“She wants to see the world.” You smile at your bride. Kate smiles right back. You place gentle longing kisses among her neck and collarbone.
“I wouldn’t trade a moment like this for anything. Thank you.” She says as she drifts off to sleep in your arms.
You wished more than anything that a moment like this could last for a thousand years. But every moment with Kate was worth more than an eternity.
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thatarrowguy · 5 months ago
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Clint: *arguing with Scott about pizza at a party with the Avengers*
Bucky: “God dammit. They’re drunk again.”
Matt, watching them: *pauses for a second* “No, they’re not drunk. Just idiots.”
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moonlit-imagines · 11 months ago
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warnings: alcohol
a/n: remember that simple prompts like this dont call for a specified gender! 💕
requested by anonymous
“Hold her steady.” You instructed Clint before stabbing the pumpkin and starting the process of carving the top off. Tony let out a little snicker, making you roll your eyes even before he spoke.
“I wonder what the pumkin said to earn a knife to the gut.” Everyone immediately groaned at Tony’s poor sense of humor, he even earned a “boo” or two. “Don’t ‘boo’ me! That was a really good joke!” He defended as you ignored him and carved.
“Better watch it, Tony,” Steve gave him a smirk, “remember what happened the day you met y/n?”
“Don’t remind me...” Tony kept his head down and took a sip of his Oktoberfest beer, “Oh, that’s good stuff.”
“Wait, didn’t y/n throw a knife through your suit jacket?” Natasha did just that and reminded him. You couldn’t help but smile at the memories...Tony reaching in his jacket, you assuming he was pulling a weapon, the ‘warning shot,’ the sound of Tony’s scream.
“‘AAAAEEEEEEEHHhhhhhhh!’” You mocked the sound that haunts Tony to this very day, obviously everyone joined in as Tony plugged his ears and shut his eyes.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He chanted while you and Clint focused onto the pumpkin once again. You were skilled with a knife, so in no time, you were in the pumpkin reaching for a handful of guts for a cruel finisher: pumpkin guts to the face. Tony gasped and fell out of his chair while the team snorted and squealed until the pigs came home. Just another successful Halloween with the Avengers!
taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //
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jammesbarnnes · 2 months ago
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Imagine joining your father Clint in fighting Thanos:
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"I want to come with you."
"Y/n, you know-" You'd had this conversation a dozen times before, each time you'd been rejected, turned away, sent to your room. It was the only time you'd ever seen your father get angry, losing his temper. It was the first time he'd ever yelled at you. It was shocking, even a little scary. But he wasn't mad at you, he was mad at the world, he was terrified about what could happen if you joined him out there. After he'd apologized profusely. That kind of action had even startled himself and he didn't like it. It was a definite no, the end of the conversation. You were older now, the only one in your family to survive The Blip alongside him. Like the others, you'd been hardened by grief, loss, by a world turned on its axis. You weren't ready then, but you were now. Every day for five years you spent training, avenging your family. That had to count for something.
"I know what mom said, but I can help. I know I can." He hadn't realized how alike you were until this moment. Your brothers and sister had been lost, your mother too. You were there, a witness to his rock bottom, the only one who understood the pain he was in. Clint still saw you as his baby, he always would, but that didn't mean you were little anymore. You were far more capable than he gave you credit for. You had been just as hurt by Thanos, maybe even more so. You lost out on years of fun, friends, the carelessness young adulthood promised. You were so serious, so tired, sometimes he didn't even recognize it was you at all. He wasn't going to let you throw yourself into danger, but maybe he should be more open to the idea. You weren't the same person before The Blip, but neither was he. Maybe you were grown up enough to face this world.
"If anything happens to you, I'll never forgive myself."
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imaginingmanyfandoms · 6 months ago
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"Barton!! I said fall back!" Steve shouted, trapped and unable to physically stop Clint from running to the enemy side.
He wouldn't fall back, not without you.
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