#clint barton whump

[famousinmyfandom]

Selling a 1500 Clint Barton Whump fic!

I was contacted by someone on July 30th about a commission for Clint Barton being whipped by a Hydra with dead dove elements. I added references to Clintasha because this user shipped them. This user has not responded to me since, and I am afraid something may have happened to them.

Unfortunately for me, I was bit by a plot bunny and started writing the fic before confirming payment, so I have a 1500 word fic that I am offering to share in exchange for proof of a $10 donation to any of the following charities:

Gaza Funds, Operation Olive Branch, and Palestine Action, as well as fundraisers for Sudan that are on this list.

My regular commission rate is 100 words for a dollar, but seeing as this is already written, I have decided to decrease the price so I can at least get something out of this. Examples of my work can be found here.

[jinxquickfoot]

I'll play ~🌹

You sweet human, thank you so much! Here's a line from the upcoming fic, "The One Where Clint is Kate's Weakness", for the @whumptober prompts Gun to Temple/Say Goodbye:

“Well, I have to say. This was much easier than I expected. And I didn’t even have high expectations.”

Kate spun around, ignoring how the concrete scraped at her skin even through the costume, preparing to shoot before she froze instead. Clint was on his knees barely three feet from her, Madam Masque’s gun pressed against his temple. He wasn’t looking at Masque, though. He was looking at her. At her arrow. “Kate. You have the shot.”

[superalk]

AilessWhumptober 2023 - gunshot wound

They started not with a door breach but with a tear gas cannister and Clint swore as he cursed whoever had drugged him and those asshole anarchists who had smashed his head in and broken his leg and Bobbi being in fuckin' New York CIty or whatever because he was not at the top of his game and Raakaan was depending on him and ---

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 3

Summary: Reader meets the team.

Tw: mentions of sickness, teasing

Words: 2.8K

A/n: Thanks for all the support this series has been getting :) If anyone has any suggestions for things that could happen in this series lemme know and I’ll see what I think. No smut though I don’t write that here.

The next day you woke to knocking on the bedroom door. Sitting up in bed you quietly called for whoever it was to enter.

A moment later Wanda poked her head through the door. Seeing you awake or at least semi-awake she slipped through the small space she had created.

“Good morning.” She smiled coming to sit beside you on the bed. “Did you sleep well?” She asked pressed her hand to your forehead.

“Mmm.” You hummed still half asleep.

“You don’t feel warm anymore.” She smiled at this achievement as if she was proud of you. “How are you feeling today?” She asked moving her hands to rest in her lap again.

“Tired, but that’s probably because I just woke up.” You smiled.

“Nat sent me to wake you up. She wanted to know if your well enough to meet the others today.” Wanda explained looking slightly guilty.

“I mean, I’m game if you are. Where’s Nat?” You asked coving a yawn.

“Nat’s training with steve. And not so fast, I want to know more about how you're feeling. No more headache? Cough? Wheezing? Give me something.” She grinned.

“My headaches gone, no more cough, maybe a slight wheeze I’m not too sure.” You begun and Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly at the mention of your wheezing. “I’m like ninety-nine percent sure my fever is gone, and I feel pretty good all things aside.” You finished.

“That’s good. Maybe keep your inhaler on you today just in case. And after the meeting I’ll see if I can get Bruce to give us a few spares, just in case.” Wanda said softly.

“You really don’t have to.” You said shyly toying with a loose thread on the sheets.

“Its no problem. I would make me feel better. Breathing is important.” Wanda teased easing your concerns.

“So, when’s the meeting?” You asked.

“Well, I think Nat wanted to do it as soon as possible. Like straight after training and then I’m going to make you some pancakes for brunch.” Wanda said poking your side. “But for now, hop up, get dressed and I’ll be back soon to show you where the meeting room is.” Wanda said, standing up and heading for the door.

Once wanda had left, probably to go and find Nat to call the meeting, you crawled out of bed. Rifling through your backpack you changed out your sleepshirt and shorts for a pair of black track pants and a pale-yellow t-shirt. Throwing on some goofy socks and lacing up your black converse high tops you braided your hair sat in front of the mirror and threw on some deodorant.

Once you were ready and had been to the bathroom to wash your face and go through your morning routine, you sat at peters desk.

Picking up your backpack you went through it until finding what you were looking for.

Pulling out the black sketchbook you opened it to a fresh page and began mindlessly doodling things you could see around peters room and the cityscape beyond the open curtains.

Just as you were getting into the details of the New York skyline you heard a knock on the door.

Lowering your pencil, you sat a little straighter.

“Come in.” You called your voice sounding better than it had in days. And surprisingly good for someone who had spent hours coughing and wheezing for days on end.

Wanda opened the door and smiled seeing you up and about for the first time.

“You look much better.” She commented coming to stand by your shoulder. “Wow, you’re an amazing artist.” She smiled looking at your drawings.

“Oh, um … thanks.” You smiled still a little awkward when it came to compliments. “So, what’s the news?” You asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Wanda said looking up from where she had been inspecting your sketchbook. “Nat called Fury. He’s kinda the boss. He’s given the go ahead if steve and tony sign off on it. Nat then called a meeting and I’m going to bring you to the room where you're going to meet the team.” She explained.

“I have two questions.” You said.

“Shoot.” Wanda said pulling you up and gesturing to follow her out the door.

“One, is peter going to be at this meeting?” You asked as Wanda lead you down some seemingly endless corridors.

“Yes.” Wanda nodded, pressing the button to call the lift.

“And two, this Fury guy said yes? Just like that?” You asked sounding slightly confused.

“Yes and no.” Wanda begun, stepping onto the lift with you beside her. “Nat asked Jarvis, Tony’s AI assistant to pull up all CCTV footage of spider-man and separate footage based on bio-signatures. So, she could differentiate between when it was peter and when it was you in the suit. She sent Fury the files and after he reviewed them, he approved you a place on the team. If you want it and the others agree.” Wanda explained.

“Okay.” You said slowly. “Seems like a good plan.” You smiled.

And the lift dinged softly as it slowed to a stop.

“This is us.” Wanda said and you followed her out of the open doors. Walking beside her down a hallway she stopped in front of a door and paused to look at you. “You ready?” She asked, her hand on the door handle.

“Yep.” You nodded swollowing down your nerves. “Ready as I’ll even be.”

“You’ll be great. Just be yourself and they’ll love you.” Wanda said and pushed the door open.

Nat was stood at the head of the table, a screen behind her queued up with spider-man videos. She smiled at you and wanda as the rest of the people turned to face you.

Seeing the people you had only ever seen on Tv in real life was a little overwhelming at first but wanda squeezed your hand and lead you into the room to stand at the front with her and Nat.

Peter smiled at you from where he was sat beside Tony. Looking proud of you just for standing in front of the avengers.

You stood there silent for a second simply making eye contact with your shoes before Natasha spoke up.

“This is Y/n.” Nat begun, and you gave a small half wave with an awkward smile. Tony was staring you down with an unreadable expression. He looked like he was analysing your face mentally. Most likely already having connected you to Peter.

“Hi I’m Y/n Parker.” You said lifting your eyes to meet a few smiling faces around the room a fair few of them sporting shocked looks.

“Parker?” Tony echoed sounding smaller than you had ever heard from his times on Tv.

“Y/n Parker is Peters sister.” Wanda explained.

“Kid?” Tony looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me there were two of you?” He asked looking sad.

Peter looked slightly sick at the open disappointment his mentor was showing right now and so you stepped in before peter had a panic attack.

“Mr Stark, Sir, it was my decision to keep myself out of the spotlight. And to do that I needed to maintain a low profile. Which is harder to do when the avengers know of your existence. No offence.” You explained. And the team exchanged a few glances as they noted how you had come to Peter’s aid almost immediately.

“That’s alright, I’m sure Pete will open up now you’re here.” Tony said with a grin as he ruffled Peters hair, “Won’t-cha kiddo?” He asked with his usual charismatic charm and Peter gave a small nod and smile while he ducked his head not liking the attention.

“So, anyone have anymore questions?” You asked drawing the attention off of Peter once more much to your brothers' relief.

Looking away from the small smile he sent you as thanks you laughed, seeing every hand in the room up with a question for you, bar Nat, Peter and Wanda of course.

You looked to your left and nodded to Steve.

“Hi, nice to meet you kid.” Steve said. “I have a question though, if Peter’s identity is secret, why did you need to stay away from us?” He asked looking confused, and his statement drew a few nods around the room.

“If Tony scares you honey, I can assure you that the man would forget his own shoes without me.” Someone you recognised as Pepper Potts said with a smile causing Tony to grumble to himself. How Nat had managed to wrangle the CEO of Stark industries into this meeting you didn’t know.

Little did you know that all it took was ‘There’s something you should know, it has to do with Peter’ and she was on her way.

“Actually,” Wanda said drawing the gaze of the room to her, “This should explain it. Jarvis play the video.” She said and the lights dimmed as the Tv showed a compilation of some of your best moves in the spider-suit.

When the video ended the lights retuned to their normal brightness and everyone still looked confused.

“How exactly does a compilation of Peter doing tricks explain that?” Bruce asked.

“Um…” You said looking slightly nervous. “That was me.” You said in a small voice and the room was silent for a second.

“Sick moves kid. Peter your sister’s awesome.” Sam said and a few people laughed at his perfect comedic timing.

“Prove it.” Tony said and you paled slightly.

“Tony.” Pepper said placing her hand on his arm and shooting him a look.

“No, its ok pepper.” Nat said. “Jarvis?” Nat called to the ceiling. “Was that peter in the suit for those videos?” She asked.

“The height and weight as well as body stature and proportions do not match Master Parker.” Jarvis said.

“Ok,” Nat continued, “Who do those body descriptors match in this room?” She asked.

“The person in the suit does match the body of Miss Parker.” Jarvis said and Tony frowned.

“Do the sticky thing.” Bucky called drawing a few smiles. You rolled your eyes and put a hand up, splaying your fingers before jumping in the air and touching the ceiling where you stayed stuck.

“Crawl around.” Sam said and you glared at his heckling.

“No.” You said and you saw Peter doing his puppy eyes at you. “Fine.” You sighed.

Jumping up you did a flip and stuck your legs out, now standing on the ceiling upside down and making eye contact with Sam before looking to Bucky.

“Better?” You asked sarcastically.

“Much.” Sam grinned and you rolled your eyes again.

“Ok. Get down Y/n.” Nat said sounding part annoyed part amused at the display.

“Yes ma’am.” You said before detaching from the roof and doing a flip to landing back where you were before.

“Show off.” Peter murmured under his breath and you huffed a small laugh as his ears went red, not having expected you to hear him. Dumb super-hearing.

“Well, now we’re done with the party tricks. What are we thinking?” You asked brushing off invisible dirt from your clothes.

“Well…” Tony said. “I think its time you got your own suit.” He grinned and you smiled back. “What colours do you want kiddo?” He asked.

“Um… maybe something like purple, white and red?” You said and he nodded already sketching down ideas on a pad of paper pepper had brought with her from a meeting.

“You’re also getting an AI.” Tony added and you looked a peter who simply smiled proudly of you.

“Well, if that’s everything Y/n’s also gonna need a room.” Wanda said and Tony nodded.

“There’s a spare room on Natasha and Wanda’s floor if you want to move in with the girls. Do I need to send some movers to grab your things?” Tony asked and you looked at your shoes and shook your head.

“Not much to move.” You mumbled.

“Y/n’s apartment was taken out in the last battle. She’s been hiding out in Peter’s room for now. That’s how we met actually.” Natasha said shooting you a reassuring smile.

“Well, it sounds like I’m going to be funding yet another shopping trip.” Tony sighed and Wanda grinned at you mischievously.

“We’ll make it a girl's day.” Wanda said shooting a look at pepper.

“I’d love to.” Pepper agreed and Nat clapped her hands together.

“Alright then.” The assassin said. “I should probably tell Fury we have another spider on the team.” Nat grinned and you smiled at her.

“Great, now we have three spiders.” Tony said rolling his eyes and ducking as Pepper aimed a pretty good swing to the back of his head.

“Knock it off Tony, don’t act like you're not secretly overjoyed to have another Parker around.” Pepper said.

“Just wondering,” Bruce said looking mildly nervous as the room turned to look at him.

“Yes?” You prompted him to continue.

“Are you…” He begun before pausing, “I guess theres no real nice way to put it.” Bruce said and Tony jumped in.

“I think Brucie-bear wants to know if you come with the Parker Brain Package.” Tony said and Pepper glared at him.

“Tony.” She warned, glaring at him while you cleared your throat.

“If you’re asking about how smart I am, let’s just say I designed the original prototype for the web-shooters and chemical makeup of the fluid.” You said and Tony nodded seemingly satisfied with that small tidbit of information for now.

“Well, if nobody had anything else to say, Wanda and I are going to take Y/n for a tour of the compound.” Nat said before turning to look at Clint. “And you, have to make dinner. You lost our bet.” Nat said and then dragged you and Wanda out of the room by your sleeves.

After a very long and very comprehensive tour by Natasha and Wanda, you were shown back to the communal kitchen where most of the team ate together when they weren’t on missions.

You walked into the dining room attached to the kitchen to be hit with the smell of burnt food pungent in the air.

You looked at Nat confused, and she grinned as she heard cursing coming from the kitchen. Wanda looked like she was itching to go help but sad she pulled away Nat grabbed her sleeve at the very last second to hold her back.

“Can someone explain whats going on for me?” You asked.

“Well, Clint and Natasha can’t cook if their lives depended on it.” Wanda begun, only to shush Nat when she went to speak up. “So naturally they made a bet, loser had to cook the team dinner, naturally Clint lost so Nat is enjoying his public humiliation. And I normally cook if we aren’t getting takeout so it's causing me pain to hear whats going on in there.”

“Oh, calm down. Clints not blowing anything up.” Nat said rolling her eyes as Wanda shot her a look. “Ok that was one time.” Nat amended.

Not twenty minutes later you were sat at a table with the avengers with a plate of very burnt stake and watery mash potatoes.

“What is it?” Tony asked poking his steak.

Clint grinned. “A masterpiece.” He said.

“More like a mistake.” Nat muttered judging her steak while poking it with her knife as if she was expecting it to start moving of its own accord.

“I say we have newbie try it.” Tony posed and you rolled your eyes.

Cutting off a piece of the very tough steak with your knife you raised it to your lips and put it in your mouth.

It was tough and kind of disgusting. But you smiled anyway.

Finding the meat tougher than you had been expecting, you made the switch as you called you fangs up. Your canines sharpened as you chewed managing to decimate the meat. Swallowing you looked at Clint.

“Not the worst thing I’ve every eaten.” You said with a smirk and Tony who had been watching you closely squeaked.

“Jeez kid you didn’t tell me your sister was a vampire.” Tony said turning to Peter.

By this point most of they eyes were on you, so you hid your teeth and retracted the fangs out of embarrassment.

“She’s not. It’s a spider thing she got.” Peter said coming yo your defence.

“Either way her new name is fangs.” Tony said with a grin.

This time you glared at him.

“For the record i think they’re awesome.” Wanda said sensing your embarrassment.

“Seconded.” Nat said her spy training honing in on your body language to see you were insecure about it.

“I gotta admit it’s a cool trick doll.” Bucky said.

“Pretty neat.” Steve agreed with a smile.

“Badass.” Sam nodded flicking a still frozen pea at Bucky. “Alright, now that y/n probably has food poisoning, who wants pizza?” Nat asked with a grin. Cheers came from all sides of the table as Clint slumped dejectedly in his seat.

PART 4

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1360

Whumptober #10: Slurred Words

A: “B, do you copy? Where are you?”

B: “‘m here… sort of… kinda cozy in this corner…”

A: “There you are! Are you alright? What’s your status?”

B: “Status… uh… bit fuzzy, but I’m still kickin’… well, kinda… head’s… spinny.”

A: “B, did you hit your head? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

B: “Um… was tryin’ to… get to, uh… sector …can’t remember. Everything’s sorta… blurry, y’know?”

A: “Okay, okay. Just hang on. Keep talking to me. I’m tracking your signal, but you need to stay awake.”

B: “Aw, c’mon… I’m not… not goin’ anywhere… room’s doin’ enough spinnin’ for both of us…”

A: “Yeah, I bet. Just keep that radio on, alright? No shutting down on me.”

B: “Hey… do I sound funny to you? Can’t… can’t get my mouth to… to say things right…”

A: “You’re doing fine. Tell me what you’re seeing.”

B: “Uh… somethin’ like… a hallway… I think… and some kinda… uh, blue light… real pretty…”

A: “I’m almost there. Just stay focused on that light, alright? Talk to me. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when we get you out of there?”

B: “Gonna… take the longest… nap… maybe grab… somethin’ to eat… got this craving for… uh… pizza…”

A: “Pizza sounds good. Hang tight, B. We’ll get you that pizza, after we get you to a doctor.”

There’s a distinctive groan over the radio, and A can’t help but chuckle. 

B: “With sides?”

A: “If you don’t fight the doctors this time.” 

B: “...f-fine.”

[frenchfriedgiraffe]

from all-new hawkeye #5

this comic is so sad but this one line is too funny not to draw

[cap-a-cinno]

I love long hair Bucky and Clint whump.

Mission gone wrong?…

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 24 - I never knew daylight could be so violent. (No light, no light)

Warnings: whump/angst/therapy

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Olivia needs help; but then again so does Natasha.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist.

.

Pain shoots through her abdomen and and she bows to it.

She doesn’t allow herself a cry of pain, only a huff of a breath and closes her eyes.

Her hand shakes as she empties the last of the tryptophan her heart sinking as she feels nauseousness rise and tremors shudder through her.

“Fuck,” she swears.

The night is going to be long.

She takes one of the last two tablets anyway knowing it’s only delaying the inevitable.

She sighs, laying down and trying to breathe through the pain.

Shield had the medications that she needed, but she didn’t quiet trust them.

Pain thrusts its way through her, making her clench her fists and forcing breath in and out consciously.

She decides in the moment to find Coulson or Fury. Shield is not safe but the two men would perhaps help.

She owed them, they owed her, and she’s sure she could call in a favour.

.

The seizure leaves her on the floor, her head pounding as she feels her consciousness return to her.

Wiping her mouth, she pushes herself up.

Hands still shaking, Olivia takes the last pill, hoping it makes her functional.

She knows she’s running out of time. She didn’t realise how close she was running out when she left.

Stupid, she berates herself.

Living in America had made her soft, dependant… Compliant.

If she was on her own, she’d have stocks, but instead, she’d just worked through the emergency medication knowing she’d have access to more.

Allowing herself a moment of self pity, she wonders just how to find the others, and slowly dresses herself.

The number she’d memorised for Fury may still work, and she contemplates if she’s able to make it to the closest pay phone.

The small apartment’s furniture helps her to move on shaking legs, and the walking stick she keeps in the closet feels like a good option.

Armed with a knife and sunglasses, she makes her way out to the harsh light of day.

Nauseous, she descends the stairs, tremors still wracking her body.

She can do this, she’s done much harder things.

One hundred steps, she tells herself.

When she reaches that, she counts 100 more.

At 345 she stops, breathing labored at the public pay phone.

“This better fucking work,” she mutters to herself, dialing the number.

Four rings in and she feels bile rise in her throat.

On the fifth, the phone picks up and she closes her eyes in relief.

“It’s bad,” she opens, “I need… what you owe me.”

Fury seems to understand.

“Safehouse six. I’ll organise for it to be sent there.”

He pauses.

“You owe me too. Don’t think I won’t collect.”

The phone hangs up and she groans, sinking to the floor, holding onto the walking stick and feeling another seizure coming on.

.

The knock at the door sets them all on edge.

Even though Fury calls to tell them that Olivia is coming, they all stand. Maria’s hand on her gun, Clint close to his bow and Natasha stands near the draw with the knives.

Coulson opens it, and finds Olivia standing there, just as Fury had said.

He opens the door wider, letting her in and showing the others that they have nothing to fear.

She enters, and Clint frowns.

“Are you… are you okay?”

The woman waves him off, and says something quietly to Coulson. He walks to the back room and returns alone.

“She needs some privacy and sleep,” he announces, much to all their confusion.

The shower starts running and Clint thinks of all the scenarios that could have had her looking so drawn and pale.

He turns back to the game of cards that he had been playing with Maria and swears as he loses again.

“I’m bored,” he complains.

Maria shares a look with him.

“How do we know Fury is okay?” she asks, much to Coulson’s annoyance.

“He’s okay,” he assures, “but if you want to go help, then fine, I can’t stop you.”

Maria grins at Clint.

“I’ll let you know how I go.”

“He’s gonna be angry,” Clint assumes, throwing the cards to the container.

“Nah; he’ll be appreciative. Who reads the lackies of Shield, better than me?”

Coulson sighs.

“I should go with you.”

He looks to the door that Olivia just moved through, and sits back down.

“Go. Call me in four hours and tell me what’s happening.” He looks at time.

“Four hours okay?”

Maria grabs the keys and a piece of pizza.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll call,” she smiles, pleased to have something to do.

The evening feels early, even though it’s 6pm, the sun moving to sleep. Maria reveals in the fresh air; and heads for shield.

.

Natasha lays on the couch. She’d opted to take first watch.

Olivia was still in the room, door closed having not come out since she went in.

Coulson in the other room, and Clint gently snoring on the other couch.

She doesn’t feel tired.

Probably, would be unable to sleep anyway.

If nightmares plagued her like they did in the cabin, she would have the whole house on edge.

At least the cell was soundproofed.

Here, she thinks she would wake up the whole apartment block.

Clint has eyed her when she’d offered to take first watch, and she had nodded assuringly.

Maria had called to say she was with Fury, he hadn’t sent her away much to Coulson’s surprise.

Coulson had decided he’d return in the morning, barring no incidents during the night.

Natasha was determined to just let them sleep.

She liked the darkness, and with others around, she was sure she wouldn’t be seeing anything… anyone.

Lost in her own thoughts, she catches movement on her left and stands to confront it.

“It’s me,” Olivia announces quietly.

Natasha sits up straighter.

The psychiatrist moves into the dimly lit room, and then to the kitchen finding water and taking a sip.

She downs two pills as Natasha watches on in interest.

“I’m defective,” she says, noticing Natasha watching her.

“They experimented with us, trialing… god knows what, to try and make us better soldiers. And they succeeded but at a cost.”

Olivia’s eyes rake over Natasha.

“Shield has drugs that help combat the symptoms. The Red Room would have just killed me.”

She feels scrutinized and wants to hear so much more of her experience of the Red Room.

It’s like piecing together bits of her own history, things she’s forgotten, things that have been wiped.

Part of the debrief had asked so many basic questions that she should know, but couldn’t retrieve it.

Experimented was right.

Natasha moves to seat at the bench to sit across from her.

Her face itches where the cut on her forehead is healing, and she suppresses the urge to touch it. Her whole body is itchy, uncomfortable and foreign.

Olivia looks to Clint, and deciding he’s asleep enough, starts to make coffee.

Natasha watches practices motions and refrains from talking.

She wants to ask her so much.

Waiting until Olivia sits, Natasha takes an offered coffee and they sip it together.

“Ask, if you need to,” she tells her, voice tired and resigned.

Natasha has so many, she thinks of the last couple of days. How impaired she had been to take care of herself, of Clint and how, if she was back in the red room, she would have been killed ten fold by now.

“How do you stop the nightmares? The flashbacks? How do I… I can’t sleep and then when I do… it bleeds into the day. I try.. But everything in me keeps remembering.”

Natasha holds back, the feelings and worries that have been plaguing her, she wishes she knew how to articulate them.

She feels like she’s going insane.

Wounds wide open and she can’t stop remembering.

Olivia looks at her, takes a slow sip of her drink.

“Your mind is an open wound, they’ve dug into in debrief and left it bleeding.”

Natasha nods.

It’s exactly what it is.

She feels like an exposed raw nerve.

Olivia sets down her coffee.

“We don’t have a lot of time together. Not what you need anyway.”

She sighs heavily, fatigue seeming to weigh her down, but the kindness and patience that she has always shown to Natasha remains.

“It’s not fair, that you have to deal with this. So the coping mechanisms I’m going to say to you I want you to use when and where possible. There are going to be a myriad of times, where they don’t work, but for a lot of the times it will.”

Natasha swallows, understanding what she’s saying.

“We haven’t the time so I need you to listen. To hear me. Okay?”

Olivia doesn’t even wait for her to respond.

“Being triggered, doesn’t apply to you because your nervous system is always going to be heightened, walking on eggshells, and when they crack, is likely going to be when you will feel it. With or without flashbacks, the emotions will come, and you won’t always understand it. When this happens I need you to note that it’s there, label it and stay with it, even for a moment.”

The urgency in her voice makes Natasha give undivided attention.

She doesn’t notice that Clint sits up, moves closer; but Olivia does.

“Emotions, they try and tell us something, things we aren’t subconsciously aware of, they sit in our body, in our chest, sometimes like a weight, sometimes like itch you can’t scratch. They can sit in our minds; numbing us to the world that’s happening around us. In small ways, in big ways too.”

Natasha feels her face grow hot.

Olivia’s words are true and she knows it.

“Work on finding where the emotion is in your body. Close your eyes, for a moment and extend your mind out. Learn Natasha, learn about emotions, their labels and how they feel. The Red Room didn’t care and the words you have for emotions mean nothing. You have to learn beyond happy and sad.”

Natasha swallows.

“Learn what happiness feels like, and remember it so you have something to compare it to. Learn anger, and how it’s different to hatred. Disappointment. Anxiety. Frustration. You know these in a sense, but your education on them is poor.”

Olivia stops, taking a breath and then a sip of her coffee, acknowledging Clint.

“Accept help from those that are willing but don’t trust blindly. You have your own thoughts and feelings and they matter too. Do you hear me?”

Olivia talks softer.

“They never taught you, because they never wanted you to know, how smart and powerful you are. The feelings and emotions and the rawness of it all won’t last forever. But when it comes do something with it. Do something with your hands like shooting a gun at the range, clean, shower, breathe. Anything that you can do that acknowledges the feelings but doesn’t erase them.”

She reaches across and grabs at Natasha’s hand, pulling her sleeve up to expose raw handcuffed chaffed wrists.

“Nights will be the hardest,” she acknowledges, “but they will get better.”

Natasha pulls away, embarrassed.

“Feel it,” encourages Olivia, “try not to hide from it.”

The silence in the room extends; but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“What if I can’t?” Natasha whispers.

Olivia smiles.

“Then you can’t. And you try again next time. This is not pass or fail. This is not the stakes of the Red Room. You won’t die because you can’t do something; even though it might feel like it.”

Finishing her coffee, Olivia stands.

“I’m truly sorry, Natasha, for everything you’ve been through. I can see why you’ve made it this far. I believe our paths will cross again, but it might not be for a while.”

Natasha nods, biting down on her lip.

The one person that understood her and everything she had been through… disappointment and grief floods her.

She feels it.

Olivia touches her hand again.

“You’re not without support.”

She nods to Clint.

Coulson bustles in and looks at the two women and Clint.

Daylight streams through the windows and Natasha feels herself withdraw.

.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Someone has probably done this but I wanted to, too

[somber-sapphic]

Dealing With Her

You felt on top of the world when you returned from your mission, only to find that your girlfriend was sick. (natasha x reader)

Word Count: 899

-----

“Where’s Nat?” You asked, strolling into the Compound feeling pretty good about yourself. Your mission had gone exceptionally well and to celebrate you wanted to make her dinner and eat pie in bed. You loved that woman so much. 

“She's sick, Clint’s dealing with her,” Tony mumbled, focused on the Stark Pad in his hands. He was doing something you didn’t and would never understand.

“What do you mean dealing with her?” You felt your blood run cold and the color drain from your cheeks. “What’s wrong with my girlfriend?” The tech genius looked up, realizing that what he said sounded pretty bad. 

“Nope, no not what I meant. Natasha’s got the flu or something and Clint’s making sure she doesn’t kill herself.” He raised his hands in defense, trying to calm you down. “She’s fine, she’ll be fine. Relax kid.” He smiled in a gentle way that he typically saved for you and waved you towards Natasha’s room.

“Natasha?” You asked, pushing your way into the room you shared. The air was heavy with the scent of sickness, that musty, unwashed, sweaty smell that came from the lack of caring accompanied by a high fever.

The man in the corner jumped up, hand on his weapon, apparently, he hadn’t recognized your voice.

“Clint, it’s just me. I got home early.” You lowered your voice to a whisper when your eyes met the snorting woman who took up all of the bed. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Clint yawned through his words, stretched, and walked over to you. “Nat’s not doing so great, she’s been asleep for a while but I can’t seem to get her fever down. I’ve pretty much drugged her up as much as I can and I got her to drink a little water earlier. She’s not up for food yet and she’s been asking for you for a while now.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. Sometimes you forgot he was a dad. 

“Thank you, Clint, I’m so sorry I wasn’t home, this means the world to me.” You were so glad that Natasha had someone else she trusted at the Compound. You hadn’t known that she was and it hurt your heart a little bit. He started to leave, but you called him back “Would you stay just so that I can get dressed without leaving her alone? Please I don’t want her to wake up with no one here.”

“Course, y/n, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't?” You flashed him a grin and ran to the ensuite bathroom. It took you five minutes to wash your face and change- you’d take a real shower with Nat once she was better- and emerged in fresh pj’s, perfect for curling up with your sick girlfriend.

You waved a goodbye at Clint and scooted into bed beside Natasha, careful not to jostle her too much. She groaned quietly and pressed against you, nuzzling her head against your chest. 

“Shh, go back to sleep, love. I’m sorry I woke you up.” You murmured, pressing your lips against her temple. She leaned into the touch, moaning slightly. 

“Mmm…hi,” She sniffled sleepily and wiped her nose on her sleeve in a weak attempt to stave off her runny nose. 

“Hi, bug. Maybe we could get you a tissue?” You grimaced slightly as she wiped her nose on the blanket you were sharing. 

“Mmm…just stay with you.” She croaked, kissing your neck gently. Her lips were hot and cracked, and the kiss weak. The poor thing was so sick. 

“Okay, well this blanket is pretty gross now. I know you’re cold, but do you think we could get you a new one?” She shook her head and kissed your neck again, smiling against your skin. 

“You’ll be my blanket,” She purred, trying to get on top of you. You sighed gently and pushed her off, readjusting her so that she was in a more comfortable position. 

“Not right now bubs, when you’re better, okay?”

“You’re mean.” She grumbled, shifting so that one of her legs was entangled in yours. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. 

“Yeah, but you love me.” She nodded and sneezed against your shirt. You winced and stroked her hair, trying to ignore the germs. You didn’t like germs and now you were infested with germs. Oh god, you were going to get sick. Oh god, oh god, oh god. 

“...’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry,” She pulled away, utterly humiliated. You sighed and brushed her cheek, still nervous. 

“This is why we use tissues, my darling.” You forced out, wiping her face with a tissue. You handed her another one and she blew her nose, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” She curled up in a ball, facing away from you. You couldn’t help the small eye roll and sigh that escaped your lips. 

“C’mere bub. I’m not mad, just…just a little nervous.” You chuckled, shifting so that you had her wrapped up in your arms again. 

“Mhm…” You kissed her temple, a little nervous at the heat you felt there. “Sorry I got sick.” 

“No apologies from you. Go to sleep, okay? Everything’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going away this time. I’m sorry for leaving you earlier.” 

“Mmm, missions happen. ‘S long as you don’t go away again.” 

“Not until you feel better.” 

[spwarkles]

Does anyone else remember that specific niche of oneshot fanfictions where Tony Stark and the Avengers all knew each other but the Avengers all still thought of Tony as a stuck up jerk until some form of Tony whump (usually doing with the arc reactor) happened that forced them all to realize he wasn't? Just me?? Also??? Where can I find them again?? Thank you.

Also like? The random niche of fanfiction oneshots where Peter was Tony's son and lived in stark tower and the Avengers would find out about it? Was I on weird internet places in freshman year of high school or does anyone else know where to find these????

[hainethehero]

Headcanon of Steve just having isolated moments of utter nostalgia, and the resultant melancholy from it is so debilitating that he has bouts of depression for days...

Like, one day while they're hunting for some random villain of the week, they get caught in a heavy downpour. And everyone filters into whatever shelter is available to keep out of the frigid wetness, but Steve... Steve remains. He stands as still as a marble statue, raindrops pelting down upon him, dripping down his skin just like it had all those years ago.

It's so oddly profound to him in that moment... that, the rain smells the same.

It looks the same.

It even sounds the same!

Then he'll remember his sweet Mama, the Howlies. Peggy's easy, confident smile. Hell- even Phillips. And Bucky. He can feel the blazing warmth of Bucky's strong hands around him, keeping him safe and cosy. The memory is so real that he takes a step forward to touch it.

That he can close his eyes and almost take himself back to the good days.

But then Tony's voice crackles to life in his ear. He's back in the future. Back in the never-ending machine of robotic nonsense. Back in the twenty-first century where the cold never seems to melt away from his skin. Where Bucky is just someone from the history books. And where there's no one on the planet who can remember him from his time.

He returns to his team with a shattered heart, thankful for the rain only because it hides his tears. But they can all see how they're red-rimmed from sheer grief. They don't poke fun at him, not even Tony is that cruel.

Instead, they get him safely back to the Tower where Bruce swaddles him in piles of blankets, Tony makes him a hot cup of cocoa and the rest of the team curls around him and keeps him warm. Safe. Protected.

After a few days of the cuddle pile (because they refuse to leave him alone, especially Thor), the nostalgia doesn't seem so bad.

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Hostage Situation

Find the fic on Ao3!

“Does anyone have eyes on the target?”

Clint rounds the corner of the abandoned office building, bow at the ready. “I’m catching up to her.”

Phil’s sigh over the comms is so loud he can practically see it. “Barton, you’re meant to be on lookout.”

“I am. I’m looking out for our target.” Clint peers past his arrow down the dark corridor. The path forward is suspiciously empty, even though he swears he saw his quarry take this route. He presses forward, poking his head into the various side rooms. There are no cornered weapons dealers to be found. Yet. “She’s good.”

“Yes, she is, which is why we sent the entire STRIKE team after her.”

“Funny, I’m not seeing any of the STRIKE guys in the right position.”

“You’re the one who’s not in position, Barton.” Phil’s voice is more exasperated than angry. “You know I went on the record saying you could learn to play ball, right?”

“Hey, I can play ball.” Clint finishes his search of the corridor and turns left into an equally empty set of side rooms. Huh. Mills is good. Very few people are able to vanish on him like this. Not to mention that she’s stayed off SHIELD’s radar almost as long as he had managed by now. Every day he’s grateful Phil gave him a shot (ha) to be here, but he’s not particularly keen on letting Mills break his record. “I’m about to catch the target SHIELD has been chasing for months. How’s that for playing ball?”

He’s been with SHIELD for just over a year now, and every single day has been a battle to prove he belongs here. Phil had plucked him out of Sing Sing after Clint had finally managed to put Jacque Duquesne in the ground, offering him a job instead of a life sentence. Clint still doesn’t entirely know why. He does know that he’s not going to blow the first chance someone’s given him at a halfway decent life.

“No,” he’d told Phil when he’d first offered him a position at SHIELD.

Phil gestured at the chains encircling his wrists and ankles. “You’d rather stay in prison forever?”

Clint shrugged, ignoring the way it made the metal constraining him clink. “Three square meals a day and a roof over my head? I’ve had worse.”

“I’m aware. Are you aware you could have better?”

“What you’re offering isn’t better.”

“What do you think I’m offering?”

“A chance to kill a lot more people in exchange for something you’re trying to pass off as freedom. I’m not doing it.”

Phil leaned back in the rigid visitor’s chair, his face unreadable. Clint wasn’t a fan of that. His people skills from a life bouncing around foster homes, the streets and a circus weren’t top-notch, but he’d like to think he’d know by now when someone was playing him. Emphasis on he’d like to. Duquesne had strung him along for far too many years before Clint put an arrow in his heart.

“If you joined SHIELD, you would be expected to kill when necessary,” Phil stated. “But only very specific targets.”

“Still targets.”

“You seem very adverse to killing for a man serving a life sentence for murder.”

“He deserved it.”

“Any regrets?”

Clint let his lips form a cold smile. “None. World’s better off without him.”

“And what if I could offer you not only a way out of this prison, but a chance at taking out more Duquesnes?”

“I’d still tell you no.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

He had expected Phil to leave after that. Instead, he seemed to have handed the man the exact answer he’d been looking for. “Good,” Phil had said shortly. “We try to avoid hiring the murderous type. I can’t promise you’ll never have to kill again, but I can promise that if you join us, you’ll have a chance to do good.”

Phil had looked him straight in the eye as he finished, “And despite what your rap sheet says, I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Clint Barton.”

If only the rest of SHIELD had decided to believe in him as easily. Getting Mills in his clutches would be the feather in his cap that might finally get the STRIKE team to lay off him. Just because he didn’t go to their stupid academy, they assume he can’t be one of them. Phil’s done what he can to get them to back off, but Clint’s not going to hide behind his coattails forever. Phil gave him a chance. He’s not wasting it. 

There’s a rustle over the comms, as though Phil’s changing locations. His next words are a murmur. “You have nothing to prove, Clint. You became a SHIELD agent the moment you accepted my offer.”

The way Phil seems to read his mind sometimes is downright unsettling. Clint’s spent his life building masks that no one is supposed to see underneath. Then again, maybe no one’s really tried before. “That sentiment isn’t universal.”

“So not everyone has been entirely welcoming, given your past. We’re working on that. But you do have a place at SHIELD as long as you want one. Unless you start doing stupid shit like defying orders.”

“I like to think more in implied orders. Like ‘catch Mills’.”

“Your orders were to be on lookout. You want to prove yourself? Do it by showing Fury you’re a team player.”

“Sorry, Sir. Don’t really see myself as a part of a team anytime—”

He doesn’t hear her until the click of a safety is taken off a gun. Clint freezes, nocked arrow pointed uselessly at a cobweb-infested fax machine.

“Barton.” The worry in Phil’s steady voice wouldn’t be apparent to most people. Maybe that mind-reading thing goes two ways. “Barton, come in.”

“Put the bow down,” a female voice says behind him. “If you try pointing that arrow at me, I’ll shoot you. I’m fast enough to kill you first.”

“I believe you.” Still, Clint doesn’t move. Disobeying orders and bringing in a target single-handedly is hero stuff. Disobeying orders and getting shot for it is just embarrassing.

“Put it down,” Mills repeats slowly. “Last warning.”

“She’s there,” Phil surmises. Definitely worried. It’s almost nice. It’s been a long time since Clint can confidently say anyone has worried about him. “Stay where you are, stay alive. We’re coming to get you.”

Great, and now he’s the damsel in distress. As much as it soothes a long-buried ache knowing that Phil actually cares whether he makes it home or not, that does not extend to actually wanting to be rescued. Knowing it’s a stupid move, and deciding to do it anyway, Clint whips the bow around.

The gunshot is enough to deafen him as pain explodes in his left leg. He keeps his grip on his arrow though, he doesn’t need much to fire it into an enemy this close, it will be a matter of a second to pull it back and release—

Then he gets a good look at Mills for the first time.

Phil is demanding updates in his ear, but Clint’s frozen, unable to focus on anything but the round belly right in his face. There had been months of reconnaissance on Mills, and yet somehow all of SHIELD had failed to report that she was pregnant.

“Really?” The belly shifts and Clint’s view transforms into a gun barrel. There’s blood running down his leg, the wound hot and aching, but he’s still on his feet. Must just be a graze then. Small mercies. “You’d kill me for some minor weapons trading, but as soon as there’s a fetus in the picture you go soft?”

Clint finds his voice. “Minor weapons trading. That’s what you’re going with?” He lifts his eyes to her face. She’s all hard lines, worn down from exhaustion and stress, but still… prettier than her mug shots made her out to be. Not the right kinds of thoughts to be having when there’s still a gun directed at his forehead.

“Bow. Down.” Mills brandishes that gun, even as she makes sure to keep well out of Clint’s range. “Who the hell takes a bow and arrow into a shootout, anyways?”

“Me,” Clint answers, placing the bow and unused arrow on the floor. His quiver follows. “Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Nice to meet you.”

She’s thoroughly unimpressed. “Kick them away.”

Wincing, Clint boots his bow down the corridor. It won’t damage it, the weapon is built for battle, but it had been a gift from Phil for his one-year SHIELD anniversary. Clint’s not a fan of punting it like a soccer ball.

“Gun too,” Mills orders.

That goes with less remorse. The STRIKE team likes to rib him for how little Clint pulls his gun on missions, but their bullets aren’t multipurpose or reusable. There’s been many a shootout where Clint’s the last one with ammo, as long as he’s willing to retrieve the arrows during said shootout. Maybe he should invent one that comes back.

“Now the knives. Both of them.”

And maybe he should focus on the armed woman in front of him.

The blades are thrown away with more hesitation, first the one in his belt and then the one tucked into the compartment in his boot. He’s not the best at hand-to-hand combat and he isn’t given much opportunity to practice as SHIELD’s top sniper, but he can do some serious damage with a knife if the enemy is stupid enough to get close. So far, Mills definitely doesn’t fall into the stupid enemy category.

As soon as he’s disarmed she holds out her hand, snapping her fingers at him when he hesitates. “Comms.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint forks over his earpiece. He is never, ever going to hear the end of this. For all Phil’s words of always having a place at SHIELD, he can’t help but wonder if getting captured because he disobeyed his SO’s direct orders is grounds for dismissal. A streak of fear goes through him at the idea. Most SHIELD agents who get thrown out on their asses sign a ten-mile-long NDA and go and live a boring, middle-class life. Clint knows he hasn’t won enough of Fury’s trust to be offered that option. It’ll be back to Sing Sing, this time for good.

A year ago, the idea of that wouldn’t have bothered Clint so much. He’d picked enough fights when he’d first been arrested that the rest of the prison had learned to leave him alone. The shitty bed and food were still a step up from sleeping on the streets. And he didn’t have to watch over his shoulder every moment in case one of Duquesne’s lackeys decided to take the former crime lord’s place.

But now… he has his own apartment. It’s a shithole in Bed-Stuy, but it’s private and it’s his. For the first time, he’s using his skills to do good. He likes that. He likes that a lot.

And he has Phil. The first person in his entire life who had looked at him and seen something more than a circus brat with a knack for sticking arrows in people. He’s not entirely sure that relationship is going to last if Clint gets himself kicked out of SHIELD after Phil stuck his neck out for him.

Mills shoves the earpiece into place. “Who am I talking to?” She flicks her eyes up and down Clint as she says it, assessing him. “Well, Agent Coulson, how much is your man worth to you?”

Clint would like to believe that answer is at least enough to warrant a negotiation. He also knows he got himself into this and Phil will abide by SHIELD protocol until the end.

Something like surprise crosses Mills’s face. “Really? Didn’t think SHIELD would care.” She raises the gun so it’s pointed right between Clint’s eyes, but some of her attention is on Phil now. He could probably lunge forward and take it without getting shot a second time, wrest it from her hand and take her down. He could still salvage this.

He… doesn’t.

He can’t put a finger on why. He just knows that it’s the same instinct that aims his bow, whispering directions he can never quite explain but will always guide him to the bullseye.

Mills is demanding something about clearing the path and getting her a vehicle. Good luck. Phil might be able to pull enough strings to stop her from shooting Clint point-blank, but they’re not going to let her run. Not after what happened in Miami.

Phil must say as much, because Mills’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”

There’s a scattering of syllables from Phil’s end, too muted for Clint to make out from this far away. 

“No,” Mills snaps. “You can talk to him after you figure out how to get me what I want. If I see a single SHIELD agent in this building, I’ll kill him.” She flourishes the gun, indicating the office closest to them. “Get in.”

“You’re wasting time,” Clint tries. It’s the least he can do. “If you run, I won’t stop you. They’re not going to bargain for me.”

“That guy on your comms sounded like he would. Now get in the damn office and maybe I’ll let you patch up your leg.”

Right. He’s bleeding. Clint allows himself to peek at the injury. It’s hard to see through his pant leg, but he doesn’t think the graze is that deep. Still, blood loss is blood loss, and he needs to get pressure on it sooner rather than later. “Fine. Step into my office.”

He limps his way in, playing it up. He doesn’t really think Mills buys it, but he’ll take whatever advantage he can get until he can disarm her. If he wants to disarm her. That little voice is niggling at him, telling him there’s a better way here. No STRIKE team is invading the building, which means he’s at least important enough that the threat of his death is keeping them temporarily at bay. Emphasis on the temporarily. If there’s a way out of this that doesn’t end in bloodshed, he’s going to have to find it fast.

He props himself against the dusty desk, ripping away the bottom half of his ruined uniform pants to use as makeshift bandages. The wound probably needs stitches, but he doubts Mills is going to go needle-hunting on his request. “You should sit. I feel like I should be offering you my seat on a bus.”

She snorts, unimpressed. “Don’t do the I care about you act.”

“In training we call it the humanise the hostage act. Speaking of, I’m Clint.”

“You said. I don’t care.”

“Can I call you Laura?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m going to. Get used to it.”

Laura jerks the blinds down over the window, even though it would be a hell of a shot for a sniper to make given the angle of the other buildings. The one person who could pull it off is on the wrong side of the glass. It plunges them into semi-darkness, the cracks of sunlight through the closed blinds casting rows on the dust-laden carpet.

A heavy silence falls between them. The striped light casts Laura’s face in golden streaks, her grip on the gun not wavering. Not that that matters. Clint’s not going to take it from her. She’s going to put it down. He doesn’t know why he’s so sure. He just knows that, if he plays this exactly right, he can save a life today instead of ending one.

He likes that idea. Too much, maybe. It’s the kind of thought that gets agents in the field killed. 

It’s also the kind of thought that got Phil on his side.

“I’d hate working an office job,” he remarks, trailing a finger through the dust. “I think I actually have a desk somewhere at HQ. People keep sending paperwork there. Or so I’m told. I don’t do much paperwork.”

“I told you to cut that out.” She glances at the door, as though wondering if she can barricade it without lowering her gun. She seems to decide she can’t, because she goes with another tactic. “Take out your cuffs.” 

He’d seen this coming, but a part of him was still hoping Laura would skip the whole tie up the captive step. He doesn’t take his gaze off her as he pulls a zip tie from his belt and goes to place it around his wrists.

“No,” she stops him. “Tie yourself to the desk. And thread it between your wrists as well as around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does as he’s told, distantly wondering if he should be more on edge about the situation. He tells himself it’s because they both know that, if she shoots him, she’s as good as dead. She might be as good as dead anyway. Laura’s good, they wouldn’t have been chasing her for this long if she wasn’t, but there aren’t many people in the world who are able to get past SHIELD’s entire STRIKE team. He doubts she's the exception, pregnant or not. STRIKE do what they’re trained to do, and STRIKE are trained to shoot on sight.

He pulls the zip tie tight with his teeth, locking his wrists around the desk leg. He’s pretty sure he can get out of it—it’s doing so before Laura pulls the trigger that will be the trick. He can’t dodge bullets. Which leaves that talking option.“So, how far along are you? Seven months? Eight?”

She casts him a disparaging look. “Stop pretending to care about me. You don’t. Just like I don’t care if you’re breathing beyond keeping your friends off my back.”

Clint shifts, trying to get comfortable, grimacing when it pulls on his injured leg. “Well, I’m not seeing a TV in here. If you want any form of entertainment while we wait for either your car to show up or the cavalry to ride in, I’m it.”

“And what if I don’t find you entertaining?”

“Give me a chance. Circus audiences loved me.”

She gives him a look as though she’s not sure if he’s joking or crazy. It’s a common response whenever he utters the word circus.

“Please sit,” Clint tries. “I’m not going to try anything. I’m tied up, you have the gun. You’re making my feet ache just looking at you.”

“Stop—”

“Pretending to care, I know.”

She exhales, exhaustion starting to show through the cracks. “You could have just left me alone.”

“That’s not my call.”

Laura scrubs at her forehead. Definitely exhausted. Life on the run will do that to you. Clint’s well aware, and that was without a baby growing inside of him.

“Laura. Sit down. It’s okay.”

For a moment, he’s sure she’s going to snap at him again. Then, slowly, and never taking her eyes off Clint, she sinks to the floor. A sigh of relief leaves her as she sticks her feet out straight, the hand not holding the gun cradling her stomach. It’s kind of…

Don’t call the person holding you hostage cute, Barton, he can basically hear Phil scolding him. Ah futz, Phil. This is his mission too. He’s probably going to get into even more trouble for it going sideways than Clint. Clint will make it up to him later.

“So,” he breaks the silence. “What’s the plan? You have to know that car isn’t coming.”

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“What if I shoot you again?”

“If STRIKE hears a gunshot, they’re coming in. But you know that.”

Sighing, Laura lays the gun aside. It’s still well within her reach, but at least it’s not pointed in his direction anymore. “You want to talk. Fine, we’ll talk.”

“Great. What’s your favorite color?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot. Which… well, he’s zip-tied to a desk with his bow in a different room. Maybe that’s fair enough. “What?”

“I’m making conversation. Mine’s purple. Your turn to ask a question.”

“Sure. How did you find me?”

“That’s not how the game works.”

“I’m the one with the gun, and I say that’s exactly how it works. How did you find me? I’ve been so careful.”

Clint drops the joking tone. “I wouldn’t count what happened in Miami as careful.”

She glares at him. “You don’t know shit about Miami.”

Clint shrugs as much as he can with his wrists zip-tied. “I know fourteen people died.”

She transfers her gaze back to the door. No one is pounding on it with a battering ram yet. They’ve got time. “Fourteen,” she muses.

“You didn’t know?”

“Not the exact total, no. Honestly, it’s less than I feared.”

“Still fourteen people.”

Her expression hardens. “And as I said—you don’t know shit.”

“Tell me, then.”

Laura shakes her head. “No. I don’t snitch.”

“What if I promise not to tell?”

“Really? You’re the best SHIELD had to send after me?”

He gives her the crooked grin that gets him second dessert in the SHIELD cafeteria. “You haven’t shot me yet. I count that as success.”

“I have shot you.”

He checks his leg. “Hardly. Can’t even tell that’s a bullet wound.” There’s the ghost of an idea there that he tucks away for later. “Okay, so success is you not shooting me twice.” 

“Because I need you, idiot.”

“For now. But if you’re thinking about marching us outside with a gun to my head, you’re just going to get us both shot. Don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to avoid that.”

“What’s the alternative? Turn myself in?”

“\Surely that’s better than getting shot.”

Her hand flutters around her stomach. “I can’t get caught. I can’t.”

A distress leaks through the words that Clint knows all too well. It had been a long internal battle when he’d realized that killing someone as high-profile as Duquesne would propel him right to the top of SHIELD’s Most Wanted List. He’d spent multiple nights unable to sleep as he’d let any hope of a normal life slip away from him. Still, Duquesne had to go. Even if Clint had spent the rest of his life behind bars, it would have been a fair price for ridding the world of that monster.

“You don’t snitch, huh?” Clint tries to ignore the already growing ache in his shoulders, the burn in his thigh. “And is that because you care about someone, or because you’re scared of someone?”

Her expression hardens, but the way her hand tightens over her stomach gives her away.

“The father,” Clint guesses. “So is it the caring or the scaring option?”

Laura’s response is to point the gun in his face. “Shut up, or I’m going to drop you and take my chances sneaking out of here.”

“You have to know those chances are pretty much zero. You’re good enough to know that.”

She huffs. “Not good enough to not end up here in the first place, apparently.” The gun lowers a fraction as she surveys him, the door, the window. Clint’s all too familiar with the sensation of being cornered with no good options. “Damn. You lot are really going to shoot me, aren’t you?”

“Not if you—”

“Don’t say turn myself in. I already told you. I don’t snitch.”

“Because you think you’ll get hurt. We can stop that from happening. You’re not the first SHIELD agent who’s changed sides, you know.”

It’s a misstep. Her face hardens, her expression shuttering. “The only side I’m on is my own.” She pulls out Clint’s comm. “Agent Coulson. Are you listening?” 

Clint tries to keep his face neutral. SHIELD protocol for hostage situations is to keep yourself alive and then stay out of the way if rescue comes. Phil must be trying for a non-lethal route, but he doubts STRIKE is going to prioritize his safety when they get the order to storm the building. 

He doesn’t want to get shot. He doesn’t want to watch a woman and an unborn baby get shot either. And also… something else. That whisper in his ear, telling him to keep talking. To keep trying.

Laura listens for a long time, far longer than she listened to Clint. Phil’s got that knack. He’s been using it on Clint for the better part of the last year, slowly and patiently dismantling his walls to gain his trust. 

“Then get me a vehicle,” Laura says, and Clint’s not imagining the undertone of desperation in her voice. “I just want out.”

I just want out. Clint’s been there. Too many times. He’d spent years trying to get out from under Duquesne’s thumb, until he realized the only way to ever be free of him was to end his life. Duquesne had made him a weapon. Seemed only fair that was the weapon he should die by.

“No. You’re going to get me a vehicle,” Laura insists. “You’ll get your man back and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He knows Phil can’t agree to that. Which means that shootout is looking more and more likely unless Clint can get this talking thing to work. 

Phil speaks for a little longer before there’s a long pause, Laura seeming to consider something. “Fine,” she decides, then pulls the comm out of her ear. “He wants to talk to you. Try anything and I’ll shoot you in the other leg.”

“Noted. But, um…” Clint twists his wrists in the ties. “Gonna need some help.”

She spends a few moments weighing options, before placing the gun on the ground, well on the other side of the office before making her way over to him. Smart. Zip-tied or not, Clint would have found a way to take it.

There’s an odd moment of intimacy as she eases the comms into his ear. Her brown hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, her hands warm against his face. Then she’s gone, backing away across the room to scoop the gun up again.

"My plan to play ball seems to have backfired.”

“I noticed. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Clint swallows back the automatic I’m not. Even a year on, he has to remind himself that Phil asks that question out of concern, not reproach. “A graze to the leg, but nothing else. Don’t send in STRIKE yet.”

Laura is carefully watching every word, her eyes narrowing when he mentions keeping STRIKE at bay.

“I’m trying to hold them off but they want Mills off the streets. ”

More than they want to protect you, is left unsaid. “I got this.”

“Barton—”

“Phil. I got this. Just buy me as much time as you can.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the comms. “Alright,” Phil says finally. “Do what you have to.”

“That’s enough.” Laura replaces the gun well out of reach, honest-to-god waddling across the room to yank the comms piece out of his ear.

“You’re not going to give birth in here, are you?” he asks. “You look like you’re going to pop any second.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m being charming.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She does immediately sit back down though, wincing as she does so. “And don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t think about what?”

“Using the baby as leverage. Tell me you’ll give him a good home or whatever if I give myself up. As if I’d believe that.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I did my time in foster homes. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” One of his legs is falling asleep, but he doesn’t want to spook Laura further by moving it. “So it’s a him.”

“Maybe.”

“You picked a name yet?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

Screw it, Clint’s not sitting here with dwindling blood circulation. As slowly as possible, he slides the offending leg out in front of him. Laura stiffens anyway, watching his every move. “What? I hate pins and needles.”

“Pins and needles.”

“Yeah, it's what happens when someone ties you to a desk. Hey, why do you think it’s called that? The feeling is more fuzzy than stabby.”

Laura is giving him that you idiot look again. “Are you actually a SHIELD agent?”

“Last time I checked.”

“You don’t act like one.”

“Is that an insult?”

“It’s an observation.”

“I’m new. Kind of.”

“From the circus.” She doesn’t sound like she believes that part.

“There was an extended gap between the circus and SHIELD.”

“Doing what? Birthday parties?”

So, she has a sense of humor. Good to know. “Criminal things.”

She huffs. “Don’t make shit up to relate to me.”

“I’m not. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Scout?”

“Nope. Can tie really good knots, though.”

She eyes him, cautious. “SHIELD doesn’t hire criminals.”

He gestures at himself the best he can. “Meet the exception to the rule.”

“Why?”

Clint shrugs. “Got lucky. Met the right person.” 

“That guy on the comms. Coulson.” Laura settles against the back wall, contemplating. “How much authority does he have?”

“Not enough to call off the dogs if you march us out there. I already told you that’s not going to end well. But he will hear you out, if you can give us information about who you were working with.”

“I’d be signing my death warrant if I talked.”

“You’re signing your death warrant if you stay in here. Make a deal, Laura. We can protect you.”

“You really can’t.”

“Try us.”

She cups her belly with both hands. “I’m not falling for this act.”

“No act. Just trying to find the best outcome for everyone. My life is on the line too, remember.”

She weighs that. “You want me to trust the people who would let one of their own die?”

“If they think taking you down is going to save a lot of lives, then they have their orders.” Even as he says it, he feels a thread fraying in her story. He risks giving it a hefty tug. “You didn’t work Miami alone, did you?”

It’s so brief that Clint almost misses it. A flicker of emotion somewhere between regret and anger passes over Laura’s face, before it’s lost to the gloom of the abandoned office. “You don’t know anything about me. Stop guessing.”

Clint does exactly the opposite. “The kid’s father. He was involved. Much more than you were.”

“Guessing,” she fires back at him, but the way her hands clench gives her away.

He continues to tug on that thread. “You didn’t answer my caring or scaring question. Either he set you up, or you’re taking the fall to protect him.”

Laura’s fingernails bite deeper into her palms. “Does it matter?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How you want this day to end.”

She doesn’t look at him. “And if I wanted it to end with me on a farm in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find me? What would you say then?”

Clint shifts again, trying to renew the blood flow in his wrists this time. “That I know that feeling. I know that feeling extremely well.”

“Yeah?” she challenges him. “So why aren’t you in a farmhouse?”

He decides to tell the truth. “Because SHIELD’s keeping too close an eye on me to pull a runner. And because even if they weren’t, I like being here. I like helping people.”

“SHIELD doesn’t help people.”

“Some of us do.”

She laughs. It’s distractingly pretty. “God, you are such a man. Poor defenseless pregnant woman—she must need a savior.”

There’s something in that line he feels he can use. He prepares to dig. “Trust me, I see you as anything but defenseless.”

“Because I have the gun?”

“Because I’ve read your file. I’ve seen what you’ve done. Including shipping a lot of shoddy weapons through a Miami warehouse that detonated on arrival. The warehouse workers didn’t even know what they were handling.”

She coils tighter with every word. “It was an accident.”

He keeps digging. “I doubt that was much comfort to their families.” 

“Stop trying to play me. I see what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Making me feel guilty so I surrender. This isn’t amateur hour.”

“No, it’s not.” He drives that shovel down, crossing his fingers that he’s about to hit gold. “And I can’t make you feel guilty. Because you didn’t do it.”

She tries to play it off, but the tightening in the back of her shoulders gives her away. “That’s not what your precious file on me says.”

“Because you made it look like you did it. To protect someone else.” Her eyes pinch. There’s that gold. “So it is scaring. Not caring.”

“Stop. Guessing.”

“Poor defenseless pregnant woman. Those are his words, aren’t they? He thought they’d go easier on you than him. He made you take the fall.”

“Guessing.”

“But I’m right. Aren’t I?”

She sweeps her eyes up and down him as though reappraising. “Maybe you are a real SHIELD agent.”

“So I am right.”

She refuses to confirm it. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going down either way.”

“Not if you give him up. We can protect you.”

“As if I’d trust SHIELD with protecting my child.”

“Better us than no one.” He makes a show of leaning forward in earnest, even though it’s just to get him in a better position to slip the zip-ties if he needs to. He’s daring to hope that he won’t. “Tell us who he is. We’ll get him.”

“No. You won’t.”

“We will. Then at least that baby will have one parent around.”

“He’s not the father.” Laura still isn’t looking at him. “The father’s dead. It was a reminder of what happens when I don’t…” She breaks off, squeezing her eyes shut. “He controls my whole life. Everything. There isn’t a way out.”

“There is,” Clint says softly. “Because someone offered it to me. Because someone decided to look past what the damn SHIELD file said and treated me like a human being. Because someone offered me the chance to do some good with my life.”

He’s so close. He can feel it. And he knows exactly what words he needs to seal the deal. “And I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Laura Mills.”

The sun is sinking outside the office window. His heart is pounding so loud that he’s surprised Laura can’t hear it. Then again, maybe she can. Maybe, for once, he can offer someone a happy ending instead of a grave.

He lets her break the silence first. “Did yours have a stupid villain name as well?”

“You bet. The Swordsman.”

Laura snorts. “Sword versus arrow? Wow.”

“Arrow won.”

She nods, her gaze distant. She hasn’t picked up the gun again. “Mine goes by Kingpin.”

Clint files that away. “We don’t have anyone by that name on SHIELD’s radar.”

“And he’s going to kill me for putting him on it. I can’t escape him.”

“I used to think the same thing. And now he’s gone. Want me to put an arrow in yours, too?”

“Can you?”

Clint considers that. He’d meant what he said when he’d told Phil a year ago that he wanted to be done with killing. And Phil had kept his end of the bargain by only sending Clint after the targets they couldn’t take down any other way.

“If you give me the information to find him, yes,” Clint states, and he means every word. “Give me the comms, Laura. Let me talk to Phil. We can walk out of here, work out how to take down Kingpin. And then get you that farmhouse.”

Even in the dimming sunlight, he spots her lips twitch. “Why do I believe you?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.”

He’s so close to ending this. He can feel it. Part of him can’t believe he’s gotten this far, it’s not like hostage negotiations have a reputation for going well, and he’s not about to flatter himself that it’s all skill on his part. No one can help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Phil had seen that in him. Now, Clint can only hope that he’ll see it again in Laura. He’s so close.

Which is of course when they hear the sound of the building being stormed.

Laura shoves the comms back in her ear, eyes flying wide. “Retreat,” she orders, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the gun Clint had really hoped they were done with. “I will shoot him if you come in here, don’t you dare—”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out by the stampede of STRIKE boots running towards the door.

Clint doesn’t hesitate. He twists and pulls, ignoring the sharp pain in both wrists as the zip-tie stretches. It doesn’t snap, because when does his luck ever go that way, but it gives him enough room to get free and lunge across the room.

His hand grabs the gun before Laura can fire it. It’s only when it’s in his hands that he registers that she made no move to pull the trigger. 

She stares at him, breathless. “You could get free this whole time?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer. He’s too busy shoving the gun’s magazine into his boot compartment, a split second before the door bursts open. 

“Don’t shoot!” He moves in front of her, heart racing as half a dozen guns focus on him instead. “She surrendered.”

All the STRIKE guys are wearing helmets, but Clint can tell the frontman is Rumlow from that stupid white X he insists on wearing on the front of his vest. And he thinks he has the grounds to mock Clint for the bow thing. “Our orders are to shoot on sight,” Rumlow snaps back. “And then rescue the princess from the tower if there’s time.”

Clint doesn’t move. “Well you were late, so I rescued myself. Don’t shoot the small fish, Rumlow. She’s going to help us get someone much bigger.”

“And that’s obviously a lie to buy herself some time. Now move before I—”

“Stand down, Rumlow. That’s an order.”

Then Clint is treated to the glorious sight of the STRIKE team parting like the Red Sea as Phil Coulson makes his way towards him. “Take Mills into custody,” Phil orders. “Gently.”

Clint doesn’t get to watch Laura be taken away. Phil blocks his line of sight, grabbing his arms and steering him away. “You good?”

“Peachy.”

“I couldn’t hold them off any longer. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who went off-book.”

“And I haven’t forgotten about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will you, now?”

“Yep. Already got an idea and everything.”

Phil surveys the gun Clint’s still holding. “That hers?”

“Admissible evidence,” Clint says, a bit too quickly, ignoring how the magazine is biting into his ankle. He’ll have to find a way to dispose of it when no one’s watching. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Phil reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. It feels solid. It feels like home. “Always.”

Walking into Sing Sing without handcuffs is surreal.

Clint takes the seat across from Laura in the tiny room, gesturing to the chair Laura’s perched on. “Uncomfortable, right? They do that on purpose.”

“No shit.” She shifts, sending the cuffs binding her to the table rattling. “And there I was thinking they would give the pregnant woman a break.”

“Thought we weren’t supposed to use the baby as leverage.”

“You’re not. I can milk it all I want.”

Sense of humor, Clint recalls, and has to fight back a smile. The red light of the camera in the corner refuses to let him forget he’s being watched. He only gets one shot at this. Lucky that he never misses his shots. “Well, I’m hoping things are about to get a lot more comfortable for you.”

Laura considers him, her expression careful. “Kingpin has people everywhere. No doubt in SHIELD as well.”

“Then we’ll find them.”

“Just like that?”

“If he’s as dangerous as you say he is. If he was the real cause behind what happened in Miami.”

That careful expression doesn’t shift. “Of course he was the real cause. I mean, I couldn’t even bear to bring a loaded gun to a hostage situation.” She looks pointedly down at his bandaged leg.

Clint matches her neutral tone. “Of course not. You were never actually going to shoot anyone. You were just desperate and scared.” He shifts his leg a little, feeling the stitches there pull. “Shame I tripped and cut myself chasing you.” 

“Of course.” Her lips twitch, just like they had back in the office building. Clint decides he likes it. “So. I help you with Kingpin. You put me and Cooper in witness protection. That’s the deal?”

“Cooper, huh? Nice name.”

“After his father. Although I guess I’ll have to change it in WITSEC. Kingpin knew that's what I wanted to name him.”

“WITSEC is one deal.” Clint leans forward over the table, exactly as Phil had a year ago. “I have a better one.”

“Farmhouse?”

“That might be on the cards. If you join us. We’re always looking for new talent.”

Laura blinks at him, and then bursts out laughing. It’s still one of the prettiest sounds Clint’s ever heard. “Me. A SHIELD agent.”

“The offer sounded just as ridiculous to me when I got it. Seems to be working out, though.” He slouches back in her chair, taking her in. He already knows he wants to have a conversation with her without a gun or handcuffs involved. Many, many more conversations. “Someone else will run you through the logistics. I just wanted to be the one who told you the news.”

She considers him. “You’re weird as hell, Clint Barton.”

“I know. You’ll get used to it.” The camera light blinks twice, signaling his time is up. “They’re pulling me out of here. Think the offer over?”

“I… might.”

She will. Clint’s suddenly sure of it. It makes him wonder if Phil had known he’d say yes, long before Clint himself had. “You never told me your favorite color.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to know.”

She looks a step away from turning him down before she says, “Yellow. Like sunflowers.”

“Yellow like sunflowers.” Clint has a ridiculous urge to plant her a field full of them. There will be plenty of room at that farmhouse.

He meets Phil on the outside of the cell. “How did it feel being on the other side?” Phil asks.

“Not bad,” Clint admits. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

“Information on a new crime lord isn’t bad compensation, I’ll admit.”

“I was talking about your newest SHIELD agent.”

Phil glances towards the closed door. “She didn’t say yes yet. Neither did I.”

“And yet you didn’t tell anyone about hearing gunshots over the comms after I told you Mills’s gun wasn’t loaded.”

Phil’s expression remains neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. Manhunts can be so chaotic.”

“I know. I chased you down for nearly a year. I have some chiropractor bills I should send you, I spent so long bent over your file.” Phil straightens up, his eyes still on Laura. “I have the paperwork ready. If she says yes. If she’s worth all this.”

Clint is only half-listening. His mind is on farmhouses and sunflowers and a beautiful laugh. “Trust me—she’s worth it.”

[v4guelyv4mpiric]

i CANNOT write smut for the life of me. i just want to infodump about comics and make men hold each other i cannot make them fuck wth

[creative-caramel-coffee]

I think I expressed my self terribly wrong sorry!

So basically reader is sick but maybe the team doesn’t realise and they do things unintentionally that make reader even more sick (like leaving the windows open, telling her to go buy something or I don’t know) until Wanda and Nat have enough and realise that reader is sick and tell the team to stop

-🦜

Stubborn and Sick

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1K

Summary: Your sick and stubborn, but you also can’t back down from a challenge. What happens when Tony gets involved?

TW: sickness, fever, almost kinda fainting? (Idk), bread slander, fever induced vertigo, headache etc.

A/n Hehehe bread slander. Grains and seeds sucks so bad. I don’t care if its healthy it tastes like chunky cardboard. White bread and whole meal all the way peeps.

You were stubborn. It was a fact, and everyone knew it. So, when you got sick after falling in a frozen lake on the last mission Wanda and Nat decided to wait until you came to them for help instead of trying everything to convince you to let them help you.

The rest of the team however was more than a little blind when it came to other people's needs, not for lack of trying but more so because they were dense, and not just in terms of muscles.

You stood in the kitchen, the fever you had managed to develop this morning was throwing you for a loop. You were making some toast, hoping you would be able to deal with that at least. Your throat hurt so bad and there was a dull headache settling in for the long run it seemed.

You probably shouldn’t have stayed up all night trying to finish the mission report for fury. But tony had bed you a hundred bucks he would finish his before you did, and you weren’t one to back down from easy money.

You finished buttering the toast and patted the cash in your pocket and smiled to yourself. Turning to put the knife in the sink to clean later the world spun. You staggered a bit and held onto the bench with both hands leaning against it heavily.

“Damn this stupid fever” you muttered. When you vision cleared you deposited the knife and went back to the plate. Picking it up and setting out for your room. Your muscles hurt and your head hurt more. You had barely made it three feet down the hall when you heard a voice from the kitchen.

“Who ate all the bread?” It was Clint so you hightailed it out of there, knowing if he found it was you, he would send you to buy more. And you were pretty sure a trip to the shops would kill you at this point. Alas, fate was not on your side today. Being sick you were clumsy and slow due to the fever. Needless to say, Clint caught you easily. He scowled at the toast you were holding.

“I wanted a sandwich.” He grumbled. At this point tony walked past.

“Whats up Legolas?” Tony chirped probably hyped up on coffee and energy drinks.

“L/n here ate all the bread.” He said still scowling at the toast.

“Then it seemed fair she goes to buy more.” Tony grinned, “I know she has the money for it.” You glared at him.

“Fine.” You growled. So, despite the pounding headache and sore muscles, the fever and growing ache in your knees and back you submitted.

You huffed and nibbled on the toast before leaving it on the desk. As you left the room you shot the delicious toast a mournful longing look. It simple sat and waited.

The shops were awful to say the least. The lights hummed which hurt your head and the brightness hurt your eyes. Parts of you hurt that you didn’t know existed let alone could feel. You slouched and shuffled down the bread aisle. There were so many different types. You grabbed the first one you saw when a sudden wave of vertigo hit, and you stumbled like you had in the kitchen. Leaning against the shelf and closing your eyes.

Yelena was in town and so her and Nat were having a movie night, and as all good movie nights need, they were out getting snacks. So, you can imagine Natasha’s surprise when she saw you looking just about ready to pass out in the bread aisle. She wasted no time rushing to your side and steadying you with her hands on your shoulders.

“Y/n? Y/n!” She said patting you lightly on the cheek. You were very pale and seemed only mildly lucid at best.

Nat took the bread from your hands and shoved it in Yelena’s direction who took it and inspected it.

“Grains and seeds?” She mumbled. “Gross.” She shoved it back on the shelf and picked up a loaf of white bread.

“Y/n/n i need you to open your eyes for me sweetheart.” She said and you mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that love?” Nat asked feeling your forehead with the back of her hand. You were way too hot and defiantly running a high fever.

“I said m sick natty. ‘N i don’ feel good.” You slurred and Natasha looked around to Yelena before realising she had gone to buy the bread for you. She didn’t know why you wanted it but if it was worth almost dying for, she would buy it for you. After all you were dating her sister.

Nat scanned you up and down deciding that this had gone on for too long. In a gentle movement she scooped you into her arms and you tiredly rested your head on her chest eyes still shut and muttering nonsense. Yelena and Nat met at the register and the three of you headed back to the compound. Being an avenger Nat did receive too many odd looks for carrying her very pale and sick looking girlfriend through the shopping centre.

On the way back Yelena done with you in the back on Nat’s lap. She was fanning you with her hands in a fruitless attempt to cool you down. She had dialled Wanda who was going to meet them in your shared room with supplies and a wet cloth for you.

Nat easily carried you out of the car and back to the room. Wanda took your temperature and Yelena went to put the bread in the kitchen slightly thrown off by her sister being so domestic all of a sudden.

Your temperature as expected was far too high and so they went about cooling you down with a cloth and fever reducers. After a bit you were asleep with Wanda and Natasha laid beside you careful not to add too much extra heat to your already furnace-like temperature.

You rested and it was simple to say that Nat’s movie night gained an extra two people. Well … one witch and a half dead, half sick and fully asleep avenger.

MASTERLIST

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1355

Whumptober #5: Sunburn | Healing Salve | Heatstroke

“Go to the desert, they said, It’ll be great, they said. Absolute bollocks I say.” The whumpee rumbles, dragging their feet across the rocky desert. Their mission had taken far longer than expected, and they knew they’d miss the rendezvous the second the mark missed their supposed meeting time. Eventually, the whumpee managed to make the kill, and retreat back to the small cave in the hills they were hiding in, after hours of waiting in the blistering sun. 

The next morning, a terrible sandstorm hit, wiping out communications, ruining the landscape, and making it near impossible for your whumpee to retrace their steps. Still, with the commotion caused in the nearby camp due to their mission, the whumpee knows they need to press on; to at least make it across the valley to the next set of hills where surely more shelter was. They try and wait for their next chance - a break in the winds perhaps, but as night falls they know they’re stuck until sunrise. They try to hunker down behind a bend in the shallow cavern, but it does little to stop the harsh winds whipping coarse sand against their sunburnt skin. In an act of self-pity, they dig through their bag for a sip of precious water, and to see if they packed their salve…

They hadn’t. Of course they hadn’t. Nevertheless, your whumpee tries to get a few hours sleep, just managing a few naps here and there as they are kept up by debris and the discomfort of being so close to the enemy. The second the morning light hits, they’re up, though no more lucid. The heat is stifling, but they know they’re likely better off covered than exposed to the harsh heat. The winds had died down, though the valley had turned into a hazy bowl of dust. 

They trek for hours, their gps thrown by the extreme weather and heat. At one point, they trip and it cracks against a sharp stone - rendering it almost unusable. Still, the whumpee knows it’s best not to panic, but they can’t help the pit of uncertainty that begins to open in their stomach.

They begin to wonder if that is due to their hunger, as rationing the energy bars offered nothing more than vital glucose and vitamins. 

By nightfall, your whumpee finds shelter between some boulders, and sleep still doesn’t come easy. 

By noon the following day, the horizon begins to grow hazy, and their legs weak. They’re parched, they know, but they cannot afford to waste the precious water they have left on comfort. Instead they press on. At this point, maybe they’re being pursued by the enemy - or maybe they’re suffering from injuries due to a fall… 

Either way, their handler/team eventually finds them. They’re staggering across a dune, delirious from heat stroke and a blistering sunburn. They fall to their knees the second they see a familiar face. 

“Miss me?” They smirk through cracked and blistered lips; their voice raw. 

“Well someone had to come find you.” Says the caretaker, trying to be nonchalant despite the fact they’d been a whirlwind of worry the second the whumpee missed their check-in.