#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.

[superalk]

whumpuary 2025 day 2 -- choice

Ancient History

Clint had run into Grant as he chased down the Osman file for Harald, and Grant had wanted to speak with him. Sure, it was no secret that Clint had been haunting the research and training wings of SHIELD since he'd been put on "Mandatory Medical Leave" since getting tossed down the stairs at that old AIM power plant or whatever, and sure, he'd been making a habit to check in on Grant between ops since they'd been through hell and back together months before but...

"You really should keep the brace on." Grant's dry, matter-of-fact tone would have pissed Clint off (if one more person decided that they needed to boss him around...) except that Grant's gaze didn't lift from the files he was looking through, seated across the table from Clint in a Level 3 archive. Grant had been talking to him a lot more lately, but it wasn't really a mother-henning way. Grant's comments reminded Clint the most of May. Direct and nonjudgemental, mostly.

Clint scoffed at the shoulder brace he'd abandoned on the floor the moment he sat down. "You gotta train-" he began, but Grant cut him off.

"-like you're gonna fight," Grant completed for him. "'Anybody can be World's Second Greatest Marksman.'"

Clint was startled into glancing up at Grant, who met his gaze squarely with nothing more than a raised eyebrow to stop Clint's angry retort.

Clint's shoulders sagged and when even this reflexive gesture sent pain lancing through his shoulder, down his arm and up to his neck, he admitted defeat and put his head down on the pile of papers and documents he had been pouring through, trying to find the official Osman file so he could then figure out how to get the unofficial one. "Only one person who could kill me a dozen different ways is allowed to do that." He told the files, trying to ease the pain in his neck and find a different placement for his fucked up shoulder.

"Lucky for me then that Romanov's in Hong Kong right now." Grant's voice lowered, twisting into dark humor. "Is it bad that I hope she pushes Rumlow out a window?"

Clint snorted, the pure surprise (and glee, if he were being really honest with himself) of Grant's unfiltered candor easing some of the tension Clint had been carrying. "Why do you think she accepted the op?"

Brock Rumlow thought he was the lord's gift to top secret operations, and Clint couldn't stand the guy, but something about his dick-ish-ness and unwarranted arrogance just gave Nat that little smile at the corner of her mouth. Clint suspected Rumlow reminded her of something, but fuck if he was going to dig up that particular skeleton, not when he had enough shit on his own plate as it was.

Grant shook his head, and Clint glanced up to see him pinch the bridge of his nose and give a big sigh.

Clint pulled himself up and shuffled through some papers. Grant had learned that Clint was an appreciative outlet for his dark humor, and Clint had learned that Grant did best when you gave him some non-judgemental, non-eye contact space. Clint could do that. He had work to get done.

Clint grabbed a stack of files from the nearest box and began to go through them. Osman, Ankara, Grant, or Garrett were keywords he looked for. The file itself was apparently 'missing pending further review' which meant somebody had misfiled the thing either by accident or on purpose. The digital file was in an 'access suspended' state until the review of the on-paper file could be completed. Very convenient. Clint would remember this technique for the next time he needed to make a file disappear without burning the thing.

"You never told me about the history between my dad and William Cross." Grant's words were nearly inaudible but Clint felt like he could suddenly hear the ocean rushing in his ears. Clint shifted his feet to brace himself while he sat in the chair and his abdominal muscles tensed automatically for-- what was about to happen? Was Grant about to accuse him of --

"...which is, of course, a recurring pattern. I grow close to someone, anyone, and Garrett goes out of his way to illustrate how 'everyone is the enemy' and 'the only person you can trust is yourself,' which means, of course, 'trust Garrett.'" Grant's words continued, just as quietly, as if he processed aloud to himself, as if Clint were not present.

Watching him as closely as he did, Clint saw Grant's knuckles turn white on the hand that held a ballpoint pen as he flipped through a file with the other.

"I've been doing some digging, though, and the same question comes up over and over again, the one that I asked you in your hospital room, after you and Rakaan and Tarrokh were pulled outta that blacksite." Grant's hand had relaxed; now he held the pen just above the surface of the file, as if poised to write.

Clint struggled to remember; watching the tip of Grant's pen hover in the air, waiting for the pen to move with baited breath was oddly mesmerizing. After a few moments, he vaguely recalled the conversation. Thierren had drugged Clint just a few hours before then, and Clint quickly had a lot more on his mind than conversation with Grant Ward when he woke up.

"Did you know when you killed him that Konstantyn Karasek was a CI for John Garrett?" Grant's words came out in a sudden rush, as if he'd been buliding up to this question and then wanted to get the words out as quickly as possible.

Clint glanced up in surprise, forgetting his previous decision to keep his gaze averted. The flinch across Grant's features and in his hands seemed involuntary, which made it all the worse. Nearly simultaneously, Clint recalled handcuffed and left in an icy cold freezer in Karasek's manufacturing warehouse, the bright sunshine of his first day in Chicago and Cross bloodying his nose when he asked about the two girls he'd seen in a van for job for Karasek and Cross, and then Karasek's blood pooling on the floor of his office, when Clint later returned to kill him.

Clint returned to present awareness staring at a jumble of bureaucratic nothing-writing and redacted sentences. After which [redacted] and Agent Ward were seen leaving He shook his head. "No idea." He paused as a detail that Grant might not know ocurred to him. "Did you know that Garrett, Barrett, and Rumlow had a SHIELD op to bring in Hawkeye in Paris, months before I was brought in by Coulson?"

Clint heard Grant shift in his seat, a pretty big tell for discomfort for a guy who usually sat still enough that bugs would land on him. "No, I didn't know that. But it doesn't mean that you weren't taking jobs from bad people when you didn't have to."

Body memory overtook Clint for a moment; hands held above his head, knees in the mud and icy rain pelting down, success requires sacrifice, Trick Shot leaving Clint behind in Chicago with William Cross, finish your mission and more swirled through Clint before he gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists and the archive room solidified itself around him once more. ....Agent Ward attests that [redacted] left the LTAC safehouse against advice...

Clint picked up the file he'd been staring at and slammed it down in front of Grant as he got to his feet. He pointed at the file as he hissed and tucked his bad arm into his body to save the healing shoulder more pain. "What happened in Ankara with the scientist Osman that has Garrett so desperate to cover it up?" Clint paused, and in case the connection wasn't obvious enough, he leaned down and in a whisper, added, "oh, could it be that things are sometimes more complicated than 'a bad guy did a bad thing?' or a 'a good guy did a good thing?" Clint gave a fake-gasp of surprise and pressed his palm to his chest, as if he couldn't imagine such a thing. "Next time we talk, if all you have to say is John Garrett's words, I'm gonna punch you in the fuckin' mouth."

Clint snatched the file back off the table before Grant could get it - he still needed the un-redacted information in the Osman file - and left the archives. If Clint felt a pang of hurt in his gut that had nothing to do with the AIM op and everything to do with the recrimination in Grant's words, Clint ignored it. There was a reason Hawkeye worked alone. Nat was off saving the day or some shit, Coulson was busy running half of SHIELD or whatever, and Clint had a job to do.

Keep Reading on Ao3!

[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.”

[flowersarefreetherapy]

look, I will forgive the MCU of many things, but one thing I will never forgive them for is completely dropping the ball with Hawkeye

Don't get me wrong, Jeremy Renner does a wonderful job portraying him, but there is so much more to Hawkeye's character than what the MCU decided to put on screen, or even incorporate into his backstory (what little they allowed my man to have)

Canonically, Clint Barton and his brother are survivors of child abuse - abuse that left Clint with bilateral hearing loss. He is fluent in American Sign Language and has dual hearing aids. Sometimes he signs, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he reads lips. He is still trying to heal from his past and build a relationship with his brother

I just think the reveal and incorporation of Clint's family into the MCU would be much more meaningful if we could see everything he went through with his own father. Really just MCU stop erasing child abuse and disabilities challenge, level impossible. Clint Barton is a deaf survivor of child abuse who became a superhero (also one of the few people to properly throw Captain America's shield as well, fun fact) and I think the MCU should have shown that.

[frenchfriedgiraffe]

from all-new hawkeye #5

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

[wheelsup-sevenup]

whumpuary 2025: day 3!

prompt: choice / storm / black eye

pairing: clint barton & natasha romanoff (marvel)

warnings: arguments + violence, implied dissociation

“…And will that be one or two beds?” the woman behind the desk asked Clint, looking askance at the muddy footsteps he’d tracked over the patchy carpet.

“Two, if you’ve got ‘em,” Clint said absently, wrapping the soggy Ace bandage back around the already bruising sprain on his wrist.

Clint was the only other person in the lobby aside from the receptionist. The motel was by no means nice, just the first Holiday Inn he could make out through the pouring rain. He’d asked Natasha if that was alright, but she’d just kept staring out the window. Nothing behind her eyes. He had yet to get used to it.

Apparently, Clint hadn’t got to know his new partner during her months of debrief as well as he’d thought. Their first unsupervised mission together had been something of a disaster: though they’d managed to get the intel they needed, the cover identity he’d spent years building up was left as ashes in their wake.

He was pissed. The car ride had been spent in silence.

“All right, your room’s gonna be 113, just across there.” The receptionist slid across two room keys, and Clint thanked her before ducking back out into the rain.

It was still pouring outside, and Clint jogged across the parking lot, trying in vain to keep himself from getting more soaked than he already was. In the car, Natasha still sat in the passenger seat, curled up loosely with her chin against her knees. She didn’t react when Clint rapped on the window the first time, and, irritated, he knocked again. “Natasha. C’mon.”

She opened the car door, turning minutely to face him while keeping herself out of the rain. Clint tossed a room key to her, which dropped onto her thigh, then fell into the footwell as she continued to stare at him.

“Natasha. I’m freezing. Let’s go.”

She didn’t move.

“Let’s go, I said.” Frustration swelled within him — at her, for being dry while he was wet, for not saying a word to him the past five hours, for the cover identity of Jamie Baker that no longer existed — and he leaned forward, seizing her bicep in his grip.

For some reason, he hadn’t expected the blow that came, swift and hard enough to knock him on his ass.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes watering, fireworks of pain shooting their way through his eye socket. “Natasha, what the fuck?”

He looked up at her, sitting curled in the passenger seat like she hadn’t moved at all, but this time he recognized the look in her eyes. He’d seen it before in wild animals, in the eyes of a fox about to sink her teeth into her own leg. Clint took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger still roiled in his chest, but he pushed it down. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. Shit, Natasha, I’m learning too. I’m new at this. I’m sorry.”

A flicker of recognition. She met his eyes.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, and to his surprise, he wasn’t. “I’m gonna go inside. You can follow me, or not. We don’t have to talk, if you do want to come in. It can be your choice, got it? Your choice. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Slowly, he got up, retrieving his bag from the trunk and leaving Natasha in silence.

The room was nothing special. Quiet, small. Two beds. Clint barely noticed any of it, checking through the window as soon as he got in to make sure the car was still there in the parking lot. He half-expected it to be gone, for her to be on the interstate already. But she had waited.

When he got out of the shower, the car was gone.

Her choice, he’d said. And if she’d chosen to leave, take her chances elsewhere? Well, he’d never live that down at SHIELD, but ultimately, she might be better off for it.

He took the bed farthest from the door. Didn’t secure the extra locks, just in case. He flipped through the channels for a moment before he fell asleep still sitting up, in the middle of a rerun of Family Feud.

He woke up to the shower turning on. Somehow, Clint hadn’t registered her presence when Natasha came in, and he wondered what it said about him, that he already trusted her that implicitly.

The room was dark, save for the TV, now playing Wheel of Fortune. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, didn’t even want to know what the swelling was going to look like.

Illuminated on his nightstand was a plastic shopping bag, a CVS receipt piled alongside it. Inside the bag was a hard wrist brace, a new Ace bandage, Tylenol, and a bag of Haribo gummy bears.

Clint couldn’t help but smile. It was something.

i feel like i’ve wanted to write more fics like these about clintnat, those early shield days where they didn’t know each other as well yet, where maybe things weren’t so smooth as they are later. and i’m really glad i did, because i love the way this one came out :)

i will probably keep this one a tumblr exclusive. but watch out bc i have at least another two-parter for clint/nat coming, (which i’ll probably post on ao3) with a lotta hurt and a lotta comfort ;)

[irondadfics]

Hi! I love your blog!

I’ve been searching for a fic but that I haven’t been able to find. In this fic all the avengers get like a trainer, if I’m not mistaken assigned by shield. Peter’s agent is really mean and physically abusive, but he thinks they’re all like that. I don’t remember anything else except he asks the team if they like their trainers and if I’m not mistaken Clint says that is is a pain in the ass

Thank you so much for your help!

sorry for the long wait. Could this possibly be your fic?

Trust Your Senses by spidey__kay

With the UN and the Avengers unable to come to a compromise on the Sokovia Accords, Thaddeus Ross takes matters into his own hands. Now instead of being controlled by a UN board, each Avenger has their own handler. They all hate their handlers, but Peter’s handler is cruel and anti-superhero. He punishes Peter daily, and soon those punishments turn to physical abuse.  Peter is strong. He’s Spider-Man, after all. But can he keep himself from crumbling when his handler is determined to beat him down?

[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]

I’ve been enjoying the Hawkeye content and have fallen back into my whump vibes *hard* recently! Do you (or the general population) have any good Hawkeye whump fic recs because I need to scratch my brain 👀

Ah, heck yeah! I looove Hawkeye and I love Hawkeye whump. Unfortunately, I don't actually know of much Clint whump fic (I tend to be more of a writer than reader when it comes to fic). So I can rec a few that I've written! 😅😅 I also haven't written as much Clint whump as you would think based on the fact that my blog colors and banner are Hawkeye themed. And the background on my browser. And my phone. x) So hopefully some other folks can help with that!

But here is what I've got:

-Whumptober entry where Clint and Kate got in a car accident

-Whumptober entry where Clint gets drugged and has an anaphylactic reaction

-Whumptober entry where Clint's hearing aids are knocked out by an EMP

-Handwritten drabble that's a Clint sick!fic

-Daredevil x Avengers x Comics!Clint crossover fic where Clint gets shot (the whump is in chapters 4 and 5)

If anyone has any Clint Barton whump fic recs for Anon (and, let's be real, for me), please share! :D

-And that one ^ was for a Big Bang, so there's also a super awesome artwork of it!

[cricket-reader]

A Different Call

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: Natalia Romanova meets Clint Barton, the man sent to kill her. Only he doesn’t. Natalia doesn’t know why he spared her life, but she’s not stupid. She knows how this kind of thing works. Protection is a currency. Bodies are bargaining chips. If she wants to escape the horrors awaiting her at SHIELD, she’ll have to pay for his mercy.

warnings: past underage non-con, unreliable narrator, suicidal natasha, sexism | 18+ MDNI

word count: 5,394

A/N: prompt fill for day 6 for @juneofdoom | "I won't tell anyone, I swear" | Hopelessness | Bargaining

{Read on A03}

Natalia Romanova knew she was going to die.

She had clocked her tail days ago but made no move to suggest she knew she was being followed. What he was waiting for remained to be seen; she had given him ample opportunity to come after her. It wasn’t like she was hiding. Navigating through the crowded streets of Budapest, she had left herself open—vulnerable. He could have taken the shot. She didn’t try to shake him before returning to the safe house the Red Room had acquired for her, leading him straight to her resting place. He could have snuck in and out easily. She had taken to standing on the balcony before bed, looking out at the street below her as civilians lived their lives in ignorant bliss. It left her wide open. And yet, she remained standing.

It unnerved her.

Now, standing on the balcony of the lonely apartment she had been staying at, she looked across the street to the man perched on the roof. She had to do a double-take when she saw an arrow aimed straight at her. What a strange choice of weaponry, she absently noted. She was hoping for a gun; less margin of error with those.

The cold wind cut through her flimsy nightwear, biting at her skin as she waited, leaning on the railing. She crossed her arms in a futile attempt to try and preserve heat before her last moments. She knew how this was supposed to go. He would take the shot, she would fall. And finally—finally, she would be allowed to rest.

She wondered what Madame B and Dreykov would have to say about their star pupil now.

She held his gaze across the rooftops, eyes pleading with him to just get it over with already—she was done, done with the missions, done with the manipulations. She was done destroying herself time and time again with no recompense.

The man lowered the bow, releasing the tension slowly.

Natalia blinked up at him.

What was he doing? He had the perfect opportunity. She was serving herself up on a silver platter! Why couldn’t he just take the shot already?

She watched the man disappear from sight, a hopelessness settling like lead deep in her gut. Sighing, she opened the sliding glass door and let herself back into the barren apartment. Tomorrow, she was to kill the prime minister on his daily route to the office. After that, she would be picked up, drugged, and taken back to the Red Room to prepare for her next mission. There was no escape; it was foolish of her to ever think otherwise.

She froze on her way to bed, blood turning to ice as a knock echoed through the apartment.

Squinting her eyes, she grabbed a knife she had stashed by the couch and approached the door. She looked through the peephole to see windswept blond hair and blue eyes staring at her. Her stomach did a somersault as she unlocked the door, opening it to the man that was sent, no doubt, to kill her.

The man pushed his way into the apartment, barreling past her and shutting the door. She blinked at the intrusion. Maybe killing her from a distance wasn’t enough—maybe this man wanted to watch as the light left her eyes, wanted to feel the life drain from her lithe body.

“Drop the knife,” the man ordered.

She did not drop the knife. She didn’t want the Red Room to know that she had given herself up so easily. She couldn’t go down without a fight now—before, when he had been perched on the opposite roof, she had plausible deniability on her side. She didn’t see the man, she was tired, wasn’t thinking straight, she just wanted to feel the cool night air on her skin. Now, she didn’t have that.

“I said drop it,” the man repeated, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled, something sharp and dangerous. “Says the man who had an arrow aimed for my heart,” she said, Russian accent purposefully thick on her tongue. She was the enemy, she needed to be taken down, just kill her already.

The man narrowed his eyes, the blue irises surprisingly pensive. His calculating gaze raked over her figure. It didn’t look like he was ogling her, but maybe he was just good at hiding it. He was a spy like her—if she could hide her disgust from unwanted advances, what’s to say this man couldn’t hide his lust? “You’re still here, aren’t you?” He interrupted her thoughts. “I think that alone says something.”

“It says you’re too weak to take the shot,” she grinned at him, knowing that no man’s ego could withstand such a targeted blow. He would, no doubt, take her taunt as a threat to his masculinity and do anything in his power to prove her wrong.

Instead of the boiling rage she had expected, the man simply shrugged. “I suppose it could be seen that way.”

She didn’t know if this man was just dense, or if this was all some highly convoluted scheme to get inside her head. Whatever the case was, she didn’t like it—didn’t like this man.

Men were supposed to be predictable; they were supposed to be easy. They all have the same base urges and motives. They were quick to anger and quick to abandon rationale. Nothing about this man was like her preconceived notions, which set her on edge. How was she to predict what this man would do if he didn’t fit into the perfect mould she had created inside her head? How was she supposed to get him to kill her if she didn’t know how to set him off?

She almost shuddered when a thought, unbidden, ran across her mind: the only man that did not seem to fall into that mould was Dreykov. And if this man was anything like Dreykov, she dreaded to think of his true motives behind not killing her.

“I’ll ask you one last time, put that knife away. I just want to talk, okay?” The man crossed his arms. He must have been trying to intimidate her with his large biceps, Natalia thought. It would have probably worked on a more feeble-minded girl; too bad she knew dozens of ways to take down men twice his size.

“I’d rather not,” she said, gripping onto the hilt of the knife tighter. Let it never be said that Natalia Romanova died a dishonourable death (for who’s to know if she throws the fight? At least she put up a fight at all).

The man sighed, his face crumpling morosely. Natalia wondered what organisation he belonged to—wondered which organisation allowed such a weak man to work for them. Maybe he was a new agent, maybe he had to prove himself to his organisation by killing the infamous Black Widow, maybe her death would help this man climb the ranks and earn respect—that would be disastrous for the organisation involved, for no agent should be as weak as him (really, if you thought about it like that, she was helping the Red Room).

They lunged at each other at the same time. The man was focused on disarming her, and she was focused on putting up enough of a fight so her death wouldn’t look so much like suicide. She would have to admit that the man was strong, in need of more training, sure, but he had potential. His fists bruised, his hits were calculated, and he tackled her to the ground with sheer force alone. She easily flipped their position, but she did have to commend him for being able to get her off her feet so easily (even if she wasn’t using her full potential).

They scuffled around on the floor for a bit—the man had successfully sent the knife clattering across the floor. Once she was satisfied with the amount of bruises she had left on him, she let herself be flung onto her back—she involuntarily gasped for breath, the wind being knocked out of her by the sheer force he used. He climbed on top of her and held her throat in his hands.

She smiled up at him, probably looking like a maniac—she could feel the blood pooling in her mouth from when she had bit her cheek earlier, and she hoped that her teeth were painted red to complete the look.

His hands didn’t tighten around her throat, his eyes weren’t filled with rage, he didn’t bash her head into the floorboards or senselessly beat her until her body grew cold.

Instead, he said, “I’m not going to kill you.”

She almost screamed.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he repeated himself, breathing laboured. “I’m taking you back to SHIELD with me.”

It was only then that she did scream, thrashing in his hold. White hot panic surged through her veins. She knew what happened to captured enemies. She knew that to be caught by the enemy was a fate worse than death. She kicked at him, hands scrambling to claw at any available skin—she had to make him kill her, had to make him understand that she was too dangerous not to kill. The risk of keeping her alive would outweigh the reward of having her relocated to SHIELD so that she could be tortured and used by anyone and everyone in that facility.

“I’m trying to save you, god damnit!” The man scrambled to get her nails away from his bare arms. He caught her wrists in his hands, holding them above her head. He was angry now—not angry enough to kill her, but angry enough to want to punish her. Her heart skipped a beat once his words registered in her brain. Did he not know? Did he not know what happened to enemy operatives when they got captured? Maybe he was just trying to do the right thing? He had too much of a guilty conscience to kill her—she used to be the same when she was a child, when she was first starting out. Even though he was an adult, maybe he didn’t start until recently. That would explain why he was so against killing her. Only new agents had qualms about taking lives.

If he genuinely was trying to save her, maybe she could use that to her advantage if she didn’t already ruin her chances by the spectacle she just created. He’d likely be unwilling to kill her even if she begged him to, but maybe he could save her from the worst torture during her captivity—if she offered herself up, told him that he could have her all to himself—men did like to own women, after all—maybe he would be possessive over her, maybe she would only have to service him. The thought of having to service anyone was enough to make her skin crawl, but she knew from experience that one was better than a group.

He must have noticed her calming down, because he slackened his hold on her wrists. “Are you going to continue fighting, or are you going to come willingly? I can always sedate you.”

Her heart skipped a beat—she didn’t want to be sedated—she hated being sedated, hated the not knowing, hated how she would wake up confused and disoriented and hurting all over. She’d rather know what was happening—it made it easier to bear in a way. She hated losing time.

“I come willing,” she said, eyes lowered in a sign of deference.

“Good,” the man chirped, smiling as he climbed off of her. “Let’s go then.”

The man gave her a hoodie he had stashed away in the bag he had left in the hallway. She accepted it with a churning in her gut. Just one more thing she owed him for. Her debt was wracking up fast, and she didn’t know how long she had to pay him back and convince him to claim ownership over her. She hoped she could do it before getting to SHIELD, so that none of the other agents would even think twice of messing with another man’s property. Even if he was a rookie agent, she knew that most men backed off when they knew a woman was claimed.

“I’m Clint, by the way,” the man said as they walked through a quiet alleyway. “What’s your name?”

She gritted her teeth. She absolutely abhorred small talk. “Natalia.”

“Natalia? That’s a nice name,” he said. “It’s much better than me having to refer to you as the Black Widow all the time. A little less of a mouthful, you know?”

She stared forward, ignoring him. She might have wanted to get him on her side, but she did not have to put up with idle chatter. Men only wanted one thing anyway, so, in the end, it didn’t matter if she appealed to him that way—her body would more than make up for it later.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Clint questioned. “That’s okay. May is the same way. She says I talk enough for the both of us. I think she secretly doesn’t hate me as much as she says she does, but don’t tell her I said that… You know, I think most people think I’m annoying, but I don’t know where on earth they’d get that idea.”

Natalia scowled, no, she absolutely had no idea where they would get that idea either. The entire way to Clint’s safe house, she had to listen to him talk. He didn’t ever expect her to respond, which she supposed was nice, but having to listen to him gossip about two agents that he was certain were dating in secret made her want to pull her hair out.

The safe house Clint had was not as nice as the apartment set up Natalia had. The building was clearly not in use anymore. The floorboards creaked with every step, a dirty mattress was shoved against the wall, the table was a faint breeze away from toppling over, and over half of the chairs were missing at least one of their legs. Clint tossed his bag onto the cracked countertop, sending a plume of dust billowing up. He coughed, waving a hand to dispel the dust. She bit her lip to hide her mild amusement.

“Home sweet home!” Clint crowed. “Don’t mind the dust, or the weird stains, or the smell. We’ll be outta here by tomorrow anyways so,” he finished his sentence with a shrug, digging through a cabinet.

Natalia stood stock still in the space. She felt marginally better to know the time frame. She had until tomorrow to complete her mission. Easy enough. She had done far more complicated missions with less time.

“You hungry? I’m starving. Who knew stalking someone all day could work up an appetite?” Clint took out two food ration packs, tossed one to her without a care in the world before tearing into his own.

She stared at him as he inhaled his food. There was no way he had just given her his food. He did know that the rations he gave away were not going to be compensated, right? He was giving away one of his meals, and for what? He already had her indebted to him—she was already at his mercy. He had no need to give her food to get her to comply.

“I know it’s not ideal, but when we get stateside, maybe I can convince them to let us order a few pizzas. Eat up,” Clint said.

What a foolish man he was, she thought as she tore into her own packet. She’d never give her rations up for anyone. This meal packet was as precious as gold to her. She savoured the chalky taste, chewing slowly to trick her body into thinking it was getting more food. Even if it further indebted her, she knew that the food was worth it. Who knew the next time she’d be allowed to eat?

As she ate, the insufferable man continued to chatter on. He asked her questions, and she responded with clipped and vague answers. How old are you? Fifteen. Where’d you grow up? Russia. He had a particular interest in her favourite things which she found extremely irritating—how was she supposed to know what her favourite colour, food, or animal was?

She finished her meal packet faster than she’d have liked to, which was when Clint mentioned going to bed. Her stomach swirled, and she suddenly regretted eating.

“You don’t mind sharing, right?” He gestured over to the mattress. “I suppose I could sleep on the floor, but I don’t think my back would like me very much in the morning.”

She stared blankly at him for a second too long. Was he really trying to convince her that he would actually sleep on the floor? How stupid did she look? The only men that would do such a thing were the ones she’d watched in those American movies she’d watched in Ohio and in the books she’d read whilst on missions. Besides, she was his prisoner—if anything, he would take the bed whilst she slept on the floor.

“I don’t mind,” she said even though Natalia was certain that she wasn’t allowed to mind.

“Sweet! Just don’t try to kill me in my sleep, okay? That would be much appreciated.” She watched him retreat to the bathroom with his dusty bag.

She once again was faced with the fact that SHIELD just might have sent their most moronic agent to kill her. She felt like she should be offended.

She took off the hoodie that Clint had lent her and smoothed down her silk camisole. It wasn’t the most appealing set of nightwear that she owned, but she supposed it would have to do. Besides, it’s not like she’d be keeping it on for long anyway.

She sat down on the mattress, awaiting Clint’s return. She wasn’t entirely sure how he wanted her, so she decided to let him take the initiative. Clint was a strange man as it was; who knew what his preferences were?

As Clint emerged from the bathroom in a pair of purple sweatpants and a white tank, she did her best to ignore the churning in her stomach. She had been trained for this as much as she had been trained to kill. She swallowed against the bile in her throat as he approached the bed.

He lifted the covers and slipped into the opposite side of the bed without even trying to touch her. She ignored the confusion swirling through her mind and followed his lead. Slipping underneath the covers, she turned to face him.

“Night,” he said, “Do you want me to turn off the lamp? I personally like a bit of light, but I’ll live without it if you don’t like it.”

Blinking at him, she said, “I don’t care.”

And then he turned away from her.

Mind reeling, Natalia tried to determine what kind of game he was playing. Did he want her to take the initiative? She figured after all she had put him through today, he’d want to push her down and fuck her into the mattress until she was writhing and crying out in pain. Maybe he was trying to humiliate her or trying to test her. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Whatever the case was, she knew she had to execute her plan tonight. If she didn’t make Clint claim her, she was free game for all the other agents.

“Clint?” Natalia tested the name on her tongue. The man turned back to face her, an expectant look on his face. Okay, she was doing the right thing. This was what he wanted.

She reached for him, fumbling a bit before her hand met its target. It was surprisingly soft for what Clint knew she was about to do.

He jolted away from her touch as if shocked with one of those stun batons that Natalia hated so much. “What are you doing?” Clint asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

She painted a seductive smile on her face as she climbed over to Clint’s side of the bed. She put a hand on his thigh, revelling in the way he tensed under her touch. He was affected by her; maybe she really could win his favour by tonight. “I think you know what I’m doing,” she murmured, trailing her hand upwards.

Clint caught her wrist before it could travel to its destination. “You can’t… You… You’re a minor,” he demurred.

She’s heard that from dozens of men before Clint, knows that it’s a weak protest—something they have to say to convince themselves that they are not a bad person for wanting a young teenager. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” she promised, just like she always did. Most men took that as a sign to continue, the occasional few let out a few more protests before succumbing to their base needs.

He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw—this was it, he was going to succumb to his needs and claim her as his. The part of her that wasn’t sick at the thought of having to service him was practically jumping for joy. She knew she could easily convince him to keep her for himself. With how weak he is, he would probably agree to just about anything she proposed.

“No.”

His rejection was a slap to the face. This couldn’t be happening. She had thought she had him. Maybe she had to put on more of a show for him, show him what he was missing out on. “Come on,” she cajoled, moving her hands to the thin shirt she was wearing. If he could see what she was offering, he’d have to change his mind. No man could resist such a tempting offer. She didn’t even get the shirt up past her breasts when Clint had taken her hands away from it.

“Stop it,” he ordered, eyebrows drawn together in a clear sign of anger. Why was he angry?

“Please, let me be good for you,” she pleaded. “I’ll be good, real good. I have lots of practice.”

Clint jolted off the bed, running his hands through his hair. Natalia took the chance to glance downward to see he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested. Okay, so maybe this would be harder than she had originally thought. That was okay, she was up for a challenge—especially if it meant that she wouldn’t have to service SHIELD as a whole.

She got up after him, only stopping in her pursuit when Clint raised a flat hand in a clear signal for her to stop. She had planned to show him just how good she was with her hands, but she could always try to strip again. The men always caved when she showed her body. “I can be yours,” she offered, trying to appeal to his hidden possessive nature. “If you claim me, no one else will dare look at me. None of the agents will touch me if they know that you own me.”

Clint looked like he’d seen a ghost, his skin as pale as the white shirt he was wearing. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. Was he trying to control himself? Trying to suppress his immoral instincts?

“Natalia… What are you talking about?” He pinned her with a terrifying stare—a look that promised pain and anger.

“The other agents can’t touch me if I’m already claimed,” she explained. What wasn’t he understanding about this situation?

“The other agents can’t touch you, full stop, period, end of sentence,” Clint objected.

Natalia shook her head. He wasn’t getting it! “I’m going to be SHIELD’s captive,” she emphasised. Surely this man wasn’t as dense to not know what was done with captives—even as a child she knew what happened to those that dared oppose the Red Room and were brought back to the base; she had sat in on so many torture sessions, they all bled together into one treacherous, bloody spectacle. Not to mention all the times her handlers would put her through desensitization training—preparing her for if she ever got caught by the enemy.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Clint sounded so genuine, like he didn’t know. Did SHIELD not require newbies to sit in on torture sessions? Did they not receive the same torture desensitisation training?

“How long have you been with SHIELD?” Natalia asked, the question having been burning through her mind for hours now.

Clint’s brows furrowed, “I don’t know… maybe like ten years?”

Natalia gaped at him. Ten years? How could SHIELD allow such a liability to work with them for so long? She wondered how they hadn’t beaten his weaknesses out of him yet. “How do you not know what happens to captives?”

“What happens to captives?” Clint asked, words dangerously calm.

“They are tortured and beaten and raped. Everyone takes turns until the enemy is a broken, bleeding mess.”

Clint looked like he was going to be sick. The poor man probably could have gone his whole life without knowing what SHIELD did behind closed doors. They probably kept that part secret—only allowing the depraved agents to take part. “If you claim me as yours, they won’t do that. They’ll only torture and beat me. I can be yours to use and only yours.”

Natalia watched the man tremble with poorly concealed rage, his mouth set into a tight line and eyes clenched shut. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. “You don’t have to worry about that, Natalia. No one is going to hurt you, do you understand? And if they do, you come straight to me.”

Natalia blinked, bewilderment swirling in her brain. Nothing this man was saying was making any sense. “No, no, you don’t understand,” she protested. She had to make him see: SHIELD was no different than the rest of them. “They will use me. But if you claim me, they can’t! No one touches someone else’s property without consequences. You have to claim me as yours, please. I promise you won’t regret it. I’ve been trained-”

“Natalia,” Clint interrupted her pathetic plea for mercy, “You are not property to be owned. You… God, you're just a kid…” he muttered the last part to himself, eyebrows pinched together. “Fuck—I mean, sorry, god…”

Natalia watched as the man before her dissolved into hysterics, muttering nonsense to himself. She stood at a loss. Why was he so upset? “If you’d just kill me-”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Clint snapped, face etched in horror.

Natalia felt her frustration bubble over. Clint acted like he wanted to help her, like he wanted to save her, but really, he was just a coward. He couldn’t do what it took to save her—he was too weak. “Then stop acting like you’re saving me! You are not my knight in shining armour, you’re not my saviour—you’re just the man tasked with bringing me to be raped and tortured! You don’t fucking care what happens to me, you just want to make yourself think you’re doing the right thing to satisfy your ego!”

Clint turned pale as a sheet, trembling with rage? No, that wasn’t right—for all the reasons she had given him to be angry, he just seemed… Well, she didn’t really know what was going on in his mind. She almost wished that her yelling at him would’ve been the thing to set him off. As it was, she was running out of ideas.

“I don’t know what I can say to make you believe me,” Clint said, sounding as utterly defeated as Natalia felt.

“Nothing you can say will erase what SHIELD does behind closed doors. As soon as I’m out of your sight, they will hurt me. You really want to save me? Kill me. If you kill me, they can’t do anything to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to-”

"чёрт возьми! You are insufferable.”

“Listen to me, Natalia.” Clint strode over to her, face grim. “No one is allowed to hurt you, okay? You’re going to be under my protection.”

“So you are going to claim me?”

“No. God, no. Listen, that’s not how things work, okay? Not at SHIELD. You are going to be under my protection, but you are in no way something that I... own… you’re not my property, okay? I want to make that one hundred percent clear. You are your own person with your own bodily autonomy. You don’t have to… you don’t have to do that anymore. I will still protect you, and no one will ever be allowed to touch you—not even me.”

Natalia furrowed her brows. That sounded an awful lot like Зимний Солдат. “You offer me protection without payment?”

“Yes! Yes, exactly.”

“So if someone were to touch me, you’d snap their arms and bash their head in?” Natalia smiled. She liked where this was going.

Clint blinked. “Uh… well, I probably wouldn’t do that…”

“Why not? You offered protection.”

“I would probably get in a lot of trouble if I did that…” Clint scratched the back of his head. “Not that they wouldn’t deserve it, of course.”

Natalia’s heart stopped. Oh god… She had gotten Зимний Солдат in trouble. “How much trouble?” Is that why she had never seen him again? Did they decommission him? She should have never told him what командир Крюков did to her. 

“Well, I’d be discharged from SHIELD and arrested for voluntary manslaughter.”

Natalia felt sick to her stomach. She had been responsible for decommissioning Зимний Солдат. HYDRA had killed him for protecting her. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, he would’ve continued protecting her, he would’ve continued living.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t protect you, though. If someone does that, they’ll get in a lot of trouble, okay? Not that I think someone will—it shouldn’t. You should be safe at SHIELD.”

“Even though I’m the enemy?” Natalia questioned, suspicion lacing her words.

“Yes, even if you’re the enemy,” Clint said, sounding so certain that Natalia was hard pressed to not believe him. “Y’know, if you provide information, I bet they’d even let you defect.”

Natalia frowned. “I thought you said I would have bodily autonomy.”

“What does… wait, you… you went on missions that…”

“You’d be surprised at how many government officials like their partners on the younger side,” Natalia shrugged. “They gave up their secrets for a night with me. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Clint covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You’re really making me lose faith in humanity, Nat.”

“Nat?”

“Yeah, it’s a nickname, why? You don’t like it?”

“No,” Natalia’s lips quirked upward minutely. “I never said that.”

“Right… Well, SHIELD never sends people to do that. They won’t even let you go on a mission until you’re at least eighteen. Most agents only start at twenty.”

“That’s pretty late to be starting.”

“Yeah, we kinda have this thing against child soldiers,” Clint remarks, his tone drier than the Sahara desert.

“But they’re efficient. No one suspects them.”

“Right,” Clint’s face goes sour. “I’m too tired to unpack all that right now. How about I sleep over there on the floor? See you in the morning—well, I guess it’s already morning. See you later.”

“What about your back?” Natalia questioned.

“I’d rather have a sore back than make you uncomfortable. Goodnight, Natalia.” Clint grabbed a spare sheet from the linen closet before going to curl up near the kitchen.

Natalia sat on the bed, mind reeling as she stared at the strange man.

After watching his breathing slow, she shuffled underneath the covers and stared up at the ceiling. Her body was tense, still half expecting Clint to wake up and join her—but no, he promised that his protection didn’t come with the expectation of payment. If he really was like Зимний Солдат, she would make sure to protect him too. She wouldn’t allow history to repeat itself. She was under his protection, and he was under her protection.

Taglist: @harleycao @fxckmiup @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

[kitcat992]

“Recognition algorithm for identity facial features complete,” FRIDAY’s voice was laced heavy with her Irish accent, and sounded no different than the few minutes that she spoke before. “No results found.”

Tony barely moved at her announcement — didn’t respond, didn’t look up — the muscles in his knuckles flexed as he squeezed at his temples, but it was all he did.

Steve noticed it.

Less than five steps were separating them. Steve was speaking before he even made three.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to him, Tony,” he insisted, reassuringly, with a tone as hard as stone.

Suddenly, Tony shot his head up; a scoff shaking his back so roughly, it pushed him right off the wall.

“There are times when you astound me with your nativity, you know,” he easily responded, smooth enough that it was almost impossible to tell he was fighting for control — of what, exactly, didn’t matter. It was clear he just needed it, any sense of control he could get his hands on.

Everyone kept working around them, determined — dedicated. But so far, they came up with no answers. Just more questions that were starting to push Tony to the brink of his patience.

Steve frowned. He could tell.

“We knew this was ahead of us with Peter,” he said, seriously, firmly, right to Tony’s face. “All of us, we’ve all been preparing for this.” Steve took another step forward, his dress shoes hitting the floor with resolve. “And we’re all prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure Norman doesn’t harm him in any way. You have my word on that.”

For what it was worth, Tony met his look — his eyes stayed as hard as Steve’s, the fear painting his expression one that Steve wasn’t fond of seeing.

“Right…right, right—” Tony swiped at his nose, quickly. “Just like all the people who’ve been involved in OsCorp’s experimentation's?”

Tony, no different then Natasha, also wasn’t afraid to speak of what no one wanted to hear.

Even Clint looked uncomfortable at what had finally been vocalized, turning back to his monitor without any remark.

Meanwhile, Tony didn’t break his attention away from Steve.

Steve didn’t look away from him, either.

“The Mysterio’s, the rock android’s, the re-assembled, violently programmed Chitauri bombs.” Tony took a step forward, closer to where Steve stood. “How about those unsuspecting, hung up of some quick cash college students who found themselves electrocuted until they became farm grown vegetables? Or the outright revolting archives of Experiment X that I saw, first hand, with my own eyes — or, I know, how about the symbiote project—”

“Stop,” Steve firmly interrupted. He shook his head, hard. “You can’t think like that—”

“—for all we know, the kid’s strapped to a table right now being dissected like a frog,” Tony choked out, forcing to speak through a throat that was tightening by the word. “The nuremberg code has never once stood in the way of what Osborn wants. And now he knows what he needs — now he has it. There’s no telling what he’ll—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Quill wasn’t shy in interrupting what was clearly a tense conversation.

He quickly made his way towards Steve and Tony, both whipping their heads over to face him — Tony far more agitated than Steve — but not even that got Quill to slow down.

“You guys haven’t mentioned that this fella of yours tortures people,” Quill, for once, sounded serious; even as he made a face that crinkled his brows into one long, oddly shaped line across his forehead. He shook his head while marching forward. “Not awesome, man.”

Tony couldn’t have thrown Quill a more wild expression if he had tried, with his eyes wide enough that they were a threat to fall out of their sockets.

“I’m sorry,” he stressed, each word tighter than the last, “was I talking to you!? Does this involve you!?”

Tony’s shout could’ve echoed the R&D room, if the noises from computers and machinery didn’t already sound over their own voices. The video footage kept playing and keys continued to clack on, and each minute they stood around agitated his nerves harsher than the last. He could feel himself starting to crack at the seams.

“Dude!” Quill returned Tony’s look with his own. “It’s kinda hard to mind your own business when people are talking about other people being experimented on!” Quill pointed a finger firmly against his chest. “I’m part people, I kinda care about that!”

A inquisitive hum sounded not far from behind Quill.

“That is right,” Drax spoke up, staying in the corner where he sat away from the others, sitting on a stool that hunched his body forward. “You are half weakingly. I forgot this about you.”

Quill spun at the hips to throw Drax a dirty look, glaring with enough aggravation that Steve knew right away to intervene.

“I appreciate your worry.” Steve held a palm outward in the air, waiting until Quill returned his attention before speaking again. He was firm in his response. “But we don’t want anymore people getting involved in this than necessary. There are things that Norman Osborn has done—”

“What kind of things?” Quill wasn’t playing around this time. There was a noticeable shift in his posture. “Cause I’m not sure if you’ve been able to tell, but we aren’t the type to just stand about and let certain kind of things happen, if you know what I mean.”

Quill puffed out his chest — just slightly, enough that they all could see — and it was the first time Steve noticed the sense of sternness in his tone, unwavering through and through.

In a way, it sounded familiar.

A little too familiar.

“Oh, good God,” Tony exasperated the words in a single exhale, turning his back on both Steve and Quill — walking away the few steps that could give him extra breathing space.

Steve didn’t chase after him.

He still kept him close in sight.

“It’s…it’s complicated.” Turning slightly to face Quill, Steve crossed both arms over his chest, keeping one eye on Tony while the man paced the computers repetitively searching camera’s of New York. “Norman, he’s…he’s a very smart man — one who’s done terrible things with that intelligence. He’s used—he’s killed…people…for genetic engineering. He claims it’s all for science—”

Across the room, Bucky scoffed. Loudly.

“Yeah? And so did Unit 731.”

Bucky didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

The whole room heard him.

Steve spared a look to no one, eyeing the ground for a passing moment before finally returning his attention to Quill; tough, but grave.

“We’ve been trying to stay ontop of him for months now,” Steve had to clear his voice to talk again. He worked his jaw along the way. “We’ve only recently found out what it is he’s done. Who he’s experimented on, how he’s experimented—”

A chair screeched from across the room.

“Now hold on a d’ast flarkin’ minute!” Rocket jumped onto the nearest table, knocking over his chair the process. “You trying to say that scrawny, awkward, weird, runt-sized, talks-a-lot, nervous looking funny kid is in trouble of getting experimented on?”

The bluntness of Rocket’s exclamation shot through the room like a bullet, and Steve nearly lost his balance when whipping his head over to Tony — who continued to pace, holding his head in the palms of both hands as the conversation kept on.

A deep frown sunk the lines around Steve’s face. The stress in the room was starting to weigh on him worse by the minute.

[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]

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

[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????

[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.