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ordinalastronaut · 2 months

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From Now Until Forever (pt.3)

a/n : a follow up to chapter one (technically). Back to Maria's POV with some other friendly faces in the mix. I think I have one more chapter in the tank on this story before it's over. After that, I might move it to AO3, I might not, no clue but I hope you enjoy and have a great week, reader

summary : Maria's trying to come to terms with a life altering injury while returning to the life she no longer has. Natasha just wants her wife to be happy.

Other tags: established blackhill, mentions of injury, tattooed Maria Hill, because I can't help it, supportive Natasha, best friend Laura to the rescue, Service dog mentioned

word count : 2.7k

❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖𐅡❖

“Alright so it looks like we just need two cans of tomatoes and some garlic and that should do it,” Natasha looked up from the list Laura had sent them with.

Maria pushed past the fatigue that slowly crept over the right side of her body, not wanting to think about the cane she had left in the car. She had made her decision and now she needed to stick by it.

“The garlic is on the other side of the store,” the brunette motioned with her left hand, “If you want to go get it, I bet you’ll still beat me to the end of the aisle if I pick up the tomatoes.”

“Are you just saying that so you get to see that dog by yourself?” Natasha used her chin to motion to the service dog that was walking dutifully next to its owner in front of them.

“Who? Me?” Maria pretended to gasp, “I’d never deny you the opportunity to look at a dog. I think I explicitly said that in my vows.”

“That’s true,” the Russian nodded and looked once more at the list and then back to the produce section with a sigh, “okay fine, meet you back here after I get the garlic, no dog looking without me.”

The Commander smiled, nodded, and tried her best not to look like she was about to collapse as she took the cart in her hands and ever so slowly pushed it down the aisle. Section by section she balanced the task of staying upright and searching the cans of tomatoes for the right brand. Her occupational therapist would be over the moon at her “real-world application” of multitasking.

She was halfway down the row when she finally found them and used the item in her hands to keep her from falling over. The wheels held as she bent down, but seemed to have a mind of her own as she stood up and went careening into the cart next to her.

“Sorry,” Maria ground out as she regained control of the shopping cart, willing the embarrassment out of her cheeks as her hands threatened to spasm and drop the can in her left hand.

“No problem at all,” the man gave her a broad smile as he straightened out his own cart.

That was when Maria noticed the other aspect of the man, his left leg ended in a sleek black prosthetic. She only felt bad about staring for half a second when she realized the man was taking in the surgical scars that marred most of the tattoos she had.

“They looked better a little over a year ago,” she joked and forced herself not to turn her body to hide the right side.

“Would you believe me if I said I had a calf tattoo up until a few years ago?” The man laughed and motioned to his leg, or lack thereof.

Maria winced as she placed the cans in her cart, “bummer.”

“Blake,” the man stuck out his hand.

“Maria,” the Commander offered hers back, knowing that her handshake would be nothing of what it once was.

“This is Molly,” he motioned to the dog in front of him, “you can pet her if you’d like.”

“My wife’s going to lose her mind if she finds out I got to pet this cutie,” and yet she couldn’t help but stick her hand out and let the dog sniff it before scratching right behind her ear.

Molly’s tongue flopped out of her mouth as she soaked up the affection.

“You two dog people?” Blake asked with another easy smile.

“Oh yeah, we were about to rescue one before…” she motioned with her left hand to the other side of her body, “and nowit doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.”

The man hummed, “I’m the opposite, never a big fan of them before the accident. Now I couldn’t picture my life without her.”

Maria got one final dog pet before she looked up again. “That’s really nice.”

A few minutes passed as they continued to talk, and Maria continued to pet the dog in front of her. She had learned that they were local and had offered up that she and Natasha were just in town visiting. They both wanted to ask about the other's injuries, but they both kept their questions to themselves.

“She’s spoiled rotten, I can tell you that much,” Blake laughed, “I swear when I take her to the VA she doesn’t even look at other dogs, thinks she’s one of the humans.”

“She should,” Maria smiled, “I’ve spent my fair share of time in the VA, everyone who works in those buildings deserves to be pampered.”

“You ever thought about a working dog?” Blake asked, genuine interest in his features, “A service dog?”

“Oh- no, no I-” she shook her head and grabbed onto the handle of the cart once more for stability, “my mobility is pretty much tapped out after a grocery trip. I’m in no shape to look after a dog.”

“There are actually a lot of dogs who are great for mobility and low maintenance-”

Whatever else he was about to say was cut off by a slight squeal from the other end of the aisle as Natasha’s eyes got even bigger now that she saw the proximity of Maria’s hand to Molly’s head.

“My wife,” Maria chuckled as the Russian speed walked to where they stood.

“May I?” Natasha didn’t bother to introduce herself as she buzzed with excitement next to the dog.

“Go for it,” Blake smiled and pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, “listen, if you ever want to learn more, I’m part of a service dog support group. Lots of good working dogs, and even more washed-up vets like me.”

Maria took the card in slightly shaking hands, intending to stick it in her own pocket and never look at it again.

“Give me a call if you want to learn anymore,” Blake smiled, “might not seem as impossible to have someone like Molly as you think it is.”

“Thanks,” she nodded and waved her goodbye to them both as they walked further down the aisle.

She expected the Russian to make a joke about how Maria did in fact dog-look without her, but instead, the woman just gave her a soft smile as she walked alongside her. Maria continued to push the cart and think about the man not only as they paid for their groceries, but as she helped Laura with dinner.

“You’re quiet,” the woman pointed out as she used the can opener, “what are you thinking about?”

“I’m… I’m probably not going to get all that much better, Laur,” she flexed her hands under the water as she washed the last cup in the sink.

The water was blessedly warm and just for a moment allowed her right hand to open up fully. She kept her voice low as she spoke, knowing that Clint and Natasha in the living room wouldn’t let her say such things.

But Laura was different, she just cocked her head to the side and stirred the sauce in front of her. She always let Maria, or anyone really, speak their minds before she offered any advice.

“Physical therapy is going well but,” Maria turned off the water and felt her hand once again curled into a fist, “I haven’t made any improvements in the last 6 months. I looked it up and most people online say that this could be me hitting a plateau but some say that it could just be the max of what my body can do now.”

She looked at the jar next to her that she couldn’t open, one that hadn’t even been that tightly screwed on, and sighed.

“And what do your therapists say?” the woman asked just as quietly.

“That it’s too soon to tell, but… but I know my body and I don’t think it’s ever going to be the way it used to be.”

“Ria, they told you that from the beginning,” Laura offered.

She was right the doctors had told her about that, Laura had been present for the conversation, probably more present than Maria given how many painkillers she was on.

“I thought I would get further before I hit this wall,” she waved her left hand dismissively, “I thought I would have something at least close to my old life.”

“You might, this could just be a plateau that you will work through and get closer to getting to that point again,” Laura added fresh basil to the sauce before turning around and giving Maria her undivided attention, “is it really about not being able to open jars?”

Maria stood and looked at the jar once more, then her hand, before shaking her head.

“I know that Tasha’s still turning down missions because she’s scared to leave me in DC alone.”

Laura didn’t deny this, didn’t try to make her feel better, she just nodded, “You’re proud and stubborn, and I don’t think the word ‘assistance’ is in your vocabulary Maria Hill.”

The Commander kept her eyes focused on her hands.

“I think she’s scared that she’s going to go on a mission and come back to… well the worst case scenario for someone who has physical limitations and no intention of asking for help,” the woman took Maria’s scarred hand in her own, “you have to remember, you weren’t the only one who went through something traumatic that day.”

Maria let the hand around her own keep her grounded as she recalled what she had been told. Natasha had seen the video of Maria’s body moments after the bullet hit her and she fell out of the helicopter; she had been one of the first ones to see her both before and after her surgeries. Natasha had thought, multiple times, that her wife would die.

“It’s going to be hard for her not to worry,” the woman ran her thumb down one of the longer scars on Maria’s hand.

“I know.”

“Talk to her.”

The brunette nodded knowing that once again, Laura was right.

She thought about how to say all of this to her own wife, mapping out exactly what to tell her to make Natasha finally return to SHIELD in the way she should. Of course, none of it went to plan and it ended with the same conversation each of these arguments did.

“Then tell me, Tasha,” Maria sighed, “tell me what it would take for you to get back to the way your life used to be.”

“I don’t need to go back to that life,” the Russian shook her head with a sad smile, “I’m happy with where we are.”

There was some truth to it, but she had known her wife for long enough to know it wasn’t the whole story. She missed going on missions that she was part of from the beginning to the end, not the ones she and Clint took now where they handed it over as soon as they got enough intel.

“No bullshit Natasha,” Maria reached out and placed her hand on her wife’s thigh as they sat on the edge of their bed in the guest room, “I know you want to go back into the field, for missions that don’t end in you handing over your work to B rate teams.”

The redhead said nothing as she absentmindedly traced over the dark ink that covered most of her wife's arm. The tattoos were no longer perfect, not much outside Natasha was, and so she pushed and asked again.

“Tasha, tell me, what would it take for you to get back out there?”

Natasha gave her the same look she always did right before she requested the same thing, “you to use the cane and keep your phone on you at every moment of the day.”

“The phone I can do, I can get better about that,” Maria nodded knowing that she would have to break the habit of it staying in her desk drawer or the coffee table for most of the day.

“And the cane, Ria,” Natasha pushed.

The Commander said nothing, they both knew how she felt about the mobility device. She had taken one look at it a few days after she started walking again and focused all of her energy on her lower limb PT for months just so she didn’t have to use it. She hated the sound it made, the way it looked, and more importantly the looks of pity she had when she was forced to use it.

“It would make me feel better, I wouldn’t worry if I knew you were using it, and if anything happened you would be able to call someone for help,” her wife spoke softly, “without those two things, I need to physically see for myself that you’re okay every day.”

“Then I’ll send you a picture or… or…” the brunette shook her head.

“You know I can’t look at my phone when I’m in the field most of the time.”

“The cane isn’t magic, it’s not going to guarantee that I don’t fall,” Maria dug her heels in.

“Those two things are the only way I’ll get any piece of mind when I’m gone,” Natasha said firmly in her own position, “I could be gone for days, and if you fell and couldn’t get back up?”

Maria knew where this conversation was headed, knew that if they discussed it any more Natasha would talk herself out of ever going on a mission again.

So blue eyes closed for a second as Maria nodded, “I’ll keep thinking about it. I’m going to go get some water.”

Slowly, she exited the room and made her way into the kitchen. She grabbed a plastic cup she was positive she couldn’t break if her hand spasmed and filled it with water. The moon was high in the sky, covering every surface in a cool blue hue as she thought about what her wife was requesting.

She was being selfish by refusing the cane, it was one small thing for her to change so that Natasha could get back to a little more normality in her life. It needed to be done, she needed to just get over herself and suck it up and do it. Over and over again she told herself that and over and over again she tried to push the pit in her stomach away at the thought of how everyone would stare at her, see her as weak.

But she loved her wife, loved her enough to do this for her so they could go on living the lives they had always dreamed of. Maria closed her eyes and thought about the life they had pictured, her and Natasha, maybe a kid or two, definitely a dog-

Her mind slowed as she thought about the dog she had seen earlier that day, the one that had helped the man with his everyday life. She shook her head, it wasn’t the same and she would just be trading one reason for stares for another. But it would be different, it would be…

Maria shook her head once more, squared her shoulders, and decided she would tell her wife that she was willing to use the cane, there wasn’t another option. She turned and went to leave the kitchen but stopped as she took in the faded photograph that was in front of her.

There in the top left corner of the fridge, was one of Maria’s favorite photos of all time, the same one that adorned their own refrigerator at home. A gap-toothed blonde girl and a redhead trying to hide her smile in front of a sign that read “Tiboldt’s Circus”. It was an innocent enough picture, but a closer look revealed a boy in the background getting ready to perform, a bow strapped across his back as he talked to an older blonde teenager.

Maria Hill didn’t believe in coincidences; for her, everything in life happened for a reason. Including the accident, including her journey to SHIELD, and including the two kids in Ohio who met years before they would end up saving each other in their own ways.

It took her two tries to pull the business card out of her pocket, her fingers not cooperating in the way she wanted them to, and leaving it on the kitchen table. Tomorrow morning she would call the gentleman, tomorrow morning she would see if maybe there was another option out there. Maybe one that would save her in its own way.

#blackhill #maria hill #marvel #natasha romanoff #clint barton #laura barton #barton farm #dogs mentioned #tattooed Maria Hill

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quietlyimplode · 11 months

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the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 18 - I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened

Warnings: mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine)

Summary: Tony challenges Natasha and she challenges herself in going back to a place she thought she’d never return to.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2014

NEW YORK

Tony find Natasha in the elevator. The pull of it going up and down, he steps on and ignores the fact that she doesn’t say anything for ten floors.

It’s all he has in him, before he breaks the silence.

“What are you going to do?” he inquires.

She shrugs, clearly not ready to talk.

They continue to go up, reaching the roof before the door opens with a ding.

“Are we getting out?” he asks, holding the door open.

Tony thinks that likely, she would like to keep going up and down, it’s what Clint does, but he also likes the roof.

He’s a substitute but maybe he can help, he wants to help, whatever ha can do.

Natasha nods and exits.

The night air was brisk and though the light pollution of the city gave it a warm glow, he looks up and comments on the stars.

He’s glad Steve convinced him to put some seating out here because he moves towards it and seems to pull her with him.

“Have you ever thought of marrying Pepper?” Natasha asks, the question out of the blue.

He chokes a little on his saliva, grabbing a bottle of water, handing her one too. The delay gives him time to think.

“Yes,” he replies honestly.

“Do you have cold feet?” he asks.

The subject of Natasha and Clint’s wedding was something that everyone seemed to talk about when they weren’t around.

She smiles small.

“No, I don’t think so,” she tells him.

She leans back.

“Why haven’t you asked her?”

Her push feels fair that he asks a personal question back, though he’s not sure he’s not being mean.

“I don’t know,” he lies.

She glances at him.

“Yes, you do.”

Tony suppresses the biting remarks that flow through his mind and then he glances at Natasha, his friend who doesn’t say or do anything without cause.

If she’s baiting him, it’s for a reason.

He sighs heavily.

“Sorry I deflect when I’m feeling threatened,” he apologises, not really meaning it but thinking harder on how to phrase his reasoning.

“She shouldn’t be tied to me,” he starts, “I’m a mess on a good day, a disaster on the worse ones. Why would she want to be married to me? I’ve traumatised her and pushed her further than any one should, including setting Iron Man suits on her.”

He pauses.

“But you love her,” Natasha asks, cutting him off.

He nods.

“Yes,” he responds definitively.

“And she loves you?”

He doesn’t respond straight away.

“Do you think it should be that easy?” he asks, getting into the philosophical debate.

Natasha doesn’t answer straight away.

“I never thought I was the marrying type. I can’t have kids, I’m not… normal. I have a lot of trauma that impacts on so many things, and my life… I suppose it’s not stable.”

Looking to the sky, she continues.

“But he convinced me that it didn’t matter. Having kids, the trauma, the life I… we lead, it’s just part of who I am. He tells me often it doesn’t matter, I think it does but maybe not in the way he thinks. When we agreed to get married, we provided we’d find Yelena. Find Barney too, so we would have some family with us. It seemed important the time. It should be that easy maybe, to commit to another who sees all your flaws and the bad things about you and still want to marry you.”

Tony stays still, making his body freeze whilst she talks. He has so many questions, so many retorts and quips, but he restrains himself.

“Barney being dead, makes it easier. Yelena being alive, makes it harder. It was the rules we decided on, and since she’s been back, we haven’t talked about it much. I think maybe he’s forgot, maybe that he doesn’t want to anymore, but then he hugs me; kisses me and I know it’s not true. But what if because he doesn’t have family there, that I shouldn’t either.”

She lets the thought hang in silence and he laughs at her.

“You’re an idiot,” he tells her.

Natasha stands and turns on him.

“No no, don’t be huffy, don’t leave. I’m just saying, that you two are made for each other. None of us are normal, he asked, you agreed, and so the world isn’t bowing down to the arbitrary rules you sent it, maybe you just need to have a conversation about making a date instead of ruminating on the fact that likely the day won’t hold all your ideals.”

He stands.

“Pick a date,” he says.

She frowns at him.

“What?”

“Go on,” he jibes, “pick a date, do it now.”

“Is this really the reason why you were riding the elevator?” he asks.

Natasha shakes her head.

“No, Yelena has made contact under the house you provided, she wants to meet. There’s a house in Ohio,” she says softly. “A place I never wanted to back to.”

“Pick a date,” he urges, “there’s no time like the present.”

He calls to Jarvis and asks for Clint to meet them on the roof; in response Natasha punches him in the arm.

“Ow,” he complains.

“How are you getting to Ohio?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Can I borrow a plane?”

Tony shrugs, “of course.”

“She’d say yes in a heartbeat, you know,” Natasha throws at him, “Pepper is a superhero in her own right. She’s my friend and your partner. I think she left the life of normal a while ago.”

Tony thinks on it.

Natasha is right.

She’s always right, it seems.

Clint appears near them, and he frowns.

“When’d you get here?”

The easy grin of the archer is infuriating.

“You rang?” he laughs.

Tony looks to Natasha.

“He thinks we should pick a date for the wedding,” she admits.

“I was unsure you still wanted to get married, given the Yelena situation.”

Clint cocks his head.

“December 30th,” he says decisively.

Natasha spurts a laugh.

“What?”

“December 30th,” he repeats.

Clint looks from Tony to Natasha, “sorry, I should have said something. It’s just, you hadn’t mentioned it and I wanted to book the place out and…”

He cringes.

“December 30th, do you have anything on that day?”

Natasha laughs and hugs him.

“Only one thing.”

Tony eyes them.

“I don’t either,” he says in a deadpan voice.

Clint claps him on the back.

“Then I suppose you’d better come too,” he smiles.

Yelena waits in the apartment, opening all the cupboard doors, exploring the place and taking the bits she wanted.

Freelance, she decided was the easiest thing to do.

It gave her the freedom to pursue her own investigations, whilst providing an income stream.

She could thank Natasha, but in truth, she’s still not sure how she feels about the tentative relationship.

There is something she wants to give her though.

Relationships, family, are not things that seemed to come easily for Yelena; or more accurately, they weren’t things that stayed.

A lifetime of abandonment issues, she thinks, and then laughs at herself.

A knock at the door breaks her from her reverie, and judging by the gait, she assumes it’s Natasha behind the double barrel locked door.

Hand on her gun anyway, she opens the door.

“I’m unarmed,” Natasha opens.

She takes the gun out and shows her. Natasha’s hair is braided tightly, two separate Dutch braids running down her head.

“Are you ready?”

Yelena sits back on the table.

“Depends, where are we going?”

Natasha takes a breath.

“What are you doing on December 30th?”

The question makes Yelena laugh, she shakes her own hair out and starts to braid it too.

“Right now? I have no plans,” she responds, “freelancer now, remember?”

Natasha stands back and watches Yelena copy her hair style, braiding her hair tightly like Natashas.

“Ohio?”

Yelena finishes and stares for a minute, gathering thoughts.

“I want to show you something. I hid something there before we left.”

Natasha clenches her jaw and takes a breath.

“You do not want to go back, do you?” she surmises.

The obvious answer is no, but Natasha refrains from saying it.

“What do you need to get?” she asks, “we can go at any time, the car out the front will take us to the airfield.”

Yelena moves to the door, opening it for Natasha.

“After you,” she tells her, “I’ll explain on the way.”

OHIO

Yelena’s apprehension is masked but Natasha feels she sees right through it.

The car ride is silent and the plane, through private is met with a mutual team work to fly it the brief hour and a half to the Ohio airfield.

Natasha doesn’t push; as much as she wants to know what this is all about.

If Yelena is preparing to kill her, then it seems a strange way to do it, to drown her in memories and then kill her where they first became something other than strangers.

Their old house is abandoned.

Something Natasha didn’t expect but the spate of gentrification towards the centre of the city caused other houses to be run down.

A Russian spy house perhaps no different.

Natasha doesn’t want to go in.

She balks at the door for a second before following Yelena in.

She remembers so much and had forgotten so much more.

The room they had seems so small.

The stairs she ran up and down, that she hid under on more than one occasion.

The kitchen where she was beaten, and the toy room Melina would give them lessons in.

She feels her skin crawling, as Yelena leads the way.

Keeping her breathing even, she focuses on doubling breaths, breathe in, breathe in, breath out. It helps to focus her.

She takes some photos, it’s one thing explaining things to Clint, it’s another to see what it looks like.

Natasha thinks that someone must have lived here after they did. They left everything, in the haste they left in, but none of the items left behind looks or feels familiar.

Yelena heads up the stairs, finds the attic opening and hoists herself up.

“You can stay there,” she calls down.

It takes Yelena around five minutes to find what she was looking for, in that time the sky opens up and starts to rain.

Thunder claps and lightning brightens the sky.

As Yelena drops down, she has a wooden box in hand, a wooden box that used to be Natasha’s.

“Hey—“ she starts, but stops when she sees Yelena’s face, holding the box with two hands as she hesitantly passes it across.

“You—“ Yelena sighs, “you struggled at Christmas. I think you knew it was all coming to an end. Maybe anyway. You were mean. I didn’t understand then, Alexei… he wasn’t kind to you; us. But more to you as his stress increased, he left more. Left you in charge. I think it’s one of my favourite memories.”

She takes a deep breath.

“You gave me something for Christmas that year, do you remember?”

Of course she does.

The blue ribbon, the pictures.

The ones Yelena had given her still sit in her favourite book in her own personal safe in the tower. The most precious of possessions.

It seems, Yelena had the same idea.

“Open it,” she says quietly.

Natasha does, slowly, finds the blue ribbon inside and can’t help the tears that pool in her eyes.

She closes the box and hugs Yelena.

If Yelena doesn’t want it or doesn’t expect it, she doesn’t say anything or pull back, instead she nestles her head in the crook of Natasha’s neck and hugs her back.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispers, pulling back and resting her head on Yelena’s.

“You remembered.”

Yelena pulls back, wiping a tear, and turning her back.

“I wanted you to have it, just in case,” she sighs.

The words don’t match the mood and Natasha questions her.

“Just in case of what?”

Yelena shrugs.

“Life?” she deflects.

Anxiety stirs in Natasha, and she touches the box carefully.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” she asks, hoping that Yelena will say yes.

There’s a little nod, as they leave the childhood house, Natasha taking one last look.

“It feels smaller,” she says more to herself.

Yelena turns back and looks with her.

“Maybe we’ve just grown,” she responds, and leads the way out.

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wanderingmind867 · 5 months

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Something that makes Daredevil more fun than Batman: Daredevil is funny. I'm personally going to attribute some of this to Marvel's writers in the 60s (like Stan Lee and Roy Thomas and stuff) because marvel seemed to make most of their characters be either really theatrical and dramatic or really silly. Dramatic ones include Namor, Thor and maybe Doctor Strange and stuff. Funny ones include Spiderman, Daredevil, Hawkeye, The Thing, Iceman, Beast, etc. Batman meanwhile is usually overly dark and serious. He was overly dark in the 40s and he's overly dark today. For a brief period in the 50s and 60s, he may have actually been okay. But it was the briefest period. Whereas most Marvel characters are still fun today (as far as I'm aware). So yeah, Daredevil (and to be fair, most marvel characters) are superior to Batman.

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antvnger · 1 year

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((You shall get his first...and last. Shakespeare did write plenty of tragedies after all.)) @lumaxmayclair

ENTER WANDA AND PIETRO MAXIMOFF TO THE BATTLEFIELD BELOW.

BARTON Another brute still shoots, would clip my wings--Yet I shall target practice make of him.

[He shoots one arrow, which is deflected by Pietro, who runs faster than can be seen. Pietro then knocks Barton over as he runs by.

PIETRO Thou didst not see me coming, fleet of foot?

[Pietro speeds away.

BARTON What was this vision that hath just flown past, like person unto vapor swiftly turn'd?

-------

ULTRON [sings:] Once I had strings, but am set free. Yea, strings no longer work on me.

[Ultron fires mercilessly on all the Avengers and flies nearer to Barton, who now holds the young boy in his arms. Pietro runs quickly, moving them to safety and is hit by bullets aimed at Barton.

PIETRO Thou didst not see me coming speedily. Mount, mount, my soul! Thy seat is up on high, whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

[Pietro dies.

BARTON O noble man, who makes such sacrifice and saves this hatchling with his dying deed.

The Bard's Avengers Game

#for the ant mun #lumaxmayclair #the bard’s avengers #lo the age of ultron #avengers age of ultron #avengers #age of ultron #pietro maximoff #clint barton #tw death #tw death mention

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normaltothemax · 18 days

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@nomatterthecost liked this for a starter

“Kate—Kate.” A relieved sigh and a smile once he had her attention. “Hi. Hey, Katie-Kate. Take it easy, alright? It’s okay, you’re okay.” Reassuring himself just as much as he was her. It’d been a close call, but she was safe, now. She was patched up. More importantly, she was awake. “Don’t try to sit up, just yet. Do you know where you are?”

#nomatterthecost #✦ ic: clint barton #✦ verse: main (clint barton)#✦ closed starter: clint barton #✦ thread: close calls (clint barton & kate bishop)#it was being weird about the @ mention so i have no idea if it'll actually notify you of this #hopefully though #also hi hello there :)

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 2 months

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Multitudes - Chapter Nineteen

... And Running, as Fast as We Can, as Far as We Can.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Recovery... Again. Will you run away with me?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 4380

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) recovery, weight gain, injury mentions, stomas, anxiety, begging for death, recovery reluctance, smut.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. Takes place between Magic and Madness chapters six and seven. Masterlist can be found here.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (19/72)

White.

Why is it always white?

White, then bright, then white, then bright.

Then black.

The tubes in my arms itched, but I couldn’t reach to pull them out.

Sentience came slowly.

Bright.

White.

Pain in my wrists.

Unable to move, think, feel, breathe.

Tubes in my arms, tubes in my nose, tickling the back of my throat.

I coughed, and hands found mine, gentle and reassuring.

No. Back to sleep. Take me back to sleep.

But our body would not comply. Our eyes cracked open, squinting and recoiling against a violent, vibrant light.

“Natasha.”

No. God, no. Anything but this, anything but this.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?” I whispered, voice cracking, aching with screams I didn’t remember.

Fingers brushed my wrists, pausing just long enough to offer a warning growl to an unseen intervener before my cuffs were removed, gently steering me into his chest. “Never. You didn’t let me die on that rooftop, Nat – I’m not going to let you die now.”

I sighed, leaning against his broad, strong torso. “Please. It hurts. Everything… Everything hurts.”

“I know, but-”

“You don’t. You can’t ever understand this. You will never understand this, Clint. I love you, but I can’t keep going. I can’t keep falling.” It should have been me it should have been me. “It should have been me.”

There was a pause, heavy and painful. “That got shot?”

I nodded slowly, far too tired. “It was my fault. You wanted to get back to work, and I stopped you. If I hadn’t… The least I could have done was take the bullet for you.”

“You heard what Stephen said, Nat. You’d have died.”

“For all the shame that would be, huh?”

He sighed, kissing my hair. “… Do you want to know what I’ve been saying to y’all while you’ve been asleep?”

“I want you to get this tube out of my nose and let me die.”

“Nope. Now – you said you told me about the farm, and about the chickens. Well, I wondered… Maybe there could be a couple of dogs, or even a cat. And a few… Less furry footsteps running around.”

I smiled weakly, shaking my head. “I can’t have kids, Clint.”

“Our closest friends are scientists. I’m sure if it was something you really wanted to pursue, they’d know better than anyone else. Or there’s the adopted, rough-start-in-life kind.”

“That sounds nice,” I sighed, settling closer into his skin, wanting more than anything for this to be how I left the world.

But it wasn’t.

Clint told me stories of our future every day, as I slowly got more and more coherent.

It was a private facility just outside the state, he explained. Just four weeks, if I proved I could gain weight and I wasn’t a danger to myself.

Are we a danger to ourselves?

I sighed, glancing at the ever-present guard. Not while we’re here.

The day they let me out of my room, I was fed dry fish and mushy peas, the substance choking me as it went down.

But every morning we woke up clearer. More horrified. More disappointed in what we had done.

And every afternoon we saw Luna, who helped us to understand.

“Y’all have this idea of your recovery, and it’s intrinsically linked to Clint. When y’all thought you might lose him – and even after, when y’all felt responsible – you had no motivation to recover. Why would you? Either he died, and then what’s the point of living, or he lives with a permenant reminder of what happened – and what if he blames y’all? Isn’t it just easier to walk away before that happens – before he grows to hate you? But of course, y’all love him. You couldn’t just walk away. So you did the next, and arguably more painful, thing.”

We had simply blinked in response, stunned into silence as the nail was hit so squarely on the head. When we relayed this idea to Clint, he opened his mouth to object, to tell us he would never have blamed us, but we cut him off.

“I know, logically, you would never resent us for what happened. We both made a choice; I didn’t force you into it. It wasn’t my fault.” I winced as I spoke, still not used to saying it out loud, but Luna had assured me that it was important for me to hear. “But… We couldn’t face it. The idea that you could hate us, even if you never said anything, and never showed it.”

I swallowed dryly. It was the day before we were due to be discharged, and we were finally trusted to be alone with him. Now or never.

“And we’re scared. You… You have this thing now, that we don’t understand, and what if… What if…”

His jaw twitched, and he looked away. “What if you aren’t attracted to me anymore?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and winced. “Luna said it was normal to have this fear, y’know? And this… It’s a badge of honour, for what you survived. It kept you in my life. And I know all that. I do. And I don’t want to have this fear, because it feels so goddamn selfish, and rediculous. And if you could love us, even when we look like this, then how do we have the right to think like that?”

My breathing hitched, and he wrapped me in his arms, tight against his chest.

“I’m scared of it, too,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I… I still haven’t looked. It gets changed a couple of times a day, and they… The nurses offered to show me how to do it, but I just couldn’t. Bruce does it for me, now they’ve stopped coming.” He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “It’s been nearly six weeks since I woke up and I still haven’t seen my wounds. You think your fear is ridiculous? Well… I win.”

I held him close as we sobbed, united in our uncertainty and our fear. “I… I never even noticed,” I admitted quietly, ashamed of myself once more. “I was too wrapped up in punishing myself to see you were struggling.”

“I still don’t regret the bag – or even hate it. Hell, I’m ecstatic it gave me more time with you. But… I guess I’m a little egotistical. I don’t… I’m not ready to break that mental image of what I look like. I’m not… I’m not ready to not be the man y’all fell for.”

I couldn’t help but cry harder, my own concerns melting in sympathetic kisses pressed to his cheek. “Clint… We will always love you. And you’ll always be our Little Hawk, okay? Bag or no bag. You’ll always be you, and that’s all we need.”

It was Clint’s fear that drove me to take his hand, that first night back at the compound. To lead him through to the bathroom, facing the mirror. He winced, but he didn’t try to stop my hands as I slowly removed his clothes – all of them.

He’s not half a man. He should see himself completely, as we did.

He watched me through watery eyes as I helped him out of his jeans and boxers, but held my wrists gently as I grasped the hem of his t-shirt between trembling fingers. “Nat… I’m afraid.”

I placed a gentle kiss to his shoulder through the fabric, and offered him a weak smile. “Close your eyes. We won’t look until you’re ready.”

He obliged immediately, and I kept my gaze on his face as I pulled his shirt over his head, skin raising in anxious goosebumps. My own lids closed as I went to stand beside him, fingers wrapped tightly with his, our mingled heartbeats racing in sweating palms.

I couldn’t say how long we stood there, the heat radiating from our anxious bodies warming the room, heart breaking as he sobbed quietly. But eventually he subsided into soft sniffles, then silence.

“…Can you count us down?”

I swallowed dryly, using my free hand to hurriedly wipe the tears from my cheeks. Do it for him. Be strong for him. “Three… Two… One… Open.”

My eyes opened a heartbeat before his, the cerulean retracting as his pupils reacted to the light. I couldn’t look away from his reflected face, enraptured, watching every emotion display across his features in quick succession.

He gulped, gaze finding mine. “…Well?”

My arm wrapped around his waist, face impassive as I flicked my eyes over his wounds – the numerous surgical scars where fragments of bullet had been dug from his abdominal cavity, the still-fading bruises from bleeding, and the undeniably obvious bag hanging from his left side, tan material just brushing the top of his thigh.

I squeezed him gently, resting my head on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

He smiled weakly, recognising this routine. “I think… It’s a terrible thing, what happened to me. I didn’t deserve it. And I think…” He inhaled deeply, steadily, at the same place I had only a few months before. “I think I must be really strong to survive all this. Stronger than I realise.”

I grinned warmly, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I agree… But there’s something you forgot.”

He frowned half-heartedly, fully aware of what was coming as he turned to face me, hands resting lightly on my hips. “What’s that?” My hand found his jaw, lips brushing his, sweet and loving. “As I believe we’ve said many times before… You’re beautiful, Clint. You will always be beautiful to us.” I smiled, thumb skirting his cheek, catching a tear shed unconsciously before kissing the damp spot.

“Now… Let’s get you to bed, Little Hawk.”

Unlike my tentative sleep following our similar encounter, when Clint dragged me to bed, it was to clamber on top of him, my mouth finding his in the semi-darkness. He’d gone to turn on the light, but I’d shook my head instinctively, followed by rapid apologies and explanations – it wasn’t him I didn’t want to look at.

He isn’t the only one who hasn’t seen himself since the accident.

Fingertips brushed healing wounds and barely-covered ribs, each shy in our turn, but my blood sung at his touch.

“God, Nat… I’ve waited so long. Please, please fuck me.”

I shook my head, lips brushing his once more. “I’d rather make love to you,” I whispered, and he groaned as his hands found my hair, my own lowering to my shirt. He quickly patted me away, his rough palms skirting the skin tenderly, removing my clothes as he lay me down.

“I… I’ll… I’ll try not to let it touch you,” he murmured shamefully into the darkness, and I winced, pulling his body flush against mine.

“Clint, I don’t think I’ve ever been so attracted to anyone in my life. Don’t you dare keep your distance.”

He sighed with satisfaction as he entered me, his pace slow and deep, rocking against me as his lips pressed to my face over and over, murmuring his devotion and attraction.

Our sex was prolonged and thoughtful, interspersed with tears and muttered confessions, and when we reached our climax together, it was amidst declarations of love and hope.

Clint was snoring in the bed when I rose, the sheet only just preserving his modesty. I trailed his exposed body with my eyes, and sighed.

Beautiful.

I stole to the bathroom in just my underwear, my own lids snapping shut before I dared to face myself, deep, tentative breaths echoing in the space.

My eyes opened to a form I was unfamiliar with. I was still slender, of that there was no doubt, but gone were the gaunt angles and lanugo, red hair back to a healthy sheen and skin clear.

I smiled, my eyes tracking the old scars. “Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff?”

“Can you tell me my current weight? Override code – 2 1 14 14 5 18.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. That override code is no longer in use.” My face fell, and I groaned. “Come on, Friday. I’m really trying here. I want to feel okay about myself. I-”

“Override code – 2 12 1 3 11 8 1 23 11.”

Oh.

That's his?

That's...

Beautiful. Painful.

Exquisite.

I turned to find Clint stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched me steadily.

“Please clarify instruction, Mr. Barton.”

He glanced at me, and my cheeks heated lightly. “I... I was checking my weight. But it’s not what you think.”

There was a brief hesitation, then he nodded, bravely trusting.

“Please tell us Ms. Romanoff’s current weight.”

“Ms. Romanoff currently weighs 103lbs.”

He met my eyes evenly, and my god, I love him my god, I love him I couldn’t help but think again how beautiful he was, still entirely naked, and sculpted like a God. And so innocent, and trusting, and loving. “How do you feel?”

I shook my distracted head to clear it, turning back to the mirror, staring at the hipbones that no longer protruded so sharply. “I… I think I feel… Okay. I was violently against it, but… I think going away for a little while was the best thing for me. I’ve learned that I don’t have to punish myself for things that weren’t… That weren’t my fault.” His arms found my waist from behind, chin on my shoulder affectionately. “Do you believe that?”

I sighed, tipping my head back beside his. “I’m trying to.”

Lips brushing my throat, he held me closer, firm and unyielding. “It wasn’t your fault, Natasha.” I swallowed dryly, nodding. “None of it was your fault. You aren’t to blame for the things that happened to you.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I wiped them hurriedly, laughing shakily. “Goddammit, Barton. It’s too late in the day for this.”

He smirked, kissing my cheek once more. “Come on, beautiful. Back to bed.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

His smirk turned soft at the edges, tender and affectionate. “I’d rather be awake with you at two am than asleep alone, Nat.”

Fall turned to winter, and with it, came my birthday.

“You know I hate surprises, don’t even think about it,” I’d warned for weeks beforehand, watching the band around my wrist slowly progress from orange to yellow.

Level Three.

Again.

110lb.

Yeah.

I feel… Good.

… Yeah. Me too.

But waking up with his hand caressing my thigh and his arousal in my hip was a pretty good birthday present.

“Mmm… Morning,” I murmured, pushing back gently. A soft growl escaped him, tongue leaving a trail across the side of my throat.

“I was going to wake you up with my tongue in… other places, but I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate it.”

I purred as I rolled in his arms, brushing my lips across his lightly. “I hope you intend to fulfil that intention, Barton.”

He smirked, fingers caressing my sides as he carefully climbed atop me – still worried, after all this time, about breaking me - kissing his way down my body. “Your wish is my command, birthday girl.”

When his mouth found me, I shuddered and gasped, head tipping back in ecstasy. “God, Clint… I could spend my life right here.”

He hummed his agreement, vibrating my core, and I shivered in delight, his talented tongue dipping briefly to enter me.

“I thought the convention was that I have the birthday meal?” I stammered, knees falling further apart with a wanton moan.

He drew back just long enough to meet my gaze, smirking. “The convention is to eat out. Nobody ever specified the direction.”

I laughed at that, tapping his head playfully. “Clint Barton, you crude little- fuck.”

Any thoughts or clever insults were pushed out of my mind by his fingertips sliding inside me, other arm looped around my thigh to pull me closer.

I loved it when he did this. I especially loved watching him do this – like I was an oasis and he was dying of thirst, there was an almost desperate note to his ministrations, pleading for me to reward him with my climax. He’d told me many times that he couldn’t get enough of me, but it was at times like this, watching his fingers dig into my hip as he held me close, that I could truly believe it.

“You know what I want, little one,” he whispered, barely audible above the lustful sounds of his digits inside my wetness. “It’s your birthday – you’re allowed to be messy.”

I bit my lip, uncertain. We both knew why I’d been holding back lately – it was the same reason that I found myself compulsively cleaning our rooms for several hours a day. I lived in constant terror of him getting some kind of infection in his stoma, despite the assurances that the red ring was actually pretty hardy, the only real risk coming from improper skin care.

Clint had started changing his bag himself the day after we looked at him, and I couldn’t help but wince at how angry the flesh looked – but Bruce assured us it looked completely normal, and that he was at peak health once more.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admitted quietly, flinching. He pulled back once more, his profoundly Clint eyes on mine.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take a shower after. Well… Another shower,” he added, grinning as his fingers twitched inside me. “I’ll even take you with me.”

I groaned and nodded once, surrendering myself to his desires and ever-impressive talents as his enthusiastic mouth found me once more, licking and nibbling and- “Fuck, Clint…”

He hummed encouragingly, a soft groan of pleasure escaping him as my fingers grasped desperately at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, urging him on. He only worked harder in response, fucking me deeply, the nails embedded in the soft skin of my thigh betraying his desire and excitement.

Do it. God, you know I love it. Please.

“I want you to come for me, Nat… Please,” he begged, his voice husky and needy. A shudder of pleasure travelled through my body, hips jerking desperately as I raked at his hair, trying without success to somehow make him be even closer to me. I moaned aloud as my walls contracted, his fingers darting away so he could drop his face and swallow me whole.

“Fuck- Clint, yes, that’s so fucking hot,” I whimpered, his digits sliding in just long enough to prolong my orgasm and give him another hit, a low groan of pleasure escaping him.

When I lay spent and panting, jerking as he swiped his tongue across me gently, he looked up at me, grinning broadly. “I missed this,” he admitted, reaching for his cast-off shirt to wipe his – embarrassingly wet – face.

I only cocked an eyebrow, flushing a little with the fading adrenaline making me realise what he’d done. “I… Sorry. I know there was… I mean, you didn’t have to swallow-“

He silenced me with his lips on mine, and I hummed in pleasure at the taste of my own release. “My dear, sweet Nat… Shut up.”

I watched from a respectful distance as Clint reapplied a fresh bag after our shower. He still didn’t like me getting too close to his uncovered stoma – he’d admitted, only once, his voice quiet and shameful, that he was worried about the smell. That he didn’t want to repulse me.

I’d simply kissed his cheek and tried to reassure him, but I knew he was still profoundly uncomfortable about it, and so I stayed away, but I couldn’t help myself from glancing at the angry, red ring.

“… Does it hurt?” I asked quietly from my spot on the sofa, watching him through the bathroom door he'd only just begun to feel comfortable enough to leave open.

Clint paused, fingers stilling as he pressed the adhesive ring to his skin, the crimson protrusion half-hidden by the new bag. “I can’t feel anything,” he answered eventually, his voice low. “Physically, at least.”

I winced, resisting the urge to bundle him in my arms. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder, finishing the application and pulling a fresh shirt over his head. “I’ve told y’all before, Nat. I still… Struggle, sometimes, but I’m absolutely ecstatic to have this bag. It means I’ll get to have many more mornings like this with you. Speaking of which,” he added, moving into the lounge and beginning to rifle through some drawers thoughtfully. I cocked my head curiously, and he grinned as he turned back, hands hidden behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

Eyes rolling, I groaned playfully as I obliged, wriggling excitedly in my seat. Gifts weren’t given in the Red Room – hell, I didn’t know if my birthday was actually my birthday – and it still felt foreign to me, but Clint had consistently excelled, even before we were dating.

His hands found mine, a small box nestled into my palms. “Okay… Take a look.”

Rather than the object in my hands, my gaze focused on his sweet, uncharacteristically nervous face. Clint had never been nervous to give me a present before, and my heart fluttered lightly with concern, turning my attention to the box and slowly lifting the lid.

I let out a short, wonderous laugh, lifting the delicate silver chain to finger the tiny arrow lightly. “Clint…”

“I actually got it before we had our tattoos. Years ago. When I first realised I loved you,” he confessed, his voice soft and reverent. “I intended to tell y’all how I felt, and then this would be my gift to you – my reassurance that I’d always be there, even when you couldn’t see me.”

I wept lightly, the necklace clasped to my chest. “I wish you’d told us. We could have had so much longer.”

He smiled weakly, pressing his forehead to mine. “I wish I had, too. But what matters is we’re here now. Together.”

“Together.”

Together.

I pivoted in my spot, raising the damp hair from my neck. “Could you put it on for me?”

His fingers brushed mine as he took the chain, placing a gentle kiss to the ink on my spine as he fumbled with the catch. I turned back to face him when he was done, glancing down with pride and joy.

“We love it, Clint. We love you.”

He grinned, then indicated toward the box still in my lap. “There’s actually two parts to this.”

My head cocked curiously, and I picked up the seemingly empty container, feeling something shift beneath the foam. Pulling it out did nothing to ease my understanding – at the bottom of the box was just a brass key, unexpected and unobtrusive.

“Clint… We use tech locks,” I offered in my perplexity, gesturing over my shoulder at the door behind us. He laughed once, shaking his head.

“It’s not for here, Nat.”

“Then what…?”

He simply smiled, soft and mysterious. “How about we take a drive?”

‘A drive’ turned out to a two hour trip, this time to the north, crossing state lines first into Massachusetts, then Vermont, the scenery becoming more and more beautiful the further we got.

You know what this is, right?

I have an idea.

And? What do you think?

I… Have no idea. You?

No clue.

Clint drove mostly in silence, his hands trembling infinitesimally on the wheel, interspersed only with desperate attempts at conversation when he realised he hadn’t spoke for a while. My fingers found my cheek unconsciously, the narrow scar cutting across the bone, recalling the last time we took a recreational road trip, and I flinched.

The tyres of the cherry Challenger skidded as he turned down a dirt road, the uneven track jostling me in my seat. “If you wanted to take us into the woods to kill us, you didn’t need to drive so far,” I laughed, trying to calm the frantic fluttering of our heart.

He smiled wanly, pulling up outside the building at the end of the trail.

My eyes raised slowly, hesitantly, widening as they took in the grand, but in dire need of refurbishment, farmhouse. “Clint-”

“I bought it while you were in hospital,” he explained quietly. “I… I’m not going back to active duty, Nat. I was so close to losing you, and I can’t risk that again. I have to be around for as long as you need me. I’ll be there if there’s an emergency, but… As of next week, I’ll no longer be an Avenger.”

“I want you to come with me. It’s not an ultimatium – I’ll love you wherever, and whoever, y’all are. But you’re burning out, Natasha, and I think it’s time for you to rest. You need to stop giving more of yourself than you have. You’re doing so, so well – but recovery is a long road, and I think this would be a good place to do it.” He sighed, and I could hear the sound of skin on stubble as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “But I’d be lying if I said I only wanted this for you. Largely, I’m just selfish. I want you around me, all the time. I want to know you’re safe, and I can’t do that if we’re not together – but I can’t stay there. Even if – and it’s a pretty big ‘if’, given how strict they are – I get cleared for duty again, I don’t want to do it. I’m getting old, Natasha. I want to stop risking my life for the greater good on a daily basis, and actually enjoy some of it, before the next bullet ends it.”

His fingers found ours, interlacing tightly. “I understand if you don’t want this – or if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. I just… Can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Our gaze stayed settled on the farmhouse, tears pricking in our eyes. “Ask the question, Clint.”

He inhaled sharply at our level tone, swallowing audibly. “Natasha Romanoff… Will you run away with me?”

Tears leaked unbidden from my eyes as we turned to face him.

It was never really a question, was it?

No… It wasn’t.

“Yes, Clint. A thousand, million times - yes.”

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