#goddammit clint your giving me a headache!

[marvel-lous-guy]

Peter: Yknow that theory that no two people see colour exactly the same?

Tony: Oh god, not again

Peter: What if that means everyones fabourite colour is the same?

Tony: What? Why?

Peter: because your yellow could be my red, so both of our favourite coloures are my red. And Harleys green could be my red too-

Steve: -Peter, I appreciate your enthusiasm-

Clint: I don't

Steve: but now is not the time for it.

Peter: ...why not?

Tony: because we are in a quinjet above a Nazi base

Peter: oh, right, that. Sorry

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Excuses

Summary: Getting your attention requires a little creativity.

Genre: Fluff

Warning: Mild language

Word Count: 1,327

* * * * * *

Picking the clipboard up off the counter, your eyes scanning over the notes that’d been taken. Doctor Cho had asked you to come check on her most recent patient as something else came up.

A disbelievingly amused chuckle leaves your lips at the name you read across the patient signature and with a shake of your head you head toward the patient room. 

“Trying a hand at cooking again huh?” You ask in approaching.

Natasha smiles abashedly, eyes glancing down at her currently bloody hand, the source of the mess presented as the cut on her finger.“ I was just slicing vegetables and Clint fell from the goddamn ceiling.” She explains herself, still not meeting your gaze.

“May I?” You ask with a small smile as you nod to her injured hand.

She nods, her nervousness not missed by you, but you say nothing of it. This was, maybe the fourth time Natasha has been in here this month alone with a small injury. 

Doctor Cho had teasingly mentioned that your presence had an affect on the ex-assassin. Her main evidence being that Natasha rarely turned up in the med bay, for a number of reasons: one she didn’t like people seeing her “weak,” and two, her injuries were usually self manageable. 

Yet recently she’d been here almost as much as Peter, and with the way that kid messed around and trained that was saying something. Doctor Cho suggested she has a crush on you but you laughed it off. 

There’s no way the gorgeous, badass, Natasha Romanoff liked your dorky self. 

Natasha nearly melts at the gentle way you tend to her. Fingers barely brushing her skin but leaving a hot trail behind them. If you weren’t so focused on patching her up you’d surely have seen the blush on her cheeks. 

“Doc, can I ask you a question?” Her low voice hits your ears after a prolonged silence and you resist the urge to jump at it’s unexpectedness. 

Catching her eye, you chuckle,“ I’m just a nurse Miss Romanoff, but yes you can.” You then grabbing the roll of gauze. Her cut wasn’t too bad but no band aid would cover the whole thing and it needed to be cover for at least two days.

“Well for one, I’m just Natasha,” she gets the privileges of seeing your flushed cheeks and it makes her smile brighten,“ what made you accept the job here?”

You bite your lip,“ apart from Sharon’s glowing recommendation? I don’t know.” you shrug,“ I just thought, if you guys are out there saving everyone else I could be here to save you.”

Goddammit! If she wasn’t already crazy about you that sure as shit did it. That single statement sounded more heroic than the honor speeches she’d heard Steve give and that man is heroic. 

“Was that not the answer you were looking for?” You ask at her silence.

Her head shakes frantically and her lips tug up at the corners,“ it was perfect actually. I wasn’t expecting it but you’re very kind.” 

You jokingly swipe across your forehead,“ thank god. I’d been practicing it for ages.”

When Natasha laughs your stomach turns. God how you wished you could hear the sweet sound a million times over. And the smile that came with it makes your heart flutter.

“All done. Don’t leave it uncovered for too long but make sure that you do let it breathe. And as usual no scratching.” You advise.

The urge to pout at having to leave you is fought off. But of course she doesn’t let that be the last time. 

Over the next two weeks Natasha comes in and out of the mad bay. For a range of things: a headache, shoulder pains, a minor burn on her hand from experimenting again. 

Each visit she asked questions about you and your passion for the medical field. She laughed with you and smiled when she got you flustered. And each visit you saw more and more of that crush Doctor Cho was talking about. 

You’d contemplated whether or not to do something about it as you clearly like her as well. But it isn’t until today that you decide to. 

Natasha comes in again, this time with cold like symptoms, that are fake, but you don’t call her out on it. In fact it’s a little adorable how she keeps pretend sniffling and burrowing into the blanket you gave her. 

“Sadly there’s no cure to the common cold, just some symptom relief remedies. Over the counter medicine, rest, and lots of fluids. Preferably hot beverages.” A moment of hesitation passes but her soft green gaze on you pushes that away with ease.“ Maybe I could help out with that, take you to get a cup of coffee, or tea if you prefer?”

She freezes at your question. Her eyes widening before she looks down at the tiled floor. Out of all the things she expected you to say, this was the worst.

Not for her by a long shot, she’d love nothing more than to go out with you, to be with you and hold your hand and go on dates. No this was the worst decision for you. You’ve saved lives, herself included, and she’d done the exact opposite.

While you were a source of hope to some she was the bringer of death. The Black Widow. What were they known for again? Killing their spouses after so long together. Natasha knows she’d never intentionally hurt you but spending so much time with you would surely taint the pureness that you are. And Natasha couldn’t handle being the reason your light had gone dark. 

“That’s not a good idea.” She mumbles. 

The confusion that surges through your head nearly gives you a headache. She doesn’t want to go out with you? Had you read everything wrong? Are you delusional? Was her flirting and excuses to come see you all in your head?

Frowning, you step away from the redhead,“ o-okay. I’m sorry I just- I thought with all the flirting that maybe you- I’m sorry for reading into things.”

“No you didn’t read anything wrong,” with how sad and confused you look she has to assure you that you most certainly are not the problem.“ Y/n I do like you. I think you’re incredible and that’s exactly why you shouldn’t date me. I’m not the kind of person you should be with.”

Your frown deepens, if that’s possible,“ Natasha what? What kind of person do you think you are? Because I think you’re a hero. I’ve literally spent full nights watching over you and tending to your wounds because you hurt yourself trying to save people. Hell you’ve definitely saved more lives than me.”

The sigh she gives tells you that she isn’t convinced. And while you know it’s going to take more than just this single moment to truly change her opinion of herself, you had no reason to not try right now. 

“Natasha,” you step closer and take her cold soft hands in yours,“ you’re just as incredible as you claim me to be, if not more and I’d love to learn everything that makes you that way.” She looks up at your small smile.“ If not all you’re visits would’ve been a waste right.”

Her eyes widen for an entirely different reason this time. She had no idea you knew she’d been finding excuses to come see you. She was so sure that you were buying it. 

“I guess I’m losing my subtle touch huh?” 

“Just a little.” You tease back, squeezing her hand in yours.

With a deep breath in and a slow exhale, Natasha nods,“ I’d love to get coffee with you some time, as long as you let me treat.”

You narrow your eyes at her,“ deal, but, you have to promise not to keep hurting yourself. You no longer need an excuse to see me.”

“Alright, deal.”

[atsixesandcevans]

the fire it ignites

Summary: God, Steve hated you. And he tended to not say he hated someone. He was a firm believer that every person has both good and bad within them, so usually he’d say that he strongly disliked a person. 

But you? Oh, he hated you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

Word Count: 6.6k (whew)

Warnings: angst, language, some poorly written violence, Steve being kind of an asshole

A/N: This was written for @sherrybaby14​‘s Fall Into You challenge, and my prompt was “I hated you before I even met you,” which I have put in bold. I played around with a few different concepts before settling on this one, and I’ve not really written anything like this before actually really enjoyed writing it, even if i am a teensy bit late posting! 

It’s like 2:30am and I literally just finished this so I apologise for any mistakes.

I’m considering writing a sequel to this, so let me know what you think!

Read on AO3

God, Steve hated you. And he tended to not say he hated someone. He was a firm believer that every person has both good and bad within them, so usually he’d say that he strongly disliked a person. If that dislike went deep enough that he used the word hate… well, then you must be the worst of the worst. He’d hated Nazis, obviously, and Hydra, but he found that despite how much he disliked him, Steve just couldn’t bring himself to say that he hated that jackass Hodge from his time in New Jersey.

But you? Oh, he hated you.

He hated the way you strode through the compound that first day – in black heeled boots, leather jacket, dark sunglasses and deep red lipstick – chewing on bubblegum, hair almost arrogantly flipped over your shoulder… Steve knew you were trouble right from the get-go.

Your reputation had preceded you, meaning that Steve – like most of the other Avengers, most likely – knew exactly who you were the minute you had waltzed through the doors of the conference room, no introduction necessary. He’d hated the way you pulled your sunglasses off, hanging them off the deep neckline of your tshirt, blowing a bubble between your perfectly painted lips, greeting them with a cheerfully nonchalant “sup, fellas?”, taking a seat in the rolling chair at the end of the table. He hated the way you kicked your feet up on the edge of the table, one ankle resting across the other, popping another bubble.

From where he stood at the other end of the table, preparing to begin briefing for the next mission, Steve glanced around the room at the others in an attempt to gauge their reactions to the unexpected intrusion.

Tony, unsurprisingly, had his lips pursed in a badly-suppressed smile, a mischievous glint in his eye that Steve knew could only mean trouble. Nat was smirking, arms crossed, and Wanda was suitably baffled by you, though Steve could see the underlying admiration in her gaze. Perhaps it was your confidence, god knows Wanda had struggled with that for some time.

Clint looked bored, as usual, but the way he straightened just a little in his seat alerted Steve to intrigue he was feeling. Sam wore a smirk, one eyebrow raised, eyes moving steadily over your reclined form. You met his gaze and winked in return, before your eyes slid over to Steve.

He was visibly tense, arms crossed defensively across his toned chest, biceps straining against the frankly sinfully tight gym shirt, brows knitted together in a disapproving frown. You revelled in his obvious discomfort, nodding almost tauntingly at him, satisfied smirk on your lips as you drawled, “captain.”

Tony stood, the single clap of his hands breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the room. “Okay, guys, this is Y/N, the newest member of the team. Y/N, you already know everyone’s names, I presume?”

Your eyes flicked between each face staring back at you, before they landed back on Steve. “You bet I do,” voice smooth as honey, eyes raking over Steve’s body, relishing in the way he seemed to somehow tense even further, the slightest blush turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. You wondered how on earth one man was allowed to be so breathtakingly hot, and incredibly cute at the exact same time.

Steve looked in the direction of Tony, who was actively avoiding his gaze. “Tony.” It took nearly everything in him to keep his voice level and calm, reasoning that there had to be a logical explanation to this, preferably one that didn’t involve Tony keeping things from him – from them – again. “Care to explain?”

Tony sighed, and Steve didn’t miss the look of guilt that passed over his face. No such luck, then.

“I swear, it wasn’t me this time,” he paused, appearing to internally deliberate something in his mind. “Although, I can see why you would think that, not to mention I did keep this information from you, BUT…” he interjected quickly, already anticipating the inevitable lecture from Steve, who had already opened his mouth to start. “It was under Fury’s orders,” he finished with a shrug, his face an expression of ‘what can you do?’

Taking a deep breath, Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose, a headache already manifesting. “Why would Fury want you to keep this from me?”

Tony’s expression morphed into one of forced nonchalance, muttering “something… about… you probably not agreeing with his decision…” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug, scratching at his beard, eyes everywhere except Steve. “Or something.”

Steve heaved an exasperated sigh and looked to the ceiling, muttering “goddammit, Fury.” He returned his gaze to Tony, who was sat back down in his seat, the same look of feigned innocence on his face. “Regardless of whether he kept it from me or not, why would Fury recruit someone else?”

Several others around the table started talking, some agreeing with Steve, others chiming in with their own theories of why you were there. The volume in the room quickly rose, until no singular voice could be discerned from the others.

You just sat there, watching the scene unfold before you, still chewing absent-mindedly with a small, satisfied smile on your face. The sharp snap of your bubblegum brought their attention back to you, voices dropping as you smiled ruefully. “Can I say something?” you didn’t wait for a response, lifting your legs down from the table. You folded your arms and rested your elbows against the edge of the table, continuing, “Fury recruited me because you need me.” Steve narrowed his eyes at the way your smile morphed into one that oozed cockiness. “And I’ve got nothin’ else going on right now, so here I am.”

Steve tried his best to keep his anger under control. He didn’t like your attitude and he certainly didn’t care for how… vulnerable he felt under your gaze, like you could see right into his very soul. It had been a long time since he’d felt this small when a woman looked at him, and he couldn’t say he enjoyed that particular trip down memory lane.

He sighed, heavy and defeated, before moving towards the door, actively not looking at you. “We’ll pick this up again later. I’m going to talk to Fury.” The room was silent as the door swung shut behind him and Tony, who was hurrying after him.

You broke the silence with an eyebrow raised. “So. What now?”

 --- 

Some time later, you found yourself sat amongst the Avengers – minus Steve and Tony, who you presumed were arguing with Fury about your presence – in the common room, feeling more relaxed than you had in a long time.

It was difficult to come by a feeling of calm, especially as a mercenary. You were almost always trailing one person or another, occasionally even two or three at a time. Then there was the actual kill, and while each and every one gave you a thrill, it was often difficult to keep it clean. Bad guys don’t tend to go down without a fight, unfortunately.

Your job really took it out of you, but every now and then some big crime boss would get wind of your identity and you’d have to lay low for a while, moving from shitty apartment to shitty apartment trying to remain hidden.

It was during one of these periods that Fury had found you, cornered you on your way home from the supermarket a few blocks from your apartment in Crown Heights. He’d made you an offer you couldn’t refuse; a steady paycheck, a place to live, guaranteed protection from the laundry list of enemies you had made over the years. The paperwork was finalised, and you took your motorbike and single duffel bag of belongings up to the Avengers Compound, plastering on your hard demeaner, despite the anxiety that threatened to break through the surface.

It helped that you knew – at least recognised – all of the faces sitting around the table in the conference room, made it less daunting to place yourself in front of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes or whatever.

What you hadn’t expected was such a cold reception from the Captain. It’s not like you had expected to be immediately welcomed with open arms, you knew very well what your reputation was like, and even those who didn’t know your alias probably wouldn’t be immediately open to a random person joining the tight-knit team out of the blue. But to be met with such obvious distaste from a man you had thought would at least give you a chance, a man whom you had admired from afar for years… it stung, no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t.

The only saving grace, you supposed, was that the rest of the team had been more welcoming. Nat approached you quickly after Steve left the conference room, having encountered you a few times over the years, understanding the work you did taking out bad guys. She understood the need to use any means necessary to eliminate a target, even if it meant working outside of the law.

She’d nodded her head towards the door, saying “come on, I’ll show you around,” with a closed-lipped smile on her face, putting you at ease with her relaxed posture and easy smile. She gave you a quick tour, stopping at an empty bedroom across from hers in the private quarters section of the compound, finishing with the common area, where the others were seated and talking absently, reading and playing games. Conversation dipped in volume when you entered, but Natasha didn’t pay the change any attention, instead announcing “guys, this is Y/N.” Some muttered yeah we know her name already’s bubbled up, but went ignored by Nat who continued, “also known as Blade.” This seemed to resonate with them, silencing their confusion.

“You’re Blade?” Sam asked, incredulous. “The merc who single-handedly took out an entire crime network with nothing but a handful of throwing knives?”

You slipped back into your façade, arms crossed, a smirk forming on your face. “The one and only.”

That seemed to be the perfect ice breaker, because the others began to chime in with their own questions about you, your missions, your hidden identity, among other things, conversation remaining light. Wanda looked a little uneasy still, but you knew from what Nat had told you about her that she found it difficult to trust people, and was one of the newer members of the team, still trying to find her place among them. You couldn’t exactly blame her for that, so you just tried to not flat-out exclude her from conversation, and hope that at some stage the two of you could become friends.

Even from your limited time with them, you could tell how close everyone was. Jokes and light-hearted insults were thrown around and you wondered if this was the place you’d finally be able to call home.

 ---

Steve made the walk back from Fury’s office to the living quarters, silently massaging the tension between his eyes that had grown exponentially in the last hour or so.

When he arrived at Fury’s office, Tony trailing somewhere behind him, Steve had been greeted by name with a deep voice before Fury had even turned from his chair facing the window. He’d been expecting him, apparently. He’d spent the next forty minutes arguing why it was a bad idea to have an actual criminal on the team, especially without having passed any kind of test and with an attitude as arrogant as yours.

Fury, of course, was having none of it, countering all of his arguments infuriatingly quickly, leaving Steve no space to disagree with him. Which he might have done, in different circumstances, but was definitely not doing in this one. Not when it was you.

He’d felt a tiny pang of guilt at this thought, with he quickly pushed away, reminding himself how dangerous and unpredictable you were, not to mention the extreme cockiness you had exuded.

In the end, Fury had dismissed him with a finality in his voice as he said “she’s on the team, cap, whether you like it or not.”

And so, Steve made his way back towards his room to grab a towel before heading to the gym to work off some of his frustration, stopping at the kitchen to fill his water bottle.

As he approached the common area, however, he was greeted with rich laughter and bright voices, one of which he recognised to be yours. He rounded the corner, spotting his friends – and you – relaxed into the plush red couches that were grouped around the television, with smiles on faces as what sounded like stories of times before were passed around. Steve ignored the voices, making a beeline for the sink, hoping to go unnoticed.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

He was halfway back to the door when he heard his name being called, and he turned reluctantly to Sam, who was animatedly inviting Steve to join them, knowing he had plenty of funny stories from his youth that usually he’d be perfectly willing to share. This time, though, he only muttered something about heading to the gym, eyes meeting yours for the briefest of moments before he turned and left, taut back muscles visibly straining against the material of his tshirt.

Your eyes followed him out, jaw tensing silently for just a second as Nat nudged you with her shoulder. “Sorry about him, I don’t know what’s up with him at the moment.”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever.” Your well-practiced nonchalance shining through once again. “I don’t need his approval, he’s not the one who recruited me.”

Conversation soon returned to as it was, though the topic did eventually shift to more casual things. And yet, you still couldn’t shake the slight ache in your chest at the captain’s disapproval.

 --- 

You found your place in the team surprisingly quickly. The first few weeks were pretty uneventful, mostly consisting of being caught up with the current ongoing missions, as well as training; while you were a seasoned professional with your knives, Nat insisted that it was important to know how to take someone down hand-to-hand, as well as fire a gun, so that you were prepared in the event that you didn’t have access to your knives.

You regularly joined the team in the common room for meals and down time, though occasionally you retreated to your room for some peace and quiet.

You didn’t see much of Steve in those first weeks. He did join you and the others in the common room some nights, though only when he didn’t have an excuse not to, or when the team griped at him about not seeing him recently.

The knowledge that he didn’t want to be there, because you were, was more difficult to deal with than you had anticipated. As much as you insisted you didn’t, you longed for his approval, his own actions having been your original inspiration to want to do good in the world. The life you had built for yourself wasn’t exactly what you had planned, but things happen and sometimes you have to roll with the punches. It just happened that life had punched you square in the face more times than was your fair share.

It wasn’t that Steve was cruel towards you, per se, it was more of the fact that he was just indifferent. He didn’t care enough about you to be mean to you, treating you like his subordinate – which, in all fairness, you were – and nothing more. There was a palpable tension whenever he was in the same room with you, and he never allowed himself to be near you if the others weren’t too. He hadn’t assigned you any missions since you arrived, and whenever he was questioned about it, he’d simply say that you needed more training, or that your skillset wasn’t what was needed this time.

You weren’t the only one who noticed his behaviour. Natasha, being the class-A spy that she was, cottoned on pretty quickly and cornered him in the conference room after a meeting, once everyone else had left.

“What is your problem?” she spoke in a harsh whisper.

Steve sighed, feigning impassivity, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and busied his hands with clearing up the files on the table, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Cut the crap, Rogers. I’m talking about your problem with Y/N. Why have you been acting so cold towards her, not letting her go on missions?”

Steve knew full well that he couldn’t bullshit her any longer. “I don’t trust her.”

“I know there’s more to it than that. This goes beyond not trusting someone. Now, I’m going to ask you again: what is your problem with her?”

He rolled his eyes, hating her ability to see right through people. “I don’t like her attitude. She’s cocky and blasé and its going to get her and us into trouble.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh. “She’s that way because she has to be. Do you think anyone would take her seriously if she wasn’t? Would you?” Steve remained silent, knowing that she was right, as usual. Her voice softened a little. “All I ask is that you give her a chance. Her attitude aside, has she given you any reason to think she’s not good enough?” They were both silent for a few moments, before Nat patted his arm twice and turned for the door, leaving Steve alone with his conflicting thoughts.

 ---

You weren’t sure exactly what changed, but you were glad for it.

Steve was less hostile, though he was still never alone with you. He actually looked at you when he spoke to the team, and each time he did, your heart beat just a little bit faster. Finally, finally, he allowed you on a mission, just basic recon, but it was a mission nonetheless. When you came back with Nat and Clint, successful, he had sent you on a couple more, and you didn’t even care about it being lacking on the action side of things, you were just happy to be a useful member of the team.

Eventually, you were needed on an actual mission.

There’d been a tip, a possible HYDRA base somewhere near Minsk, and everyone was needed. Take out the bad guys, get information if possible. It was nothing anyone hadn’t done before.

You threw yourself into the preparations, slipping into the tac suit Tony had made for you, adorned with both visible and hidden sheaths for knives, big and small, as well as a tactical belt and gun holster.

Nat had landed the jet far enough away from the base that they wouldn’t be alerted it its presence, before the team approached on foot. You’d all stormed the building, easily taking out the first agents that tried to fight back.

Then everything went sideways.

There were too many of them, that much became apparent pretty quickly. Everyone had been assigned an area of the building to clear, splitting up once you were past the initial defences.

You fought your way towards your designated room, towards the back of the building on a side where recon told you would be fairly quiet. The fighter in you was disappointed that everyone else seemed to get more of the action, but conceded that, as it was your first real mission with the team, you should use this opportunity to see how everyone works together.

As it turned out, there were a lot more men to take down than any of you thought. When it became clear that the team wasn’t going to win this one, Steve gave the order to retreat, shouting over the sound of gunfire and metal clashing.

Where you were, there were only a few left, and you caught a glimpse of a door behind them that you could’ve sworn wasn’t on the blueprints of the building everyone had studied before the mission. You powered through and, with one last burst of energy, delivered one kick and punch after another, the last agent finally falling into a heap on the floor.

Breathing heavily, you approached the door, fully aware that you were disobeying orders. But, surely Steve and the others would appreciate the intel about what was behind that door?

Steve’s voice came through your earpiece, quieter now that he didn’t have to shout, but no less demanding. The sound of fighting had stopped too, he must have gotten back to the jet already.

“Y/N? Where are you, why aren’t you at the jet?”

“There’s a door that wasn’t on the blueprints. I’m going to see what’s behind it.”

“No, I told you, get back to the jet. The mission’s over.”

“It wasn’t on the blueprints, Steve, they must be hiding something. I have to find out what.”

“No.” He was angry now, that’s for sure. “It’s too risky. Get back to the jet.” Every word was measured, laced with authority and barely-contained rage.

You considered your options. Realistically, you knew he was right. There was no way to know what could be behind that door. But, you were already in trouble. Might as well get something to show for it.

“No, Steve, I’m going in.” You heard his exasperated sigh and muttered curse and knew you were in for it once you got back to the compound. You heard footsteps behind you, and you drew your gun, turning towards the sound, only to be faced with a smirking Natasha, though she looked a little disgruntled too. She clearly wanted you to know she was there, you knew full well that she could be completely silent when she wanted to. You relaxed a little, lowering the gun, though not returning it to its holster. “I’m still going in, Nat.”

She gave a side-nod of understanding. “Yeah, I figured. Just hurry up or else Steve’ll kick my ass as well as yours.”

You gave a humourless laugh and approached the door once again, Nat close beside you. It surprised as well as concerned you that the door wasn’t locked. You and Nat shared a look before pushing the door open wider, guns raised.

You’d barely taken three steps into the dark room when suddenly you were both blown backwards a good six feet, heat engulfing you.

You hit the ground hard, landing awkwardly on your wrist in an attempt to break your fall. But your momentum forced your head back, smacking onto the concrete floor, and everything went black.

 ---

The first thing you noticed when you came to was the pain radiating through the back of your skull. A constant, throbbing kind of pain where you just know there’ll be a bump there.

Faint voices, almost hushed, distant. You try to focus on them, who it is, what they’re saying, but your mind is fuzzy with both the undoubted concussion you had, as well as whatever cocktail of pain medication they had pumped through you.

Peeking through your closed eyelids, you battled against the harsh light of what you presumed was the med bay. A quick glance around the room confirmed your assumption, your eyes landing on Natasha, sat in one of those horrible plasticky chairs. She smirked at you when your eyes met, one eyebrow raised.

“Morning, sleepy head.” You groaned in response, her soft voice still somehow too harsh for your head. “How are you feeling?”

“Can’t say it’s the best I’ve ever felt.” A small chuckle slipped from Nat at that. “How long have I been out?”

“Only a couple hours since we got back, so six hours or so including the ride on the jet.”

You nodded a little, at least you hadn’t been out for days. You closed you eyes against the harsh light for a second, then suddenly remembered exactly what had happened, quickly turning to face Natasha, the movement painful but thankfully not unbearably so.

“Are you hurt?” your eyes scanned over her, searching for any sign of injury. There was a white bandage wrapped around her ankle, but other than that she appeared to be okay.

Natasha laughed, genuine and full, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, all I had was a sprained ankle and a couple bruises on my shoulders. Trust me, I’ve been through much worse.”

Despite her reassurances, you felt the beginnings of tears well up in your eyes. “God, Nat, I’m so sorry, if I had just done as Steve told me then I wouldn’t have got you hurt.”

She was shaking her head, eyes soft, whispering, “seriously, Y/N, don’t worry about it. Between you and me, I would have done exactly the same thing in your position.” You eventually relented, relaxing back on the bed a little, eyes growing heavy with fatigue and pain meds. “Though, full disclosure, Steve is none too happy about this whole thing.”

You groaned, sinking further down, instantly dreading the moment you would inevitably be confronted by him. It was as you were running through excuses and reasons for your actions when you slipped into a restless sleep.

 ---

During the two days you were in the med bay – for observation and precaution purposes, according to Bruce – most of the team came to visit at least once, usually to marvel at the sizeable bump on your head, or to catch you up with what was going on around the compound.

Nat was an almost constant, not being able to go on missions anyway, because of her ankle, and you passed the time telling stories about your fellow avengers – funny things they did or had done to them – and playing some games.

Ever loyal, Sam wasn’t totally comfortable with your decision to go against Steve’s orders, but was thoroughly impressed by your injuries.

Even Tony came in, briefly, probably out of obligation, before claiming to be uncomfortable in places like this and swiftly hurried off, no doubt back to the lab to bury himself back into whatever crazy project he was working on.

Most of the rest of the team came in at some point during those two days, though some were definitely courtesy more than anything.

The only one who didn’t come to see you was Steve.

Not that you were surprised by the fact that he didn’t want to see you, but this was a perfect opportunity for him to corner you and confront you about the mission. You were incapacitated, borderline bedbound, in a room with only one door which his wide shoulders would take up the majority of by just standing there.

You tried to ignore the pang of sadness you felt at the fact that he hadn’t stopped by. Regardless of whether or not you disobeyed him, you were still his teammate, surely he cares at least a little for your wellbeing?

You stop that train of thought before it could go any further, before it could even make the suggestion that Steve really didn’t care about you at all, because somehow that would be worse than the knowledge that he hated you.

 ---

As it turns out, you didn’t see Steve for another three days after you left the med bay. You’d been informed by Natasha that he and Sam were away on a smaller mission that only required the two of them, and you were silently grateful that you were given a few days to settle back into routine before your inevitable run-in with Steve.

Although you were allowed to be up and about, and the bump on your head had significantly decreased in size, you were under strict instructions from Bruce to not engage in any strenuous activity. You chuckled quietly at Bruce’s flustered reaction to you making a joke about whether sex counted as ‘strenuous.’

In any case, sine you were barred from even entering the training room, you had taken on some more admin-orientated jobs from Maria and Fury until Bruce gave you the all clear on your injuries. You prayed that day would come soon, the lack of any form of physical activity was making you tense, restless. You were bored, for possibly the first time since arriving on the compound.

 ---

You were in one of the conference rooms, tidying up papers left on the table from a meeting, murmuring the words to a song you’d heard on the radio earlier that day under your breath, when the door opened and shut.

Your back was to the door, so you didn’t see who entered, but you presumed that it was someone coming in for a meeting in the next slot.

“Just a second, sorry, I’ll be out of your way in a moment.” Your voice was bright, cheery, despite the dullness of your days now. When you got no reply from the person behind you, you quickly gathered the remaining pages into your hands and turned around, only to be met by the one face you had hoped not to see.

Steve.

His jaw was hard-set, though you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him with a relaxed face, and his arms were crossed over his chest, grey tshirt straining against his bulging muscles, the bottom half of his tac suit still on his legs. He must have just gotten back.

His presence was startling and imposing and you nearly dropped the papers you were holding.

“S-Steve?” You hated that you stuttered, but he’d caught you so off guard that you apparently couldn’t even use your mouth properly.

“We need to talk.” His voice was deep, and as attractive as it always was, his gaze heavy on your face, never faltering. There was a lingering anger there, though, that rooted your feet to the ground, despite the week that had passed. Plenty of time, you thought, to get his anger in check before he came to find you. That’s what you’d hoped, anyway. But no such luck.

You swallowed thickly, voice still coming out far meeker than you had heard yourself speak in a long time. “About what?”

Steve let out a derisive scoff, rolling his eyes and moving his gaze away from you briefly. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N.”

This made an angry fire burn inexplicably in your stomach, your fight-or-flight kicking in, facial expression suddenly switching from timid to furious in seemingly no time at all.

“I fail to see what I did wrong, captain, so please do enlighten me.”

Steve surged forward, then, one hand like a vice on our shoulder pushing you into a nearby wall, and you let out a soft grunt, shoulder blade throbbing from the force of it. He came up close to you, hand never leaving your shoulder, preventing you from escaping. If you weren’t so angry, you might have taken the time to appreciate how good he smelled, how the light smattering of facial hair across his jaw from a few days gone without shaving somehow made him look even more handsome, or just how pretty his eyes were. But, as it was, you were too angry for that. At the very least, too angry to spend more than a few nanoseconds appreciating it.

You met his still-had gaze and scoffed incredulously, “what the fuck, Steve?”

His nostrils flared, pressing you into the wall further, and you swallowed a gasp at the dull pain still radiating through your shoulder. “Don’t you talk to me like that.” His voice was low and quiet and somehow that intimidated you far more than if he had shouted. “I am your captain. You listen to my orders, and you follow them, without question. What was so hard about that to understand? What gave you the right to disobey me on a mission?”

The silence that followed was tense, uncomfortable. You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. You knew you were wrong to go against him. You knew, and yet you did it anyway, and you still weren’t sure why. But regardless of that, Steve’s anger towards you seemed wholly unnecessary.

This was not the Steve Rogers you had read about, heard stories about. The Steve Rogers who runs into burning buildings and jumps out of planes without a second thought. No, this Steve Rogers was harsh, unforgiving.

And, despite the heroics, you did not like him at all.

“You’ve been cold and dismissive towards me ever since I arrived here.” You hoped he wouldn’t acknowledge your sudden change of subject. “Why? What did I ever do to deserve that treatment?” It took a great deal of focus to make your voice not sound pitiful.

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough about you to know that you are not the kind of person I want to be around.”

Your voice rose, each word enunciated, “you don’t know me.”

“I hate you.” His sudden burst of anger, words like venom, so uncharacteristic, startled you, freezing you in position. “I hated you before I even met you. You’re selfish and arrogant and you don’t deserve to be on this team.”

You involuntarily took in a breath, face going slack and shoulders straightening a little, the anger in your eyes swiftly replaced by a look of hurt so deep that Steve had to take a step back, chest heaving slightly from his anger. His own eyes reflected immediate guilt, clearly not having meant to say that to you. But there it was. And you couldn’t ignore the way your heart shattered before you.

The hurt suddenly reverted back to anger when you saw the soft, remorseful look on Steve’s face. How dare he be upset about this. He wasn’t the one whose heart had just been ripped out and trampled on by the one person he admired most in the world. He had no right to be sad when he was the one who had been practically ignoring your presence for months, who had once inspired you so wholly before tearing that inspiration all to shreds.

Your face hardened, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to surge forward at the new wave of anger that filled your entire body. You took a deep breath before squaring up to him, his wide frame somehow appearing to shrink in on itself a little under your gaze.

He took a breath and sighed, glancing away for a second before meeting your gaze again. “You won’t be going on any missions for a while.” His voice was quieter now, resigned, the anger from earlier gone, but clearly not forgotten. “Not until I know I can trust you.”

Like the flick of a switch, rage roared through you again. “You’re benching me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“You’ve left me with no choice,” tone firm, resolute. Laced with misplaced authority.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, stepping away from the wall, coming in close to Steve, features hard, jaw tensed. “Fine. Bench me, whatever. But maybe you should take a good look at yourself, Rogers. Do you expect me to believe you got this far in life by always following orders and thinking every decision through before you acted?” His lips parted, a silent intake of breath. You knew you’d hit on something he hadn’t thought of.

Before he could reply, you slipped past him and out the door, barely refraining from sprinting all the way back to your room, finally allowing the tears to fall freely.

 ---

‘Benching’ didn’t last long.

Not even a week in, they discovered an active HYDRA base. A previous intel mission told them it was far bigger, far more dangerous than any the team had encountered before. They would need everyone. And, much to Steve’s annoyance, that included you.

He felt bad for what he said. Of course he did, he never meant to hurt you like that. He’d had several arguments with himself about it in the last few days, and as much as his conscience told him he needed to apologise, the rational, leadership-orientated part of him always brought him back round to the same point; he couldn’t trust you.

And yet, there you were, sat across from him and to the right, on the Quinjet headed for god knows where, deep in conversation with Sam, refusing to even glance in Steve’s direction. For some reason, he hated that you wouldn’t even look at him. He resolved to talk to you properly once the mission was over. He’d apologise, get you back on the team. He’d at least try to make amends. Maybe you would forgive him one day.

 ---

Fighting. You’re fighting and fighting and fighting and it seems never-ending, but you know it must end somewhere. An end to the fighting is pretty much the only thing getting you through at this point.

You’re moving fast, agile, and you’re silently thankful for all the extra training you did with Natasha.

You hold your own, dodging and throwing punches and kicks and the way you move with your knives is like something out of a dance.

Before long, the last agent is taken down, and once the facility has been sweeped, the team regroups, a little battered and bruised and worse for wear, but alive.

Steve’s about to run through the next plan of action when, out of the corner of your eye, you spot movement.

A HYDRA agent rounds the corner, limping, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead, his gun pointed directly at Steve. Time seems to both slow down and speed up as you surge forward, not even giving your brain a chance to think, Steve’s name falling from your lips in a panicked shout.

You shove him out of the way, though his solid stature means you only move him a couple of feet, before pain erupts in your side, the worst you’ve ever felt.

The sound of blood rushing through your ears makes your teammates’ shouts of your name muffled and distant, and you let out a choked gasp as you collapse onto the cold tiled floor, blood running thick and warm over your fingers where they press against your side.

Your vision blurs, though you can just make out Steve’s face leaning above you, eyebrow creased, eyes panicked and wilder than you had ever seen them. You wonder, briefly, why he’s suddenly so worried about you, but that thought is quickly replaced by regret. There were so many things you wish you could have done differently.

Muffled shouts fill your ears, and you’re not entirely sure whether they’re talking to you or not, but you can still see Steve’s face and an inexplicable longing fills your chest. Longing for what, you don’t know, but you find you don’t have the energy to find the answer.

There are hands all over you, though it’s unclear who they belong to. Someone removes your hand from your side, replaced by another, the added pressure making you gasp out in pain. You feel cool air against your abdomen, though it doesn’t seem to last for long. Someone is stroking your hair, their touch gentle, loving, and despite the commotion happening around you, it calms your racing heart.

Your eyes becoming heavier, you manage a hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry, Steve.”

You’re aware of strong arms wrapping around you, lifting with ease. Whispers of you’re gonna be okay and stay with me. The press of something soft and warm on the side of your head.

And then darkness.

[notquiteaghost]

there’s nothing i wouldn’t do

mcu/hawkeye comics, post-avengers, barney&clint, 2k

inspired by this post

AO3 link in notes

He wasn’t expecting it to be a thing, is the problem.

Like, how often do aliens fucking invade New York? Once in a lifetime deal, it’s gotta be. Clint was busy — with having a hole in his chest, but SHIELD wouldn’t like him picking fights with run-of-the-mill mobsters, so it was, once again, up to Barney to step up and keep his baby brother safe. Hell, even if Clint could’ve got out his building without passing out, Barney still probably would’ve gone instead. Clint’s just a guy.

He had a plan, and it should’ve been simple. Bandana tied round his face, hair hidden under a beanie, and only Natasha’s gonna notice which Barton is actually slinging the arrows around, and Natasha’s well-aware of Clint’s stab wound. Murder all the aliens, sit through Coulson’s lecture on Clint’s behalf, hopefully their building’s still standing by the end of it. Hold it over Clint’s head until they die. Never, ever do it again.

Except.

He goes after the wannabe god, and the wannabe god can, obviously, control fucking minds, so then he shoots a shit ton of almost-entirely-innocent SHIELD employees. And then Natasha knocks him out of it and they all murder a shit ton of aliens, so hopefully SHIELD will cancel the shoot on sight order, but after all the aliens are dead, Tony goddamn Stark drags them all to get shawarma, and it’s not like Barney can say no. He can’t make Captain America think Clint’s an asshole.

And then, three days later, when Barney’s trying to explain to Coulson that, no, Clint is absolutely not going to fucking Russia, Clint can’t lift his arms, and also they’re still trying to get back the power in their building and also also as far as SHIELD is concerned it was Clint who got used as a puppet by a hostile alien and then bounced without any kind of medical eval so what is this actually about, because it sure as shit ain’t a human trafficking ring — three days later, his phone rings. Caller ID says Your New Sugar Daddy, so it’s Stark, so Barney hangs up on Coulson and answers it.

“Y’know, I could use some new shoes,” he says, throwing Clint’s phone on the couch when it immediately starts buzzing again. “What’re your terms? How much skin am I showing to get some new shoes?”

Stark splutters, but recovers within seconds and says, “Shoes are a titty pic at least,” and Barney is suddenly, sinkingly certain that him and Stark could be friends. It makes him shudder. 

He bites back the joke he wants to make about how many titty pics he gets to send before Stark stops buying him shoes, and says, “Titty pics ain’t why you’re calling, though.”

“Heard you’ve been having some apartment trouble,” Stark agrees, casually, like he has any way of knowing that that isn’t really fucking creepy. “Y’know, I have this great big tower. It’s got, amongst a lot of other things, an entirely self-sustaining power system.”

“…You want me to move in with you?”

“I’m just letting you know it’s an option, that’s all.”

Barney narrows his eyes. “Anyone else say yes?”

Stark huffs. “You’re first on my list, actually. Figured I’d start with the easiest, work my way up.”

Again, Barney bites his tongue. He cannot flirt with Tony Stark when Tony Stark thinks he’s his brother, no matter how funny it is. He’s sworn off starting shit with Clint since they got banned from Lithuania. “And what if I like my apartment?”

The briefest of pauses, before Stark says, “Then you keep living in your apartment. Again, just letting you know your options.”

“Pay to have the power lines for my block fixed,” Barney says, just as Clint stumbles out his room, “and maybe I’ll swing by for lunch. That’s what this is really about, yeah? Team building shit?”

“Wait, your block doesn’t have power?”

Clint is staring at him, eyes narrowing. He’s been awake maybe ten minutes, and it’s a coin toss if he’s remembered to put his aids in yet. Barney makes a face at him. “Half the damn city doesn’t have power, don’t you watch the news? Hell, ain’t people waving big signs outside your front door?”

“I’ve been—” Stark starts, then stops himself, then presumably remembers he’s trying to tempt Barney into some kinda morning-cartoons perma-sleepover and that’s gonna require some emotional vulnerability, and says, “Been in the workshop, mostly. The suit didn’t cope so well in the vacuum of space. But, yeah, power, I can do power. Text me about lunch.”

“Only if Captain America’s there, too,” Barney says, then hangs up. Clint’s eyes are even narrower. He’s gonna give himself a headache. “What?”

“Were you talking to Tony Stark?”

“Yeah, he wants me to move in with him.”

“He wants me to move in with him,” Clint counters.

“Hey, I’m the one who actually fought the aliens, kid—”

“I was all for fighting the aliens! You ziptied me to the bed!”

“And that you couldn’t get out of those makes it clear you were in no shape for fighting the aliens.” Barney walks into the kitchen, digs through their pile of homecooked food — you showing up on TV saving the world makes everyone want to cook you things, it turns out — for Clint’s pain meds. Clint leans against the wall and looks pitiful.

“Maybe I wanna live with Tony Stark,” he says. Barney laughs, hands Clint the tablets and the water so his hands are free to talk.

“Thought you were gonna die in this shithole. Thought, next time anyone shoots you, you were gonna demand they carry you back here so you can bleed out on the floor since getting the blood out’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“Bet Stark’s eyesore of a tower’s got power, though.”

“And soon,” Barney assures him, “so will we.”

Clint shuffles back to the couch and flops over it, and almost hides his wince at the feelings his stab wound has about that. “Bet Stark’s tower’s got heated floors. Stupid fast internet. Bet he’s got chefs and cleaners and everything.”

Barney always forgets how being hurt makes Clint into a five year-old again. “If some stranger tried to clean your room, you would stab them.” Clint sticks his tongue out.

Then he jumps, because Barney’s phone is buzzing again. Got his aids in, then.

It’s a text, this time, from an unknown number.

???: Stark tells me you’ll only come out to play if I come out too - Steve

“Holy shit,” Barney says, “Captain America is texting me.”

“What the fuck,” Clint pushes himself up, “Give me the phone. Give me the phone! He’s texting me!”

“Again,” Barney says, typing complete nonsense so Clint hears the tapping noise, “it was me who he bonded with when we murdered a load of aliens together, he has no idea who you are.”

“Barney. He’s Captain America.”

Goddammit, that fucking whine. He throws Clint his phone.

Then stands behind him to watch him type.

You: he ain’t exactly my usual kinda buddy

You: appreciate the thing with the missile obviously but also i don’t think he pays taxes?

Clint backspaces four times to change his terrible text speak for actual words. It’s hilarious. 

steve!!!!: He fucking better.

You: if you yell at him about this please film it

You: i promise not to put it online i just want it playing on a loop in my apartment

steve!!!!: He says ‘Excuse me of course I pay taxes, I have to get rid of all this money somehow’

steve!!!!: I’m double-checking with Miss Potts.

You: did shield just give you the phone numbers of the entire population of new york

steve!!!!: No, I think it’s only 30%.

You: oh shit do you have fury’s number

steve!!!!: Strangely, no.

You: dammit

You: one day

“You are definitely the reason Fury didn’t give Captain America his personal cell number,” Barney says. Clint shoves at him. 

steve!!!!: Not planning on moving into Stark’s place, then?

You: think living somewhere that expensive would give me a rash

You: don’t tell shield this but i stole my apartment from the mob

“Oh my God Clint they are definitely reading his texts,” Barney groans.

You: hey uh unrelated but anyone give you an update on opsec

Clint glares at him, pointedly, then makes a truly inhuman noise when he reads Steve’s next reply.

steve!!!!: Is that an offer?

“Oh my fucking God I’m gonna become best friends with Captain America,” Clint says, low and reverent.

Barney rolls his eyes. “He still thinks he’s talking to me.”

“So? You wore a mask and shit, he won’t notice.”

“You are so fucking injured. He will definitely notice.”

“Okay, then you wear a wire, and I tell you what to say—”

Barney snatches the phone back, types out ‘hell yeah let’s get a drink, when you free?’, then locks it and tucks it away. Clint is fully pouting.

“I’m going out,” Barney reminds him. “Coulson wants you in Russia, I’m gonna find out the fuck why. Amuse yourself for a while, you can keep flirting with Captain America when I get back.”

“If you really loved me you’d wear a wire,” Clint huffs. Barney ruffles his hair and goes to find his jacket.

–––––––––––––––

“Explain to me again,” Coulson says, exasperated in a way Barney’s more used to seeing directed at Clint, “why you thought pretending to be Clint was in any way a good plan.”

Usually, they have chats like these in some pretentious hipster place, where all the drinks have dumb names and cost twenty bucks a pop, but for obvious reasons that’s not happening. So, they’re in a park, miraculously untouched. There’s a flock of pigeons going at what looks like some bodega’s entire stock of bread.

“Clint was stabbed doing something SHIELD don’t need to know about; SHIELD didn’t tap me for the Avengers, ‘cause they still think I’d sell them all out for the right price; aliens were invading New York; I live in New York and I didn’t have any other plans.”

Coulson pinches at the bridge of his nose. He for sure agrees Barney made the right call, given the givens, and he will for sure die before he ever admits it. Barney is the reason the wannabe god didn’t stab him through the chest, though, so Barney is gonna try and make him admit it.

“You don’t have clearance to know about the Avengers.”

“Half the world knows about the Avengers, we were on every news channel there is.”

“Prior to the Chitauri invasion,” Coulson says, exasperation ticking up a notch, “you did not have clearance to know about the Avengers Initiative. SHIELD already don’t trust you, and now you’ve been compromised by a hostile alien with unknown motivations and allegiances—”

“Which is why SHIELD’s gotta keep thinking it was Clint,” Barney agrees, “‘cause they'll just straight up shoot me.”

Coulson sighs, heavily. But he doesn’t disagree.

“Going forward, then,” he says. “Are you going to continue to be Hawkeye?”

“I kinda really thought the alien invasion was a one-time thing. You telling me we’re expecting more aliens?”

“Not with any certainty,” which is Coulson for ‘yeah, probably’. “But I, for one, would rather we were prepared. And with the way some things are going, the Avengers may be needed for purely Earth-based disputes.”

“You get superheroes, you’re asking for supervillains?”

“Unfortunately.”

Barney lets out a long breath. It should be hilarious, that some idiot might actually pull on a cape and a dumb mask and try to take over the world, but he just got done stopping the last idiot, and they’re still pulling out the bodies. Morning cartoons never have collateral damage.

“I gotta talk to Clint,” he says. “He’d be better at it, but he’s been muttering about bouncing from SHIELD lately. Taking it real personal that you don’t trust me, who’d’ve thunk it.”

“I trust you,” Coulson says, lightly. Barney rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit. Look, I’ll go to Russia, but someone’s gotta babysit Clint while I’m gone. I’m sick of the fucker pulling his stitches.”

“I don’t know who’s going to be there to meet you—”

“This ain’t the first mission I’ve run in Clint’s place.”

Coulson blinks. Huh, Barney had honestly thought he knew about that. “Well,” he says, “then you leave bright and early tomorrow morning. Try not to get in too much trouble, would you?”

Barney grins, trademark Barton asshole. “No promises.”