#otp: thank you hank thank you darlene

[youngpettyqueen]

the only thing stopping Margaret from full naming Hawkeye when she gets mad is the fact that by the time she gets through his entire name he'll already be halfway across camp

[youngpettyqueen]

like its funny enough that Margaret runs to Hawkeye first because shes got to deal with a dead body in her bed but its also that Hawkeye wakes up, immediately tries to read the book he fell asleep reading, and when he actually notices Margaret there he tries to get his arms around her and pull her into his cot with him

[youngpettyqueen]

Margaret being unsure and nervous about performing surgery and Hawkeye gently reassuring her that its perfect and getting her in on the jokes. the affection is RIGHT THERE from early on

[youngpettyqueen]

"I'm worried about you, doctor!"

"...You really are, aren't you?"

what if I exploded.

[youngpettyqueen]

I cant believe No Sweat has an entire plot about Margaret getting heat rash on her ass and Hawkeye doesnt offer to play doctor for her about it even once

[youngpettyqueen]

I'm late but a kiss …where it hurts for houlihawk??

"Alright, Hawkeye," Margaret says as she comes around to take a seat beside him on the bed, making sure to move carefully as to not jostle him, "It's time for someone to patch you up," She holds up her medical kit, gives it a shake, "And by someone I mean me, since you've decided to be stubborn about it." She adds.

Hawkeye does not look pleased at this idea. "C'mon, Margaret, have mercy," He pleads, "I don't need a nurse, I just need to sleep. Can't you poke and prod at me tomorrow?" He asks.

Margaret raises a brow at him. "I'd like to see your reaction to a patient asking that," She replies, fishing what she needs out of her bag, "You were involved in a Jeep crash, not some minor scrape. You're lucky you didn't break anything, you know," She chastises. As she does, she soaks a cotton swab in disinfectant, "Now, be a good boy and let me see that cut."

She reaches over and delicately moves his fringe aside, revealing the aforementioned cut just above his eyebrow. She dabs at it with the disinfectant, and Hawkeye replies by flinching away with a sharp hiss. She follows, undeterred, and he lets slip a string of curses.

"Shit, Margaret!" He hisses, turning his head away from her, "That hurts!"

Margaret isn't unsympathetic, here. He got in a damn crash after all, he's lucky all he has to show for it is a myriad of bruises and scrapes. Still, all of those need to be dealt with, even if it hurts.

"Why don't I take care of this one first, then?" She moves to a scrape on his cheek, only for him to flinch away again. She has to remember to take a deep breath before she reflexively snaps at him, "Hawkeye, I can't treat you if you don't hold still." She reminds him.

"Then don't treat me," He replies, "Leave me here to die, I don't mind."

Margaret gives him a flat look. "Not a chance," She tells him. He opens his mouth, probably quip something back at her, and she uses the opportunity of distraction to go for his cheek again. He yelps like a kicked puppy, doing his best to get away from her, and she leans back again, "Damnit, Hawkeye, where doesn't it hurt? Where can I start?" She demands, rapidly losing patience.

Hawkeye holds his right hand up- obviously a bit too fast, because the movement of his arm makes him wince. Still, he stubbornly points at his wrist, telling her, "That doesn't hurt."

Margaret takes another deep breath. Then another, for good measure. He can be a real pain in the ass. So much of one, in fact, she could almost forget he's hurt. Almost. Another steadying breath feels like it settles her head back on her shoulders, reminds her to be sympathetic. Reminds her that she does, in fact, care about him. That she doesn't have this soft spot for anybody else but him.

She sets the disinfectant aside, then takes his hand. Gently, maybe more gently than she's ever handled anyone, she leans in and presses a kiss to his wrist. When she looks back at him, she finds him looking at her with owl-like round eyes.

"How's that?" She asks.

"Fine," He replies quickly, "Fine, uh... fine. Great. This, uh," He reaches up, gives his nose a tap, "This isn't too bad."

Margaret shuffles a bit closer. Leans in, drops a delicate kiss on his nose. That starstruck look on his face makes her smile, makes her soften, melt like chocolate left out in the sun.

"Ya know... here, too, it's not-" Hawkeye points out his scraped cheek, just under the wound, "It's not too bad, actually," She follows his lead, kisses there, "And- and here." His temple, above the cut. She raises herself up to kiss there, too.

She's fully in his space, now, leaning over him. She smiles at him, warm and affectionate, forgetting all annoyances. "Anywhere else?" She asks, though it could also be a suggestion.

Sure enough, he follows her meaning. Points at his lips. "Right here." He tells her, still looking a bit too starstruck to be properly flirting. She loves that she can do that- strike him near speechless, make him look at her like she put the moon in the sky.

She loves even more that she can kiss him. Softly, sweetly, a smile on her lips. She'll be sure to kiss him where it hurts, too. If that doesn't convince him to let her patch him up, she doesn't know what will.

[youngpettyqueen]

psppss 🎲 houlihawk <3

Trotting in like a kitty cat summoned

You have rolled… 27! A kiss in greeting, ooooo…

The second she realizes the chopper is theirs, Margaret throws herself into the first Jeep heading up to the helipad.

“Step on it, Corporal!” She barks at Radar, who very nearly jumps right out of the Jeep in shock. He regains himself quickly enough, stammering out his affirmation before stepping on the gas.

They reach the top of the hill in no time, pulling to a stop as the chopper’s blades are slowing down. Margaret doesn’t wait for Radar to stop- she jumps out and hits the ground running, heading straight for the chopper to meet Hawkeye as he climbs out.

“He’s gonna need our best red!” He’s instructing already, hurrying around to grab one end of the stretcher, “And lots of it! There’s a whole minefield in his ribs!”

Margaret grabs the other end of the stretcher, lifts. She works in easy tandem with Hawkeye, running the patient over to the waiting Jeep, where Radar is waiting to secure him.

“You’ll be alright, soldier,” She tells the patient, awash with red, who seems to only be able to stir weakly as he fights unconsciousness, “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

They lift him up into place, and Radar climbs up to help. While he does, Margaret glances at Hawkeye, takes the brief window she has to take him in. He makes for quite a sight, covered head to toe in dirt, looking like he just went for a roll in the mud. His helmet is on lopsided, threatening to fall off, exposing a flash of silver hair. There’s a cut on his cheek, small and weeping bright red. A tear in the sleeve of his jacket that exposes skin that she can’t help but fixate on for a second.

She knows a near-miss when she sees one.

“Alright, let’s go!” Hawkeye orders. He jumps into the back of the Jeep, and Margaret follows suite, helping him keep the patient stable while Radar climbs back into the driver’s seat.

Radar pulls them out and starts the drive back down. Margaret steadies herself, then calls over the roar of the engine, “Hawkeye!”

He turns to her, keeping one arm braced around the patient. “Yeah?”

She grabs him by the jacket collar and pulls him in to crash a kiss against his lips. Her forehead smacks hard into his helmet, he tastes like sweat and mud, the bumpy road makes them lurch and knock teeth, but she ignores all of that. She kisses him hard, kisses him like her life depends on it. And then she lets him go.

“Welcome back!” She tells him, a bit giddy with relief.

Hawkeye, for his part, looks like she’s just beat him in the head with a brick. “Uh-huh,” He manages to get out. And then, of course, comes the grin- dopey as a lovesick teenager, “Uh-huh.”

Margaret rolls her eyes, though she can’t help but let herself smirk, a touch smug. Unbelievable, she thinks, though it’s thought with a sickening level of affection.

[youngpettyqueen]

I think anytime Margaret feels down about her looks or her body she just goes straight to Hawkeye like "tell me im pretty" because he'll spend like the next hour hyping her up and telling her she's beautiful, she's a goddess, what light through yonder window breaks it is the east and she is the sun until she laughs herself out of her bad mood

[youngpettyqueen]

"I’m sorry—" "No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault" for houlihawk 👀

this. got away from me a bit in terms of length but the dialogue started writing itself so who can blame me

The rain has softened from a vicious downpour to a peaceful pattering, the sound filling the empty OR. Hawkeye tries to focus on that and not on what's to come, looking away as Margaret takes a swab soaked with alcohol to the cut in his palm, sliced just underneath his fingers.

The calming pitter-patter of the rain is, unfortunately, not enough of a distraction. He still hisses sharply the second the alcohol touches the wound, clenching and unclenching his free fist a few times to fight the urge to jerk his injured hand out of Margaret's grasp.

"Sorry," Margaret winces, even as she continues to dab at the bloody cut and he continues to whine, "Sorry, I'm sorry-"

"No-" Hawkeye cuts in before she can get another apology in, "No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault,” She doesn’t look up at him, her eyes fixed stubbornly on the task at hand, her mouth set in a deep scowl. That makes a little red flag go a-waving in his head, so he tries, “You do know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Of course it was my fault,” Margaret’s tone bites as it comes out, though he can tell the harshness isn’t directed at him, “I’m the one who stabbed you.”

“Stabbed?” Hawkeye echoes incredulously, “Woah, woah, pump the brakes, Margaret. I know I’m being a big baby about it, but let’s not get dramatic. This is a nick!” He exclaims, gesturing at the cut with his free hand for emphasis, “It’s really not that bad! I could still operate with it, remember?” It hurt like a bitch to do so, of course, but he keeps that tidbit to himself, “It’ll be a funny story in a few days, I promise.” 

Margaret shakes her head, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t try to make me feel better, not when I made a stupid mistake like this,” She says, scrubbing a bit harder at the blood that had managed to dry in the lines of his palm, “I could’ve seriously hurt you, and why?” She asks, and then, not waiting for an answer, supplies, “Because I couldn’t keep myself under control.”

“C’mon, Margaret, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Hawkeye pleads, “It was the perfect storm. Literally. The perfect storm to take out our generator, make it so dark you couldn't see properly, and then scare you half to death with thunder so loud you'd think we were being bombed. Half the OR jumped out of their skin, it could’ve happened to anybody!” He insists, “You just happened to be giving me a scalpel and my hand just happened to be within slicing range,” She glares at him and he winces, “Ok, sorry, not my best choice of words. But you get my point- it was an accident.” He presses.

Margaret inspects her work for a moment, examining the cleaned wound. “It won’t need stitches,” She tells him, completely avoiding everything he just said, “But I still need to dress it. Hold still.” She advises, looking away to rummage through his medical bag, which sits between them on the operating table.

“Margaret,” He says. When she doesn’t reply, he tries again, “Margaret.” 

“What?” Margaret shoots another glare at him as she opens a dressing pad, “There’s no excuse for it! What kind of nurse hurts her doctor because she can’t handle a little thunder? What kind of-“ She folds the dressing around the wound and presses it in place a bit harder than necessary, drawing another painful hiss out of him, “Sorry! Sorry,” She’s quick to relax her grip, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I’m such a mess…” 

“It’s alright,” Hawkeye reassures her. She doesn’t look convinced, quickly looking away from him and grabbing out a roll of bandages, “But to answer your question, I know exactly what kind of nurse does that,” Her eyes flick to him, unsure, and he tells her, “The human kind.”

Margaret rolls her eyes. "Don't even try that with me, Hawkeye," She turns her attention back to his hand as she starts to wrap. “I should be better than that.”

Hawkeye raises a brow at her. “Better than human?” He asks.

“Yes,” She snips, then quickly corrects, “No. I..." She sighs, her hands coming to a pause, "I don’t know.”

It’s Hawkeye’s turn to frown. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” She doesn’t answer. He leans forward into her space, tapping his knee against hers, “What’s going on? Talk to me.” He invites.

"Everything's fine." Margaret replies, automatic.

Hawkeye ducks down, trying to angle himself under her to force the eye contact. "Try again." He prompts.

Margaret closes her eyes, then sighs heavily. "Fine," She meets his eyes at last, “I wouldn’t let what happened today fly if it was one of my nurses who did it. So, I can’t let it fly for me,” She admits, “I’m supposed to be setting an example for them. What kind of example am I setting when I can’t control myself over some thunder? What kind of example will I be setting if this happens during shelling?” She resumes wrapping his injured hand, looping the bandage around his wrist a few times, “I should be able to just… power through. Get over it.” She insists.

Hawkeye can understand where she’s coming from. The weights on their shoulders are different, but similar enough in some ways that he can really feel for her here. He knows how it feels to need to set an example. He knows how it feels when he can’t meet the standard he’s set. He knows how it feels to need to get over something that can’t be gotten over. He knows fear.

But he also knows that the soft, relating approach he would usually employ won’t work with her. She doesn't respond to softness, not when she's feeling like this. The best way to get through to her is to be blunt, direct.

So he asks, “Would you tell me to just get over my claustrophobia?”

Margaret’s eyes snap up to his face again. Her brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

“My claustrophobia,” Hawkeye repeats, “You know, the thing that made it so I couldn’t stay in a cave for more than a few seconds. The totally irrational fear that if the place I’m in is small enough, it’ll just run out of air. Would you tell me to just get over that?” He asks.

“Of course not.” Margaret’s reply is immediate, she looks almost offended at the question.

“Alright,” Hawkeye leans in a bit more, “Then why do you think you ‘just need’ to get over your fear of loud noises?” 

She stares at him for a moment. “Because…” She starts, but trails off, “Because… well, because…” A couple more attempts bear nothing. She looks back at his hand, “That’s different.”

He’s not letting her off that easily. “How so?”

“It just is.” She replies stubbornly.

“Explain it to me.” He challenges.

Margaret opens her mouth. Closes it. Then she sighs. “Alright, I see your point,” She concedes, “I suppose I’m being a bit unfair on myself.”

“Only a bit,” Hawkeye agrees, unable to help a little smirk. That quickly softens as he continues, “The only example you’re setting for the nurses is that you’re as human as they are. Because like it or not, Margaret, you’re only human. They won’t think any less of you for that. I know I don’t,” He taps his knee against hers again, this time playfully, “In fact, I think it’s one of your best features.” He cracks, trying to inject some levity.

Margaret considers him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then that frown of hers finally softens, her shoulder visibly relaxing as some tension leaves her body. “Thank you, Hawkeye,” She murmurs. She looks down at his hand as she finishes wrapping, holding it gently in both of her own, “I… I am sorry, though. Really.” She adds.

Hawkeye raises a wry brow at her. “It’s gonna be no fun to use this to extort you if you keep acting like a kicked puppy about it,” He informs her. When that doesn’t get a smile on her face, he continues, “It’s fine, Margaret. Really. You did worse to me with the whip that one-“

Her eyes immediately widen like saucers. "Hawkeye!" She hisses, scandalized, quickly looking around the empty OR as if someone might pop up from the shadows to catch them.

Hawkeye laughs, unable to help himself at the sight of the red quickly colouring her cheeks. "Sorry, sorry," He says, even though he's not really sorry at all, “But really- I'm fine. Like I said, it’ll be a funny story a few days from now. And I promise to only use it to get attention from you once per day. Cross my heart,” He crosses his hand over his heart with a teasing grin, “Wouldn’t want to worry you, after all. Even if you fussing over me like this is kinda sweet.” He admits.

Margaret harrumphs, sitting back with a frown, but it quickly becomes obvious she's fighting a smile and losing. "I'm not sweet." She tells him.

"Mm," Hawkeye hums, "Course not, that's why you're still holding my hand," He holds it up to demonstrate, as both her hands follow where they're looped around his wrist, "Kiss it better?" He requests, just to be cheeky.

Margaret raises a brow at him. Then she rolls her eyes, shaking her head as that fond smile he's been trying to draw out finally graces her face. "I bet you think you're cute." She says.

"I'm adorable," He agrees, "C'mon, one little kiss. You know boo-boos can't get better without kisses." He waves his injured hand a little for emphasis.

"Is that your professional opinion, doctor?" She asks. At his eager nod, she giggles quietly, "Alright, alright," And then she brings his hand up to press a quick, delicate kiss to his palm, "There. All better." She says as she lowers his hand back down, covering it with both of her own. 

“Think I could convince you to give me one of those right here?” Hawkeye asks, pointing at his lips. 

Margaret smiles oh-so-sweetly at him. “Not unless you’ve got an injury that needs attention.” She replies. 

“Gimme two minutes to find Charles, I bet I can get him to punch me in the mouth.” He presses.

Margaret laughs, a proper laugh this time. Bright against the gloomy backdrop of the rain outside. "You're ridiculous!" She cackles.

Hawkeye just smiles. "Yeah." He agrees. He's already won his victory- her sunbeam smile, warm and glowing and all too easy to bask in.

[youngpettyqueen]

"he's very sick" is such a simple line from Margaret and yet it hits like a fucking truck

[youngpettyqueen]

Established Houlihawk with 10, 30, and 32, if I can mix them? (I have a weakness for Hawkeye comforting her after nightmares, I guess.)

—No GFA Anon

32: "a kiss to wake up"

The morning comes warm and quiet, sunlight slanting into her tent and playing across her eyelids, rousing her. Margaret doesn't move, not at first- she savours the opportunity to lie back and doze, her arms full of her snoozing beau.

Hawkeye is a warm, heavy weight against her. He's tucked up into her side, his head pillowed on her shoulder, his arms around her waist and holding her close. She can feel where their legs have tangled up together, tangled up in her blankets. They're wrapped up together like sloths, and it's... nice. Comfortable. She doesn't want to move.

So, she doesn't. She lets herself soak in the warmth, the quiet, the domestic bliss. She doesn't have anywhere to be until later, and neither does he. They can just lie here for a bit, warm and content.

Eventually, though, Hawkeye stirs. Margaret doesn't open her eyes, letting him shift off of her. It sounds like he might stretch a bit, a sleepy noise escaping him, before his weight settles against her again.

"You awake?" He asks, his voice groggy and quiet.

"No." She replies with a smile, still not opening her eyes.

"Really?" Hawkeye's chuckle is as warm as the sunlight on her face, she feels the rumble of it against her, "Well, then, I think I'll just do this..." She feels his lips on hers, soft, gentle. Her smiles grows against his, and when he pulls back she lets her eyes open, finding his smiling face hovering over her, "Ah, Sleeping Beauty rises." He hums.

Margaret giggles, reaching up to take his face in her hands. "You need to shave." She tells him adoringly, smoothing her thumbs over his prickly jaw. Truthfully, she likes him a bit scruffy. She likes him dishevelled. His hair's gotten a bit long, winging out in the back and flashing silver in the sunlight, and it's perfect for her. She slides her hands back and slots her fingers into that hair, idly playing with it.

"That so?" Hawkeye asks, raising a brow at her, "I didn't hear any complaints last night."

"It wasn't so prickly last night," Margaret reasons, "Now it's like kissing a porcupine."

"A porcupine?" He echoes, "Oh, I'll show you a porcupine-"

And then he's burying his face in her neck, and not in the fun way. Margaret shrieks as he rubs his stubble against her, tickling like mad, and starts smacking at his shoulders to try and get him off. It's no use, he only keeps going, catching her arms and holding her down as he ducks lower and targets her soft stomach. She writhes and twists around, howling laughter, trying to escape the onslaught, but he's got her pinned.

When he stops, he uses his hold on her to roll over onto his back and pull her on top of him. Margaret flops onto him, breathless but still laughing.

"How's that for a porcupine?" He asks, all grins.

Margaret replies by diving in and blowing a raspberry against his neck, making him howl.

[youngpettyqueen]

Houlihawk 29

29: “a kiss as a promise”

Putting this under a cut because um. It’s horny.

When Margaret’s shirt comes off, Hawkeye nearly stops breathing.

There she is, only half of her full glory out. He’s only dreamed of this moment, and those don’t compare to the real thing. Not even close. Margaret straddles his bare waist, her thighs locked around his hips, pinning him down. She grins down at him, smug as sin, and the list of sins he wants to commit is only growing.

“Like what you see?” She asks him teasingly.

“What kind of question is that?” He asks in return, “Jesus, Margaret, you’re glorious. I’m gonna faint.” He can’t stop staring. The soft pearly white of her stomach, up her chest- she still has her bra on, he really will faint when that comes off- and her shoulders down her biceps. She’s got the same tan line as the rest of them, the clear outline of an army shirt, but somehow on her it works. Can a tan line be sexy?

Margaret leans down, shifting her weight on him, drawing a helpless little noise out of him as her face lowers near his. “Say that again.” She says. Her voice is soft, but it’s not a request. It’s an order.

A shiver runs up his spine. “You’re glorious,” He says, obeying her orders easier than he’s every obeyed anyone else’s, his eyes caught in tracing the shimmering blonde hair that frames her face, “Radiant, divine, show-stopping. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His eyes are sipping lower again. How can they not? Her chest is very close to his face. He’s barely resisting the urge to take her bra off with his teeth.

Margaret reaches up, traces a delicate nail down his cheek, watches him squirm. “The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” She echoes, trailing her hand down his jaw, “I like the sound of that.” She hums, thoughtful.

Hawkeye’s on the verge of going crazy. “God’s honest truth,” He tells her, “Cross my heart and hope and all that. Margaret, please-“

“Shhh,” She presses a finger against his lips, which doesn’t help the heat building inside of him in the slightest. She plants her other hand on his chest, leans in close, till they’re almost nose to nose, “I’ll fuck you all night long if that’s what you want, but you need to be patient. You need to listen,” She trails her finger down, off his lips, “Is that clear?” She asks.

He nods eagerly. “All night long?” He asks.

“All night long,” She dips down, kisses him quick, teasing and promising more, “Think you can handle that?” She shifts, kisses his cheek.

“Yes, ma’am.” He rushes out.

Her next kiss lands on his jaw. “You know what I like to be called.” She murmurs, right by his ear.

Hawkeye’s breath hitches as she trails lower. Her lips find the underside of his jaw, he nearly squeaks. “Yes, sir.” He groans, his hips twitching up into hers as she nips at sensitive skin.

“Good boy.” She praises, which makes him shudder. Her lips find his neck next, and any kind of response he could’ve made only slips out in quiet moans as his brain sparks out.

[youngpettyqueen]

Hawkeye will be wounded and in pain and pissed off and terrified out of his mind but he'll still be worried about Margaret when she's clearly upset about something

[youngpettyqueen]

“Things you said when you were scared” with established Houlihawk?

(AKA: I’m still miserable and just wanna see him hold her.)

Margaret reaches up quietly, traces her finger across Hawkeye's forehead and shifts his fringe out of his eyes. He raises his brows at her, a silent question, one she doesn't answer.

It's dark in her tent, but they're close enough together that she can make out his face with ease. There are stress lines under his eyes, dark and deep in the shadows. She's overcome with the urge to brush her thumb over one, and she allows herself to succumb to it.

"You ever gonna tell me why you woke me up and brought me here?" He asks her quietly.

Margaret doesn't want to. It feels silly to admit to it now, after she's dragged him all the way here to her tent and settled down. There's still a bubbling of anxiety in her stomach, the irrational fear that if she closes her eyes his arms around her will disappear, but it's... manageable, now.

It probably was the entire time. But she caved into it, allowed it to overwhelm her, dragged Hawkeye into it. She probably owes him an explanation.

"I had a nightmare." She admits at last, her voice low, barely above a whisper.

Hawkeye's arms tighten around her. Just a bit. He would be sympathetic- who in camp knows the terror of nightmares better than him? Now she feels silly for not wanting to tell him. Of course he would understand. He probably understands better than anybody.

"What about?" He asks.

"You." She replies. Her hand drifts down, comes to cup his jaw. She finds he's gotten prickly, and distracts herself for a moment by rubbing her fingertips against the scratchy angle of his jaw.

"Me?" He echoes, raising a brow at her, "What, did I turn into the monster in your closet?"

"You died."

Silence comes down heavy like a hammer.

Margaret studies his face. The blue of his eyes. The silver in his hair. He looked just as real in her dream. He looked just as real when he bled out, soaking everything around him in shining, gory red.

"We were behind the line," She murmurs, "In that hut. That wounded man who came in, he found us. And he shot you," She trails her hand down lower, past his collar, presses two fingers against the centre of his chest. She can feel his heartbeat against her fingers, "Right here."

Hawkeye doesn't say anything. Just watches her, his eyes soft and sympathetic. "You bled out," She continues, "I couldn't do anything to stop it. You just..." She presses her palm against his chest, just to feel that steady beating, "Died."

Hawkeye considers her for a moment. "So when you came into the Swamp..."

"I was making sure it was just a dream," Margaret finishes for him, "It all looked and felt so... real. I had to be sure," She looks down at her hand, presses her fingers a bit harder into his chest, "I didn't mean to wake you, but when I did, I... I don't know. I thought this would make me feel better." She admits.

"Did it?" He asks.

Margaret nods. Then she feels his arms tighten around her again, drawing her in close, pressing her face to his chest. She adjusts, freeing her arms and wrapping them around his middle, fully burying her face in his chest.

She feels him drop a kiss onto the crown of her head. She tilts her head up, meets his eyes again. They're so... gentle. She's never known anyone to look at her like that before. Here she is, curled up in his arms and feeling like a child who ran scared from a bad dream, and he looks at her with nothing but softness and understanding.

She angles up to kiss him. Soft, scratchy, comforting. When she pulls back she manages to smile at him, small but adoring.

"Thank you." She murmurs.

"Anytime." Hawkeye hums, kissing her forehead before tucking her back against him.

For the rest of the night, she sleeps like a baby, secure in his arms.

[youngpettyqueen]

I know he's joking but Hawkeye really does pull a "run away with me" with Margaret huh

[youngpettyqueen]

think im about to be hit by a tidal wave of Houlihawk insanity because im listening to Bang Bang (K'naan ft Adam Levine) and thinking about them