#parent! clint barton

[hoppers-babygirl]

hoppers-babygirl's Masterlist

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Sleepless Nights

Beat his ass

Wounded

Life In the Upside Down

Like A Virgin

Saving Grace

Bells will ring

Prima Ballerina

Children of HYDRA

Keeping up with the family

Skin to skin

Barton Family Christmas

Punching Bag

Forget It.

You’ll Go Far, Kid

[luvrloki]

father daughter duos that will make me cry uncontrollably and be the only thing i think about for the rest of my life? sign me up!!!!

[transexualpirate]

steve, after clint did something stupid: i cant believe this

tony: you know what i see right now? an idiot

clint: that's funny, from where im standing i can see two

[imaginemalereader]

Anonymous request: Imagine being Clint Barton’s trans son

Sometimes it was hard to have an Avenger for a dad. For once, that wasn’t actually the hardest part. Him being away a lot had actually made part of this easier. It gave you more time to plan and prepare.

You thought about a letter, an email, a text. Ultimately you decided against them all though. You wanted to tell him face to face. You still wrote out a lot of what you wanted to say but you didn’t want to be reading off a script when you talked to him either.

When he got back from the latest mission, he and Natasha came back to the house. It had been an easy one they said, by Avengers standards of course. Once you were sure that everyone was safe and still as mentally stable as they had been when they left, you asked to pull your dad aside for a minute.

“What’s going on kid?” He asked. He could tell you were nervous, you were fidgety and looked from him and then away and back several times.

“Dad there’s something I need to tell you. About me.”

“Are you okay? Has someone-” His mind raced to a hundred bad things that could be going on before you cut him off.

“I’m fine. I’m just, I’m just not who you always thought I was.”

Was it bad that his first thought was that you were secretly an Asgardian sent to Earth as a baby or something like that?

You read the confusion on his face and quickly continued speaking.

“Dad I’m transgender. I’m a boy. And I want you to call me [Y/N] and your son and a brother and-”

This time you were the one cut off as your dad pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your arms tightly around him and even though you were happy and relieved, you were fighting back tears.

“Son, daughter, anything else. it doesn’t matter buddy. I love you.”

“Thanks dad.” He could here that you were choked up and held you a little tighter.

“Should we go tell your Aunt Nat while she’s here, or do you want to wait?”

“We can tell her now.” You said. 

Your dad let you drop the hug first and stepped back when you let him go.

“Are you okay?” He noticed your eyes were watery but he didn’t want to press you.

“Yeah, I’m good. Happy.”

 He put a hand on your shoulder and guided you back out to the porch where Nat had gone to wait for the two of you so she wouldn’t accidentally overhear anything.

“Aunt Nat?”

“You both good?” She asked, picking up that both of you had been near tears moments ago.

“Yeah we’re good. Aunt Nat, I’m trans. Could you call me [Y/N]?”

Natasha smiled, then put on a fake frown.

“Clint you’re subtracting from my niece tally.”

Your dad smiled and you laughed.

“Sorry to disappoint.” You smiled.

“I guess I can live with it.” She sighed, winking at you.

With those two out of the way, telling the rest of the Avengers was easy. Your dad brought you to the compound and helped you tell everyone and educate them. Thor needed the most help with terminology but everyone was very supportive. Tony immediately had Jarvis update your records and pronouns in the system.

Everyone was lovely about it, truly.

But your dad was on a whole other level, rivaled possibly only by Natasha. Around the house, you got a Nerf gun to correct people if they misgendered or dead-named you. The idea caught on and soon all the Avengers found themselves shot with little darts if they got it wrong. Everyone became remarkably fast learners.

Your dad doesn’t do much press, not like Steve or Tony, but it makes you smile every time he talks proudly about his son.

He made arrows with trans colors on them that spew colored smoke and disorient a person. You helped him design them after all the gender reveal party fails you saw online.

He’s not so good at dealing with all the bureaucratic nonsense that is the American healthcare system, but it’s impressive what doors being an Avenger opens. If/when you decided you want to pursue medical transition, he’s very supportive. Hormones, surgery, he’s got your back through it all. 

The first year after you came out, you asked him to take you to pride. You ended up getting a little more than you asked for.

It started out just the two of you. You walked around, saw the booths. Your dad was happy to see you happy. You got some merch, and your dad bought himself some stuff as well. He asked you questions, you guys talked to people. It was nice, and pretty low-key all things considered.

After some time wandering, you saw a collection of familiar faces approaching.

“I hope you don’t mind, I invited them to join us.” Them of course meant the rest of the Avengers, some of whom stuck out more than others. They all wore varying degrees of pride gear, from Natasha who wore a black shirt with an abstract design in trans colors, to Tony who had gone full rainbow.

The now large group of you walked through the festival together, with everyone talking and laughing. Some asked you questions about words or flags or memes that were unfamiliar. Thor had a lot of questions about how he had become a lesbian icon and what his duties entailed.

At the end of the day, you all went your separate ways.

“Was that good?” Your dad asked as he drove you both home.

“Yeah it was. Thank you for taking me, and for coming, and for inviting them. It was fun.”

“I don’t think I’ve actually said it to you yet, but I’m proud of you. Not just for this, because I know coming out and that is hard. But I’m proud of you. My son. I’m proud of the man you’re growing into.”

You smiled. You wished your dad could be around more, selfishly, but more than that, you were proud of what he did and who he was. You wanted to be like him in so many ways.

“Thanks dad. I love you.”

[3twindragons]

Gift for the @helmistress for the winterhawk wonderland exchange.

Clint forgets his gloves bucky brings them. Clint is an ice skating teacher. Currently teaching Bucky’s daughter.

Clint is invited over to Bucky’s cabin to spend the Christmas with them. They are in the cabin. Maybe outside when its becoming night but isn't yet dark. And they decorate the outside with fairy lights.

And they spent the holidays very happy.

[lavenderpillowcase]

there’s something so lonesome about you (something so wholesome about you)

A blue light shone through the blackness, its glare brightening as it moved closer. Peter could just barely make out the silhouette of a hand behind the cerulean beacon, steady and unfaltering. -

- It was a man. A scruffy man with a tired face but a sinewy body, his ripped clothes showing off the scars that littered his arms and chest. The sunlight illuminating him made all of his features stand out - his protruding cheekbones, his sunken cheeks, his collarbone peeking over the neck of his shirt. His arm was extended out in front of him, red metal encasing his hand. The same blue light that was shining from the palm of his gauntlet glowed through the fabric covering his sternum.

The man paused, raking his eyes over the teen’s frame. After a moment, he lowered his red-covered hand and slumped a bit, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Jesus, you're just a baby.”

- - -

Or, When a plague takes out most of the world's population, Peter Parker is left with no one. Tony Stark finds him and takes him underneath his wing.

[literatureatthebowofnails]

There is something so touching about Barton's relationship with the Maximoff twins. The pain- in-my-ass to you're-my-kid-now is one of the deepest forms of love I've experienced.

Toddlers? Maddening. Teens? I may be twice your age kid, but fuck if I don't feel just how shitty this is for you.

Of course, you want the screaming to stop. Yes, "I'd rather die than eat school lunch," is a hilariously over dramatic thing to say.

But when you make that breakthrough. When they spell that phonetically fucked up, 10-letter word right. When they realize you're on their side. That you want the same thing. That you do actually want the best for them? That makes all the difference.

That's when they suit up. That's when you take on the world. Together.

[gabbysdawsons]

OC VALENTINES CHALLENGE 2024 ➣  second chance romance

abra griffin and clint barton

taglist: @kentaroranda, @foxesandmagic, @lizziesxltzmxn, @phoebestarks, @lovehermioneforever, @jewelswrites-ish, @kiara-carrera, @heavenlysurf, @decennia, @stanshollaand. @ocfairygodmother, @raith-way, @lucys-chen, @daughter-of-melpomene

[be-still-thy-fractured-heart]

Hot Toys Kate Bishop

She's finally arrived, and I'm quite thrilled to add her to the collection.

[a-avengers-a]

Short Fic | Harley Keener/Peter Parker Are Dating | Parental!Tony Stark | Civil War Rouges Return To The Tower | Domesticity | Fluff | Dead!May Parker | No Heavy Angst

Peter Who Now? By MJ_Writes04

The Rogue Avengers move back to the compound after apologising and agreeing to sign the accords if they were altered.

They start seeing a boy around who they suspect to be Tony's son.

A few months ago, Peter's aunt May died. Tony swiftly adopted Peter and has been working on making him feel safe and stable again.

He's worked so hard to just get Peter talking that he can't help but be slightly annoyed that the Rogues decided to come back now.

[wizardsaremomstoo]

Stephen: I don't know what to do anymore! One day Peter was talking to everyone and sharing his juice boxes, and then suddenly it's always "Mom, stop hugging me!" Or "Mom, that music is so outdated!" Or even "Mom! Stop embarrassing me!" When I'll be doing nothing but STANDING THERE! What happened to him?!

Clint and Scott: He is ready.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Avengers (1963) #29

[drgrlfriend]

My Heart Will Be Your Home - Now COMPLETE!

I decided to post the last two chapters at the same time since one was a short epilogue, so don't miss Chapter 15: The Pledge and Chapter 16: Epilogue: The Confession both now posted!

[ID: The words “My Heart Will Be Your Home” appear in golden cursive handwriting, surrounded by photos of Garrett Hedlund as Clint Barton, a small white kitten sleeping on a toy, a young girl with blonde curls looking at a stuffed narwhal toy, Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes, a one-eyed golden retriever dog, and a man performing on aerial silks. In the photo of Clint Barton, his shirt is unbuttoned partway and golden writing is visible on the skin where his shirt collar gapes open.]

My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

He must make some noise at the thought of it, because Clint snuffles again and then cracks his eyes open.  He blinks for a moment and then smiles, wide and bright and joyful.

“Guess it wasn’t a dream then,” Clint murmurs, voice all sleep-rough and raspy.  

Bucky reaches out, brushing a wisp of hair back from Clint’s face, and Clint closes his eyes and presses up into the touch of Bucky’s hand with a happy hum.  

“You can sleep a little longer,” Bucky says when Clint opens his eyes again, signing along with the words, and the sound of his own voice surprises him, hoarse with emotion.  “I’ll put the coffee on.”

Clint seems like he’s already sliding back into sleep.  He pulls the pillow closer, snuggling into it and breathing deep.  “‘M keepin’ you,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his throat so thick with affection it feels like he can hardly get the words out.  “I’m keepin’ you too.”  

[thatonegayfrog13]

SO WHERE'S STEVE IN THIS!?

so when i read avenger fics i noticed something. in the insert reader fics sometimes the reader is a Stark. like their his kid adopted or not. i see this alot. i even see some were their Nat's adopted kid. i understand why this happens. in the mcu we've seen these two be actually good with kids, (Natasha with Clint's kids to the point they call her aunty Nat and Tony with morgan/peter). BUT I NEED SOME PARENT STEVE! maybe its the daddy issues but i need this old man to somehow pull a Stark and adopt a kid. idk ex-hydra like Bucky or something. and it doesn't even have to be mcu Steve it can literally be 616 comic him or Avengers assemble him or SOMETHING! for god sake I'll take a nonspecific version were its a mix of different medias of him. i just want this goober to be a caring loving dad who may not get all of the current century stuff but he's trying, with the help of the avengers and this kid he somehow took under his wing.

also i demand: slow dancing lessons to old 40's music and jamming out to Marvin Gaye, helping steve with some modern stuff tech or otherwise, and forcing the other to watch Steve's old embarrassing Captain America movies and shorts from before he was an actual hero.

[wndaswife]

trying your hardest | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

After moving to America to join the Avengers, Wanda wants to finally make a friend to ease her loneliness. She hopes to become friends with you, and frankly, Wanda idolizes you, but her social skills are... subpar at best.

Word count: 5020

Tags: fluff, humour, some angst, emo wanda being a baby, a little thing, a small very tiny little thing, wanda has a very big crush on you :3 (she doesn't know it yet tho cuz she baby)

A/N: for plot purposes, imagine the avengers didn’t have a catfight after aou

gif credit to (i tried really hard and i CANNOT find who made this gif im sorry)

Wanda Maximoff never really had an education as a child. What education was available in Sokovia was expensive, and despite her father’s late working hours, the twins’ parents could only ever afford their apartment’s rent. The twins were homeschooled as well as their parents could teach them, but after the bombing, they were on their own. 

Government-funded schooling helped them for only so long. The schools they were sent to were decaying, and always under dwindling government watch from ongoing airstrikes. The ground shook with explosive tremors as they commuted to school on foot. Wanda and Pietro stayed at an orphanage with hundreds of other children whose parents had passed due to the war — and the Avengers. 

Even the government’s debt caught up with what was left of Sokovia. Billions of foreign debt not paid, volume of imports that had increased exponentially since Sokovia worked on rebuilding their country weren’t making enough revenue to pay exporters back. Hundreds of children were booted from government care and onto the streets. The twins attempted to learn on their own, to become informed educated people if they were to ever make a difference in the world, but in Sokovia, even resilience could only get one so far.

Then, Doctor Strucker came along, promising them the extermination of the Avengers, the Western terrorists who had made the already politically-unstable and war-torn country their battleground. 

In hopes to cure the world from their terrorist reign, both Wanda and Pietro agreed to Strucker’s experiments, but the education they were given intended for them to become weapons. They knew little of real geography and world history — only HYDRA’s propaganda meant to poison their minds with blind hatred and little else.

When it seemed like you couldn’t be any more different from Wanda as it was, you were also the team’s brain. Stark and Banner specialised in physics and mechanics, but you were the team’s hub for everything else. From computer science to philosophy, you knew everything. No one exceeded you in developing team strategy, setting the stages for mission locations, profiling adversaries, and a dozen of other things Wanda couldn’t have even fathomed when she first met the Avengers in person.

It took Wanda only several moments to realise you weren’t a frontline fighter from your muffled voice in the Avengers’ earpieces to their callouts of your name as frequent, and perhaps even moreso, than their teammates that fought alongside them on the field despite your physical absence. 

Y/N — that was your name. 

When she had fought the Avengers in Novi Grad, creeping behind the Western superpowers like a heavy looming shadow, Wanda had looked for you. Strategically, it was a rational move. You were the centre of their battle, the heart of their teamwork.

And yet, you were nowhere to be found.

It was only until she had crept up behind Clint Barton when your voice grew clearer than ever before. From the tiny earpiece, you were controlling the field. Perhaps you were just outside, or maybe you were in another country. No matter the distance, Wanda supposed your hold on the battle would be no less effective. 

It was the distraction of thinking about you, perhaps — Y/N, the invisible hand — or Barton’s sole intuition, Wanda did not know, nor did she have very much time to think it over, that had made it possible for him to counter her magic. 

Then there was pain — immeasurable pain that Wanda hadn’t felt since Strucker’s experiments. It shot through her forehead like a dozen bullets had permeated through her skull. Pietro grounded her, and soon after, the twins targeted Banner.

Despite the rumours about him, the insatiable angry force he was told to be, his mind was the easiest to corrupt. Mental instability and insecurity racked his mind, and he quickly shifted into the green beast the Maximoffs had heard so much about. 

Carrying his younger sister, Pietro took the two of them back to Ultron’s base. 

They had won that day.

You were all Wanda could think about even while she and Pietro were off missions. You weren’t the Avengers’ frontline defence like Steve Rogers, nor were you the brute strength of the team like Bruce Banner. You held your team in your hands rather than tugging them along by their leashes although you likely could if you wanted to.

Y/N. 

Who were you?

On the television after the fight on Novi Grad, Iron Man and Hulk’s brawl in Johannesburg was on the news. The city was in shambles. Pietro said something about the deaths of innocents and the success of his sister’s magic in having the Avengers turn against themselves. But Wanda could only think of what you had thought when Stark and Banner came back to their compound, beaten and sore from none other than their own fists. Wanda assumed the Avengers’ compound — wherever that was — was where you were too. 

Wanda wondered how you were dealing with the fight at Johannesburg. What were you saying about her and Pietro?

Later that day, Ultron approached the twins in their bedroom and turned on the television. Despite having been offered separate bedrooms, they insisted on sharing one. Sitting atop their respective beds on the opposite sides of the room, there was someone speaking on the television about Johannesburg across from the interviewer. Their expression was stern but their eyes were solemn. Eyebrows were furrowed together, masking concern and worry; if Wanda knew anything, it was how to read someone.

“Y/N,” the interviewer began, and Wanda’s eyes widened, her head lifting from being held up by her hands, elbows on her pillow as it laid flat atop her crossed legs. “As the Avengers’ strategist, as many put it, how are you planning on handling the devastation that came upon Johannesburg, and the inevitable contact that the Avengers will continue to have with innocent uninvolved civilians?”

The question was packed, and the news station quite clearly had their own sentiments about the Avengers; they were setting you up.

So that was how you looked. Wanda swallowed and felt her chest flutter.

With your upper lip stiff and your posture unbelievably straight, you answered without equivocation. “A common misinformed perspective of any conflict follows the belief that there is any one party entirely responsible for the consequences of violent confrontation, such as the one we witnessed in Johannesburg,” you were saying. With the way her wide eyes were pinned on the television screen, Wanda didn’t notice the way her brother eyed her obviously piqued interest.

“I don’t believe the Avengers are the world’s most honourable superheroes,” you continued. Ultron shifted and Wanda’s head tipped to the side, her interest in you ever growing. “I don’t think anyone is, no matter whose side you’ve taken since the conflict recently — and perhaps even after the invasion of New York’s in 2012.”

That was The Incident, Wanda recalled, when the Avengers terrorised New York. That’s what HYDRA had always told her and Pietro.

“Despite whose side you may be on, as differing as our collective opinions may be, one thing is undeniable — we are all trying to reach a goal of peace for the world, fighting for what we believe is just. There is nothing more powerful than that. Perhaps, it is idealism that serves to be the strength of humanity.”

Ultron laughed morosely. He ridiculed your words, but Wanda wasn’t listening. Whatever you were talking about wasn’t only about Johannesburg. What were you referencing? Who were your words meant for?

Suddenly, your head turned to the camera and Wanda met your eyes. Everything in her froze, her eyes undeviating from your face.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” you spoke. Pietro looked over at Wanda, shock written on every inch of his face, and Ultron’s eyes darted between the twins, almost accusationally as he undoubtedly suspected coercion. Wanda almost expected you to step through the television screen and into her bedroom. “I know what you want.”

The screen was shut off suddenly, the black mirror of the television reflecting Wanda’s astonished expression. She looked away, shutting her eyes as she felt the burning gaze of Ultron on her. But your words reverberated in Wanda’s mind until your every feature and movement of your lips was memorised. Like a promise, like an ode, your words were immortalised within her.

Pietro wasn’t there when you took Wanda in your arms and saved her from a falling Sokovia. He wasn’t there when you laid her down onto the Helicarrier, nor when you took her hand and told her she’d be taken care of. Wanda cried into your chest at the sight of her brother’s body.

What would he have said if he saw the way your arm refused to leave from around Wanda’s shoulders as the two of them trailed behind his body while he was carried into the compound?

Pietro liked you, and would’ve loved to meet you. He referenced your broadcasted interview several times during their fight in Sokovia. He was proud to work with the Avengers, and proud to finally work towards their goal to help people just like them. He wanted to meet you.

Your voice was different from what Wanda remembered from the broadcast, and not because her memory had failed her, but because you were just… different. You were real, and not a picture on a wall or an untouchable reality forever separated from her by a television screen. As she watched you talk and laugh with the other Avengers, you were real.

But if Wanda was honest, she was much too shy to even start a conversation with you. Perhaps it might’ve been easier to approach you if you were an admired character on one of her favourite television shows, but it was exactly what made her admire you so much that also made her feel so shy around you. 

Granted, there was much to adjust to now that she lived in America and was now a part of the Avengers, and she did believe herself to be a generally introverted person, but she was especially nervous around you.

Wanda had gotten enough confidence to speak with some team members. Natasha was welcoming and kind. Thor was easy not to feel nervous around, but his energy was far too much for Wanda to handle just yet. Bruce was much more comfortable to chat with, and Wanda found that he was able to be rather nice once he forgave her for her associations with Ultron. Steve was always very kind to Wanda and she felt very safe around him, with Steve always trying to make her feel like part of the team, but she found that they didn’t have very much in common.

And there was Vision, who seemed to have taken a liking to her since even before the final battle against Ultron. He was nice company, but she found her mind preoccupied thinking of you while in his company, wishing that it was you who gave her as much attention as Vision did.

However, she’d been wanting to start a conversation with you since the day she arrived at the compound. Initially, she needed time to herself, and along with Steve, you also made the effort to check in on her and give her your support.

Once she was finally able to gain some footing in adjusting to things while shouldering the weight of her losses, Wanda started becoming more active within the team by joining training sessions. During them, she found herself unable to stop looking at you, watching what you were doing, seeing how you interacted with everyone.

Even as the Avengers’ primary strategist that was almost never in the field, you still made efforts to train and stay connected and involved with the team — and Wanda quickly learned that training was a major part of team building.

You were everything Wanda wished she could be more like; you were the kind of person she had never thought existed in a world she believed was only full of cruelty and injustice until recently.

There was an upcoming party at the Avengers Tower in celebration of the assigned team’s return from a successful mission tracking down a recently-located HYDRA base still hiding out. It was almost any ordinary mission, but it was the first step towards steadily eradicating all of HYDRA’s bases, even after Strucker’s primary base was taken down in Sokovia. Though Steve did also tell Wanda that he felt that Tony also primarily wanted to find any reason to celebrate since it’d been some time.

Wanda hadn’t been to any of the parties yet, and she thought that she’d be able to use this one as a chance to start a conversation with you. 

Wasn’t that what people did at parties? Talk?

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know for sure — she’d only ever heard about them through the sitcoms she watched as a child. She knew only of dramatised American portrayals of teenage parties through television.

Whatever it was people actually did at parties, Wanda was certain she would be able to make some effort to talk to you. At least in a social setting, it wouldn’t be strange for her to start a conversation with you.

Wanda made herself look nice and presentable, but not too formal since she didn’t want to overdress or bring too much attention to herself. She wasn’t sure what might happen if her plan to talk with you didn’t end up working, and if she was somehow left with nothing to do, she wanted to be able to slip away without anyone noticing, as if she had never made any attempt to come at all.

While deliberating whether it was better to arrive on time or a bit later once the party had been going on for some time, Wanda realised that at some point too much time had passed and her only option now was to join the party a bit later. 

It was only once she arrived at the penthouse floor where the party was being held that Wanda finally realised how terribly  thought-out her plan was.

What would happen if she didn’t get to talk with you? What would happen if she did, and she only made a fool of herself? Would it be better, then, to stay as two people who’d never conversed so that she might retain what impression you had of her now? Even if that meant she would never get to talk with you the way she wanted?

It was far too late now to change her mind if she wanted to, as she soon found herself walking further from the elevators and into the party. 

The party was rather filled; mostly, they were familiar faces, but it looked like many brought guests, and some guests had brought some of their own. It seemed that Steve was right — atop of celebrating the taking down of the HYDRA base, this was also a social get-together. 

She was still relatively at the edges of the room, so she was still going unnoticed. As she walked over to the bar, fidgeting with her fingers as she did, she took the time to look around and try to spot you. She reached the bar, crossing her forearms on top of its counter, and tried to draw the least attention to herself while avoiding eye contact with anyone as her eyes raked through the crowd. 

Eventually she caught sight of you also at the bar, but at the very edge with your own drink, your back facing the party. Wanda’s chest fluttered and she felt she nearly stumbled moving one foot in front of the other when she turned to walk towards you. 

She worried what would happen if someone suddenly approached you from behind, which would force her to then stop wherever she was standing and pretend she hadn’t just failed at her attempt to come up to you. 

The pressing concern aided her greatly, and she was well on her way to coming up to you without hesitation. But once she actually made her way to your side and once you raised your head from your glass and looked at her, Wanda damned herself for being so distracted, now without a plan or even a terribly-planned script to follow in making conversation with you. She didn’t even get to look at what you were wearing. 

It would be too strange of her to look you up and down before greeting you, right?

“Hi,” she said, hoping that the small smile she felt on her face was actually there lest she look like an absolute fool.

You turned around in your seat in order to face her, and now having your complete, undivided attention made Wanda’s legs feel like mush. “Hi,” you replied with a friendly smile. “Are you enjoying yourself? I don’t think I’ve seen you at a party yet.”

Wanda swallowed and nervously drew shapes against the bar counter with her fingernails, also trying her best to maintain a steady, friendly smile. “No — this is the first I’ve gone to. I haven’t been here for very long. I decided only a moment ago to come.”

“I’m glad you chose to come,” you told her and suggested for her to take the barstool beside you. Wanda lifted herself onto the seat and sat, facing you.

While you were talking, Wanda took the chance to look at what you were wearing. You looked nice, and Wanda thought you always dressed in a way that put-together, respected people did. She saw you in some likeness to the well-dressed characters on the sitcoms she liked — but, of course, modern. 

Maybe she had been taking too long to respond, for you spoke again: “How have you been doing? I know that the move must have been rather hard to go through.”

When she took a moment to respond and found that a response wasn’t immediately escaping her, Wanda felt panic settle in her chest. She knew she should have planned out what to say. She looked like an idiot in front of you. She didn’t know the first thing about socialising or making friends. 

“It was hard,” she said finally. “It is hard. Not so bad now. I mean, I’m trying to adjust.”

You nodded in understanding and Wanda felt herself losing your interest; she was sure that your responses’ intentions were now only to remain polite, to keep conversing with her because you knew she didn’t make very much effort to go out. 

Then you asked, “Did you want me to order you a drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay — I don’t drink,” Wanda answered, fidgeting with her fingers between her knees. Truthfully, she’s never tried alcohol before. Maybe she should have taken you up on your offer. 

“How have you been getting along with the team?”

“I think well. I like everyone. They’ve been very kind to me,” Wanda said. She could hear herself as she spoke to you; she sounded robotic and uninteresting. She thought she might try her hand at being honest about what she was thinking then and there. “But Pietro was always the most social of us both. It is hard to get along with others without him leading the conversation.”

Wanda must have not noticed how solemn she became after she mentioned Pietro, for you reached out and brushed her shoulder with your hand supportively, your fingers squeezing gently around her and lingering for a moment before letting your arm drop.

“I understand,” you sympathised. “You don’t need to pressure yourself into anything — really. I think you fit in here well, and I think you’ve been doing a wonderful job.”

That was the first time anyone truly supported Wanda like that; she was supported by the team as she was grieving the loss of her brother, always being told that she had a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand if she ever wanted someone to talk to. 

There was something frustrating about the way the team approached her grief. They had to have anticipated that she would feel a bit better at some point — or at least well enough to get back to team member material. 

In the way she was spoken to, Pietro and her struggles with his death were always approached as something she would get over at some point or another — like Pietro was something she was going to get over. She didn’t expect anyone to understand how she felt nor to share in her grievances, but it seemed to her that what she was going through was seen only as a temporary distraction to the rest of the team. 

They were kind in giving her their support, but her grief never seemed quite real enough to them. 

Granted, she was rather new to the team, so she understood, to some degree, their inability to understand her pain. But it was frustrating, nevertheless. 

But with you, it was different. 

You didn’t talk about Pietro or her struggles and pain like it was something to get over. You valued her as she was now, and saw her efforts as they were now. 

Wanda felt slightly pathetic for how worked up she was getting over your response, be it as brief as it was, but what you said meant quite a lot to her. She felt, for the first time, that she was being spoken to as a real person rather than a ball of temporary grief and pain. 

“Thank you… I really appreciate–”

She was cut off when you were called to meet one of Tony’s friends, an expert in software development who had even helped program some of the software you used for communication with the team while they were working on the field. Naturally, they wanted the two of you to meet. 

For a moment, Wanda forgot how popular you were amongst your colleagues. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only that you had a certain kindness and authenticity about you that seemed signature to you. But if Wanda admired that about you, and if she idolised you, why wouldn’t anyone else?

You looked at Tony calling you over then at Wanda, who was awkwardly staring at the floor in some pitiful stance of defeat. It made your chest tighten.

This was Wanda’s first time joining in at one of the parties, and you were the first she spoke to. Moreover, there was a kind of sensitivity to her that you knew lay beyond her typical timidity.

Through the conversation with her, you could vaguely see Wanda’s eyes flickering behind your shoulder occasionally, where the floor’s balcony was. From there, one would have a view of the spacious training fields and the expansive forests beyond that separated the base from the main roads.

Tonight, there were clear skies and a rather prominent moon. 

Gently, you tapped the back of Wanda’s hand that was resting on the edge of the bar to get her attention, and she raised her head and met your eyes. 

“Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me?” you asked. “I’m not quite in the mood to talk with them right now.”

Wanda seemed to perk up and she straightened in her seat. She nodded, and when you stepped off from your barstool, she followed and trailed behind you as you headed for the balcony. 

She watched from behind as you led her forward. She played idly with the tips of her fingers as she watched your hair brush against your back, watching the back of your head attentively as if it could tell her anything about you. 

Frankly, she felt a bit starstruck.

A certain panic settled within her as you opened the balcony door and ushered Wanda outside and into the warm evening air; she didn’t know what to say now. 

She wasn’t certain if she was interesting enough at all to have such intimate conversation with. 

What could she say that could possibly be of interest to you?

In spite of the disappointed chatter and lighthearted jabs from the rest of the team in response to your very-obvious aversion to socialising, you closed the balcony door behind you until it clicked shut softly until it was only you and Wanda outside. 

“Is it okay that you’re out here with me?” Wanda asked, looking at you as she stepped beside you. 

“Of course,” you answered and walked forward until you could stand against the rails of the balcony. “Why not?”

Wanda appreciated how easy it was to talk with you, and how your relationship with the team wasn’t all that you were. “I thought that maybe you might prefer being out there.”

“No — I want to be here.”

Wanda flushed and she looked away, using the excuse of looking out past the training fields as an excuse to hide her face from you. 

Making a bold move, Wanda thought that she might be honest with you; she had the real opportunity to make a friend, granted she pulled it off. “Y/N, I really appreciate you being so kind to me.” She garnered some confidence and turned her body and looked at you.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you replied bashfully, and Wanda noticed that you also seemed a bit timid. She thought you were sensitive, and she liked that.

“But also,” Wanda added, taking in a small breath, “I really appreciate your effort in being sympathetic towards Pietro and I, even when we did not deserve it — especially after Johannesburg. Before your interview broadcast, I had never known of such kindness. It seemed you knew more about what Pietro and I wanted before even we did.”

Without a thought behind it, Wanda’s eyes left yours and she added, “I wish he was able to meet you. I am sure he would have felt equally as stunned by you.”

You asked, “I stun you now, do I?”

Surprised by the realisation of what she said aloud, Wanda looked at you and at the sight of your slight smile, also realised that you were teasing her. She flushed and rubbed her warm cheek with the back of her knuckle and distracted herself with two of the party guests walking through the field.

Wanda reminded herself that she came to make a friend — to be friends with you. So she spoke again. “To be honest, yes,” she replied. “I think you are admirable; everyone seems to like you very much, and the kind of bravery and kindness you have is of a kind I did not previously know could ever be sincere.”

She finally said it, and now, Wanda felt anxious about what you might say next.

You shifted and repositioned yourself as you pondered for a moment in consideration. “Well, I have to confess that most if not all of my bravery is rather insincere — I’m truly not as brave as you might think. In fact, I would argue that you’re more brave than I; you’ve experienced so much, undergone so much change, and yet you seem to have more drive than anyone to try your hardest at adjusting and getting back on your feet.” 

You thought she was braver than you? Wanda could collapse. She felt her chest flutter.

“But… the kindness,” you said, “is very sincere. I’m glad you see it that way.”

Wanda found herself stepping closer to you, feeling more comfortable in your company and feeling that she wanted to be closer to you physically, to hear your words within a closer vicinity and to see your face free of the soft shadows that the moonlight casted along the curve of your nose and the angle of your cheekbone. 

“I think you’re really special,” you told her. “I’m happy that you’re a part of the team. I’m glad you’re here.”

In all her life, there was only one place Wanda ever felt she belonged — with her family. Over some time, what this meant was redefined with the bombing of her home when she was ten and, recently, with the loss of her brother. There was a feeling of loss, an empty pit that burrowed itself within the deepest depths of Wanda’s identity where Pietro and her family and some sort of identity should have been.

It was not only others and her country that she lost, but a part of herself, when all the landmarks she had ever belonged to were stolen from her. But if she could learn anything from still being able to stand where she was and try her best and be brave — like you said — in spite of all her loss and grief, it was that she was not all that she identified herself with.

She still existed, and was still worth something, even without all that was lost.

It would be difficult to even begin finding who she was, exactly, without Pietro and Sokovia and her parents and the truths of herself and the world that HYDRA had always taught her. But she hoped that you might be at least the first step to her self-discovery — you were her first friend.

“Are you alright?” you asked, tipping your head down slightly to try getting a better look at Wanda’s face. 

Wanda had lost herself in her thoughts and forgot to reply to you. She must have been silent for a bit of time. “Yes, I’m okay.” She subtly swiped at her cheeks when she realised she was crying — perhaps it was from thinking of her family or of Sokovia, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the moment was that she started crying — as she looked over at the field for a distraction again.

Without another word, you stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, bringing her against your body in a soft hug. It was wordless and quiet and casual — support and comfort without any conditions.

Every time Wanda believed that she’d fully grasped the world’s capacity for kindness, believed that there couldn't possibly be something more gentle than what you have thus far shown her, you prove her wrong. 

She hoped she would never be right.

[traveler-at-heart]

Brave

Summary: The sudden loss of someone in your family leaves you broken. Natasha tries to help.

A/N: Special thanks to @happychopshoppenguin for helping me to sort out ideas for this plot.

It was a regular day for the Avengers.

Mission, explosions, fighting some bad guys and then fly back in the Quinjet.

“Fury’s gonna be mad” Clint taunts, looking at you.

“He didn’t say how to stop them from sharing the drive with the Chinese” you smile, thinking that blowing up their entire control room was a bit much. But, you were in a hurry to finish the mission and go home.

Clint rolls his eyes and steers the Quinjet.

“Alright, it’s gonna be at least seven hours. Go get some sleep, dynamite. Tasha, you ok?”

Natasha had been quiet, which was nothing new around you. To most people, it was probably the contrast in personalities; while the Russian was reserved, you were very outgoing.

You’d hope it was just that, and not that she disliked you. After a few attempts at conversation that turned cold, you decided to be cordial, but give her space.

Right now, she’s sitting in the back of the Quinjet, no visible injuries. But still, her hand is over her ribs, and she seems to be deep in thought.

You know what’s happening and that she’d never ask for help.

“Do you need to clean any wounds? I’ll take over the Quinjet while you do” you offer to Clint and he shakes his head no. Walking to the first aid kit, you pull out a bottle of water, painkillers and a pack of ice. You’re about to walk to sit next to Natasha, when you bring a hand to your forehead.

“Great. Blood and sooth. I must stink” placing the first aid stuff next to her, you mumble to yourself about taking a quick shower.

By the time you come out, Natasha has already taken a pill, and has the ice pack over her bruised ribs. Her eyes are closed, and much as you’d like to stare, you go sit next to Clint, hoping to get home soon.

—

Maria is waiting on the hangar when you land.

“Told ya” Clint mocks and you turn to glare at him.

“Did you snitch on me, Barton?”

“Y/N” Maria says, and her tone alone erases your smile.

“What’s wrong?” you say, going over every possible scenario. This is your last mission before a two week break to go back home. “Is it…?”

Your mom was supposed to have surgery. But she was fine. It couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry”

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured over your head. Your hands are so numb, you can’t feel Natasha taking one of them, her arm around your shoulders.

—

It’s been a week. Natasha tries not to think about you, mainly because there’s nothing she can do to help.

And it’s none of her business when (or if) you come back. Still, she feels a certain heaviness in her movements as she makes her morning coffee.

You always made enough for the two of you. And it tastes so much better than the one Natasha makes.

“Is Y/N around?” Maria walks in, looking for you.

“I thought she was still with her family”

“She came back earlier. It didn’t… it sounded bad. Like a family disagreement had happened on top of everything else” Maria sighs.

“Do you know what it was?”

“All I know is that her mother’s condition had been bad for a while… and then they did emergency surgery but her heart was too weak”

Natasha nods in silence, imagining how hard it must be for you. How your mother always sent something she knitted for everyone on the team on their birthdays, or how your parents would fly to visit at least once a month.

“If you see her, will you let me know? I just want to make sure she’s alright”

“Of course”

—

No one saw you, not even for movie night. It’s not like the team was expecting you, but it was quiet as the movie played on the screen, and only Sam seemed to be paying attention.

Natasha looks at the table in the middle of the room.

You always got her Dr. Pepper. Her guilty pleasure, a little indulgence in her life of strict physical activity and healthy meals.

This time, there’s only beer that no one bothers to drink. A headache threatens to sour her mood even more, but the cupboard with medical supplies is almost empty.

That’s how everything feels without you around.

Natasha had hoped you’d be at the staff meeting next Monday, but everyone took a seat, your chair remained empty.

“We have to do something” Steve says, looking around. His eyes meet Maria’s.

“Well, she’s been going on solo missions”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Barton challenges, clearly annoyed. Would it be so hard for Fury to give a damn about his team?

“Listen, any one of you is welcomed to join her but I don’t think…”

“I’ll go” Natasha says.

“Good. Maybe she needs some… girl talk” Steve says and everyone laughs for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, we’ll braid our hair while we wait for the bad guys, Steve” Natasha mocks.

“Nice one, Capsicle” Tony says.

Truth be told, Natasha wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction when you saw her at the hangar.

“I’m on solo duty, Natasha” you say without looking at her, getting inside the small aircraft.

“Fury’s orders” the redhead lies, following you. She almost crashes against your back as you stop and turn around.

“If you’re coming, I don’t want to hear any scolding or complains. I’m running this operation”

“That’s fine by me”

Either way, from what she read on the file, it was only information extraction. And yet, you were gone for thirty minutes, after she successfully hacked into the database.

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha scolds, forgetting about her previous promise.

“Can you get us on the air? I’ll take over in a minute” you answer, your face evidently beaten up, as one of your eyes was starting to swell.

Natasha is torn between concern and anger, but she figures it is better to talk to  you once they’re away from the enemy. With a sigh, she starts the engine and sets the coordinates of the Compound.

A spot on the floor catches her eye.

Blood. A lot of it.

“Y/N?” she stands up, looking around. Following the trail of blood, she opens up the door to the small bathroom. She sees you, your uniform torn around your thigh, a gash exposed. “Oh my God!”

“Ever tried knocking?” you say, without looking at her. Next thing you do is use the surgical stapler to close the wound, not caring to use anesthesia.

“You need stitches”

“I’m fine” you stand up, taking off the top of your uniform. Natasha spots bruises that are just starting to heal.

Maybe that’s why the medical supplies were gone the other day.

“Y/N…”

“If you’re not gonna fly, I’m taking over” you walk towards the cabin, and she stands there, looking at all the blood that you left behind.

What the hell is she gonna tell Maria when you come back?

There’s a moment of silence as you land the Quinjet. You hope that Natasha will not even start about your injury, so you wait for her to leave.

“Y/N?” 

“I’m fine, Natasha”

“I’m worried” she admits in a low voice, which catches you off guard. You’ve never thought she cared enough, not about you at least.

“I’ll stop going on missions until I’m better”

She wants to tell you it’s not enough, because an injury isn’t the issue here. But Natasha also recognizes when she’s about to cross a boundary. 

So, she just nods and leaves the hangar. The feeling of defeat comes with her as you’re left alone on the jet.

—

Another Monday, another staff meeting. 

To everyone’s surprise, you’re the last through the door. Steve sits up, but the rest of the team just looks at you, afraid that saying anything else might scare you away.

For your part, you ignore everyone but Natasha, placing a paper bag from her favorite bakery in front of her. 

She smiles at you, because it’s something you always do on Monday meetings. This time, you don’t mutter your usual excuse of being around the bakery first thing in the morning. You do give a little smile in return, and Natasha tries to ignore the warm feeling she gets from the gesture.

“Everyone, have a seat” Maria says, trying to pretend she isn’t surprised to see you as well. “We have word of a HYDRA base storing potentially dangerous technology. It’s big enough to send the whole team”

“Surely some of us could stay behind if we’re not up for it” Barton says, avoiding your eyes. He’s the only one that knows about what happened on your mission with Natasha. 

“It’s not ideal, but if anyone wants out, speak now. Very well”, she continues after a beat of silence. “Here’s the map of the facility. You leave in an hour”

—

The mission was completed. 

Barely. 

You’re holding a gauze against your side, to stop the bleeding from a bullet graze. Fury’s been called to go over what happened. 

He doesn’t seem pleased.

“You better do something about her” Tony says, his finger pointing at you.

“Stark” Barton warns but you don’t even react to his confrontation.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If she wants to go and get killed, that’s her deal. But we were just about done with the mission when she decides to fight a dozen HYDRA agents on her own”

“We need to calm down” Steve says.

“No, there was a town a few miles south and HYDRA had nuclear warheads. Have we learned nothing? This could have been catastrophic” 

“But it wasn’t, so…”

“If you have some mommy issues to deal with, do it on your free time. I’m not gonna burden myself with civilian deaths over your trauma” 

“Tony!” Steve reprimands, standing up. They’re so busy facing each other, they never see you approaching. You throw a punch that hits Stark square in the eye, followed by another one that breaks his nose.

“Say that again, you fucking asshole” you shout, throwing a kick that never lands. It takes Steve and Bucky to hold you back. “Talk shit, Stark, see what happens” 

“That’s enough. You’re suspended, effective immediately” Fury says.

“I’ll do you one better. I quit” you push Rogers and Bucky away, not bothering to look at the rest of your teammates. 

It’s better this way.

—

It’s not hard to find you. Being a professional spy works in Natasha’s favor, but you’re basically bouncing from your apartment to the bar around the corner.

Sit and drink.

That’s all you do from the moment you walk in, around noon and then you leave past midnight. Before going up your apartment, you stop by the bodega to get another bottle of whatever cheap booze they have and call it a night.

Natasha looks from across the street, debating between going inside and talking to you or just going home.

What can she tell you to make it all better?

That’s the question she asks herself all week, and come Friday Natasha still doesn’t have an answer. 

The bar is crowded and the redhead figures it’s safe enough to go inside without being spotted.

You’re in your usual spot, leaning against the bar while sitting on a stool. The loud music and conversations make you dizzy, but you still ask for another scotch and drink half of it in one gulp.

“Are you moving anytime soon?” a twenty something year old pops out of nowhere and you don’t even look his way. “We want to sit at the bar and watch the game, I’m sure you can go be a sad drunk somewhere else”

“Fuck off” you say after finishing your drink and asking for another one. When they give it to you, the idiot knocks it from your hand. 

“You have ten seconds to apologize or leave” you rub your temples, thinking how much worse your headache will be after kicking his ass.

“I don’t think so” he says, throwing a punch at you. Even with all you drank, you’re able to avoid his fist, knocking him down in one swift motion.

“Crap” you kinda forgot he was not alone. Three more guys show up, and while you’re busy blocking some kicks, one of them manages to punch you in the face. You fall to the ground, feeling a kick to your side and a fist that connects with your nose.

At this point, you give up, thinking that getting your ass kicked in a bar is just as effective as drinking the day away.

But the next attack never comes. In fact, all three men are down.

“Get up” you hear someone say. 

It sounds like Natasha.

You try to stand, but there’s a pain in your side. Before you can collapse on the ground, arms go around your waist and help you stand, walking side by side all the way to your apartment.

The lavender scent and the gentle touch confirms it’s Natasha, and you try not to think about how much you’ve missed her.

The redhead opens the door to your apartment, letting you down on the couch. You grunt as you sit, blood running down your nose and temple.

Yeah, this is going to be the worst hangover of your life.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Natasha says looking around the place. 

You really did miss her and the thought finally breaks you.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Natasha kneels in front of you the minute you let out a sob, tears mixing with the blood.

“It’s not worth it, Nat. I’m not worth the trouble. You should go” you plead, overwhelmed at the guilt that’s been consuming you for weeks now.

“What are you talking about?” 

“She kept asking for me. When they were at the hospital. She wanted to see me, she was scared and in pain and I wasn’t there. My mother died and I didn’t get to say goodbye” 

“Y/N…”

“What kind of person does that? How can you fail so badly to the people that loved you?” 

“You didn’t fail”

“Yes, I did” you say, struggling to breathe.

“You didn’t. It’s ok” Natasha tries to calm you, her hands going through your hair until your breathing evens out. 

The rush of adrenaline leaves your body, and pretty soon, you’re slumped against the couch, Natasha’s hands still in yours.

—

There’s light. And pain.

A different kind than the one you’ve had. As you sit up, you feel your bruised ribs and when you grimace, the split lip reminds you your face didn’t fare any better during your fight.

Natasha…

“How are you feeling?” you turn to find the woman standing in the middle of your kitchen. 

“Like shit” you reply and she chuckles.

“There’s some coffee. It’s not as good as the one you make, but it will do. I should go” she sets her cup down, sighing.

“You don’t have to…” you want her to stay. But you don’t know what will happen if you ask her.

“I do, actually” she walks towards the door, but you endure the pain to meet her at the threshold. 

“Nat”

“No” she shakes her head, without looking back at you. “You have no idea how hard it is to watch someone you love hurt themselves”

The word love echoes, making you take a step back.

Natasha turns to look at you, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I guess you were bound to find out eventually”

“Natasha” you plead, not knowing what to say.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t go into this when you’re going through hell and all i’ve done is watch you from afar. I guess I just want you to know…” she wipes the tears and looks at you. “You buy my favorite brand of peanut butter. You wake up one hour before I do, but the coffee is done only when I’m up. My water bottle is always full and cold before going to the gym. You charge my phone when I forget to, and when it’s late and I’m still working you stop by and tell me you made too much pasta just so I eat something…. You’re not a bad person. You’re wonderful and I wish I could have told you sooner. I’m sorry” Natasha turns around and leaves.

You don’t stop her this time.

—

It’s been three days and Natasha hasn’t heard from you. To be fair, she said a lot of things and didn’t wait for you to reply, so that might have been a bad idea.

Talking to Clint might be the only solution and she’s looking for him when you leave the conference room, followed by Maria and Steve.

Tony approaches you from the other side and Natasha waits around the corner.

“I’m sorry about what I said” Stark says and you nod.

“Fair enough. Not sorry about punching you, though”

“Fair enough” he repeats, smiling.

When they all leave, you turn back, your eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Hi” you approach her, hands inside your pockets.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sober”

“That’s good”

“Mhm” you nod, holding her stare. Your eyes travel to her lips and you sigh. “Can we talk?”

“We don’t have to…”

“I wanna show you something. It won’t take long, I promise. What do you say?” you offer your hand and she stares at it for a second.

When Natasha nods and takes it, you hold her tight, leading her out of the Compound.

—

“She loved Central Park” you remember, walking around the benches, Natasha’s hand still in yours. “The whole city, really”

“She liked it because you live here, I think” Natasha says and you nod.

“Well, that and the pizza”

“Right” the redhead nods. You find a bench and lead her to it, pointing at the plaque.

Love is only for the brave, followed by your mother’s name.

“Is something she said often. Figured it might be nice to have it here, for people to read and gather courage”

“That’s a beautiful way to remember her” Natasha nods, aware that you’re moving closer.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I thought back at my place, Nat” 

“You don’t need to explain anything” she interrupts, giving you a way out.

“I didn’t think you liked me that much. And I absolutely thought I was being more discreet about my feelings for you” 

“It’s hard for me to think that love makes you brave… or strong” Natasha says, taking a step forward so you’re inches apart. 

“I know. Please let me show you?”

“I think I’d like that” she nods, leaning forward until your lips meet in a short kiss.

When you break apart, you remember that time your mother visited. How she insisted Natasha looked at you in a special way. 

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asks against your lips when you smile.

“I love you” you say and she pulls you closer.

Everything will be ok, as long as you have each other.