can we go back to talking about darcy

mee2themoo  asked:

I wish you would write a fic where someone says: “First of all, this was your idea. Second, I didn’t agree to it, you did. Third, someone had to come with you and make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“Jane,” Darcy hissed, squinting through the darkness at her friend. The room was swathed in a hint of flickering red light, the source of which was currently unknown. There were about a dozen beeping and whirring machines scattered in the area but Jane was only interested in the tiny computer sitting in the far corner. A computer which she was presently attempting to hack.

“Jane,” Darcy tried again, abandoning her place by the door and walking over to the frantic astrophysicist. “We aren’t supposed to be here.”

The faint sounds of thunder and gunshots echoed from outside the building, and bits of cement from the ceiling rained down on both women. The Hulk roared somewhere and Darcy jumped.

“Jane!” she whispered shrilly. “If Thor finds out we abandoned the quinjet–”

“Will you shut up for a moment?” snapped Jane, bashing her fingers against the keyboard in frustration. “I can’t seem to… get in.”

Thunder boomed again and lightening struck the building, making everything quake and shutter. One of the machines crashed to the floor and the door fell off its hinges.

Darcy grabbed Jane’s arm. “I don’t care. This is a frigging HYDRA cell, Jane! If Thor–”

“Screw Thor!” Jane whispered, still doubled over and staring hard at the computer screen. “He’s not the boss of me.”

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runaway bride

Pairing: Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis
For: Anon Prompter
Prompt:  So this is your wedding cake because you’re my BFF but don’t marry the asshole run away with me

Clint groaned.  He’d fulfilled his duty in delivering the wedding cake.  It was beautiful.  The perfect colors and the flavor was exactly right.  Tahitian vanilla.  

Now he just had to sit through Darcy’s wedding to the wrong guy and suppress the urge to jump up and ruin the ceremony.  

His resolve lasted exactly twenty seconds, because Darcy floated in wearing a bathrobe with her hair in rollers and he couldn’t keep quiet.  She was gorgeous.  

“Don’t marry him,”  he blurted.  

She was inspecting the cake and when she heard him, she froze, coming up from behind the vanilla tower of frosting to look him dead in the eye.  "Why?“ she asked.  

He wasn’t expecting that.  He was expecting her to tell him to leave.  

"Because I love you.  I always have.  I can make you happy.  He’s an asshole… I kept my mouth shut because I thought… I thought I could do this.  And I can… I can still do this if you need me to.  But I have to tell you that I love you, because if there’s any chance you’re settling for this bozo because you think there’s nothing better… well…”  He gulped.  "I’m not a lot better, but at least I’d make you happy. I don’t deserve you, but neither does he.“    

Darcy’s eyes welled up with tears.  "I… I don’t want to marry him, Clint.”  

His breath rasped out.  A weight lifted from his shoulders.  Even if she never wanted to speak to him again, at least he’d helped her with this.  

“I don’t want to get married right now.  To anyone.  But especially not to him…” She backed away from the table.  "Can we… go somewhere?  To talk about us?“  

He almost choked, but he nodded.  "Absolutely.”  

“Good.  Because it’s about to be a shitstorm when they realize I ran… and if this is going to happen, I need to make sure that we’re on even footing.”  

He nodded again, because he was lightheaded.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to talk.  About them.  About a possibility of them.  

But he also knew that she needed him right now.  And he could absolutely be here.  In whatever capacity she asked for.  


I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don’t understand is the princess dragon dream and why I’m in it.”

Steve startles awake. Not an uncommon thing, except that this time it wasn’t due to a nightmare. He was actually having a pretty good mid-afternoon nap, which was why he was a little surprised about the sudden surge back into wakefulness. And then he spots Darcy, casually sitting on the coffee table, her legs crossed under her and a cup of tea in her lap as she watches him. Her hair is tied in a slightly lopsided knot atop her head. Unabashed at having been caught watching him sleep, she merely raises a hand in a wave and then raises her cup to blow on the top. 

“Good sleep?” she asks.

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