clint is too much

@hello-shellhead @saved-by-the-notepad I might’ve written you guys something


“This is not a good idea,” Natasha said immediately, Clint and Steve nodding along with her. “Clint and I are much better trained, and Tony is too recognizable.”

“I understand that,” Fury said with a sigh. “But this mission needs Stark’s expertise. We’re just going to have to hope he can keep his mouth shut for once.” He shot a one-eyed glare in the billionaire’s direction, who in turn shrugged.

“I’m up for it. Don’t worry about it, it’ll be easy.” He shot a smile around at his anxious teammates, which only seemed to worry them more.

The mission itself was easy enough. Infiltrate a party, get some blue prints, erase some data, destroy some technology. Easy, he did that after Obie often enough, although to be fair he was doing it to his own company, so it didn’t have to go quite so unnoticed.

The others didn’t seem to have much faith in him, but that was fine. People underestimating him was just the way he liked the world. Fury dismissed them and Tony went back to the tower to prepare. Nice suit, but cheap by his standards. Slicked back hair in contrast to his usual unruly curls. Repulsor watch – no way he was going in unarmed, he wasn’t stupid. He stared at himself in the mirror. Still too recognizable. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to do it: he was going to have to shave his glorious goatee.

The mission went smoothly, despite many people who had personally met Tony Stark being in attendance at the party. No one gave him a second glance; some people thought he was a waiter, and Tony cursed himself for wearing a suit that was too cheap. He was in and out in two hours, everything completely under control. He was just strolling out of the building when he heard someone shouting about destroyed prototypes and smiled to himself, whistling.

Apparently his ‘disguise’ worked too well, because when he got back to SHIELD headquarters he had about four guns pointed at his head and several very angry agents glaring at him and asking just who the fuck he was and what he thought he was doing.

“Uh, Tony here guys. Finished the mission, saved the day?” he answered as he held his hands up in surrender, trying to placate them. They didn’t believe him.

He was unceremoniously (“HEY, genius over here, check your strength!”) thrown into an interrogation room, where he sighed and pulled the drive he had obtained for Fury out of his pocket, setting it on the table. Hill entered about fifteen minutes later, which was good because he was getting bored and contemplating messing with the monitoring system in the room, and he shot her a big smile.

“Agent Hill! So good to see you. You proud of me yet? I know you didn’t believe I could pull it off.” He smirked, but his face fell at her cold and blank stare.

“I don’t know you,” she responded in monotone. “I don’t know what you’re pulling, pretending to be Stark-”

“I’m not pulling anything!” he protested quickly, holding his hands up again and standing, like he was waiting to be attacked. “I am Stark! Listen, call Pepper, show her a picture, she’ll tell you. Jesus, all I did was shave!” Hill glared at him and he fell silent again, anxiously reminding himself that if he stepped back it would be a sign of weakness and women loved signs of weakness. She turned on her heel and walked out without another word, and he fell back into his seat. He felt exhausted. The mission hadn’t been hard, but had taken longer than he thought it would, and he wanted to go home and work.

It took another hour before someone entered the room again, and by that point he was standing on the chair in the corner of the room, dissecting the camera that was watching him with the small screwdriver he had in his pocket and ingenuity. He glanced over his shoulder as Pepper strode in, lighting up and jumping down from the chair quickly, noting Hill and Fury standing behind her.

“Pep, my love, the spice of my life!” he said dramatically, throwing his arms wide. “Tell the Pirate that he should be able to recognize his agents better.”

“That’s Tony,” Pepper said with a long-suffering sigh, ignoring him. “He looks like a child without his facial hair, but it’s him. I didn’t believe it either the first time I saw him, until Obie-” She cut herself off quickly and shot him an apologetic look, but he just shrugged, clapping a hand on Fury and Hill’s shoulders.

“Now that that’s sorted, can we debrief and go home?”

Apologies were made, but Tony waved them away. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Even the paparazzi didn’t recognize him without his distinctive and awesome goatee getup, which was nice sometimes.

It was a couple months and a few missions later when it happened again. Fury and Hill were out on their own recon mission, Pepper was in Tokyo and couldn’t be reached, and Rhodey was out on deployment for the next few weeks and no help anyway (he would probably just find it hilarious and leave Tony in the lurch). It didn’t matter how many times Tony showed up from completed missions missing his glorious goatee, the agents of SHIELD apparently had terrible facial recognition because he was always detained and interrogated.

It had been hours and lots of yelling before Tony finally got fed up. “You people are insufferable!” he shouted, grabbing a Sharpie from the agent’s pocket and turning to the one-way mirror on the wall, scribbling on his face in a rough approximation of something that looked like his normal goatee. “There! Recognize me now?”

Clint found it absolutely hilarious. There were photos.

Somehow a picture of Tony with Sharpie stains and a wide grin got leaked to the media, and the rage was now “Tony Stark look-alike?!” which Tony found absolutely hysterical.

He managed to convince half of SHIELD that it really was just a look-alike, while the other half remained sceptical. Suddenly, whenever he stepped into headquarters he had ghosts trailing him with razors (and not very good ghosts, either, Fury should get Natasha and Clint up here for some lessons). Bruce found it very amusing to help him prank said ghost, which one time included locking them in the bathroom and filling said bathroom with bubbles. And whenever Tony did show up from a mission where he’d shaved, he was met with a multitude of stares. Fury even got in on the action and started calling him ‘Agent Carbonell,’ which was funny in its own way.

And if he managed to trick Steve as well a couple times, well, that was a whole different story.  

This weeks entry into the prompt game at @tonystarkstoga. It’s early and a bit of a rushed job because I’m multitasking but I hope you enjoy another Tony & his kidnappers drabble!


“Fuck this, he’s right.”

Tony preens. He’s always right–well, mostly–but it’s always nice to have other people acknowledge it.

“Just kill him and be done with it,” the masked guy orders after another moment of silent contemplation.

Tony blinks. Tilts his head. Goes over the words again.

“Yeah,” he drawls, even as he not-nervously side-eyes the henchman who’s already reaching for his gun. “That’s almost the exact opposite of what I was going for.”

Masked guy and all of his minions–too bad they aren’t yellow and cute, Tony would have appreciated the sight a lot more–all turn to stare at him. He can’t make out their expressions but he’s pretty sure they’re gaping.

“You’ve spent the last hour going on and on about every mistake we’ve made in kidnapping you, every trace we’ve left behind, every possible outcome this will have,” Masked guy states, crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Which is a fair point. And yes, in retrospect, possibly not the smartest thing Tony could’ve done. But it’s just nagging at him, all the silly rookie mistakes these guys have made, it’s so pathetic. He can’t help but want to make this little game of hide and seek between these guys and the Avengers a little more interesting.

(Let’s not delve into how they managed to capture him in the first place, because that was just low.)

“True,” Tony admits. “But you’re forgetting that I’ve been very helpful too. I think you owe it to me not to kill me until my slightly-less-efficient-than-anticipated rescue team shows up.”

Masked guy snorts unattractively. “Go ahead, shoot him. And then lets get out of here.

Too bad. Well, it was worth a try.

Also where the heck is his team? They’re usually a lot faster than this.

“You know how I told you kidnapping was a bad idea because my overprotective killer-boyfriend was going to rip you into tiny pieces and feed to your friend over there with a smile?” he asks, strains against his bindings. The rope refuses to give though. “Just imagine what he’s gonna do when he finds out you’re pointing a gun at me.”

“Or don’t,” a thankfully familiar voice calls from above, right as the first screams sound. “I’ve heard the reality is always better.”

There’s the gentle “srrrr” of an arrow and then Clint’s standing in front of Tony, smirking down at him. “Threatening them with your boyfriend? Really, Stark?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, if you would’ve been on time for once in your life I could’ve spared all of us the embarrassment,” Tony scowls right back. “Where are the others?”

“Beats me.” Clint shrugs, kicks a twitching henchman hard. “Let’s just follow the blood bath and wails for mercy.”

Twenty minutes later, Tony surveys the carnage with a resigned sigh.

“They never learn, do they?”

“They will,” his lover gently squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll teach them until they remember it.”

Touch

Bucky x OFC

Summary:  He doesn’t talk to anyone, until her. She doesn’t touch anyone, until him.

Warnings: language (i think that’s it????? what is this??????)

Word Count: 8.3k (it’s long af i’m sorry i just get too excited)

Author’s Note: guess what!!!!! it’s my birthday!!!! and so my gift to you is this new story that i’ve been writing for a few months as a break from Savior. it shouldn’t be too long, probably under 10 parts but we’ll see how i do. this is one of my favorites and the main female character has definitely been on of the funnest to write so i hope you all enjoy :) feedback is encouraged, love you all xx


Originally posted by pxggycxrters

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“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good”

Clint and Nat absolutely found all seven secret passages within a year of being friends and they would absolutely always be in trouble except the teachers can never pin them for their crimes

embraceyourfandom  asked:

Imagine that one of them is an alien xenobiologist who falls in love with a human he is just supposed to be observing.

A/N: Tagged for violence. And pining. Also, looooong. Thanks to the OP for a truly great prompt.



The Terran’s smile was sunny. As warm and as golden as the G-type main sequence star his small blue world orbited. Phi'l found it impossible to control the tendency of his lips to quirk up in response. He’d stopped trying weeks ago.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Phil,” the Terran said, strong fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug, “but you’re kinda weird.”

Around them the hum and flow of conversation in the busy coffee shop was a soothing, pleasant drone punctuated by the fierce hiss of the big copper coffee machine behind the bar and the clank of cutlery against porcelain. Outside, the weather, still uncontrolled and unpredictable on this less advanced world, spat sleet into crowded streets. The humidity on Terra was higher than Phi'l was accustomed to, the gravity lighter and the temperature was too warm even in late autumn. But here inside the coffee shop the impossibly rich smell of butter and vanilla, of sugar and coffee and the sweet aroma of steamed milk, of woollen coats drying on pegs by the antique oak door, of the dizzying array of scent from Terran skin, all combined into an intoxicating haze that made him forget everything but the fascinating sapient sitting across from him at the small table.

“Am I?” Phi'l hid a twinge of unease behind a sip of coffee. He’d been very careful. But Terra was a new contact, sparsely studied. Central didn’t know much about the intricacies of the various cultures of Earth. He’d been thorough in his research—of course, he was thorough in everything he did—but there was always the risk of error.

“Yeah, you are,” the Terran's—Clint Barton's—eyes were bright with mischief. Phi'l relaxed a fraction, realizing it was unlikely he was in danger of being exposed. That he was only being teased. Flirting had been a difficult concept at first but it was fast becoming one of his favorite things. Especially when it was directed at him from this Terran man. He struggled to focus on the wordplay, to stop getting lost in the blue-green of the Terran’s eyes.

He pried his gaze away, focused on the contents of his cup. “How so?”

“Well, a fancy guy like you, coming in here week after week, to have coffee with a guy like me.”  

“Like you? I don’t understand.”

“Well, I mean, lookit you. All—” Clint Barton made a vague circling wave in his direction. Phi'l frowned, baffled for a micron.

“Ah. You mean my attire.” Phi'l looked down ruefully at the perfectly tailored dark suit, the subtly silken waistcoat, the fine dark tie. This level of formality had been one of those errors he could have avoided if he had been more experienced with the culture. Here, in this Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America, Terra, he stuck out like a bin!‘ti in a yarm'ot patch. Initially he’d chosen the attire because it felt familiar, comfortable, like the SHIELD Consortium uniform he’d spent his whole career in. He wasn’t sure he knew how to dress ‘casually’ anymore. Either here or on his own home-world.

Phi'l’s expression must have slipped into something Clint Barton found disconcerting. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It's…I like it. You look, uh, y'know. Nice. Good.”

The warm glow Phi'l felt in his chest at the Terran’s words was also unfamiliar. He glanced away, hoping the man didn’t recognize how pleased he was at the compliment. He wasn’t sure his reaction was proportional. Or…appropriate.

“You, also…look good,” he said tentatively, hoping it was the correct thing to say. He looked up. This Terran’s emotions were always so close to the surface, his expression so honest, so unguarded. Clint Barton seemed unconvinced but there was a trace of high color on his cheeks as he looked back openly. Phi'l could smell the heat in his face, the blood rising up, so close to the surface of his skin. Warm, alluring.

“Aw,” he said, “not really. Everyone says I look like ten miles of bad road.” Clint Barton self-consciously picked at the edge of one of the plasters that criss-crossed his forearms.

Ten miles of…what? What did that have to do with—? But the Terran’s pained expression was easy enough to read.

“You don’t,” Phi'l said, with maybe just a little too much force. Clint Barton looked up, startled. “…look like…road. You're— ”

Phi'l paused, off-balance, feeling his way. His last scholarly paper on intertribal diplomacy among the VosTo'kk of Altair Six had won two Imperiale Awards. His efficiency and ability to communicate within the Consortium was, although it wasn’t a word he would have chosen, legendary. He routinely declined speaking engagements that would have funded his retirement twice over, had he been interested in retiring. Why was being honest with this Terran so difficult? He took a breath and went at it from another direction.

“Clint Barton, the first time I saw you, you were actually rescuing a kitten from a tree.”

Clint Barton laughed. “Well, you helped—”

“The second time I met you, you had just given a homeless man all of your currency.”

“That’s why you had to buy me coffee. Maybe that was part of my evil plan.”

“—and your coat. And scarf. And it was 0.5C.”

Clint Barton shrugged, looked down at the tabletop. “I could get another coat easier than that guy.”

“Then there was the time that I happened to observe you jumping out of the third floor window of the Alcot building to apprehend a man who had just stolen a student’s backpack, fracturing your foot.”

“And you rode with me to the clinic. You didn’t hafta do that.”

Phi'l paused helplessly, trying to summon the strength to speak clearly. He sat back in his chair. “You’re impossible,” he finally said.

Clint Barton huffed out a breath. “Believe it or not,” he said, “it’s not the first time someone told me I’m a pain in the ass.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, where I come from, you’re impossible.”

Clint Barton looked up.

Phi'l stumbled on. “You simply…couldn’t exist. You could only have come from here. I’ve never met anyone like you in all of the wor—, all of the places I’ve been. You are a unique construct of this place, this time. And it is so improbable that I would have met you just by random chance that it takes my breath away. I didn’t know that someone like you could exist.”

Phi'l didn’t add that the desire to take his Terran man into his care, to treasure him, to protect him, had been growing over the weeks since their first encounter and was, by now, almost overwhelming.

“I sometimes feel I’ve been waiting my whole life to have met you,” Phi'l finished softly, just now realizing the truth of it.

He realized he had erred, had overstepped convention with his honesty, when he looked up and saw the Terran’s shocked expression.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry if that was too—”

“No, no!” Clint Barton’s voice was pained, urgent. “I,” he said, “you—” Then he seemed to give up all at once and grabbed Phi'l’s hand.

Phi'l gasped. The Terran’s basal metabolic rate was much higher than the people of his own world. The shocking warmth of his grasp hit Phi'l’s nervous system like the injection of a powerful drug, like a wave of plasma that swept though him, warming every part of him, igniting parts of his body he’d forgotten he even had through long years of nothing but the cold adherence to duty and the vast black emptiness of space.

He struggled, trying to keep his breath under control. Fought the sudden impulse to reach out and take more of him, keep more of this, hold him close, claim him.

“Phil,” Clint Barton said, “that’s actually the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” The Terran’s expression was wondering, disbelieving. As earnest and open as a youngling’s.

Phi'l fought to focus beyond the salient fact of the man’s hand on his skin. “It’s true,” he said. “And it is only right that you should know it is true.”

A silence fell. And in that moment, in all of the galaxy, Phi'l was aware of only two things—the buzz and hum of energy of the Terran’s hand against his own and the deep amazing colour of his eyes. Then Clint Barton seemed to realize what he was doing and withdrew. He raised his hand to the back of his neck, rubbed at the short hairs of his nape with a grimace.

“Uh, Phil—would you like to get dinner with me?”

Phi'l blinked, trying to regain his composure. “Dinner? We have just eaten breakfast.”

Clint Barton’s expression showed him that he was missing something.

“No, I mean dinner dinner.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“How ‘bout you let me explain it to you tomorrow night, huh? What do you say, 8pm, Anthony’s down the street, meet you there?”

“I—”

The hard buzz of the communicator in Phi'l’s breast pocket startled him. If the ship was contacting him in what was nominally supposed to be immersive field work it was deadly serious.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I must take this.” He retrieved the communicator, disguised to look like a Terran phone, out without meeting Clint Barton’s eyes. “Yes?” he snapped in full command voice, only realising he’d forgotten his mild-mannered alias as an insurance adjustor when Clint Barton flinched across the table.

May’s tone was clipped, efficient. “Regrets for the interruption, Commander. We’ve just detected a HYDRA ship in orbit, we need you back up here.”

[[Read more, or the whole thing entire on AO3]]

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Rules for Dating Tony (Chapter One)

So I wrote this halfway through #LetterstoBucky when I was just sad for Tony. And then I watched Civil War which made it worse! So this is based sometime after Civil War, and Tony has managed to get nearly every one back to the team and getting along. And because Tony deserves SO MUCH LOVE, the guys come up with a plan for each of them to date Tony.
This is just supposed to be funny and sweet so don’t look too deep into it! The guys are maybe a little out of character, but that’s the beauty of a fic! Each update will be a different date night, so I hope they make you smile.

Check out the MASTERLIST for all the chapters!
*****************************************

It started innocently enough, with Tony walking in on Bucky, Steve, T’Challa, Clint and Thor all eating breakfast together.

They were talking, or rather, ARGUING, quietly but fiercely among themselves, and shut up the moment he walked through the door.

“Morning boys.” Tony yawned and ran a hand through his early morning fro, really not noticing how they all looked him over, then looked at each other. Well, he might not have noticed if Thor could have been subtle, but they didn’t love the demi-god because he was subtle.

“Good Morrow, Anthony.” he intoned, in that mellow baritone, folding big arms across a bigger chest, and looking Tony over with a smile just short of a leer on his face. Tony blinked at him uncertainly, paused halfway to the coffee machine.

“Thunderboy, stop looking at me like that.” He looked down at himself, at his bare chest and threadbare pajama pants. “What? Is it my pajama pants? They are a little old I guess. Or my slippers? Say what you guys want, but these are easily the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn.” he grinned down fondly at his worn and faded moccasins. “You guys must just be jealous.” He shuffled back out of the kitchen, clutching a steaming coffee close to his chest.

“So one night?” he heard Thor say, and he paused right outside the door, too nosy to ignore the conversation. “Just one?”

“The night before and the morning after and that’s it.” This was definitely T’Challa, that deep voice sounding even lower, huskier in the morning. Tony shivered a little and grinned. The prince was so hot.

“Everybody gets the same amount of time.” Bucky chimed in. “That say it’s as fair as it can be, considering the situation anyway.” Tony could almost see him, all earnest blue eyes and early morning scruff. Adorable.

“Right. And everyone has to do their own thing, no copying anyone else.” From Clint, who had been drinking orange juice straight from the jug. Sometimes Tony thought Clint did shit like that just to make him smile, other times he thought maybe it was because Clint had just about zero manners.

“We will draw numbers to see who gets to go first.” Steve added quietly. “Keep it as random as possible.” Ah yes, there was his favorite stick-in-the-mud Captain. Always one for rules.

“Then yes, count me in as a competitor as well.” Thor announced, banging his cup on the table for emphasis.

Tony thought for a moment that the statement sounded odd, but Thor said a lot of odd things really, so he shrugged it off.

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119.

Clint isn’t that Good Will Hunting guy, he’s not gonna go solve complex maths shit in his spare time, but he can flip a bottle cap off three different surfaces and into a bin (or Tony Stark’s face) given less than a second to focus. And sometimes he finds it peaceful to find out about the universe, or bugs, or places he’s never been. So yeah, the war documentaries stored on the TV are his, sure. He’s not ashamed of it. Not when Tony and Thor have a scheduled Project Runway marathon, and Natasha tears up over Dog the Bounty Hunter.

It is a little humiliating, though, that Bruce notices it first. Before Clint even, consciously. It’s good that it’s Bruce, at least, ‘cos Bruce makes digs at low volume, unexpectedly hilarious directly into your ear and no one else has any idea why you’re fallen off the couch and rolling. Or, y'know hypothetically, frozen solid and staring at the screen like it’s gonna bite you, 'cos you’ve somehow bookmarked all the Bucky specials without noticing.

“Sorry,” Bruce says and backs off it, genuinely contrite, but it’s kinda too late and the damage is done. Clint can talk to FRIDAY, get the shows removed (or set to private, maybe), but what’s said can’t be unsaid and what’s seen can’t be unseen.

It’s easy, at least, to partition off the Buckys. To separate the imaginary guy on screen, with his short hair, beaming smile, kickass jacket, from the very real and hairy and angry dude who showers too often and steals Clint’s beer.

(How can a guy shower too often? Turns out even the Tower’s hot water ain’t unlimited. Also polite people, good housemates, communal livers, they take their damned clothes into the bathroom with them, don’t wander the corridors in towels too small for anyone’s sanity.)

So he’s coping. Seriously, he’s doing just fine. The guy who glares at him over coffee and the guy he jerks off to in the shower aren’t even that similar, not unless you look closely, and Clint has way too much self-preservation for that.

But some things you don’t have to look closely to see, and when Steve persuades Bucky to get a haircut Clint walks right into a wall.

calltomuster  asked:

Phil gets captured on a mission. Clint leads a group of Phil's junior agent protégées to get him back.

Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Clint’s apartment. Clint was on his back on the old purple couch with his eyes buried under one arm. Lying across his chest was Lucky, his one-eyed golden mix. Lucky was more than content to indulge his human in a long lie-in, but hushed sounds from the hallway brought the dog’s ears up to a perk.

*

Mack and Daisy stood outside Clint’s apartment. Daisy held her laptop in one hand, clicking intermittently at the keys for a moment, a frown on her lips.

“You got it?” Mack whispered.

There was a brief pause. “There’s nothing to get.” She replied, perplexed

“You mean it’s too high tech?”

Daisy shook her head. “No, I mean there isn’t anything. There’s no system…it’s just a door.” Looking a bit frustrated Daisy grabbed the door handle and gave it a jiggle. “And it’s not locked.” They both watched the door slide quietly open in bewilderment.

(Mobile users beware the Read More)

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Hired Help (Part 2) (Deadpool x reader)

Part 1

Language, obviously, because it’s Deadpool.

“Run, run, run,” Deadpool muttered under his breath, pushing you up off of him with a loud grunt so that you rolled right into the pile of shattered glass.  “I think I just saw someone!”

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Not Alone

Prompt/Summary: This is fic number 10 for @mrs-squirrel-chester‘s album challenge.  A bit of fluff

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: none, I can’t remember if there was a curse word. 

Word Count: 655

Author’s Note:   I rewrote this one because it was very angsty and to be perfectly honest, I need all the fluff I can get.  So sorry it is late.  But it means you get two fics from me today. 

Not Alone Video

Album Challenge Master List

Originally posted by dailyteamcap

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Hole in One

Reader x Clint Barton

Word Count: 2170ish

Warnings: Cursing (kinda a lot), fluff

Summary: You and Clint get left in the tower alone. When it finally gets to be too much for you, you decide to leave only to have Clint tag-along with you. When you discover that Clint has never played mini golf, you know exactly what to do.

A/N: I really liked this idea because it’s totally fluffy.

Originally posted by anthvnystcrk

Reader’s POV

There was nothing but an eerie silence throughout the tower. Nothing but silence since basically the entire team left yesterday afternoon, leaving you and Clint alone. If you were being honest, the silence was driving you absolutely insane.

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Overprotective much? (Avengers X Fem!Reader)

Characters: Avengers X Fem!Reader, slight Steve XFem! Reader, Overprotective Brother!Tony X Little Sister!Reader

Universe: Avengers, Marvel (Before AOU so no Wanda, Pietro or Vision)

Warnings: One swear word, threatening, flirting, drinking and attempted murder by an overprotective brother.

Mostly Humour.

REQUEST: Hello, I dont know if you are still taking request but I would like a funny one shot where the reader is Tony´s sister and she is really beautiful (thats why Tony won´t introduce her) and the avengers are surprised and start bothering Tony and he gots really jealous and protective (If its not a problem) n.n


Being a Stark is one thing. Being the little sister of THE Tony Stark, was entirely different. Good lucks ran in the family and the world had decided to not make you an exception. In fact, it decided to make you, as Tony puts it, “Too beautiful for anyone. EverTM

Of course it wasn’t all bad. You had an awesome big brother who supported everything you did and looked out for you, and being a Stark, you had enough money to never have to worry about getting a job. But the downsides were obvious as well. Tony Stark was your big brother, and being one of the only family members he had left, and his little sister left him ever so protective of you. Your looks did not help. He wished he could just wrap you in a blanket of bubble wrap and keep you in his pocket so no one could ever hurt you. He calls you every day, and if you don’t pick up, he goes ape shit and flies to your house to make sure you’re not dead. This also went so extreme as to keep you a secret from the media, never talking about you in interviews, and the only ones who knew you existed was JARVIS, Peggy, and Tony himself. However, when he joined the Avengers, his protective level when from 101, to 9000. If one threat appeared anywhere near where you lived, Tony would excuse himself to check on you and to hide you somewhere till it cooled down. You loved him, but he drove you up the wall sometimes.

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anonymous asked:

One of them is a dragonrider. He really loves his duty - and his dragon, but relationships would be much easier if the damn wyrm wasn't so jealous of his attention and picky on who's worthy of their rider...

The working title for this is: Five Times Clint’s Dragon Prevented Him From Having Sex and the One Time She Approved of his Partner

Needless to say that this has some other ships besides ClintCoulson.  It’s also NSFW!

There is a read more!

“I’m sorry, she usually doesn’t leave me at the bottom of the tower,” Clint said, eying his date as the walked up the spiral staircase to the top of the Tower of Dragons. The hike up the stairs was really killing the passion that had started below at the festival.  Clint frowned, wishing he hadn’t stupidly claimed the highest apartment in the tower.  Draka always waited for him to fly him up though until now.

Apple, no, Strawberry, nope that wasn’t right either.  Cherry? Yes, Cherry!  Cherry looked at him and then looked up.

Only halfway there, Clint thought following her look.  

Cherry huffed, before turning.  "This is so not worth it"

“Cherry,” Clint called down to her, following her for a few steps.  "C'mon, we’ll be there in no time.“

“No way,” Cherry declared, gesturing wildly as she walked downstairs. “Totally not worth it.”

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Clint gets way too much hate IMO

Feel free to disagree with me. This is just my opinion on the matter. I would’ve submitted this defense to fyeahcontroversialcharacters, but for some reason the blog is password protected now. I’m actually the one who submitted Clint to that blog. Anyways…

Why do people hate Clint? From what I can gather, it mostly seems to come from his crush on fan favorite Emily, the fact that his heart scenes and quests became awkward since Emily became an eligible bachelorette, and that he refers to himself as a “nice guy” in one of his heart scenes. I’ve also seen people complain about how he’ll give you geodes at the Festival of the Winter Star which you have to pay him to open and that he’s self-pitying and complains a lot.

Okay, first off, Emily was not originally meant to be a bachelorette, and Clint’s heart scenes clearly reflect this. The reason she became a bachelorette was because she won in a poll for the next female bachelorette. That’s not really Clint’s fault. And you may ask, “why not code certain heart scenes and quests to not trigger if you’re romancing Emily?” I may not have experience with coding, but I can tell you right now that’s probably much easier said than done.

And what about that whole “nice guy” line? Personally, I feel like people are reading too deeply into it (says the person who is analyzing Clint). Let’s see, what does tumblr mean when they say someone is a Nice Guy™? Do correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I can gather, it’s when a guy calls himself nice, complains that all girls want bad boys, and blames girls for rejecting him. I don’t see that with Clint. Never once does he blame Emily if she ends up with the Farmer. He’s never rude to her at all.

About the Winter Star Festival: People love to give Clint flak, but other townspeople can give the Farmer crummy gifts, too, and they don’t get nearly as much grief for it. Robin can outright give the Farmer a bunch of rocks. Vincent in Jas can give the Farmer one, count it, one piece of clay! They can also give the Farmer one geode, while Clint gives them five. Granted, they are children, but still.

And lastly, Clint’s attitude. This is just personal opinion, but to me, he reads as both depressed and anxious. How did I come to this conclusion? I also have both depression and anxiety. I actually take medication for it. He probably likes to vent to the Farmer because it helps him cope somewhat. Emily is his only friend, so he clearly doesn’t socialize much. In his heart scene at the Saloon, he’s sitting by himself. On other nights, he sits with Willy, but they don’t seem to interact much, and Willy isn’t listed as one of Clint’s friends. I’m pretty sure he’s only able to get out at night because of his job as the town blacksmith, which he clearly didn’t really want to begin with. He just became one because he felt obligated to, because every man in his family from his great-grandfather was a blacksmith. I’d probably be depressed too in his situation.

So yeah, I think Clint gets way too much hate, and this is why. Again, feel free to disagree, but I just had to pitch in my two cents.