shield husbands

Phil: CLINTON

Clint: WHAT

Phil: WHERE IS MY PAPERWORK

Clint: YOUR WHAT

Phil: WHERE IS MY PAPERWORK.

Clint: I UUUH. I PUT IT AWAY

Phil: WHERE

Clint: WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW

Phil: I NEED IT

Clint: UH UH. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING TO DO SOME WORKAHOLIC CRAP. YOU’VE NEEDED THIS BREAK FOR THREE MONTHS

Phil: THE WORK NEEDS TO BE SAVED

Clint: YOUR MENTAL HEALTH NEEDS TO BE SAVED

Phil: YOU TELL ME WHERE MY PAPERWORK IS AGENT. WE ARE TALKING ABOUT THE BUREOCRATIC STABILTY OF SHIELD.

Clint: I AM YOUR SPECIALIST. THAT IS THE MOST STABILITY SHIELD IS EVER GOING TO GET

“What do we do now?” Clint asked and licked his lips. Drops of rainwater ran over his face and he wiped it away. Phil, who was hunkered down beside the cliff to look at their car, turned his head and rose.

“I’d say we call for help, but…”

“… our phones are in the car,” Clint finished the sentence.

“Yep,” Phil said tersely. Clint could see that he was pissed off and tried not to show it. After all, he had gotten the car only three months ago. Fortunately it wasn’t Lola. Phil would’ve thrown him over the cliff as well. He wiped the rain out of his eyes again.

“Phil…” he started but Phil only raised his ‘finger of doom’ and looked around.

“That way,” he said then and - without waiting if Clint was following him - started to walk.

Clint let the air out of his lungs with a huff, looked over the cliff at the completely destroyed car and started to follow Phil. He kept his mouth shut because Phil was pissed and nothing he could say would make it better at the moment.

Fury had insisted that they’d take a few days off and Clint had persuaded Phil to go camping with him. But only two days after their arrival it started to rain and it didn’t stop and so they decided to pack up and drive home. Until Clint lost the control over the car on the wet, muddy dirt road and they barely managed to jump out of it while the car drove over the cliff.

Phil trudged along the muddy road and grumbling into his non-existing beard every now and then while Clint followed him quietly.

But an hour later - they were still somewhere out in the sticks - Clint couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m sorry, Phil,” he said quietly. Phil didn’t turn around he just kept walking. “I know that you’re angry, but…”

Phil stopped and whirled around, a weird expression on his face. “I’m not angry at you,” he pressed through his teeth, wiped away the water and took a deep breath.

“You’re… not?” Clint frowned and Phil huffed.

“I’m angry at myself, it’s my fault,” he said then. “You almost got killed and it’s my fucking fault.” Clint’s eyes went wide as saucers. Phil never used the F-word.

“What?” He blurted.

“You said the brakes didn’t grip properly,” Phil hissed. “I knew that and I should’ve let it check out before we came here but I forgot it and you almost got killed because I’m a fucking idiot!”

“You’re…” Clint started but Phil turned around and stomped off again. But this time Clint stopped him, he hurried after him and grabbed his arm.

“It’s not your fault,” he said then. Phil’s expression darkened.

“Yes, it is, and…” he started to rant and Clint knew only one way to stop him, he grabbed his arms, pulled him close and kissed him. Phil was stiff as a poker at first but then he wrapped his arms around Clint and kissed him back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered then. “I’m sorry I almost killed you and…”

“Don’t. We’re both alive and well and that’s what matters,” Clint said. Phil closed his eyes but when Clint kissed him again, he looked at him and shook his head.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he said.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” Clint smiled. “And now let’s find a dry place where I can rip off your clothes and ravish you, because you scared me to death.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I know.”

  • Clint, holding up a dog: Phiiiiiiiiiiiil
  • Phil: No
  • Clint: Come on, pleaaaase?
  • Phil: You already have Lucky, no.
  • Clint: But he's so well behaved
  • Phil: I am not flying back to the States with a dog. We're in Italy for a job, not a dog.
  • Clint: So... no dog?
  • Phil: No dog.
  • Clint: What about a cat?
  • Phil: Clint, keep your eyes on the target, not stray animals.
  • Phil Coulson, on a date: So what do you think of Clint Barton?
  • Date: You mean Hawkeye? He's the worst avenger
  • Phil *shoving breadsticks in bag*: I'm sorry but I have to go now

Okay, but did anyone else think that Kingsman was basically a Clint/Coulson fic??

- Lower class rebel with abusive parent does illegal/semi-illegal shit
- Suave older man in a suit bails him out and tries to get him to join an espionage agency
- Lower class rebel gets into fights with other agents about his background
- Befriends ruthless woman who becomes his BFF
- Suave older spy gets killed by villain while trying to stop him single handedly
- Angst
- (But everyone in fandom knows suave older spy isn’t actually dead)

+ bonus
- Cute dog lower class rebel has a soft spot for
- Lower class rebel was once in the armed forces
- Samuel L Jackson appears

for ralkana

A quick fluffly, sleepy thing. No warnings.

“Sooooo tiiiiired,” Clint moans into Phil’s shoulder as the elevator rises up to the eleventh floor of their hotel.

“Almost there,” Phil murmurs, swallowing his own yawn. In truth, he’s almost at the limit himself. His eyes are gritty, his clothing damp and dank feeling, his skin kind of itchy from where the flood waters had soaked him through. It took too many hours to clear out the civilians and get the water from the artificial flooding to recede. Unfortunately, their little two story house in Queens smells like mildew and neither Clint nor Phil have the energy to do anything other than pass out hard.

Phil and Clint both agreed that money is no object, well, Clint had said ‘fuck frugality, I want a goddamned 8000 thread count bed and room service’. Phil couldn’t find the energy to disagree. So they’re splurging on two nights at a hotel just shy of the ritz.

“The door is outsmarting me,” Clint whines.

“Yes well, the key helps,” Phil sighs, understanding completely, it takes him two passes to get the reader to green, “also looking at what you’re doing has been known to be effective.”

“Lies,” Clint stumbles in, body checking the nearest light switches.

Phil takes a few seconds to leave their toiletries in the bathroom and take off the mostly ruined suit jacket and tie before returning to the room with the giant bed.

Clint has taken the time to strip to his boxers and starfish out on top of the covers.

“You gonna stay there all night?” Phil asks, a smile on his lips.

“Hmmf,” he says, eyes staying closed. “Effort.”

“Come on,” Phil says as he decides that Clint has the right idea, he can shower and whatever later. It takes a few seconds of effort to remove the rest of his clothes, “I hear sleep is more satisfying in a more prone position.”

“Hmmf,” Clint objects, but he flops over onto his stomach and starts to slowly inchworm his way up to the head of the bed.

Phil pushes the edges of the covers down enough for Clint’s slug impression to continue unabated. It’s pretty adorable in his current mental state.

Okay it’s pretty adorable in general.

It takes probably takes Clint far more energy to snail his way to Phil’s side that it would to just get under the covers, but Phil waits patiently until Clint’s rough stubbly face rubs affectionately across his shoulder before curling his arms up and around Clint’s wiggling body.

“Sleeeepy.”

“Hush,” Phil whispers, “we are officially horizontal, no more complaining.”

“I’ll complain if I wanna,” Clint sulks, yawning.

“Yes dear,” Phil sighs, slowly letting the tension drain out of his body. The feeling of Clint warm and pliant always relaxes Phil nearly instantly.

Clint mumbles into Phil’s skin. “You suck.”

“Not tonight dear.”

Phil admits, he doesn’t actually see the pillow coming, but then again, Clint is an excellent marksman.

“What about him?”

Phil looked in the direction that Maria was pointing, but, considering that the bar was pretty crowded, he couldn’t tell who, exactly, he was supposed to be looking at. “Which one?”

“Brunet, sitting at the bar.” She rolled her eyes as if that had been obvious from the start, even though it really, really hadn’t.

He looked at the man for a few moments, considering, before finally replying with “No.”

“No? Why not? Are you just determined to reject every single guy I pick out for you?”

“He’s just…” Phil shrugged “Not my type.”

Maria turned to face him, glee in her eyes. “You have a type?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re not everyone. You’re Phil Coulson. I’m pretty sure if you ask any junior agent about you they’ll insist that you’re a robot.” She paused, brain turning over this new information Phil had just given her. “But since you do have a type, surely he would be it, right? I mean, I haven’t even talked to him and I can already tell that he’s practically your soulmate!”

“And why would you get that impression?”

“Just look at him – he’s around your age, he’s attractive. He’s probably taller than you – which I know you like, don’t try and deny it – but not so much taller than you that he’d make you look short. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit – “

Phil cut in quickly, muttering “—I’m more of a Dolce man, myself.”

The glare that came from Maria made him shut up pretty quickly, and she continued. “He’s sitting, in a bar, and yet he’s doing paperwork instead of interacting with other people. Tell me he’s not perfect for you, go on, I dare you.”

“He’s not perfect for me.”

How?”

“Gotta say, the Armani was a deal breaker.” he deadpanned, but when Maria scowled at him he just thought ‘to hell with it’ and gave her the actual reason “Plus, I’m kinda taken.”

In the minute or so that Maria sat staring at him in silence, gobsmacked, a million different expressions crossed her face, before she finally said “Barton.”

It hadn’t really been a question, but Phil still answered “Yes.”

“Phil Coulson, you motherfucker. How long have we known each other? We started training at SHIELD on the same day. I am your best friend in the entire world, and yet you didn’t think to even mention to me that you had a boyfriend?”

“Fiancé, actually…” Phil braced himself, preparing for Maria to explode in rage.

“You are damn lucky that we’re in a crowded bar, or I would probably kill you right now.”

“If it helps, I decided to tell you today because I want you to be my maid of honour.”

Maria’s expression softened, and it was obvious that she was holding back a grin as she mumbled “I’m still mad at you.”