winterwitch611:

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton, Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson, Tony Stark x Pepper Potts

Summary: Pepper asks the team to decorate Gingerbread Houses for a charity auction. She enlists the help of a local baker. Clint and Bucky think they could have a better time with her behind closed doors. Sam doesn’t take kindly to their inappropriate flirting.
Fists fly.
Things break.
Blood splatters Tony’s belongings….Just another day in Avengers Tower. 

Word Count: 3166

Pepper calls them all in for a meeting, and quickly sums up the agenda. The puzzled look on all their faces tells her all she needs to know. She would need to summon all her powers of persuasion. It isn’t going to be easy to convince a team of superhumans that building gingerbread houses for charity is a great idea.

“Just think of the smiles on those little faces when they see the finished products. Not to mention all the good that will come from the money we raise when the houses are auctioned off,” she says as she bats her eyes at them. “Can’t you find it in your hearts? I mean I knooow I don’t do annnything for you all year so it’s hard for you to want to do anything for me…”

“Alright, drama queen, let me stop you right there. Is the guilt trip really necessary?” Tony asks adding an almost audible eye roll. “Whadda ya say team? I’m sure we can manage something. I mean really, how hard can it be? If I can design and build an Iron Man suit I’m sure I can build a simple gingerbread house. Clint, on the other hand, I’m sure his will find a way to explode… or implode.”

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promptmewinterhawk:

Bucky only trudges out of his room and to the communal floor because he needs coffee. He knows he’s not actually hungover, that all he imbibed last night was regular ol’ human liquor, but it’s almost as if his body is determined to remember the experience of what once was and forever shall remain stupidly karmic misery.

JARVIS at least keeps all the lights helpfully dimmed and the shutters low on the expansive windows, but Bucky’s not really in the kind of state of mind where gratitude’s even in his periphery, so he just shuffles through without a word.

He pulls up short, however, when he steps into the kitchen that overlooks the open plan living room, distracted from his quest by a most heinous discovery.

“Halloween was yesterday,” he bites out, his mouth tugging down past the usual lines of a not-a-morning-person frown to a this-offends-me-on-a-personal-level-and-I’m-going-to-glare-until-it-stops frown.

Clint, bedecked in a hideously red and white onesie with a lopsided black belt, turns from where he’s perched at the top of a ladder in the far corner, stringing multi-colored Christmas lights throughout the whole room by the looks of it.

“Yup.” Clint grins and winks because there’s not enough wrongness happening before his very eyes, apparently. “Way to read your calendar this morning, Buckaroo.”

Over by the couches, there’s still a skeleton posed provocatively across the loveseat from last night’s revelry. In deference to his decor retrofit, though, Clint has plopped a Santa hat on it’s head at a jaunty angle. 

Scowling, Bucky turns his back on Clint and stomps over to the coffee machine, determinedly focusing on it and only it. “Times like this remind me how awful the future can be,” he grumbles as the machine sputters to life and slowly dispenses the one true elixir of the Gods. “Can’t we just enjoy holidays one at a time? And when it’s actually, oh, I don’t know, the designated time for the holiday?”

Grabbing up his mug, he ducks his head on his way back out to avoid anymore overly bright cheer, though he nevertheless catches a glimpse of a cottony mound of fake snow piled up in front of one the windows with a lopsided snowman at the center. Bucky has never rolled his eyes so high and so hard in his life.

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flawedamythyst:

It’s actually both Clint and Sam that get de-aged, but it’s Bucky’s PoV so he cares more about one than the other.

“So, how old are you guys?”

“I’m seven and a half,” said Sam, chin jutting out with pride.

Clint snorted. “I’m nearly nine,” he said, with a sneer. “I’m lots older than you, I knew you were a baby.”

“I’m not!” said Sam, and for a moment it looked like there was going to be another row.

“Okay,” cut in Tony, “Great, you’re both not babies, you’re clearly just tiny little adults.”

“Like you, you mean,” said Steve.

Tony gaped at him because even after all this time, he was still taken by surprise by Steve’s sassy comments every time they happened. Bucky snorted a laugh, then reached for the last slice of pizza.

Clint’s hand had been about to take it, but he snatched it back at Bucky’s movement. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to take it,” he said, words tumbling over themselves.

“Don’t worry, you can have it,” said Bucky, pushing the box towards him.

Clint shook his head, staring down at the carpet.

“Okay,” said Bucky. “Well, I think I actually want some of Tony’s, so I’m just going to leave it here, okay? If you don’t want it, we’ll put it in the fridge for tomorrow.”

He left the box and went to grab a slice from Tony, ignoring his protest.

Clint didn’t move to take the last slice of pepperoni for another five minutes, and when he did he moved fast, glancing at Bucky as if waiting to be told off. Bucky kept his eyes fixed on the movie that was still playing and pretended he hadn’t seen.

shatteredhourglass:

@claraxbarton wanted to hear more about the kidnapping fic, so; 
Clint gets kidnapped by Hydra and by the time the fic starts, he’s been gone for months. He and Bucky were already in a relationship at this stage, so he and Natasha are just catatonic, lurking around his apartment in Bed-Stuy. 

—–

“Did you lose him?”

“He was injured,” Sam says. “Something fell on his leg during the explosion, he can’t have gone far.”

Natasha glances at him, and the look on her face is torture. “Should I go get him?”

The words are offered kindly, because Natasha’s trying to be good to him but she’s worried he’ll let Clint hurt him, won’t be willing to knock him down if he’s not all there. Bucky’s compromised, he knows he is, but he needs to get Clint himself or he’ll go insane, so he just shakes his head tightly and strides past them. Broken glass and things he doesn’t focus on too much crunch under his boots, but none of it is relevant in his search. His hand clenches tight around his gun, but there’s nothing when he glances around another shipping container. He’s got to be here somewhere, and even if he is dazed and hurt and quite possibly brainwashed, he’s Clint, so Bucky just has to stop and think about where he’d go if he were Hawkeye.

The answer, of course, is up.

There’s a couple of crates that haven’t been burned or blown to pieces, stacked up a few meters high, and when Bucky drops his weapon and pulls himself up onto the first one, he’s greeted with a knife bouncing off the metal of his left shoulder. It falls to the ruins below and he twists to the side, where a low-hanging piece of steel shields him from where the knife came from. There’s nothing else, however, not even movement, and after a pause he peeks out, hoping there’s not another blade heading his way. His eyes land on a dark shape in the corner, smears of blood on the metal, and for a second he stops breathing. His hunch had certainly been right, at least, because the broken, battered-looking blond sitting in the corner, looking wild and dangerous, is Clint Barton, although there’s no recognition in those sharp blue eyes. They’ve got him wearing different hearing aids, black and barely visible in the shadows, but at least they didn’t leave him deaf. 

He raises a hand and Clint flinches back, even though he’s too far to have any damage done.

“Clint,” he says, and his voice cracks, just a little. “’m not gonna hurt you, doll, it’s okay. I came to take you home.”

winterhawkkisses:

Bucky let himself out onto the roof through the access door, crunching across the gravel there without any sort of attempt at secrecy. It was the kind of day where the cold settled into the bones of you, aches along the length of them; it was pain-cold and the sharpest shade of gray. His hair whipped across his face and he was grateful for the leather jacket he wore, and he was grateful for the hooded sweater and the blanket he’d bundled up in his arms, because the idiot curled up by the low parapet had a hospital gown flapping against his bare legs.

He didn’t give Clint time or space to protest, ‘cos he was practically blue. Just got straight to bundling him up, careful of his ribs and the cast around his left arm, swaddling him up until his hair was wild with static and he was twice the size he oughta be in Bucky’s arms. Of course he got him situated there; once he was incapacitated and unable to do accidental damage to himself or others, Bucky insinuated himself behind him and pulled him back against his chest, his feet planted flat and his knees crooked up to provide a little more of a cage for him, make him feel a little more surrounded and safe.

The difference was immediate and welcome, but Bucky still didn’t like the fine tremble of Clint against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, careful to keep the pressure light, and traced his lips along Clint’s neck, across the cold line of his jaw. Clint made a soft noise and leaned into it, and Bucky’s lips curled into a smile against frigid skin.

“Why’ve you got to do this, huh?” he asked, low and warm and gentle and the polar opposite of everything that was the sound of the wind.

Clint shuddered a little and pressed backwards into him.

“Every time,” Bucky said, rubbing his hands up and down Clint’s arms over sweater, over blankets, still feeling the ridge of the cast, the solid reminder that he hadn’t been fast enough to help. “Every damn time you gotta tumble yourself outta the hospital bed, and I’ve gotta track you down and make you look after yourself.”

“Well you make such a pretty nurse,” Clint croaked, and Bucky nipped at his throat, a punishment. Clint sighed, tipped his head back onto Bucky’s shoulder, stared up at the miserable sky. “I do it,” he said, “’cos someday pretty soon I’m not gonna be able to crawl out of that bed, and it scares the shit out of me.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Bucky answered, quick as breathing, quick as the heartbeat that suddenly thumped rabbit-fast in his chest.

“Nothing about this is on you,” Clint said, suddenly stern, but only so long as he was talking about Bucky, ‘cos he could only ever be fierce for someone else. His voice softened back into something that Bucky thought was like snow, soft and gentle and cold until suddenly it was heavy enough to pull down the roof on you. “I’m getting old,” he said. “Everything hurts more, everything bends less, every injury is a little closer to pulling me out of this.” He let out a breath that Bucky could see. “And this is everything. I don’t know what I’m gonna have when everything is gone.”

“Me,” Bucky said, monosyllabic ‘cos of the fist around his throat, ‘cos he could barely swallow or breathe. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s frozen cheek, scared stupid and fierce. “You’ll have me, Jesus Clint, you -”

His usual approach was useless here. He couldn’t squeeze tighter, rock him a little, show him with his strength and his solidity that he’d always stick around; maybe that wasn’t what Clint needed, maybe he’d always needed Bucky to make himself weak with words.

“I love it,” he said, helpless. “I love that you’re getting old. I love that every new line on you that I get to learn is another sign of how long this’s been going on, and of how I get to keep you now.” Clint snorted, and Bucky pressed his mouth to the lines right by the corner of his eye, the ones he figured were halfway his from how many times he’d made Clint grin. “I don’t know how to tell you I love you in ways you’re gonna believe,” he said, making a warm spot for Clint on a frozen rooftop, knowing him well enough to seek him out every time.

flowerparrish:

this is mainly for @exhalesimon who asked me for a list, because I realized I love too many Winterhawk fics to just text them. But everyone’s welcome to share in the joys of this ship!! It just sort of worked out that it’s my top 20 winterhawk fics, but they are sorted in the order in which Katey needs to know them rather than like, if any are “the best” (they’re all the best – as are a lot that didn’t make it onto this list). 

1. Complications by flawedamethyst 

Clint’s got a plan to retire and go find himself a simple life at his family’s old farm. Simple is good, right? Easy to remember. Simple is why he doesn’t really mind that his soul-print has never activated, because a soulmate could only add another layer of complexity to his life.

And then the Winter Soldier turns up at his archery range on the Avengers base, and simple slips through Clint’s fingers.

Post Age-of-Ultron (minus Clint’s wife&kids) Soulmate AU.

Massive thanks to Chucksauce for betaing.

2. What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes

“What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?”

Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles.

For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

3. Silhouette by mariana_oconnor

After a mission in Mexico goes wrong, SHIELD Agents Barnes and Rogers are given the job of hunting down the notorious Hawkeye and the Black Widow, the only problem being: no one even knows what they look like.

On the other side of the law, Clint’s enjoying messing with their new SHIELD shadows, especially seeing how close he can get to Agent Barnes without him realising, but he makes the mistake of getting attached, and that makes everything more complicated.

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