S.Rogers x B.Barnes x f!Stark!Reader
Y/n, Steve and Bucky are now in Wakanda, 2 months after the events of civil war. All is peaceful - but will it stay this way, especially after Steve has one very special question?
(Follows timeline of IW and End...
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The street was a stingy, old pass way with strips of red and blue light cutting through the shadowed edges, perfect for cutting deals or throats.
Y/n rubbed her hands together absently, keeping her prickling skin warm as she crouched low and out of sight.
The buyers were sure to arrive soon, and y/n checked her watch to see they were still seeming going to be on time.
Her breath condensed into a Misty cloud as it struck the cool, night air, the mist curling over her cheeks as it rose upwards.
Y/n's thighs were starting ache incredibly from her squat position, but the girl couldn't find it in herself to care when she was this close to her target.
In a matter of fifteen minutes, those hydra bastards would have slit throats and wide eyes - lifeless and cold, just like how y/n felt since Thanos.
The crunch of gravel had her ears perked up, the promise of heavy footsteps bouncing off the graffitied, brick walls that lined the alley.
Controlled breaths rolled from between y/n's parted lips as she listened, eyes glued to the thin road that twisted through the middle of the street, damp concrete shining a yellow as a torch's light was cast upon it.
... Clint was perched up high, arrow knocked and breath held as he lined up the shot.
Once the men would walk past his spot, Clint would have them shot and slaughtered faster than you could say 'hydra'.
Brown eyes stared with focus, flitting to every shadow and every flicker of light that occurred in the small alleyway.
The scrape of leather of gravel was loud in the otherwise quiet night, a sprinkle of cold drizzle accompanying the sound and causing the raindrops to slide down Clint's nose in an unpleasant drip.
Movement flickered again, the glaring yellow light of a torch dazzling over wet concrete - dancing around in foreshadowing of the people yet to come.
More movement, a controlled lean of a figure venturing slowly out towards the road as the footsteps grew louder, closer.
Clint's eyes narrowed into slits as he observed the action, bow string never once growing slack as he surveyed the scene before him.
He held in a slight gasp at the sliver flicker of a blade being drawn, small as a dagger and certainly light enough to get a clean slice through the air if thrown properly.
It was only when the red streak of light found the figure's face, pulled taught in concentration, did Clint finally let out his gasp.
From there, it all happened much too fast.
The footsteps grew faster, feet slapping against concrete in a sprint as the torch light shut off in a sudden snap.
A whisper of sliver shot forwards just as Clint let the arrow fly, both the Avengers' trained timing impeccably on-point.
