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Game Changer & Make Some Noise
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@devilhawk-love
Hello everyone!
First of all I would like to thank you all for you support in keeping this rarepair alive. It really means a lot to me, that you are supporting and want to see more of this ship.
My goal is to this ship have succeed across fanfiction and the best way to do that is by giving what the readers want.
That said this is a post where you can send in any requests you may have. Any scenarios I have yet to think of or any theme I have not picked up on.
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Clint hated being vulnerable. So whenever he thought Matt was asleep, he’d stay up just a little longer in the dark to say the things he could never bring himself to say during the day.
The first time it happened, Matt wasn't even pretending to sleep, he just had no reason to open his eyes, right up until he felt Clint gently caressing his face and soft-spoken compliments started raining down on him.
After that, Matt made a habit of faking sleep. He’d lie completely still just to hear Clint whisper that he loved him, or quietly confess that Matt was the absolute best thing that had ever happened in his life.
It was a sweet, harmless routine until the night Clint gently stroked his jaw and whispered that he wanted to marry him, because he couldn't imagine a life without him anymore.
That was the moment Matt finally opened his eyes, a faint smirk breaking through the dark. "You really should've asked that a long time ago."
When Clint couldn't sleep, he didn't count sheep, take melatonin, or go for a walk like a normal person. Instead, he decided to lie flat on his back and flick coins at the ceiling in the dark.
Matt, having nothing better to do and even less desire to get pelted in the face with stray copper, decided to catch them before they fell. With every quiet thunk off the plaster, Matt snatched a coin out of the air. As he caught them, he started counting. He figured Clint would run out after ten, maybe twenty at most.
He was dead wrong. For reasons Matt couldn't fathom, Clint apparently hoarded an absurd quantity of loose change in his pocket. Twenty pennies turned into thirty, then forty, then fifty.
By the time Matt caught penny fifty-two, his patience was shot. As Clint readied another coin, Matt reached over, grabbed Clint's wrist, and pinned his arm to the mattress.
"Go to sleep," Matt muttered, trapping Clint's fingers against the bed.
Clint let out a disappointed grunt, but he didn't fight it. He let the rest of the pocket change spill onto the sheets, sinking back into the pillow and leaving the room in silence.
Clint coming home with an impulse tattoo was hardly a surprise, but watching Matt try to decode the raised outline with his fingertips was pure entertainment. Sitting on the couch, Matt traced the ink on Clint’s shoulder, trying to map the lines in his mind. He was somehow so close, yet missing the mark completely.
Clint didn't help matters, offering vague descriptions whenever Matt pressed for a clue. "It's timeless," Clint offered casually, leaning back. "It's deeply personal. A real classic."
After a week, Clint took pity on him and asked if Matt just wanted the answer. Matt’s stubbornness immediately kicked in, he refused to admit defeat. Instead, he doubled down, throwing out absurd guesses.
"A circus cannon firing a hawk? " Matt guessed, tracing a curve on Clint's shoulder. "An overly detailed diagram of a compound bow? A flaming skull?"
Clint finally had enough of the wild theories. He grabbed Matt’s hand, held it against the healing skin, and announced, "It's your name, Murdock. In a giant heart with an arrow through it."
Clint brought home an espresso machine with the triumphant energy of a man who had just saved a life. Clint proudly spent two full hours polishing the brass levers until they shone.
The moment the machine turned on, it made a sound so excruciatingly sharp that Matt had to go to the bathroom and cover his ears. But when Matt came back, Clint was beaming, holding up a tiny shot of espresso with absolute pride. Matt simply didn't have the heart to crush him.
So he chose violence. Late that night, Matt slipped into the kitchen and cut something that seemed important. The next morning, Clint flipped the lever, got silence and grunted in disappointment. But Clint is a handyman by trade, so within an hour, he had spliced the wire back together and had the screeching demon running again.
Thus began a Cold War. Matt unscrewed the pressure relief valve and Clint replaced it with a heavy-duty bolt. For three agonizing weeks, their kitchen became a tactical battleground of midnight destruction and stubborn morning repairs.
By week four, Matt was on the brink of a sensory breakdown. Desperate times called for criminal measures.
Matt found a robber and in exchange for immunity, hired him to steal from them. When Clint arrived home from the grocery store with Matt and discovered the break-in, he promised he would find the thief. A few days later, Matt came back with a bag of the stolen items, at least most of them. He told Clint the espresso machine and a few other items were gone.
Clint spent the entire day crying about his pride and joy, which made Matt a little jealous, but nevertheless, the devil had been defeated.
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Attending a high-society gala sober was not happening, but coming home blitzed on champagne was the most normal thing for Clint and Matt to do. Given their collective track record, nobody in their inner circle was surprised when Clint and Matt were dragged into the back of an unmarked van three blocks from the venue.
When they woke up locked in a holding cell, neither of them made a move to escape. The room was a bit drafty, but outside, New York was getting loud and boring and neither felt particularly inclined to go back to work. Back home, their friends and team weren't even looking for them, they knew who Clint and Matt were, knew they were fine, and were simply running a pool on how long the two would drag out their absence.
For an abduction, the perks were surprisingly solid. The kidnappers were first, timers, so they were far out of their depth. Terrified of underfeeding their high-profile hostages, they ended up sending down three home, cooked meals a day. Clint spent his afternoons lounging on the floor, critiquing the cover stories and spending quality time, while Matt enjoyed the silence.
The only real flaw in their makeshift holiday was the furniture. There was a terrible cheap couch with a broken nightstand and a bed with rusty springs. After spending one miserable night listening to rust flakes grind inside the mattress, Matt reached his limit. On night two, he climbed onto Clint and sprawled out directly on top of him. Clint just shifted his arms to pin Matt in place, draped his jacket over them, and went right back to sleep.
They stretched the "hostage situation" out for eight full days, catching up on sleep while their captors slowly spiraled over why no one was responding to their ransom calls. Only when it was date night did they escape and enjoy a nice romantic dinner.
People tend to forget that Clint grew up in the circus, which gave him insane balance and a set of bizarrely useful tricks.
If a plate slips off the kitchen counter, Clint snatches it before it even clears the edge of the table—not dramatically, but like it's a mundane thing to do, which for him, it is.
Even when he trips, slips, or gets tossed off-balance, Clint physically cannot fall badly. His body tucks, rolls, and lands properly without a single wasted movement, because when you grow up walking tightropes or riding unicycles, learning how to fall safely is the very first lesson you learn.
Clint being sick is Matt's worst nightmare, but not because he's actually worried. I mean Clint has survived alien and robotic apocalypses as well as end-of-the-world fights. The truth is, Clint Barton is the worst patient in human history.
First off, Clint refuses to even acknowledge he's sick, forcing Matt to physically drag him into bed. The second Matt turns his back, Clint sneaks out to try and go about his day normally, only to make his fever twice as bad.
By the time Clint actually reaches the point where he can't move, he turns into a drama queen. He lies under the blankets whining to Matt nonstop, sighing with every breath and acting like he's on his deathbed.
Matt refuses to wear suits outside of work. He spends enough time in formal wear for clients and courtrooms, so the second he steps out of the office, the tie comes off. Clint, on the other hand, loves men in suits and never stops whining about Matt’s decision to dress down off the clock.
Fed up, Clint takes matters into his own hands and secretly books an official consultation under an alias.
On Thursday morning, Matt steps into the room expecting a client named "John." At first, hearing Clint's heartbeat and scent in the office makes Matt think something has gone wrong. But then Clint introduces himself as "John," and Matt instantly realizes what happened.
Clint loves Matt more than anything. So much so that he learned Braille for him. Today, he knows Braille like the back of his hand, reading and writing it with complete ease. But back when he first started learning, it didn't go so smoothly.
Around the six-month mark of their relationship, Clint took the initiative to secretly learn Braille to surprise Matt. The only problem was Clint’s calloused fingers. Years of pulling bowstrings meant he couldn't properly feel the raised dots under his skin, leading to an endless series of mistranslations on the love notes he left around the apartment.
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The best thing about Clint and Matt is that their relationship exists across identities. They get quiet coffee dates and lazy mornings as Clint Barton and Matt Murdock. Meanwhile, they also get patrol dates and rooftop make-out sessions as Hawkeye and Daredevil.
The people of New York are obsessed with them. The city is covered in Daredevil and Hawkeye graffiti, fans wear T-shirts with hearts drawn around their suits, and the internet goes feral every single time they're spotted fighting side-by-side.
The public speculation gets so wild that Tony eventually builds them an untraceable social media account so they can officially settle the debate. When they finally post a photo confirming they aren't just together, they're married, every news outlet loses its mind.
Clint is not what anyone would call a peaceful sleeper. As quiet and stealthy as he is on a mission, the second his eyes close, all discipline vanishes. Sheets end up on the floor, pillows cease to exist and anyone sharing a bed with him gets kicked off the mattress.
There is only one exception to the rule: Matt.
When Clint sleeps next to Matt, it’s as if he turns to stone. He doesn't toss, he doesn't kick, and he doesn't shift a single millimeter. Deep down, Clint’s instincts seem to know that Matt needs quiet, so he stays completely frozen, giving them both a night of peace.
Being total disasters, Clint and Matt have perfected the art of going with the flow and making the best of every mess.
When an elevator stalls, they don't panic or complain, they just lean against each other and take a power nap. When something breaks around the apartment, Clint pulls out his tools to fix it while they spend the entire time gossiping. When their wedding cake fell, they skipped the drama and just ate the parts that hadn't hit the floor. And when their hotel room is overbooked, they turn it into a camping trip.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter how badly a plan falls apart. As long as they're together, they’ll enjoy the chaos.
The team has accepted that playing poker with Clint and Matt is a losing game. Clint whispers his hand in a breathy hush that only Matt’s hearing can catch, letting Matt know every single card they have without anyone noticing.
From there, Matt calls all the shots. He has memorized everyone's heartbeat when they bluff, or when they hold good or bad cards, meaning the two of them literally cannot lose.
Unsurprisingly, Clint and Matt end up taking everyone’s money. It got so bad that Tony eventually had to bankroll the rest of the team just to keep game night running because everyone else was broke.
The duo even used their winnings for a down payment on a house. At this point, Tony hands out a $100 bill to each team member every month just to keep poker night alive. Clint and Matt end up walking away with a clean $600 bonus every single month, enough to keep the firm afloat and help with expenses. Deep down, they both suspect Tony knows exactly what he is doing, but since he's the only one who never actually plays, they have no evidence of it.
Given their ridiculous amount of muscle mass, both Clint and Matt naturally radiate heat like human furnaces. But thanks to Matt’s hyper-senses, his internal thermostat is very sensitive, if the room drops below his comfort zone, he feels it everywhere.
His solution is simple: Clint.
Whenever Matt gets chilly, he unceremoniously uses his boyfriend as a personal heating pad. Out in public, he is subtle: lacing their fingers together to warm his hands or standing pressed against Clint's side. At home, subtle tactics disappear. Matt will casually wrap himself around Clint from behind, leaning into his back and dropping light kisses against his neck while stealing every bit of warmth he can get.
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Clint and Matt are polar opposites, and anyone who has known them for more than five minutes can tell. It shows in every single aspect of their lives: their appearances, their personalities, and especially their daily routines.
Take their mornings, for example. Matt is a morning bird. He wakes up at any hour completely refreshed, bright-eyed, and happy to start the day.
Clint, on the other hand, would be content sleeping until noon. When he finally drags himself out of bed, he refuses to acknowledge a single soul, with the sole exception of his boyfriend—and even then, that is considered a miracle.
It was supposed to be a lazy, rainy afternoon on the couch for Clint and Matt. The peace died the second they started bickering over who got the better side of the blanket.
"Give it back."
"No, you give it back."
That exact exchange was repeated thirteen times in the span of ten minutes. By the end of the tug-of-war, the blanket had fallen to the floor. Neither got to use it, leaving both of them shivering in silence out of pure, stubborn spite, though they did end up cuddling instead.