#Hurt Clint Barton

[lynlee494]

Master List

For the record, it was not the Winter Soldier who brought on the end of humanity. It was more of a group effort really.

And that clutz Murphy, a product of Hydra nepotism putting someone in a position they shouldn’t be in.

And now several years on Bucky has a lot of confusing memories, but at least the fast paced environment and literal walking nightmares means he doesn’t really have time to dwell too much on the more distant past.

In the end none of it mattered anyways.

Bucky is merely surviving, avoiding best he can the lingering human population and avoiding Empties when possible.

This task is going well, until he gets stuck with a small but fierce blonde named Steve. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

**Currently tucked away while I finish the full story, heavy edits under way to improve** *WIP; *Pausing participation in events that involve long fics till complete - priority story as chapters return from editing. Bucky Barnes’s family is indebted to Alexander Pierce, a powerful man who has preyed on him and those like his family for decades. There are only a few years of service left to pay his debt, but recently Pierce's brute Rumlow has been escalating in his violence. Fearing the inevitable and with nowhere to actually go Pierce can’t reach, Bucky had begun to accept his fate.

Then Bucky’s luck turns when a persistent advertisement for an insanely affordable apartment in Bed-Stuy interrupts his browsing at a bakery, the shop close enough to pick up the free wi-fi from the Avenger’s Tower.

Maybe there is a chance.

Clint Barton has a surprise new tenant that he is pretty damn sure there had been no application for. Likely Jarvis’s idea, the AI sparing some processing to help manage Clint’s apartment building. Avenging and being a landlord takes a toll.

Not a problem except the top floor – Clint’s floor – has been left empty save him for safety reasons. Which meant the only vacancy was right next door. And it turns out the new guy is hot. And maybe kinda in trouble. Which is so his type.

So many ways this can go bad, and Clint is sure he'll find all of them. *Bucky/Clint ______________________________________________

**Stucky Reverse Bang Entry *WIP *Currently posting

The Soldier’s understanding of the world begins to unravel after he completes a mission and finds a helpless, shivering, and soaking wet kitten. Unable to leave, knowing the frail thing will die in the elements, the Soldier makes a choice...

The Soldier can not risk contact, capture, and the inevitable return to Hydra and captivity would bring. He may remember Steve Rogers, but he also remembers Captain America. Similarly enhanced, the Captain would have the advantage, the Soldier’s movement would be limited with the kitten’s safety to consider.

A surveillance approach is the safest angle to take. There had been notebooks at the museum exhibit, so there may be more memories to be dredged up if Steve Rogers still keeps journals, keepsakes, things that may stir up more memories - more pieces to fill in the expanse between Bucky and the Soldier.

He’ll seek out Steve Rogers, who seems to feature in nearly every memory with Bucky, but he’ll be cautious. Can hopefully glean from the exposure more about the time before Bucky – before he – was presumed dead in a war. From before Steve’s Bucky became Hydra’s, time stuttering by till the Soldier was born.

*Bucky/Steve ______________________________________________

“How do they do it? Boxed in like that. Back to the only open space around you? Sitting around all day. Nothing to do...” Clint’s voice is tinny through the comms. “Ooh, if you see any decent munchies, snag me a few. I missed dinner.”

“Hey, bird brain, focus. If we’re too late getting back, I can’t pick up Alpine from Kate’s till late tomorrow.” Bucky’s voice is low, while the building should be empty, they aren’t able to watch all the entrances from Clint’s angle on the opposite building. A lot of this relies on the element of surprise and stealth.

"Dude, you just walked past a break room.”

“Are you looking for stray guards, or are you looking for snacks?”

“Both, of course.” Clint scoffs on the open mic. “Wait! Nine o'clock!”

Bucky growls but reaches out and grabs a handful of caramels from a desk and puts them in the breast pocket of his tactical vest.

“You’re the best.”

“Shut up, Barton.”

*Clint/Bucky

______________________________________________

“Steve?” Bucky finally speaks, having been standing – no, shaking – in the living room entrance. The brunette says his name with such disbelief. Like they hadn’t just seen each other. Right?

“Stevie?” and he crosses the distance between them and all but picks Steve up with desperate hands, “Steve, you look...they said you’re dead Stevie.”

Bucky sinks to his knees before Steve with a sob and real panic claws at the smaller man, causes a hitch in his breathing he is glad Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. Bucky claws at him too, both hands fisting in his shirt, pulling Steve tight to him while the man’s head presses against Steve’s stomach.

As time passes lazily around Steve the growing sense that something is off nags at him when all Steve wants is to see his ma.

And find out what is suddenly wrong with Bucky. *Steve/Bucky

______________________________________________

Bucky also knows Steve’s touch, delicate and light, always too cold despite rubbing Steve’s charcoal stained fingers warm himself. It was something he found himself doing a lot in the winter when they couldn’t always afford charcoal for the whole night, so they waited until right before bed to begin heating the room. No, these weren’t those surprisingly long but skinny fingers with knobby knuckles he would lay gentle kisses onto, warming each with the heat of his mouth.

“Shit, Morita, he is burning up,” and not-Steve sounds so worried that Bucky can’t help but lean into the touch and just pretend for a moment it is his Stevie. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

It wouldn’t have been so bad, Bucky could have shrugged this off easily once he caught his breath, but he found the more he pulled to free himself the worse it seemed to be. Barnes thinks he hears shouting, but it is distorted and drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Ripping further at the trap that was furthering ensnaring him he found himself snarling and just ripping at it with brute strength and panicked rage that echoed of the Asset’s frustrated rampages through Hydra personnel. *Clint/Bucky ______________________________________________

It was a fairly routine outing for the Avengers, aside from the location making Steve and Bucky uneasy, not even forty miles from where Bucky had fallen into Hydra’s control for nearly seven decades.

What was he supposed to say, ‘I know this is where I failed you, so just wondering if you wanted to sit this one out?’ or maybe, ‘This might be hard, but do you want to talk about how this is where they dragged you off from, after I left you behind, broken and bleeding?’

Instead Steve had been too in his own head at the same news that had unsettled Bucky, the train, the snow, Gabe’s face when he saw Bucky’s absence and Steve’s broken state – making it real, sealing it.

The two had both sat there in a sort of stunned silence, heartbeats passing, and then it was too late. Bucky was out the door, shoulders back and his stride long, and Steve merely followed him to the armory. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

It is 1994 and James Barnes has been out of Hydra’s grasp for several months. Barnes is just trying to stay ahead of Hydra, and is at an event to take out an exposed Hydra commander to help with this.

Seeing the young Tony Stark at the event shakes Barnes's loose grip on his own mind however, and Barnes's attention is suddenly split between the past and now - and between his need to remain hidden and his desire to reclaim part of the Bucky he remembers.

Meanwhile, Tony Stark has been avoiding as many responsibilities as possible in the three years since his parents died - but tonight is the first step into entering Stark Industries as the CEO.

Instead Tony's greatest strength is dampened and he finds himself suddenly at the mercy of those around him, and to top it off he begins to worry for his sanity when he finds himself wanting to help a hallucination of Bucky Barnes. *Tony/Bucky ______________________________________________

There is no warning or retort when a punch to his side causes him to stumble, followed by a searing burn blooming from his left bicep. Clint manages to get cover behind a set of dumpsters as he makes out the distinct ping when a bullet hits where he’d been. Gunshots. He had been shot and the night air was not the least bit bothered by it. Luckily his arm seems to be nothing but a deep graze but his side would have to wait. Obscured and hindered by his uniform at least the compression suit would help in the meantime.

Hawkeye only knows one man who handles a gun that quietly, and this makes twice the fucker got the drop on him. And he is supposed to be dead. *Clint/Bucky ______________________________________________

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50552095

After a close call, Bucky Barnes finds himself alone in the Tower.

Solitude is not something that bothers Bucky, and a chance to relax and nurse his wounds wouldn't be so bad...if it wasn't also Steve and Bucky's anniversary.

It certainly doesn't help things that there may have been a mix up with Bucky's medicine. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50520286

“Mrs....Mrs. Rogers...he looks…” a small voice sobs quietly, and Sarah was at his level immediately, her arms tight around him. Bucky let out another sob, this time muffled by her shoulder. His small body shaking against her as she can tell he tries to hold it in.

They stay like that for a few minutes and some of the tightness leaves Sarah’s chest just a little, and the trembling in the small boy calms some. Bucky sniffles and murmurs an apology. Sarah gently pulls back from Bucky and sweeps some hair out of his eyes. Stevie might be the frail one, but this poor Barnes boy had such a soft heart. *Steve/Bucky ______________________________________________

[chaed-ffnet]

Clintasha Fic Excerpt

The idea of jumping through time like in comic books and movies may seem exciting, but it’s not as smooth or without consequences as they make you believe. People are not meant to fuck with the laws of nature like that. The past doesn’t want to be changed, and it will ruin anyone who tries.

I can say this with absolute certainty, because I’ve experienced it first-hand now.

Coming out of the haze was a long and drawn-out affair, and it seemed to me like four lifetimes rather than the four weeks they had me perpetually hooked up to EKGs and EEGs and any number of other colorful medical acronyms, pumping me with enough phenobarbital to sedate at least a grown elephant.

I guess they were afraid I was going to come around and damage myself further, which was exactly what happened every time they tried to decrease the dose or wean me off it. I remember feeling like there was something terribly important I needed to do, that the whole world was depending on me to do this one thing or else the ramifications would be catastrophic.

I was thinking of Natasha of course, of saving her, of bringing her back to the present or returning to 1953 and staying there with her forever.

I would have died for her if that was what it took. READ HERE

[elvenfforestydd]

Which do we like better?

Peter/Clint get whumped? or Peter/Bucky get whumped?

[unholyhelbig]

any chance for a kate x reader angst?

Title: Firecrest (Part 1/???)

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4075

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activities, fire, mentions of childhood abandonment, horrible grammar (I don't proofread lol), and things I'm sure I'm forgetting.

[A/n: how about enemies to lovers angst? How about Enemies to lovers with a little fake dating sprinkled in there? Let me know if this is something you all would like to see continued!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Your mother had the in-depth beauty of a street dog. Her features were angular, yet soft and welcoming. People were often tempted to reach and run their fingers through her fur. But she tended to gently correct. She had the perfect demeanor for a government spy. However, you had always known her as a brilliant biochemist. Alluring in her brilliance.

The soft lights of the city shaded her face in the back of the taxi. The air had warmed significantly, but the low hum of the air conditioner made you pull your suit jacket close to your breast. The maroon had felt like too much at first. But the impressed nod from the woman next to you was enough to ebb away any doubts.

Your mother popped open her compact and swiped her finger against the corner of her mouth, taking away the smudged gloss that wasn’t noticeable in comparison to her presence. There was not much you feared in this world, but her wrath. Her annoyance. Her disappointment. None of which she flashed often.

“Remember what we talked about, y/n.”

“Of course. Would you like me to repeat it?”

She snapped the compact and leveled you with amusement. Her eyebrow lifted, the start of a smile at the corner of her lip. She couldn’t be serious. You made eye contact with the taxi driver in the mirror. He showed the same amusement that your mother did, yet somehow, hers stung more.

A groan escaped you, but bled into the mantra that was drilled into you for the past two weeks. “I will be the perfect lady who is grateful for the success of Lance and his political circuit.”

“And?”

“I will not start anything I can’t finish with Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, And I’m an adult perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“That wasn’t part of it.” Your mother corrected softly. Her hands were suddenly on you, smoothing down the lapel of your suit. “But It’ll do. Mostly, because we’re here.”

Eleanor Bishop often held her galas in the historic buildings of downtown Manhattan. There were small pamphlets lingering by the extensive hand-carved doors. They’d detail the rich family that had built it from the ground up. The architecture was always admittedly beautiful, and Eleanor had a subtle, expensive taste.

This venue was no different; stretching hallways and men in suits that mirrored yours in a tasteful black. Your mother never stepped ahead of you, instead holding a hand out and helping you from the back of the taxi. You’d left a generous tip, careful not to shove your hands into your pockets.

“This used to be a museum for fine arts and culture. The last I heard; the city was going to tear it down but made it a historical site. They use it for banquets now, I suppose.”

“Oh? You’ve read the informational booklet, then?”

She jabbed her elbow into your ribs and mocked a scowl. “No. I robbed it. How do you think we paid for your college tuition, kiddo?”

That was an exaggeration. You were 90% sure- maybe 75%. Bobbi Morse was a force to be reckoned with, and that was something you had learned from a young age. She’d let you sit on the counter of her lab while she worked, and you’d watch her with absolute awe.

Your mother had taught you, without fail, a variety of fighting skills. Starting with Aikido and ending with Taekwondo. She was a master at her craft, both in the field and in her lab and had worked with you since you could walk to train you in the same.

“Mm,” You hummed your response, “Which priceless painting did you take?”

“It was a vase, smart-ass.”

You pulled in a breath to retort before effectively being rendered silent by the performance hall. Eleanor Bishop had gone all out for the benefits that she backed. This was a vast space that was adorned in white sheer and glittering lights. A slideshow of the sponsored bird sanctuary flashed on the televisions scattered throughout the space.

There was a band on the stage, string instruments that you could feel in the center of your chest. The low notes shuddered through you as you took in the crowd. There were few that you actually recognized, usually hazed in expensive alcohol and lingering by the food, or some form of fresh air.

“It’s ironic that it’s about birds, right?”

She leveled you with an unimpressed look and squeezed your shoulder fondly. It didn’t take long for Lance to make his way over to the both of you. His eyes lit up and a smile spread across his freshly-shaved face. He gave you a small wave, gently exiting the conversation he was having with a congressman, a millionaire, or an architect that was just the right amount of desperate.

Lance Hunter had stolen your mothers heart when you were ten years old. You always assumed it was the accent, but the more you got to know him, the more you understood his charms. Lance had never forced things with you, had never claimed to be your father.

There were quiet moments when he’d join you on the wrap-around porch of your family home and just sit. The two of you would watch the way the sun dipped behind the horizon, sipping on syrupy cans of soft drink. Eventually, you talked to him, and he listened with diligence.

“My girls,” he said, placing a chaste kiss against your forehead before sidling up next to Bobbi. They had effortlessly matched in a deep and royal blue that contrasted the ignited red of your own suit. You were the perfect epitome of a political family.

Eleanor Bishop had given you a brief nod of the head, signifying your presence. It was a silent warning told through blackened eyes: Behave.

Her diligent attention was enough to split your family up. You preferred to linger away from the stuffy socialites. Bobbi and Lance were required to mingle. You plucked a flute of bubbling champagne from a passing tray and moved towards one of the elegant support beams decorated with what you now learned, was real foliage.

The floral scent tickled the back of your throat, so you took a generous swallow and let the alcohol warm your stomach diligently. There had to be something interesting around here, away from the rest of the party. A plague or two that would further explain the venue.

A burst of forced laughter greeted your parents as they sidled up next to Jack and Eleanor. Lance had produced some campaign buttons, which the group took without hesitation. You had to admit, he was loveable and politician-worthy.

“Look at us, we match.”

You swallowed back a groan, not bothering to look over. A small noise still escaped you, and the grumble conveyed your exact disposition towards Kate Bishop. Disgust. Annoyance. The slightest bit of attraction. She overwhelmed your senses with her crisp, winter scent.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you glanced over at her. She was in red too, incredibly vibrant against her soft expanses of exposed skin. The dress had a dipping neckline, revealing the freckles that created constellations against her collarbone. She beamed with irritation. You’d never admit that she was captivating.

“I thought you were given explicit instructions to leave me be.” You said between gritted teeth.

She hummed and grasped the drink from your hand. Kate was calculated in her movements, wrapping her lips around the smudge of lipstick that you’d already created on the rim of the glass. She didn’t break eye contact, those slate orbs boring into you.

“We both know you’re the most interesting thing at these parties.”

“I’m not falling for your… charms, Kate Bishop. Your mother may have bought you out of our consequences last time. But, I have more at stake.”

She scoffed and set the now empty glass down on the nearest table. You knew damn well that Kate wasn’t absolved of accountability after your run-in a few months back. She held herself differently now, and it was a minute expression of her posture that caught your attention.

There was a small split at the corner of her lip, and a healing bruise just at her hairline. She’d attempted to use makeup to cover the abrasions, but you had a trained eye. You were your mother’s daughter. These were defensive wounds. And for just a moment, you worried that the Bishop’s had a heavier hand than you’d anticipated.

But then, Kate’s muscles flexed and her head lilted to the side, dark curls splaying over her shoulders. She had grown stronger. It wasn’t noticeable, or at least, it shouldn’t’ have been. But you knew every inch of her body and despite your forced separation, she’d grown steady of herself.

“Why should I be punished, when you’re the one who set the curtains ablaze.”

You leaned close enough to feel her body heat. To her credit, she didn’t step back. A ghost of a smirk was on her lips. You snarled your words. “And who’s fault was that?”

“I don’t see how I was supposed to know you’d get trigger happy with your powers when I went down on you.” She gave you a cocky pout. “Is that a new thing, or have you never been able to handle yourself in moments of pleasure?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from grasping at the strap on her dress, pulling her closer to you out of a burst of anger. The phantom look of confidence spread into a full-blown grin. You were exasperated, the familiar heat burning just under your skin.

It was true, you’d lost control for just a moment, with Kate Bishops head between your legs, one hand buried deep in her mess of tangled hair. As an orgasm washed over you, thighs shaking, your other hand had drifted too close to the drapes and had caught them ablaze.

Despite the both of you being adults, you were separated within an instant. Dragged embarrassingly away by your respective parental units after the fire was put out. The last you’d seen of her was reflected with the flashing red lights of a rumbling fire engine.

Kate had a devilish look in her eyes. “Harder, baby.”

“Ladies,”

It was a resolute sound that had you pulling apart as if she was a toxic entity. In your book, she was. Both hands landed in your pockets and the two of you looked sheepishly at Eleanor. She’d been keeping an eye on you, you were sure. And had made a direct line to you the second Kate had given you that salacious look.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bishop. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Kate coughed out something that sounded like ‘Kiss ass’ and covered it up with a doe-eyed look of innocence. She may not have been afraid of her mother, but you were terrified. Bobbi had a soft hand. It commanded you like a weapon, and you were happy to do what you were told.

Your own punishment had consisted of heavier training. Both mentally and physically to perfect control that you’d had mastered years ago when you were nothing but a girl with streaks of tears dripping from your chin. The fire had been too strong then, overwhelming and horrible.

“Good evening, Miss Morse, I trust you’ve found a way to entertain yourself during the benefit that isn’t antagonizing my daughter.” Before you could answer, she turned her attention to Kate. “And you. I specifically allowed you to bring a guest in attempts to keep you away from Bobbi’s little arsonist.”

She had been under the full impression that you’d taken a zippo to the hanging drapes. It was the white-hot flames that leaked from your own fingers that had done the damage. Kate was thankfully tight-lipped about the fact, and you let the socialite think whatever she wanted. She hadn’t pressed charges.

Kate pulled her shoulders back, almost looking offended at the name you were tagged with. Almost. “Clint got stopped at the front for an autograph, mom. I’m just biding my time.”

“Bide it somewhere else. We’ve talked about this.”

Eleanor gave you a tight-lipped smile that had noticeably softened compared to the venomous expression she held for Kate. A light squeeze was delivered to your arm. It had always scared you how quick she could switch like that. Her shoulders pulled back as she wandered back over to her group.

Lance lifted his chin in your direction. Silently asking if everything was okay, and it was. His quiet reassurance brought the heat licking at your stomach to a bubbling halt. Why you cared more about Eleanors disposition towards Kate, then her acidity directed at you, was beyond something you were willing to confront.

“Who’s Clint?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Can we have a normal conversation, please. Is it so shocking that I’d take interest in your friends?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yes. If you must know, he’s not a friend. He’s a mentor. He’s, my partner.”

Both of your eyebrows lifted. Partner in what? It wasn’t something you would audibly voice, save you show any concern past the normal amount that you usually had for Kate. The tautness of her muscles, and the superficial injuries made that discomfort return to the pit of your stomach.

Kate was an archer. You knew such from the trophies that littered her dresser the one time you’d been privy to her room. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid much attention. You were backed against her door and her teeth were scraping against your pulse point. But the little gold figures and the child-sized bow on the wall was enough to of a giveaway.

You only knew one archer, and you knew him distantly; from photos that your mother had blacked out with a sharpie. She’d later told you that she regretted the fact because the memories of the three of you would always remain.

The taste of bile filled your throat and Kate lilted her head to the side, like a golden retriever that had heard a piercing noise. There was a surprising amount of concern in her voice. “You okay? You’re looking a little green.”

“Hm? Yeah. Totally. The champagne is just sitting weird.”

A frown had found its way onto your face, and you directed your attention back to the crowd. It seemed that Eleanor was satisfied enough with the two of you lingering in silence. You were trained to know where the exits were in any venue. Kate’s stare shockingly darted in the same pattern as your own.

People had trickled in until the floor was bustling with conversation. You let your shoulders relax in the slightest bit, swallowing back the acrid taste in your mouth. Eleanor had lost her viewpoint of you and her daughter, and you weren’t much in the mood for fighting her on pure proximity.

“There you are, god, I didn’t know this many people cared about birds.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your narrowed eyes from flashing to the intrusion. Whatever distracted Kate was enough to be deemed a savior in your book. But the voice was familiar, painfully so. It was as if your body reacted by busting out in goosebumps, chills rushing down your spine.

Now, you wanted your mother to be able to see you. You were a strong, and capable adult that knew at least six different ways to kill a person without a weapon. You’d gone on missions with your mother, with your Aunt Daisy, too. A simple man in a simpler suit should not make your knees weak.

Yet- here he was. In a charcoal black ensemble with a pocket square that was a flash of purple. It was a color you’d grown to despise. It was an eyesore, as was the man that stood at a height taller than Kate, but just a few inches.

You’d found a singular picture of him that wasn’t defaced in your mother’s nightstand. A polaroid of the three of you on the beach. The sun had turned your cheeks a flushed pink. He had you in his arms and beamed at the camera. Eyes matching the blue of the ocean.

They were the same now, the same vibrancy that you’d thought about. He looked other, worn from parenthood and the effects of time. Of course, you’d seen him on television, but Bobbi had always been quick to flick it off, only lingering during the Sokovia accords.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, but you were careful to keep your jaw stock still. You weren’t going to give Clint Barton the satisfaction of rattling you. Not here, not if he ever decided to show up when you had a family of your own. Not on your deathbed. He couldn’t invoke that from you.

Kate had learned to pick up on body language, and she had learned fast. Her stare shifted between both you, and Clint. She had the right amount of perception to keep her mouth shut, even taking half an inch step back. She was in a position to hold the two of you apart, if need be.

“Holy shit,” He breathed out, “Sparky.”

“Don’t call me Sparky.”

You were taken aback by your own ability to produce words. They were pinched and had dropped down an octave to true anger. Not the type that Kate Bishop was used to. Sure, you had aggravation directed towards her, but nothing short of teasing.

Clint took a slight step towards you, and you took a large one back, nearly bumping into the support beam wrapped with vines and vibrant flowers. Your hand reached out to grab onto it for support, but Kate’s fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. Right. Yes. That would be the safe bet.

You needed to find Bobbi.

Chances were, Clint hadn’t seen her with the growing attendance. You could slip out through the large storm doors that were a few feet behind you. At least then, you could burn scorch marks into the grass and not into this historical building.

“What is happening?” Kate said, refusing to remove her hand from your wrist. You didn’t wrench it away, either. It was a force, a grounding factor. You refused to let the fire move past your fingertips in fear that it would burn her. “Clint?”

“She uh… She’s…”

The words died in his throat. You couldn’t’ stand looking at him, pale as ice and wringing his hands nervously. He couldn’t hold still, but you were like a stone. Almost as if he would vanish the second you averted your stare.

“I’m his daughter.”

Kate’s hand did move from your wrist and to your hand, almost out of instinct. Your relationship, or lack-there-of, had never required this kind of closeness. But She was hanging on tightly, nails digging into your skin. The slight sting brought you back.

Clint croaked “How’s your mother?”

Kate winced and you felt the spring in your spine loosen. He was more nervous than you were and that gave you an advantage. “You can ask her yourself. She and Lance are mingling.”

“Lance is here?”

“Of course.”

He was running for congressman. It would damage his campaign if he hadn’t shown up. The gossip blogs that followed the lives of New Yorks Elite had picked up on the rift between you and Kate. There were a few grainy photos of the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in foil blankets that made you look like Baked potatoes. There was soot on her chin, and you had wiped the darkness away with your thumb. Of course, that had been the moment they caught and wrote about, and plastered all over the internet.

Clint worked his jaw and cupped the back of his neck with a tepid smile. It wavered incessantly. He was boyish in his charm and that would always be the case, no matter how old he got. You knew he had a family now. A real family that didn’t’ consist of a secret agent and their match-happy daughter.

You gave Kate a squeeze with your free hand, signaling that you were fine. The last thing you wanted to appear was weak. She seemed to get the message loud and clear, wrenching her touch away with a nervous clearing of her throat.

“I’m sorry… Can we back up for a second?”  

Clint had a dejected look in his eyes that almost made you feel a twinge of guilt. Almost. Your own ego often got in the way of things, and this was one of them. There was a flood of emotions between both of the archers, a silent pleading to hear him out.

“You and Mrs. Morse dated?”

“They were married.” You snatched another glass of campaign, this one all for yourself. You swallowed the acrid drink and let the bubbles assault your throat. “When did the divorce finalize, again?

“Y/n”

“No, I was never really privy to the details myself.”

“We shouldn’t do this here.”

You finished off the rest of the drink, a certain amount of your defenses lower. You felt warm, but not warm enough to do something stupid. He was right. You shouldn’t do this here and if you had your way, you wouldn’t’ do it anywhere. You were perfectly content to let this man slip back into oblivion and train the Bishop heiress that you had a habit of bedding.

Clint seemed to let out a sigh of relief when you nodded in agreement. He scrutinized you both, the rush of initial shock ebbing away like a melting lake. Chunks of ice broke off and gave way to the familiarity and closeness the two of you held. It was relaxed, despite the rivalry that landed you here in the first place.

“No,” he drawled out, “No, no, no. Kate, you didn’t’.”

The tips of her ears were red enough to match your suit and the color that painted her own lips. She hid her face in her hands with a groan. But you wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her against your side.

“Does that bother you, old man?”

It clearly did. Kate leveled you with a delicious glare that was unmatched but didn’t’ move from your hold. Was she letting you have this? You weren’t entirely sure. He was whipping his head back and fourth with enough force to break his own neck. It was making you dizzy, but giddy all the same.

Your moment of joy at his dismay was short lived. You caught the sharp scent of your mothers perfume. She’d cut through the crowd and furrowed her brow at your closeness to Kate. It took her a few moments to realize that Clint was here. To realize that he was the man that had spurred your act of rebellion in doing the exact opposite of what she’d requested at the start of the night.

Her cool eyes took him in just as yours had. Kate was still next to you, swallowing a dryness in her throat that you could nearly hear. Bobbi didn’t attempt to separate you as Eleanor had. Instead, she gave you a quiet stare. “Darling, I think it’s time we go. There’s a situation we have to attend to.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.”

It hadn’t been, but you shocked yourself and Kate by leaning in and pressing a kiss just behind her ear, still blazing with blush. She froze but gave you the slightest bit of nod. Clint opened and closed his mouth like a surfaced fish, but kept quiet.

Your mother walked with a purpose, her shoulders pulled back and an elegance to her sway. You didn’t look back, keeping time with her as she weaved through the crowd and towards the lobby that was ten degrees cooler and much, much more welcoming.

“Is there actually a situation, or is this your attempt at a rescue?”

She ignored your question, stopping and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft look in her eyes that made your stomach squirm. “Are you okay, sweetie? I had no idea that he’d be here. I never would have made you come.”

“I’m fine, mom.” She didn’t seem convinced, so you added “Really.”

Eventually, Bobbi relented with a shaky sigh and cupped your cheek in a comforting manner. “Good. Okay. Good. Because we do have a situation.”

[incorectquoteswlw]

Clint: apparently to get past our bad blood we need positive reinforcement

Yelena: what does that mean

Clint: we say something we like about each other. You go first

Yelena: your replacement

Clint:

[comeback-from-the-dead]

Hawkguy!

finally got the courage to post an actual serious fanart here! Yipee!! More is coming in the future! :D

[eichan2d]

Black Widow & Hawkeye Spoilers

It's so hurtful because Clint's right, they have decades doing the same, and knowing Marvel I should keep down my expectations of what's going to happen in this comic about that.

Also felt like a Deja Vu, it even feels like they actually took inspiration from the 90's comic.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Ch 1 Arachnophobia: Fear of Spiders

Series: Phobia series

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 997 WORDS

Summary: Clint gets a pet spider plays a prank thats not very funny. Wanda comforts you and Nat is there as well.

TW: spiders, panic attacks, getting locked in a room.

A/n new series

He just had to buy one didn’t he. Stupid idiot. I knew something was coming since i first reacted. It had been the morning of a perfectly fine Sunday. I had my regular bowl of cereal and a glass of juice. I was going to go sit where i sit every Sunday morning but when I entered the room and saw Clint holding the mother of all spiders i turned straight back around and went to my room instead. But not before I saw Clint shoot tony a sinister grin. That couldn’t be good.

It was a week later and the tower was quiet. Most people were sleeping in because for once there wasn’t much to do. Nat was training and Steve was out for his morning run. Tony was probably still in his lab and banner was probably with him.

Yawning you stretched out and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up you walked to the kitchen still in your Pjs. Putting on a pot of coffee you decided to have breakfast in your room so the sound of the living room TV didn’t wake anyone else up. When the coffee was done you poured yourself some and made a bowl of cereal. Picking it all up you made your way back to your room. It was almost nine am now so people would be getting up soon. As you passed the living room your brow furrowed as you spotted Clint and tony watching Tv. Those two never did anything good together. Hightailing it back to your room you shut the door with your foot and set the tray down the desk. Peeling back the sheets to get back into bed you froze. Sat on between the white sheets was a big hairy tarantula. Clints stupid spider. The scream you heard took you a minute to register as your own. Laughing broke out behind your door and you quickly crossed the room and jiggled the handle.

“Jarvis.” You said your breathing startling to speed up. “Jarvis open the door.”

“Im afraid Mr. Stark has initiated a code green lockdown of your quarters Ms L/n”

“Open the door now.” You said again. “Jarvis open the door.”

“Im afraid i cannot do that.” The AI responded. You began banging your fists on the door.

“Stark let me out. Let me out right now over your lab is gone by tomorrow.” You yelled.

“Calm down L/n jerry is great company. Give him a chance.” Clint said through the door. “We’ll give you two some alone time.”

“So help me Barton if you leave me here with that ball of fluff its gonna die.” You yelled.

“I cant hear you over all your bonding.” He called back and the footsteps retreated. You smacked your head against the door and let out a lounge frustrated scream sliding down the door. A moment later you heard hurried footsteps and a feminine voice call out.

“Y/n?! Are you ok?” It was Wanda. You cried in relief.

“Wanda please let me out.” You begged.

“Y/n/n the doors stuck. Hold on stand back I’m going to use my magic to break it down.” She said and you stepped away from the door and the bed at the same time. A moment later the door flew open and you threw yourself into Wanda’s arms. She grunted in response before wrapping her arms around you not expecting to be met with such force.

When she felt the collar of her pyjamas start to get soaked and small sobs wrack your body she carefully pulled you away her hands on your shoulders while she looked into your eyes.

“Y/n/n honey whats wrong?” She said softly. You shook your head and placed your forehead against hers signalling for her to read your mind before your buried your face in her collar again. Wanda wrapped her arms around you again and the two of you sunk to the floor of the hallway. Wandas back against the wall opposite your room.

“Do you want me to look in here?” She asked tapping your head and you nodded not removing yourself from her neck.

“Ok baby hold on to me and take some deep breathes it’ll be ok my sweet.” She said and began shifting through your memories of that morning. When she was done she was furious and held you even tighter. She knew how much you hated spiders and what Clint and tony had done wasn’t funny at all.

It was at this moment that the elevator dinged and you stiffened thinking it was the boys again. Wanda held you tighter and whispered in you ear.

“Its ok honey its just natty.” She said and Nat came over cautiously.

“Everything ok here wands?” She asked tentatively with an edge of concern.

“No. Not really.” Wanda said and you curled into her more. “Clint and tony thought it would be funny to put Clint’s spider in Y/n/n’s bed because she’s afraid of them.”

“Damn it Barton.” She grumbled. “I’ll do you a favour if i see the spider I’ll throw it off the roof for you.” You giggled slightly still buried in Wanda’s arms.

“In the meantime would you settle for me giving them a solid lecture and maybe a smack or two?” Nat asked.

You smiled into Wanda’s neck and nodded and nat smiled.

“I’ll get on that right away agent L/n” she said with a mock salute and Wanda chuckled. After Nat left to go yell at the boys Wanda picked you up with your legs around her waist and face still buried in her chest. She held you and walked you back to her room where she set you down on the bed still in her lap and threw the sheets over the two of you. She picked up the remote and put one your favourite sit come and held you while your breathing evened out until you eventually fell asleep. Emotionally exhausted.

MASTERLIST

[hersterical]

I want to do unspeakable things to that fictional character (placing them in states of extreme emotional and physical distress that they’ll never fully recover from)

[lynlee494]

Chapter Two is now out!

Bucky Barnes’s family is indebted to Alexander Pierce, a powerful man who has preyed on him and those like his family for decades. There were only a few years of service left to pay his debt, but recently Pierce's brute Rumlow had been escalating in his violence. Fearing the inevitable and with no where to actually go Pierce can’t reach, Bucky had begun to accept his fate.

Then Bucky’s luck turns when a persistent advertisement for an insanely affordable apartment in Bed-Stuy interrupts his browsing at a bakery, the shop close enough to pick up the free wi-fi from the Avenger’s Tower.

Maybe there is a chance.

****

Clint Barton has a surprise new tenant that he is pretty damn sure there had been no application for. Likely Jarvis’s idea, the AI sparing some processing to help manage Clint’s apartment. Avenging and being a landlord took a toll.

Not a problem except the top floor – Clint’s floor – had been left empty save him for safety reasons. Which meant the only vacancy was right next door. And it turns out the new guy is hot. And maybe kinda in trouble. Which is so his type.

So many ways this can go bad, and Clint is sure he'll find all of them.

[natasharswifey]

Masterlist

Hello fellow Nat stans, my name is Jordan [any pronouns] and this is a blog I use for writing and incorrect quotes :)

Requests are currently open and I love random asks/rambling in my inbox <3

Any fics will be under #natasharswifeywrites

My Ao3!

Natasha

How we were (& Melina Vostokoff)

Happy birthday, by the way (x reader)

Yelena

Take me home (& younger OC, platonic)

The end of us (& Vormir Natasha)

Wanda

Little red ❤️ (& daughter!reader)

AAA

It almost worked (Agathario)

MCU characters

We're the Avengers (Avengers high-school AU)

OCs

You let go (Red Room teen OC)

The Ethel incident (Nick Fury & teen OC, platonic)

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 9

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas having all the bits (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

9. Rebecca

After a battery of tests to ensure he isn't being coerced, Bucky is finally released into Steve's care.

The next morning, Steve shows up to work with a brand new tablet,  StarkPhone, box of steaming hot French toast, and a spring in his step. But when he gets to Bucky’s room, he’s surprised to find him dressed in regular clothes and speaking with a visitor.

The woman from the cult is there, sitting in Steve’s usual spot at the bedside. Steve tenses up in preparation for a confrontation.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been sitting in a conference room with her hair tied back modestly, that same modesty echoed in her meek demeanor and homemade dress. Today she’s wearing a pantsuit with jewelry and makeup, but the difference doesn’t register to Steve right away. He can only think of the man named Russel who’d been so hateful when he spoke about male omegas, who’d threatened to rip Bucky away and take him back to his insane little cult. How the woman introduced as Bucky’s mother had just sat there and not said a word against any of it.

Steve takes another step into the room, fingers digging into the takeout container and making the styrofoam squeak. “You.”

“Steve!” Bucky greets happily, eyeing the food and electronics that Steve is balancing his own coffee cup atop of. “Morning.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s eyes flick between the woman and Bucky. She resembles him, though she sure as shit doesn’t look old enough to be his mother. He frowns at her and wonders how long she’s been there, how she even got up to the ward in the first place. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yeah. Steve, this is Becca. She’s from the Children.”

“We’ve met,” the woman says before Steve has a chance to open his mouth. She gives him a wary look and holds out her hand. “Rebecca. I’m—”

“I remember you,” Steve says flatly, ignoring the gesture. “You were here with that man. Russel.”

Her expression falls and she retracts her hand. “Sorry. Yeah.”

“Is he here?” Steve asks tightly. He’s on edge just thinking of another alpha coming in to try and stake a claim on Bucky.

“No. No, I came alone.”

“Good.”

“I brought him some clothes from home,” she offers, aware of Steve’s opinion of her. “I called ahead to get permission. The social workers know I’m here visiting. They approved it.”

Steve blinks, surprised. “Oh.” He relaxes a fraction at that, moving over to set his armload of things down on the bed near Bucky’s legs.

“Oh my God that smells good. Give it.” Bucky is stretching down the bed to get at the take out container, and he moans when he lifts the lid and the smell of butter and maple syrup escapes. “Oh, fuuck me.”

“Bucky,” Steve scoffs, embarrassed.

It’s then that Bucky seems to finally catalog the other items. “What’re those?”

Steve scratches behind his head, wishing that the woman Rebecca wasn’t there. He’d wanted to surprise Bucky with the gifts. “Well you said you were bored,” he defends. “And everybody needs a cellphone.”

“Shit, they’re for me?!”

Steve takes great pride in the blinding smile that Bucky gives him, but his enjoyment of the moment is stilted due to their guest’s presence. “If you two were having a visit, I can step out for a minute.”

“No, no that’s okay,” Bucky says, already spearing up a bunch of the French toast and shoving it into his mouth. He chews, talking around the food and pointing at the woman with his fork. “She’s my sister.”

“Your ‘sister’?” Steve narrows his eyes at Rebecca, who really does look to be in her thirties. “I thought you were his ‘mother’?”

Bucky snorts and Rebecca winces. “No. I’m sorry that Russel told you that. He lied.”

Steve crosses his arms. “I’m still curious how you made the jump from mother to sister. Is this a lie, too?”

“Russel married her,” Bucky says, still mowing through the food and rolling his eyes. “Gross, by the way.”

“I was only one of many, and didn’t exactly have a choice, Bucky,” she scolds. She looks back to Steve. “I came here because I want to do what he’s doing. I want out.”

“��Out’?”

“She’s leaving the Children, too,” Bucky supplies. “We both shoulda done it a long time ago, but,” he shrugs. “S’hard.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, taking all of this new information in. “Yeah I’m sure it is.” Now that he knows that the woman in the chair isn’t there to try and convince Bucky to come back into the fold, now that he knows she’s Bucky’s sister and that she supports him, he’s feeling far less standoffish. He uncrosses his arms and tries to act at least marginally more friendly. “So … you two are actually related? I thought nobody in your group knew who their biological parents were?”

Bucky laughs with his mouth full. “Yeah but we figured it out years ago. I mean look at us.” He gestures between the two of them with his fork and Steve has to concede the point. They have the same wavy dark hair and the same face shape, near-identical eyes and noses. “Becs found some old documents once, digging around in the church office. We know the woman who’s our actual mother.”

“Well, know of her,” Rebecca corrects, and Bucky nods.

“We don’t talk. She doesn’t know that we know. Nobody does.” He shrugs and takes another massive bite of food, which he talks through. “Waaahya gunnuh do, righ?”

“I see.” Steve shifts uncomfortably and takes a sip of his coffee. He can only imagine how weird the whole thing must be. Or at least, it seems weird to him. But Bucky’s talking about it as if it doesn’t bother him a bit, or at least not enough to stop demolishing his breakfast. “Well um, it’s good to hear that you’ve got some support,” Steve says. “Somebody you know. On the outside.”

Rebecca looks up from her chair. “I came to tell him that I’d officially moved out. I found a charity that helps people like us, people who’ve got nowhere else to go. They’ve helped me find an apartment, and I’ve got a job interview today.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve tries to smile encouragingly, even though his heart rate picks up at the possibility that she’s about to say that she wants Bucky to come live with her. “That’s great.” He takes another big gulp of his coffee.

“Steve’s the one who knocked me up.”

Steve almost spits out his mouthful, swallowing painfully and coughing. “Bucky!”

Rebecca laughs, the sound slightly similar to what Bucky’s own laugh sounds like. “It’s okay. He told me how it happened. I know you’re not some predator trying to take advantage of him.”

Steve flushes and shifts uncomfortably. He sure does feel like one, having to face Bucky’s much older sibling about it now. “Yeah, well …”

“I didn’t know you could test for it so soon, though,” Rebecca says. “The commercials always say, what? A few days after your missed period?”

“That’s for beta women,” Steve says, knowing the statistics by rote. “Omegas’ menstrual cycles are timed differently. Their bodies implant the egg and start producing hCG much faster, so blood tests’ll pick up on it after only a few days.” He glances at Bucky. “Sometimes sooner.”

“Oh.”

“We’re bonded,” Bucky tells Rebecca. “It was just supposed to be temporary, but, well …” He glances down at his stomach and Steve feels guilt flare up in him. “So now Steve’s taking me home to live with him.” Bucky doesn’t seem at all concerned about how his sister will react to this news. “So that the baby can be around his pheromones and stuff. Which is apparently important.”

Steve is abruptly reminded that Bucky has had zero sex education in his life, and he resolves to download a bunch of material onto the omega’s new tablet as soon as it gets a full charge. “It’s all about what he wants,” Steve feels compelled to say, to ensure that Rebecca fully knows that he is not a predator. Christ, he hates that she even thought to use the word. That’s going to stick in his mind, now. “Bucky didn’t want to consider termination, so we’re doing what’s best for the development of the fetus.”

“Could you not call it that?” Bucky complains. “S’weird.”

Steve flushes. “Sorry. Medical jargon. Habit.”

“Right.”

There’s a beat of silence between the three of them, and Steve is just about to open his mouth to offer again to give the siblings some privacy for their visit, but Rebecca beats him to the chase by standing. She picks up her purse from the floor and shoulders it. “I’d better get going. The interview’s at ten forty-five and it’s half past nine now. I’m still kind of slow at the whole public transportation thing and, well. Don’t want to be late.”

“Hey, you can text me now!” Bucky says excitedly, reaching for the StarkPhone that Steve had hurriedly charged and added onto his plan that morning. “Oh, but I don’t know my number …”

“Here.” Steve helps by taking his own phone out and unlocking the screen. “What’s your number? I should have it too.” Rebecca relays the information and the both of them save her in their contacts. She says goodbye and promises to be in touch, giving Bucky a hug and Steve a handshake that feels more than a little stilted. “It’ll be okay,” Steve promises her out in the hall, when Bucky has found a moment of distraction with his new phone. “I’m going to take care of him.”

“You’d better,” she says. “He just got out of that life, he doesn’t need to be trapped all over again.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Good. You’ve got no idea what life with The Children is like. Boys like James …” she trails off and shakes her head sadly. “You don’t know what it was like for him there. What it would’ve been like, if he’d stayed.”

“I think I can imagine,” Steve grits, but tries to temper his tone when Rebecca raises a questioning brow. He doesn’t know how much, if anything, Bucky’s told his sister about the rape, and it isn’t Steve’s place to bring it up now. “I’ll be good to him,” he tells her. “I promise you. You don’t have to worry.”

“You seem like a good person. I’m trusting that.” She softens and pats his hand in thanks before turning to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”

Steve watches her go, the elevator doors down the ward hall opening with a ‘ding’ just as she’s passing by them. Clint and Sam step out and head in Steve’s direction. Two tiny, stern-faced women are with them: OmCare advocates who look like they mean business. “Steve,” Sam greets as the group approaches. “We’ve gotta take him now.”

Sam’s tone tells Steve everything he needs to know. “Discharge after?” he asks hopefully.

Clint and the two women all but ignore him and continue on to Bucky’s room without entertaining his comment, but Sam and Steve are close enough that Sam nods and lingers behind to whisper sideways at him, “Hospital admin wants you as far away as possible right now.”

“Jesus,” Steve grumbles, mildly offended despite the fact that he knows it’s only a protective measure for Bucky. “I do have advocate training, ya know.”

“Yeah, and you’re involved. This is the eighteen-year-old you knocked up and bonded. Doesn’t exactly speak to your impartiality.” Steve would be more offended, but he can see how Sam’s lips turn up slightly at the corners, belying his serious attitude. “Go check on your patients. Work. Don’t just sit around up here moping and twiddling your thumbs or whatever. You’ll go nuts if you do. We’ve got this.”

Steve doesn’t like it a bit, but he knows it’s what has to be done. Any documentation of him loitering on the periphery of Bucky’s evaluation, education, or his discharge interviews will be noted harshly by the social services team. And despite all of his raging instincts, the last thing Steve wants is to pressure Bucky into a decision or situation he’s not comfortable with. This is how it has to be. “Yeah,” he grunts in agreement, and hurries to get himself out of sight. He heads for the staff locker room, where he takes an extra long and scalding hot pre-shift shower to at least make an attempt at a fresh and productive start to his day.

Steve’s head of department pulls him aside and informs him that she’ll only be requiring him to stay on the ward until Bucky is discharged and handed over to his custody. Steve doesn’t know how long that will be, but he’s certain it won’t be the entirety of his scheduled twelve hour shift.

It’s a relief at first, but after he does his first rounds with his patients and finds himself twiddling his thumbs and drinking too much espresso out of boredom, he knows it’s going to be a problem. Sometime around eleven, Steve gets caught trying to sneak downstairs to get an update on Bucky. “Stay out of it,” Banner bosses, pulling him right back off the elevator. “You bored? I can find something for you to do.”

That’s how he winds up on seeding machine duty for the next few hours.

Hospital treatment options for cycling omegas aren’t just confined to the heat suites and Support alphas. In fact, most patients who come through for heat services never get assigned a Support at all. Most aren’t even admitted, not being that high-needs. An omega’s cycle, gone off whack for whatever reason or variety of reasons, can usually be realigned with a short course of seeding therapy. But if there’s anything Steve’s ever felt most bad for omegas about, it’s the indignity of the machines used to do it. Because they’re … well …

“Oh. Wow, ha. It really is just a dick on a stick.”

Steve does a slow blink to avoid reacting to that. Not that the patient—a college-aged guy who smells like he’s recently been enjoying reefer—is wrong. “Um,” Steve says, readjusting his hold on his tablet. “It says here that you spoke with the nurse. Did you have any more questions?”

“This can’t get me pregnant, can it? I’m not on the pill or anything.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. “Hospital grade semen is manufactured. It’s sterile. So, no, it won’t get you pregnant.” If only the same could’ve been said for yours, he thinks at himself. “We do this all the time, Sir. It’s very safe, very reliable. I promise.” Just like you promised Bucky.

“Cool. No little swimmers, check.” The guy gives Steve a double thumbs up. “Think I’m ready to tango with this bad boy, then.” He smacks the top of the seeding machine happily.

Another slow blink. “... Right. Um, please try not to touch the equipment, okay? It’s very expensive.” Steve turns for the door, wondering just how long he’s going to be stuck doing this before he gets to see Bucky again. “If you’ll change into the gown. There are socks there too, if you want. Try and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back with your dosage and then we can get started.”

“Awesome. Hey, are there any snacks?”

Steve heads down to pharmacy to get the guy’s treatment dose. There’s a young female tech manning the counter and she’s visibly flustered as she retrieves the order, blushing as if it’s actual jizz she’s handing over to Steve. He winks at her, amused, and tells her to relax.

Upstairs, the receptionist is MIA so Steve hands out clipboards of check-in paperwork to the other patients who’ve shown up in the waiting area. There’s a young Korean woman and her very involved mother who are up next. The patient herself is a legal adult and seems unconcerned at being there, but the mother keeps trying to pull Steve aside where her daughter can’t hear so that she can ask thinly-veiled questions about virginity and whether they have “small sizes” for the machines.

“Ma’am, just fill out the paperwork. If you have specific concerns I’ll be happy to discuss them in the privacy of the procedure room.” He shoots the pushy woman’s daughter another look and the two of them lock eyes. She rolls hers as if to say, ‘I know’.

Steve can’t say he’s having the time of his life, but he can see why Banner thought seeding machine duty would be a good enough distraction. It isn’t exactly rocket science, is infact a very routine outpatient procedure. But dealing with the daily slew of patients coming into the hospital’s oobgyn ward to be therapeutically inseminated by machines is still a lot to handle, interpersonally at least. There’s a lot of comforting Steve has to do, a lot of reassuring and laying out the facts for the ones who have never gone through it before. Some omegas are scared or embarrassed, some are just grumpy and indignant, but some have real trauma regarding penetration. It’s Steve’s job to try and get them as comfortable as possible for their procedures. It’s always a mixed bag with how people react to the more … mechanical aspects of it.

Because the truth of the matter is that seeding machines are basically just super high tech, super unsexy versions of fucking machines. Nobody says that (except for the stoner back in procedure room B), and some effort is clearly put forth by the companies who build the things to try and make them look as bland and as non-sexual as possible. Most models that Steve’s ever seen have plastic casing over all the gears and pistons, and the dildos aren’t exactly designed to be perfectly anatomical. But at the end of the day it’s still a phallic piece of rubber, with an inflating base, fixed onto a thrusting apparatus that administers semen intravaginally.

It’s a fucking machine.

And on another note: Everybody thinks that Bruce-fucking-Banner is such a nice, mild mannered, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly type of guy. Steve used to think that too, given that the man is very quiet and unassuming. It’s the first impression he gives off: Mr. Nice Guy. But Banner has another side of him that’s kind of horrible, Steve’s found. He gets his shits and giggles in sneaky ways, by surreptitiously ribbing his friends and forcing his subordinate coworkers into shit like this.

“This” being things like a sexually frustrated housewife who’s made an appointment just for the heck of it and turns out to have no medical need for the procedure. Steve has it out with her in procedure room A, trying with all his might not to offend the lady when he explains that insurance isn’t going to cover her coming in just to get her jollies. “I’m sure there are cheaper ways, ma’am,” he says, face flaming at how unashamed she is about the whole debacle. “Your husband?”

“Psh. You haven’t seen my Roddie’s thing. It ain’t up to par, Doc.”

“Online shopping then. And it’s Nurse, not Doctor.”

It’s the first time he’s basically instructed a patient to just go home and buy a sex toy.

Then there’s the crowning glory of the day: an A/o couple whom Steve walks in on who’ve decided to engage in oral sex of the face-sitting variety up on the procedure bed … whilst the seeding machine is still locked into its knotting phase.

“Ma’am!”

“... It’s not what it looks like!”

Steve escapes that one with some choice images scarred onto his retinas, the tablet held up in front of his face to prevent further trauma, and a gruff parting rebuke of, “Get off of him and put your pants back on. You’ll have to go out to the waiting area until your husband is finished.”

“... Just five more minutes?”

Lying freak had claimed her omega was nervous and needed his hand held. Bull. shit.

Back in procedure room B, Steve finds the stoner arranged comfortably on the table, socked feet already up in the stirrups and a mini bag of cool ranch Doritos in his hands, ostensibly procured from the vending machines out in the hall. Hopefully he grabbed them before he changed into the backless paper gown.

“Comfortable?” Steve asks.

“Oh yeah. The nurse gave me lube so I’m raring to go.”

“... Great.” Steve watches him crunch a handful of chips. He’d rather a comfortable patient than an uncomfortable one, but this is a whole ‘nother level. “Erm, do you have any questions before we get started?”

“Do the dicks come in other sizes?” he asks, and Steve tries not to choke on his own spit. “Cause if you’ve got a little bigger I wouldn’t mind. Or ya know, if you’ve got ones that are ribbed or bumpy or sumthin’.” He starts to giggle.

Steve fights to keep a straight face. This guy is so high. “Sorry,” he says, focusing on injecting the machine’s cartridge with the prescribed dose of semen. “S’kind of a one-size fits all deal.” He walks around to check the phallus for proper positioning. They do all they can to keep the process clinical, but the attending technician still has to guide the rubber attachment up close to the patient’s entrance. “Selection’s kind of limited.”

“That’s okay. Mm.” The guy’s got his eyes closed and he smiles dopily up at the ceiling as he feels the attachment touch him. “Ooh.”

“Okay?” Steve checks.

“Yeah,” he sighs, then snickers, “S’bigger than my girlfriend anyway.”

Steve shakes silently and turns away just in case the guy opens his eyes and sees him laughing at him. “Okay then.” He presses the button on the machine for initial penetration, watching the guy’s face for any hint of discomfort, unlikely as it may be. “Still okay?”

“Mm.” He wiggles his hips. “So far so good.”

Steve steps away to the little partition wall that’s built into the room. Behind, there’s a control panel where he can sit and operate the machine remotely, unseen by the person he’s treating but still able to communicate throughout the course of the procedure if needed. Some omegas prefer the privacy, but in this case Steve just wants to avoid busting out laughing in front of his patient. He’s supposed to be a professional.

“Come on, Doctor Steve! Let’s get this rodeo started!”

Some patients make it damn hard, though.

Steve has supervised no less than a dozen procedures by the time Clint shows up. “Hey,” Clint says when they run into each other out in the hall. “Banner said you were free to come with me?”

Steve’s heart starts beating faster as he immediately remembers what it is he’s been trying to distract himself from these past few hours. He checks the patient schedule on his tablet. “Got somebody coming off the knot in … two minutes, then I can turn it over to my charge nurse.”

Clint nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He taps his foot.

“So?” Steve presses. “How’d it go?” The anxiety that he’s somehow managed to tamp down since that morning rises all over again as he waits for Clint to give him an update on Bucky. “Is he okay?”

“Of course he’s okay. What do you think we’re doing down there, waterboarding him?”

Steve purses his lips. “No. I just can’t imagine what you’ve been doing with him for the past three—” he checks the time on his tablet. “Four hours. Christ, it’s almost two o’clock.” He really hopes that somebody fed Bucky a suitable lunch.

“Education, mainly. Since he’s just a kid and doesn’t have a clue what he’s getting himself into,” Clint says, a little more aloof with Steve than he normally would be. He’s been that way all day, and Steve knows it’s because he disapproves of the course of action they’re taking. Steve tries not to take it personally, knows that Clint just feels like he has to stand up for the rights of his own designation. It’s kind of his actual job, after all. If Steve weren’t there, he’d hope that Bucky would always have somebody like Clint in his corner. “The rest has been a mix of waiting for people to show up, paperwork, counseling,” Clint lists. “Legal brought a team down to make sure all the right stuff got signed to cover the hospital’s ass. And the courts sent over a clerk and one of those advocate lawyers. That’s the closest anything got to an interrogation, I promise.”

“I thought the courts approved it already?” Steve says, and Clint narrows his eyes at him.

“This was to make sure he understands everything, Steve. It’s kind of important. He’ll be legally bound to you.”

“For the next few months,” Steve agrees, idly wondering when Bucky’s exact birthday is. He thinks it was something like March or April but can’t quite remem—

“Nnno,” Clint says slowly, dragging the word out like he thinks Steve’s an idiot. “Indefinitely. You two are bonded, remember?”

Steve blinks. “He’s about to turn nineteen. This was just a stopgap until he—” Clint sighs and makes a long suffering face. “Clint, what?”

“You’re bonded. That automatically takes it from a custody order, to his registration as your omega. Nothing goes away until you two march yourselves back into a courthouse and undo it, buddy,” he says. “You didn’t know that?” When Steve just stands there like a dummy, Clint softens and steps forward to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s indefinite until then, and if the alpha party doesn’t sign for the dissolution, it doesn’t get dissolved. Ever.”

“Oh.” Steve licks his lips. No wonder everybody has been making such a big deal out of this. “Right. I guess I just didn’t think of—”

“He’d be trapped,” Clint grunts, not happy about it. “They say things are changing. In a few years, maybe. But until then, we’ve got to live with the laws that are on the books. And they favor you, not us. But what else is new?”

Steve tucks his head down, feeling bad for his privilege. “So he knows all this now?” He thinks of Bucky: downstairs, alone, tucked behind some conference table with all these people telling him all these intimidating things, shoving papers at him to sign, overwhelming him. Probably feeding him crap from the vending machines for lunch. “And he signed off on it?”

“Kid trusts you,” Clint says, shaking his head. “Yeah he signed. He said he knew you’d let him go, when and if he wanted it.”

“‘If’?”

“He’s finishing up with the shrinks now. I think they were assessing for dynamic dysphoria, last I popped my head in. Figured I’d come up here and make sure you’re free, since he’s almost done. Bruce said he’d be sending you home early whenever we discharge Barnes.”

“Barnes,” Steve repeats dully, thoughts whirling.

“His last name?” Clint snaps his fingers in Steve’s face with a scowl. “Jesus, Rogers.”

“Right, right. I knew that.” 

The sister: Rebecca. Her last name was Barnes. It hadn’t yet occurred to Steve that they might share it. His mind is still stuck on the fact that he’s going to have legal custody of Bucky for a lot longer than he’d realized. A registered omega. Steve’s mother had been a registered omega. To his father. It’s what married couples did, not … 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Lemme just, uh, grab a shower. Then I can head down.”

“Um … didn’t you have a patient?” Clint checks his phone. “It’s been way more than two minutes.”

“Oh! Shit.” Steve shakes himself and turns to hurry back in the direction of procedure room A, where Ms. Jeong is probably wondering what the hell’s happened to him and why she’s still stuck on a knot.

It’s nearing four o’clock by the time they leave the hospital. Steve immediately gets them to a drive through, since he’s highly displeased to learn that Bucky’s “lunch” that afternoon consisted of cheez-its and a bag of peanut m&ms. He tells Bucky to order whatever he wants, no limits, and so when they pull out of the drive through to head home, it’s with a bag full of greasy burgers.

“Sometimes I jus’ luff shitty food,” Bucky moans through his third cheeseburger, then swallows and beams at Steve. “Like, genuinely enjoy the shitty things that make it shitty, ya know? Processed cheese, squishy fries, compressed meat product, all of it.”

“Yeah. We really don’t need to talk about the fact that you put fries on your burgers, though.” 

Steve parks at the curb and they sit in the car to finish mowing through their food before they head inside. He has a bad feeling that he’s going to make Bucky fat very fast, because so far nothing has made him feel more satisfied and content than watching his omega be well-fed. “We’ll have to stock up on good stuff to keep in the apartment,” he says. “Healthy stuff.”

“Mm.” Bucky is licking the salt off his fingers and shoving all their wrappers into the bag as they get out of the car and start down the sidewalk. “Can you cook?”

“Eh, middlin’,” Steve says. “Can you?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky snorts. “The Children think cooking is ‘women’s work’. You think they let me anywhere near a stove?”

“Oh.”

"I wouldn't mind learning, though. I always liked watching those competition shows on the Food Network, ya know?"

Steve fishes out his keys and gestures at the building. “This is me. Or … us, I guess.” He clears his throat and watches Bucky looking around as they step inside the building.

“Wow,” he says, standing there in the middle of the foyer with his small bag of possessions, head craned back as he looks up the winding stairwell.

Steve’s been nervous about this. He likes where he lives, but he’s never brought someone home before. It’s a nice place but nothing fancy, an older building with less than twenty units and more historical charm than amenities. There’s no elevator, and the basement laundry situation isn’t pretty, but the super’s nice and he only seems to rent to at least halfway decent people (which means nice neighbors, which means less drama). That’s all Steve really cares about at the end of the day. That, and that Bucky likes it, too. “Um, prepare yourself. We’re all the way up top, so ...” They start up the stairs, Steve moving slower than he normally would to make sure that Bucky's okay. He feels better about it when they get up there and Bucky jokes lightheartedly that he'll never be out of shape as long as he lives with Steve.

Inside the apartment, Steve gives him the tour, short as it is. “Kitchen, couch, bathroom—oh that’s just the utility closet. Erm … and then the, ah, the bedroom.” He stands back in the doorway and watches as Bucky takes it all in.

Bucky sets his bag down on the bed, then turns back around to face Steve with a shy smile. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks. Sorry it’s so small.” Steve scratches behind his ear. “S’only ever been me.”

“It smells like you.” Bucky’s eyes are still flicking around to different points in the room. “It’s got character, texture.”

“Texture?”

“Mmhm. I like it.”

Steve feels a little bit of his insecurity slip away at Bucky’s honest appraisal. “Um, over here’s the closet.” He pulls on the chain that lights up the old bulb in the room’s lone walk-in closet. It’s currently full of Steve’s clothes, but he figures that adds to his scent being built up thick, which will be a good thing if Bucky ever decides to nest in there. “We’ll have to get some bedding,” he says, eyeing up the bare hardwood floor. “Nesting materials and stuff.”

Bucky does a turn inside the closet, fingering the pants leg of a pair of Steve’s scrubs that are hanging up in there. “You’re changing your whole life just to help me,” he murmurs. “All of this, everything you’ve done …” he smiles shyly up at Steve. “You’re too nice to me, you know that?”

Well. Steve feels his face heat and he shoves his hands into his pockets to avoid touching Bucky. “‘Bout time someone was.”

Bucky steps closer, and closer, until Steve feels like he has to take his hands out of his pockets and place them on Bucky’s waist because he’s just so close. Bucky leans in and kisses him, and Steve can see it coming from a mile away, but he’s too stupefied for a second to do anything about it. It’s really just a peck on the lips, but when Bucky pulls back Steve feels the need to say, “Buck … you don’t have to do that.” Bucky blinks at him, and he elaborates, “You don’t have to be physical with me. Or at least, not in a sexual way.” He curls his fingers in at Bucky’s waist, feeling the soft fabric of his tee shirt. “We’ll be close, but I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re expected to kiss me or touch me like that.”

A little wrinkle of displeasure appears between the omega’s eyebrows. “But, I thought …”

Steve waits, but when Bucky doesn’t say anything else, he pulls the boy into a hug. He rubs his back soothingly and scents at his glands. The bite mark there is scabbed over by now. “Just want you to be safe and comfortable, okay Honey?”

Bucky is still in his arms for a minute, but eventually he hugs back, scenting calm. “Okay, Alpha.”

Steve’s eyes slip closed. He’s not going to get tired of hearing that anytime soon.

They decide to celebrate Bucky’s newfound freedom by going out for a fancy dinner. Steve doesn’t eat out much, is usually too consumed by his work or else too tired after just having gotten off from a shift, but it’s really nice to be able to enjoy a whole meal in a fancy setting for a change, chatting with Bucky and getting to know each other a little more. 

They eat early, so that after dinner there’s still time to go shopping for anything Bucky might need, now that he’s living with Steve. Rebecca had brought Bucky a backpack of clothes from home, but it’s not much, so they start at Target, buying a few more things for Bucky to wear. 

“Guess I’ll have to get used to elastic waistbands, pretty soon,” Bucky grumbles when they do a curious turn about the maternity department. “Ugh.”

Steve laughs and consoles him that at least it won’t be for a while yet. Then they wind up walking the aisles of Twig ‘n’ Tuft, Steve pushing a cart while Bucky obeys the order he’s been given to throw in anything his heart desires. There are a lot of soft things for nesting in the store, and Bucky seems drawn to them all. Steve feels something warm and pleased settle in his chest as he watches his omega trailing fingers over all the chenille blankets and fluffy pillows on the shelves. Bucky is happy, Steve is making Bucky happy. It feels so satisfying, and for the first time, Steve really starts to think that this whole thing between them might turn out to be alright.

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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[unholyhelbig]

So excited for the end of firecrest!!

Title: Firecrest (Part 7/7)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven]

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Horrible parenting, hospitals, bad language, needles, cannon-typical violence, drinking, guns, death, horrible grammar we know I don't beta read!

[A/n: First of all, thank you guys for your patience while I worked on this last chapter. This story hits kind of close to home. Not the fire powers, obviously, but the parental issues. It's one of my favorites and I hope I didn't disappoint.]

It was a gunshot that pulled you from your haze between sleep and alertness. It’s a distinct noise that seemed to echo off the very structure that you were trapped within. The iron bars that caged you chattered with the same ferocity as your teeth.

All at once, you registered the intense warmth of Kate pressed against you, and the quickness of her heart pounding close to your own. She lifted her head from your chest with a frown, sleep clinging to her stare. Her fingers gripped at the fabric of her own jacket that you’d slipped on sometime during the night.

Another shot rang out, pulling the two of you apart with as much quickness as you could muster without the pain becoming too much. Still, a grunt of discomfort escaped you and Kate’s stormy stare, still heavy with sleep, widened. She pressed her finger against her lip, signaling her plea for silence.

You flushed red and nodded, following her quiet order. Kate was surprisingly nimble for someone who you’d never known to be quiet. She’d gotten to her feet, her booted feet barely making a sound against gravel. The commotion was coming from the far side of stables, and it was moving closer.

All at once, you felt an indescribable fear and a relief that was unmatched. There was no way for you to protect yourself. One of your eyes had swollen shut and though you hadn’t tried standing yet, you were sure that it wasn’t an option on unsteady feet. Kate would gladly nudge herself under your arm, take your weight and haul you from the premises, but you would just the same encourage her to leave you behind.

You were a liability like this and if those gunshots had lodged deep into the flesh of the wrong side, then it was the two of you that would suffer in an almost poetic end. Like most hired captors, yours suffered from the same lack of foresight. They’d released your coordinates for dramatic flair, but a flare it was. Streaking the sky in sparks of red and orange and leaving behind a foul-smelling trail of smoke.

Kate frowned and crouched low to the ground, pressing her palms into the clay earth. You couldn’t help but find her stunning like this; focused, locked-in with a deep scowl on her features. The sun had just risen, and it cast her in a ghostly blue light. The green in her eyes suddenly reflected the red of a scope.

You gave in to instinct much before you registered the sealed wounds tearing back open with a searing squelch. Little pin-pricks of red LED had swarmed Kate’s chest like a colony of ants, circling until they’d found their target right above her heart.

She’d barely registered the lights before you’d tackled her to the ground and pinned her under your body. You were doing that a lot lately, pinning her somewhere that neither of you wanted to be. She broke her own rule of silence with a grunt of surprise and a breath that splayed against your chest. Everything thrummed with your heartbeat as you clenched your eyes shut and waited for the blinding white pain of a reign of bullets.

That never came. Instead, Kate’s arms were wrapped carefully around you like a solid force that was not to be reckoned with. You heard her exhale, a rush of air like a waterfall with your ear pressed this close to her chest. They weren’t shooting. Why weren’t they shooting?

You grimaced in pain and detached yourself from the archer, plopping ungracefully onto your back next to her. You stared up at an unblinking agent, dressed head to toe in a tactical uniform. Their gun was lowered, the scope light dancing against the gravel and dust. Once more- you recognized the hazel in the eyes, even before a gloved hand removed the mask covering the lower part of her face.

“That little show was very valiant of you, buddy.” She said, not trying to hide her shit-eating grin. “Totally unnecessary, but I’m sure it won you points with Artemis here.”

A groan that was mix of pain and embarrassment pushed past your lips. You used the last of your strength to bury your blush-bloomed face into the crook of Kate’s neck. Your Aunt Daisy was the last person you’d ever want to see you curled up with a Hawkeye, nonetheless. But you were aching too much to care. Too relieved that they sent in SHIELD.

Things began to move fast, despite the pain in your bones making a slow descent from your head down to your toes. Kate had been rendered speechless by the Director of SHIELD herself coming in for the rescue and comparing her to Greek Goddess all in the same breath. You, on the other hand, swallowed down the taste of metal as you were hauled to your feet.

She had a lemon scent to her that was an instant comfort. You fell into Daisy’s offer of solace, insistent that you could at least walk to the waiting ambulance with her help. She was much too patient with you, just like she had always been.

“We’ve kept the media pushed back to the end of the drive, but they’re vicious these days.” She mumbled against your blood encrusted temple. The two of you stopped just short of the mouth of the stable. She sensed your exhaustion and let you ease yourself down onto a bale of hay.

A set of eyes were on her at all times, and she waved a command at them that was nothing short of a signal to bring the help to you. She was perfectly content to let you lick your wounds and press your fingers to your ribs in the only security you’d been able to hold onto.

“I’m shocked they sent you. Not that I’m not stoked to see you, it’s been too long.” You appended your statement quickly.

“They didn’t send me. The department was taking too long, so I stepped in. I hated when Coulson would pull that Director bullshit, but it comes in handy sometimes. They can’t really say no to me. Especially not when my niece is being held hostage and they’re not making a move.”

You frowned and stared at the tightly packed hay. It was taking on a strawberry quality under the assault of your blood. A SHIELD agent with a medical badge around their throat knelt in front of you and waited for the slight nod you gave to start assessing the brunt of the damage. You flinched at the cold when Kate’s purple jacket was stripped away.

“That woman…”

“Is going away for a long time.” Daisy assured in a steely voice. “He didn’t make it. Might have been dressed like a cowboy but he certainly didn’t know how to shoot like one.”

You hummed in something that could only be deemed sick satisfaction, too exhausted to find your voice. You let yourself slump against Daisy’s shoulder, her fingers coming up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as the medic worked. You were cold; numb.

Still, across the chaos, and the sound of a news helicopter that had somehow started to hover low enough to flip the leaves of the surrounding aspens onto their white bellies, you found Kate; wrapped in a blanket and shaking from the rush of cold that she’d tried to smother. A pulse ox was on her finger and she flinched when a thermometer was shoved under her tongue. She rolled her eyes, offering up a small wave.

You smiled at her, waved back like the two of you were adjacent in a school yard and not separated by 500 feet of agents of crime-scene tape and people you’d be hard pressed to recognize.

Daisy scoffed, “You Morse women and your Hawkeyes. If this one breaks your heart, I’m breaking every arrow in her quiver.”

They’d waited until you’d slipped back into sleep to smear the alcohol pad against the building vein in your hand and slide the needle past skin. You’d fought them hard on being taken to the hospital in the first place, fought them harder when they moved you to a secure wing that was separate from even Kate.

Eventually, as Daisy smoothed her hand down your back and nudged you in the right direction like only family could, you relented. They’d posted guards in front of your door to keep Cindy Moon and her blood thirsty interns from sniffing you out.

Before you’d succumbed to unconsciousness, you were getting nervous. You had yet to see Bobbi or Lance. Even Clint would have been a warm welcome compared to the near-empty room. They’d taken what was left of your clothing. You were entirely too exposed in nothing but your boxer shorts and a sheer hospital gown that was open along the back.

The pinch in your hand elicited a groan, and then another. There was fuzz at the edges of your vision, and you’d known that some degree of morphine was pumped through you. There was a weightlessness to your being, even as you blinked your eyes open and were met with ones that reminded you too much of Kate’s, but not quite there.

“Mm, Mrs. Bishop?”

The socialite froze in her movements. You frowned, stretching as much as your body allowed it. She was one of the last people you wanted to see right now and she was much too close to your IV stand for comfort. She turned with a stiffness and placed her cold hand on your arm, a move that was supposed to convey comfort but did the exact opposite.

“Oh, baby, you should get some rest.” Her fingers moved up to your forehead, brushing back strands of hair. “You’ve been through quite a lot these last few days. You had us so worried.”

Suddenly, you felt an unbelievable tug at the center of your chest, a grief that was so palpable. It was a feeling that you had only experienced once or twice during your short life, but one that rocked through every part of you all the same. You wanted your mom.

In this moment, you were six years old again, in the sterile lab with tears dripping sloppily down your cheeks and breaths impossible to pull into quivering lungs. You were scared and the only thing that would stop the rush of fear was the warm, encompassing embrace of the woman who brought you into this world. Only she could stop the thing trying to take you out.

Eleanor clocked the rigidity in your stance, letting out the slightest breath before lowering herself onto the corner of the bed. “Has Katherine ever spoken about her father?”

You shook your head. This didn’t’ seem like a conversation you should be having without the archer aware or even present. You ached for her, keeping your fists bunched and your eyes trained evenly on the woman who had somehow conned her way past the agents at the door.

“Derek’s nickname in high school was Icarus. Most people, most sane people, would find that to be an insult but Derek saw Icarus as an innovator. He didn’t look at the melting wax wings and the plummet to a bloody death as a bad thing, because for just a moment, he was flying.”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, nearly choking on your own saliva. There were flashes of the man, usually smiling, his wrists weighed down by heavy watches and expensive shirts tucked into pleated pants. Kate missed a month of school when he died and was never quite the same following the battle of New York. None of you were.

“Politics, darling” she touched your knee under the layers of blankets “are filled with Icarus’s all chasing the same sun. Sometimes, someone who can see the bigger picture needs to step in and give them something other than wax to sculpt with. Are you following me?”

It may have been the morphine talking, but you simply chewed on your bottom lip, a glassy look in your eyes. “No?”

And truly, you didn’t. Though, you were a bit admonished by the look of annoyance that flicked past her features. Again, you saw a little of Kate in her stare that made you long for the girl that you’d barely had a chance to see in the last twenty-four hours. You had the sudden urgency to rip free of all the wires like the Hulk himself and go to her, wherever she was.

“Okay,” Eleanor stood, suddenly exasperated by your lack of understanding. She’d be a horrible teacher, lacking the patience even in your inebriated state. She sidled up next to your IV again and you tracked her with your stare. “We’re going to make this painless, because I’m afraid my Katherine won’t forgive me if I go about it any other way.”

She dug into her bag that cost more than your collage tuition and produced a syringe. The object conjured an acute fear in you, a fight or flight that you’d exhibited in the waiting room and again before they brought you up here and let you have your way.

“Seriously?” You groaned, throwing your head back into the pillow “What is with people and drugging me lately? It’s not creative! And if you take one more step, I’ll blow us both to bits!”

The words escaped you with such a nonchalance that Eleanor lowered her hand with the needle and blinked at you in disbelief, cocking her head like an animal hearing a high-pitched noise. It was a bluff. You hadn’t felt that familiar itch of fire under your skin since dinner.

Still, all it would take was a spark and the quick removal of the oxygen under your nose. She eyed you with all the conviction of a mother challenging her child ready to throw a tantrum and a lazy smirk twitched at the edges of your lips, too exhausted to fight. To really fight.

“You don’t have a lighter.”

The sound of a crack filled the room, a metal and hollow noise that made you jump back as Eleanor Bishop fell to the floor in a heap, the plastic needle sliding far enough away from the piping of your IV to finally bring comfort.

Kate stood in her place, holding a dinner tray in a defense position. “She doesn’t need one, bitch.”

The smile on your face was genuine this time, hands making quick work at removing your IV and detaching any sensors that were keeping you bound to the bed. They beeped in protest, but you couldn’t, and wouldn’t give a damn. Kate was in an equally as exposing hospital gown with a dopy smile that was unmatched.

She dropped the tray, bending down with careful ease and connecting her lips to yours “hi darling,”

“Hi baby,” You kissed her back hungrily, savoring the sweet taste of her “God, you’re warm and you smell so nice, and I know Artemis was really into chastity, but please don’t make me wait.”

Kate scrunched her nose and pulled back with amused raise of an eyebrow. “You doing okay?”

“Morphine.”

“Ah… well, we’ve already had sex. A lot. And right now, we need to focus on getting out of here. Turns out Mother dearest was colluding with some very unsavory people who aren’t happy about your aunt’s intervention.”

You nodded, staring into Kate’s slate eyes, they searched your features, the plumpness of her lips, the constellations of her freckles. You wanted to trace and every one of them with the pads of your fingers. Her knocking out her mother with a dinner tray was quite possibly the most attractive thing you’d ever seen her do.

You rose on shaky feet, blinking the confusion from your eyes. You wanted to curl back into the warmth of the archer that was at your side in an instant. She wanted to cling to you, to steady you when you threatened to sway, but swallowed it back.

The urge to protect her outweighed everything else, knowing full well that she could protect herself just as much as she could you. When the door to your room creaked open, it revealed the agents slumped against the wall. They hadn’t done you much good, but you still knelt down and checked for a pulse. Weak, but still there, so Eleanor wasn’t entirely lost.

Kate’s fingers slotted with yours and she silently led you through the quiet hallways. There was a sterile detachment to the hospital at this time of night that unsettled you and brought back that same cloying feeling that made you weak. You wanted your mother. Hell, you wanted your father too. Your hand tightened around Kate’s and for the first time since a needled had been shoved into your neck, that familiar edge of fire reared its ugly head.

Your thoughts were racing listlessly. There was no safety for purchase. The media had been interested in your relationship with Kate to begin with but now that the two of you had been thrust into the spotlight for something akin to an action movie, all eyes would be waiting for an update. Something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for the past few days, just like the dull ache in your bones.

Kate moved towards the elevator, but you stopped short, shaking your head in a heavy silence before taking the stairwell instead. It was freezing, goosebumps rising against your skin. The constant hum of the hospital was instantly silenced, jolting you into another world entirely. Kate looked like a phantom raised from a grave.

She narrowed her eyes at you, sinching the back of her gown together with her hands. “Stop that.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Katie. You look cold.”

Your words were sluggish, the past week catching up to you as you clamped your hand together with hers once more. You didn’t have much energy behind your gift, but what little you did, you directed towards Kate. She shivered, a low gasp escaping her as she pushed closer to you.

Fire was often seen as something of destruction, but it was also the ultimate source of warmth and in a moment where the two of you had never been so vulnerable, so smelling of sick and so frozen from the inside out, you wanted nothing more than to be a comfort to the girl you loved. The girl you had just admitted to loving.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Kate breathed out.

“You don’t know a lot of things about me. But, I promise, I’ll tell you everything as soon as we get out of this mess. Who is behind all of it, anyway?”

Your hushed voices still echoed in the vastness of the stairwells as you padded down them with as much quickness as your feet would grant you. There was an emergency exit on the ground floor that set off a blaring alarm but deposited you directly into a damp alleyway that was a few degrees warmer than the hospital was. You both breathed in sour relief as a charge nurse inhaled on a cigarette with widened eyes.

“Hey, uh, what hospital is this?” You asked, brushing your bare foot free of gravel.

“I’m not paid enough for this.” She sighed out a puff of smoke, but in the same breath “Parker Memorial.”

“Oh sick, walking distance.”

Kate’s elbow was bony as it slammed into your ribs, but she made up for it by gently taking your hand and setting the pace towards what you assumed was her penthouse. It was easy to get turned around in the city. No one batted an eye at the two girls wandering the streets in hospital gowns.  

“This past winter, my mother got into some shady stuff, and I overlooked it. I had a lot going on myself and I didn’t want to believe that the one biological parent I had left standing would fall into the dark underbelly of New York just like every other rich fuck in the city.”

You blinked hazily at Kate. At this angle, she was shaded by the passing yellow lights of the traffic, of the storefronts and the food carts that wafted greasy scents. It once produced a comfort but now filled you with a roiling nausea that was hard to swallow down. You felt the undeniable warmth of wounds reopening and the sticky discomfort of the thin hospital gown adhering to your skin.

“I let it go because suddenly there was Clint and it was hard not to fight for his attention which is not an easy thing to win. I was relentless and eventually my mother and whoever she was talking to late at night was an afterthought. She got careful or I got careless, or maybe it was both. But either way, she started backing Lance because… Wilson Grant Fisk wanted him to win.”

You stopped abruptly enough to feel the sidewalk dig into the soles of your feet. It reminded you of scraped knees and haphazardly applied bandages, of summers when the streetlights would come on and you’d race home to wash up before dinner. Kate stopped too, hunched into herself, trying to seem smaller than she was.

“How do you know all of this?”

“There were bits and pieces. I eavesdropped on a lot of my mothers conversations, and then when she caught on and life got complicated, I started to take notice of the people that would attend benefits. I never, ever thought they would pull something like this. That they would hurt you.” Her voice tightened, and she glanced away before her eyes could mist over. “I would have paid better attention if I had just fucking known.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, despite your unsteady hand. Her grey stare a shock to your nervous system. Tracks of tears ran down her cheeks, streaking the blushed red that you wanted to kiss away. “None of this is on you, okay? Katie, we can’t be heroes all the time. For now, we can just be thankful that we made it this far, and that we made it together.”

“Yeah,” She sniffed, her delicate touch moving to your wrist, fingers tracing the blued veins that were barely visible under the lights. The maps that could mirror the subway systems under the city, or the constellations of stars. “And that we got this far without being too much like our parents?”

You scoffed “That too.”

Exhaustion had all but overtook you by the time you had made it past the doorman of Kate’s building. She had clocked his cold, unfeeling stare and her fingers dug warningly into your ribs. She was holding you up dutifully.

It wasn’t the usual guy, that much you noticed. The last time you had been in this elevator with Kate, it wasn’t your Kate and the guilt still tasted sour on your tongue. This time, the two of you were washed pale in hospital gowns and bare feet that had been torn to shreds. Where was SHIELD when you needed them? Fighting off the media circus and an imminent alien invasion now that you had been secured.

“What are the chances that we can get into your place without a fight?”

“Maybe 80%” She brought her hand up to the small of your neck, ghosting her fingers over the soft skin there. You fought off the chill that pushed through you. “I didn’t hit my mother that hard, so chances are she’s come to and has called Mr. Fisk already. If they’re planning to kill us, they’ll do it here.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense. Wilson wanted Lance to win, so he hires someone to kidnap and torture me, give him a valiant rescue, but then, what? Gets cold feet and keeps him here instead?”

Kate hums furrowing her brow. “Unless it wasn’t him at all and my mother went rouge, hired them to take both of us.”

The mechanical whir of the elevator jolting to a stop and opening pulled the two of you apart. Kate still steadied you with her stone touch. It opened directly into the penthouse, which was eerily silent. There was a distrust embedded deep within your stomach. Kate glanced at you uneasily.

Instinctively, you wished to reach across her as if you’d slammed too hard on the breaks of your car, her head jolting quickly towards the dash. Instead of risking a fractured skull, you risked questing her ability which you would never do. Kate could handle herself and could certainly handle herself better than you in your current state.

She dug quietly through the umbrella bucket by the mouth of the elevator and produced one of Jack’s swords, sheathed of course, until she pulled the leather casing off. You stifled your smile. He might not be smart enough to see the blazing red flags that his second wife was waving around erratically, but at least he did this.

Kate was an expert swordsman; this you knew from the countless times she had you pinned to a blue mat with the tip of foil shoved against your torso, the shaft bent like an arch and an overly cocky expression on her face when she pulled off her mask. Her cheeks were always a delicious shade of red, hair mussed with sweat. She’d even reluctantly taken lessons with Jack once she’d realized he had a few helpful tricks past showmanship.

You hesitantly took a step back from Kate and let the fire that had been bubbling below your skin, biting and growling like a dog on a chain, free. Your hands were engulfed in a dull yellow that flickered against the expensive art in Kate’s foyer. The closer to your skin, the bluer the flames. Kate’s gaze reflected the color brilliantly, and the small nod of understanding she shot your way made your heart flutter. You’d torch the place if you had to.

Muffled voices hit your ears first, the contrast of cold between the patio doors being open and the fire that poured out of you. When you both emerged from around the corner all of the commotion in the room seemed to come to a halt.

Clint was sitting on a piano bench in the far corner, massaging his temples. He hadn’t changed out of his dinner clothes but had shed his jacket. It was draped across the back of the couch that looked worse for wear as if someone had tried (and failed) to get some rest.

Bobbi was silhouetted by the cityscape behind her, a menagerie of unblinking eyes. This was the first time that she had ever exhibited any signs of her age to you; wrinkles, and pale skin, nails bitten down, hair greasy and worked through in a clear pattern of anxiety.

She was wrapped in a cardigan and hunched over as if she were fighting the biting cold of a winter storm. The only force holding her up was Lance. His strong hands braced on either side of her arms. His eyes were rubbed a raw red, damp with what seemed like a fresh display of emotion. He had worried his lip to the point of drawing blood and had scratched nervously at his throat until that too was a mess of red claw marks. Something that he hadn’t done since your first day of high school.

Both you and Kate frantically searched every inch of the room. This was it. This was it? There was no Wilson Fisk with his horribly gaudy cane, or another cowboy that sought to brand you with a rusted blade. Not a mother with a poison-dipped tongue (though you weren’t thrilled about Clint), or even a step-father who could be none the wiser to the situation.

Neither of you relaxed your stances.

“Kid,” Clint spoke in a calming, gravelly voice, Kate’s head turning. You didn’t’ look at him. Eyes trained on your parents instead. You were breathing heavy as if to combat the cement filling your lungs and hardening by the second. He spoke again, firmer this time. “Kid, look at me.”

This time when you snapped your eyes over to meet his, unwanted tears trailed down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. These were meant to be for the relief of Bobbi and Lance, they were in reaching distance- they are right there God damn it, let me go to them, this isn’t about you.

“Everything is fine, take a deep breath and put the fire away.” He attempted to soothe.

Kate made a quiet noise in the back of her throat and tightened the grip on the hilt of the sword. She stared at Clint incredulously as if telling him to stop. You respected her attempt at mediation, it was much more than fake Kate had done, but he was terrible at reading social ques regardless of which partner he was dealing with.

“What, you don’t think I can control this?” you asked, lifting one hand up and staring at the flames as if it were an alive creature, jumping from fingertip to fingertip. “You’ve always been afraid of fire, haven’t you, dad?”

Lance tightened his grip on Bobbi’s arms. The words tasted like acid in your mouth. She watched the interaction as if she were viewing it from outside of the house, hand pressed up against the window. She was locked out but could hear every single word. She made no attempt to break it open despite having every tool at her disposal. This was something you had to do.

“I’m not afraid of fire.”

“Sure, you are.” You stepped down into the living area, the simple motion tugging at your body in all the wrong ways, but you still swallowed back the pain. The weaknesses that had been bestowed upon you by the hands seeking so hungrily for political gain. “Everyone is, it’s a natural human response to destruction, and that’s all fire does, that’s all it is. A form of dismantling whatever environment it’s placed in.”

He swallowed dryly. The two of you must be quite the unhinged sight; bruised and bloodied, feet cracked from the cold city streets. You were in hospital gowns and shivering as the adrenaline and medication wore away from your bones like a ratty old coat. The tip of Kate’s sword was drooping and you could feel the fight slowly start to drain from you.

“You know something, though? I spent my entire life trying to come to terms with being a monster. Being that destruction. The chaos that scares everyone away that I couldn’t see the one person that never left my side. The one person who didn’t send me to specialists, or didn’t walk out on me because it was easier. The one person who was never afraid of fire.”

Clint couldn’t look you in the eyes. Not even as the flames left your fingertips. You couldn’t hold it anymore. The tension in your hands was too much, the heat in your veins nothing but a dull tap at the window of the house now. You wanted your parents. You wanted a shower. You wanted sleep. You needed to finish this.

“Clint,” You choked out, his stare raising sheepishly from the finish of the floor. “We can stop pretending that you’re here for me. It’s okay to love Kate Bishop. I sure as hell do. But just because you’re in her life, does not mean you can come here and uproot mine by trying to be something we both know you’re not. Am I clear?”

Three things happened at once; He nodded, your legs gave out, and Kate’s sword fell to the floor with an undignified clang. You figured that you would be right there with it, but Bobbi, with her learned reflexes had reached you before that outcome was possible.

Lance was at Kate’s side in a matter of moments, making sure she didn’t succumb to the same exhaustion as Clint blinked tepidly at the entire situation that moved around him. They hadn’t hesitated for a moment, and you almost regretted leaving the hospital, had it not been for your girlfriends (was she really?) mother trying to exterminate you.  

For now, you enjoyed the cold contrast of the wooden floor and the innate warmth of your own mothers embrace. She carried her signature scent of warm citrus and the unfamiliar one of bourbon. Your nose was buried in her neck as you sobbed, careful to find her pulse point with an accuracy that she taught you, just to make sure she was alive. That she was there.

She was whispering something, pressing tender kisses against your forehead and using her thumbs to wipe away the tracks of tears that muddied your face. But you couldn’t discern her words, not over the pounding headache and the sudden need to sleep.

Clint Barton was the first thing you opened your eyes to. His smiling face with a glass of milk and a horrible painted white mustache above his lip. The comically written ‘Got Milk?’ slogan was next to his head and strategically placed around his quiver and arrows.

The groan that you produced caused the warm and heavy arm around your midsection to tighten. You knew that Kate was awake due to her breathing pattern. It was a hazy time in the morning where the sun was too bright for her to remain asleep no matter how exhausted, though she still snuggled close to you to keep you appeased.

“Is this hell?” You mumbled into the floral pillow.

“Close. It’s my childhood bedroom.”

You turned in her arms, not an easy task considering you were in yet another twin bed. This time it was four posts and fitted with thousand-thread-count sheets, so it was a clear upgrade. You didn’t mind the way you had to tangle your legs with Kate’s, how she had to ensnare you in her strong embrace to keep you from falling off the edge of the bed.

Kate’s eyes were clouded with sleep, her freckles catching the rays of sun. Up this close, you could see every grey and blue shift in her iris. You wanted to trace the exposed surfaces of her face and learn every detail that was on display. For now, you settled on running the tips of your fingers over the split in her eyebrow, careful not to press down to hard, you didn’t want to cause pain.

The two of you had been intimate in many aspects (on many surfaces) but this was only your second time waking up next to Kate Bishop formally. Not in a jail cell, or with her rushing to get dressed so the two of you could put on a charade for your families. You wanted this every day. You wanted her every day.

She gently took your hand and placed a kiss against your fingertips. “How are you feeling?”

“Like we probably should have stayed at Parker Memorial.”

Kate giggled and started to nervously play with your fingers. The two of you stayed in relative silence for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the city and what sounded like someone cooking breakfast just past the confines of her bedroom. The world could wait, just for a little bit.

“How are you feeling? Horribly staged kidnapping aside, some big things happened with Eleanor yesterday. We don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to. But that offer you made in the boxing gym all that time ago works both ways. You can talk to me.”

She huffed out a breath that fanned against your chest at the memory and tucked her head within the small of your neck. The two of you had been gifted with normal clothing that you didn’t even want to begin to speculate on how you’d gotten into. But feeling the coolness of her nose against your throat sent shivers down your spine all the same. When she spoke, it vibrated close to your skin.

“Part of me feels sorry for her. She’s always justified her behavior by the nature of her cause, you know? But that’s not how the world works. Doing horrible things for good reasons doesn’t change the fact that you’re doing horrible things. Paying someone to kidnap your daughter and her girlfriend for political gain is fucked up even if you write it in pretty font.”

She stiffened suddenly, pulling back and looking at you with widened eyes, her jaw clenched as if she had just ripped a sloppy set of stitches. It took you a moment to catch on to her quick change in demeaner. The way her own hand tightened around yours.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” She rushed out, cheeks suddenly a violent cherry red. “That just came out. All the other parts, those are totally true.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! Yes. Unless… you liked the way it sounded. In that case, I meant every single word.”

You mocked a frown, and stretched out a little, watching as she held her breath. The redness in her face kept growing different shades like a sample card at a paint store. You were enjoying this way too much. “I don’t know Katie. If I say yes, does this mean I get to see more of those fun toys you have hidden away in your closet?”

Another shade of red was accompanied by her flopping down gently and mumbling an undignified ‘yes’ into the fabric of your shirt. You patted the back of her head with a chuckle before gently guiding her stare back up to yours, sufficiently happy that she was breathing fairly normally again.

“Kate Bishop, I would love to be your girlfriend.”

You tamped off her sigh of relief with a soft kiss that soothed all of the nerves that still ached in your body. You were perfectly content to stay in her childhood bedroom for the rest of the day, the rest of the week- maybe even forever. Just wrapped up in her warmth and her scent. It was all you’d ever wanted; right in front of you and you’d been blinded by smoke this entire time.

“Thank god,” She mumbled against your lips “Could you imagine bringing anyone else into my family?”

Bobbi dug absently through her pocketbook searching for a mint wrapped in cellophane that was hidden amongst photo ID’s and credit cards. It wasn’t a deep clutch, but it could have been endless based on her searching. “Remember what we talked about y/n?”

“Of course,” You reached in your pocket, produced your own tin of mints and handed enclosed her fingers around it as if it were routine. At this point, it had become one. Over the last two months she had resorted to wearing glasses, finally giving in after Lances poking and prodding. She often forget them at home. “Would you like me to repeat it?”

She did not dignify you with answer. This conversation was all too familiar, just like these awful events were. Instead, she offered up her arm and you took it great fully. Despite the exhaustive days of physical therapy, you were still working on getting up to speed with the full use of your right leg, an injury that adrenaline had hidden well and good until you put your full weight on it.

After Lance had won his political race by a landslide victory, things seemed to move at a whirlwind pace. Interviews and cameras, and reporters that were much too interested in the sudden arrest of Eleanor Bishop. Ultimately, she had been pinned with the criminal kidnapping of both you and Kate. SHIELD made sure to clean up the rest, no mention of the Cowboy or the woman in the mask.

You squeezed your mothers hand once before she was whisked away to another section of the grand house you had been invited to. It was spruced up with fall decorations and smelled too much like nutmeg. But champagne was passed around on trays and you were careful to pluck one off with the tact that you were ushered into. Still, amongst the chaos, Lance made a point to meet your eyes from across the room, lifting his own glass with a solemn nod and a loving smile that you returned.

You’d found your way out of the crowded foyer after a few polite hellos and into a quieter part of the house. A darker library that had a few groups talking amongst themselves. The scent of cigars outweighed that of pumpkin and the warmth settled against your shoulders comfortably.

Your fingers moved across the spines of the books tracing the gold and reading the beautifully crafted titles as you took small sips of your drink, letting the alcohol warm your stomach and the carbonation burn your throat.

“Look at us, we match.”

Kate’s voice reached your ears before her touch against your waist. All the same, her presence encompassed you with the sudden bliss of calm. The two of you did, indeed, match. She wore a midnight blue suit sprinkled with small stars against the collar, constellations that you could only see when you were close enough to kiss her. Galaxies of possibility.

She’d chosen your own blazer, laying it out on her bed and giving Lucky instructions to keep his paws off, which he shockingly did despite the lint roller you had on hand in case anything went awry. Kate pressed a quick kiss to your lips, grasping your drink all in one motion, a sly trick that you never commented on, content to be dazed in your own right.

“What are you looking at?”

“A collection of Shakespeare’s best.” You moved your index finger against another forest green spine. “He once said ‘Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire, threaten the threatener, and outface the brow of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes, that borrow their behaviors from the great, grow great by your example and put on the dauntless spirit of resolution.’.”

Kate took two swallows of campaign, a healthy tint to her cheeks as she lowered the glass. There was admiration in her eyes. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“I’m serious, Katie” You chuckled, stealing your drink back.

“Me too,” She grabbed the lapels of your jacket, pulling your close, nudging her nose against yours. “Say the word and we can go back to my place right now.”

“As much as I would love that, I promised Lance that we would stay through dinner.”

She huffed but nodded all the same. “Okay, okay. Explain to me then, the beauties of Shakespeare. Why that quote? Why now?”

You shook your head and traced the grouping of stars on the collar of her jacket that was closest to you. It was a feeling that you couldn’t explain. You had been in mostly bliss for the past two months. Despite the arrest of Kate’s mother, the back of fourth of Clint still being in your vicinity but pointedly staying away from you. Things had been good. They’d been great.

But something still didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know,” You sighed out, “I just feel like we’re not getting the full picture. I’m glad that Lance won, but at the same time… What if we were all just pawns in something bigger?”

Kate’s tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, knitting her eyebrows together. “Pawns rarely know they’re being moved around the board. I think maybe we just have to wait. As hard as it is. I’m a selfish girl, y/n. For now, I’m happy that we’re both safe. If Fisk is going to drop another shoe, we’ll just have to keep an eye out for it.”

“You’re right,” You swallowed thickly, trying to ease the tension from your shoulders. “I just worry that he’ll throw the shoe at full speed through a windshield, you know?”

“We’ll be okay, you know why?” Kate smirked devilishly, curling her finger under your chin and lifting your gaze just enough to stare into her cornflower eyes. “Bishop always takes King.”

“Oh, that was awful,” You pulled away from her, shoving the empty champagne flute into her hands. “You’re finding another ride home tonight.”

“Come on, I was kidding. I don’t even know how to play chess!”

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121, @escapereality4music, @cyberbonesworld, @dark-hunter16, @crescentcrush, @bishopsbeloved, @sammi1642, @bilyashvili, @thinking1bee,

[irondadfics]

Hii, I’m looking for a fic where Tony is looking after Peter and something happens that causes him to run away to the Barton’s and the son tries to hide peter but clint knows he’s there. I think there was also a part where one of the barton kids accidentally shot peter with an arrow whilst tony and peter were visiting. Thanks!!

Here you go! Enjoy!

in case you wanted to skip ahead and just read those parts, the arrow scene is in Chapter 14 and Peter running away starts in Chapter 25.

A Peter Parker Problem by spagbol99

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens.  Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again. The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

[therulingqueen]

Tripped down the last two steps in front of my house in a very Clint Barton manner and sprained the front part of my foot pretty bad. Dr asked what color wrap I wanted. Yeah, since it was a Clint thing to do, had to have a Clint color.

[drgrlfriend]

...And a Happy Hanukkat

Here is my Winterhawk Wonderland 2023 contribution! Dearest @deformed-globule asked for hurt/comfort (possibly post-mission), handmade gifts (possibly knitted), and BAMF!Clint, as well as a sappy/happy ending.

The combination of hurt/comfort and sappy ending makes for a hell of a tone shift, but stick with me folks and I'll make sure you are rewarded for the somewhat dark start.

...And a Happy Hanukkat by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

“Quiet, Soldier,” the chief Hydra doctor croons as three more huddle around, enjoying the show.  “The more you struggle, the messier this will be.”

They’re all wearing goggles, surgical masks and caps, and waterproof aprons, so they’re sure as fuck prepared for this to get messy.  Bucky spits a mouthful of blood at the chief doctor nonetheless, red spattering across his Hydra-grey surgical getup, and his eyes narrow.

“Start with the tongue,” he hisses vindictively, and a fourth Hydra doctor moves in, scalpel at the ready.

Bucky’s focus narrows to that slim blade.  He can’t look away as it gets closer and closer.  His mind flashes with images of everything he’s losing — Steve’s steadfast friendship, Natasha’s stealthy affection, Sam’s friendly rivalry, Bruce’s quiet companionship, Thor’s booming laughter, Tony’s sarcastic caretaking, and — most of all, Clint.  

Clint’s easy camaraderie, his sunshine smile, the way he sits shoulder-to-shoulder with Bucky, quiet and undemanding, Lucky and Alpine draped across both their laps, when Bucky is having a bad day.  Clint has been the brightest thing in Bucky’s life since he recovered from Hydra’s programming, and Bucky has been too scared to really see where it could go, and now it’s too late —

And he shouldn’t have let thoughts of Clint get a handhold, because he’s hallucinating now, his gaze sliding off the blade to the goggles of the scalpel-wielding Hydra doctor, and as he meets his glance for a moment he thinks he sees the sunny sky-blue of Clint’s beautiful eyes.

The blade flashes, almost faster than Bucky can track it, and a line of red appears on the throats of the three other doctors.  Their eyes widen behind the protective goggles, nitrile-gloved hands coming up to try to stem the flow, but it happened too quickly for them to even cry out.  

There’s four rapid thuds of a silenced weapon, so quick it almost sounds like one long stutter of noise, and in his peripheral vision Bucky sees the four guards slump to the floor.

“Heya, Bucky,” Clint says, ripping the mask and goggles off his face.  There’s a bruise at the crest of his cheekbone and his lower lip is swollen and bloody.  “This place sucks, wanna get out of here?”