#it just absolutely sounded like some smart ass comment clint would make

[starlcvedarch]

“  i  know  that  you're  going  to  have  it  your  way  or  nothing  at  all,  but  i  think  you're  moving  too  fast  !  ”  @danversiism​  -  waterfalls.

[theclintbartonbraindump]

Clint Barton x Reader - N(ice) Doggies Ch. 3 (Final)

Pairings - Clint Barton (Hawkeye) x Reader (That’s you, dear)

Word Count - 4,507 (oops)

Warnings - Language, mentions of gore but it’s nothing explicit

The big finale. You and Clint have some uninvited guests. The angst is strong with this one, but don’t worry it gets fluffy near the end. Sorry, this one took a little longer than expected, but I hope you all have enjoyed the story. Please leave me a comment, I’d love to hear what you guys thought of my first fic. Also, I take requests so any ideas for a new story feel free to throw them my way. 

__________

You awoke with a start at god only knows what hours in the morning. All you knew was that it was still pitch black and the wind was still howling. You rubbed at your icy nose in a failing attempt to warm it up and strained your neck to the side to see what had woken you. As you shifted a strong, warm grip tightened around your lower ribs, causing panic to rise in your chest until you whipped your head around to see that Clint, who was still fast asleep and seemed to be mumbling something about a sandwich, had wrapped one of his muscled arms around you. For all intents and purposes, Clint seemed to be cuddling you. Not that you were about to complain, especially since he was so warm. Hell, the man was practically a walking space heater. You had to fight the urge to flip over and face him and nuzzle your frozen face into his neck, but you didn’t exactly fight him either as he pulled you in closer. From behind you, Clint hummed what sounded to you like approval as you shifted back to your side and let him snuggle you. You really shouldn’t, you thought to yourself, you should push him away, he was your partner after all, this kind of thing wasn’t allowed. However, the feeling of Clint holding you close was just too welcoming. You felt safer and warmer than you’d felt in days. Honestly, you hadn’t felt this way towards anyone in a long time and the fact that Clint could coax these feelings out of you even in his sleep was just unfair. If you hadn’t before you would have to admit it to yourself now. You had feelings for the bird-brained archer, and they were starting to get the better of you.

You frowned inwardly, knowing that you would never be able to make anything of it. You could never tell him how you felt and even if you could there was absolutely no way that he felt the same. Clint was a flirt, just a crazy, adorable, heart-melting flirt and you continued to remind yourself of that as you tried desperately to drift back off to sleep.

Your endeavor was cut short, however, by a particularly strong gust of wind, howling loudly as it cut through the trees. But it didn’t have to take Clint shooting straight up, now very awake and alert, for you to start second-guessing that it was only the wind that was howling.

You sat up slowly, trying to avoid making noise as you both listened. You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the second wolf chime in with its own song, followed closely by another.

“Shit” Clint whispered under his breath. He turned to you, presumably to start giving direction, but you were already gathering your belongings and stuffing them into your pack. Clint followed suit and packed his own things. It wasn’t even a minute before you both had finished, clothed once again in your boots and coats, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

You slowly unzipped a few inches of the tent entrance, listening. What you heard made your stomach drop. The pack was close and definitely upwind, you’d been found, and it wouldn’t be long before they were snapping at your heels.

“We can’t outrun a pack of wolves, Barton.” You informed him, even though you knew he’d have come to the same conclusion by now.

“No, but we can outclimb them.” Clint pulled the zipper from your hand and yanked the entrance to the tent open. He stepped out and took a quick look around before offering you a hand up. Before you knew it, he was pushing you towards a large pine tree a few meters away from your campsite.

“Can you climb?” He asked. Not waiting for your answer before intertwining his fingers to make a foothold for you.

“Yes.” You’d had every intention of making a snappy comeback because of course you could freaking climb, but the urgency in Clint’s voice stopped the smart remark before it could leave your tongue.

You took his offer of help though. Bracing one hand on the tree and the other on Clint’s shoulder, you placed your foot between his hands and reached for the closest branch as he lifted you. Once you had a firm hold of the branch you swung your leg out of Clint’s grip and up around, planting yourself on the bough. You wrapped an arm around the trunk of the tree and reached the other one down towards Clint. He was just wrapping his fingers around your forearm when you looked up and out into the woods. In the distance, you could just make out four sets of reflective eyes staring back at you.

“Barton, get your ass into this tree now!” Your hushed warning causing Clint to take a glance behind him just as you were gritting your teeth to pull him up towards you. Clint pushed off the ground grabbing onto the branch next to you. No sooner had his feet left the ground than you saw the shadowy figures of the wolves skidding to a halt into the sliver of moonlight that illuminated the snow right where Clint had previously been standing.

Clint landed on the branch next to you as you pulled your knees into your chest. It wasn’t a very stable position, but it was better than letting your feet dangle into the waiting jaws of your new canine companions. The wolves snarled and snapped at you from the base of the tree. One leaped into the air, just barely missing Clint’s leg as he hoisted himself a little further up the tree.

“Oo, ok, nice doggies. Please stay on the ground. You coming, sweetheart?” Clint asked, now a couple feet above you. You were too low to the ground, you knew that, but you also weren’t the biggest fan of heights either. The wolves didn’t seem to be able to reach you or at least they were still too preoccupied with Clint to bother with you yet, this spot was fine.

“I think I’m good right where I am thanks.” Even as you said it you knew you were only kidding yourself. You were going to need to move higher, but the thought made your stomach turn. You wrapped your arms around the trunk behind you, taking slow even breaths. This is not how you thought you would go. Clint looked down at you from where he was now straddling one of the higher branches, his foot dangling near your shoulder. He nudged you with it and spoke calmly.

“Look, honey, I know the height is scary, but I promise you those teeth are gonna be way worse than a few extra feet off the ground. You’re already up here so just take it one step at a time and…LOOK OUT!” You had barely just enough time to open your eyes to see the jaws of one of the wolves come within inches of your chin. You braced your arms in front of you, absorbing the force of the wolf’s body before it could hit you in the face. But without your arms holding you to the tree you were knocked off balance and the world spun as you plummeted to the ground, meeting the snow-covered earth hard.

You vaguely registered Clint yelling your name over the scream that exited your body as the air was knocked from your lungs. You needed to stand; it wasn’t even an option. You still hadn’t managed to pull in a breath yet as you got yourself to your knees. You glanced over at the pack that was now mere feet from sinking their teeth into your flesh when something came whizzing out of the tree you had just been in and nailed the closest wolf right between the eyes. It staggered out of its crouched position and seemed to be looking around for what had dared challenge it. You looked up quickly to see Clint launch another pinecone at the wolves before leaning down to grab you by the collar and hoist you back up into the tree. Once you were somewhat steady on a branch, you coughed several times, forcing cold air into your lungs once again. Looking around still dazed your eyes settled on Clint who looked at your sternly before grabbing you by the front of your coat and forcing you to climb higher into the tree. Once you were nearly twice as high as you had been previously, he motioned towards a sturdy looking branch for you to stop on, settling on one just slightly over your shoulder himself. You caught your breath and looked down, the wolves still circling the base of the tree. Vertigo began to take hold, so you closed your eyes once again and wrapped your arms behind you and tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was bound to be a very long night.

You stayed that way for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, gathering yourself and wishing you were just about anywhere but here. Finally, you mustered the courage to open your eyes and steal a glance over at Clint who looked like he was considering the few options you had to escape this situation without getting mauled. He looked at you and gave you a look that told you even before he opened his mouth you were going to hate what came out of it.

“Could be…”

“I swear to fuck if you finish that sentence, I will kick you off that branch and laugh while those wolves crush your trachea.” You didn’t care how hurt he looked, you were so done at this point.

“Well, damn princess, that’s a little dark for you.”

“Don’t patronize me, Barton.” You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t even the slightest hint of venom in your voice at his point. “This is totally your fault, anyway.”

Clint twisted himself awkwardly on the tree branch so that he was still secure but was now facing you. “How in the hell is this my fault?”

“I told you not to jinx us and look what you did!”

“How did I jinx us?”

“You literally said, and I quote, ‘it could be worse, there could be wolves’. That’s what you said verbatim! Clearly, they heard you, so this is your fault!” You hadn’t really meant to raise your voice as loud as you did, but between the stress of three days in the wilderness, the near-death experience, and your conflicting feelings towards Clint topping it all off, you were damn near ready to have a breakdown. You were so worked up that you were starting to shake, and you couldn’t even blame the weather anymore. You noted for the first time that the snow had stopped and the wind was much calmer, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still freeze your ass off cold out here. You attempted to steady yourself through your breathing.

Clint, despite his annoyance at your outburst, because seriously it’s not like he summoned the wolves or something, noticed you shaking and immediately abandoned all arguments. He couldn’t really reach you to comfort you in any meaningful way from where he was sitting. Instead, opting to hook a finger in the collar of your jacket, at least you would be able to feel that he was there. He felt he should say something, anything, to break the silence that filled the space between you despite the occasional huff or snapping of jaws from the canines below the two of you. But he was never really that good with words. That was why he was supposed to have Natasha, why he had you. You always seemed to know what to say to lift him up, even in his darkest moments. And here you were, trying to hide the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack and all he could think to do was slide his thumb up and down the back of your neck.

“At least the snow stopped.” Smooth Barton. But then again you did start to chuckle.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“No, you don’t. You love me and you know it.” You blushed deeply, averting your gaze from him and looked back down the trunk of the tree.

“That seems highly debatable right about now.” You sassed him over your shoulder. Clint pinched the back of your neck making you yelp.

“Fucking rude.” He muttered, but still smiled at you.

The pack stared up at you from their vantage on the ground. They had to tire out eventually right?

“So, got any bright ideas on how to get us out of here?” You asked. Looking for any possibility that you would be able to venture down the tree, grab your gear and make it to safety. You came up with nothing.

“So far all I’ve got is wait for rescue. The storm’s past so they can’t be too far out, right?”

You hoped that was true. You couldn’t stand being up in this stupid tree much longer.

“Or I guess I could just…Fuck you’re gonna hate me…I guess I could just shoot them.”

You snapped your neck back to see Clint sheepishly holding a gun. You blinked at him in wild disbelief.

“You…you had a gun this whole time?! You were throwing pinecones at the monster dogs when you had a fucking gun?!”

“Apparently,” You had half a mind to break the branch he was sitting on.

“How Clint? Just how?”

“Would you believe that I forgot about it?”

“How do you just forget you have a gun strapped to your thigh?”

“I don’t know! Because it’s me and I do stupid shit like that and you almost died, and I was distrac…” You cut him off by reaching up and smacking him in the chest, your eyes glued to something moving a few meters away.

“Tell me you see that.” You pointed towards the new shadow creeping its way towards the base of your tree and the pack of wolves. The pack turned as one to face the new threat, baring their teeth and growling with renewed intent. A second, more threatening noise came from the shadows and all the blood drained from your face as you realized what you were now up against.

There was a chorus of growls and yelps of pain as the tiger lunged forward, landing teeth and claws first into the closest wolf. It reached out, trying to slash at the others that were now cowering away in fear.

“Holy fuck!”

“Oh my god. oh my god! OH. MY. GOD.”

“Ok, this officially isn’t funny anymore.” Clint righted himself from his shock of the new threat and took aim with his gun. Thankfully, you stopped him before he could pull the trigger, grabbing his wrist.

“What are you doing? You can’t shoot a Siberian tiger!” The sound of your hysterical whispering might have been comical if not for the blood bath raging below you.

“And why the hell not? Sorry, but I’d rather not be cat food today.”

“They’re critically endangered!”

“Right now, so are we!” You and Clint had a wordless battle of wills as you stared him down. You knew he probably wouldn’t have killed the beast, just scared it off. However, you weren’t willing to take the chance that you were wrong.

“The time’s long past for heroics, Hawkeye. Now move your ass up the tree.” You gave him a firm punch to the arm for good measure as you took hold of the branch above you, testing its strength before beginning your climb once again. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Why? The dogs couldn’t reach us. What’s the matter? Not a cat person?” You turned, looking him dead in the eye.

“The wolves couldn’t climb. Monster cats do!” Clint’s face fell, but he followed your advice and started to climb.

You climbed until you thought the branch you were holding would give way and finally straddled the strongest branch you could find that high up, facing the trunk. Clint found a branch directly opposite yours and mirrored your position, your knees touching his. You tried to hide your face into the tree trunk. This was so ridiculous. So much so in fact that you wanted to laugh or else you might start crying. The only thing that kept you from doing so was the sound of the tiger ripping into the wolf carcass below you. It either hadn’t noticed you or it thought chasing you up the tree would be too much of a bother.

“I swear to god if we somehow manage to get out of this I’m retiring.” You spoke quietly so hopefully only Clint would hear you. He placed his hands over yours on either side of the tree.

“Aw, please don’t do that, Sweetheart. Who else is gonna keep an eye on my sorry ass?” There was that look again. Goddamn it this was not the time.

“Would you quit it with the Sweetheart bullshit, jeez.” Clint frowned, looking genuinely hurt. You felt bad, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t want to be just another girl that he casually flirted with. You wanted so much more, but that could never be and if you couldn’t have the real deal you definitely didn’t want him jokingly dangling it in front of your face.

“Sorry, I thought you liked it.” It hurt to see him so brought down by your words, part of you wished you could take it back.

“It not that. I just, it’s too confusing right now, ok.” You hid your face from him. You’d said too much. Even Clint would be able to read between the lines of that statement. You were done for.

“Why? Because you like me?” You stopped breathing. Hell, your heart could have stopped for all you knew. The words buzzed in your ears loud enough to make you dizzy. If not for Clint’s grip on your hands you might have fallen out of the tree again.

“W-what?” Seriously? You couldn’t even try to play it cool.

“And I’m not talking like close friend like. I mean Nat and I are close, but even I know better than to try and cuddle her.”

Wait, what? The bastard had been awake? Well, that explains why he got up and moving so fast.

“I-I thought you were asleep.” Your face was beet red, you knew it had to be. And you knew the Clint must see it too because you could start to see the details of his face. The sun must be rising.

“I actually was, until you turned over and head-butted me in the nose.” There wasn’t any sort of superiority in his voice. In fact, he looked almost shy, like he was the one confessing something.

You looked down, studying the rough angles of the tree. Looking anywhere you could but at Clint. Despite your embarrassment, there really wasn’t any use denying it.

“Guess you caught me.” You shuffled around in your spot on the tree branch, trying to pull away from where your knees were touching his, but Clint’s grip on your hands tightened. You looked up, daring to steal a glimpse of his face and were met by his piercing eye, mere inches from your own. The silence that stretched between you seemed impassible, but you were determined to salvage what was left of your friendship with Clint. You weren’t about to let him go just because your heart had gotten away from you.

“I’m sorry if – if this makes things awkward between us. That’s the last thing I wanted. I’ll understand if you don’t want to work with me anymore, but I couldn’t stand it if this ruined our friendship. You mean too much to me for that to happen.” While you spoke Clint’s expression continued to shift. To what you weren’t entirely sure, but by the time you finally managed to shut your mouth he seemed to have settled on disbelief.

“Why would this ruin our friendship?” He asked you gently. You stared at him. He looked as confused as you felt. He seemed to come to some kind of consensus with himself as he let out a deep breath.

“Look if you’re saying that because you think I don’t feel the same, then you don’t have to worry because I do. I like you. A lot. Honestly, I thought it was pretty obvious, or at least Nat said it was. And knowing you, you probably have protocol in the back of your mind and you really shouldn’t worry about that either. The rule is just there so that rookies don’t start trying to play freaky teacher’s pet with their S.O.s. Trust me, the higher-ups don’t give a shit what we do. So now that I’ve bared my soul and all that bullshit, it’d be really nice if you could say something so I don’t feel like such a bumbling idiot.”

You couldn’t help it. You were dumbstruck. There’s no way you heard him correctly. He felt the same? He was fidgeting like a little kid who had just been scolded for drawing on the walls. It was so adorable and absurd and wonderful, and you were filled with so much relief that you couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped you. Clint looked away from you, obviously taken aback by your reaction, and it almost looked like he was about to start climbing down away from you when you reached out a hand to grab his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” You sighed. Still chuckling slightly at your own stupidity. Had he really been trying to be obvious? How had you gone this long without noticing? It had been all too easy for you to blame his affection on shameless flirtation when in fact he had been trying to be sincere. In your defense sometimes it really was hard to tell the difference with Clint Barton. “you just don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

The look he gave you was one of pure affection, something you couldn’t remember ever seeing on him before and who could blame you if you leaned forward even just a little. Clint met you halfway, both of you awkwardly stretching around the tree between you to rest your foreheads against one another. You smiled to yourself and felt genuine joy for the first time in days, maybe even weeks.

“Well we’re just a couple of idiots, aren’t we?” Clint finally broke the silence, giving you a cheeky grin.

“Just a couple of morons stuck in a tree.” You both had to laugh at that, the gravity of the situation you were still faced with compared to the emotions that were swelling within you was more than a little comical.

“I just know there’s a joke here about two idiots and a tiger walking into a bar.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the punch line?”

“You falling out of the tree and landing on your ass.” He smirked at you.

“Jerk! I’ll show you a punch line.” You drew your hand back, fully intending on giving him a sizable bruise on the arm when a muffled hum rang through the air, stopping you before you followed through on your threat.

“Do you hear that?” You asked, looking above you.

“We are not starting this again. I’ve already had too many surprise visits for one night.

“Ssh!” You clamped a hand over his mouth as the humming grew louder, becoming more distinct and more familiar. Clint pulled your hand away from his mouth and you both breathed a sigh of relief as a quinjet came into view above you.

The tiger, which had just about finished its midnight snack, scampered away in terror as the door to the jet opened above you.

“Need a lift?” A voice called down to the two of you. You wanted to cry. This whole ordeal was finally over.

It took you slightly longer than you would have liked to admit to slowly work your way down the tree. The storm may have past, but it was still biting cold and you hadn’t realized just how stiff your muscles had grown up in that tree. Finally, you were on solid ground again, gathering your things before once again climbing into the air. This time, though, you came to rest in the quinjet. Ridding yourself of your heavy coat and shamelessly flopping onto your back stretching your tight muscles. Now that you were having a chance to relax you were able to notice just how sore your back was. You probably did more damage than you initially thought when you fell out of the tree. You would need to get that looked at. Despite your soreness, you could feel yourself sinking into the floor, your eyes fluttering closed, relieved to be safe at last. You vaguely registered Clint speaking to the pilot, telling them that you’d found jack shit before you heard him settle down behind you. His head came to rest next to yours as he let out a deep sigh, likely just as relieved as you were to not be stuck up a tree anymore.

You could feel him staring at you and you grinned shyly, remembering your unfinished conversation. Clint’s hand came up to rest against your face and you turned to him, opening your eyes. His handsome features only slightly marred by your sleepless night. You realized then that you must look like crap. Three days without showering coupled with the terrible night you’d just experienced probably hadn’t done anything for your appearance. You found yourself feeling self-conscious, making to pull away from him, but Clint’s hand on the back of your head kept you in place. Just as you lifted your eyes to meet his again, he pressed his lips to your forehead. It was brief, only there for a second before he was turning away to spread out on the floor.

“You and I are gonna have a chat later.” He said, smiling to himself and tucking the hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair behind his head. You smirked, gazing up at the ceiling of the jet. Fine if he wanted to play like that.

“Oh really? Chat? Is that what we’re gonna do?” You felt his grip tighten in your hair before he flicked you. “Ow”

“Hm, don’t tease woman. You’ve already got me, no need to threaten me with a good time.”

Your face broke into a full smile as you turned to nuzzle your face into his neck. He pulled you closer and turned his face to you, this time his lips finding your cheek, lingering there for a few moments. Finally, he was yours and you were his and that was more than you could have ever hope for.

[sachertortes]

Hi! i love Wintershock, BUT i’d love some Clint/Darcy with Mythical Creatures #3 (if you’re really feeling adventurous, how about Clint/Darcy/Bucky).

@huskiesfan-olicity-wintershock YES GOING THE ADVENTUROUS ROUTE WITH CLINT/DARCY/BUCKY ;) i reworked some teensy things from the prompt but the general idea is still there! I hope you like it - Darcy and her sharpshooter boyfriends, aww

Prompt: Mythical Creatures, #3,  “i keep getting into arguments with one of my classmates about things because they keep saying i’m wrong so i finally scream, ‘how would you know?!?’ and they’re like, ‘because i was THERE!’ and that’s how we all find out that there is a centuries-old vampire taking our British history class”

Pairing: Clint x Darcy x Bucky

Rating: M

Note: There’s vampires, descriptions of blood and blood drinking, etc.

The second Clint notices her, he can feel it. His boyfriend sits up just a little straighter, he stops breathing for a second. Clint was in the middle of telling him about “this sweet new arrow” he’d just customized for himself, but he trails off in the middle of his sentence.

He can’t blame him really.

She’s hard to miss when she walks into their British Art History class, with her long, dark hair, pale skin, and lovely red lips.

Their class is a night class, and every night she’s got a huge travel mug of coffee in her hand.

The professor calls on her often, and her answers are often correct and pretty insightful.

They learn her name.

Darcy.

“You think she’s cute,” Clint teases him one night when they stop by a burger place after class.

He sips at his soda. “Hell yeah.” Then, tentatively, “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, man. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous. And smart as hell. Remember what she said about Greek Mythology and that Waterhouse guy?”

“Well now I know you think she’s cute. You were actually listenin’ tonight.”

Clint chucks a French fry at him, which he picks from his shirt and chews on happily.

He shrugs. “S’okay, Clint. I like her too.”

Clint smirks at him from across the formica table.

One Wednesday night, she walks in and her lips are again a deep shade of red. Almost maroon. Her hair is glossy under the fluorescent light. Clint reaches over to place a hand on his knee.

She’s wearing yoga pants.

He’s got Clint pinned to their couch, shirtless and skin soft and warm.

He palms the blond over the front of his jeans, gently grasping at his hard cock through the fabric. Clint gasps and then retaliates by sucking a mark onto the side of his neck.

“You thinkin’ about her?” Clint growls into his ear. “Thinkin’ about what it’d be like to have her with us? Underneath us?”

“I am now,” he rasps. He nimbly undoes the button to Clint’s pants. “I wanna see her suck you off.”

“Fuck.”

“She won’t know how you like it,” he murmurs into the shell of Clint’s ear and smiles when he feels fingers press into his biceps. “So I’ll have to show her. Maybe we can take turns on ya.”

“Fucking hell,” Clint whimpers and presses himself closer.

There’s not much talking after that.

On Friday night, Darcy is already at her seat when they walk in. He flushes, slightly ashamed of how he and Clint used her image the last time they fucked. He looks over to Clint, and he’s seems a little pink too.

Christ, they’re pathetic.

The lecture begins and they’re doing their usual thing of trying to pay attention but not really.

“You there,” the professor says, pointing straight at Clint. “You in the purple sweatshirt.”

Clint’s head jerks up then he looks behind him. Bucky tries to hide his laughter. As if anyone else in this class wears a purple sweatshirt.

“Why do you think so many members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood painted their muses as mythical creatures? Nymphs, goddesses, witches?”

Clint shrugs. “Maybe for accuracy? Maybe they were witches,” he says, and their classmates titter.

“They were not witches,” Darcy declares, turning back to glare at them from her seat in the front.

“Well, how would you know?” Clint asks. “You think a lady is just gonna admit that she’s a witch?”

Bucky groans.

“No, but – ”

“Then they could be witches.”

“They’re not!”

“’Cause you knew them personally, right?” Clint snickers.

“I know because I was there!” Darcy yells back.

The class is silent.

Darcy’s mouth is open in shock. She blinks rapidly for a bit then hurriedly begins shoving her papers and books into her bag. She slams the door shut behind her when she leaves.

Even the professor looks shocked.

The class is uncomfortably silent for a bit until someone makes a comment about “stress during midterms” and everyone chuckles, relieved.

“C’mon, we’re apologizin’,” he whispers to Clint as he gathers up their things to go after her. Clint nods. They sit in the back, so they manage to sneak out just fine.

They find her easily in the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of her car while sipping from her tumbler.

She rolls her eyes when she spots them.

“What do you want?” she asks, icily.

“To apologize,” Clint answers, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I shouldn’t have…needled you like that.”

“He thinks he’s funny sometimes,” Bucky supplies giving her what he hopes is a winsome smile. “But he’s not.” Clint elbows him. “What? Sometimes you’re not that funny!”

Darcy smiles a little looking down at the shoes.

“I’m so sorry. I was an ass today and it won’t happen again,” Clint says, reaching for her coffee. “Let us buy you a coffee? Or, wait, if you don’t want coffee, maybe hot chocolate or something.”

“It’s fine,” Darcy insists, trying to get the plastic tumbler away from Clint.

“No, really please let us –”

“Seriously –”

And then Darcy yanks it back from Clint too hard and the container falls to the ground with a thump.

They all stare at the upended tumbler and thanks to the parking lot lights, its dark red contents spilling thickly onto the asphalt.

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his eyes, for his brain to form the word, ‘blood’.

“So…I might have meant it when I said that I was there. In 19th century England. I’m kind of a vampire?” she said.

“Kind of?” Bucky says.

“No. Absolutely. I’m absolutely a vampire.” Darcy sighs, tiredly. Bucky tries not to notice the way she’s still staring hungrily at the spilled…stuff…on the ground. Like she’d crouch down and lick it up if she weren’t in front of company.

“What are you gonna do now? Laugh at me? Refer me to university counseling? Try and drive a stake through my heart?”

“Nothing,” Clint says, with a finality in the word.

“…Nothing?” Darcy asks.

“Yeah. You’re a vampire. We’re human. It’s…fine,” Bucky finds himself saying. He means it.

Darcy blinks at the both of them, a pleased look forming on her face. “Okay.”

Clint tilts his head, leans across their table at the campus Starbucks to whisper, “Where do you get your…blood?”

“I have an arrangement with someone. A volunteer,” Darcy answers, picking at but not eating her slice of lemon pound cake. “No worries, my dude, everything’s 100% consensual.”

“Mirrors,” Bucky asks, while flipping through the pages of the textbook they’re supposed to be studying from. He’s curious and also kind of doesn’t want to be caught off guard when they have to walk past one or something.

“No reflection in mirrors, but I show up in pictures and stuff. I don’t know, it’s weird,” Darcy answers. “And Clint, don’t write in that book, it’s mine!”

“What about sunlight?” Clint asks. Darcy’s at their place again, scrolling through their Netflix. She puts a hell of a lot of cooking competitions onto their Watch List for someone who can’t even eat.

“Hm. Not a fan. Hence all the night classes.”

“Dirt,” Bucky says simply one evening when they’re driving.

“Wow. That’s kind of an obscure one. You got that from Bram Stoker, right?”

“Uhh. Not really,” Bucky confesses. “The 90s movie. With Winona Ryder.”

“Nice choice,” Darcy laughs. “But I don’t need to sleep in my native soil. Sounds like a pain in the ass, actually.”

“I thought you were gonna say pain in the neck,” Clint says from the backseat.

Bucky and Darcy groan in unison. “Bucky, stop this car, we’re making him walk home.“

“Soooo…” Clint trails off.

“Yeah?”

“Can you or can you not turn into a swarm of bats and fly away?”

“Oh my god.”

“So…yes?” Bucky asks.

“No!”

“I…kind of have a problem,” Darcy says when they open their apartment door for her. She looks even paler than usual, ashen even, and she seems unsteady on her feet. They usher her inside and she slumps onto their couch before continuing. “The ‘volunteer’ I told you about? Ian moved back to England like two weeks ago. I’ve been holding off and drinking animal blood since then but…I’m not feeling great, to be honest.”

She looks at them and then away, ashamed. “I know we haven’t known each other too long and I never would even presume to ask otherwise –”

“You can drink from me,” Clint says quickly, and Bucky wants nothing more than to smack him upside the head. They were trying to work out a way to ask Darcy to go with them first, to see if she even wanted to, if she even liked humans. This – this is way too much, too soon.

“Clint,” he rumbles, lowly.

“What? Look at her, she doesn’t look good. No offense, sweetheart.”

Darcy shrugs one shoulder.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. “Alright. If you want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll need to eat after,” Darcy says, perking up a little. “Lots of iron, vitamins, that sort of thing. For the blood loss.”

Bucky’s on his phone in seconds, googling madly and then mentally putting together something from the meager contents of their kitchen.

“I just want to reassure you that um,” Darcy fiddles with the hair tie on her wrist. “Some of the more traditional vampires, especially the older generations intertwine the whole sex and blood drinking thing. Us younger ones,” she continues as if she wasn’t alive when horse-drawn carriages were a thing. “We don’t really do that anymore, so you don’t have to worry about…” she trails off, sliding a significant glance between he and Clint.

Before he can even formulate a response, (his brain is still stuck on the imagery of sex and blood and Darcy), Clint beats him to it.

“That would be alright, though, if you wanted.”

She looks at them, confused. “If I wanted what?”

“Y’know, um. The sex thing. And…more.”

Darcy blinks owlishly. “Oh! But I thought that you two, aren’t you…?”

“Yes, we are,” Clint explains. “But, uh…” He’s getting pink and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“We’d been planning on askin’ you out,” Bucky finishes for him. “Both of us.”

“Both of you,” Darcy repeats.

“Yeah. But I mean, if you don’t want that –“

“No! Oh my god, I mean yes. Yes, I’d want that too!” Darcy shyly looks up at them, smiling a little and he can’t help but grin back, relief shimmering through him.

And with that, they get started. He’s nervous like he was for his first date with Clint.

“Okay, so, I’m going to drink from your neck. It only hurts for like, a second then you should start feeling…really nice. Kind of woozy and sleepy and happy.” She pauses and waits for Clint to acknowledge that he understands. Clint nods and she continues. “Afterwards, I’ll lick your wound to close it and then you should have a little something to eat and drink. Okay?”

Clint nods again.

“Alright. Umm, how about you sit here in front of the sofa. That way I’m behind you and I’m at the right height.” Darcy begins to tie her hair back.

“Should I stay?” Bucky asks, not sure if he’ll be breaching some sort of etiquette.

“Of course. You can stay if you want. Especially if all three of us are – if we’re going to be…”

“Oh.” Bucky smiles gently. “Then I’m staying.”

Then she leans down to Clint’s neck, and places her mouth over him and begins to drink.

Clint is silent and he begins to worry that he’s hiding his pain until Clint moans. It’s the same exact one he draws from him when he’s got his hand wrapped around his cock.

Darcy looks up and stares at him, through her lashes. He’d never seen her like this before, eyes bright and alert, with her cheeks flushed. He supposes it makes sense that she always seemed only pale and placid - she is a vampire. Her pretty lips are still attached to the curve of his boyfriend’s neck where he can see the slight throbbing of a vein as it pumps blood into Darcy’s mouth.

He doesn’t feel jealous. On the contrary, a soft groan is torn from him when he takes in the sight of Clint baring his throat, of Darcy’s slim fingers threaded into his boyfriend’s hair to hold him still.

When she’s done, when she’s laving over Clint’s neck to close the wounds, he’s not surprised to find that his dick is half-hard.

Still, he goes into the kitchen to prepare a glass of orange juice and a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Clint manages to drink and eat without issue, albeit just a little slowly.

Afterwards, they position Clint into a comfortable position on the couch. Darcy even pulls a blanket over him.

“Hmmmmmm,” Clint says, smiling as his eyes drift shut. “S’real good. Thanks, Darcy. Thanks, Buck.”

Darcy giggles, brushes spiky blond hair off of his forehead and says, “Clint will be out of commission for an hour or two at least.”

She walks over to him, then crowds him until he’s on back on the armchair. There’s a carnal gleam in her eyes when she sits on his lap and straddles him.

He swallows against a dry throat. A drop of red is at the corner of her lips. He reaches up with his thumb and pushes it back into her mouth. Her tongue is still slightly warm from the blood and he can’t hold back a noise from the back of his throat when she sucks on finger so hard her cheeks hollow.

She releases his thumb, and murmurs, “Any ideas for what we can do while we wait?”

[not-close-to-straight]

IronHawk  (Part Eight)

MASTERLIST  HERE.

Enjoy :) *************

The rest of the team took the news as well as could be expected. Pepper was the most worried, concerned that they had shared another heat without officially bonding but Tony had reassured her from his spot on Clints lap that it was going to be fine, and a bond wasn't necessary. If the Alphas hold had tightened to almost painful for a second, if he growled just the littlest bit at the thought of not bonding, Tony didn't comment, just shifted a little closer and hummed soothingly.

Things returned to normal fairly quickly, even in light of Tony and Clint's new… relationship? Heat agreement? Whatever it was supposed to be.

In between missions the team always stuck close to home, close to each other, but maybe a little more so than they used to now.

And it certainly couldn't be denied that Tony being a fully- functioning omega had brought out some very deep protective instincts in the team. In fact, fighting had become something of an issue, with Banner especially so loathe to leave Tony's side during a battle that he was less effective than usual. It had nearly resulted in the escape of a well known terrorist, and Fury had been blisteringly angry.

Annoyed as well, and to counteract the over protectiveness, Tony spent hours each day fighting and training with each Alpha. Safely geared up in his suit, he pushed them to fight him, forcing them to try to hurt him, because he had no qualms about hurting them at all, and took a certain delight in tearing them apart every day until they pushed back just as hard.

It was the Captain that was the last to snap during training, pissed because Tony had fired a chest repulsor at him unexpectedly. The captain had thrown his shield up at the last minute, barely deflecting the blow and with an angry roar he had leapt up and into Tony, driving the suit into the ground, and smashing his shield into the chest piece.

Tony had cried uncle, laughing through the mask, grateful that together he and Banner had reinforced the chest plate to protect the arc reactor. Nothing short of Thor's hammer would break the material, so he wasn't actually in any danger.

The look of horror on the Captain’s face had him laughing even harder as he clanked to his feet. “Feel better that nothing much is going to hurt me in a battle?” He asked and Steve just grumbled, dusting Tony off and making him flip his face mask up to check for damage.

“Fine.” He agreed. “Fine. But only because no one ever gets close enough to you to do what I just did.”

Steve had definitely been the hardest to convince. Banner had to trust his workmanship, knowing that even if he called the Hulk, the green monster wouldn't ever turn on a teammate, even to spar. Tony had made him watch then, as Natasha had stood in front of Tony and fired round after round of ammo at him until she was satisfied that the armor was in fact just as bulletproof as he told her. Bruce had hated watching, but needed the subconscious reassurance that the omega would be fine.

Clint hadn't even considered sparring with him. Even though they were not technically bonded, it was physically impossible for him to pick up a weapon to use against Tony. He had calmly explained that to the group, and everyone had pretended not to see Tony's look of absolute relief.

He- and they- knew if Clint ever turned against him, the omega would submit instantly, unable to fathom fighting his Alpha.

So the team reached an agreement when fighting, an understanding that just because Tony was off suppressants didn't mean he was any more vulnerable than he had ever been. Tony even went so far as to call Fury in to watch a match, to satisfy the one eyed man's curiosity.

And it was actually Fury who brought up the somewhat awkward, and still untalked about, status of their relationship.

“So.” The director tented his fingers, leveling Clint and Tony with an impressively fierce glare for only having one eye. “What exactly are you two doing? What is… this?”

Tony sent an uncomfortable look towards Hawkeye, who was glaring right back at Fury. “It's none of your fucking business.” The archer snapped, and Fury sighed, before launching into a speech about accountability and responsibility and smart choices and looking out for the good of the team.

Tony tuned him out completely, watching Hawks face for any sign of his emotions.

The two had settled into a comfortable pattern together. When Tony's third heat had come on, only two weeks prior, he and Clint had quietly locked themselves upstairs, not clearing the tower this time. Tony had taken extra measures with the suite, making it both sound and scent proof, and now that the team knew about it, Clint hadn't had to sneak in or out. The heat had only lasted 18 hours, and Tony bounced back from it much more quickly this time around. Clint had been considerate and attentive during and after the heat, and Tony had loved every second of it.

Outside of heat, however, Clint mostly kept his distance. If Tony needed to be held, or reassured, the Alpha was right there, calming him down or bringing him whatever he needed. Every once in awhile Tony would text Clint, asking him to come spend the night because he was feeling especially lonely or needy, and the Alpha would lie next to him, arms and wings wrapped around him in a death grip. He rarely initiated the physical contact, though, and other than the accidental kiss in front of Bruce that first day, he hadn't kissed Tony in public at all. Hardly even in private. In fact, they had yet to have proper sex outside of heat.

It bothered Tony, but certainly didn't seem to bother Hawkeye.

Once Clint had woken up early, and started to rut against Tony as the very first bit of light was making it through the window. Moving against his ass, and wrapping a hand around Tony's cock to get him off as well. They had quietly gasped through their orgasms, then Clint had rolled Tony over to lay a bruising kiss on his lips, and had gotten up to leave. Just last week, Tony had cornered Hawk after a particularly brutal sparring match and had dropped to his knees, sucking the alpha off until Clint had come hard, painting Tony's face with streaks, biting his arm to keep from screaming.

Beyond those few moments, it was much like it had been before the whole Omega business, mostly teasing fun, low key flirting and that was it.

It bothered Tony.

He didn't understand how Clint could say the things he did- my omega. I only want you, Tony, I'll always want you, beautiful omega. My omega. - and not want more than a shared heat and the occasional blowjob.

It bothered Tony. But he was too damn scared to ask for anything more.

“So. Are you two boyfriends, then? Or just fuck--” Fury clamped his mouth shut when Clint’s wings fluttered in warning. “Bonded or just… sharing that special time of the month together?” He amended and Clint didn't answer, turning to stare at Tony, giving the Omega a chance to publicly define their relationship with his own words.

Tony stared back for a long moment, then reached out and took Clints hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Bonded. I mean not like 100% but getting there. Right, Hawk?”  He said, his voice sounding a lot more confident than he was feeling. Clints blue eyes lit up, relief and gratitude and so much happiness in his smile, and Tony grinned right back, halfway to giddy just from saying the words.

“You're damn fucking right we’re bonded.” Clint growled, and yanked hard, pulling Tony right out of his seat and tumbling him into his lap, where the Alpha claimed his lips in a messy kiss. “My mate. Mine. I'll bond you right here. Claim you right here. Right on this fucking table. Don't know why we waited so long.”

“Jesus Christ.” Fury muttered, annoyed, but Tony was too blissed out to care, because Clint had called him his mate and Tony couldn't think of anything better than that.

“Open.” Clint ordered and Tony obeyed immediately, letting his mate! surge into his mouth, tongues twisting together, nipping little bites over his lips, feeling Clint harden underneath him.

“Clint.” He breathed, and the Alpha's hand clamped on the back of his neck. “My alpha.”

“Excuse me! I wasn't done-- Fury tried to interrupt and Clint’s wings flared out, arcing high above his back in a visible, physical warning to shut the fuck up.

“Leave!” He snarled, but Tony quieted him, a hand pressed to his chest, even as he wiggled to get closer to the Alpha.

“Let's just hear him out. I don't want to do this here anyway.” His eyes were practically glowing with want, and Clint growled low in his chest. “Okay, okay, I do want to do this here, but a bed would be better, right? Let's just hear him out and then we can--then we can--”

“Fine.” Clint was just on this side of sane, needing to kiss claim knot get somewhere quiet with his HIS omega, but he took a deep steadying breath, looking back up at Fury. “Speak quickly.” His eyes were started to turn, and the red made Fury uncomfortable, reminding him that one of his best agents was basically feral when the mood struck him.

Fury spread his hands in a placating gesture, rethinking his initial impulse to ask Tony to leave Clints lap.

“I just wanted to make sure that this wasn't a relationship that if it ended would compromise the effectiveness of the team of a whole. I am fairly impressed that Tony has managed to irritate the rest of the team to the point of physical violence as a way of deterring their overactive protective instincts. Equally impressive is the steps taken to make your suit scent proof, so ideally even on the edge of your--” Fury paused uncomfortably. “--heat, no one would know. Even though you keep insisting it's not my business, I appreciate you making an effort to ease my mind.”

“Noted.” Clints voice was still edging on savage, and Tony trembled, the sound making him wet. “Are we done?”

“I would think so but--”

An alarm blared through the tower, startling the director.

“Sir, there is an urgent call from Agent Coulson on the line.” JARVIS intoned and Tony glanced up.

“What is it, Coulson?”

“We need the team, Stark.” Phils usually calm voice sounded distressed. “In case Director Fury hasn't gotten around to telling you yet, a cell of Russian extremists has made it's way into the states and they have some… interesting technology on hand. Which they are now deploying in Jersey.”

“Jersey?” Tony mumbled. “Nothing interesting happens in Jersey.”

“Well it's happening now. So if you and the team would please…”

“We are on the way.” Clint interrupted, and Tony nodded in agreement.

“Thanks guys.” Coulson said, then the call ended and Fury stood to his feet, coat swirling dramatically as it tended to do.

“See you boys on the battlefield.”

He swept out the door and Tony made to stand, but Clint growled and tightened his hold, moving the omega roughly over his straining cock.

Tony bit his lip until it bled but still tried to pull away, fighting against every one of his instincts that demanded he bare his neck and submit to his mate.

“Clint, I've got to suit up. Let go.” Even saying the words made him irritable because he really didn't want to go… but the world needed saving. And dammit he was Iron Man before he was an Omega or even Tony Stark. “Got to go, Hawkeye. Got to save the world.”

“Omega.” Clint searched Tony's eyes for a moment, then must have found whatever he was looking for, because he jolted forward, biting hard over Tony's scent gland, his jaw locking as he broke the skin.

And Tony screamed in shock and pain, which quickly turned to red hot pleasure as Clint sucked hard on the open wound, drawing pheromone drenched blood into his mouth. He moaned through it as he swallowed a mouthful, the liquid running down his throat and through his veins, lighting up his senses until all he could scent and taste and feel was tonytonytony and mineminemine.

Tony was crying out, instantly hard, instantly ready, his body opening and growing damp as his Alpha claimed him with a bite.

“Alpha. What the fuck? What about a bed?” As soon as Clint's hold loosened, Tony was scrambling to straddle his alpha, grinding down into his lap, desperate to feel his cock through the thick denim. “What is--Jesus need you so bad right now. Why the hell am I so-- We can do it in a chair right? We've done that before.” He reached for Clints belt with shaking hands, needing the Alpha to fill him now.

“Needed to claim you.” Clint mumbled against his neck, but held Tony's hands, keeping the Omega from undoing his pants. “Couldn't wait. Been waiting too long, Tony. Been wanting you for so long. But we-- not yet-- team needs us. Bond later---couldn't wait-- you taste so good.” Clint could barely put a sentence together, was barely even thinking at all, but he still managed to keep Tony from stripping him right there in the conference room.

“Team first.” He said firmly. “Team first, then we can--”

“Okay. Okay.” Tony closed his eyes to pull some control back. “Okay.” He said again, taking a deep, calming breath. “Let's go kick some Weird Russian technology ass, and then finish this.”

“You're mine. Mine Tony.” Clint insisted, needing to hear the words and Tony smiled, tracing the mark on his neck.

“Yours.”

********

Well Coulson hadn't been lying about the interesting technology, that's for damn sure.

Clint wanted to laugh because this was fucking ridiculous, but couldn't stop shooting long enough to indulge. The robots-maybe cyborgs?- were so fast, too fast, and he could barely keep up.

But then, as if the robots with human intelligence (or maybe it was humans with robot strength) weren't hard enough, several of them had tentacles. Made of some metal alloy that Hulk couldn't quite rip, the shield couldn't cut without a struggle , and were somehow able to dodge the blasts from Tony's suit. Also, most of them were over fifteen feet tall.

And all were equipped with guns. Big, loud, guns.

It had been sheer dumb luck that one of Natasha's bullets had pierced a spot where one of the tentacles connected to the main body piece, and the machine had gone down with a screeching, screaming, awful noise. Hawkeye had picked up on it immediately, and had switched from carrying as many civilians out of the way as possible to darting back and forth through the air, firing arrows as fast as he could.

Machines were dropping all around him, but he still couldn't hardly keep up, and the robots seemed to keep pouring from every corner, every side street.

“Tony!” He yelled into his mic over the just crazy amount of noise these things produced. “Concentrated blasts. Where the tentacles meet the main body. Hit it hard.”

“Got it, Hawk.” Tony's suit roared by, firing as fast as he could.

“Hulk and I will switch to civilian duty.” Came Captains deep voice. “You three with actual weapons clean this shit up!”

It was rare for the Captain to swear at all and Tony's obnoxious cackle echoed through their earpieces. “Yes sir Captain sir! Blowing shit up now! You heard him boys and girls! Anytime the captain wants to step aside and let me blow shit up unimpeded is a good day in my book!”

“Stark! Language!!” The snapped reply was lost as the entire team laughed, thrilled to have a solution to this robot problem, thrilled to be working together, thrilled that after several weeks of walking on eggshells things were finally back to where they belonged.

Hawk was hovering in the air, wings having settled into a slow easy beat, just enough to keep him airborne as he relentlessly fired arrow after arrow at the robots. From a spot to the left of him, Natasha fired armor piercing rounds into the vulnerable spots, humming an odd tune as she effortlessly emptied and reloaded clip after clip and Tony was flitting in and out of the fray, firing everything he had.

Down below the Captain was herding people away from the action, and the Hulk was simply gathering groups up in his arms and blasting away, setting them somewhere safe and bounding back.

It was like watching a well orchestrated musical or a play or something, each section doing their own part set to a rousing chorus of robots crashing and tearing apart in the background.

That is, until Iron Man went zooming past, and smashed into the side of a building, spinning through the air helplessly before clumsily righting himself.

“Tony! What was that?!” Natasha was the first to react, having actually seen it, while Clints back was turned.

“S-sorry guys I'm good.” He took off again, and Hawkeye watched his progress for a moment, until he was satisfied the omega was flying straight.

“Pick up the pace guys.” Came Banners non-hulk voice. “We have everybody safe, let's end this.”

“Roger Dodger.” Clint replied, and notched another arrow. “Ready Widow?”

“Waiting on you sweetheart.” Came her dry reply. “Even though, I’d love a chance to shoot from the other side of the street, if you're up for giving me a ride.”

“Yeah, I gotcha. Come on.” Letting his arrow go, Clint slung his bow around his back and turned to face her. Natasha took a running start and leapt out into the air over the robots. Clint dove to catch her, then turned and shot away to a higher spot on the opposite building, dropping her lightly on her feet, and she instantly started firing again.

“Impressive Hawkeye!” Steve exclaimed over the headset and Hawkeye laughed.

“Yeah especially since Nats heavier than she looks!”

“Fuck you and your wings, Hawk.” She snapped and Clint just laughed louder.

In reality, he had spent weeks training since the incident with the police officer. Needing to be able to carry another person, he had practiced with Natasha, letting her throw herself off different heights so he could catch her. It had strengthened his entire body, wings included, tremendously, and he was pretty proud of it.

“Damnit.” A startled curse came over the headphones, courtesy of Tony, as his suit careened out of control again, nearly flying right into the tentacle of a robot. A quick shot from Clint dismantled the machine, and Tony pulled up just in time, before blasting away to a safe distance.

“What's going on Tony?” Banner asked, worried. “Is it your suit?”

“It's not ANYTHING!” Tony swore again, and sent a blast from his chest repulsor, obliterating several of the robots.

“It's obviously something.” Clint argued. “Why don't you back up--”

“Don't tell me how to fight!” Tony snapped and Natasha cut in.

“Boys! Clean up detail!.” She reminded them. “Let's worry about the suit later. Tony back up to a safe distance, Hawkeye and I can finish this by ourselves.”

“Fucking hell, you guys, I'm fine! I can--” Tony's mic cut out as the power dropped in his suit, and he fell nearly twenty feet before it kicked back on.

“Tony BACK UP!!” Clint yelled. “I can't fight AND worry about my omega at the same time!”

There was no reply from the team, each of the members shocked by Clint’s open acknowledging of his and Tony's relationship.

But they were more shocked when Tony obeyed with a mumbled “yes alpha”, and resumed flying lower to the ground, and picking off what robots he could without compromising his suit.

Finally it was just down to a few robots, and Natasha had clicked empty. Banner had re-Hulked, and was diving in, trying to shred the machines with just his hands.

“I got it guys!” Clint called, notching  his last few arrows. “Hawkeye to the rescue, no worries just sit back and have a drink.”

As his last arrow flew, he heard Hulk roar, which was terrifying enough, but infinitely MORE terrifying when the monster was leaping right towards Clint.

“Banner!” He shouted, and swerved out of the way. Hulk didn't stop though, slamming into the ground before going airborne again, ----and catching Iron Man as the suit fell like a rock from the sky----several  hundred yards away.

“Jesus!” Natasha was scrambling down from her post, discarding her guns and racing towards the crater where Hulk had landed. Captain America was running as fast as he could to them and Hawkeye waited only long enough to make sure his arrows had found their targets, watching the robots carefully for any movement, before turning to join them, flattening his wings and diving towards the ground.

From that height he could just barely see the suit peel open, and Tony collapsing out of it like he was half dying. The other Alphas took several steps back, Hulk actually tripping over his feet trying to get away, and Tony called weakly over the headset

“Alpha. Need you. I don't know what's going on.”

Clint tucked his wings closer, increasing the speed of his dive, then flared them out in time to scream to a stop just long enough to wrap his arms around Tony. With a flip of his wings they were both airborne again, streaking away into the sky, Clints arms full of shaking, crying, heated Omega.

“I've got you, Tony.” He said, even though the man couldn't hear him over the wind. “Banner what the fuck.” He snapped into his mic. “I thought you were helping track his heats. He should not be due for one right now.” Tony had asked Bruce to help him keep track of his heat cycles, logging the information in an attempt to predict the next one. Apparently their tactic hadn't worked.

“As close as I can tell, he's in an exaggerated preheat.” Bruce answered, his voice still strained from being in close proximity to the omega, and overly growly from the quick transformation from Hulk. “By the way, when did you guys bond? I couldn't help but notice the uh, mark.”

“We tried.” Clint said through gritted teeth, “but then Fury interrupted, and then you know, tentacle monsters.”

“Jesus.”

“Tell me what's going on! You're the scientist! What the fuck is an exaggerated preheat?” Clint was heading back to the tower purely on instinct, acting on the need to get his omega home.

“Well, once a bond is initiated, it has to be completed within 24 hours.” Bruce explained in a rush. “An omega will go into a forced bonding heat to encourage the rest of the bonding to take. But any rush of adrenaline can force a preheat, which is three days of symptoms packed into about six hours. That's why he was losing control of his suit. As hormones took over he couldn't operate it. Get him somewhere comfortable and try to get him to sleep. When he wakes up it will be a hard, intense heat, Clint. So...just take care of him.”

The soft tone in Banners voice wasn't lost on anyone, as they all echoed the sentiment. Beyond being the only Omega that fought regularly with the team, it was Tony, and each Avenger cared for him in their own way.

“Got it. Can you guys get the suit back home?” Clint switched directions, a strong beat of his wings carrying them north rather than back east towards the tower.

“Actually,” this was Natasha, “the second you flew off, the suit fired up and took off. I'm assuming it's programmed for home.”

“Thanks guys. Bruce, remind me to buy you something for explaining this all to me.”

“It's no problem, Hawk. We will see you in a few days.”

Steve waited until Hawkeye disappeared from view before turning to the team. “So, are we not going to talk about that whole ‘dive, pick up, and fly again’ thing was that Hawkeye just did? Nobody else was impressed with that?”

“Oh no, him and his wings are officially the coolest thing I've ever seen.” Natasha admitted.

*****************

[namelessblacksheep]

BULLSHITTING YOUR WAY TO THE TOP

The desire to be a success is a healthy and normal concept in life. Whether you apply that to a hobby, career or how you live your day-to-day existence.

Being ‘successful’ will vary from person to person, but generally speaking, success is a gradual and progressive upward curve with a few peaks and troughs along the way. It takes time and effort and it brings with it a sense of achievement.

We live in this fast moving society with countless messages to encourage us to be the best we can be, but that is often offset against pressures to see the fruits of our labours. By our very nature, humans like to quantify and measure the progress of success, which can often skew the true path to achieving it. Success involves a goal and a path in its most simple form. You take steps down the path to get you to where you want to be. Some victories can be achieved more quickly than others.

A diet, dependent on your starting weight can lead to a successful body transformation or weight loss in a matter of months. Learning how to do the requisite tasks of a new job perhaps 6 months or so dependent on the complexity of the role. Becoming a legendary guitar player who would make Jimi Hendrix blush, might well take a little longer.

All of these are examples where success can be achieved by taking measured steps with tangible measuring points to see progress towards the end goal. Straightforward and not rocket science. However, many people in society today for whatever reason, seem to not want to follow this most simple process. Everything is about taking shortcuts and getting there faster than others.

This concept of cutting corners making you the smarter guy or gal than the fools who follow the long and lonely path to destination ‘success’ is very enticing. It’s quicker, not everyone takes that path and who wants to follow the crowd anyway, right?

A place where cutting corners and rising to the top is increasingly prominent is in the world of work. With a diet you can cut corners, lose a lot of weight and achieve your goal, it might only last a week or two despite punishing yourself with starvation and some weird potion that you only drink between the hours of 12 pm and 2 pm for a month.

There is a belief that the corporate world is not the same as the real world. Working hard is for idiots. Playing the game and presenting in such a way that makes you get seen is the quick path up the corporate ladder to a plum job and a nice benefits package. Boom, you’re now killing it and sticking up your middle finger to the tried and tested path to success.

Just stop to think for a second of a colleague (or colleagues) and co-workers who are successful and have done so by failing at every turn, never delivering anything and somehow always seem to be in line for a promotion or have got to a level way above their station. If you can’t think of anyone that fits that mould, congratulations one of the following statements is true:

You work for a kick-ass company that rewards success, weeds out failure and operates a corporate culture of constant improvement and development.

You are a ‘corporate bullshitter’. AKA a deceitful and self-entitled lazy so-in-so.

The rise of the Corporate Bullshitter

These people are typified by high levels of self-belief, self-entitlement and they tend to have the gift of the gab. Now, it’s not to say that people who have these particular characteristics automatically are corporate bullshitters.

The thing that makes someone progress to that modality is someone who is lazy, has narcissistic tendencies and is willing to do whatever it takes irrespective of morality to get what they want. Corporate bullshitters want success like everyone else, but they perceive themselves (quite often incorrectly) as someone special and above the ‘normal rules’.

They describe themselves as ‘big picture people’ and are not concerned with the minor and irrelevant things like ‘details’. That kind of thing is for the other minions in the workplace, the little people who do all the work and get none of the credit.

These individuals have a persona that emits a sense of importance and authority (even when they really don’t have any). They always seem to speak the same language, full of jargon-laden nonsense that when actually translated doesn’t even relate to what they are actually talking about.

When someone who knows more about a subject than them, they are inclined to vehemently agree with everything the person says to their face, but probably subtly undermines the same individuals when in other arenas. Or, they will seek to belittle the more intellectual counterpart by emphasising their elevated status and connections. They may also try to go toe-to-toe with the person by throwing out terms until one is not recognised and then harp on incessantly about it until the other person gets bored and ends the conversation.

All of the corporate bullshitters I have ever come up against always have at least one go-to subject area that they twist a conversation to when things are not going their way just to preserve that perception they have, that they are ‘smart’. Most, if not all, corporate bullshitters are not really that smart. If they were, they would be experts in the jobs they somehow manage to inhabit, having put in the work to command the authority and respect for the role.

These hapless miscreants are not satisfied with their current role. They are aiming for one of the highest positions within the company. The one with all the status and money, where they can sit back and delegate like a true boss. Like a Bond villain swivelling in their leather chair, feet up and supping 10-year-old whiskey from a crystal tumbler. The fluffy white cat is an optional extra.

Aspirations of elevation to a senior level are absolutely admirable. Investing all your time and effort in achieving this by taking shortcuts rather than by hard work and dedication to do the job well, and having the requisite skills and knowledge to be there, is not. Eventually, like a poorly executed diet, these people will pull the fat parachute chord and everything will blow up.

That may sound relatively harmless, but when you really think about it, what if the person in charge of major catastrophes that have occurred in the world achieved that position, not by being the best, but by playing the game the best?

People see the whole ‘fake it until you make it’ thing as a part of life, a choice that some people make. I have met people who talk of their admiration of such characters saying things like ‘fair play to them’ for getting to where they did, despite not doing things the moral way.

How people achieve success is up to them, and I’m not about to start preaching about who should and should not be successful or how they achieve it. But ask yourself, if you had to have major surgery or were about to invest your life savings in some venture, would you want the person performing the operation or brokering the deal to be someone who has an ethic of hard work or one who was much smarter and saw a shortcut to get there?

How to identify a Corporate Bullshitter?

The list is meant to highlight potential characters to be mindful of but not all will immediately mean that someone is a feckless lying fuckwit, or has the potential to be:

They send emails at late hours or on weekends but are often late in and leave early. they complain about how endlessly 'busy' they are whilst you catch them checking social media and planning their next trip away.

Corporate Bullshitters are experts on all topics, but rarely challenge other experts when that specific topic is being discussed. They will often become quite sycophantic in an effort to be seen in the same light as the visiting expert (as if they were separated at birth by God).

They know all the movements of the higher-ups and regularly spend their time trying to break into higher level meetings they don’t really have a place at. They are likely to have all senior diaries saved to their calendar.

They dress in a manner to be noticed beyond the norm, often in a quite eccentric way. Think here: ‘Chino Wanker’ meets ‘Townie Twat’. However, when the big boss is visiting they look like they are dressed for a meeting with Queen.

These people have a very high profile presence on company social media platforms. They communicate messages in support of the status quo or from persons of authority. Their presence on such platforms is noticeable to all. They also are one of the first people to like any article or message from a senior figure regardless of how dull the subject is. (Insert winking emoji here, you know who I am talking about).

They are ‘ideas people’ and take credit for other people’s work, truly believing that they contributed in some way. Like a having a notion that time travel would be a cost and time-saving means of transportation, but having no idea how to make it happen (get a Science guy in). Then when it is invented, quite rightly pat themselves on the back for a job well done. Inventor extraordinaire!

They attend many non-work corporate networking events (often with other, fellow Clint and Cythnia types from other companies) and they do this within work time. Nothing of substance ever comes from these events, but they never miss them.

During projects, they demand to be part of the project team, make lots of elaborate and convoluted comments during the meetings but are often the ones who make excuses about competing demands that means they didn’t deliver their assigned actions.

When talking to people that don’t know them well (like a new starter) they will convey themselves as more senior and in charge than is actually the case. ‘Oh yes, John is in my team and Margaret’. John and Margaret may well be in their team but they are likely to report to someone else because the CB in question is in charge of making the tea.

They gravitate towards fellow Clint and Cythnia personality types (Cockney rhyming slang for 'Jeremy Hunt' type individuals) and form little cliques (otherwise known as hierarchical structures of management). They cover for each other in public but conspire in private to create the next opportunity. There is no honour amongst this band of thieves.

They don’t do ‘details’. This would require them to actually have some knowledge of what they are doing. The work they produce is often for a ‘big picture person’, not joined up at all and entirely self-serving. Their portfolio of work is littered with ‘pet projects’ and when they inevitably fail, they just claim credit for the ones that someone else made a success of through some associative properties.

Never do they do anything wrong. These people have skin made of Teflon and nothing ever sticks. They are the embodiment of cockroaches following a nuclear fallout.

They go on to become ‘consultants’, giving the genuine consultants out there bad names. These folks would ask to borrow your watch to tell you the time and then charge you a mortgage payment for their effort.

Corporate Bullshitters are always trying to promote new fandangled approaches rather than tried and tested ones where others are already likely to be experts. If it’s not fanciful bullshit they just don’t want any part of it.

They attend learning events, but reject everything they are taught because they don’t agree with the philosophy. In short, they have zero capacity for learning, because they believe that they are already the finished article and don’t want to learn.

These people like their status symbols and like everyone to know about it. Whether it’s the brand new sports car in the car park, the elaborate meal they went to on the weekend or the lavish fourth holiday they are taking this year. They want people to know they are doing well to keep up the pretence of their rise up the ladder.

They don’t have any real friends or the ones they do are called Clint and Cythnia. They also struggle to form relationships with colleagues that go beyond the work.

Not always the case, but they often don’t have the qualifications, knowledge or experience to do their jobs and justify that such things are not necessary. Or they make claims of having other skills and expertise that is more than adequate. Kind of like a Doctor with no formal training, who watches ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ and ‘Casualty’ religiously and knows how to use a chainsaw.

Total opportunists. Whenever change comes around. Restructures, mergers or downsizing activities always bring these people out of the woodwork. They might be forever out of the office, but when the big announcement is made, suddenly they are everywhere like an infestation of termites. They sign up to everything and their usual absent manner is replaced by a sycophantic presence, especially when the important people are around.

They suffer from a rare affliction known as ‘delegationitis’ whereby they pass off all work to others due to their allergy to doing anything. These people talk the talk, but tag in a lackey to put the leg work in.

There are no shortcuts to success

Even in the situations where the corporate bullshitter breed ascends to high offices, this is often time-limited. Eventually like any ill-performed approach to any path, they get found out in the end.

If the route to the top is achieved at a fast pace, then the road down will be as quick. They will then have to start all over again. The alternative is getting to a place of high authority and holding the reigns when a tragedy occurs. Money and status are only part of the picture when you fall from grace the effect on the things that really matter could be a bigger price to pay.

Anyone who read this article as a means to find the quickest way to the top or to become a success, the message is simple: work hard and be good at what you do. Do all the things that experts in your field have done and put your hours and effort into the tried and tested. Slow and steady wins the race, and if the climb up is long and steady the path down will be equally so.

Malcolm Gladwell once suggested that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert at something. If you invest your time wisely and diligently, you can become an expert in anything within 5 years. Sooner, if you put the hours in over and above. In the span of a normal career that means you could potentially become an expert in up to 9 areas.

If you spent time thinking about what you want to achieve, where you want to succeed, chances are you wouldn’t choose to become an expert in bullshitting your way to the top. Perhaps the key is using those 10,000 hours to actually be good at something and then the fruits that come with that labour will be even more satisfying and worthwhile.

Perhaps the seduction of money, status and prestige has become so rife that people give up on improving themselves to become a better version of themselves. One day the ‘shortcuts’ taken bullshitting your way through life will come calling for payment and what tangible things will be there for all that time wasted?

Here’s something to consider: if the apocalypse, or some other significant change, comes calling, who are going to be the people who prove to be of use and in demand? Those who can actually do something, or, those who wasted their time talking utter nonsense and not learning a goddamn thing?

‘If you focus on success, you’ll have stress. But if you pursue excellence, success will be guaranteed’ – Deepak Chopra.