#markmans

bobbi thinks the term feels a little too neat for something as messy as what she and clint barton have, love languages almost too perfect for the mess that's always been them. but if she had to put words to it, she’d say this: clint speaks in touch and words of affirmation, while she’s always been acts of service and quality time. clint has this way of needing to be close, even when he won’t say it. he’ll brush his hand against hers in passing, nudge her shoulder when they’re standing side by side, loop an arm around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he needs the reminder that she’s there, real and alive, not another ghost he couldn’t save. and the words, god, clint talks too much sometimes, but when it’s just them, those words mean everything. ❝ you’ve got this, birdie. ❞ ❝ you’re the best partner i’ve ever had. ❞ ❝ i trust you. ❞ she’s learned that’s his way of holding himself steady, if he says it out loud, then maybe the world won’t find a way to take it from him.

❝ hey — i got four out of five of them clint!  ❞       no fair,     he's always bragging about the upper hand when bobbi's the one to land that final kick.    dramatically wiping the sweat from her brow,     she's leaping forward to follow him,  stray arrows in hand.   [  look,  she's a biochemist.  who gives a damn if she can't aim?  ]   another archery lesson on the books,  another moment where she reconsiders if she actually made the right choice marrying him.  the enigmatic clint barton leads her down paths she'd never follow,  but the bloodied scars are mementos of a life and love well lived.    picking up the pace,  she mockingly holds up an arrow.      ❝  gee hawk,    ever think to talk to a girl instead of shooting at her?   ❞

❝ temporary, ❞ she says, because if she doesn’t say it first, he will. they keep walking. that’s the point. walking keeps the world normal, keeps the lie intact. she feels him adjust their pace without being told, feels the shift ripple through them like muscle memory waking up. she hates how easy it is. hates how much harder it would be with anyone else. she tilts her head just enough to catch their reflection in a shop window, still there, still interested. ❝ don’t look, ❞ she murmurs lightly, like she’s commenting on the weather. ❝ but we’ve got company. ❞

she tightens her arm a fraction, not for show, not really, and guides them toward a narrower street, one with warmer lights and less space to linger. it’s subtle, the way she leans in, shoulder brushing his, the way she lets the moment read as familiarity instead of surveillance. anyone watching would see a couple comfortable enough not to perform. that’s always been the danger of them. they don’t have to fake it. they stop at a gelato stand, bright and ridiculous against the night. bobbi keeps her arm linked as she turns them both, angling their bodies just right so the watcher has to choose between waiting or losing interest. ❝ two cones, ❞ she tells the vendor easily. ❝ surprise him. ❞ she feels clint glance at her but doesn’t look back. she doesn’t need to. she already knows the expression, that half-amused, half-something-else look that used to undo her on worse days. the man across the street hesitates. then moves on. threat neutralized.

" you sure you can win this , right ? i didn't just talk scut out of my ass and you're actually good at this ? " peter asks through gritted teeth , eyes running through the faces of the aliens that are waiting for a show , his hands not-so-gently massaging clint's shoulders to emphasize his point . or maybe it's a plea and a prayer that this would go smoothly .

because even though the bet was simple enough-- just hit a bulleye on a moving target half a hundred feet into the edge of the universe-- they still need to entertain a crowd . and the prize for not getting it right makes his heart do a little dance . " because these guys ? they don't mess around . if you lose ... we lose our flarking heads . "

a   bottle   of   800   mg   ibuprofen   was   placed   in   front   of   him   :   [   this   wasn't   her   first   rodeo!   ]   fingers   run   through   cherry   red   hair,   sighing   in   both   relief   and   annoyance.   this   was   a   pretty   awful   predicament   she   found   herself   in   but,   nevertheless;   here   they   were.   "   ARE   YOU   OKAY   AT   LEAST?   I   MEAN,   ALL   THINGS   CONSIDERING   SINCE   THAT'S   YOUR   NATURAL   FACE.   "

pepper had been leaning on the edge of their balcony. the crisp autumn breeze a gentle wisp to her fiery red locks, curled to perfection for the night’s events. she had on a satin emerald evening dress, tony’s favourite. " why don't you wear this everyday? " he would say. she stared at the horizon with a soft repose. needing a little downtime from the celebration indoors. 

@markmans: life doesn't tend to turn out like you think it will.

"   good   because   if   the   avengers   threaten   my   students   again,   "   she   did   not   take   so   kindly   to   the   thread   of   the   government   intervening   on   their   school.   it   was   not   their   first   attack.   most   likely   not   their   last.   she   often   tried   to   be   a   pacifist   but   the   protection   of   her   students   was   the   utmost   importance.   their   lives   were   in   the   hands   of   her   and   she'd   do   anything   to   make   sure   they   had   a   future!   "   you'll   deal   with   me   instead   of   the   children.   "