#clintashaotp writes

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Just a cute high school date for you guys. I’m going to be a little absent for a bit, but I’ll try to write when I can. I know this is a little cliche, but I hope you like it anyways! :)

Sunsets and Sodas

972 Words

...

It took Natasha half an hour to pick her outfit. And once she had decided, what to do with her hair almost drove her crazy. Clint wasn’t supposed to pick her up until seven, and she had already decided on jean shorts and a comfortable graphic tee for their surprise date. He hadn’t told her where he was taking her, only to dress comfortably, and Natasha was beyond excited. 

She didn’t normally wear makeup, but she swiped some blush across her cheeks and applied some mascara hastily. By the time she’d decided on a half-up, half-down look for her hair, it was almost seven, so she grabbed her worn jacket and her phone and sat down on the couch by the door, checking off the list in her head anxiously. 

Her phone was charged, she had chap stick, her outfit looked cute. She was all set, there wasn’t anything she was forgetting, was there? Even though it wasn’t their first date, they had only been dating for a month, and every time she saw him her stomach fluttered a little. She’d always been taught that love was a weakness, but with Clint, she’d learned to love feeling weak. She’d learned to love being with him. 

The ring of the doorbell made her jump, but she leapt up from the couch, counted to three, and walked calmly to open the door. 

He was leaning on the doorway, and when she opened it he gave her that shy half-smile that made her heart beat a little faster. 

“Hey Nat,” he grinned. Natasha peeked past his shoulder to see his car parked on the street. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, following him down the driveway, and he just laughed. 

“I said it’s a surprise, and I wouldn’t want to ruin it, would I?” he teased, and Natasha huffed, sliding into the passenger’s seat. 

“Fine. I get to pick the music.”

Though there was still daylight, the shadows were long on the ground, and Natasha predicted the sun would set in half an hour. Their town was fairly quiet, so most families were inside already, though it was only seven o’clock. 

The sounds of indie music filled the car and Clint tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music. Natasha watched him out of the corner of her eye, stealing glances, trying not to get caught staring.

“I’m so excited,” Natasha practically bounced in her seat, and she thought she saw Clint blush a little. 

“It’ll be fun, Red,” he laughs. The cute nickname he gave her is short and sweet and to the point, and though Natasha would never admit it, she absolutely loved it. 

They drove for a while in silence, listening to the soft guitar music. Natasha hummed along to the melody sometimes, but for the most part, she watched the road pass outside the window. It was comfortable silence, and Natasha was grateful for it. She didn’t feel awkward at all in times like these. They were just enjoying eachothers company, listening to the music, watching the road. 

Clint was driving towards the edge of town, where the road dropped off into highway and fields. It was a pretty boring place, and curiosity swelled inside her like a balloon. 

“Almost there, just a few more minutes,” Clint told her as they crossed outside town limits. 

“Hurry up,” she fidgeted with the edge of her shorts, the nervous energy making her restless. 

“Be patient, weirdo,” Clint snorted, and Natasha whacked him playfully on the shoulder. “It’s right up here.”

He pulled over to the right on the side of the highway. It was quite, and Clint jogged around the car to open her door for her--to which she rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest. He opened his trunk, and produced a blanked and a backpack. “Where are we going?” she asked, and he handed her the blanket with a mysterious grin. “Just carry this for me.”

He grabbed her free hand, slinging the backpack over his shoulders, and lead her up the grassy hill next to the highway. The sun was lower now, and Natsaha could see the hints of sunset just beginning around the edges. The grass crunched beneath her feet, and every now and then Natasha could hear the whoosh of a passing car, but otherwise it was quiet. Clint dragged her up the hill for a little bit, and then pulled the blanket from her arms, shaking it out and laying it down. 

“I brought food,” he said with an awkward grin, and Natasha realized he was scared she wouldn’t like it. She stared out at the sinking sun, casting long shadows on the hilltop, and breathed in the beauty of it. “Clint, this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she bit her bottom lip, and to her surprise and anger, she could feel the prick of tears. She blinked, forcing them down, and grabbed his face gently, kissing him. 

He kissed her back, smiling against her mouth, and they sat down. Clint pulled out some sodas and cookies from his bag, as well as a Bluetooth speaker, and Natasha lay back on the blanket as Clint turned on some calming alternative. 

“The sun’s about to set,” he pointed out on the horizon, and Natasha saw the blurring hues of the deep oranges, yellows and purples of the sky. 

“You won’t get a view like this anywhere else,” she breathed, a little at a loss for words. “Clint, this is amazing.”

“I thought you might like it,” he returned, and Natasha scooted a little closer to him, laying sideways so her head was on his shoulder. She felt his arm wrap around her shoulders and grinned, kissing his neck softly. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and his thumb rubbed her shoulder gently. 

“Anytime, Red. Anytime.” 

[caws5749]

Dhjgddjj request time!!! Nat decides to spoil Reader. All the fluff you can write. Preeeeeetty pls? Thank you Wonder. Ily ✨💕

A/N: we love some of this good fluff! ilyyyyyyyyy <3 it’s short but i wanted it to be more of a fluff moment

You deserved to be spoiled, it was that simple. You were the kindest human being Natasha had ever met, always going out of your way to help her and others. And with both of you constantly having missions to complete, it just felt like Natasha didn’t get enough chances to really show you just how much she loved you.

Which is exactly why she had planned breakfast in bed. 

As soon as Nat had woken from the night’s sleep, she turned her head towards you. A soft smile fell to her lips as she watched you, your mouth open slightly as you slept peacefully, followed by a slight frown. You’d been working yourself to the brink of exhaustion for the past few weeks, hardly ever sleeping. While you always managed to finish each task with flying colors, Natasha could see the tiredness in your eyes. 

Slipping silently out of bed, she padded down to the kitchen and started fixing breakfast. It was still relatively early, and she hoped you’d still be sleeping for a little while more. It was Sunday after all. 

You did stay asleep, and a half an hour later Natasha was making her way back towards your shared room. Quietly entering, she found you just starting to move in your sleep, a sure sign you’d be awake soon. Setting the tray onto the bed, she climbed in gracefully beside you.

“Good morning, lyubov moya,” your girlfriend murmured, pressing little kisses to your face. You giggled.

“What a beautiful way to wake up,” you whispered, your eyes finally opening to see the most beautiful woman in the world hovering near you. 

“I have something for you.”

“Oh?” you questioned. 

“Sit up,” Natasha instructed, adjusting the pillows once you’d moved. 

“Baby,” you cooed once your eyes fell to the tray filled with your favorite breakfast foods. 

“You’ve been working really hard, and you deserve something nice,” Nat explained, a bit of bashfulness in her voice. She always got a little shy when it came to giving someone something, and you found it beyond adorable. 

“Thank you,” you said sincerely, leaning over to peck her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

++++++

Tag List: @mymarvelwomen @morbid-gaymer @natasha-romanoff-fics @taramitch96 @marvelbanan @lesbian-x-blackwidow @firstangeldragonranch @stillfiguringmeout @natasharomanoffsbitch-x @5aftermidnight @disneykid125 @clintashaotp @arkkarchive @determinedpines @stop-drop-and-drumroll @newestnewgirl @missmarvelobsession @pussy-puncher-its-an-inside-joke @niquey-salvatore @1-danid @nowthisisliving27 @swanqueensupercorp @hopingforbarnes @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @natxhiddles @marvelb00kwolf @imnotasuperhero @canarypoint @im-hella-bright @nervousspiderling @swords-are-cool @bechloesupercorp @hcartbyheart @buckybarnesplumwhore @peggycarter-steverogers @nat-romanoffdanvers @aaron-despair

[koriors]

rules: describe yourself with pictures you already have, no downloading or searching for new ones.

I was tagged by @clintashaotp

1. cat! i love animals (all of them) and especially cats

2. i (might) be bi, dont really know yet

3. my kirby plush!! i love plushies probably too much and im in the kirby fandom too :>

4. im singaporean :)

5. i love playing video games, i own a switch

6. im in a lot of fandoms: smash bros, fire emblem and lots of non-video game ones too!

7. i write a lot, and i hav plenty of WIPs that i havent worked on yet :P

8. ice cream! and chocolate! are my lifeblood!

9. purple is my favourite colour i like the pastel shades especially

10. finally,, clintasha! is and forever will be my otp ❤

I'm tagging: @cutepikachu163 @soullessdivine @mariiaac-01 @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @wisehottubcowboy @orangejuiceskies

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Some more Natasha!whump, Clintasha, Steve and Natasha friendship. April challenge day 16! Hope you guys enjoy :)

971 Words

Keep Him Safe

...

She wakes to the shadows of blinking lights on her eyelids and the soft hum of machinery. Natasha’s eyes snap open, a pang of panic stabbing her ribcage. The sounds are familiar. Too familiar. She surveys her surroundings calculatingly, and the bright shine of the hospital lights sends shivers down her spine.

“No. No, dammit, I can’t do this now.” Natasha hisses, her fingers immediately going to work on the IV in her wrist.

“I don’t think so.” a voice says gently, and a firm hand grabs her wrist. “Nat, let go.”

She looks up to see Steve standing next to her, a blue baseball cap on his head and a concerned smile on his face.

“Steve,” she rasps, her voice hoarse, “please, I can’t be here, I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen, Natasha.” he shakes his head, still smiling forcibly. He slowly pries her fingers off of the IV and she reluctantly settles her hand on the bed next to her, still alert and watchful.

“What happened?” she frowns, and suddenly it dawns on her that she can’t remember getting here. “Steve. What day is it?”

“Relax. You’ve only been here for a day.” Steve takes a seat in the blue chair next to her bed that he must have been sitting in before their conversation. “You had a seizure, Nat.”

Natasha wants to punch herself. Of course she had to get caught, in the worst way possible. She wants to tear the IV out of her skin but resists. Steve looks a little restless.

“According to Tony’s security cams, you hadn’t slept in--”

“Five days.” she nods, leaning back against the pillows. “I didn’t know sleep deprivation caused seizures.”

“You need to be more careful,” Steve glances at her carefully. “Five days is too long to go without sleep.”

Natasha bites her tongue, holding back the no shit, Sherlock that waits behind her lips. Steve frowns, but before he can try to lecture her, his phone begins buzzing in his pocket.

“It’s Tony, he’s checking up on you. I’ll be right back.” Steve smiles apologetically and steps out of the room, raising the phone to his ear.

Of course he wouldn’t understand. She hadn’t slept in five days, because she was alone. Five days ago, Clint had boarded a jet to Milan on a sniper mission, and she hadn’t heard a word from him for five while days.

She was scared. She was petrified. They’d both been on countless missions, but every second away from him was another reminder that he could be obliterated, halfway across the world, and she would never get to see his body buried. Their line of work was dangerous, and she knew this. But five days. Of course she didn’t sleep. Of course not.

Steve walks back over to her, pocketing his phone.

“You’re clear to go home whenever. We just have to make sure we stay with you and that you get a good amount of rest,” Steve sighs. “You ready?”

Natasha just follows his lead. He turns his back so she can change into the clothes he brought her from the facility, and they check out of the doors. It’s a quiet car ride. Normally Natasha would try to make conversation, but she’s tired and her mind is too busy for her to focus any of her thoughts.

“We’re here,” Steve nudges her gently, and Natasha realizes that the car’s been stopped for almost two minutes. “You ready?”

“Yeah, of course,” Natasha shrugs off the hand he offers her, and she follows him into the facility.

Tony’s sitting at the bar, sipping straight from a bottle and flipping through designs on his tablet. “Hey, Red, welcome back. You’re rooms carpeted now, by the way. So that you don’t have to worry about hitting your head if it happens again. Which it better not.” he doesn’t even look up from his tablet, but she knows that’s his version of looking out for her. She’s grown used to his odd gestures of affection, and she appreciates them.

“Thanks, Stark.” She leaves the two men in the living room and walks back to her room.

The second she closes her bedroom door behind her, her hands start to tremble, and she sits on the floor, leaning against the door.

Her mind can’t get off of Clint. Of course he’s okay, he has to be okay, but...what if he’s not? What if he’s in trouble? What if…

Natasha buries her face in her hands, smudging her mascara. “Calm down, Romanoff. You’re okay. He’s fine.”

A knock at her door almost makes her jump out of her skin, and she quickly stands up and unlocks it.

“Hey--are you okay?” Steve stands at the door, holding two steaming mugs of tea.

“Fine, Steve. Fine.” Natasha grabs the mug and turns away, but Steve catches her arm.

“Why didn’t you sleep?” Steve asks her finally, and Natasha’s face falls. She can feel the weight of the truth on her shoulders.

“Clint’s been gone five days,” she whispers, and her voice breaks slightly. “Five days, Steve, I should have heard from him by now.”

“Oh, Nat,” Steve pulls her into a hug, and she sets her mug of tea down on the nearby dresser just in time to lean into his arms. “He’s safe. He’s safe, I promise.”

“Yeah, but you can’t promise that,” she returns, but even the small words of reassurance help.

“He’ll be safe. But he’d want you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, I just...I got so worried.” She takes a deep breath, pulling away slowly.

“He’ll be alright, Natasha. He doesn’t need you to look out for him,” Steve murmurs, and Natasha averts her gaze.

“Maybe not,” she whispers. “But I have to keep him safe. I have to.”

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Sorry I didn’t post yesterday! I got pretty tied up and couldn’t get something out. Here’s a fluffy sickfic for you guys. (i’m really sorry) April challenge day 19!

738 Words

Missing You

...

Natasha pulls her jacket a little tighter around her shoulders to cut out the chill fall air, crossing the street quickly, just barely avoiding an annoying taxi driver. She hasn’t seen Clint in almost a week because he had to go out of the country for a quick sniper mission, and now that he’s back she can’t wait to see him. 

She climbs the stairs to his apartment two at a time, hoping no one sees her--she’s acting like an excited teenager--and smiles to herself when she reaches his door, knocking on it firmly. When no one answers, Natasha frowns, glancing down the steps to the parking lot. Clint’s car is there, and he doesn’t normally go for a run this late in the afternoon. Plus, he’d said that he’d be here. 

She rings his cell, and he picks up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?” his voice cracks slightly, and he sounds tired. 

“Hey, uh, can you let me in?” she asks, smiling a little. “Yeah, give me a sec,” he says. Natasha hears him cough slightly. 

“You okay?” she asks, and he chuckles. 

“It’s nothing. See you in a sec.”

Natasha frowns when he hangs up, but waits patiently until he opens the door. The second she sees him, she throws herself into his arms, and he laughs, hugging her back. It’s a lot of affection than she’s not used to giving, but there’s something about not seeing him that makes her want to hug him and never let go. 

He pulls her into the apartment, shutting the door, and she shrugs off her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack. 

“I missed you,” she grins, and he smiles back, though he looks pale and tired. She frowns at him. “You’re a liar.” “What?” he returns, though Natasha can see his facade failing. 

“You’re not okay. Are you sick?” “I’m fine,” he shrugs it off, but Natasha kisses him gently on the cheek, her hand pressing to his forehead. “You have a fever,” she reprimands, and he sighs. “I took ibuprofen. I was planning on calling you to tell you to come by later, but I fell asleep,” he admits, and she just sighs, dragging him over to the couch. 

“Sit, stay.” She points to the couch, and when he gives her a look of protest, she shuts him down quickly. “Go to sleep, or watch something. I’ll make you food.”

“Since when can you cook?” he scoffs, but she shuts him up with a strict look, and he lays pack against the couch pillows. 

She makes some soup in the kitchen and a mug of chamomile tea--his favorite. She sets it down on the glass coffee table in the middle of the room with a smile. He fell asleep quickly, and she sits on the empty plush chair adjacent to the couch. She grabs a random book from the coffee table, which just so happens to be in Russian--she must have left it there the last time she’d stayed--and pages through it. 

After a while, she hears rustling and looks up to see Clint sitting up, rubbing his eyes. She smiles at him, and sets down the book, plopping down on the couch next to him. He sighs sleepily, still-half awake, and she kisses him gently on the cheek. 

“Sleep as much as you want. I just wanted to say I made food when you’re ready,” she says softly.

“You’re amazing,” he says, and she takes the nonverbal invitation that he offers. 

Natasha lays herself down on top of him slowly, snuggling against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m going to get you sick,” he groans, and she smirks, tilting her chin up to face him. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Do I look like I care?” she purrs, and she sees the expression in his eyes shift. Suddenly he doesn’t look as tired anymore. She kisses him gently, then adds tongue, biting the bottom of his lip cautiously. 

“Stop,” he tries, laughing, but she kisses him again and he leans into it, cupping the back of her neck. “Okay, that’s enough.” he pulls away, and she pouts in protest, but lays against him again. “At least we’d be sick together,” she tries, and Clint just laughs, kissing the top of her head. 

“Anything to spend time with you, Nat,” he smiles, and she sighs contentedly against him.

“Works for me.” 

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: I’m pretty predictable at this point. Natasha!whump, Clintasha, team fic. April challenge day 13, I hope you all are doing okay in quarantine :)

1,686 Words

Fighter

.

The Avengers aren’t afraid of death. All of them have experienced life-threatening injuries in the past, especially the two assassins. All of them have woken up in hospitals they don’t recognize, or had surgeries, or been dragged a mile and a half to a medical jet. But bleeding out in the middle of a jungle is a new one. 

The mission was supposed to be simple. Get to the terrorist’s bunker in the center of the jungle. Tony and Steve were supposed to break down the gate while Clint sniped out guards from above. Banner flew the jet, and Thor helped keep the gates open while Natasha snuck inside and retrieved the biochemical weapon that had been stolen from a SHIELD lab. But things always go wrong. 

“Tasha. Natasha, can you hear me?” Clint whispers to the half-conscious woman in his lap. She stirs slightly, and Bruce bites his lip in concern. 

“We don’t have any supplies, Clint, and they blew up the jet.” Bruce runs a hand through his hair. 

“So what can we do?” Steve asks worriedly. “She’s been stabbed at least five times, for Christ’s sakes, and what about infection?” 

“I don’t know!” Bruce repeats. “We….we need to find shelter. Somewhere for us to stay until SHIELD picks up the distress signal.”

“I can’t fly,” Tony shakes his head, gesturing at his suit. “They used an EMP during the fight and fried all my internal wiring. I doubt I could get above the treeline, not to mention all the way to the base.” 

“Friends, I can fly ahead,” Thor offers, and they all turn to him. “I will go to the SHIELD facility that we came from and get some medical evac to come here, for Lady Natasha.” 

“Okay,” Steve agrees in his captain’s voice. “We’ll look after Natasha for a while.” 

Thor swings his hammer, then launches into the sky. The clouds darken, but when they don’t clear immediately, the fear of rain begins to set in. 

“We need a shelter,” Cap says quickly, and Tony salutes. 

“On it. Doctor, care to help?” he gestures to Bruce, who nods in agreement. 

“Tasha. Nat.” Clint murmurs again. “Clint?” she mumbles, and his eyes widen. “Ah--” she winces. “Okay. What happened?”

“You’re okay. You got a few knives stuck in you, but we pulled them out. You’ll be okay.”

“Jesus.” she struggles to sit up, and when Clint tries to push her down again, she glares at him. “Clint, I can sit up on my own.”

When she gets into a sitting position, she sways slightly, and Clint helps her lean back against him to help her remain upright. 

“We don’t have any medical supplies, the terrorists hit the jet,” Clint says, worriedly, and Natasha just hums in response. “On a scale of one to ten--”

“Six,” Natasha responds, lips tight, words clipped. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like a six--” Clint tries, but she cuts him off. 

“It’s a six, Barton. I’m fine. Okay?” he knows better to argue when she uses his last name, so he just lets her relax against his shoulder. 

“Hey, Master Assassins, we got a shelter, if you want to come.” Tony waves them over to a makeshift hut, where the scientists have taken the shell of the jet and covered the holes with branches and leaves. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep us dry if it rains.” 

“It’s fine.” Clint nods, and, to Natasha’s great protest, he scoops her into his arms. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she growls at him, and he looks at her apologetically. 

“Nat, I don’t want you to hurt yourself more.” 

“Clint,” she says, her voice tight. “Let me go.”

“No, Nat, I can’t, you need to--”

“I’m going to be sick,” she says quickly, and he sets her down gently on the ground, where she turns her head and vomits onto the ground. “Ah.” she hisses, grabbing her temple. 

“Nat?” Clint asks nervously, and she waves him away. 

“Just...give me a second,” she mutters, hands on her head. “Okay. Okay, I’m good.” 

Clint looks up to see Tony, Bruce and Cap watching from the entrance to the shelter, concern reflected heavily in his gaze. 

“I’m going to carry you to the entrance now, okay?” he says cautiously, and she nods, not opening her eyes. 

He picks her up again carefully and carries her to the seats that Tony and Bruce managed to pull out of the wreckage, which has been fashioned into a makeshift bed. She hisses when he sets her down, her posture rigid and stiff, and he settles onto the floor next to her, ready for a long night. 

After a quick sweep of the plane shell, they soon establish that no food or water is nearby. Thor should have come back half an hour ago, and they have no idea how long it will take to get Natasha to a medical facility. 

It’s almost three hours before fever sets in. Her health has declined steadily, and as the team chatters aimlessly, awaiting extraction, her face has steadily paled, except for flushed patches on her cheeks. 

“Tasha?” Clint whispers softly to her, as to not alert the team, but she shakes her head. 

She shivers when he puts a hand on her arm, and he gazes at her, concern rushing through his mind. 

He sets his hand against her forehead, only to withdraw it quickly. 

“Tash,” he gasps, “you’re burning up.” 

“Sorry?” she says, her voice hoarse, her eyes not quite focusing on his face. 

“Bruce,” he says sharply and turns to see the other members staring at him. “It’s bad.” 

“I’m fine--” Natasha tries, but Bruce steps forward, ignoring her protests. 

“Natasha,” he says calmly, “how do you feel?”

“Fine,” she murmurs, but it lacks conviction, and when Bruce checks her temperature, his eyebrows contract with worry. 

“Alright. Okay, the infection must be setting in on your wounds, there’s even a chance there was poison on one of the blades,” he mutters, frowning. “But we don’t have any med supplies, god--”

“I can hold out until Thor comes back,” she says firmly. “Really.” her tone leaves little room for protest, but when Clint leans against her, he feels her trembling against him. 

“Hey, Natasha, JARVIS says your body temperatures at 101 and climbing…” Tony trails off, an expression of worry on his face. 

“I’ll be okay,” she says, but her voice is weak, and she leans back against Clint, her limbs still shaking. 

They sit there in silence. Clint monitors her closer after that, checking her eyes, her forehead, feeling her pulse. He knows that no matter the results, there’s nothing they can do, but he still feels the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach grow each time he feels her forehead get hotter and hotter. 

It is almost an hour before the conversation starts again, but it’s Natasha who tries to speak. 

“Clint,” she whispers softly, and he immediately bends down to listen. “I….I’m not feeling great.” 

“Yeah, Nat, I know,” he mutters, guilt pounding through his chest. “From one to ten--”

“I’m getting a little closer to an eight now,” she says softly, and he can tell she’s having trouble focusing. 

“Okay. Nat, I’m really sorry, all we can do is wait.” 

“I know.” she nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to hold my hand?” he knows it’s an awkward question, but he knows she can get scared when blood loss sets in.

“Sure,” she mutters and laces their fingers together. “Ah.” she winces slightly. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint frowns, eyebrows knitting together. Her blood loss makes her face pale, and her movements are slow. He can see her hand trembling when she grabs her temple. 

“I don’t know. Everything hurts. My whole body hurts.” 

“I’m really sorry, Na, what can I do?.” 

“I’m feeling kind of dizzy--” she whispers, and Clint looks down at her to see her eyes lose focus completely. 

Her eyes flutter closed and she collapses against him. He inhales sharply with worry and the other team members look up at him. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, approaching. 

“I think she passed out,” Clint says softly, placing a hand against her forehead. “Jesus.” 

“103 degrees,” Tony winces. “And there’s nothing we can do?”

“Nothing.” Bruce shakes his head, and Steve slams his fists onto the floor. “We don’t have water to clean them, and we shouldn’t use rainwater. We’re in a polluted area, it’s likely that it would worsen the infection.”

“We could at least try,” Clint bites his lip, and Bruce sighs. “I mean, we’re in a jungle, for christ’s sake, how polluted can it be?”

“We’re right next to a weapons manufacturing facility,” Bruce starts, but at Clint’s look, he sighs and pulls off his jacket, tearing off a strip and walking outside to let the rainwater dampen the cloth. 

“Jesus, she’s dying, and there’s nothing we can do.” the soldier hisses, and Clint raises an eyebrow, surprised by the outburst. 

“She’ll be okay.” he tries to comfort them. “She’s a fighter. She’s been through worse.” 

“We haven’t,” Tony shakes his head, “Not with her.” 

They lapse back into silence. Natasha’s unconscious form rests against Clint, and he strokes her hair away from her forehead carefully. Bruce hands him the wet cloth and Clint examines her carefully, pressing the cloth gently to the gash along her ribcage, which is still bleeding sluggishly. She doesn’t even flinch. 

“She’ll be okay,” he repeats, though it's more for him than any of them, he knows that. 

She looks so small in his arms, her brow furrowed, her eyes shut tightly. He holds her close. It’s okay. 

.

And she is. When she wakes up in the hospital two days later, Clint is sound asleep in a chair next to her bed. Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Thor are talking softly in the corner, and when they notice that she’s awake, they crowd around her bed. 

Amidst the chatter, Natasha makes eye contact with a sleepy Clint, and she smiles at him reassuringly. She’s a fighter. She’s okay. 

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Early Clintasha! Pretty self-explanatory. Hope you guys enjoy” April challenge day 20 (Happy 4/20 guys)

885 Words

Broken Glass

...

While it’s not their first night in a rickety safehouse in the middle of nowhere, it’s hard to get used to it. This particular house is more like a broken-down apartment, and when the two assassins had gotten inside and locked all the doors, Clint had gone to take a shower only to see that the water was broken.

He’d driven down to the nearest store and bought some water jugs rather than going through the trouble of fixing the pipes, and Natasha had taken some time to stitch up the gash along her ribs. 

It’s late, around eleven at night, and it’s raining softly outside. Clint wonders if the roof leaks, but it’s not really a long term problem. If all goes well, they should have a SHIELD extraction by morning. 

“Do you want some food?” he offers to the assassin sitting on the couch. She looks up from her book, a little surprised. 

“Sure,” she says, still looking confused. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t poison it or anything,” he smirks, and Natasha offers him a smile in return. 

Clint busies himself with the box of pasta he had picked up at the store. While the pasta boils, he chops up some vegetables for the sauce and cooks it slowly in a saucepan beside the pasta. 

While he waits for the food to cook, he watches Natasha from the kitchen. Though she’s just taken a hit, she looks fine, completely normal. She pages through her book lazily, and Clint vaguely finds his eyes wandering along the curves of her body. She’s wearing an oversized shirt and booty shorts, and he wants to yell at himself for looking. He just can’t help it. 

“I can see you staring,” Natasha says flatly, not looking up from her book. 

“Sorry,” Clint laughs sheepishly, hiding his blush. “I just wanted to see if you were okay. You know, from the fight.”

“I’m fine, Barton,” she returns, though he sees her subtle smile. He turns away, shaking his head. Pull it together, Barton. “Can I help set the table?”

“Sure,” Clint nods, and she joins him in the kitchen, opening the cabinets experimentally searching for the various dishes. “I wish we had some music,” he jokes, and Natasha laughs lightly. 

“I’m sure you could sing something,” she smirks, and Clint stands up straight, bowing dramatically. 

“If you insist,” he shrugs and starts to sing in a very off-pitch falsetto. “And I’ll give you aaaaaaaaaaaaal of me--”

He is cut short when Natasha’s hand snags the edge of a water glass. He watches her face, as if in slow motion, as the glass bounces off the kitchen counter and shatters into a thousand pieces when it hits the ground. 

Natasha shrieks and covers her ears, closing into herself, immediately shutting down. Clint swears loudly, jumping away from the glass. 

“Natasha, did you get cut?” he asks quickly, concerned, but when she looks up he sees to his surprise that tears are gathering in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry,” she whispers, backing away from him slowly. Clint winces when he sees her step backwards onto the glass, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Please, please, I’m so sorry,” her voice is getting higher-pitched, and Clint walks around the counter towards her maybe to comfort her, he doesn’t know. 

“Natasha, it’s alright, it’s just a glass--”

He must have gotten too close because Natasha jumps away from him, her back hitting a wall. He can see her hands shaking, and tears start to fall down her face. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, please don’t hurt me,” she’s louder now, her hands reaching up to cover her head again, and she slides down the wall until she is sitting against it, head in her hands, her whole body shaking. 

Clint just stands there for a moment, frozen, watching it happen. What is he supposed to do? He approaches her slowly, crouching next to her. He reaches for her arm, but she flinches away and so he sits down next to her, leaving her room. 

“I’m not angry, Natasha. I don’t care about the glass, it was just a water glass.” When she doesn't react, he continues slowly. “Are you okay? You stepped on the glass, that must have hurt.”

“I”m sorry,” she repeats, and this time when he touches her shoulder she doesn’t flinch away. “I’m sorry, it’s just...they used to...if I broke stuff, they would…”

“You don’t have to,” Clint whispers, and she finally looks up at him. Her face is heartbreaking, and he puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re safe now. You’re safe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers back. They sit like that for a long time, Clint holding her until her body stops shaking. 

“You’re safe now,” he repeats, and it is then that she leans up and kisses him softly on the cheek. 

“I don’t understand you sometimes, Clint Barton,” she says with a shaky smile, and she stands, walking down the hall to the bathroom, presumably to get the glass shards out of her feet. 

Clint watches her go, and turns back to the kitchen. Now it’s just the broken glass and overcooked pasta to keep him and his jumbled thoughts company. 

[clintashaotp]

Authors note/summary: Sorry I haven’t been online in a while, school, Christmas, family drama, etc. Here’s some Clintasha, Natasha!whump, with some Tony and Steve as well. Enjoy :)

Split Second Decision

998 Words

...

While Natasha has cracked ribs before, she suspects that the sharp pain in her chest is a little more than cracked ribs. That, in addition to the blood oozing out of the bullet wound on her thigh and the pounding in her skull is just about enough for her to go for medical attention. While she’s used to stitching herself up, she’s learned that broken ribs can mean many worse things, and she doesn’t have an X-ray in her bedroom to do it herself. However, when she rounds the street corner building to meet up with the rest of the team she sees the men crouched around a fallen Steve, who is clutching his shoulder.

“Steve?” Natasha asks quickly, hurrying foreword despite the protest from her injured leg. “What happened?”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve mutters, though his voice is tight with pain. Natasha sees blood seeping from between his fingers.

“Cap got hit.” Tony says grimly, frowning. “We didn’t know it was a firefight until we saw him take a bullet...they must have been saving their guns for him.”

Natasha almost admits to the hunk of metal lodged in her leg, but the split second of hesitation takes away her window as Tony eyes her up and down.

“You okay, red?” He asks, and Natasha has never been more happy that her mission suit is black. It hides the blood well.

“Fine,” she says, straightening up, and her ribs ache in protest. She frowns, but hides the wince, putting on a grim face. “We should get cap to medical.”

“Sounds like a plan,” says a familiar voice behind her and she turns to see Clint walking up the same alleyway. A quick scan tells her that, other than a few cuts and bruises, Clint is fine, and she is almost grateful for Steve’s injury, as it takes Clint’s attention away from her.

“I called medical,” Bruce’s voice says through the comms. “They’re on their way.”

“I’m alright,” Steve sighs, “the serum heals most things. It won’t even scar.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. Until we get it looked at you’re staying here, okay?” Tony sighs, clearly frustrated.

“Where’s Thor?” Natasha asks, but the pain pulsing through her head is making it difficult for her to concentrate. She feels a wave of dizziness hit and she grabs the closest thing to steady herself—which just so happens to be Tony’s arm. He pauses, frowning at her in clear confusion, and she lets go just as quickly. “Sorry.”

“Thor’s in the jet with Bruce already,” Tony says,still looking extremely confused, but Natasha feels Clint’s gaze shift to her. “You okay?”

“Great,” Natasha says firmly. “Lets go meet him.”

“Nat,” Clint catches her elbow as she spins around and she is grateful for it, because the piercing pain in her skull is growing and she’s starting to see spots. “What happened?’

“I’m okay,” she tries to say, but she feels her body failing her as she struggles to remain upright. “I’m okay.” She says again, but as she tries to shove Clint off she feels her knees buckle and he catches her right before she hits the pavement.

“Woah there,” Tony shouts from behind him and Natasha feels her consciousness wavering as Clint lowers her gently to the concrete.

“Nat. Nat? Where are you hit?’ He asks, but she can hear his fear in his voice.

“Leg,” she mumbles faintly, “ribs. Head.”

‘“Natasha, medical's on the way,” Tony says, and she sees him crouching beside her out of the corner of her eye.

“Shit,” Clint curses, seeing the blood crusted on her thigh, and Tony hisses when he sees the wound.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tony asks, and Natasha just shrugs, too weak to say anything else.

“Natasha, this is bleeding a lot, I’m going to put pressure on it,” Clint says sharply and Natasha lets out a cry of pain as he presses his hands against the wound.

Steve is sitting up next to her and Natasha tries to reach out to him but Tony pushes her back onto the ground, steadying her head with his hands.

“Careful Red,” Tony says softly, and Natasha sees a flicker of worry in his eyes. “You’re going to be fine, okay?”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly, but the dizziness is winning over. Her eyelids flicker, and for once neither Clint nor Tony try to keep her awake, too preoccupied with trying to keep her blood in her body. She drifts into the vague blackness of sleep as hands press into her skin, trying to keep her alive.

…

“Why didn’t she say something?” Tony frowns, and Clint sighs, shaking his head.

The two men are seated at the main living room table in the compound, watching Natasha on the monitor that watches over the private hospital wing.

Steve sits in a chair nearby, watching something on TV. His arm is bandaged and in a sling, but he was right about his serum—it had healed twice as fast as normal and he’d be able to use his arm normally soon.

“She doesn’t like weakness,” Clint says simply, and Tony snorts into his cup of coffee.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like getting shots, but we all have to do things we don’t like sometimes,” he smirks ironically.

“I know,” Clint frowns. “I’ve been working with her about it. But...it’s what she’s used to. It’s what she grew up with.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Tony says simply, and Clint chokes on his sip of coffee, almost spraying it onto the tabletop. Instead of responding, Clint just laughs, rather nervously, and Tony grins. “Thought so. Don’t worry, I won’t spill the beans. But I think you should go and tell her...before someone else does.”

“Yeah. I’m always there when she wakes up,” Clint smiles to himself, leaving the table, coffee in hand.

“Go get her, cowboy,” Tony quips after him, and while Clint flips the scientist off over his shoulder, he still grins to himself as he walks down the hall towards his wife’s hospital room.

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Wow schoolwork is piling up. My teachers are assigning wayyyy too much. Anyways, here’s some Natasha panic, avengers team, and as always, Clintasha. April challenge day 10!

814 Words

Spiral

...

Natasha doesn’t break down often, but when she does she breaks down hard. Clint’s seen her spiral a thousand times, and each time it breaks his heart, but he’s learned how to help her. He knows what to do, and even though it pains him to see her hurting, he knows how to make it better. Or at least, how to try. 

Therapist visits and psychological exams have taught him some, but a lot of what he does to help her is what he’s learned she likes. Warm hot chocolate and stupid movies always calm her down. She likes to train when she’s angry, and distract herself when she’s sad. But the worst is when she panics. 

Natasha’s panic attacks have gotten a lot better over the years of Clint knowing her, but every once and a while, they hit hard. And when they hit hard, everything goes wrong. 

.

The second the team gets off the jet Clint knows something is wrong. Natasha isn’t looking at him directly, she’s looking slightly to the left of his face when she speaks to him, and when she says she’s okay, he can hear a slight shake in her voice. Clint recognizes the warning sides and moves towards her slowly. If he can get her inside the Avengers facility before it gets bad, maybe she’ll feel better. 

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks subtly, and Natasha leans against him, trying to quietly calm herself down. 

Steve glances over at them, and Clint gives him a warning look over Natasha’s shoulder. The rest of the team has started to notice, but Clint keeps Natasha close to his chest. He knows she always gets embarrassed by her panic attacks, so maybe he can get her to their room before it really gets bad. He glances down at her when he hears her hiss through her teeth and knows it’s too late. 

Natasha’s hand comes to her chest and she gasps, her breathing uneven. Her other hand finds Clint’s shirt and she pulls him close, whispering. 

“Clint, I can’t breathe,” she mutters, her eyes frantic and wide. “Help, I can’t breathe, please!”

Bruce steps forward, kneeling next to her. “She’s having a panic--”

“I already fucking know that,” Clint growls at him. It comes out meaner than he intends it, but he doesn’t really care about the doctor’s feelings at the moment. “Go into my room, on the left nightstand there’s a small teddy bear, grab it and bring it here.”

“A teddy bear?” Bruce asks quizzically, but at Clint’s look, he scurries away towards the main building--and Clint’s room--without a second thought. 

Clint strokes Natasha’s hair, trying to gain her focus, but she sinks to her knees, still hyperventilating. “Just hold on, Tasha, you’re safe, you’re alright,” he murmurs the mantra over and over. 

Steve, Tony and Thor stand frozen on the jet runway. Steve looks as if he wants to help. Thor looks rather confused. Tony has a look that Clint can’t quite decipher, but that’s the least of his worries right now. 

Natasha finds his hand and squeezes his fingers so tightly he feels them throb with blood loss. 

“I can’t breathe,” she gasps again, and he can see tears shimmering in her eyes. “I can’t breathe, please help me!”

Bruce sprints towards them, the brown stuffed animal in his arms, and Clint snatches it from him, carefully handing it to Natasha. 

The second the stuffed bear is in her hands, Natasha’s composure relaxes. Her shoulders drop, and she takes a struggling breath, stroking one of the ears with her finger. 

The whole team watches in silence, and Natasha rubs the bear’s fur gently, in an almost motherly way. 

“You’re safe now,” Clint whispers to her, just loud enough that she can hear it. She nods, a tear falling down her face, but she wipes it away quickly. 

“Sorry--” she tries to say, but Clint cuts her off. 

“Stop. Don’t be sorry. It happens to all of us.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Tony pipes up, leaning casually against the side of the jet. He glances at his hand, maybe examining his nails, avoiding their eye contact. “Don’t worry, American ninja warrior. No judgment here. We all have those moments.”

Natasha opens her mouth, maybe to thank him, but closes it, not knowing what to say. 

“Okay team, the show’s over,” Clint says finally, and he helps Natasha stand, holding her hand carefully. Panic attacks always leave her a little wobbly, and he doesn’t want her to fall. 

He leads her inside and up the stairs to their bedroom, and she collapses onto the bed, curling up with the teddy bear clutched to her chest. 

“That was a bad spiral, huh?” he asks softly, and she nods. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” she says. 

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” there is a long beat of silence. “Thank you, Clint.” 

“Anytime, Tasha,” he responds. “It’s what I’m here for.”

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Sorry I’ve been so absent lately. I can’t be online as much anymore, sorry I didn't finish the April challenge! I’ll try to keep doing fics more often, but if I’m not online that’s why. This is a part two to my fic Meaningless. 

1577 Words

Understand You

...

A long time ago, Clint remembers being told that the best decisions are always the hardest to make. Though it’s probably been years since he’s heard that, he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about her. He can still remember her face as she walked out of the apartment. He’s never seen her so angry, and she’s an assassin, for God’s sake. The squeal of tires on gravel still rings in his ears. Even her driving sounded angry. 

But life goes on. 

They don’t talk for eight days. Clint knows it’s eight days because he keeps track of it. He watches her, and remembers every time he runs into her around headquarters, or sees her across the gym they both belong to, or makes eye contact with her at the local coffee shop. He has half a mind to block her number, but doesn’t have the heart to.

She doesn’t even try to text him a half-assed apology. Even a half-assed apology would be better than this silent treatment, as if she doesn’t care at all. Her stupid pride. She’s too stuck up to admit a mistake. It was right to break things off with her. She was just using him, and he doesn’t want to be with someone who just wants sex. But every time he sees the familiar flash of her red hair, he feels something. 

Wednesday afternoon, when he comes home from the gym, he finds a single rose on his porch. “What the hell?” he mutters to himself, but he picks it up anyways. “Weird.”

He unlocks the door, and the second the door handle opens confetti showers from the entry way. Clint jumps backwards, his instincts kicking in, but curiosity wins over, and he walks tentatively into the apartment. It smells heavily like perfume and spices, and Clint is starting to put the pieces together. When he walks into his kitchen, he sees her, sitting at the countertop. Music is playing softly, and there are two champagne glasses set on the counter. When she stands, he sees the matching red lace she is wearing, and almost drops his gym bag on the floor. 

“Natasha, how did you even get in here?” he asks, swallowing. 

“Please. New locks can’t keep me out,” she purrs, walking slowly towards him. “I wanted to show you I care. So here’s how much I care…”

She’s close enough now that her finger can trail along his jaw, and Clint backs away, shaking his head, laughing incredulously. 

“Stop the music, Natasha.”

“What?”

“Turn off the goddamn music.” 

She scrambles around the counter, switching off the stereo, looking confused. “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“What do you mean? What even is this, just an expensive way to win me back?” he throws up his hands, and she glares at him, a little intimidatingly. 

“I was trying to show you that I care about you,” she scoffs, crossing her arms, and Clint feels anger start to build. 

“This isn't caring, Natasha. This is sex. It’s never about feelings, Natasha, never!” he shakes his head, trailing off. “I don’t think you even know how to have an emotional connection with someone. Do you even know how? You don’t know how to love people. You don’t love anyone.”

He knows he’s gone too far, but he doesn’t expect to see the shininess of tears in her eyes. She still manages to keep her fragile pride in place, however, and she grabs a dress draped over the back of the chair and pulls it on. 

“I guess I’ll stop trying, then,” she says finally, and she walks past him, pushing out the door. He hears the steps of her heels fade away and he sighs into the empty apartment. 

Now he has to clean up the confetti. 

.

If possible, seeing her in public has gotten worse. Before, when he would make eye contact with her, she would give him a cool, even stare, but now her expression of slight hurt makes his insides squirm with guilt. You shouldn’t feel guilty, you did the right thing, he keeps telling himself. But he’s never seen her as upset as she ways the other night when they fought. He’s never seen her cry, not for real. It scared him. 

Friday, he meets with Coulson at a coffee shop for a meeting. Clint brings the coffees to the table, but the second he sits down, Coulson shuts the files closed with a snap. 

“What?” Clint asks, confused. “Wrong coffee order, sir?”

“You need to talk to Natasha,” Coulson says firmly.

“Wait, what? Sir, this is kind of private--” Clint tries, but his supervising officer cuts him off. 

“Nothing about your life is private to me, Agent Barton. You need to talk to her. I can’t have an emotional assassin on my team, it’s too big a risk.”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t know what I can do--”

“Clint,” Coulson says, a little more gently. “It takes a lot to hurt her. I don’t know what happened, but you need to talk to her. I can tell you’re both hurting.”

“I’m fine,” Clint tries, but Coulson chuckles a little, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Yeah, we’re all fine, Clint. Everything’s fine. But talk to her anyway.” Coulson smiles into his cup before adding, “And that’s an order.” 

“You can’t order me to--”

“I’m your supervising officer, Clint, I can order you to do whatever I want,” Coulson shrugs, and Clint sighs at the infuriating twinkle in the older man’s eye. 

“I’ll try,” Clint says flatly, and Coulson smiles contentedly. 

“That’s great news. Now, onto the situation in Belgium…”

.

Clint has been expecting her call, but he still waits until the third ring to pick up. 

“What,” he says flatly. He’s sitting at his kitchen counter, reading through a newspaper, but a tapping on the window makes him jump. Outside the window, standing on the fire escape, is a familiar redhead. 

“I want to talk,” she says through the phone, and Clint hangs up without a second thought. He turns around, trying to ignore her, but the tapping is so incessant that he slams his fist down on the counter. 

“Dammit, I don’t want to talk to you!” he says loudly, but he knows she can’t hear him. He hopes that she’ll get the message, but her gentle knocking keeps going, so he takes a deep breath, assumes a calm face, and walks over to his window. He opens it just enough for sound to travel through and Natasha crouches near the opening, looking up at him. 

“Clint,” she murmurs, and her voice is almost intoxicating. Well, cocaine is intoxicating too, and it’s not good for you either, Clint reminds himself. “I’ve made mistakes.”

“Surprised you’d admit it,” he says cooly, but her facial expression doesn’t change. 

“I’ve messed up. I used you, Clint. I ruined your relationships just to use your body for my own needs.” Clint doesn’t say anything, just watches her. “And I want to apologize. I don’t need to get back together, I just--”

“What are you doing?” Clint asks her quietly, and Natasha sighs, dropping her head.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to say I’m sorry, and I’m done using you. I’ll leave you alone now, I promise.” She stands, as if to leave, but Clint sighs, opening the window a little wider. 

“Come inside.” He pours two mugs of coffee from the already brewed pot as she climbs through the widow, and offers her a mug. “I’m sorry too.”

“No, don’t be. I’m the one who messed up,” she shakes her head. 

“No. I shouldn't have said the shit I did the other night,” he says, a little more firmly, and she looks up at him now, watching his face closely. 

“It was true, though,” she muses, and her eyes seem to see past him, to some place a long, long time ago. “I never really knew  love. I was trained to seduce and kill, and that was it. No one loved me there. Love got killed. Anyone who got attached to died.” Clint doesn’t dare interrupt. Natasha hardly ever talks about the Red Room, and so he keeps his mouth shut, listening. “And I guess I thought that love and sex were the same thing.” she turns to him now, setting her cup down on the counter. “That’s no excuse for what I did, I know that. But it was an explanation, at least.” “I think I understand now,” Clint says softly. “I mean, yeah, it was a dick move, but...I understand why you did it.”

Natasha just nods, looking away again. “Yeah.”

“Let’s start over,” Clint says finally, turning to her abruptly, and her eyes widen slightly. “Come on, let’s do this old fashioned style. Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Why are you giving me another chance?” she frowns, shaking her head. 

“Because...we both know why things went wrong last time. So now that we know, we can figure out how to fix it.” He steps forward slightly, taking her hand. “And I want to help you.”

“Help me what?” Natasha asks softly, and Clint puts a strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. 

“Help you understand this. Love. Living. Us,” he responds, and though he can’t see her face, he knows she’s smiling into his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together.”

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Clintasha, Natasha!whump, no tws. April challenge day 7! Hope you guys enjoy. 

1,004 Words

Let Me Help You

...

Clint knows that Natasha is hurt the second they get back into the Avengers Facility, but when he tries to talk to her about it she shoves him off. Tony goes down to the lab, not bothering to take off his suit, and Steve, Bruce and Thor start in the kitchen to grab a little post-mission food. 

Natasha skips her normal routine and instead walks back towards her and Clint’s shared room. 

“Natasha,” he grabs her arm and sees her tense up--he probably hit a bruise. “Can I help you?”

“Fine,” she says shortly, and lets him follow her into their room, locking the door behind them. 

She takes off her catsuit slowly, and if she weren’t beat up Clint’s mind would be in a much different place. She pulls a sports bra over her head and a pair of athletic shorts on and sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed so Clint can look at her. 

“What hurts?” he asks, and she just sighs. This part never gets easier for her. Trying to get Natasha to admit that she’s injured is like trying to have a philosophical discussion with a brick wall. 

“Ribs, left knee, left shoulder, neck,” she lists, not looking at him, and he frowns. 

“Look, can we just take you down to Tony’s lab and let JARVIS scan you?” he asks, and she shakes her head firmly. 

“No. Clint, it’s alright, I’ll sleep tonight and we can figure it out in the morning.” 

Her pupils are slightly dilated, he notices. She hides it well, but her hands are shaking ever so slightly. She��s being secretive. She’s being tricky. 

“You’re in pain,” he says out loud, and she groans, averting her gaze. 

“Please, just let me sleep.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, Jesus, no hospital, Clint.” 

“We should get you some meds, we really need to do a scan.”

“Clint, I said no,” her voice is firm and clear, and Clint shuts his mouth quickly. She stands from the bed and Clint watches as she walks unsteadily towards their shared bathroom. 

The door is open and he can watch her is she slowly undresses and steps into the shower. He sighs, head in his hands, contemplating his next move. He can’t force her downstairs, he knows that, and if he tries she’ll fight back and she might injure herself more. He could try to call Bruce up here, but Natasha’s anger would be monumental if she came out of the shower half-naked to see the two men waiting for her on the bed. He doesn’t want to wait for it to get bad enough that she has to admit it, though. He really doesn’t know how much pain she’s in right now, because she’s never let onto it, and he never can tell until she collapses from it. 

As if right on cue, he hears the clatter of shampoo bottles in the shower and a heavy thud, then Natasha’s loud swearing. Without thinking, he slams open the door to see her back pressed up against the shower wall, water running over her, her head tilted back, eyes closed in pain. Her shoulder hangs at an angle, and Clint can tell she’s being cautious of her knee, and so he quickly pulls open the glass shower door and switches off the water. 

“Jesus Christ, Clint,” Natasha groans, but she doesn’t protest as he kneels next to her. 

He ignores her nakedness and looks her in the eyes. “Nat, come on. We have to get you scanned, please.”

She just nods dully and he helps her stand, feeling the tremors in her fingertips as she clutches his arm painfully. 

She pulls on some shorts and a sports bra, along with an oversized t-shirt, and makes her way towards the door but Clint stops her, raising an eyebrow. “No,” she says, already knowing what he’s going to say. 

“Nat, you’re already hurt, just let me help, no one will see,” Clint’s eyebrows furrow and she sighs, glaring at him. He takes this as a yes, and scoops her up, a hand under her back and one under her knees, careful of her twisted one. 

They take the elevator down to the lab and Clint makes sure that Tony is officially gone to help Natasha up onto the table in the center of the lab. 

“Hey JARVIS, can you scan Natasha please?” Clint asks aloud, and the AI responds immediately. 

“Of course. Ms. Romanoff has a torn left meniscus, two cracked ribs, dislocated left shoulder, concussion and a mild sprain in her neck.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Clint sighs, and gives Natasha a familiar stare that she looks away from, not meeting his gaze. 

“It’s not that bad,” she frowns, and he reaches out, tilting her chin so she looks at him. 

“Let me help you,” he whispers, and her eyes widen slightly, just enough that he can pick up on it. Their faces are inches apart and she bites her bottom lip, eyeing his hungrily. 

He kisses her firmly, and she melts into him, letting her tongue scrape against his teeth. She tries to deepen the kiss but he feels her stiffen and gives a small noise of pain. He pulls back and she groans, clutching her shoulder. 

“Let me pop that back in for you,” he smirks, and she just braces herself against the table as he feels the joint and thrusts it back into the socket. She gives a shout of pain at the motion and winces. He can see that she’s bitten her lip to the point of drawing blood. 

“Time for bed?” she asks wearily, and he smiles. 

“Yeah. Time for bed. We can finish...that up later,” he gives her a subtle glance and her expression changes slightly. 

“We can finish it now if you like,” she raises an eyebrow, and he grins, leaning his hands on the counter on either side of her thighs, which she slowly spreads, holding his gaze steadily. 

“Works for me.” 

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Here’s a continuation of Restless. TW FOR SELF HARM AND MENTIONS OF SUICIDE. Clintasha angst. April challenge day 11. 

962 Words

Trying

...

Over the next few weeks, Clint is surprised by how committed Natasha is to recovery. She goes to her regular therapy sessions and even goes through a SHIELD issued psych evaluation, which he knows she hates. He watches her as she throws away her razors, and she spends more time out of her room with him. 

He knows she’s partly doing it because she doesn’t want him to worry, but he doesn’t really care. As long as she’s getting better, as long as she’s staying safe, he doesn’t care why. 

Wednesday afternoon finds the two sitting on their back porch. Natasha reads a novel in Russian that Clint couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and Clint is playing with one of his arrowheads, watching her. 

“How you doing?” he asks, and she glances up, looking slightly surprised. 

“I’m good, Clint,” she smiles. “Just reading. Why?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, and he looks away. He has to stop being paranoid. She’ll stop trusting him if he’s paranoid, he knows that. 

His phone rings at that exact moment and he slides to accept the call. “Hello?”

“We need you to come in for a few hours.” Clint sighs at Coulson’s voice. Normally he’s happy to hear from his friend, but right now the last thing he wants is to go in for work. 

“What for?” he asks, glancing at Natasha. 

“Some new info has come up about your last mission in Belgium. And...don’t bring Natasha.” Coulson’s voice has a delicate edge to it. 

“Why not?” Clint asks, carefully not looking at her. She’ll be angry if she thinks he’s trying to shelter her.

“This isn’t stuff she should see right now, not if she’s relapsing.” 

“Okay. I’ll be over in ten.” Clint hangs up without saying goodbye and stands. “Coulson needs me for some paperwork. I’ll be back in a few hours?”

“Have fun,” Natasha leans up to kiss him goodbye, and returns to her book with a smile. 

.

If Clint even goes to hell, he knows the worst punishment Satan can give him--doing Coulson’s paperwork for all of eternity. It takes almost three hours for Clint to shuffle through the stacks and briefings on their last mission, and to help Coulson start making a plan for leads to follow for their next one. Coulson was right about not bringing Natasha, though. There are too many images of mangled bodies for Clint to have felt comfortable bringing her there. 

When he finally pulls back into the driveway, it is a little after five. He figures Natasha might be doing a light workout, or maybe still reading her book, but when he opens the door he doesn’t see her. 

“Nat?” he asks, calling down the hall. She might just be in one of the rooms off the hallway. 

But she isn't. When he walks down the hall, all of the rooms are empty. “Natasha?” he calls again, and this time he’s starting to feel a little more worried. “Nat, where are you?”

He opens the back deck door, hoping she’s outside, but he sees nothing there. Her car was in the driveway, where could she have gone? He jogs to the garage and feels a dizzying wave of panic when he sees the empty parking spot where her motorbike usually sits. 

“Fucking hell, Natasha,” Clint swears loudly and pulls out his phone to call her. He is answered with her voicemail, which he expected, but he doesn’t hear the ring inside the house, which means that she must have taken it with her. Which means he can track it. 

Normally both of the master assassins have their tracking turned off, but when Natasha had relapsed Clint had given her phone to Tony to make it so that tracking couldn’t be turned off manually. Unless she had bypassed the scientist’s complex programming--she could, it would just take a lot of time--he could find her. 

It takes about two minutes for his phone to triangulate her location, and he jumps into his car. He doesn’t recognize the location, but he follows the map anyways. It’s about a five minute drive, but it feels like years. His heart beats so fast he can feel it in his stomach. Please let her be okay. Please. 

He looks up from his map and his stomach drops when he sees where he is. Coming up on his left is the tallest bridge in their city, suspended over a rocky river. No. Please, Natasha, no. But he knows no amount of praying will change the truth. 

When he finally pulls to a stop, he sees the outline of her motorbike parked in the center of the bridge. A small silhouette leaning against it gives him hope. It has to be her.

Clint has never run faster in his life than the seconds it takes him to sprint down the bridge towards her. As he gets closer, he sees that she is leaned up against the bridge’s railing, staring out over the water. Her sleeves are rolled up, and he can see blood along her left wrist. 

“Nat!” he yells, and she whirls around to face him. 

He can barely recognize her. Her face is shiny from tears, her eyes bloodshot. A discarded razor sits on the ground. She bites her bottom lip, glancing over the railing, but Clint is faster and sprints to her side, grabbing her by the shoulders. 

“Natasha,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Nat.”

She leans into him then, sobs shaking her body. He just holds her. The blood from her wrist drips onto his shirt, but he doesn’t care. She’s safe now. She’s safe. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs softly. She sounds tired. 

“I know, Nat, I know. It’s hard right now. But we just have to keep trying.” He strokes her hair gently. “We’ll just keep trying.”  

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Clintasha! April challenge day 6, just what the prompt says. (Thanks so much, I’m so glad you like my stories anon! <3)

1,204 Words

What I’m Here For

...

Clint wakes up at four in the morning to the ringing of his phone. He fumbles blindly for it where it is sitting on his bedside table and knocks it onto the ground. He swears, sliding out of bed, and holds the phone to his ear, leaning against the bed frame. 

“Hello?” he rubs sleep from his eyes, his voice croaky. 

“I need you to come get me, please.” Clint would recognize that voice anywhere, and suddenly he is wide awake, switching on his bedside lightly. 

“Where are you?” he doesn’t bother asking what’s going on. This is far from the first time this has happened, and he knows all the questions will be answered on the way home, so instead he listens to her shakily read off an address as he pulls on his joggers and a shirt. 

As a second thought he grabs a pair of his shorts and an extra shirt, in case whatever trouble Natasha’s in has wrecked her clothes or left her injured, which he wouldn’t be surprised by. 

He’s in the car in two minutes, but he makes her stay on the line just in case. He doesn’t try to make conversation, just listens to the sound of her breathing mixing with the roar of his car engine as he drives down the dark highway. 

“Which mile marker?” he asks her after a while, trying to break the silence. 

“320.” Her voice is almost a whisper. He knows that it must have been bad this time, because normally she’d insist on hanging up, that she’s a big girl, she can take care of herself, but she doesn’t protest when he refuses to end the call. 

“Almost there. Two minutes tops,” Clint responds, and he can hear her breaths, soft and even into the phone. 

He pulls over on the side of the highway, a few stray cars speeding past him, and his headlights illuminate the silhouette of a woman clad in black crouched by the side of the road. He doesn’t try to speak to her, just looks straight ahead as she climbs into the passengers seat. 

He wordlessly hands her the clothes and pulls back onto the highway, averting his eyes as she changes subtly next to him. It would be far from the first time he’s seen her naked, but this doesn’t seem the time, so he looks at the road ahead of him stubbornly. 

He pulls off the nearest exit and down a back road shortcut that will get them back to the Avengers facility and his room as fast as possible--he’s assuming she’ll want to sleep with him tonight. 

“Thanks.” She sounds strange. Maybe she’s just tired, but Clint senses something else in her voice. He opens his mouth to comment on it, but decides better, closing it again. “Of course.” 

The rest of the ride is silent, and when he pulls into the long, rounding driveway, she clambers out of the car before he parks completely almost as if she felt trapped in the car. She leans against the side of the car for a few moments, her hands firm on the hood, breathing slowly. In the dim light of the floodlights, he sees blood coating her knuckles, scrapes all the way up her exposed arms. 

“Want to go inside?” he asks carefully, and she nods, slamming the car door, and before he can try to help her inside she pushes past him, walking unusually quickly. 

By the time he gets inside she has broken into a jog and he has to sprint to catch up to her as she climbs the stairs two at a time in the dark. He almost trips at the top step, and he almost calls after her, but knows that everyone else who’s asleep will kill him, and it won’t do anything to stop her. 

She runs into her bedroom, at the end of the hallway of the top floor, and slams the door behind her. Just before it closes he thinks he hears a noise--a half-choked sob, maybe. 

“Natasha,” he leans against her door, pressing an ear to the wood. “Nat. Let me in, please.”

There isn’t an answer, just the loud rush of the water of the shower. Clint doesn’t know if she’s actually taking a shower or just turning on the water to mask her crying, but either way, he knows she isn’t going to come out. 

Regardless, Clint sighs, knowing it’s going to be a long night. He leans against her door, his head tilting back, and suddenly the exhaustion that was pushed away by the phone call crashes down on him. He lets his eyes flutter closed, his back stiff, but he’s slept in places much less comfortable. The hardwood floor is softer than most, he realizes. Before he knows it, he’s asleep. 

.

“Clint?”

His eyes flutter open to the whisper of his name, and he jerks away as the surface he is laying against shifts. Natasha has opened her door a crack, her expression surprised and a little confused. 

“Hey,” he looks up at her. “Want to talk?”

Instead of answering, she opens her door wider and he takes his cue, following her into her room. 

Her room looks like a hotel room. Bland white sheets and a large bed in the center of the room, identical bedside tables on either side and those soft yellow fluorescent lamps hanging above her bed. The two of them sit on the edge of her mattress, and Clint glances along her body, assessing for injuries. 

She is still in the clothes that he gave her yesterday, and he can see a handful of cuts and bruises along her arms and legs, though she doesn’t appear to have any bad injuries. It looks like she’s already taken care of them for the time being, and he can see a sliver of a bandage along her shoulder peeking out from beneath her shirt. His shirt, really. 

“Everything was under control,” she starts, and Clint holds up a hand, stopping her. 

“You called me, remember? Or did you forget,” he reminds her gently, and she sighs. “No lies. Come on, Tash, trust me a bit.”

“I had some unfinished business. And don’t try to get it out of me, Clint, because I won’t tell you. But I tried to walk home, and didn’t quite make it.” Her story is short, but he had expected as much from her. 

“You’re safe?” he asks stoutly, and she nods. “I think so.”

“You’ll tell me if you’re not.” It’s not really a question at all, and they both know it. It’s a demand. “Yeah.” She pauses a moment before looking at him sideways. “Why were you outside my door?”

“I didn’t want to be gone if you needed me,” he admits slowly, not looking at her, and is shocked when he feels her hand tugging at the front of his shirt. When he looks up she kisses him softly, tenderly on the lips, and he smiles into the kiss, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, and she rests her forehead against his. 

“It’s what we do for eachother,” he returns. “It’s what I’m here for.” 

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Clintasha feat. Peter and the team! April challenge day 15, I hope you guys are enjoying the fics so far. <3

1,076 Words

Playing Pretend

.

Natasha Romanoff meets Peter when Tony has him train with the other new Avengers recruits. Natasha is supposed to be observing Wanda in particular, but something about the kid draws her attention. He’s one of the most energetic people she’s met since she’s seen Clint on energy drinks, and he has an infectious, awkward smile. 

Natasha doesn’t like him. 

He’s smart, he’s strong, and he improves quickly over the weeks. Tony has to write a new software program for their mission simulators because Peter had beaten all the levels. He gets along with Clint as much as could have been expected. Clint is pretty much a teenager himself. 

There’s just something wrong with him. He’s too happy, too nice, too eager to help people. So Natasha stays distant towards the kid. 

One night after dinner when the recruits had joined them for pizza, Clint confronts her about it when she’s doing the dishes. 

“Why are you being so weird with Peter?” he asks in a low voice. 

“I’m not,” she says shortly, stacking the plates in the sink harder than she meant to. A corner of one of the plates chips off with her force, and Clint sighs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. 

“Whatever’s going on, you can talk to me,” he murmurs in her ear, but she shrugs him off before the team can see their small display of affection.

“It’s nothing,” she repeats, and Clint gives her a sideways look.

“Fine. But try to be a little more friendly. If Tony notices, he’ll beat your ass.”

Clint leaves Natasha to the soapy water and her confused thoughts. The rest of the team starts a movie on the couches while Natasha cleans. Steve offers to help, but she turns him down quickly. 

She watches the kid out of the corner of her eye. He laughs so brightly, and his smile seems to light up his whole face. It can’t be real. Can it? No one smiles like that. No kid is that happy. 

When Natsaha is done with the dishes she sneaks back to her room instead of joining the team. Being around that kid scares her in a way she doesn’t understand. 

It’s not until almost two months after Peter’s arrival at the facility that Natasha understands what it is. She is assigned to privately tutor Peter in judo, and the second they get on the mats, something in her brain clicks. He’s excited to learn, quick on his feet, and trained in a lot of weapons. He’s not just a quick learner. He must have had training somewhere else. 

Of course. He can’t be real. He’s too happy. He’s too energetic, enthusiastic, too...perfect. No kid is that happy. So if he’s faking it...it’s to gain their trust, it must be. 

Natasha tackles him to the mat in seconds, and he groans, the wind knocked out of him.

“So you teach by example?” he manages, and she pins his arms down, holding him still. 

“Who are you really?” she growls, and his expression of shock is so genuine she believes for a second he isn’t acting. Man, he’s good. “Is this...part of training, or something?” he asks, and Natasha leans close, staring into his eyes, searching for the tells of a lie. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing here? Are you a spy? Trying to infiltrate our ranks? Gather information on us? Sell our secrets to your boss?” “What? No! What’s going on?” he tries to sit up, and Natasha forces him down again. 

“You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that.”

“Acting? No, what? I’m just...what’s going on right now?”

“Please. You must be pretending, kid. No one is as happy as you are. No one. No kids just grow up happy, that’s not--”

“Natasha, what are you doing?” Clint, Tony and Steve burst through the main doors, and Natasha whirls to face him. Peter uses her momentary distraction to kick her away, and scrambles to his feet. His strength sends Natasha tumbling off of him, and she jumps gracefully into a fighter’s crouch. Clint sprints over to her, grabbing her arm firmly. 

“What’s going on?” he hisses in her ear, and she glares at him. “He has to be a spy, Clint, he has to be. Think about it, he’s trained, he’s a good actor, it has to be fake, it has to be!” it comes out a little louder than she had intended, and she sees Tony’s glare and Steve’s look of confusion. But Clint’s face shifts to one of recognition. 

“Natasha...he’s not you. He’s not one of those red room kids.”

“But…”

“He’s just a kid, Natasha. He’s a quick learner, that’s all. And he’s not pretending. He has reasons to be happy, like...friends, and family…” Clint trails off, waiting for the realization to hit her. And it does hit her, hard, like a punch to the stomach, and she folds into his arms. 

“I didn’t--I’m so sorry,” she whispers, desperately holding her tears back. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…”

“I know, Nat. I know. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” 

Natasha hears approaching footsteps and whirls around to see Peter standing a few feet away from her, looking apprehensive but friendly. 

“Um, Ms. Romanoff? I’m...sorry that things were hard for you. When you were a kid. Because...I know there’s got to be a reason that you got upset, and that makes sense. But I promise I’m not a spy?” he says it as if it’s a question, and Natasha nods slowly. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and Peter shrugs, giving her a half-smile. “It was good training. You know, for if I get captured, or something.” “Not on my watch you won’t,” Tony says firmly. “And Romanoff...I get it. There are some things that you can’t get out of your head. Some programming you can’t undo.”

“I guess so,” she mutters. “But I won’t do it again.”

“Yeah. You’d better not, or I’ll send that video I have of you and hawkboy to the press,” Tony smirks, and Natasha gives him a death glare. Clint just laughs. 

“Well, if Peter is going to stand a chance, you’d better train him,” Clint chuckles. “You know, so if you do it again, he might be able to defend himself.”

Natasha smirks at him, then gives Peter a level look. “I guess we’d better get to work then.”

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: I loved this prompt and it may have gotten a lot longer than I had expected. Sorry if it’s a little long, this was just such a good prompt! <3 April challenge day 14, hope you all enjoy the merciless angst :) Rated m for non-graphic smut. 

2,456 Words

Meaningless

...

It’s almost one in the morning, and Clint sits on the edge of his bed, scrolling through old messages on his phone. Never a good thing to do that late, he knows it, but he can’t help it. Regret pools in the bottom of his stomach as contact names scroll by. Bobbi. Jess. A million memories at his fingertips, but he doesn’t want to go through them just yet. He shuts his phone off and flips the pillow to the cooler side, staring up at the ceiling. Has he made another mistake? 

Five years ago

.

It takes Natasha almost an hour to wash out all the blonde hair dye so Clint busies himself with cooking a meal with what is left in the safehouse kitchen. He manages to make something resembling huevos rancheros and sets the plates down on the rickety dining room table. 

“Food’s ready when you are,” he calls to the back of the house. 

“Just a minute!” Natasha yells back, and he flops down at the table, stretching out his sore muscles. She comes down the hallway dressed in a pair of his athletic shorts and a sports bra, her wet hair pulled back into a sloppy bun. “That hair dye was a nightmare. I’m sticking to wigs from now on.”

“Oh, but you look so good blonde,” Clint smirks, and Natasha rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem.” 

They eat in silence for a moment, and Clint finds his eyes wandering along Natasha’s body. Her strong shoulders, the neckline of her bra, her smooth stomach. He shakes his head slightly. What are you doing? She’s your partner. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t both thought about it. They’ve played a couple on countless missions, and it’s far from the first time Clint’s wandering mind has become problematic. But has she ever thought about him that way? 

He distracts himself with his eggs instead of answering the question. 

.

Four years ago

.

The first time they have sex, Natasha leaves scratch marks along his back, but he doesn’t care at all. He rather likes them. Instead of the usual pillow talk and falling asleep in each other's arms that Clint is used to, however, she leaves, takes a shower, and curls up on the other side of the bed, her back facing him. Clint is confused, but not upset. The sex was too good for him to be upset. 

The next morning when he wakes up, she is already gone. She had made coffee and left it for him on the counter with a note scribbled hastily onto an index card propped against it. 

Sorry, had to run. Early training. See you later. -N

While Clint didn’t expect affection from her, he didn’t expect that much distance. Did he scare her off? Probably not. He’s probably being oversensitive. 

He sits at the counter, drinking the coffee--which is still warm--and pondering his options. He likes her, that much is clear to him. And it looks like she has an interest in him. He could ask her on a date, but if it goes badly it might make their partnership awkward. But they’re both spies and liars. They can make awkward work. 

When he sees her after work that day, he pulls her aside to talk to her. 

“I have paperwork, Barton, if you want to talk you can follow me,” she says briskly, so he does, walking quickly to keep up with her. 

“Listen, Nat, about last night, I dunno, I thought, you and I worked, you know? So, maybe--” she turns to face him and he stops, trailing off. 

“Are you trying to ask me on a date?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, and Clint laughs nervously. 

“Yeah, maybe I am.”

“I don’t date.” Natasha turns away from him, and he reaches out to grab her wrist but she stops him. “For real, Clint. I mean it. I don’t want to date you. Last night didn’t mean anything. Sex is just sex.”

He doesn’t bother to follow her this time when she walks away.

.

Two years ago

.

Natasha is actually the reason Clint meets Bobbi Morse in the first place. Halfway through a mission in Moscow, Natasha is hit, shattering two ribs and fracturing her left tibia. Despite her loud protest, SHIELD flies her back to headquarters, and Clint is assigned a last-minute partner to help him finish the mission. 

Bobbi is blonde, confident, and laid back, much easier to get along with than Natasha. Bobbi laughs at Clint’s jokes, but she’s just as efficient as Nat to take out the guards surrounding the prisoners and help Clint load the captives onto the SHIELD jet. 

On the flight back from their week-long mission, he asks her to coffee, and she agrees with a smile and a blush. 

Their coffee date is a success, and Clint brings her to the carnival in town one weekend. They stay up until midnight playing carnival games and eating funnel cake and laughing under the bright lights. She brings him back to her apartment and when he wakes up the next morning, she is still sleeping beside him, and when he wakes her up she kisses him gently with a smile. 

After that, they fall into a rhythm. Normally Clint doesn’t like to go to quickly--not really a man for commitment--but Bobbi just feels natural. She’s agreeable, smart, and decisive. A fun person to be around. 

But shit hits the fan when Clint brings Bobbi to the Avengers movie night that Tony is hosting at the tower. When Tony opens the door, eyebrows raise all around the room at Clint standing arm in arm with another woman. Clint sees a few of the other team members give Natasha a sideways glance, but she doesn’t even look up from her phone. 

“Hey, I’m Bobbi,” Bobbi says with a smile, and Tony shakes her hand politely, introducing her to the team. 

Clint pretends to not notice Natsaha’s subtle sideways glances throughout the movie. Her opinion doesn’t matter anyway. He’s happy with Bobbi. 

That night, Clint drops Bobbi off at her apartment with a kiss goodnight. He drives back to his apartment and grabs a book and a slice of pizza from the fridge, planning to relax, and almost goes into cardiac arrest when he sees Natasha sitting on his couch, waiting for him. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Natasha?” he gasps, trying to regain his composure. 

“Just stopping by,” she shrugs, examining her nails, and Clint raises an eyebrow. 

“We haven’t talked for weeks. Why are you stopping by now?” he asks, skeptical. 

“Why are you ignoring me?” she asks him suddenly, and he scoffs, a little confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...why Bobbi? Clint...I don’t know. She seems a little boring.”

“Don’t talk about her like that, Natasha,” he sighs. “You used to call me Nat,” she murmurs, and the softness in her voice makes him pause. 

“It’s just...I don’t know. Things got weird between us, that’s all,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d give you some space.”

“What if I don’t want space?” she says slowly, and when she looks up her eyes are bright and shiny. “What if I want to be close?”

Clint frowns in confusion, but then she stands slowly from the couch, walking towards him purposefully. 

“Natasha--”

“Nat,” she whispers, tracing his jawline with her fingertip. “You call me Nat.”

“Natash--Nat, look, I have a girlfriend--”

“Clint, admit it,” she growls. They are inches apart now, and adrenaline pumps through his veins. “You don’t want her. You want me. It’s always been me.”

“Na--”

“Admit it.”

He doesn’t push her away when she cups his face with her hand and kisses him roughly. 

.

He breaks up with Bobbi the next week. Considering that it’s coming out of nowhere, she takes it fairly well. Things are awkward when he sees her around the office, but she’s at least civil with him, so he feels a little guilty. 

But when Natasha comes to his apartment at night, the guilt all fades away. She makes him forget everything holy and he loves every second of it. But every morning when he wakes up, she’s already gone. Nothing changes between them in the field, or in the office. She is still blunt with him. He expects her to open up a little over the weeks, but she stays cold and distant. 

Their pattern continues for almost two months before he confronts her about it. 

“Nat, what are we?” he finally asks her, and she collapses onto the bed next to him, catching her breath. 

“You sure know how to ruin a moment,” she says, half-joking, and he turns to her, frowning. 

“I’m serious. Sure, this is nice, but we haven’t been on a date or anything,” he starts. “Clint, I already told you I don’t date.”

“Then what is this? Just for fun?” he questions, a little incredulous. “Come on, Natasha, I don’t just want meaningless sex. Let me take you on a date, we can--”

“I said no, Clint.” “Then I’m done,” he sighs, sitting up. “Go find someone else.”

“You can’t just leave, Clint,” she smirks, but his expression hardens. “Yeah, I can. Get out of my apartment.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Get out, Natasha.”

She does.

.

Six months ago

.

Jessica comes to SHIELD through a recruitment program to help bring HYDRA trainees into SHIELD’s ranks. Clint is assigned to monitor her training and help get her situated among SHIELD. They hit it off quite nicely, and it’s actually Jessica who asks Clint to go see a movie with her. 

She’s definitely a flirt, but he likes the teasing. She’s powerful and strong-willed, but she’s also friendly and charismatic. They go on a few dinner dates, and it doesn’t take long for them to start officially using the boyfriend-girlfriend labels. 

One Saturday night the couple ends up at a club together. It’s not normally Clint’s thing, but with Jessica’s influence, he’s starting to enjoy himself. After more than a couple drinks, they end up at his apartment as predicted. This time she wakes him up the next morning with a kiss and a request for round two. 

Things don’t get bad until Natasha gets involved, which Clint has started to predict. When Natasha and Jessica meet during Jessica’s field assessment, Natasha is friendly enough, but Clint can see the tension in her posture. He’s learned to read her pretty well, and he can tell when she’s jealous. It’s not a good look for her, he smirks to himself. But it dosen’t matter what she thinks. He’s happy with Jess. 

Natasha corners him the next day in his office, and shuts the door, closing the blinds. 

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m with Jess now, Nat. I don’t--”

“I’m sorry,” she states. “I’m sorry, Clint, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have used you like that.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have, but that--”

“Clint, I think I’m ready now,” she smiles at him. “I want to go out for coffee.”

“Listen, Natasha, I’m with Jess right now, I--”

“But Clint...we’re meant for each other. You know that. You know that, Clint.” and she’s doing it again. She walks towards him slowly, and puts her hands on either arm of his chair, practically straddling him. He swallows hard.

“But Jessica--”

“Forget. Jessica.” Natasha swipes her tongue along her lips, capturing Clint’s gaze. “I know it’s me you want. We both know it.”

He tries to push her away half-heartedly, but gives in when her hand starts wandering along the waistline of his jeans. 

.

“I saw the security cameras,” Jessica says cooly one day, and Clint almost drops the weights he’s lifting. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, though he already knows. He sets the bar down and looks up at her apprehensively. 

“I mean I saw you cheat on me with Natasha. My friend does security here, you really thought I wouldn’t see?”

“Jess, I’m so sorry--” he tries, but he knows it won’t work. 

“Save it, Clint. I’m done.” Jessica flips him off, which he knows he rightfully deserves and stalks out the door. 

Clint sighs, sitting down hard on the floor. Well, he doesn’t really have a choice now. Maybe Natasha’s changed.

.

Now

.

She hasn’t. 

They go on one date and it’s cut short when she gets a call from Fury. She has about a billion ready excuses for reasons that she can’t go on dates, though Clint knows for a fact she’s not busy at all. But she’s always free at night. 

Wednesday night, Clint waits in his room. She normally comes around eleven or twelve, and when he hears tires on the gravel outside, he puts his phone away, taking a deep breath. He hates arguing, but he can’t just let this go on anymore. 

She walks into the bedroom with a smirk, but when she sees his expression she pauses. 

“What?”

“We have to talk, Natasha.”

She leans against the doorway, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

“This, Nat! Us! We just…” he trails off, not knowing what to say. Every time he’d gone through this conversation in his head she had gotten mad, or understood what he was saying before he got the words out. This is much harder. “Natasha...you only ever want me when you can’t have me.”

“What does that even mean?” she snaps, defensive. “You can’t just say that, I--”

“I’ve broken off two really good relationships for you, and you don’t even want me! You just want to sleep with me, and I’ve already told you I want more than that. You don’t even try!” Clint explodes finally, and he sees a shift in Natasha’s expression. “You think I don’t try?” she asks, and Clint shakes his head. 

“Don’t start. I don’t want to fight. I just want you to know...I’m done. For good this time. Don’t try to seduce me in my office or break into my apartment, I’m going to have the locks changed. We’re done, Nat.”

“Clint--”

“We’re done.”

She clenches her jaw for a moment, and for a second he thinks she might attack him, just leap at him and try to break his neck. But she doesn’t. She just walks out the doorway calmly, closing his apartment door behind her. 

He waits until the sound of tires fades, and collapses onto the bed. He pulls out his phone, glancing through old messages. Maybe he’ll send Bobbi a text, just to see if she’d want to try again. He doesn’t have to worry about Natasha trying to mess things up again. 

But for some reason, the freedom he thought he would enjoy so much doesn’t feel as good as he had expected. 

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Here’s a little BuckyNat and Clintasha clash. Ballet dancer Natasha and Bucky, with a jealous Clint (oh no). April challenge day 17, enjoy! :)

946 Words

Hardwood Floors

...

Her point shoes sit on the top shelf in the back of her closet. They’ve been there for months, she knows exactly where they are, but something can’t bring her to take them down. She doesn’t want to open the box or lace up the ribbons. There’s something that stops her. 

Clint tried to convince her. “I know how much it means to you, it might help,” he had suggested one time, but she had shut him down quickly. He knew better than to bring it up twice. 

She loves Clint, she does. But there are some things that he’ll just never understand. And the reason she keeps her shoes tucked away is something that she knows he can never really get. It’s part of her programming that will never go away. Keep weapons sheathed until you need them. 

But in August, James returns. 

He comes back to the facility for the first time since he’s been in Wakanda, and there’s something different about him. When she sees him in the entryway, she has to lean against a wall and force herself to calm down until she can breathe normally again. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything wrong, but just his face is associated with terror. With the Red Room. 

When she finally greets him, he gives her a warm hug, and all the feelings of fear melt away. She smiles into his shoulder, but Natasha can see Clint’s subtle stare over James’s shoulder. 

Something is new about James, Natasha notices. He’s been deprogrammed, that’s the real difference, but Natasha sees a lot more subtle differences in him. The way he walks, a little more familiar to her. The way his voice drops slightly at the end of his sentences, the way he laces up his shoes. It reminds her of who he was a lifetime ago, back in the Red Room, when they would hide in the dark and offer each other the closest thing to comfort that they could. 

“How have you been?” he asks her, and she shrugs, accepting the cup of tea he offers her. “I know that look, Natalia. What’s been on your mind?”

“You just got back, I won’t bother you with it,” she smiles softly, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Come on, Natalia. It’s me. What’s going on?” he asks kindly, and the tone of his voice makes her willpower melt like butter. 

“I can’t dance anymore,” she murmurs, her eyes gazing out the large window. “I tried to put on my shoes the other day, and I just...can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Mental blocks, I think,” she shrugs. “I don’t know. I just can’t do it.” “Well, let’s try it, then,” James smiles to her, and he takes her mug, leaving it on the counter, grabbing her by the hand. She laughs as he drags her down the hallway, and a stab of guilt hits her when she sees Clint watching them from the window where he’s paging through a book.

The feeling goes away when she gets to her room, and James opens the door for her slowly. Her closet looks ominous from where she’s standing. There’s just something wrong about the shoes now. She can hear Madame screaming in her ears, gunshots ringing in time with the classical music, hands shoving her body to the floor. 

“You can do it, Natalia,” James encourages her, and Natasha walks over to her closet slowly. 

“James…”

“You can do it.”

He stands in the doorway, watching her carefully. She opens the closet gingerly and reaches through her dresses and jackets to the top shelf. She grabs the box with shaking hands and pulls it out, brushing off the thin layer of dust on the top. 

“Put them on,” James murmurs, and she sits down on the bed, taking off the lid of the box. Her fingertips brush the fabric of the shoes with the light touch of butterfly wings. They’re still beautiful and in good condition. She smiles softly despite herself. 

“Do you want to dance with me?” James asks with a soft smile, and Natasha agrees without hesitation. 

The studio that Tony has built in the basement is always unlocked--Natasha hasn’t used it for almost a year--and the clean hardwood floors still gleam under the bright ceiling lights. Natasha laces up her shoes slowly, muscle memory pulling the laces taught around her ankles. The pain in her feet from lack of practice brings her a little more into the present, and she stands, using the bar to balance. 

“You still dance beautifully, even without practice,” James watches her with his familiar grin, and Natasha blushes, looking down. 

“Well, I’m pretty rusty,” she admits, and James shakes his head. 

“You were the best in the academy. Come on, dance with me,” he says, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket, placing it on the floor and letting the first few notes of the Swan Lake theme drift into the air. 

Natasha accepts his hand and he spins her slowly, letting her get a feel for the wood floors. It doesn’t take long, and she moves slowly, gracefully, letting her body slide into the familiar rhythm. She doesn’t even realize that it’s been minutes when the song dies away, and she leans against James, laughing. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and he hugs her gently. 

“You know me better than anyone, Natalia,” he responds. “It’s my job to help you.”

Natasha starts to go down to the studio more often, and James is always there with a good song, or a bottle of water, or some pointers on how to improve. But every time Natasha goes back upstairs, she never fails to notice Clint’s watchful eye follow her and James as they walk back to her room.