i've been out of the marauders/hp fandom for a quite a while now (nothing happened but I just drifted ig)
However, I've suddenly got an urge to start writing all my old drafts and ideas.
Any tips/advice from anyone currently in the fandom about what I should #not do?
When I was active I was tipping more towards blackinnon - but i've seen somethings going around now that apparently thats like...blasphemous now? Should I avoid that then?
I know jegulus is popular, but, I personally don't ship it (it's still a valid and amazing ship tho). But if I don't include jegulus am I shooting myself in the foot?
ANYWAYS
I DON'T WANT TO OFFEND OR CAUSE SHIT I JUST WANNA WRITE LIL STORIES ABOUT THESE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS
PLS HELP
TELL ME ANYTHING, EVERYTHING, SOMETHING!!! (I mean it, tell me anything you think I should know)
A twelve day Clintasha fic countdown to Christmas, each fic is winter and/or Christmas themed.
Christmas in St. Petersburg by @Amerou
Agent Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, is sent to kill a target known only as the Black Widow - but Clint makes a different call.
Five Christmases, Five Beginnings, Five Golden Rings by
@QuietlyImplode/@quietlyimplode
4 times Clint and Natasha needed the other (+ the one time they didn’t). It was a miracle when that ancient lamp kept burning, bright and beautiful against the darkness. It will be a miracle if Natasha survives the night.
If you are one of the authors or know them on tumblr and they are not properly tagged, please let me know in comments and I'll add them. Please feel free to click the Iriel3000fridayrecs link below to browse more categories.
Hi! I loved your fic "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree" with Tony and Nat. Could you please write more Tony x Nat friendship?? ~ 🐱 Anon
~ Beautiful Intelligence ~
Warnings - Mentions of Natasha's lack of childhood.
An// Thank you so much for being my first request 🐱 Anon. It means a lot to me that you took the time out of your day to request. Sorry, it took a while, I hope you enjoy it.
FC -3
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“Hey Romanoff,” Tony calls as he enters the kitchen. He threw open all of the cupboard doors, in search of the smoothie blender. Not because he wanted to make a smoothie, but because he needed a low grade spinning motor for his new project.
“What are you doing?” She asked, noticing his weird behaviour. The confusion only heightened when he took out the small smoothie maker that only Bruce and Steve used.
The genius turned to give her an exasperated look. Because to him, it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Grabbing parts. What are you doing?”
“Having a snack-,” she said, holding up the half-eaten peanut butter jar, “-What does it look like?
“It looks like you are trying to make yourself sick with all that grossness.”
“Peanut butter is good for you,” the assassin states before shoving her spoon back into the sticky mixture.
Tony rolls his eyes and returns to dissembling the kitchen appliance. “That is disgusting” he cringed, emphasising the first and last syllable. Even with his back turned, he couldn’t get over the fact that she was eating an entire jar of peanut butter. Surely that couldn’t be good for you, despite the high levels of protein.
“You are an idiot, Tony Stank” she said without looking up.
The man grimaces at the name. Normally it was him who gave out the annoying nicknames, but after spending six months in the tower, Natasha had started joining in. Which meant that he, the owner of the biggest tech conglomerate in the entire world, was now a victim of annoying nicknames. He didn’t even know how she had found out about the name.
“I’m smarter than you,” he retorted like a petulant child.
“I thoroughly doubt that, seeing as you just said that peanut butter was disgusting, which is obviously wrong”
He turned away from his mini-project and glared at her.
“I am! I have two master degrees in Physics and Engineering. What do you have? What even is your highest level of education? Huh?” He blurts, not liking his ego being attacked like this. Of course, he knew Natasha was just winding him up for fun. But he couldn’t help but fall for her tricks.
“Whatever,” she mumbled and started packing up her things. Natasha rarely found herself in uncomfortable situations, but this was starting to resemble one, and she wanted out.
“No,” he whined, “I want to know.”
She begrudgingly put her snack back on the table and turned to the man. She didn’t really want to be having this conversation, but even she could tell that there was no way of getting out of this.
“Ughh?” She groaned, pretending to think about the question, “The Russian equivalent of daycare, I think,”
“What?” He blurted, confused.
“My highest level of education is daycare,” she repeated. She spoke so nonchalantly as if it was a completely normal thing to say.
“You… you didn’t go to school?”
“Nope,” she said and walked away, leaving Tony standing in the kitchen in disbelief.
———
Later that night he found her sitting on the roof. Normally Clint would be up there with her, but he was on a mission, so she was sitting there alone.
Tony had returned to his lab after their conversation, but he found that he couldn’t focus on his project. His mind was so preoccupied with the revelation that he had to give up trying to work.
After that he pondered around, trying to think of a way to talk to Natasha. The fact that she was uneducated definitely wouldn’t change his immense respect for her, nor the way he treated her. But it really did make him think about all their interactions.
Tony wanted to apologise to her, but that would make her believe that he was pitying her, which he didn’t want. The genius couldn’t think of a way to approach this. He could always just go on with life like nothing had happened, but then she would think that he was ignoring it, which could have negative connotations.
In the end, he just decided to talk to her, and see what happens.
That's what led him to the roof.
The first thing he noticed, other than the young redhead sitting on the floor, was the breathtaking view.
Even though he had lived in the tower for many years now, he had rarely been able to appreciate the sight. The only time he ever came up here was when he was heading off to a mission or coming back. And those situations weren’t exactly the appropriate times to stand and appreciate the view. I should bring Pepper up here one night, he thought to himself as he closed the distance between him and Natasha.
“Hey,” he says, the wind blowing his voice away, as he sat down on the cold concrete floor.
The redhead nods at him in acknowledgement.
“I’m sorry if I did anything, or said anything that made you uncomfortable this morning,” he blurts.
“Why are you sorry?”
“About earlier. What I said about your education.”
“Oh…it’s okay” she mumbled, surprised that the Tony Stark was actually apologising, and at the sincerity of it.
“No, I shouldn’t have probed like that. But I mean, you are smart. Like…you can hack into things faster than I can, you can read and write. You beat everyone in scrabble.” He said. Even though it wasn’t a question, he asked it like one and awaited an answer.
“Hacking comes with the job, as does reading and languages. Plus, Coulson helped me fill in the gaps. Although, just because I didn’t attend school, that doesn’t mean I am uneducated”
Tony nudges his shoulder into hers, unable to find the words to convert his condolences. He knew her past was…horrible…but the look on her face and her answer to his question was just more evidence of just how horrible it was.
“I can still beat your ass,” she whispers and looks up at his face with a smile.
“I thoroughly don’t doubt that,” he laughs mocking her retort from earlier. She punches him lightly in the shoulder as payback.
“Shut up”
“No, I’m serious. Who the hell says ‘thoroughly doubt’. Who are you…the queen?!” He exclaims, and they both end up in fits of laughter.
If you have other Characters in mind, request anyways and I will see what I can do. If you do request a character not from those options above, It might take me a bit longer to write.
>>>>----- >
I will not write
Reader fics (I find it really uncomfortable to read or write.)
>>>>----- >
Other
I'd love it if you could use an emoji - it makes my brain work better. Like at the end of your request just say - '🐳 anon' or something.
If I am unable to write your request I will let you know on @nymphadoraromanoff as I try to keep this account purely fics. That's why it's nice if you put an emoji to identify yourself.
Prompt ~ Character doesn't think they're going to make it home in time for Christmas.
Ship ~ Clintasha.
Characters ~ Natasha Romanoff; Clint Barton.
Warnings ~ Hinted depression and separation anxiety.
FC - 1
An / That's it! All twelve days of ficmas done! Not going to lie, I thought I wasn't going to make it, but alas, I did. Thanks for reading, and if you've been reading this far, please give me a follow or leave a kudos. Everything is much appreciated! I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas (If you celebrate) and a fantastic holiday season.
Also, we have Christmas Ham in Australia, I don't know if that's just an Aussie thing, if so, sorry. For those people who aren't Australian, what type of meat do you eat for Christmas? Because I tried to think of some, but Turkey is Thanksgiving, Chicken seems to boring and ordinary. Let me know :)
With Love
MillyWidow
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December 24th 9:00 am
With trembling fingers, she opened the window, hoping to see his car parked outside.
It wasn't
She sat there for close to an hour, waiting for her archer to return.
It was a tradition, to set up the tree and decorations on Christmas Eve. Which normally took the whole day to put everything up, so if she wanted to finish before Christmas Day, she would have to start soon.
But she didn't want to start without Clint. Natasha couldn't start without Clint. He needed to be here.
But he was on a mission. A mission that was meant to finish yesterday, but had been pushed back and back. Clint had told her why it was being prolonged yesterday when he had called her, but she didn't hear. All she heard was "Mission has been extended, I will be home late" and then she had tuned out.
After sitting at the window sill, waiting for someone who would never come home, she decided to just set everything up without him. Then, when Clint came home, he would be pleasantly surprised by the colourful and festive apartment. Hopefully, that would put him in a good mood. He always hated when missions went overtime or FUBAR.
By the time she had finished, the sun had set, and the owls had swooped in - marking the night.
She couldn't help but peek outside one last time before bed, hoping to see him pulling into the drive.
He didn't.
Instead, the driveway remained empty and desolate.
Natasha fell asleep wishing for her partner to come home.
-----
Across many oceans, on the other side of the world, Clint Barton sat on his creaky motel bed, wishing he could be anywhere but right there. All he wanted was to be at home, in his apartment, with Natasha. He wondered if the redhead had put up the tree yet. He hoped she had, at least then she wouldn't be sitting alone in the apartment with nothing to do. But at the same time, he hoped she hadn't decorated, because that was their thing. He loved spending the whole day with her, dancing to Christmas music and eating junk food. It was the highlight of Clint's Christmas season.
Probably the highlight of hers too.
And this year he missed out.
The feeling of loneliness crept into his fatigued body. It was a different sense of loneliness. A forced desolation that could be avoided. It was as if some invisible barrier was blocking him off from Natasha.
There was always something that prevented the pair from spending time together. It was either work or…who was he kidding, it was always work.
Every time they made plans to; go out for a date; or spend a lazy day at home, it was always interrupted by work. Natasha got called up for a mission, or Clint did, or they both got called in.
In theory, spending time together on a mission was still counted as spending time together. But it wasn't. Because on a mission, they were Hawkeye and Black Widow, not Clint and Nat.
The archer yearned to just spend time with her, alone, without the stress of work and their alter-egos.
That's when it hit him.
The reason he was halfway across the world, sitting in a dreary motel by himself, was work.
The reason he was separated from his significant other on Christmas Eve, was work.
And the job he was on now wasn't even that important. It could easily be done another day. The only reason he wasn't on a plane home right now, was because he had to follow orders. Why Clint thought to himself, It's not like they are going to fire me.
Which was true, they wouldn't fire him, he was way too valuable for that. Nat and him were the most successful partnership for three years running. There was no way they would fire him just because he left a mission early. An *unimportant* mission at that.
It wasn't even time-sensitive, it was just an intel retrieval mission. Simple and easy. Nothing that couldn't be paused for Christmas and then taken up again at a later date.
With that thought, he made up his mind.
-------
December 25th 11:00 am
Natasha had woken up on Christmas with a feeling of dread. Trepidation at the fact that she was going to spend Christmas alone, without Clint. The apartment was decorated, but nobody would see it.
Normally, they would spend the entire morning cooking up a two-person feast. But what was the point? Clint was in another country, and she was here. And everybody knew Natasha could not cook. Most of the time, she would just stand there and cut the food, and Clint would warp it into incredible dishes.
Without the Archer, she was at a loss.
So she decided to just eat one of the meals Clint had pre-cooked for her, and watch television.
She had just settled into Love Actually when there was a loud CRASH, and the far window smashed to pieces. A man came with the window, tumbling inside.
Fight or flight response kicked it, and Natasha grabbed the handgun nearest to her and aimed it at the man
"Woah, Woah, Nat? It's me?" The man said, lifting his hands up while also trying to brush the glass of his body.
"Clint?" She jumbled, confused. "What…What are you doing here?"
"Called off the mission. This was more important. You are more important"
Natasha softened at his words. The validation of his love went straight to her heart. But the soft moment ended as quickly as it came.
"The window?" She said, turning her glare onto the sandy-haired man, obviously, the positive affirmation had done nothing to distract her from the smashed glass now sitting on the floor. "Could you not have used the door like a normal person?"
"Nah, that was more fun."
She just rolled her eyes, and tossed the dustpan and broom over to him, muttering a firm 'You make the mess? You clean to mess.'
-------
After Clint had cleaned up the mess, he went straight into the kitchen, putting Natasha's frozen meal back in the freezer, and starting to cook up the infamous feast.
He passed along vegetables for Natasha to cut, while he began to cook the ham.
In no time at all, the table was set, and the food was prepared.
For the rest of the day they ate, laughed, drank, and ate some more.
In the end, Clint was glad he left the mission early because after all, nothing was more important than this.
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Question of the Day - Do you travel for Christmas or do you celebrate at home?
AN/ The title is from my favourite Christmas song. It's called 'Santas Wish' by the Tenors.
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"Hurry up" Yelena complains from one corner of the couch. She sends a faux glare over at Clint, who is wrangling a Christmas jumper onto his dog. "I put it on Fanny much faster than this," she gloats, not one to miss an opportunity to boast about how much better her dog is.
Fanny must of sensed that she was about to be rewarded because she nuzzled her snout into Yelena's lap - who gave her a loving pat.
Natasha rolls her eyes at her little sister's childish behaviour, but can't help but agree. Fanny was a lot better trained than Lucky, and Clint was taking a long time to put on the green and red jumper.
They had been standing there for hours - Melina, Alexei, Clint, Natasha, and Yelena - trying to get one photo, and it still hadn't happened.
Natasha was the one who organised this whole 'event', she had wanted a photo of her family, all together, to put on the mantle of their new house. Surely that wasn't too much to ask for.
But apparently, it was.
Because even after all her organising and planning, they still hadn't taken a photo.
Yelena had arrived late, in pure Yelena fashion. But at least she wasn't having any dog problems, and for the most part, she just sat there annoying Clint.
Clint, on the other hand, was having dog problems. Lucky did not want to put on the jumper. He was more interested in the leftover pizza he could smell in the fridge. Every time Clint put one sleeve on, Lucky would take off to find the food.
Melina was desperately trying to tame Alexei's chaotic hair. No matter how many times she had told him to comb it this morning, he still hadn't done it, and so now it looked like a birds nest. Every time she flattened one side, the other side fluffed up.
Natasha was ready. She had been hours ago. Because she knew this would happen. She knew, once everyone was together, it would take a while for everyone to calmly sit down and smile.
So she just stood there and fiddled with the camera. Making sure it lined up with the couch. Checking that the timer was working. Etc, Etc, Etc.
After standing there for a good twenty minutes, just watching the chaos unfold, she gave up. There was no point trying to look perfect - because they weren't perfect. The photo was meant to be a representation of them and their family.
"Is everyone ready?" She called out from behind the camera. All four faces (plus the two dogs) turned to face her. Yelena and Alexei confirmed straight away, Melina joining them soon after.
Clint shook his head 'No' and indicated down to Lucky, who was happily munching on his stolen pizza slice. "Not yet. We need to make sure the dog has his Christmas jumper on for the family photo!" He said as lucky undid all of Clint's hard work by slipping his head out of the jumper.
Melina, after giving up with Alexei's abhorrent hair, walked over to Clint's side of the couch and begins helping him pull the jumper over the canine. Clint sent a playful glare to Yelena's side of the couch as she loudly comments on what a good girl Fanny is.
To the archer's surprise, Melina's attempts to put the jumper on Lucky succeeded first try! Which both annoyed Clint and gratified him.
Finally, he gave Natasha confirmation that he was ready, and she clicked the timer.
"All right, when the light flashes you have three seconds to make yourself look presentable. We are only doing one of these, so if you look bad, don't," she asserts as she runs back to her seat.
The light flashes
The camera clicks
It's all over.
All that fussier something that was over in less than a second. All of that for nothing.
Well…it wasn't nothing, Natasha thinks to herself as she sits back on the large couch. With Clint on one side and Yelena on the other, her parents standing behind her, she can't help but feel whole.
In truth, this was a lot more than nothing.
This was everything.
Never would she have expected to have all of her favourite people under one roof, nevertheless taking a Christmas photo together!
And yet it was happening. Or rather, it had happened, and it was everything Natasha had ever hoped for. She couldn't help but smile at the photo. Yelena was trying to escape Fanny's kiss attack, Clint was trying to keep Lucky still, Melina was smiling at the camera but Alexei's hand was on her head in the shape of two bunny ears. The only person who was smiling, undistracted, was Natasha. She was looking at the camera, with a true smile, while everyone else around her was all sidetracked. And Natasha loved it. This photo was definitely going on the mantle, and every time she walked past it, she would be reminded of her family.
Disjointed and dysfunctional, but still good. Very very good.
Natasha had never believed in Christmas miracles, but somehow, this very moment resembled one.
------
Question of the day - Do you do Christmas photo's with your family?
Prompt ~ "I wasn't going to let you spend Christmas alone."
Ship ~ Clintasha
Characters ~ Clint Barton; Natasha Romanoff
Warnings ~ Swearing. Anxiety. Mentions of Child Abuse
AN/ This is set in the early days of their partnership.
FC - 1
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The streets of New York were bustling, not that she was surprised, New York was always busy.
More so now because it was Christmas eve. The space above the streets were decorated with great bundles of green and red. The civilians - dressed in festive clothes. Everything just screamed CHRISTMAS
Even the shopfronts, which always displayed their most desirable products in an enticing way, were decorated to fit the annual celebration.
Natasha stopped outside one window, allured by the large photo that was being displayed. It was an image of a family, surrounded by presents and warmth. Despite the fact that she knew these people were paid actors, she couldn't help but feel alone an emotion that she can't quite describe.
She doesn't understand. Can't wrap her head around why this celebration of 'Christmas' has affected her so much, or why it made her feel things she had never felt before.
It was going to be just a normal day for her. Nothing extraordinary or different. Just the same. Just as monotonous and routine as today was.
She would wake up at the same time
Do the same morning workout
Eat the same, bland, breakfast
And take the same route to work.
Except
She didn't have work tomorrow. Fury had decided to give her the day off on Christmas Day. Something about 'Living Life' and 'Experiencing Christmas Spirit'. Or something cheesy and tacky like that.
So instead of driving through peak hour New York traffic, she would sit at her apartment, alone, and do…nothing.
What was she meant to do? It's not like anybody ever taught her how to celebrate Christmas. Natasha had no clue how to 'Live Life', the concept itself was incomprehensible to her.
The young assassin just wished she had some orders for Christmas, she was great at following orders, but figuring things out for herself was not something she had ever done before. She wanted to be independent, she really did, but when you have been brought up as a mindless assassin, that's pretty fucking hard to do. She was just meant to fit in and be 'normal'
None of this was normal, she thought to herself as she opened the door to her apartment.
The apartment itself was bland. There were no photos on the walls or memorabilia on the shelves. It was practically the exact same as the day she had bought it.
The blankness of her 'home' was a stark difference from the warm picture of the family home in the shopfront.
Deep down she wished she had that. The family. The stability to settle down.
It doesn't matter, Natasha told herself. Who cares if she was destined to spend her very first Christmas alone? Not her, that's for sure.
She didn't care
But as she woke on Christmas morning, her wrist sore from where the handcuff dug into her skin, she realised she did care.
She cared about the fact that America was meant to be different.
Her life after defecting was meant to be different.
She was meant to be free of all her red-room trauma, but it still dragged her down like a rusted anchor.
She was meant to be a normal citizen, to a certain extent. Getting brunch with friends before work should be a regularity. But it wasn't
The life she had thought she would get in America was too good to be true.
A pipe dream.
A foolish child's dream.
She just had to accept the fact that it would never happen. This was her life.
--------
She was only halfway through the tub of ice cream she had decided to treat herself to when there was a sharp knock at the door
Begrudgingly, she got up from her hearth on the couch and walked over to the door, grabbing the gun underneath the table along the way. Not that she needed it, even without the gun she had over twenty weapons on her. Hidden from view.
Before opening the door, she looked through the peephole. Fortunately, it was not someone she would have to use her gun on. Unfortunately, she had no idea what he was doing here.
She opened the door, making sure to show her confusion.
"What are you doing here?" She asked the archer, who didn't seem to share her confusion.
"It's Christmas?" He explained without actually explaining.
"I am well aware of that, Barton,"
"I wasn't going to let you spend Christmas alone"
She seemed taken aback by his answer. It's not that she didn't expect him to care, it was…just…that…she didn't expect him to care.
She didn't expect him to even realise that she was spending the holiday alone. But he did, and it was amazing. Nothing, ever, in her entire life, had made her feel more wanted or loved.
The fact that he went out of his way to come to her bland apartment just to spend a crappy holiday with her, was breathtaking.
And by the looks of it, he brought gifts.
--------
Clint let himself into the apartment, dumping his stuff on the table and collapsing onto the couch.
"Word of advice, Tash, never drive through New York on Christmas day." He warned, rolling his eyes and reaching for the beer she offered him.
She muttered a small thanks before sitting down and staring at her hands awkwardly.
Clint seemed to notice her uncomfortableness and rushed to assure her.
"Here's the plan for today. We'll watch a movie and then make lunch. I brought some ingredients so don't worry about having to go to the shops. It's madness out there. Then we'll eat, and give out presents," the archer told her.
Natasha marvelled at his ability to know exactly what she needed when she needed it. Most people wouldn't think that a list of instructions would be so reassuring. But it was. The whole day, the whole month actually, all she had wanted was someone to tell her what to do. And here someone was - telling her what to do while also giving her space. It was perfect. He was perfect.
"Now, I don't expect you to get me anything, because it is your first Christmas and-"
"I got you something," she interrupted him. The look of surprise and pride on his face almost made her smile, but she refrained. "I thought I would give it to you yesterday, but I didn't know if I was allowed to give Christmas presents on Christmas eve…" Natasha rambled.
"No No No. That's all good. That's amazing, actually. You can give gifts whenever you like."
This time she did smile. A small, sincere, smile that made his heart warm instantly.
"Well, Miss Romanoff, we have a movie to watch." He joked, grabbing the stack of DVDs in one of his many bags. "You can pick which movie you want to watch. There's 'Love Actually', or 'The Grinch', Ummm there's 'Home alone', oh and the best one - we've got-"
She tuned out, knowing she would just pick his favourite one.
Despite the original awkwardness of the situation, it turned out to be great fun.
And that…that very moment she spent with Clint on that couch, was exactly what she had dreamed of as a child. The family. The stability.
It was no longer a pipe dream, it was a reality.
And if someone was there, taking a photo of Clint throwing popcorn into Natasha's mouth. They would capture a moment that looked even more beautiful than the one in the shopfront.
A moment of happiness.
A moment of life.
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Question of the Day - What is your favourite Christmas movie.
Prompt ~ 'This looks like the work of a three-year-old. What have you done?'
Ship ~ N/A
Characters ~ Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Clint Barton; Steve Rogers;
Warnings ~ Alcohol consumption
FC - 1
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The tower was abnormally empty. Well, it wasn't empty, but there were a few notable absences.
Clint and Steve were on a small avengers mission. It was mostly recon and observation, just making sure a small threat wouldn't turn into a big one. Their roles as Avengers weren't just to fight bad guys, it was also to prevent the fight in the first place.
Bruce was helping out an old scientist friend in his lab. The Avenger had been excited when his friend had reached out to him for guidance. Most of his old friends tended to avoid him since the accident, but alas, this one didn't.
Thor, like usual, was off-world, saving his planet from opposing threats. None of the team were irritated by the Gods consistent absences, but they did miss him. Heimdall had sent word saying Thor would be coming for Christmas, but you could never be sure that would happen.
So it was only Nat and Tony in the tower, and what a pair they made.
Steve had given them one job; set up the Christmas decorations. It was a simple job, but somehow, the WW2 soldier wasn't sure they were up for the challenge. The team was meant to put up the decorations at the start of December, but shit happens, and the decorations never went up.
Surely, Steve thought - or hoped, the two of them (Natasha and Tony) would be able to put up a few Christmas ornaments and tinsel without getting into too much trouble
…Boy was he wrong
At first, Natasha and Tony had just sat there. Not even moving for at least half an hour after Clint and Steve left.
They just gazed at the countless boxes lying on the floor in front of them.
Neither one wanted to be the first person to reach for the box. Neither one wanted to open pandora's box of red and green junk decorations.
They hoped that if they sat there in denial long enough, then maybe they wouldn't have to set up the adornments. In a small section of their mind, they hoped that maybe someone else would come along and do it for them.
Everybody liked Christmas, but no one likes putting up the decorations. The hassle and tangle of tinsel was enough to put someone off it entirely.
So they just sat
--------
It's Tony who comes up with the idea. Of fucking course it's Tony. Who else would think that an 'innocent' shot of 120 proof vodka would help with productivity? *Insert dramatic eye-roll*
He stands, finally, and strolls over to the extensive cabinet of alcohol.
The genius plucks out two of his finest glasses, patterned with beautiful engravings. They make a loud slithering noise as they slid across the marble bench.
The heavenly liquid sloshes inside the glass as he pours. He had obviously done this many times before because not one drop of the drink spilled out.
Natasha watches on in avid attention - watching the billionaire pour her favourite drink was much more appealing than the boxes of work they had to do.
The small voice in her head told her that they should just get it over and done with. Work now, play later. That's how the saying goes, right?
But for once, she chose not to listen to that pesky, annoying voice. Instead, she chose to accept the cup of amber liquid.
------
As the night went on, they had more and more to drink, and - unsurprisingly - the decorations were left untouched. Wow, who would have thought heavy vodka would be a distraction? ;)
At one point during the night, they had even forgotten that they had a job to do in the first place. They were more focused on the good company, and the even better refreshments.
It was only when Jarvis politely informed them that Clint and Steve were on their way Hom from the mission that the pair realised their mistake.
With a sudden burst of energy, they scrambled up and there open the plastic boxes. Their drinks were quickly forgotten as the tinsel came out. Then out came the wreaths of many different sizes. Then the elf-on-a-shelf. It all emerged onto the living room floor, waiting to be hung, placed and dangled.
Natasha giggled like actually giggled, as Tony got his foot stuck in a bundle of mistletoe.
It was actually pretty funny. He had expeditiously grabbed another wreath to hang on the door and had walked back straight into the clump of tangled mistletoe. At first, the 'genius' had tried to walk it off, hoping that the annoying plant would just detangle itself. Spoiler alert, that did not happen. The more he walked, the more it infested itself against his leg. Eventually, he could walk no further, as the mistletoe trapped his other leg and he fell onto his face.
Thankfully, the wreath was okay! And the festooning resumed.
Everything was thrown up haphazardly, without care to neatness or accuracy.
All they cared about was getting it done.
Steve had told them to get it done, not get it done well. If he wanted them to be neat, he should have said so. That's what the redhead told herself anyway.
Steve would probably have a stroke if he saw the state of the communal space, with chairs moved to help the short petite assassin reach high spots, and pieces of fallen tinsel literally EVERYWHERE.
The tinsel was cast upon the walls without a pattern or order. The baubles were not evenly spread, just placed in the most convenient spot. The wreaths - a typically easy thing to put up - were hung unevenly across the doors.
Nothing was in the right place, but at least everything was up.
And they even had time to vacuum before Steve got home.
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Clint and Steve didn't normally go on missions together, it was normally Clint + Nat or Steve + Nat. It was never Clint + Steve. A new partnership was always hard to navigate, but the mission had been a success. Well…not a success. The threat turned out to be worse than they imagined. But they got in and out of the building without causing suspicion and they extracted the information that they needed.
Steve thought the mission was a good time to bond with the archer, as they hadn't spent as much time together as they had with other members of their team.
He had thought the plane trips to and from would be awkward, which the first trip was, but the trip back home was the opposite. They talked about their experiences in the army (although Clint had a very different experience the Captain America) and talked about American quirks and eccentrics. Overall it was a good day, Steve thought.
But he was worried about the two Avengers he had left at the tower. Who knew what they would get up to together.
Whatever it was that he expected to have happened was clearly nothing compared to the sight of the communal floor when he walked in.
They had stepped out of the elevator, with little expectations, but were met with an explosion of red and green. Everything was topsy-turvy and helter-skelter (why do I love those words so much?). Except the two other 'adults' in the room. Unlike the chaotic decorations, they were the picture of calm. Sitting on the couch, sipping their drinks. Natasha even had the audacity to throw them an innocent 'We did what you asked' look.
It was Clint who voiced his obvious thoughts.
"This looks like the work of a three-year-old. What have you done?"
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Question of the day - When do your Christmas decorations go up?
Prompt ~ Snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa
Ship ~ Clintasha
Characters ~ Clint Barton; Natasha Romanoff.
Warnings ~ Mentions of Child Abuse. Flashbacks. Mentions of canon death. Graphic descriptions of death.
AN/ I tried something different today, I have no clue if it worked. It seems very…abstract? Let me know if it works :) Also, this is using pre-Black Widow canon. Back when we believed Natasha's family were killed by a fire.
Italics = Flashback
FC - 1
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Outside the cosy interior, the world was covered in white. From the tops of the tall fir trees to the shallow bottoms of animal burrows. The world was white.
It was only fitting, Natasha thought to herself, that the world was white at this very moment.
White was peace.
Like a little dove, flying high above the world. And the small bubble she was currently living in was just as peaceful. Except, she had no inclination or desire to fly above the world. Everything she would ever need was in that very room, more so, every person she would ever need.
From her sport on the couch, she watched the white covered world paint itself into a beautiful mosaic. White tufts of soft ice crystals flitter across the window. Framed perfectly by the Christmas-stocking-covered window sill.
As far as the eye could see, it was all white. And yet inside the house was another story. The warm glow coming out of the fireplace saturated the small room. It was a stark difference from the outside. The yellow beam of warmth radiated from the corner of the room. The bright colour lit up the redheads face, making her feel warm despite the freezing temperature outside.
Yellow was happiness. White was peace.
And deep in the fireplace, in the heart of the fire, was orange. A profound and rich orange that seemed almost to recondite to be real. The orange was what created everything in the room. The yellow on her face was produced by the heart of the fire. The warmth of the small house was generated by the orange.
Orange was joy. Yellow was happiness. White was peace.
But with the deep orange fire, also came the memories. The assassin had always hated fire. For as long as she could remember, fire had been a symbol of pain and suffering.
It started when she was three
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Flames were everywhere. Climbing up the kitchen counter, engulfing the entire house. It danced across the living room, just like she had done many nights previously. The fire consumed everything.
Natasha was too young to understand the true impact of this fire. She didn't know that this red hot phenomenon would bring her so much pain, and change her life forever.
An unrecognisable man (whom she assumed was her father) threw a small cup of water into the room but it had little effect. There was nothing he could do. They had no water left. Their water had 'coincidentally' stopped working the minute the fire had embarked on its journey of destruction. Little did he know that this fire was the work of the infamous KGB. Little did he know that his daughter was destined to be one of the best Russian child assassins known to man.
All he knew was that his wife and daughter were in danger, and he had to get them to safety.
His last breaths on earth were spent scrambling through his burning house, trying to find his loved ones. He never made it out of the fire.
But his daughter did.
At only three years old, she watched her parents pass on, and yet she survived. Because at the last moment, when the flames had reached the roof, a strong pair of arms plucked her from the fire and pulled her to 'safety'
She couldn't remember what she had thought in that moment. Maybe she believed that this man was actually going to take her to a safe place. Or maybe she had an inkling that this 'rescue' was not all that it seemed.
The last thing she remembered - her last memory of childhood - was the image of being carried away from her burning home.
From that day forth, she became a widow. No longer was she a child, she was an assassin, a weapon.
From that day forth, she hated fire.
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The flames crackled, pulling her out from her intrusive thoughts. The day she just relived in her mind, was what she considered to be the worst day of her life. Because without that day, none of the other bad days would have happened. Without that day she could've been living out a happy and domestic life with her family. But the fire destroyed it all
Fire was destruction. Orange was joy. Yellow was happiness. White was peace.
But fire was not all bad. With Clint it was different. Everything was different with him. It was better. With him, fire was not a symbol of death and destruction - it was a totem of rebirth and renewal. It was like that book Clint had forced her to read, the one about the teenage wizard. The book stated that at the end of every phoenix's life came a fire, but a fire also marked the start of a phoenix life. It was all a cycle. Fire was the end, but fire was also the start.
It was like her, Natasha thought to herself.
Fire had marked the end of her childhood, the end of her pre-red-room like. But fire also marked the start of her new life. Her life with Clint.
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It was the end of November. The leaves slowly stopped falling, and the winter cold set in.
It had been Coulson's idea - to have a bonfire. The ground was covered in leaves, and it was freezing cold. It was strategically a sound plan. The fire would help get rid of the natural waste, and it would also keep them warm.
But for Natasha, it would also bring back the memories.
Instead of saying anything, she just sat back and allowed it to happen. Even helping Clint and the other agents gather wood.
When the fire had started up (which happened very fast in the redhead's opinion), she had chosen the seat furthest away from the fire pit. Which coincidently also happened to be the seat that directly looked at the archer. Not that she noticed that. She was too preoccupied with the tall dancing flames leaping into the sky.
Dancing just like it had that day in her living room. The day when…
She dug her nails into her palm, attempting to stop herself from spiralling into another panic attack. Not here. Not now. Maybe later she would let herself fall apart. Let herself relive the horrifying memories that she would much rather forget.
In hopes of ignoring the pulling feeling in her chest, Natasha looks directly ahead, bypassing the bright fire completely.
It was then that she noticed Clint was staring at her. With his signature lopsided grin, that revealed the slightest bit of worry. He grins deeper, even managing a wink before she herself begins to smile.
There was something about Clint that always managed to calm her down. It made her want to believe that this would work out. This being SHIELD and America and…him.
Maybe everything would be okay.
-------
Perhaps fire was not all bad. It was possible that the old wise wizard in that children book was correct. That fire marked the end and the start.
Fire was renewal. Fire was destruction. Orange was joy. Yellow was happiness. White was peace.
So as she laid there in the small warm home, surrounded by white, she couldn't help but smile. Tilting her head up, she stared at the man who was cuddling her. The same man that she had locked eyes with all those years ago at the bonfire. Clint's blue eyes were closed, but she could still picture them. His chest rose and fell with every breathe, slightly jostling her. Through Natasha's position on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, beating softly but powerfully.
She snuggled down deep into his embrace and continued to gaze at the world around her.
She didn't have to worry about white or orange or yellow, because Clint was everything. Clint was joy. Clint was happiness. Clint was peace. Clint was renewal.
All that mattered now was Clint and the heartbeat pulsating into her ear. And the Christmas stockings that would be full of gifts in the morning.
Clint was good. Fire was renewal. Fire was destruction. Orange was joy. Yellow was happiness. White was peace. Clint was good.
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Questions of the day - What is your favourite colour, and why?
AN / If you are confused who Philippa is, see my AN for chapter/part 3; "You're a mean one, Mr Grinch"
I just couldn't get into the writing flow with this prompt. It's a great prompt, just didn't click with my brain ;)
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Find a song (find a song) and sing it round, round, round
And with ties so strong, (oh) your hearts are bound
Hold them near (hold them near)
The ones you found, found, found
For you know that this is really love
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The glistening flash of tinsel glitters brightly throughout the house. The boxes of untouched decorations lay scattered around the room.
Natasha puts up the baubles, one by one. Each ornament is special, a separate and treasured memory tied to each one. When the plan was made to spend Christmas at the farm for the first time, she had coerced Clint into promising that they would decorate it in their own way. Not like those Pinterest aesthetic trees that are colour coded and neat. No, she wanted a chaotic tree, with oodles of colours. So throughout the year, they collected. At every country they visited, they would buy an ornament. If something pivotal happened in Philippa's life, they would take a photo and make their own ornament. This way, the tree was special and felt like an accomplishment.
While Natasha was setting up, Clint was attempting to wrangle his three-year-old daughter. As it was December 1st - the day that the decorations went up - they had let her eat some sugary treats. Cupcakes, Candy Canes, Chocolate. You know the drill. Turns out, despite being two of the greatest spies in the world, they could not say no to Philippa's puppy eyes. So she ended up eating a lot of sugar.
They were meant to be all setting up together, but things had changed when their daughter decided to turn the house into an obstacle course and a dance floor at the same time. With two Santa hats on her head, she managed to; tip over three boxes; upset Lucky-the-pizza-dog, and tire out Hawkeye. It was safe to say that she was one gifted little girl ;)
"Look, Daddy!" Pippa squeaked from her place on the couch. With great dramatics, she jumped off the couch and rolled onto the floor. At first, Clint was worried for her safety, but he calmed down when she landed safely. It was then that he recalled Natasha helping Pip clear the space earlier.
Not even a second later, the three-year-old was off and running. Tearing through the house, giggling the entire way.
"Don't worry, she'll pass out soon. It'll make our job of putting her to sleep tonight much much easier," Natasha whispered to him, with an evident grin on her face. He didn't know why she whispered, the only other person who would hear them was probably on the other side of the farmhouse by now.
Clint sent her an understanding smirk. Because she was right, this would make putting her to sleep tonight a lot easier. Which left time for…other things.
Philippa had always been a great sleeper as a baby. Then she hit two years old and learnt to run. Since then, there was no stopping her. She would never tire out. Just run around for ages. She had Natasha's stamina, and Clint's liveliness, which ended up being an annoying duo to her exhausted parents.
The archer, taking advantage of the small break he had received, began to help Natasha again. Picking up the decorations on the floor and handing them to her to put up.
They managed to get through a whole box before the human version of the roadrunner came racing through. Her blonde curls bounced with every step, her face covered in red frosting.
Clint raised his eyebrows as his daughter slowed down. Not once, this whole afternoon, had she slowed down. Normally it was a constant 'Daddy look at this' or 'Mama race me'. Philippa surprised her father, even more, when she plopped herself down onto the couch
He shared a look with the redhead, both watching their daughter slowly fall asleep. It took all the self-control he had to not snap a photo of the adorable blue-eyed girl sluggishly nodding off.
In a very comical fashion, Pippa slanted over and fell sideways onto the couch, fast asleep.
"She's out," Clint whispered to the only other conscious member in the house. Carefully, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, and tucking her in for the night.
Once he returned downstairs, his wife was still putting up the tree decorations. Despite the other activities he had hoped they would get up to tonight, he knew that once Natasha set her mind to something, she wouldn't rest until she had finished it.
So unless he wanted to spend most of the night alone, he would have to help get everything done.
Pulling up yet another box of decorations, he commenced the mission of putting small objects onto a fake tree.
In the end, it didn't take long. Without the distraction of Pip, everything went a lot quicker. They even managed to finish in time for their normal bedtime.
Only one object was left. It was wrapped in a neat embroiled cloth, and placed in a small box of it's own. It was obviously special, and yet Clint had never even seen it before.
Lifting it up in his arms, he noticed how light it was, despite its size. It wasn't big, but compared to the other decorations he had been putting up, it was gigantic.
With delicate fingers, he began to unwrap the cloth covering. Once it was revealed, Clint realised it was a star, perfect for the top of their Christmas tree. It could be the old age, he told himself, but this star nagged at his mind as if he had seen it before.
The archer looked up to see Natasha looking at him intently.
"Do you like it?" She asked quietly - bordering on timidly.
"Yeah, it's gorgeous. Where did you-"
"Budapest. I saw it in a shopfront the first time we went to Budapest. While you were in Malaysia earlier this year, I went to Budapest and bought it. I- I- just…I just thought it would be cute. I can take it back if-"
"Tasha. It's beautiful, I love it," he smiled softly
Natasha breathed out a sigh of relief and took the star out of his hands. Using him as leverage, she climbed onto his back and reached towards the tip of the green tree.
"Uh, Nat?" Clint questioned, placing his hand on the small of her back and pulling her back down to the ground. "It'd make sense for our 3-year-old daughter to put the star on the tree rather than her fully grown adult parents."
Natasha looked almost sheepish and Clint's admittance, but nodded silently and placed the star back into the box.
"How about we use this extra time to be…productive?" He asked playfully, eager to cheer her up.
She took the bait, grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs.
This time tomorrow tonight, they would be sitting on the couch, admiring the shimmering star on top of their chaotic - but memorable - Christmas tree. Excited to fill the tree with even more memories in the coming years.
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Question of the Day; What is your favourite Christmas ornament, and why is it special to you?
Prompt ~ Did you put the mistletoe here just so you had an excuse to kiss me?
Ship ~ Clintasha
Characters ~ Clint Barton; Natasha Romanoff
Warnings ~ Mentions of sexual assault/harassment
AN/ I rewrote this at least 5 times and I still do not like it. It's just a really crappy story, but I needed to get it out today. I promise not all my stories are this bad, so if you are new to my account, please check out my other fics! :)
FC - 1
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Natasha had a love-hate relationship with mistletoe.
Too many bad experiences with men thinking that it was an excuse to do whatever they like with her. Besides, it was an outdated misogynistic tradition that had no place in her little bubble.
For the majority of her life in America, she had managed to dodge the ritual. Purposefully placing herself far away from the plant at SHIELD parties and gatherings
But then the 'Invasion of New York' happened, and she was thrust into the world of the Avengers. Since then all her carefully built walls had come crashing down, and the five other misfits had found a place in her heart (just don't tell them that). She even found herself looking forward to Christmas. Anticipating the cringe-worthy movies on Christmas Eve. The excitement of opening presents with the rest of her team. Everything there was about Christmas. It was a massive change.
In other news…Clint had happened.
Six hours after Loki had been taken into custody, he had said those magic words. He had told her about his feelings. Despite the whole of SHIELD thinking they had been together for ages, the pair only became a pair at that moment. A moment shared between the two assassins, under the cover of darkness in the ravaged section of Stark Tower that would soon become their home.
It was still fresh, but they had been friends for such a long time that they just melted together perfectly.
Even with her newfound family, and boyfriend, the idea of mistletoe still sent chills up her spine.
She had hoped that the red-berried plant would not make an appearance. However, living with a man built on traditions - Steve - a Norse god who basically created those traditions and a man with too much money, made that practically impossible.
Natasha had rolled her eyes when she spotted it in the trolley. Steve had basically forced them to all go Christmas shopping together, which was turning out to be very chaotic. But it also meant that Natasha was able to find out what decorations were going to be around the tower in the coming week. So she could better prepare herself for the unwanted attention.
She had asked Steve why they needed to decorate the tower in mistletoe, it seemed unconventional as it only made situations more uncomfortable. 'It's tradition' he had said, smiling in the way he always did when anybody mentioned traditions that had lasted from his childhood to now.
Steve, noticing Natasha's clear discomfort, hastily added that she didn't have to kiss anyone if she didn't want to.
It did make her feel a little better. It also made her realise that the Avengers were not like her old handlers - they would never force her to do anything she didn't want to. It was comforting to realise that. That she was safe. She was cared for.
The small conversation with the captain had definitely helped to quieten the anxiety that had threatened to bubble over.
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Over the next couple of weeks, she cleverly worked around the mistletoe, fortunately never finding herself stuck underneath it. Clint had playfully tried to trap her once, but she had stepped away at the last moment, laughing at his frustration.
She found it more heart-warming than scary that Clint wanted to kiss her. Because Clint would never see her as a piece of meat, he always saw her as a smart, intelligent woman, that was so much more than her reputation. And she loved him for that.
The archer, knowing her better than anybody else, noted her avoidance of the small shrub, and stopped attempting to 'spontaneously' find her underneath the mistletoe. Instead opting for other Christmas traditions. Hot chocolate next to the fire. Snowball fights. You name it, they did it together and had a blast doing it.
But even with all that fun and excitement, Natasha still felt like she was missing something.
She had noticed that after his last attempt, Clint had stopped trying to find her underneath the mistletoe, and a small part of her missed that. Missed the feeling of his childish pouting face against her shoulder when he realised she had moved at the last moment. Missed the determined look in his crystal blue eyes after he recovered.
So she formed a plan. The hunter would become the hunted.
Armed with pockets full of mistletoe, she stalked through the tower.
As soon as she found the sandy-haired man she pounced. Running up behind him and throwing her arms around his waist. As he turned around, she stuck her left hand in the air, holding up the mistletoe for all to see.
"Did you put the mistletoe here just so you had an excuse to kiss me?" He laughed jovially, realising what had just happened.
"Yup," she smirks as she leans onto her tippy toes to kiss him full on the lips. He returns the gesture.
The mistletoe drops to the ground, laying there forgotten as the pair break apart.
Even without the plant, which started the kiss, Clint continues on. Planting tiny kisses all over her face. Her mouth. Her nose. Her cheeks. Her forehead.
Natasha couldn't help the laugh that escaped her mouth as the archer's lips touched a ticklish spot. A real smile graced her pale face.
She realised that she didn't mind mistletoe, as long as it was Clint who was standing underneath it with her.
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Question Of The Day; What is the coolest gift you ever gave someone?
Characters ~ Natasha Romanoff; Clint Barton; Phil Coulson
Warnings ~ Mentions of Injury. Mentions of Illness
AN // Hey, thanks for all the love! Also @/hawkeyes-chicklet liked my last fic and I am D Y I N G. I am literally fangirling so hard rn. I love their fics so freaking much, I can't believe they read mine!!
Ahhhh and @/quietlyimplode just commented. I AM NOT OKAY. I feel like I am dreaming...
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All he wants is to be warm, part of him thinks he will never be warm again.
Both in physical terms, and mental.
Trudging through the snowy hills of Northern France, his body as cold as ice, he longs to rest. His toes have no feeling.
But his heart is frozen too, cold and numb. He can't feel anything but Natasha's limp body in his fatigued arms.
Through the snowy haze, he spies his destination - a small cottage on the top of a whitened hill.
"Only a bit further now, love," he whispers into her body. He hopes she can hear him. Hopes she knows that everything is going to be okay.
As he walks towards the house, his body almost gives out, but he perseveres. He has to persevere; to make sure she would be safe. For her safety, he would walk a hundred miles.
But now, he was at a loss.
The mission had been a shit show from the very start. Their intel was wrong, they were ambushed, and then they lost sight of the target. But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was when he saw one of the men pull out a great knife and lunge for Natasha. He tried to warn her, but nothing came out of his mouth, except a guttural yell. It was all for naught, as not a second later the knife sliced her body, and she fell to the ground.
A moment later, the man who dared to hurt her found an arrow through his neck.
Descending from his posting on top of a building, he ran over to her.
When he reached her, she was still conscious, but she was evidently in a lot of pain.
"Hold on, love, It's all going to be okay"
He had then taken her into his arms, and set out into the country in search of a safe place to stay.
SHIELD had a safe house nearby, that's where Coulson would meet him. It would all be okay. It had to be okay. And for a moment, as he entered the house, with his partner in his arms, he thought it might actually be okay. But then her head lolled to the side, and more blood spilled from the wound on her chest.
It was then, more than ever, that he knew she really needed medical attention.
Dust jumped into the air with every step he took. The filth from the house was evident on every surface. Nothing seemed to be clean. Which would prove finding a clean place to lay her down difficult.
From her place in his arms, he could feel her shivering, and yet her skin burned under his touch.
He knew she had a fever, but he also knew there was nothing he could do to help her. In a place like this, there was no escaping infection. He would just have to help her through it.
In the end, he decided to place her on the bed, after he stripped the top, dust-covered, coating.
Gently, he laid her down on the soft mattress. She moaned weakly as she was forced to stretch out her body.
"Sorry, my love, I just need to clean the wound," he whispered softly, collecting the first aid kit from the kitchen.
With great trouble, he managed to clean the wound. But it just kept bleeding. He ended up going through four rags, each one gradually getting soaked in her blood. Eventually, it was clean, dry, and sewn.
Once she was sated, he left to clean the rags and maybe even give himself a rinse. As he headed outside, he noticed that the snow was falling at an increasing rate. It worried him, if that snow kept falling, the extraction team would not be able to reach them
The extraction team
In all the chaos of the past four hours, he had completely forgotten to alert the extraction team of their whereabouts.
Practically running back into the safe house, he picked up his phone and called the second pinned number.
Coulson picked up in three rings, his ordered and calm voice only giving the slightest indication of the relief he felt at Clint's phone call.
"Clint! Where the hell are you guys. The extraction team arrived at the planned point over an hour ago, and you apparently aren't there."
"Mission went south, we've had to make a detour. We are at the Reims safe house. You know, the one in the hills?"
"Yes, I know the one. Why did you not inform the team? It is unlike you…well unlike Natasha...to not make sure everything runs smoothly."
Clint spares a look at the woman in question, who was breathing heavily, sweat beading down her forehead.
"How far away are you. Nat's hurt; knife wound. An infection had already set in. She...she needs medical attention"
"I'm sorry Barton. Have you looked outside lately, you're snowed in, there's nothing we can do," Coulson sighed.
Clint hung up the phone immediately. Not wanting to listen to Coulson apologise for something he had no control over.
In truth, there was nothing they could do. Except wait this out.
Do nothing but watch over his fever-ridden partner while also trying to keep himself from spiralling.
There was nothing to do, but sit in the cold, and wait for the warmth to creep in.
Dropping his phone onto the bedside table, he crawled into the bed with her. Curling himself into her body, he snuggled up next to her. From his position on the bed, he gazed at her. He could tell she wasn't present. She was awake but was locked in some sort of fever dream. He could tell she was getting worse, the fever taking every last piece of energy she had left. The faster the extraction team arrived, the sooner she would get the attention she needed.
The archer checked his phone again, hoping to see a message from Coulson letting him know that help was coming.
There was no message.
In a moment of despair, he shut his phone off, tossing it back onto the table. But not before noticing the date in the left-hand corner.
Leaning back into her limp body, he rested his head against her shoulder. Gently, as not to hurt her, he whispered three little words into her ear.
"Merry Christmas, Tasha."
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Question of the Day; What is a Christmas song that makes you cry?
Prompt ~ Person A has never seen snow before. Person B has never enjoyed snow before… not until they see how much Person A loves it.
Ship ~ Clintasha
Characters ~ Natasha Romanoff; Clint Barton.
Warnings ~ Mentions of torture. Mentions of child abuse. Hints of PTSD and Depression.
AN / I did some research for this chapter, but there are still some holes in my knowledge. For this prompt to work, I said that Clint grew up in South Carolina because according to Google, it doesn't snow there. Also, I am saying that they work in Washington, as snow is apparently very rare there. I am not from the USA so please correct me if I am wrong. Also, I have never seen snow before, so my descriptions will be off.
FC - 1
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Natasha knew it was coming.
The wind changed, and clouds hung around longer.
She knew it was coming, and she hated it.
Clint, on the other hand, did not know it was coming.
Being from South Carolina, a snow-less state, he did not notice the change in the winds and clouds.
He didn't know it was coming, and he was unaware.
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Clint was the first to wake up, a rarity in itself, but choose to remain under covers, in the warmth of the bed. Normally Natasha would wake first, head into the shower, or make a pot of coffee. But on this very morning, it was Clint.
Consequently, It was Clint who first discovered the white covered city.
Over the past few years, Washington had had a dry spell, resulting in no snowfall for the entirety of Clint's posting at the Washington base. In the rare times, it did snow, he was always out on a mission - somewhere hot and dry. So here he was, approaching his thirties, never having seen snow.
Natasha, in contrast, grew up in the snow. But unlike most children, she had no good memories of the white pillowy substance. Only bad ones. The red room wanted their girls to be able to perform in any type of climate, including below zero temperatures. And so they had trained them in horrific circumstances, traumatising the little girls. Now, just the sight of snow would trigger her into reliving painful memories.
She had gone to bed that night, wrapped up in her boyfriend's arms, without a care in the world, only thinking about Clint's warm body pressed up against her back.
She had woken up by Clint's sudden intake of breathe, as he looked out of the curtains.
The redhead sat up quickly, in a dazed state but still alert, thinking that Clint's gasp had signified a bad thing - like a marksman aiming at their window, or an out-of-control fire across the world. She was not expecting, however, to look out the window and see white as far as the eye could see. Well, she was expecting it to snow, but she wasn't expecting Clint to turn around at her and look so happy.
"Tasha! It's SNOWING," he shrieked, practically jumping up and down on the spot. She was unable to match his excitement, turning around to face her pillow, and groaning.
The archer noticed her obvious show of disinterest, and could even detect a small sign that she was desperately unhappy about the weather. He had thought she would be happy about the snow, having grown up in one of the coldest and snowiest places on earth. But he also knew that she didn't grow up as everybody else did. The red room was a less-than-nice place, from the little that she spoke about it, he could tell that the institution used everything to torture little girls into assassins.
Despite this, he still wanted to go out into the snow, the child in him wanted nothing more than to go and build a snowman. At the same time, he didn't want to trigger his girlfriend or make her do something she didn't want to.
Stepping away from the window, he crawled back into the bed but sat up against the backboard. He picked her up, forcing her face to leave the pillow, and placed her onto his lap.
The caring gesture hit Natasha right in the feels and was incapable of stopping the tears that fell down her cheeks.
"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered, wiping the tears away with the back of his sleeve. "What's wrong, love?"
She let her forehead fall onto his shoulder, as he tightened his arms around her waist.
"I hate the snow," she stated, muffled by his pyjama top. "Every time I look at it, it sends me back to the Red Room, I-I-I hate it."
Clint felt a painful stab in the chest at her words. How could he have been so insensitive? He asked himself. Here she was, on the verge of a mental breakdown, and all he thought of was making a freaking snowman!
"Well then, it's decided, we are going to stay in here until the snow has passed. You have lots of movies to catch up on, and I have never said no to popcorn," he stated, putting his wants aside for her needs. As Clint spoke, Natasha lifted her head off of his shoulder and looked him in the eye. He had been so excited to go out in the snow, and yet here he was, saying that he would lock himself inside for her. Just for her.
"Clint," she drawled, trying to keep the pity out of her voice. I won't let you do that for me. You deserve to go out and enjoy yourself. I can't keep holding you back just because I am too weak to-"
"I'm going to stop you right there. You are not weak. We all have triggers, we can't help that. All we can do is help each other get through them. SO that's what I am going to do - help you get through this snowstorm."
She let out a breath and dropped her head back onto his shoulder. He had won - convinced her to let him help her.
Gently placing Natasha onto the bed, he left to go and collect everything that they would need. Which included; six different Christmas movies; two packets of Natasha's favourite chocolate; enough popcorn to feed an army; and a weighted blanket.
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They were onto the second movie when Natasha spoke.
"I want to go out into the snow," she said in a small voice.
That took Clint by surprise. He had seen her this morning, seen how strong and deeply rooted her dislike of snow was, and yet here she was, asking to go out into the snow. If he was being honest, he had completely forgotten about his desire to go out into the snow. Too distracted by his enjoyment of cuddling with Natasha while watching movies.
But now that she expressed her desire to go out, he felt it too.
After making sure she actually wanted to go out into the snow, and was not just saying it to make him happy, he put on his winter gear. And together they headed out into the snow.
As soon as his boots crunched against the snow, she could feel her mind slipping away. But Clint's gloved hand grounded her, keeping her in the present.
Throughout their little snow adventure, there were many times she wanted to just run back inside, and hideaway. But the sound of Clint's laughter, as he made a snow angel, kept her there.
She watched him create patterns in the snow and even helped him make a snowman. In the end, she had a good time
Maybe, she thought to herself, she could grow to like the snow, and maybe even one day, she would enjoy it just as much as Clint did
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Question of the day: Does it snow at Christmas where you live?
AN / This is a part of a story that I am working on right now but hasn't been posted yet. Basically, Clint and Nat have a daughter named Philippa Edith Barton, and they live on the farm together. Once I have posted that story, I will update this to let you all know. So if you are interested in this story make sure you subscribe/follow so you will be alerted. Also, the year is 2014, and Philippa is two years old.
FC - 1
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The car bumbled its way up the gravel driveway, gently shaking the driver. The archer stuck out his hand, to prevent the resultants of his shopping trip from falling onto the floor of the car.
Natasha had convinced him that they needed more peanut butter, despite the fact that there still had two unopened containers in the pantry. He didn't question it. If she wanted more peanut butter, then he would get her more peanut butter. But he knew she was up so something. He suspected she just wanted him out of the house for something. He was a spy after all.
Still, he used this opportunity to get more presents for his girls. It was rare that he went shipping on his own. Philippa almost always insisted that they all go together. Double the chances of getting an ice cream, Natasha would say. Because he was on his own, he was given the freedom of the whole store, without having to hide toys under a bundle of lettuce.
Christmas was next week, but he had by no means left his shopping to the last minute. For the past month-and-a-half, he had been stocking up on gifts for his girls, determined to make this year the best Christmas ever. This year had been rough but had ended on a positive note. There was the shit show at the start of the year - when his wife and Captain America had single-handedly taken down the hydra-infested SHIELD. But there was also good. After that fiasco, both Clint and Nat had decided to retire, choosing to spend more time with their daughter.
The archer honestly couldn't decide who was more excited for this year's festivities - Philippa; the two-year-old - Or Nat; the 30-year-old who never had a childhood. It was so cute in both cases, and Clint felt like it was his duty to provide for them. In this instance, it was providing good and happy memories of the holiday season. And that included lots and lots of presents.
After he had parked, Clint remained seated in his car, gazing up at the farm. He was so grateful for everything he had, and that after everything that had happened in his life, he was given this home, with these amazing people. Eventually, he had to get out of the car, or else Philippa would come running out and see the new playset he and bought her. Somehow he would have to smuggle it inside and wrap it without her noticing.
Entering the house, the familiarity and warmth of it all washed over him. Everything about this farmhouse radiated domesticity to him. The photos on the mantle. The muddy boots by the doorstep.
Even though he had only been gone for an hour, he had missed everything about this place. The nepotism, the laughter, the music…and yet it was quiet. Not a single sound echoed through the farmhouse.
It was then he noticed how odd everything had been since he had arrived home. Normally, just the sight of the car pulling into the driveway would send his daughter running outside to greet him. And yet there was no screaming two-year-old scrambling up to him. It was almost as if nobody was home.
Slipping into Daddy-Hawkeye-Mode, a sneaky mode often used in extremely tense games of hide and seek (which he still ended up losing), he crept up the stairs. He was careful to not make a single sound, even after retirement, Natasha could sense anything.
Creak
He immediately stopped moving. Was that him? He wondered to himself. He looked down, noticing that he wasn't on a creaky step, so there was no reason for him to have made that noise. The archer kept incredibly still, hoping to hear the noise again, to confirm his suspicions.
Creak
Bingo! He thought to himself. Clint had stopped moving, and yet the creaking had continued. That meant he had found them.
According to his mind, the noise had come from their room. He wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure he knew what they were doing. Why else would his wife 'trick' him into leaving the house and then raid his room with their daughter?
Quietly, he walked across the landing, until he was just outside the room. Clint knew he could open the door without them noticing, after all, he had fixed the door last week, so it now made no noise.
His assumptions were correct, as he opened the door, discovering the two girls, but they did not discover him. The archer watched them for a moment, riffling through his drawers and under his bed. He knew what they were doing.
He cleared his throat, alerting them to his presence.
"Please tell me you aren't searching my room to see where I've hidden the presents?"
Natasha and Philippa both jump in the air. Natasha was shrewd enough to look guilty, but his daughter on the other hand…burst into giggles and ran out of the room. Clint tried to pick her up, but she was too speedy - already picking up her mother's physical traits - and she narrowly escaped his grasp.
He smiled as he watched her go, before turning back around to his wife. Quickly catching the playful smile that graced her face, before it slipped back into the faux guilty look it had donned earlier.
Walking up to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his body. She nuzzled her nose into his neck and relaxed into his hold.
"Don't worry, I found the presents last week. I made sure she didn't find them," she whispered into him. Without even looking at her face, he could tell she was smiling. He couldn't help but laugh, because of course she found the presents, even with his strenuous efforts to hide them.
"Of course you did. I was stupid to think I could hide anything from a sneaky ex-assassin and her mini-clone."
Now it was her turn to laugh. Philippa really was a miniature clone of Natasha. She had Clint's eyes, but her personality was 100% Natasha's.
"You're a mean one, Mr Grinch"
"How am I a grinch? I hid the presents to make it a surprise," he remarked jovially, kissing her on her pouted lips.
"You just are," she grouched, returning her head to his shoulder.
He leaned forward to plant a kiss onto her forehead, before smiling. "You know, If I'm Mr Grinch, that makes you Mrs Grinch."
Her face scrunched up in fake anger and grumbled into his neck.
Clint resumed his soft laughing before the moment was interrupted by a crash and a "MAMA! I FOUND THEM!"
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Question of the Day: Do you keep your Peanut Butter in the fridge or the pantry.
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