Sometimes love isn't enough

Just a college student who loves Avengers, Clintasha, Hawkeye, and Jeremy Renner! I made this Tumblr specifically for fanfiction, as I feel really awkward when people who know me read my writing, and therefore I didn't want to post it on my regular blog. I hope you enjoy your stay!

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Sorry! :(

Hey guys,  I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry for not updating for so long and essentially disappearing. I've been really sick, and this whole past week has just been really horrible/stressful/frustrating, and I'm trying really hard not to have anxiety issues. I've also been doing an inordinate amount of crying.

That being said, I'm working on Scorching part 2, as well as another one-shot that has been bouncing around my head. I'm gonna try really hard to have at least one of those up this week, so please bear with me!

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Thanks you guys!

I just wanted to say thank you to my newest followers, jeremyrennereverything, yummylovelyprettylife, dontlooktothepast, littlesparrow3, sarah-lou-loves-you, dontshakemytree, applejackofmyeye, kisaheartnet, and yourlovemyscripture.

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Scorching [Part One]

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs where you can put your things,” Natasha said, without looking back at her partner. Clint looked around him, still not quite believing that Natasha Romanova was actually letting him into her house. Undoubtedly it was one of many she had scattered around the world, but still. Given what a private person she was, he never would have thought that she’d invite him to stay with her during their time off from S.H.I.E.L.D.  Fury had noticed the strain that all their recent missions had put on them, and had ordered them to get out of sight for two weeks. Unfortunately, Clint didn’t exactly have that option. His condo was still undergoing repairs, as some old pipes had burst and caused a decent amount of w, andater damage to his building, and he didn’t particularly feel like traveling alone. He had decided that he would simply stay in one of the old living quarters at S.H.I.E.L.D., until Natasha firmly announced that she wasn’t going to let him just waste his vacation. “You’ll be bored out of your mind, and you know it,” she declared. She had been right, of course, but Clint had still been hesitant to accept her offer. He considered Natasha to be his most trusted friend- even more than that if he was willing to be honest with himself- and he didn’t want to invade whatever personal life she had outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.  Still, Natasha was adamant, and so here he was, in her quiet, spacious home in Belgium.

            It was very her, Clint thought as she gave him a short tour of the house. It was tastefully furnished, and everything from the furniture to the cutlery was nothing short of the finest. There were three floors, including a basement level that Clint could tell was Natasha’s personal haven. The entire basement was divided into two rooms, one being a library, and the other housing a large flat screen TV. The library, he could tell, was her favorite room. A soft Persian rug covered the floor, and ceiling-high shelves full of books covered the walls. In the center were leather armchairs, soft with use and age. Natasha showed him the rest of the house, as well as his room for the next two weeks. “Nice view”, Clint commented as he pulled the curtain away from the window. “I thought you would like it,” Natasha replied. Still with his back facing her, Clint allowed himself a small smile. He had long ago given up trying to ignore his feelings for his partner, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to let them show. At least not where Natasha could see. “I need to go run a few errands for food and things, I’ll be back in a little while,” he heard her say from the door. Clint turned around, one eyebrow raised and his hand over his heart. “Wow Nat, you actually trust me to be in your big, beautiful house all alone? Well, I feel special,” he joked. His partner gave him a one sided smirk. “I trust you with my life on a daily basis, I think I can trust you with my house for an hour.” “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Clint asked. “No, I just need to pick up a few things for dinner tonight. We can do sight-seeing and more shopping tomorrow,” Natasha replied. “I’ll be back in an hour. Make yourself at home.”

From his view on the second floor, Clint watched Natasha leave the house. “She really does trust me,” he mused thoughtfully. He felt his heart swell at the thought that he was probably one of the only, if not the only, person that Natasha willingly allowed to stay here, not to mention give him free reign even in her absence. Whistling, Clint decided to go back down to the basement to see what Natasha had in her reading collection. As he walked back into the library, he could even notice the faint scent of her favorite perfume, a testament to just how many hours she must have spent here, in her own private refuge. Scanning the book titles, Clint saw a number of titles in Russian, as well as English copies of the classics. “I wonder how long it took her to collect all these…” he thought. Noticing a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales on the shelf, he reached up to grab it, accidentally knocking out the book next to it. As he picked up the fallen text, he noticed that it felt a little heavier than it should. “Huh, that’s strange,” Clint thought idly, flipping it open. His eyes widened as he realized that the inside of the volume was hollowed out, and that inside there lay a small, leather bound book, clearly worn with time and use. The archer swallowed hard as he stared at it, not quite sure what to do. He was incredibly curious, but also hesitant. He had no idea what this book was, but he did know that it was definitely none of his business, especially since it was probably Natasha’s. Glancing out the library doors, Clint listened hard. He could hear no sound in the house, and knew that as silent as his partner was, he would still be able to sense her presence if she were there. He looked up at the ceiling and surrounding walls, weighing in his the mind the probabilities that Natasha had any hidden video cameras installed. “Probably not…she doesn’t like relying on technology,” Clint thought.

Suddenly a sense of guilt overcame him. What was he doing, going through Natasha’s personal things?  She put so much trust into him, even offering her own to him, and here he was, risking all of that after barely walking through the door. Even so, he couldn’t help biting his lip as he stared at the book. There was still so much he didn’t know about Natasha, and wasn’t he entitled to know if she had any big secrets? He was her partner, after all. In his heart, Clint knew that he was just giving excuses for something that was actually wrong and inexcusable, but he pushed those feelings aside. “I’ll just flip through it and see what it is,” he decided. “Who knows, maybe it’s just her budget book or something.” Clint’s heart began to race slightly as he took the leather-bound volume out of its hollowed out hiding place. Opening to the first page, he saw that it was dated approximately two years ago, about six months after he had first brought Natasha to S.H.I.E.L.D. Continuing on, he began to read what written on the page, all in his partner’s elegant handwriting.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this house. Today is the first time in six months that I’ve been able to get away, and so I came here. These past few months have been….interesting, to the say the least. I was on a mission in Budapest when I was intercepted by another agent, working for an enemy organization. For the first time, I was in a position where there was no way out, yet he didn’t take the shot. Instead, he recruited me. I now work for his organization, as crassly American as it is. I never thought the day would come where I would work with another assassin, yet here I am, partnered with Clinton Barton, supposedly the world’s greatest marksman.

              Clint stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. The mission Natasha was writing about was the one where they had met…when he was sent to kill her. With a shock, it dawned on him. He was holding Natasha’s diary. Clint swallowed hard and sat down heavily on the leather armchair next to him. She was going to kill him when she found out. “Well….I guess I’m already a dead man. Might as well see what else she has to say about me,” he thought. Clint continued reading, finding out what Natasha really thought about S.H.I.E.L.D. The early entries were more about the stupidity of American culture and its’ disgusting food – Clint couldn’t help but smile at that one – but the later entries began to talk more about life at S.H.I.E.L.D. and even Clint himself.

  I keep waiting for the day when Barton realizes that I have no intention of being his friend. He keeps bringing me movies to watch or taking me to cafes (though to his credit, pumpkin lattes taste divine), as if he expects these things to make me trust him. The strangest thing of all is that doing all these things for me actually seem to make Barton happy. It won’t last forever, though. I wonder how long it will be before S.H.I.E.L.D. reconsiders its decision and forces Barton, or whomever else, to follow through in killing me.

  Clint stopped for a moment after reading that. He thought back to how Natasha had always been so suspicious of him when he first brought her back to S.H.I.E.L.D. She expected everything to have a price, and didn’t understand that he did things for her because he wanted her to be comfortable. It wasn’t until about a year into their partnership that she had begun to warm up to him. “I wonder if she wrote about that,” Clint thought. He flipped through the pages until he got to the approximate date he was looking for, about a year after Natasha had joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

  It’s been a year, today, that Barton didn’t kill me. I wonder if he remembers. He was sick the other day, so I went to the coffee shop and bought him one of those caramel flavored coffee drinks he likes. His face lit up like a child’s when I gave it to him. I think I’m beginning to understand what he means when he talks about friendship, about being able to receive something and not be expected to give payment for it. I don’t expect anyone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. to care about what happens to me, but I think I’m beginning to trust Barton. I think I’m beginning to expect him to care about whether I live or die. I think that for the first time, I might have a friend.

  Clint had a huge grin plastered over his face.  “I KNEW she didn’t just get an extra coffee free that day! She got it for me on purpose!” he thought gleefully. Suddenly noticing the clock on the wall, he realized that Natasha would be back soon. Quickly flipping the pages, he got to the last entry, dated a month ago.

              I’m not quite sure what happened, but things have been different lately between Clint and I. I find myself thinking about him more often, and wishing he were with me when he’s gone. I keep thinking about the stupid jokes he makes, or how he’ll hide cookies in his duffel bag when we go out on missions. Most of all, though, I remember how gentle his touch is when he bandages me up after we come back…and I lay awake at night to wonder how it would feel to have his arms around me. I’ve never felt like this towards a man, and lately, that’s exactly what I’ve been seeing him as. Not just my partner, but a man. I don’t know what’s happening, but it scares me. I wasn’t raised to feel emotion, or even have friends, much less feelings for someone. Yet if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to hide. Clint will never know of this.             Clint felt like he was about to faint. Natasha Romanova, the Black Widow, the most feared assassin he’d ever known, had feelings for him. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Ow!” Clint muttered. “Okay, definitely not dreaming…” Realizing that this was actually happening, a dazed smile came across the archer’s face. All this time, he had thought that his feelings for his partner were simply going to end up as another sad tale of unrequited love, but now….now the whole world looked different. A door closing on the floor above him snapped Clint out of his reverie, and he realized with a combined pang of surprise and fear that Natasha had returned. Springing out of the chair, he crammed the diary back into the hollowed out book, and stuffed it into its slot onto the bookcase. Dashing back, he barely had time to grab Grimm’s Fairy Tales off the floor and fall back into the chair before Natasha entered the room. “I’m back,” she stated, coming over to Clint. “Oh hey,” he said, turning towards her. “Got everything you needed?” “Yes, for now.” Natasha replied. “What are you reading?” “Oh, just uh--” Clint glanced at the page, “Hansel and Gretel. Pretty creepy stuff for fairy tales, if you think about it,” he said, laughing nervously. Natasha gave him an odd look, but said nothing about his choice of literature. “Come upstairs and come some vegetables for dinner?” she asked, though it really wasn’t a suggestion. “Sure,” Clint said, getting up and following her out of the room. As he walked behind her up the stairs, he couldn’t help but smirk. “Natasha may not know anything about love or what it’s like to be attracted to someone….but by the time these two weeks are done, that’s going to be fixed. Clint Barton style.”

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What happens when Clint goes out of his way to make Natasha realize she loves him?

A lot of shirtless Clint, for one thing.  I was originally writing my new fic, "Scorching", as a one-shot (as all my other stories are), but it was getting long and since I'm not able to write as often because of school, I decided to upload it in parts. Part One shall be up in a few minutes! :)

(Unfortunately, there is no shirtless Clint in part one, but there are a couple cutesy-feely moments.)

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So I thought I'd try something different.

Most fics I read show Clint as being the one who caves in and tells Natasha he loves her, but what if Clint found out that Natasha was starting to have feelings for him first? And decided to have a little fun with it, while staying over at her house on vacation? ;) Well, that's the fic that's in the works! Even though I just started school and should really be studying, I'm gonna stay up late and continue writing this. ALL FOR YOU GUYS. :3 

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Hello, new followers!

Just a shout out to bearfungxoxo, mrs-jeremy-renner, and loptr-of-jotunn! 

Thanks so much for following! :D  

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Five pages of Clintasha-fanfic-love.

FIVE PAGES GUYS. I essentially wrote a Clintasha essay.

Anyway, I'm tired, and I now have a crick in my neck for staring at the computer screen for so long, so I'm going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll have some critiques about my writing? ;) hinthint.

I've never written fanfiction before, or put my writing on the internet in general, so it would be nice to get some feedback from you guys.

Good night! :)

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No Better Lullaby

         Clint sat on his bed, wordlessly staring at the report that one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doctors had given him. His shoulders slumped and his hand trembled ever so slightly as he read to the end of the document. He was gazing blankly at the page when a sharp knock on his door caused his head to jerk up. Quickly crumpling up the report and shoving it under his pillow, Clint rose to answer the door. He was met by the impatient glare of his partner, Natasha Romanova, who wasted no time in making her displeasure known. “How much longer are you going to take, Barton? You should have been on deck ten minutes ago,” she stated, making no effort to hide her accusatory tone. Clint took a breath and nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Heading back into his assigned room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Clint grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. After shutting the door, he fell into step with Natasha, whom he could tell was annoyed with him He had brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D. almost a year ago, but in that time she had not warmed up to him, nor to anyone else at the agency. She respected his skills, that much was true, and it was that basis of mutual respect that allowed them to be the formidable team that they were.  Even so, there was nothing in their relationship that could constitute friendship, at least on her end. Clint trusted her, and knew that she would defend him if the situation called for it; he just also knew that she did it out of a sense of obligation, because she “owed him a debt”. He looked down at the floor as they continued their walk to the outside deck. Maybe it was just as well that she didn’t care personally about him, or for him; it would make what was coming a lot easier.

            Natasha gritted her teeth as she stormed back to her room. She had just returned from a mission with Clint in Warsaw, where he had managed to put the both of them in immediate danger and almost got them killed. “I don’t know what is wrong with him, but it stops now.” Natasha thought darkly. She hadn’t failed to notice the steady drop in Clint’s skills and awareness over the past few months. It had started out small; not being able to run quite as far, getting tired easily, taking longer to recover from wounds. Then it had progressed, to the point that Clints’ hands would shake when he fired his bow. Today, it had been the worst development yet. Clint had missed his target. At that moment, Natasha knew without a doubt that something was wrong with her partner, and she was furious that he had been so irresponsible as to let whatever it was get in the way of the operation. She was going to get to the bottom of this, now. After changing into a clean set of clothes, Natasha made her way to Clint’s room, her steps heavy with anger. She rapped on his door loudly, but heard no movement from inside. “He better not be ignoring me,” she thought, right before she yanked open the door. Staring into Clint’s empty room, she immediately noticed that something was amiss. Her partner was a pretty neat person, but this room was devoid of his belongings entirely. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right here, and so help anyone who tried to keep her from getting to the truth.

            Fury was sitting at his desk going through mission reports when the Black Widow stormed into his office unannounced. He glanced up, and without missing a beat asked, “Is there something I can help you with, Agent Romanova?” “You can start by telling me where my partner’s gone,” Natasha replied coldly. Fury looked her in the eye, with an entirely neutral expression on his face. “As of today, Agent Barton has resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. From here on out you will be assigned solo missions until such time that we can find another individual to match your skill set.” Natasha felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her, although her only outward reaction was to blink. “Barton resigned?” she said in disbelief, though her anger quickly came back to her. “Has he really become so weak that instead of taking the consequences for his sloppiness, he resigns? And you let him?” Natasha saw the faintest flicker of emotion cross Fury’s face, but it quickly vanished, and he once again looked like the impenetrable leader that he was. “Agent Barton had his reasons. If I did not find them valid, I would not have let him resign.” “And what reasons could those possibly be?” Natasha questioned,  beginning to feel uneasy about the way Fury was answering her. Fury looked up at her, staring through her with his one good eye. “If you want to know so badly, Agent Romanova, I would suggest you ask him yourself. Last I checked, Agent Barton owned a condo in Chicago. I trust you’ll be able to find him there.” With that, the director went back to his paperwork, clearly dismissing her. Natasha gritted her teeth, and spun on her heel to briskly exit the room.

            Steve Rogers was just rounding the corner when he nearly collided with the Black Widow. Surprised, he took a few steps back, noticing that Natasha had a more menacing look than usual on her face. “Sorry, Natasha….is something wrong?” Steve asked hesitantly. The redhead looked at him in silence for a few moments, and finally replied, “Barton left S.H.I.E.L.D., and Fury won’t tell me why.” Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh…that,” he finished lamely, not sure what he could reveal without incurring the Black Widow’s wrath. Natasha looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You know something,” she accused, stepping closer to Steve. “Natasha, I--” “SPILL IT, ROGERS.” Natasha commanded. Steve’s eyebrows went up in shock. “You’re….really upset, aren’t you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “He’s my partner, and I have a right to know what’s going on! I don’t know why everyone thinks that trying to keep secrets from me is a good idea!” Natasha said angrily, her voice rising. “First Barton starts losing his edge, then he messes up entirely, and now he leaves without saying a word?! He’s a coward if I ever saw one--” 

“Natasha-”

 “Only a fool would--”

“NATASHA.” Steve bellowed. The redheads eyes widened, surprised. She had never heard Rogers yell like that before, not with all his annoying, old-fashioned mannerisms, particularly towards women. “Natasha…” Steve continued softly, “Clint…Clint is sick.” Natasha blinked. “Sick? What do you mean sick?” Steve sighed, a sad, defeated look coming over his face. “You yourself noticed that Clint hasn’t been himself. He hasn’t been himself for a few months now. Not doing well on missions, loss of concentration, getting injured easily…he finally went to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doctors. They diagnosed him.” In the pit of Natasha’s stomach, the uneasy feeling began brewing once again, to the point that she could no longer ignore it. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, trying to keep an uncharacteristic waver out of her voice. “Leukemia.” Steve replied quietly. “He’s also aleukemic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why can’t they just treat him?” Natasha questioned at a rapid fire pace, now feeling the alarm that she had been trying to suppress. “It means that they didn’t find out about it right away because his white blood cell counts came back normal. The cancer stayed in his bone marrow instead of going into his blood stream, so it didn’t show up in his blood samples, and by the time they found out…” Steve trailed off, his face a mixture of hurt and pity. “Why didn’t he tell me?” Natasha murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t…I don’t think he thought you would care,” he replied hesitantly. Natasha’s whipped her head up to stare Rogers in the eye. “Not care? I’m his partner, I should know if something’s wrong, and having cancer constitutes as SOMETHING BEING WRONG,” she screamed, not knowing how to handle the news that her partner had cancer. That her partner was going to… “So there’s…there’s nothing they can do, is there…” she stated, still not quite able to digest what Steve had told her. “I’m sorry, Natasha, I really am. He…he’s my friend too.” Steve said sadly, his eyes shining a little too brightly. That’s when Natasha realized that he was holding back tears. She began to feel her own eyes sting, but there was still something she needed to know. “Why wouldn’t he stay where he knew he could have help?” she asked, not looking Steve in the eye. “Even if…even if there’s nothing they could do, they could give him something for the pain. He wouldn’t be alone.” Steve took a sharp breath before replying. “Clint was…he was adamant that when the time came, he wanted to go out his way.” Natasha stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds before she understood. Clint didn’t want doctors to help him die; he wanted to usher himself into death. The knot in her stomach seemed to gain ten pounds as she pushed past Steve and began running. She needed to find Bar— Clint. She needed to find Clint.

            Clint stood on the small balcony, looking out over the river. Most agents chose to buy property in secluded areas, or in small towns where they could live quietly, peacefully. He had chosen differently. There was something about Chicago that drew him; it was a large, busy city, but not so busy as New York.  He used to spend long hours simply walking around, taking advantage of free museums and the like. Rough as he was, no one could accuse Clint Barton of being uncultured. A soft knock drew his attention away from his thoughts and to his front door. Force of habit caused Clint to draw a small gun from his pocket; he may have resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D., but that didn’t mean that he was no longer a target for the many agencies he had come up against throughout the years. Looking through the peephole, he was shocked to see Natasha standing outside, wearing civilian clothing. Putting the gun back in his pocket, he opened the door and stood face to face with his former partner. The silence grew thicker and thicker until she finally said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” If Clint hadn’t known her better, he would have sworn he heard a tremor in her voice. “I didn’t really think you would care,” he replied impassively. An expression of shock and what looked like hurt crossed Natasha’s face as she began to shake her head. “You should have--” “Natasha,” Clint cut her off. “We both know that you only consider me a debt that needs to be paid back. Fortunately for you, you’re not going to have to deal with that for much longer.” He began closing the door when the redhead stuck her foot into the gap and forced her way into the room. Suddenly taking note of Clint’s appearance, she saw what she had missed when he was wearing his usual armor. His t-shirt hung from his body loosely, and his jeans looked a size too big. Purple bruises dotted his arms, and large cuts from their earlier mission were still covered in heavy bandages to stop bleeding. In that moment, a flood of shame washed over Natasha. She had been so focused on mentally reprimanding his errors that she hadn’t even noticed the beginnings of his weight loss, nor the gaunt look that was slowly taking over his features. The knot in her stomach suddenly moved to her throat, and it seemed as if the very act of breathing was a herculean effort. Clint watched her through emotionless eyes. “Whatever you came here to do, Natasha, I don’t need it. You owe me nothing, so just go. Let me die in peace.” Her eyes widened at the blatant admission of his fate, but she still did not move. “Really, what do you expect to accomplish by--” Clint stopped short when he saw his former partner’s face.

            Natasha’s eyes were open, glinting with unshed tears. As Clint watched, two escaped and slowly made their way down her cheeks. He swallowed slowly, unsure of how to react. He had never seen the Black Widow cry; he had never so much as seen her sad. “Clint,” she whispered. His eyes widened; she had never called him by his first name before. “…Y-yes?” he answered. Natasha opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She swallowed hard and tried again. “You can’t die,” she choked out. There was a second of complete silence before Clint threw back his head and began laughing. Natasha stared at him, almost fearful as she watched him laugh crazily, as if she had just said the funniest thing in the world. “Ahh, that’s a good one, you really had me going there,” Clint chuckled, looking at her with a big grin plastered on his face. “ ‘Don’t die?’ Oh, that’s rich, real rich.” He stepped closer to her, to the point that his face was only inches from hers. “Let me tell you something, honey,” he said, sneering. “You’re looking at a dead man. So forget trying to pay me back for saving you. The only favors I’ll be needing are coming from a bottle of whiskey and bullet.” Clint chuckled again, glancing downwards and therefore not noticing Natasha’s hand coming at him until he felt it make contact with his face. He looked up at her in surprise, another grin coming over his face. “You don’t hold back your punches even with a dead man, huh? Good for--” Clint didn’t have a chance to finish, as Natasha grabbed his face to hers, and suddenly all he could feel was her lips on his. His mind went blank as he slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling closer to him. He had imagined this moment a number of times, but his imagination did no justice to the real thing. Natasha tasted like honey and tears, and her body seemed smaller when pressed up against his own. Slowly, they broke apart, with Natasha staring straight ahead and Clint looking down at her face. “Well…I gotta hand it to you, I wasn’t expecting that. Did you want to see what kissing a dead guy felt like?” He felt Natasha stiffen in his arms as she slowly raised her head to meet his eyes. “I came here,” she said slowly, “to stop you.” The archer raised his eyebrow. “Stop me? Why? Why prolong the inevitable?” “Is it inevitable? Is it Clint?” Natasha burst out. “Look me in the eye and tell me that there’s absolutely no way to save you.” Clint looked away as he unwrapped his arms from Natasha’s body and walked over to the couch. Sitting down wearily, he leaned back into the cushions. “There’s a good possibility that one of the projects Stark has developed could reverse the leukemia. It’s only a prototype, but it’s shown promise,” he admitted. Natasha stared hard at him. “If there’s a way for you to live, why on earth would you hole yourself up here, just so you can drink liquor and shoot yourself when you’ve had enough?!”

Clint chuckled humorlessly. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, turning his head to look at her. “Even if I do survive, look at what’s been done. The damage to my body, how long do you think it will take Stark to repair that? Even if I live, I won’t be able to be an agent. I won’t be the master archer. I’ll be just a man.” “So what?” Natasha replied. “Is that really so bad? At least you’ll be alive!” “What if it were you?” Clint asked, piercing her with his gaze. Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when she realized that there was nothing she could honestly say. Clint saw the realization in her eyes and laughed. “When fighting and killing is the only life you’ve ever known, how are you supposed to just…stop? What would I do, go back to shooting arrows through plates at a circus? No. I’m a fighter, Natasha, just like you. We live for the thrill, the rush, the challenge. Without that, there’s nothing.”

“What if you had me?”

Clint simply stared at her, her words hanging like a blanket over the room. There was no way he had heard her correctly. “What?”

“I said,” Natasha continued, stepping towards him, “what if you had me?”

 “Is this some sort of joke? All these months we’ve been partners and you still treated me as coldly as the day you tried to kill me, and now all of a sudden you’re kissing me?”

Natasha took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “Clint, before you, I never had a partner. I never had a…a friend. Someone to have my back, someone that I could trust not to slit my throat while I slept. When you brought me back to S.H.I.E.L.D., I didn’t know what to think. At first, I thought that maybe it was some sort of ploy to get me to sleep with you, but that never happened. You didn’t even touch me unless it was necessary, though I could tell that you wanted to.” At this, Clint began to say something, but Natasha cut him short. “Please, Clint, let me finish. I’ve known that you’ve had feelings for me for a while. Honestly, I thought that you would get fed up with me, and either try to force yourself on me or just give up entirely. But neither happened. You stayed at my side, in spite of my coldness towards you, and you were never anything but kind. I didn’t know how to react. I wasn’t…I was never taught how to respond to love, and so…I shut you out.” Natasha looked down at the floor. “It wasn’t until Rogers told me about your…condition that I realized I had wasted a lot of opportunities.” She looked back up and stared Clint straight in the eye. “I realized that I had wasted the love of a man who never once wanted anything but for me to be safe, to have a chance at…at being happy, whatever happiness is. I’m sorry it took me this long, but I’m here now. I want to make things right. And even if you no longer want me, I…I want you to live. I need you to live. I need to know that fate makes allowances for the good people of this world. I may not be one of them, but you are. And I just…I just need you to be okay.” Natasha stopped, more tears falling from her eyes. Clint closed his eyes and sighed. “Come here,” he said, motioning towards her with his arms open. Hesitantly, Natasha walked towards him, falling onto his lap as he pulled her down towards him. Burying his face into her hair, Clint muttered, “The irony…the woman I dreamed of finally wants me, and here I am, a broken wreck of a man.” Natasha pulled away enough for her to place her hands on either side of his face. “You aren’t broken, Clint Barton. You might be weak right now, but you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. You will recover, and you’ll come back even stronger than before.” Clint smiled softly, looking into Natasha’s eyes. “Who would’ve known that it would take getting a life-threatening disease for you to realize you loved me. If I had known that, I would’ve gotten it sooner,” he teased. The redhead shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “Just promise me you’ll get better,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. “We’ll go see Stark tonight,” Clint responded, “just as soon as I take care of some unfinished business.” Pulling her close to him, Clint kissed her deeply, saying everything with that kiss that he could not say in words. How much he cared for her, how much he had longed for her, how he had planned to be thinking of her when he put that gun to his head and pulled the trigger. But now, she was here. She was here, and he had everything to live for.

                                                                        -Five months later-

              Natasha awoke from her sleep slowly, unsure why she was waking up in the first place. The red digits on the alarm clock read 4:36am, still too early for her to be up. Feeling a strong arm around her waist, Natasha realized what had woken her. Rolling over, she looked at the archer sleeping next to her. She smiled as she ran her finger down the side of his face, noting that the bruises were gone and he was no longer as pale as he had once been. She snuggled closer to Clint, causing him to tighten his arm around her, even in his sleep. Placing her hand over his chest, she felt the stable beat of his heart, and closed her eyes. She could never remember being sung to sleep as a child, but even if she had been, she could think of no better lullaby than the steady rhythm of her lovers’ heart, soothing her into sleep. 

[reminiscientxoxo]

New fic will be up soon!

Just a warning, there's a lot of angst. 

I've also realized that there's an interesting disproportion in Clintasha fanfiction. Almost always, it's Clint who will suffer some kind of permanent or semi-permanent damage; blindness, loss of hearing, etc, while Natasha either dies or only suffers from wounds that soon heal. I find it interesting that I have yet to read a fanfiction where Natasha is the one faced with a permanent disability. 

In other news, the song "Summertime Sadness" by Lana Del Rey is just crying out for me to write a Clintasha fanfic to it. What do you think?

[reminiscientxoxo]

New followers! :)

Just wanted to say a thank you to my newest followers, dreamingofdixie, thisismyfantasyland, me-aginsttheworld, and o-m-i-chaos ! :)

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[reminiscientxoxo]

A Clintasha fanfic based off the song "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt.

[reminiscientxoxo]

You're Beautiful

         Clint’s boots made a soft crunching noise in the snow as he walked towards the subway. He had just completed a mission and was heading to the extraction site, though he had been told that there would be a delay of about an hour before S.H.I.E.L.D. could pick him up. “I’m the one doing all the dirty work, you’d think they could at least show up on time,” Clint muttered under his breath. He sighed as he looked at the bustling city around him. Budapest was a lovely city, he had to admit. One day he would like to be able to travel for his own enjoyment, not just these in-and-out missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. that seemed so out of place in beautiful places such as this. Clint sighed again. “No real use in traveling alone though…” he murmured ruefully. His status as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents didn’t lend itself to lots of time for relationships, especially with civilians. The few times he had tried that out didn’t last long, not after the woman in question got an inkling of just what it was he did for a living. Any sort of companion of his would have to be an agent as well, but there just wasn’t anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. he felt he could truly connect with on that level. At this point, maybe he was just better off on his own.

            Clint bought himself a card for the train, and made his way down to the subway. Wearing a gray T-shirt, black leather jacket, dark blue jeans and work boots, he looked nothing like the deadly assassin that he was. Few would suspect that the duffel bag he carried over his shoulder actually stored his bow, quiver, and specialized gear. Walking down the platform, Clint put his ear buds in and his iPod on shuffle. It was probably an irresponsible thing to do given that any number of enemy forces could be looking for him at the moment, but if there was anything that could make Clint Barton feel better, it was music. Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he continued walking further down the platform, finally stopping where there weren’t so many people milling about. Leaning against one of the columns, he gazed across the train tracks to other side of the platform, where a flash of red caught his eye.

 Looking slightly to the left, his eyebrows raised involuntarily as he saw a beautiful young woman with long, curly hair as red as the blood he had just shed an hour prior. “There’s no way that’s her real hair color…” Clint thought as he stared at her. Her skin was as white and smooth as porcelain, contrasting starkly with the fiery red of her hair. Her eyes were a dark green, sparkling with mischievousness yet reserved at the same time. She was dressed in tall, shiny, black boots and a classy black trench coat that hit just above her knee. Holding onto the arm of a much older man that could have passed as her father, she laughed brightly at whatever remark he had just made. “Maybe she’s an escort?” Clint thought as he observed the way she fairly hung off the man’s arm. At that moment, the woman looked in his direction, with a decidedly cunning glint in her eye. Clint was surprised, but raised an eyebrow at her as he tilted his head slightly in the direction of her companion. The woman smiled sarcastically and rolled her eyes, while giving the most miniscule of shrugs. Clint chuckled as he glanced down at the floor, and was once again surprised as he saw her staring at him when he looked up. This time, she gave him a small smile, rid of any sarcasm. Clint grinned back, a few seconds before his train pulled into the platform. Shrugging his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder, he boarded the train and took a seat on the opposite side of the car, next to the window. Glancing out, he saw that a train had pulled in for the other side of the platform as well, and that the beautiful redhead was sitting at the window seat that was directly next to his. The two shared one last smile before both their trains began pulling forward, in opposite directions. Leaning back into his seat, Clint sighed as “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt started playing on his iPod. “Well, you’re right about that, James. She’s beautiful, and I’m never gonna see her again…”

            That evening, Clint sat in Director Fury’s office, already receiving his next assignment. “What? No vacation? I’m pretty sure there are laws against working employees for days on end,” Clint joked to his boss. “This is an urgent matter, Barton,” Fury said humorlessly. “There’s a Russian spy who has been taking out people that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping tabs on or whose information we need. She’s one of the very best, which is why she’s escaped S.H.I.E.L.D.’s forces in prior missions. But now,” Fury dropped a thin, beige folder in front of Clint, “we need her gone. Permanently.” Clint raised an eyebrow jauntily at his boss. “All this fuss over one little girl? How bad could she--” he stopped short, eyes widening as he opened the folder, and saw the face on the file. “No…no…there is just no way…” he thought dazedly, as the bright red of the spies’ hair blurred on the piece of paper before him. “This,” Clint choked out, jabbing a finger at the file, “this is her? The Russian spy that no one can get rid of?” “Her name is Natasha Alianova Romanova, and yes, no has been able to get rid of her. Until now.” Fury said, looking pointedly at Clint. “You’ve been chosen for this mission because you never miss a target. Therefore, like her, you are the best. I don’t want to be disappointed, am I clear?” “Yessir…” Clint mumbled, not looking Director Fury in the eye. “Is something wrong, agent?” Fury asked, raising an eyebrow. He had sent Clint on some questionable missions in the past, but had never seen him so shocked at seeing his next target. “No…nothing.” Clint replied quietly. “Good. You’re going back to Budapest.” Fury said briskly. “I expect you packed and ready to go in 30 minutes.” Clint nodded wordlessly as he took the folder and walked out the door, an expression of grim determination on his face. “No wonder…” he thought to himself. “That was no old man wanting an escort…that was her mark.” Clint sighed as he grabbed his bag and threw in some fresh clothes. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he picked up the case with his bow and made his way to the plane that would take him to Budapest once again. When he got there, he sank wearily into the cushioned seat, following all the safety procedures as the plane lifted off towards its destination. Popping his earbuds in, Clint gazed out the window without really seeing anything. In his minds’ eye, all he saw was the face of his target, smiling at him from across the train tracks.

  I saw your face, in a crowded place, and I don’t know what to do….cause I’ll never be with you.

  The words from the James Blunt song startled him out of his reverie, and he pulled the ear buds out with disdain, throwing them onto the seat next to him. “I guess it’s true, the pretty ones really do die young.” Clint muttered to himself. “What was that, agent?” the junior agent in charge of drop-offs asked. “Nothing,” Clint replied dejectedly. “Nothing at all...”

            Four years later, Clint sat on the edge of a bed in an upscale hotel room, waiting for his partner to finish changing. They were going undercover at a charity benefit for the rich and famous tonight, and both were required to look the part. He looked up as the bathroom door opened, and his partner emerged. Clothed in a floor length, strapless navy gown that made her fair skin seem even fairer, her green eyes seemed to smile as she did a small twirl for him, making her red hair spin around her like a veil. “What do you think?” she asked nonchalantly, knowing the effect she had on her partner, and trying to cover up the effect that seeing him in a tux was having on her. Clint smiled as he took in the sight of her. After four years, he was finally able to say the words that he had wanted to say the day he first saw her, on a bustling train platform in Budapest.

                                                                                                        “You’re beautiful.”

  There must be an angel, with a smile on her face, when she thought up that I should be with you…

[reminiscientxoxo]

That's What Mothers (And Lovers) Do

     Groggily, Natasha managed to open her eyes a fraction of an inch. Whatever had been in that cough syrup last night had really done her in; all she could remember was Clint bringing her hot tea to get rid of the repulsive taste in her mouth. Stretching slowly, Natasha froze as she realized that there was someone leaning over her. Her eyes flew open as she tried to roll away, only to be stopped short by a strong arm that she had failed to notice was encircled around her waist. “Nat? What are you doing?”, a sleepy voice questioned. “Clint?” Natasha squinted as she looked up, seeing the newly awoken face of her partner above her. “Why are you in my room?” Clint chuckled softly as he sat up higher on the bed, startling his partner as she realized that he had been sitting against the headboard, holding her. The pillow that Natasha’s head lay on was supported by Clint’s left arm, while his right arm held the rest of her upper body close to him. “You were having some trouble falling asleep last night, so I thought I’d stay with you. It’s easier for you to breathe with a stuffed nose if you’re laying up at an angle instead of flat on the bed. How are you feeling?” Natasha swallowed, wincing as she felt the swollen soreness of her throat. “It’s a bit easier to breathe, but my throat hurts, and I feel light headed…like my head is cloudy,” she mumbled. Clint chuckled again. “That would be the cough syrup. Plus I’m pretty Bruce added a little something in there to help you sleep…I doubt regular cold medicine would have knocked out the Black Widow for this long.” Natasha craned her neck to look at the clock. “What time is it?” “A little past three in the morning,” Clint replied. “Do you want me to go make you some more hot tea?” Natasha looked up at her partner and produced a noise that would have been a laugh had her throat not felt scratched and raw. “Hot tea? Rocking me to sleep? Where did all of this come from, Clint? You’re acting like a mother hen.” Clint smiled softly as he gazed out into the darkness of the room. “It’s what my mother did for me when I was sick,” he answered quietly.

     Natasha fell silent at his reply. Clint rarely talked about this family; all she knew was that his parents had died when he was very young, but he never spoke of how, or what had happened to him or his brother afterwards. Her partner sighed as he readjusted Natasha in his arms. “I was about four years old, and I came down with some sort of bug. Throwing up, fever, runny nose, coughing; you name it, I had it. I woke up in the middle of the night after the cold medicine wore off…the regular kind is a whole lot less effective than the kind Bruce makes,” Clint said, looking down at Natasha with a small smile on his face. He leaned his head back into the headboard, looking up at the ceiling. “I remember my mom calling out from her room, asking if I wanted her to make me hot tea with ginger. I said no, because I felt bad for waking her up, but she got out of bed and made it for me anyway. She stayed with me until I drank it all, and then put a pillow on her arm and rocked me to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, she was still sitting on the bed, holding me.” Natasha reached out and gently touched Clint’s cheek, causing him to look down at her. “It sounds like she really loved you,” she said softly. Clint nodded as he hung his head, looking his partner in the eyes. “Yeah…I suppose she did,” he murmured faintly. Silence fell over the room as Clint withdrew into his memories, and Natasha gazed up at the ceiling. She wondered why she was still letting Clint hold her; usually, such close contact only came when one of them was severely injured, not when one of them came down with a mere cold. Granted, she had not been sick in years….and almost never did she require the aid of cough medicine to fall asleep. Still, she had to admit that it was rather comfortable….the softness of the pillow and the warmth from Clint’s body were already making her drowsy.  

     “Ah-choo!” The sudden noise caused Clint to look down at her, smiling in spite of the multitude of germs that had just been released around him. “What’s so funny?” Natasha grumbled, wanting badly to go back to sleep, but being kept awake by the pain in her throat and head. “You have a cute sneeze,” Clint laughed quietly. “You sound just like a little Pikachu.” Natasha glared at him. “You’re comparing me to a rodent?” she growled. “Not a rodent; an adorable, potentially deadly electric mouse.” Clint replied. “Hmm…cute but deadly…not a bad description of you,” he smirked. Natasha glared daggers at her partner as she tried to sit up, not intending to take any more of this. First he sneaks into her room to rock her to sleep as if she’s some sort of child, and now he’s describing her as some sort of “cute” mouse? Clint Barton had another thing coming if he thought that sickness had somehow made the Black Widow weak. “Hey now, where do you think you’re going?” Clint asked, easily keeping Natasha’s body on his lap as she struggled against him. “Away from you,” Natasha said, gritting her teeth. Why was it so hard to get out of his grip? That medicine must have made her more out of it than she realized…or maybe she was sicker than she believed, thought Natasha woozily. “Nat? Are you okay?” Clint questioned worriedly as Natasha collapsed back into his chest. “Ugh…” she groaned, burying her face into his shirt. “Shh…it’s okay. You’ll feel better in the morning,” Clint whispered into her ear, putting his hand on the back of her head and slouching down so that she lay on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around his partner, Clint began to hum softly and rock her gently back and forth, until her wheezing breaths slowed down enough for him to be sure she was asleep. Pulling a blanket over her, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear as he leaned down and gently kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my Natasha.”