Fuck Yeah Hawkeye + Black Widow

Rated:T

Summary: Natasha gets jealous and angst happens

A/N: I’M FIXING THE ANGST I PROMISE. IF YOU KNEW ME YOU WOULD KNOW. Also read and leave me some nice wordy things at AO3?

Uncle Ivan comes home late one day when she’s not expecting him, so she’s been out the whole night snuggled up with Clint in his bed despite finals looming over them in a few weeks.

Sleeping with him feels more comforting than anything else, beaten only maybe by the memory of her mother’s husky, gentle singing. He wraps himself around her and buries his face in her neck, but he only holds her and it feels sincerely like he only wants to be there with her and exist and doesn’t want anything more that she doesn’t want to give.

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Title: Dust and Love and Sweat
Author: samalander
Fandom: Avengers
Rating: NC-17 
Wordcount: 6270 
Warnings: Rough sex, some violent imagery.
Characters/Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary: A mission goes south, leaving Natasha and Clint to reaffirm their partnership. Written for aviss, in avengersfest

( At avengersfest | On AO3 )

Rated: T

Summary: HSAU Clint x Natasha! This is the chapter in which we deal with jealousy on Clint’s part, and things start to take a slightly angsty turn.

A/N: I’d be the happiest ever if you’d like to leave me comments at ao3 or reblog this! Merry Christmas, all of those who celebrate it <:

For all that he’s lamented about his life being less than stellar, Clint is beginning to think Lady Luck has just been storing everything in a barn for right now. He feels incredibly lucky, the joy threading through his capillaries like an infection, making him dizzy and a little incredulous that Natasha is truly with him.

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Rated: T

Summary: Highschool!AU Clint x Natasha. 

A/N: Also read it over at AO3. Constructive criticism/comments greatly appreciated! This is sassanova’s very belated birthday present, and has five installations! 

The first friend Clint makes this year is Bruce Banner. Quiet, unassuming, and really smart when it comes down to the crunch, Bruce is mature and knows how to handle social situations. He knows how to talk to people and how to not be awkward, he just doesn’t go out of his way to be friendly.

He also claims to have a big anger problem that Clint cannot see.

In their second foreign language class, Clint learns that he is wrong about the assumption that he’s Bruce’s only close friend. The redhead that walks in and promptly sits next to Bruce and starts asking what she missed for the first lesson is pretty. Well, she’s actually gorgeous, but Clint is conscious not to stare. He averts his gaze back to his notebook and continues taking down the notes in Cyrillic letters.

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Summary: He doesn’t love her, at first, and she cannot love him – she is the girl who’s killed fifteen men, and he’s the one who carries her up the stairs to patch her wounds. She isn’t sure she can forget the countless nights she’d spent fending for herself, and he isn’t sure he forgives himself for leaving.

Natasha isn’t sure how to carry her heart; he thinks he might offer to carry it in his.

Notes: Alternate origins; leads up to the Avengers movie, but explores a different path.

Mint.

Odd, she muses, and Natasha inhales again as she gathers the pieces for an image. She tries for something romantic, someone with arms around her; something to cling to when she’s out amidst the leaves, scolding herself for something as ridiculous as the notion of love. But she pushes those thoughts out of her mind, and she doesn’t think of that; Not yet.

The pounding in her head doesn’t surprise her, though the faintest hint of vodka on her lips tells of someone who’d spoiled her with more than one the night before. It brings a smile, but she doesn’t open her eyes yet – she’d rather feign sleep, keeping her brow smoothed out, laying perfectly still. Instead, she waits for the man on the other side to shift, for him to reach out and wake her.

Today, he smells like mint. 

She isn’t sure if they’re different, all calloused hands on her arm – but some shake her awake, calling her a name that isn’t even hers. Some run their fingers down, purring their greetings in her ear, and she hates that – but they’re the same, aren’t they? They’re all desperate as she is, and they roll her over and kiss at her neck, asking her for her real name, asking for a number. 

It’s always refused with a coy smile, a brief kiss to the lips; It’s enough to bring them back when their dreams have haunted them with red hair, gleaming green eyes, and the pale expanse of her skin; Enough to hand her a few crumpled bills when they see her again, enough to tide her over another day.