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#clintasha fanfiction

quietlyimplode · 8 months

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Dearest Anon; thank you for your kind gift of no ads. I can’t quiet articulate on what it means but know I’ll try and find a way to pass it forward.

Whilst you mentioned it wasn’t needed, I wanted some way to say thank you. So, what follows is some Clint/Nat hurt/comfort and them taking care of each other. I hope the rest of the week greets you kindly. And if it doesn’t know that I’m rooting for you. 💜💜

secret languages.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: blood/dissociation

“Tash,” Clint whispers, “come on, we’re almost there, one foot in front of the other.”

Blood drops from her fingers and she focuses on his words.

“Yeah. That’s it,” his words dutifully guiding her forward.

“Come on, two more steps.”

She takes the final step to his loft and looks balefully at him.

He knows words won’t come easily and even following instructions need to be broken down into manageable components.

His body feels so heavy.

Clint feels like if it wasn’t for her, he would be just crashing on the couch with the fallout from the mission.

The bruise on his left cheek darkening and gravel rash on his thigh smarting.

He leads the way, unlocking the door and guiding her inside.

She stops once through the threshold, unsure of her movements.

Grabbing a towel from the pile of washing he’d never put away, he lays it strategically to cover the sofa.

“Sit,” he commands softly.

She doesn’t even watch as he moves around; her vision tunnelled as she drops blood onto the wooden floorboards.

Taking her hand, he guides her to sit on the couch.

He doesn’t think it’s a concussion, likely not anything permanent.

Clint hopes not anyway.

Squatting next to her, he unzips her top.

There’s a moment where he thinks she might resist, instead she closes her eyes, and blocks him out.

“Sorry, I should have said,” he tells her, and helps her take her suit off her shoulders down to her waist.

She shivers.

Clint stands and puts the heater on, grabbing a blanket to place over her legs, another towel and the suture kit.

“Nat, I need you to tell me when it hurts okay?”

Even as he says it, he knows she won’t.

She looks at him, but he thinks it’s only because he’s spoken.

Only in a bra, she shivers again, and he apologises, placing the blanket over her lap.

The cut runs from her shoulder to her elbow, weeps; the bruising on her face is accompanied by swelling, just like his.

Clint wants a shower, and wonders if she wants one too. He feels sticky and can smell his sweat when he moves.

“I smell,” he comments on a whim, hoping for something, anything other than unfocused eyes.

He hates it; but he understands it.

“Okay,” he says under his breath, “we’ve got this, just some stitches and maybe some painkillers, then a shower and bed, okay?”

He says it like a checklist himself, like it’s that easy, but he knows that it’s not.

The small kit for stitching is ready next to the sofa, and he reaches for it.

Poor fine motor skills and a tremor in his hands makes it crash to the floor and Natasha flinches.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, picking it up.

He focuses on her, trying to gauge what and how’s she’s feeling but apart from being nonverbal, her body language gives nothing away.

“Okay, Nat, I’m going to wipe the blood okay? The towel is scratchy.”

Clint wipes it down, the wound not too deep but almost instantly refilling with blood.

“Now, this will sting, it’s the alcohol wipe,” he says as he dabs a small bit then looks up.

No reaction.

Eyes watch the wall.

He tries to give as much information as he can, and likewise it almost helps to ground him.

The piercing of her skin with the hooked needle makes his face contort; and even though it’s met by no reaction, he still hates that it’s him that’s hurting her.

“Okay, it’s started,” he narrates.

“Hook… tie… snip,” he tells himself, doing the action and then looking up to check again.

She’s watching now.

It must hurt.

Or at the very least pierced her subconscious.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and then looks back down the the wound.

“Maybe four to go,” he tells her.

“Nat? Does it hurt?”

Clint glances at her back, his gravel rash from being dragged by a motor bike seems nothing to the staircase fall down a fire escape.

He’d watched in horror, but she’d just gotten up and ran, motioning for him to do the same.

Gas in the building, their escape had been quick.

Hers had been frantic.

He’s not even sure if it touched her, but the fear was real.

“Nat, does it hurt?” he asks again, three stitches to go.

On the last stitch, he ties it off, wipes it down again, then stands to get an ice pack.

As he stands, she vomits everywhere, just missing Clint.

“Fuck,” he swears.

He grabs her and pushes her to the bathroom, the smell overpowering, as he wonders just what was left in her from their meal the night before.

He sits her on the toilet, handing her a bin.

“Do you still feel sick?” he asks.

“Nauseous?”

She stares into the bottom of the bucket.

There’s an increase, only slightly, in her breathing.

Clint catches it, hoping it doesn’t escalate to a panic attack. He wonders if it means she’s going to vomit again.

Was it the gas? Or holding it together whilst he stitched her arm?

He turns the heater on.

“H..” the word doesn’t pass her lips, but the attempt does.

He nods at her her attempt.

“Yeah?”

Eyes searching, she finds his and breathes forcefully through her nose.

“Hurts,” she huffs, and looks down at the bucket, vomiting again.

“Okay.”

He leaves the room briefly, and finds the painkillers, the little packet holding big promises.

Taking it to her, he punches one out into her hand, and then gives a glass of water.

She shakes her head.

Clint knows.

He always knows.

“Watch me.”

He pushes out another tiny tablet into his own hand and downs it with the water.

He hands it back, and motions for her to do the same.

In a state like this, he gets it, and his effort is rewarded by her copying his actions.

He just hopes she doesn’t throw it up.

Two tasks down, it’s just the shower and bed.

They can do this.

He can do this.

Removing the puke bucket from her hands, he tells her to stand.

She does without thinking.

He wants to get ice on her face to decrease the bruises, he wants to be in pyjamas, he wants this day to have never have happened.

“Does anywhere else hurt?”

The question is redundant, as she doesn’t answer or even acknowledge it.

“Okay, shower,” he murmurs.

“Socks off, pants off.”

He almost doesn’t expect anything to happen, but she moves at his request.

Clint nods.

He turns the shower on, the hottest it can go, hoping it can help heat the room.

Undressing alongside her, he winces at his his own wounds, the drop of gravel onto the floor makes him think he should probably clean it, just like he did for Natasha.

He ignores it.

The shower will help.

Steam fills the bathroom.

He doesn’t think.

She grabs him, breath caught in his throat.

“No,” she squeaks, “not…”

Gas

Her words get lost again, as scared childlike eyes stare at him to help.

Clint can’t move quickly, his muscles sore and tired. He gets to the fan, and switches it on, sucking up the steam and making the room loud.

“It’s okay,” he assures, “it’s nothing, it’s the shower.”

She sits back down, breathing heavily.

“It’s okay,” he says again, “it’s the shower.”

He gives her the glass of water, thinking maybe it will help to ground her, but this time, she can’t take it, hands gripping her thighs.

“Come on,” he sighs, “quick shower.”

She shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

Torn between pushing her and honouring her request, Clint sighs and gets in the shower, watching her through the glass.

He sees her, holding herself together, and he hurries himself as much as he can.

Feeling like he can’t move quickly enough, he hurts himself in his roughness.

He swears.

It’s enough for Natasha to stand and come to the glass to check on him.

Attempting a smile, he tries to reassure her.

He opens the door, to say something and she follows him in.

She looks at him.

Really looks this time, and raises her hand to his bruised face.

Water hits her arm and pink water streams down the skink.

“Such dangerous lives we lead,” he says softly.

She avoids water on her head and he lowers the shower head so he can control it.

He washes her gently, then she takes it off him and does the same.

Clint is thankful she’s coming back.

He sighs heavily, feeling the pain pulse in his leg, as she gently cleans it.

“Think it’s time for bed,” he murmurs.

She nods, switching off the shower.

He moves to open the door.

Pulling him into a hug, Natasha hopes she conveys everything in it.

For taking care of her.

For getting her home.

She leaves first, passing him a towel, and then one for herself.

It’s slow, the descent to bed.

Natasha cleans her vomit.

Clint wraps his leg.

He passes her some juice and she takes it gratefully.

Finally, bed.

He crawls in after her and feels himself sink into the mattress.

“Mm’sorry,” Natasha says into the darkness.

He moves his body closer to hers, and touches his feet to hers.

“What happened, Nat?” he wonders out loud.

“What made you… go?”

There’s nothing for a while.

She sucks in a breath.

“It hasn’t been like that in a while… I thought… I was worried,” he finishes.

She’s silent, trying to find the words.

“There’s a room, in the Red Room, I think it’s what it’s named for. They use it and release red gas; it makes you hallucinate your greatest fears. Today...” she pauses.

“It smelt the same.”

His body stiffens.

The gas, whilst not red, had been visible, the smell permeating the world as they escaped.

He understands.

“I get lost,” she whispers. “But I know what’s happening, it’s like words are too hard and even telling myself what I need to do takes all the brain power and focus, but the alternative is worse, if I let go, if I just give in and don’t do anything, I lose time.”

Clint reaches for her hand.

“Trauma changes shape, but doesn’t really leave, huh?”

Natasha scoffs, a low release of air.

“Isn’t that just the story of my life.”

She rolls to the side.

“Thanks for stitching my arm, and getting me home,” she whispers,

“I got you,” he whispers back.

He shuffles closer to her.

“Wake me, okay? When the dreams… arrive?”

Neither of them are stupid enough to believe that that dreams won’t come.

Natasha rests her head on his chest.

“Yeah,” she yawns.

“I’ll try.”

#💜💜 anon #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #natasha romanoff fic #hawkeye #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #wonderful anon

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iriel3000 · 3 months

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May I Introduce, Natalia

Febuwhump Day 4 - Obedience

Summary: Clint tries to explain Natasha’s Red Room programming to Steve. Looks like he’s going to have his hands full.

Part 2 of Trigger Warning

sorry I'm late and a special Thank You to @luna-barton13 for your amazing support!!

excerpt:

“Obey?” Steve blurted without thinking.

Whirling on her heels, Natasha snatched Clint's knife from his belt and lunged for Rogers. Thankfully, Barton was fast, grabbed both of her wrists from behind and hugged her close to his chest.

“Friendly, Natalia. Steve is our friend.”

“Why was he lurking?” She did not fight Clint but didn’t take her eyes off of Steve, either.

“To help me, just in case I couldn't get you back.”

She turned in his arms.

“You mean Natasha.” Jealousy dripped from every word.

Steve kept quiet. This alternate personality was aware of Natasha. He wondered if the reverse was the same.

Thank you for reading!! to be continued, please click link below

May I Introduce, Natalia

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #clintasha #obediance #clintasha fanfiction #hawkeye #clint barton #black widow #strike team delta #natasha romanov #iriel3000fics

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voicesinthedarkness · 5 months

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Fever

Clint had just finished decorating the Christmas tree when he heard a knock on the front door.

He grins, quickly moving from the living room to the entryway and unlocking the door. Natasha stands there, shivering. Her eyes brighten when they lock with his. “Merry Christmas,” she says, wiping her runny nose with a kleenex. “Merry Christmas, Tasha,” Clint smiles, leading her inside. “You okay?” he says, turning around as she takes her jacket off. “You don’t usually have a runny nose.”

She shrugs, hanging her jacket on an empty hook, saved specifically for her. “Just cold,” she answers, snuggling into his arms. “Feel free to use my shirt as a kleenex,” Clint teases, kissing the top of her head. “I just did laundry.” Nat laughs, turning around to grab a new kleenex and blowing her nose, then tossing both kleenexes in the garbage can under the sink and returning to Clint. She presses a couple fingers to her temple, wincing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Clint asks. “Head hurts,” she mutters, leaning heavily into him. He puts the back of his hand to her forehead and sighs. Hot. “Come on,” he grunts, picking her up and carrying her to the couch. “I’m fine,” Nat protests, struggling weakly against him. “You’re burning up,” Clint replies sternly, pushing her back down on the couch cushions. He grabs a blanket (black with alternating red hourglasses and purple arrows), then a damp cloth, checking on Nat every few seconds to make sure she isn’t trying to leave.

In fact, when he gets back to the couch, her eyes are closed, arm hanging limply over the couch. “Nat!” he exclaims, concerned, kneeling on the floor beside her. “I’m fine,” she slurs, eyes blinking open slowly. He sighs and shifts her so that he can sit in the corner and rest her head and shoulders in his lap, putting the cloth on her forehead and pulling the blanket over her.

“It’s dumb that I’m sick on Christmas Eve,” Nat mumbles after a while. Clint rubs the back of her hand with a thumb, wiping sweat off her forehead with the cloth in his other hand. “At least you won’t get called into work,” he offers. She laughs tiredly, tugging herself up so that she can rest her head on his shoulder, spooning herself on her side against him. Clint sighs happily and readjusts the blanket over both their legs. “I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you too,” he answers, kissing her head.

#black widow #natasha romanoff #hawkeye #clint barton #black widow x hawkeye #natasha x clint #hawkeye x black widow #clint x natasha #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha #my stories

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scaarletwiitch · 9 months

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Ohhhh. Snippet from the target language verse?

Hey thanks for the request. I did start it during the ticket queue but then had to fight for my life so just finished today. I warn you, it really is just a snippet:

Target Language Chapter 5

Hearing Aid Problems

“This is why, this is why I always get mine in purple,” Clint complained as he grasped blindly under the couch. “That way, you can find them when this happens.”

Read more on AO3

#clintasha #natasha romanoff #clint barton #black widow #hawkeye #marvel #avengers #strike team delta #natasha romanov #clint barton fic #natasha x clint #clint x natasha #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #clintasha fic #katie barton #deaf katie barton #deaf clint barton

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chaed-ffnet · 9 months

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Rodeo Man

She sat in the plastic chair by the window, skimming absentmindedly through some lifestyle magazine while she waited for him to wake up.

By the time he did, she knew everything there was to know about how to make the perfect cup of coffee and all about the latest fashion trends for the season.

He stirred and opened his eyes, squinting in the bright fluorescent light. She thought that served him right; this time she felt much less pity than usual.

Pushing away her reading material, she drug the seat across the room to where he lay and took considerable pleasure in seeing him cringe as the chair legs screeched loudly across tile.

Was her anger justified? Maybe not, but it surely didn't come close to making up for his idiocy.

"Good morning, cowboy," she said cheerfully as she sat back down where he could see her.

"Ugh," Clint mumbled in response, not at his most articulate. He tried to move a little, but the wave of pain that came along with it made him give up and revert to moaning. Natasha waited.

"I... where... you?" he asked weakly.

She gave him a stern look. "Are you coherent enough for me to lecture you, or do you need me to tie off your morphine drip first?"

Clint managed a cross between a laugh and another groan. "What are you even doing here?"

"Well, I was in bed when they told me what you were doing. Now that I’m here, I’m thinking that maybe I should have stayed there."

"I should have," Clint conceded. "That was a really bad idea."

"At least we agree on something. What on earth made you do it?"

There was a short pause, and Natasha couldn't tell if it was due to his concussion or just straight-out embarrassment. "Sitwell dared me."

"Ah," she said sarcastically. No news to her; the video had spread through HQ like wildfire.

"You seriously thought you could pull it off?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"Have you ever even ridden a horse before?" she asked, her voice laced with a mix of humor and frustration. Mostly the latter.

"I've tamed wilder beasts," came his confident reply.

Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "If you weren't drugged to the gills right now, I'd take major offense at that statement." She picked up the patient file from where it was clipped to his bed and glanced over his medical chart. "Well, this wild beast did quite a number on you. Broke some ribs, sprained your ankle, and gave you a hell of a concussion. Congratulations."

"How did it look?"

"What?"

"My ride. Did I make the 8 seconds?"

At this, Natasha sighed and tenderly took Clint's bruised hand in hers, patting it gently.

"That bronc threw you off faster than a jackrabbit on a hot tin roof, Clint," she said affectionately. "But you know what? You looked pretty damn good getting your ass kicked. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a natural."

Clint smiled and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Nat. You always know how to make me feel better."

Or, A Story About How Clint Barton Takes The Worst Dares.

#be compromised summer promptathon #clintasha #natasha romanoff #clint barton #clintasha fanfiction

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phoenixofthestars · 8 months

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downloaded a bunch of clintasha fanfiction to look at later cause I don't know how much sex there is (and also I may start crying) and I don't want someone glancing at my laptop screen and seeing something Suspicious

these two are going to be the hill I will die on and you can't stop it

I love them so fucking much but they will be the end of me

#clintasha fanfiction #clintasha #clint x natasha #clint and natasha #natasha x clint #natasha and clint #hawkeye x black widow #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #my posts

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natrasharomanova · 2 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Avengers Team Additional Tags: Time Loop, everyone lives (eventually), get wrecked russos, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), specifically a groundhog day style time loop, disclaimer: author has never actually seen the movie groundhog day, sad endings are for cowards Summary:

He wakes up. June 14th.

She falls. Dies.

He drinks himself into oblivion.

Repeat ad infinitum.

Or: the groundhog day style time loop endgame fix it no one asked for

#crossposting to the chaos dungeon #clintasha #clintasha fanfiction #my fic #filed under: things none of you asked for #anyways #bye

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 2 years

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Can someone please write a Clintasha fanfic based on „Samson“ by Regina Spektor? ;___;

#samson #regina spektor #clintasha #clint x natasha #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff #clint barton #hawkeye #black widow #avengers #avengers fanfiction #clintasha fanfiction

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flancito22 · 2 years

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Due to personal reasons I'll be reading a bunch of fanfics of the same fuckers falling in love again and again in two thousands of different ways pretending that romantic love actually exists. If you need to contact me for some reason, please bring a chocolate offering or I won't listen, thank you for your understanding.

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itsdrippingred · 2 months

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Peter: Hey guys.. What does "take out" mean?

Tony: It means a date.

Steve: Wait.. I thought it meant food?

Clint: In my experience, it means murder.

Natasha: It can mean all three if you're not a coward.

#fanfiction writers #fanfic writers #fanficton #natasha romanoff #clintasha #clint barton #black widow #marvel #marvel fanart #natasha x clint #tony/natasha/clint #tony stark #steve rogers

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quietlyimplode · 12 days

Note

Can I still play??

"Come and get your Hawk, little Spider."

clintasha please

For you? Of course.

“Come and get your Hawk, little Spider.”

The words are spoken with venom, the knife pressed up to Clint’s neck as he tries desperately to convey a plan.

Natasha looks so calm. Always so calm.

Look at me, her eyes say, as she ignores the baited words.

Finally he does; and sees her blinking in Morse code.

On 3, go left.

She blinks it twice, and he ducks his head to show that he’s understood.

The numbers count down on her hands, and on three, Clint lunges as Natasha shoots.

Clear headshot, blows the man away, his knife, falling to the floor.

Natasha picks it up and inspects then pockets it.

“Lucky I remember rudimentary Morse code,” Clint says hoarsely.

“Lucky is one word for it, I suppose,” Natasha responds, helping Clint off the floor.

Hahah I’ll get to the others after the appointments of the day 😍

#natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #my fic #clint barton #natasha romanoff fic #hawkeye #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic

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iriel3000 · 3 months

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At Her Mercy

AN: Why am I attempting Febuwhump when Whumptober almost wrecked me? Because we are going to have FUN this time. Almost all the fics will have whump elements but nothing too sad, fatal, tragic, etc. I will give detailed warnings and summaries to help.

I may not make every day, but I'm going to try. I miss this place

Febuwhump Day 1 - Helpless

Summary: Hawkeye is at the mercy of the Black Widow. light whump. pre SHIELD. kidnapped, held against will....but we know he enjoys it. happy ending

At Her Mercy

excerpt:

He knew the moment she suggested the restraints, he was in trouble, but this was his only opportunity. Whether he kept his job or not, she was worth it.

Clint squirmed on the queen sized bed. The silk ties that bound his wrists overhead and his ankles to the footboard were tight, but not uncomfortable.

However, the knife currently held to his throat was not so.

Channeling his training, Hawkeye remained still. He could tell the young assassin was stalling. She pressed further but didn’t break the skin. He wondered if she was contemplating his offer.

tbc, please click link below or above.

AT HER MERCY

#febuwhump 2024 #day 1 #helpless #clintasha #hawkeye #black widow #clint barton #natasha romanov #iriel3000fic #clintasha fanfiction

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voicesinthedarkness · 5 months

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Nightmare

Clint’s eyes open suddenly, apparently to nothing.

He sits up, wrinkling his nose at the familiar woke-up-at-3AM yuckiness, and looks around. Window’s closed, so it wasn’t a gust of wind that disturbed the curtains. Both Lucky and Liho are sleeping on the bed, so it wouldn’t have been one of them moving around, leaving, or entering.

Nat shifts beside him, whimpering softly, and his eyes widen with understanding. She’d only just moved in, and they’d rarely slept in the same bed together. Clint had never really thought about it, but he should have realized Nat had nightmares.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning on his elbow next to Nat. She cringes away from him, hands coming up defensively. “It’s okay,” he continues. “You’re safe. You’re… you’re home.” Nat shakes her head. “Don’t have a home,” she mumbles. “Don’t have a place in the world.” Clint’s heart breaks and he ducks his head, sighing. How do I deal with this? he wonders. If I shake her shoulder, she might think it’s an attack. But I can’t convince her that she’s home when she’s dreaming that she’s back in the Room. Dammit.

All of this goes through Clint’s mind in only a couple seconds, as fast as strategizing during a mission. Finally, he decides to take Nat’s hand, hoping the touch will wake her. Her fingers twitch around his and she inhales shudderingly, on the brink of tears.

“Clint?” she asks after a long, long moment. “Nat,” he breathes, immensely relieved. “Clint,” she repeats, her voice breaking, and she removes her hand from Clint’s to wrap both arms around his neck. He shifts onto his back, resting Nat on his chest. “You’re home,” he murmurs, playing with her red-gold curls. She nods, burying her face in his neck. “Я дома…”

— — —

Я дома = I’m home

#black widow #natasha romanoff #hawkeye #clint barton #black widow x hawkeye #natasha x clint #hawkeye x black widow #clint x natasha #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha #my stories

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scaarletwiitch · 1 year

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New chapter of Target Language

This one's for @fxckyeahclintasha who blogs about Katie Barton as much as I think about her.

Eight Week Check-up - Chapter 4

The first smile each day was something she could not have imagined before she experienced it. She would never tire of peering over the edge of the bedside crib and being greeted by Katie’s blue eyes. The way they lit up like stars on a clear night and the way her mouth broke into a gummy smile let Natasha know that Katie knew exactly who she was.

“Good morning,” she whispered, reaching out to tickle Katie’s little chin and offering the infant a smile in return.

Katie’s smile widened and her little legs kicked out in excitement.

“Are you ready? We’ve got a busy day,” Natasha tickled the sole of the foot Katie had managed to grab a hold of. Katie’s hand let go and made a swipe, but missed whatever her target had been. “Do you want to wake daddy?”