➸ Faithfully by wtfrenchtoast
Warnings: none
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: smut, fluff | Smut: yes
Word count: 3392 | Status: complete
My comment: So much shameless smut + Clintasha baby fic c:
Clint startles awake. His phone buzzes obnoxiously; who the hell? He glances at the digital clock on his nightstand. 3:44. And not in the afternoon.
Bleary-eyed, he grabs the offending object and glares at it accusingly, until he notices the source. It’s a text from Natasha.
You up?
She’s in Beijing, working. It’s roughly, what, quarter to five in the afternoon there? He groans, but replies anyway.
I am now. You good?
Get online.
He blinks slowly. If he had ever made the mistake of thinking that being married to Natasha meant he would have her figured out, that was an illusion long past.
Alright.
Clint swings his legs over the side of his narrow, SHIELD-standard twin bed and clicks the lamp on. The yellowed light is harsh and he winces as his eyes adjust.
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➸ Seasons of Wither by MG12CSI16
Warnings: mentions of abortion
Characters: Clint, Natasha, Pepper, Tony
Genres: angst, hurt/comfort, family | Smut: none
Word count: 5379 | Status: complete
My comment: There’s so much angst, but eventual fluff.
There’s something about her apartment that’s always made him feel at ease. Maybe the soft, burnt orange walls or the seemingly endless amount of books that take up every available space from the coffee table to the kitchen counter (she reads when she cooks, he’s caught her off guard a few times while he’s on his way out the door). Either way there’s always been something about being in her presence (even if it’s just until he gets dressed again) that melts away the stress of his job, his life, all of it. Except for tonight, right now as she’s pacing in front of him and the muscles beneath her skin are flexing with every ounce of (Anger? Worry? Clint actually can’t tell this time but any of the above are acceptable). There’s a stick on the table in front of him, a little white plastic stick with two pink lines and although his mind is screaming at him and telling him that he has no idea what it means, he can feel deep down inside that he knows damn well.
She’s pregnant. Of all the things that could have happened between them two it ends with this.
A baby.
Fucking great.
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➸ All The Pretty Little Horses by Artemis_Day
Warnings: none
Characters: Clint, Natasha, Coulson, OC
Genres: angst, pregnancy | Smut: none (some brief mention)
Word count: 7673 | Status: complete
My comment: I hereby bring to you a Clintasha and baby (pregnancy?) fic. There’s so much angst it’s gonna suffocate you, but it’s so real, and is definitely a must-read. Not everyone has a happily ever after.
Natasha Romanov is an enigma, and after all this time, Clint Barton has gotten used to it. Almost everything he knows about her comes from the file he was first handed when it was his mission to kill her. She was born in Russia, raised in an orphanage, just out of her teens, trained from early childhood to be an assassin, natural redhead, etc.
Everything else he knows, he learned over time, after he ‘made a different call’, as she describes it. He learns that she has a weakness for stylish clothes, and hoards fashion magazines away with her stash of weapons so she can flip through them in the calmer moments. He learns that she speaks several languages other than English and her native Russian. Her flawless grasp of both French and Italian saved him from an international incident two years into their partnership, and once he’s done being utterly humiliated, he can never thank her enough. He learns that she doesn’t quite have the stoicism everyone thinks she does. One day, after a particularly difficult assignment, he found her crying in the bathroom, mascara running down her cheeks as she leaned over the sink with the water on full blast. He dried her tears with a handkerchief, having no idea what else he could do for her. Truth is, he may be more emotionally stunted than she could ever hope to be, but at least he knows that he hates seeing her like that more than anything.
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