➸ Exposed by chez_amanda

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: humour (?) | Smut: yes
Word count: 1020 | Status: complete

My comment:  Short and cute clintasha smut

Natasha strolled through the large ballroom, peering around each makeshift room she entered. Deep red drapery formed the walls and entryways. She had lost sight of their mark, Gaertner, after he disappeared into a back room with the two strippers that had been dancing on the stage downstairs. Her eyes scanned each room for any sign of the German, but she kept her demeanor relaxed and nonchalant. The heavy perfume of incense and sex hung in the air, making it thick. A slow, steady beat from hidden speakers around the room mixed with sighs and grunts and the occasional crack of a paddle or whip against flesh.
Someone walked up behind her, trailing their hand down her exposed back. She fought the urge to twist the arm behind her back and spun around to face the person who was touching her so intimately.
“Clint, don’t do that,” she said and leaned into his ear. “You know I can hurt you.”
“Is that a promise?” he asked, grinning at her.
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➸ After The Bombs by SugarFey 

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: angst, romance, alternate universe | Smut: yes
Word count: 3151 | Status: complete

My comment:  Heartbreaking yet beautiful Clintasha au fic, set during wartime. 

Three weeks after Natasha moved in to a draughty attic room in a boarding house in London, a letter arrived in the post, bearing the address of an American convalescent hospital. They were Clint’s words but not in his hand, as if he had dictated to a nurse or some helpful volunteer, and Natasha read the letter standing at the kitchen table, one hand flat against the wood in case she needed to steady herself.
She boarded a train at two o’clock that afternoon and sat in the window seat of an empty compartment, watching burnt husks of buildings give way to trees and fields that reminded her of Bletchley Park.
The military hospital was grey, character-less and sterile. Nurses and doctors in starched uniforms filled the corridors and the smell of cleaning fluid stung her nose. It took a short while for Natasha to find the ward named in the letter, but finally she did.
The doctor in the ward gave her an indulgent smile that did not quite meet his eyes. “He can’t hear very well,” he told her. “And he might have trouble speaking. But he can write.”
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➸ Hymn of the End by Mockingjay34 (ff.net)

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: angst | Smut: no
Word count: 473 | Status: complete

My comment:  It’s short, it’s brutal, it’s beautiful.

Clint, surprisingly, was a religious man. 
He went to church, prayed over his meals, read the bible. He had God and believed Jesus was his savior. He believed someone could help redeem him from his past. Only the people who he let in knew. He wasn’t a very open man.
Natasha, not so surprisingly, is not a religious woman.
She never went to church, never thanked any higher power, never cracked open a bible. She doesn’t believe there is anything else. She doesn’t believe it’s possible for anyone to save her. Everyone knows this. But she isn’t a very open woman regardless.
“I just don’t get it,” Natasha would say.
“You have to put your faith somewhere,” Clint would answer.
“I put mine in a bullet.”
“Yeah, but even a gun can misfire.”
And they left it at that.
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➸ Mr. & Mrs. Barton (Or: Why Natasha Sends Jennifer Aniston an Annual Apologetic Fruit Basket) by shellybelle

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: romance, drama, au | Smut: yes
Word count: 13630 | Status: complete

My comment:  A must-read Clintasha Mr and Mrs Smith AU. It is just not possible to not have imagined our favourite pair of assassins playing the two main roles while you watch Mr and Mrs Smith, right?

“Egy nagy tejeskávé, kérem.” 
Something about the woman’s voice caught Clint’s attention, and he glanced up from his newspaper in time to see a slim, pretty redhead flash a dazzling smile at the barista as she handed over some cash in exchange for a large cup of foam. She turned away, tossing a few red curls out off her forehead, and Clint caught her eye.
She stopped for half an instant. Hesitated an instant more.
And then, slowly, cautiously, she smiled.
Clint tilted his head to the side, nudged the other chair away from the table, and raised an eyebrow in invitation.
The woman set her bag on the floor and sat down across from him, her latte in her hands. “So,” she said in American-accented English, and damn but that voice was like honey dripping off the comb. “You’re American.”
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➸ Icarus (In My Veins) by shadows of a dream (ff.net)

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: angst | Smut: no 
Word count: 1781 | Status: complete

My comment:  A story of Clint’s past and how the Black Widow who never loved him back, was his light at the end of his tunnel of sorrows and despairs. 

The twin graves are cleanly craved of sheer white stone, their edges smooth beneath Clint Barton’s shaking hands. Eyes leaking, he lays a bundle of mismatched flowers between the headstones. He swallows a sob as he traces the engravings of their names (in his heart, they will always only be Mother and Father). 
When he tips his head back to the sky and looses a shriek - such an awful, barbaric sound - the sky is idyllic, blue and cloudless. The sun turns the edges of his vision red, red, red, and as more tears come (from the heat or his sorrow, and don’t they both burn just the same?), he vows he’ll catch the light someday, and maybe it doesn’t make sense, but he’s only an (orphaned) child, after all.
Clint screams until his throat is raw. As he turns away from the graves, he repeats his promise to himself (to rise and rise until he catches the light that laughs at his plight, that shines above such pitiable mortality,) a silent swear.
It is the quiet things that kill. 
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➸ Rivers and Roads by shtuff (ff.net)

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: angst, hurt/comfort | Smut: no 
Word count: 4798 | Status: complete

My comment: It’s gonna hurt, but you’ll love it. A very beautifully written piece of work.

Two days after everything came so terribly close to ending, Clint asks for a leave of absence. Fury looks at him, sees everything he’s so desperately trying to hide, and nods. He tries not to show how thankful he is for understanding – tries to preserve a little bit of his dignity as he turns and walks away, fighting the urge to run with every marching step. 
He throws things in a suitcase without really looking at them – too wrapped up in the need to get out and away before he drowns in the guilt and the blood that refuses to come off his hands.
There’s a sound in the doorway and he turns to see Natasha with a bag over her shoulder and determination written across her face. 
“No,” he says, trying to sound firm but only managing tired.
“Yes, ” she replies and her eyes spark with a familiar fire that tells him he has no hope of winning.
So he sighs and nods and ignores the rush of relief he feels and knowing he won’t be alone.
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➸ enough to go by by sweetwatersong (ff.net)

Warnings: self harm, smoking
Characters: Clint, Natasha 
Genres: angst, hurt/comfort | Smut: no
Word count: 1490 | Status: complete

My comment: This fic is going to kill you but you’ll love it. One of my favourite Clintasha fics ever. Exquisitely written.

Clint picks up the habit in the aftermath of New York, the rush of nicotine nothing compared to the steadiness of his hands as he pulls out the first cigarette, cups it against the fall wing and breathes life into it. There is something so simple about the minute flame, controllably, touchable, erasable; on, off, on again with the flick of a switch. Bright against the dimness in the alleys, bright and warm within his curved hands, steady hands, hands that shake no more.
She finds him leaning up against the corner of the apartment building, feeling relaxed for the first time in days – weeks, if he’s honest, months if he can admit it, and really the lie of normalcy is the only thing he can cling to Th the moment so no, he’s not honest, not about that. He exhales a stream of smoke, watching her with the cigarette low against his side; watches, waits, for her reaction, for her expression.
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➸ Couldn’t Get That Boy To Kill Me by redbrunja

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha 
Genres: angst, hurt/comfort | Smut: yes
Word count: 3158 | Status: complete

My comment: Clintasha and angst and just Clintasha :)

Her right knee is dislocated, three ribs broken, wrist sprained. There’s blood dripping into her eyes, sweat stinging at her cuts, and she’s out of bullets. He’s panting, faced bruised to hell and back, the left leg of his fatigues glistening with blood, black on black, and he has an arrow pointed at her forehead.
Kill me, she thinks, empty gun trained right between his eyes.
She is so tired.
He lowers his weapon.
Natasha hates him for that for  years.
During her intake, with SHIELD combing through her mind and testing her body, she thinks she should have forced the issue, fought Barton until he put her down. She would have deserved it. Death clears all debts. But Natasha has never been one to take the easy way out. Dying wouldn’t wipe out the red in her ledger.

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➸ Find Your Way Home to Me by watts

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha 
Genres: angst, hurt/comfort | Smut: yes
Word count: 7926 | Status: complete

My comment: A quite accurately characterised Clintasha fic set before and during the catws events.

She’d been expecting him for a while by the time she heard someone approaching the door, pulling her handgun from beneath her pillow all the same. The footsteps paused and she knew he was pressing his hand into the recognition system, waiting for his name to pop up on the screen and grant him entrance. Natasha lowered her aim when the sliding door revealed Clint’s familiar frame, and he shot her a smile as he headed over to join her on her bed.
“The Winter Soldier, huh? Wasn’t expecting that one.”
“No,” she agreed, replacing the gun and leaning into Clint’s warmth as he sat down next to her and twined his arm around her shoulders, “me neither.”
“I thought nothing took you by surprise, Agent Romanoff.” She gave him a weary smile, letting her eyes shut as his hand slipped down her side and under the loose hem of her t-shirt, caressing her hip gently.
“Don’t be a smart-ass, Clint,” she chastised him mildly, all too willing to let his teasing slide as long as his ministrations continued. She’d learned early in their partnership that in such an exchange she always came away with the better deal. He chuckled and twisted his body, dropping his mouth to the shell of her ear and nipping at the sensitive skin in a way he knew all too well would elicit a moan from her. She kept herself passive, content with the progression, or lack thereof, really, of their conversation, practically purring with pleasure when his hand moved down to the juncture of her thighs, palming her through her panties.

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➸ 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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➸ you are the only exception by bittervoid

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha 
Genres: hurt/comfort, angst | Smut: no
Word count: 1461 | Status: complete

My comment: A take on the development of Clint and Natasha’s relationship. 

The blood seeps from splintered knuckles—
It hurts, bones brittle and snapped so easily like a fence panel, but it’s nothing she hasn’t had before. Burst vessels in her eye, a broken leg or ribs shaped into a new cage by someone’s boot; most at a younger age, at her most vulnerable and just learning the trade of an assassin, most done by her creator.
She hisses as the bandages press against raw skin, split open by how hard she’d punched her target, and doesn’t look up when she senses Clint hovering at the door. She knows his arms are crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Who pissed you off this time?’

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➸ Chess by HappeningInMyHead

Warnings: none 
Characters: Clint, Natasha 
Genres: hurt/comfort, angst | Smut: yes 
Word count: 4215 | Status: complete

My comment: Oh my goodness, all the beautiful smut. So…..what exactly made Clint bring Natasha into SHIELD?

Some people compared him to God.
He was watching from the rooftop as she emerged from the building into the throng of people outside, her red hair taunting him as she swished from person to person. It’d be so easy to end her right then and there: to send an arrow shooting through her skull at breakneck speeds and watch the chaos that ensued around her lifeless figure, but he needed information from her. The arrow would have to wait.
Leaving his makeshift nest he gripped the edge of the roofing and swung in through a door on the second floor into a vacant room. He shot out into the hallway only encountering a single tipsy couple as they scurried to their room. He took the stairs two at a time, threading seamlessly through the thickening crowd. He slipped out into the cool night air and caught sight of her instantly. Her read curls bounced as she schmoozed another ancient businessman into a conniption. He sped up as she began to turn away and barely caught her shoulder in time. She whipped around to face him, her body tense, and her blue eyes sharp and warning. He looked into her eyes and he knew—without a doubt—that she knew exactly why he was here. He broke out into a jovial smile as he released her shoulder from his vice like grip.
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