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A Different Cloth


Garnet

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ARE YOU? Too bad B| I've been trying to pick away at my Korra fic, but it's depressing to write on it for too long, so I farted this out today to keep my brain happy. I wanted to write more fluff with Natasha and Clint after doing a little drabble with them for the collaborative thread. This is... more than a drabble so it gets its own topic, but it's still mostly schmoop and some talking. And sneezing. That's important.

Enjoy!

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It was well past midnight by the time the job was done. Early, for her. On both typical and atypical nights, Agent Romanoff preferred to keep her own company after a hit. It wasn't to contemplate the morality of the situation, the blood on her hands, or her place in the universe. Far from it. It was just nice to return to her own head instead of whatever role she'd been playing for the mark of the night.

However, it wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters or her own apartment that she returned to. For a while after they'd been relocated to New York, the two locales had been one in the same. Even if military housing was long-familiar to her, she didn't mind keeping a small, private apartment elsewhere in the city for her almost non-existent downtime. Neither did Clint, although his downtime was justified. They still slept at headquarters almost every night. It was safer. But Natasha knew he wouldn't be holed up there, even in S.H.I.E.L.D's well-constructed illusion of normalcy.

Clint's flat was simple and civilian, though there was a military-grade lock on the door. It didn't look like one to the naked eye, but she knew it was wired to a more sophisticated apparatus inside, one that could do everything from play 'Happy Birthday' to take out half the block in a suicide explosion. She could still pick it, hack it, but opted not to risk anything silly.

Instead, she shifted the canvas bag she carried to an opposite hand, and knocked out their safe word in Morse code. The lock sprang open.

Inside the door, Natasha kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot through the tiny living room, plain but homey. Clint had gone to slightly more effort at a lived-in domesticity in his surroundings than she did. Or maybe that was the side-effect of a nasty headcold, superplague, whatever he'd called it. There was a glass of orange juice sitting out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly across the back of the couch, and a trail of clothes leading like breadcrumbs into the bedroom.

She leaned her hip into the doorway, and surveyed the ruination of her field partner.

If possible, Clint looked worse than he had that afternoon, sprawled in bed shirtless with the covers in a tangled ball near his feet. A sheen of sweat brightened his skin, but his eyes were glassy and fever-dazed and it looked as if he'd been wiping his nose with sandpaper.

"Hey," she offered softly.

He slivered his eyes closed and took a sharp breath for his response.

"H-ATSSSCH!"

"I see you're feeling better."

"Ugh, dod't do Stark wit. It does'd suit you," Clint groaned, running the back of a hand under his nose.

She raised a disdainful eyebrow at the comparison. "I will break every bone in your hands."

The corner of his mouth drew up into a grin. "That's my girl."

"I'm not your girl," Natasha dismissed, even as she set the canvas bag down beside the bed and climbed up onto the mattress. "You're a mess."

"Uh-huh," Clint sighed, curling automatically against her side. His skin was hot, but not dangerously so. She obliged him with her nails scratching gently through his short crop of hair, the texture pleasant and ticklish against her fingertips. He eyed her civilian clothes. "Whad happed t'the hit?"

"Done and done," she replied with surprised amusement. He really was out of it. "What time do you think it is?"

He shrugged a little against her. "I'uddo, ted? Eleved?" He picked his head up and craned slightly to seek out the angry red glow of the alarm clock, flashing 3:13 AM. "Wow. Thig I crashed."

It was almost disconcerting to see her partner like this. Though more open and humorous than she, he had the same tight control and acuity of mind and body. Losing track of time simply wasn't in their capabilities. Unless, apparently, he was sick. And that was... worrying. She was worried. Strange. The man slept with a knife under his pillow and a gun at his bedside, he protected and carried her as much as she him, but there wasn't much to be done about a rhinovirus.

"I've seen you less out of it with a broken leg," she frowned, tipping his jaw up so she could pull back an eyelid and study the dilation of his pupils. "Are you dying, or trying to appeal to my maternal nature? Because I can tell you right now, I don't have one."

Clint smiled blearily. "Little of both?" He flinched with protest when she pinched him. "Ow! I'b fide, I'b fide, really," he grumbled, and she knew he wouldn't lie to her just to save face. Honesty flowed between them as freely as blood and kisses. "Colds always hit be pretty hard, dod't get 'eb thad ofted."

"I see that," she frowned, but forced herself to relax a little. "Blow your nose."

His eyes roamed aside guiltily, prompting another sigh from her.

"You still didn't get more tissues?"

"I did," he snuffled in protest, taking in no air through his congestion. "Ad thed... prob'tly used all of theb."

She leaned over him slightly to peer into the trashcan beside his bed, overflowing with white. There was an empty box on the floor, testifying his claim. Admittedly, it was a fairly small box.

"Wow."

"Gross, huh?"

"Very," she agreed, unfazed, and sat back. She leaned to the opposite side, delving a hand into the bag she'd brought. Clint looked on with bleary interest, then brightened visibly when she uncovered an economy-sized box of Kleenex.

"Oh, Tasha... you're abazig." He tried and failed to sniffle again, nimble fingertips digging the perforated cardboard open. "Whad else did you brig id your bag of tricks?"

Her eyes uprolled as she took a mental tally. "Oh... some powdered soup mix, drugs, tea bags, ginger ale, some DVDs, aaand the debriefing report for the next 'project', but that's not until next week so you have a few days to de-zombify yourself." She caught him staring, and raised her eyebrows coolly. "What?"

"Are you...?" He squinted at her slightly, as if sizing up a distant target. "Takig care of be?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

He gathered a handful of tissues from the box and tilted a wry glance at her. "How 'bout thad baterdal idstigt?"

"Still nonexistent," she said with a shrug of one shoulder. "You're my partner, I'd see you back in action sooner rather than later. And seriously? I can't understand you. Blow."

Clint complied, or tried to anyway. A forceful exhalation or three into the bundle of white produced very little, and he only looked dizzy in the aftermath. A few blinks recovered him, then it was his turn to shrug. "Sorry, beed lige dis."

She screwed up her face slightly at his nearly unintelligible speech. "Did you try a decongestant?"

He shook his head slowly, wincing. "Those thigs bess up by sleep schedule m'bore thad it is already."

Natasha studied him for a moment, frowning. Then, in one smooth motion, she slung one leg over his waist and turned to straddle him upright, torso neatly pinned between her knees. Clint tensed automatically beneath her, fighting a long-trained reflex to throw her. He settled after a moment with a curious look and his hands spreading open on her thighs, steadying her already effortless balance.

"Whoa, I either like where this is goi'g or I really, really dod't."

That was probably the appropriate mix of apprehension and optimism while being straddled by a professional femme fatale. Natasha just patted his cheek gently and smiled. "I think you might reconsider the decongestant, next time," she said elusively, because he trusted her enough not to do anything truly horrible to him.

She made herself comfortable settled on his hips, the archer's body warm and lithe and alive beneath her. In a different mood, she might have stopped to appreciate that more thoroughly, but she had a specific task in mind. She reached aside to gather a thick handful of tissues, while Clint watched her hazy-eyed but interested.

Bowing forward a little, she palmed the tissues and selected one forefinger to gently trace over the rounded shape of his nose, flushed from too many hours of blowing and wiping, blowing and wiping. It was nearly as red as her hair at this point, and reacted immediately to the irritation of her rounded nail trailing across it.

"Ghhgh," Clint protested stuffily, scrunching the feature in question and squirming it a little. "Tasha, dot a goo-huh... a good idea. S'godda bake be sdee-... sdee..." She delicately circled the tip of her nail around one quivering pink nostril, then sat back as he suddenly grimaced and lost control.

"Heh'ATSSCHH! -- AA'SHHH!"

Covering the sudden sneezes necessitated only a slight turn of her hand to cup his nose in the tissue barrier of her palm, but she still tightened her knees and braced herself for the quick jolt his body gave beneath her. She gave his nose a quick wipe before he could recover enough to protest or even look surprised, then resumed the ticklish sensation of a nail tracing against the underside of his nose.

"Huh--!! Huh'ATSSCHH'U! ... Ta-- hh! ... Tasha..." She rustled the nest of tissues around his nose encouragingly, then bit her own lip at the unexpectedly pleasing sensation of his chest expanding between her straddling legs, lifting her up an inch or two. "Hh--! AAH'SSHHH! -- AA'SSHH!"

She rode the spasm of his frame better this time, like a wave, rolling her hips smoothly and allowing him exactly three seconds to catch breath. Then she was right back at it, scratching a corner of the tissue against the sore skin of one nostril. They seemed to be unbearably sensitive, widening to a trembling flare at the faintest stimulus.

"HEH'TSSCHuu!"

She folded the tissues over and gave one gentle upwards stroke. Reapplied the touch of her finger to the quivering septum.

"UTTSHHH-UU!"

Wipe. Touch.

"H--ATSCHHH!!"

His hands had taken to tightly squeezing her thighs at each spasming release, but they could both sense the congestion loosening, so he didn't bother to actively fight her methods. The last one didn't come on so quickly, however, as he laid there with brow pinched and lips parted in irritation. The gentle, feathering touch of her nailtip or even the pad of one finger only served to worsen the trenched furrow of his forehead or the lines at the corners of his mouth.

"Stubborn," she smiled slightly.

"S-says... says you," Clint replied, hoarse and quavering as he waited patiently for the prickling touch to crystallize into a sneeze. She used the pause to replenish the handful of tissues and pitch the others into the trash, then leaned low to exhale a thin, cool stream of across the tip of his nose, punctuating it with a small kiss. That seemed to do it. He inhaled immensely beneath her, expression crumpling as she quickly sat back.

"Hh-HETSSSCHH'U!!"

The weak, painful-sounding crack in his voice for that one signaled that he'd probably had enough, so she let him take the tissues and blow strenuously for several long moments. She didn't bother to dismount, though, pausing a moment to privately savor the tension of his abdomen flexing and relaxing against her for each breath. Finally, he pitched the second bundle aside, wiped his streaming eyes with the back of a hand and flopped like a rag doll on the bed, moaning.

"Better?"

He took a long, deep breath through his nose, then nodded to confirm. "Oh god, yes. Much. Wow." He still sniffled lightly, but with far more success than before. "Thanks," he exhaled, taking her other hand and kissing the fingertips gently. "I think that's the definition of tough love."

She chuckled despite herself. "Bless you. I'm going to go stick my hands in bleach now."

He grinned and pulled her down for a more direct kiss. She'd long ago given up on trying to avoid the virus, and instead slid a hand behind his head, returning the gesture until her thoughts started to drift. Then it was time to break and roll off, leaving him sighing. "Really?"

Natasha's smile tightened into something borderline mischievous, eyes dark and blown in the dim lighting of the wee hours. "Rain check, all the more reason to get better." She pressed her lips to his bicep, toned from hours with a bow whose draw weight would befuddle even Olympic archers. The fact that he was fever-flushed, hoarse and dripping didn't faze her. They'd flirted in worse conditions. But she didn't want to exacerbate it either.

"Did you eat?" She fixed the blankets at the foot of the bed.

"Yesterday, I think." He sniffled blearily and rolled over onto his side to gaze at her. "Juice."

"Juice isn't food."

"It had pulp, it counts.

"No," she shut him down firmly, but not without her own brand of affection. "I'm going to make soup, then put in a movie. Okay?"

"Okay," he got out around a yawn, half-smothered against one hand, then itched his nose lazily with one forefinger. "Thanks, Nat."

"You're welcome."

Natasha had no practical application for most domestic skills, but she could cook for herself, and prepackaged soup wasn't hard to make. Clint's kitchen was woefully bare, however, and it took her a bit of scrounging to find some peanut butter and crackers, double-checking to ensure they hadn't expired. Protein? Good, yes. Fifteen minutes later, a fragrant chicken broth was bubbling on the stove, as good as any she could have made with hours of simmering. She stashed the ginger ale to the back of the fridge for later, if the cold turned into something worse, and settled for ice water for both of them, two bowls of noodle soup and a little platter of peanut butter cracker sandwiches. Trashy food, but comfort food.

Balancing it all neatly onto a tray, she headed back to the bedroom to find Clint dozing lightly.

"Wake up," she prompted verbally upon entering, because neither of them ever woke the other through touch alone. Even with agents that had worked in the field together for years upon years, that was asking for trouble. Fortunately, Clint cracked an eye open calmly.

"Wasn't asleep."

"Yes you were. You snore." She shoved a peanut butter cracker into his mouth to stall any further protests, then stuck a DVD into the nearby player.

She took her soup and settled back onto the opposite side of the bed, sipping contentedly at the broth sans spoon.

"Lord of the Rings?" Clint mused after watching the screen for a minute. "Seriously?"

"It's long and boring," she said. "Better than Ambien. And I've been jonesing for it since Stark started calling you Legolas."

He made a strange sound at that that could have been a laugh or a snort, difficult to tell with his returning congestion and a mouthful of another cracker.

They watched in companionable quiet for a while, while Clint picked at the crackers and water. Eventually, he spoke up.

"This is nice, we should do this more often."

"What, movies?"

"Yeah. This... I dunno, domestic stuff. It's kinda just... nice."

She lowered her soup bowl to give him a guarded look. "Barton, if you're having a mid-life crisis where you suddenly declare your love to me and want a house with a white picket fence..."

This time he did laugh, sharply. "Hah! No, nothing like that. Breaks are good, though, yeah? Even you have to admit that, and headquarters doesn't exactly encourage a relaxing atmosphere."

"Couple of master assassins playing house," she smirked, he returned it.

"Call it team-bonding."

"Now you sound like Stark."

They shared a laugh and went quiet. She considered that in silence for a while, though, half-watching small hairy men prance about the screen.

"He keeps inviting us to live at the tower," she announced suddenly, drawing a surprised look.

"Us?"

"Yes. Me, you, Rogers... probably Thor, too, but I don't think that would work. Interdimensional space travel whatever. Anyway, it's come up a couple times." Tony had been a lot more blunt and demanding about the suggestion, actually, but coming from him that was more or less an engraved invitation and bouquet of flowers.

Clint seemed to be digesting that for a moment. He gave her an odd sort of sidelong look. "Do you... want to?"

She glanced down at her soup, tilting the bowl a little to watch the twirl of noodles and chicken bits in the remaining inches of broth. Natasha was quick-thinking and adaptable -- she had to be, in her line of work, but Clint was arguably the more open-minded of the pair. Not naive, just open-minded. That he found her interest surprising wasn't itself unexpected.

It was nice to have a partner who knew her inside and out, who she could rely on in the most dire of situations, but it was even nicer to know that she still stumped him sometimes.

"It could be a good idea," she admitted finally, shrugging. "If this... initiative is going to be a thing." And it did indeed seem to be a Thing. "Might be good to familiarize ourselves."

"You floated for Stark for a w-- while," Clint agreed, eyes watering and then threw his head sharply to one side with a prickling sneeze. "H'ATSSCHH! --- AA'SSHH! Ugh. Snf! But what about the others? I wasn't sure if you actually... liked them."

She and Clint kept a very small, tight confidence, and she liked it that way. Just she and Barton, sometimes Fury but always in a professional fashion. Before... everything, Phil had been in the wings of Men She Trusted too. But not anymore.

"I like them," she agreed, genuinely. "All things considered." Tony was irritating and eccentric, but he could be managed, and she liked Pepper's gall. Steve was Steve and hard to dislike, really. Bruce was the same way, but The Other Guy was an entirely different matter, and one that Clint probably recognized but didn't ask her specifically about. He'd read through the briefings well enough afterwards. She'd told him how she'd frozen up and felt entirely helpless and out of her element (while still actually being in her element) with a beast she couldn't possibly hope to best with cunning, hand-to-hand combat, or even her feminine wiles. Still, nobody was going back on ice or back into hiding, it seemed, and so...

"We could," Clint confirmed, more surely. "It's huge, safe as we can get outside of headquarters. Where do we really even live anyway?"

Natasha nodded, catching his meaning. A bed was a bed, they'd slept on Egyptian cotton and wet newspapers in alleyways, and been restationed and uprooted so many times that no where was truly 'home' but with one another.

"Something to think on, anyway," she murmured, receiving a nod in turn. And then, because she hadn't meant to sober the conversation like that, "... stop decimating those crackers, save me some."

"S'my food," he answered defiantly with another mouthful of peanut butter and Saltine.

"I cooked."

"This is cooking?"

She resisted the temptation to punch him, if only because he moved the plate of crackers between them and obligingly took up his soup instead. She smirked, and they finished their four-in-the-morning meal to the sounds of Middle Earth adventuring.

Afterwards, she cleared the plates aside to the nightstand to be dealt with later, and let her partner shuffle himself contentedly against her side, head to her breast. The movie droned on as background noise, he was watching it through a sniffly but well-fed haze, but she was stroking his hair idly and studying his face in the blue-tinted television glow.

Not a handsome man, but not homely. So average that he seemed born for this line of work, although there was nothing secretive about the toned muscle of his arm draped over her stomach. The peak of human conditioning, like her, without super-serum or radiation or alien biology or flying robotic suits. Her lips ghosted in a kiss over his hair, to which he responded with a sniffle.

"Thig I'b godda sdeeze agaid," he muttered, turning slightly to rub his nose against the fabric of her shirt, which she oddly didn't mind. As long as he didn't actually blow his nose on her.

She traced a fingertip over his ear, ghosting the tiny notch in it where a stray bullet had nicked it years ago. "Back to that, I see. Want another 'tough love' session?"

He laughed weakly against her, the sound warm and soft and vibrating through the mattress and her skin. Her toes curled a little. "Ode's edough for by yearly quo--- hh....quota. Snf-snffff! Ugh, nose is so sore."

It did look painful, puggish and twitching but queerly attractive. Cute, maybe? Natasha wasn't sure that 'cute' was in her repertoire of words to describe things or people, but it fit. Her mouth crimped to one side with more amusement than sympathy. "Stop mashing it against things like that. Here..."

She fetched another tissue or two, and cupped them at his jaw when he lifted his head a little. He made no move to vacate her side completely, however, in fact tightening the steely muscle of his arm over her as his breathing sped up and nostrils weakly flared. "Huhh--!"

Natasha curled an arm tight around him as he seized against with with a sudden, "APTSCHHH! H'uugh... I..."

"You never sneeze once, go ahead."

"S-should try just for tha---ATSSSCH! --HETSCHH'uu!"

Those sounded more relieving, so she murmured a quick 'blow' before he could recover enough to sneeze again. He took a breath and complied, letting her tend to his battered nose with a more delicate touch than he used. For a second his breath caught, and she thought she'd set him off all over again, but then he relaxed with another sniffle and quick rub against the back of his fingers, clearer and calmer now.

"Thanks, Tasha," he mumbled with drowsy satisfaction. She kissed his hair and listened to his breathing already beginning to slow with approaching sleep.

"Bless you. And don't mention it," she said, then exhaled a short, silent laugh through her own nose. "Really, don't, I'll have to kill you."

"I take that as a professional challenge," he yawned, then pushed his cheek back into her side and drifted serenely off.

To his credit, Clint didn't snore. He wheezed, sort of, or whistled through his nose if he was stuffed up, but he didn't snore. Natasha lay awake in bed for a while, listening to the soft snifflish sounds of his breathing, even in slumber, and staring down at his profile more than she did the movie. It was nice, she admitted, and that was what unsettled her, scared her a little. She could get used to this, in theory, but in reality she knew that she never could. Clint couldn't either, even if he pretended otherwise. They were cut from the same cloth. The others... well, they were different, from her and Clint and from each other, but day by day, she was starting to think of them less as remarkable individuals with similar goals, and more as teammates.

Yes, she could get used to that.

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YES, love Clint. <3

I squealed out loud at that first sneeze. So cute, so perfect for him. :wub:

Clint complied, or tried to anyway. A forceful exhalation or three into the bundle of white produced very little, and he only looked dizzy in the aftermath. A few blinks recovered him, then it was his turn to shrug. "Sorry, beed lige dis."

AWWW, I melted! Poor thing.

Nnff, I loved the calculated way she tickled his nose. :twisted:

"Huh--!! Huh'ATSSCHH'U! ... Ta-- hh! ... Tasha..." She rustled the nest of tissues around his nose encouragingly, then bit her own lip at the unexpectedly pleasing sensation of his chest expanding between her straddling legs, lifting her up an inch or two. "Hh--! AAH'SSHHH! -- AA'SSHH!"

DEAR LORD, WOMAN.

They seemed to be unbearably sensitive, widening to a trembling flare at the faintest stimulus.

Omg Garnet. Why are you so amazing.

She didn't bother to dismount, though, pausing a moment to privately savor the tension of his abdomen flexing and relaxing against her for each breath.

:dribble:

She fetched another tissue or two, and cupped them at his jaw when he lifted his head a little. He made no move to vacate her side completely, however, in fact tightening the steely muscle of his arm over her as his breathing sped up and nostrils weakly flared. "Huhh--!"

Natasha curled an arm tight around him as he seized against with with a sudden, "APTSCHHH! H'uugh... I..."

"You never sneeze once, go ahead."

"S-should try just for tha---ATSSSCH! --HETSCHH'uu!"

:dead: I love this. I love it all and I almost copy and pasted and commented on each individual paragraph. :laugh: He's so cute and drowsy and sneezy towards the end I can't take it.

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Mmmmm, Clint. I. Love. This. And how could you even ask if we're tired of Avenger fics when you already know the answer is no?! No, we are definetly NOT tired of your amazing stories, Garnet! This was awesome! I hope there's another fic soon to come!

BYE! :bleh:

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You know, although I do like Clint as a character, I'm really not that into him in a sexual or fetishy way, but this... You might just have changed my mind Garnet. Damn... Did you read my mind or something while you were writing this? Cause you packed pretty much all of my favourite things into this fic.

And really, what do you mean tired of Avengers? That sentence makes no sense, what's wrong with you? :P

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I'm just so happy right now, I could cry dribble.gifhappy%20crying.GIF

Let me go back and reread it another 3 times before I try to write anything that remotely makes any coherent sense hyper.gif

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Hnnnggg....... I don't think I have words.

Because...Jeremy Renner... oh the things I would do let that man do to me....UGHH.

This fic was a dream, love.

Just a dream.

ALL OF IT. yummy yummy CRACK.

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ahhhh that was wonderful!!! :heart:

i love everything...it was just SO perfect :yes:

and clint´s sneezes :drool: :drool: :nosebleed:

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I, uh... :shock:

That's the hottest nose-tickling/congestion-clearing scene I've ever read.

Just... guh, wow. :drool:

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......I can see my brain, it's on the floor having a conniption, because of the amazing-ness. Urrrgghh Tasha, you naughty, naughty agent you! AND MORE CLINT PUGGISH NOSE TORTURE!!!w00t.gifstretcher.gif Everything was just so.....AMAZING.

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Belated responses time!

@Anony - FUUUU you're so adorable look at all those quotes ahh! <3 I'm so glad there were multiple parts that stood out to you, I giggled like a dork reading your comment. I just... am really into his nostrils okay fhghg. THANK YOU.

@Bubbles - Haha nah I'm not seriously done writing Avengers fic or anything, this is probably the most I've written for one 'fandom' for a while, though! Thank you for reading <3

@Ouroboros - Thank you! I kind of felt the same way, I like Hawkeye but didn't feel any particular 'HOMINA HOMINA' for him until it just nailed me out of the blue. Then I needed to punish him with fic. And your kinks must be my kinks because man I just shove them all in and hope it makes for a coherent story!

@Snuffles - HEE, I'm so glad you're happy! Thank you!

@Rika - Oh man, right? He's so presh :C Then somebody had to go and post a video of him on tumblr singing "New York State of Mind" and I spiralled even deeper into the rabbit hole. YAY CRACK.

@Ciuty - Eee, thank you! I do enjoy writing those sneeze-sounds. Bracing!

@Quell - WEH, I'm glad! There's no such thing as 'overboard' for my dumb writings, so thought of it, went for it awww yeah.

@Grey on a Sunday - NOOO your brain! Haha, thank you for the comment! <3 I do love Natasha quite a bit, I don't care that their romance (sorta) was short-lived in the comics.

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WOOOOOOOAH HO HO~

GARNET~

THAT "TOUGH LOVE" SESSION xDDDDDD

*faints*... did me in, oh good lord~

You and your fantastic stories and descriptions b^^b

*flings flowers at your feet and claps* BRAVO, DARLING~!

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I want them to have another 'tough love' session. That is SO hot. Amazing job. <3

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OMG! Clint is my favorite Avenger! I love the way you spell his sneezes and how you had Natasha induce him...GUH. I'll be in my bunk.

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@Ouroboros - Thank you! I kind of felt the same way, I like Hawkeye but didn't feel any particular 'HOMINA HOMINA' for him until it just nailed me out of the blue. Then I needed to punish him with fic. And your kinks must be my kinks because man I just shove them all in and hope it makes for a coherent story!

Fic punishment is really the only way to respond to sudden feelings of HOMINA HOMINA. Especially when it ends up being such a delicious fic.

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You know what, screw that movie. I'm having enough fun with YOUR fiction. :heart:

I'm definitely with Mouse on this one. She picked out my favourite bits. The ones that made me go all throb-shiver-giggly with fetish-glee and admiration for your skill. Hah, really... :dribble:

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Oh god Clint love.

You are such an amazing writer it's implausable to spell it out.

This was adorable and hot at the same time, a really, REALLY nice skill.

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Omai, thank you guys so much :D I super appreciate you reading and ugh UGH I think the Hawkeye bug bit me hard. I want to write more on this, possibly an adult continuation. THE MACHINATIONS OF A PERVERT SIGH.

I love you all <3

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Omai, thank you guys so much biggrin.png I super appreciate you reading and ugh UGH I think the Hawkeye bug bit me hard. I want to write more on this, possibly an adult continuation. THE MACHINATIONS OF A PERVERT SIGH.

I love you all <3

I vote yes for adult continuation. :dribble: Though this was so hot I almost didn't realize that it wasn't on the adult boards.

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I literally was like HOMINA HOMINA and omg that was lovely beyond belief please keep writing avengers yes good

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