.. and just to get things started, A prompt:

Budapest, revisited.

Trapped in the prison of his mind he is bored and scared, he doesn't know what his fate will be.

He doesn't focus on the horrible things - what is left of his conscious mind drifts to somewhere far away; the very same place where he fell in love.

Budapest, he's there and for the moment everything will be okay!

And another prompt:

Clint stares at the coffee pot in his hand.

(no warnings, PG) There was probably such a thing as too much coffee but Clint didn't really care. He was on the edge between a bad place and a very bad place. If Natasha had been here, she'd know how to fix this but she wasn't and wouldn't be so he had to get through this on his own -alone.

Edited 2013-12-06 08:00 pm (UTC)

His need for caffeine was being cockblocked by his occasionally latent sense of self-preservation. There wasn't a single Avenger who knew how to make a decent cup of coffee save him and he hadn't made this pot: Tony, Steve, and Thor made (respectively) rocket fuel, turpentine, and something none of them could pronounce but could slay the wildest beasts of Muspelheim with only a drop; Bruce made brown water and Natasha, dear Natochka, could break down a Mark 19 in under a minute but couldn't figure out a Mister Coffee because she only ever used a Chemex or a briki at home. But Bruce and Natasha were away (for very different values of 'away') and Clint had been in the Army long enough to risk drinking coffee that could melt steel, so he reached for a cup.

As the proverbial straw in his head snapped, Clint stopped looking at the coffee pot in his hand and threw it against the wall.

In the space of a heartbeat, Natasha was back through the door and the two assassins stared at each other, layers of sexual tension and heat pooling in the air between them.

They were never able to say who moved first (which spoke volumes considering who the two of them were), just that another heartbeat later, they were up against the wall, finally wrapped around one another.

Prompt: Snowball fight

[random liberties in the timeline, I suppose!]

2002, in Budapest: A debt repaid and a job that they've sworn to do, a protection they've undertaken for each other, and she throws the packed ball of snow at his face as hard as he can to hide his identity from the man who threatens to destroy their cover.

2005, in Lisbon: He sneaks up behind her on the way to the cafe, a rare moment of intimate downtime in a week otherwise packed with heartache and loss, he lobs a ball of snow into her hair and watches the wet white disappear into the red.

2008, in Czechoslovakia: He starts it and lets her finish, until they end up with backs pressed to the ground, snow creeping into their coat sleeves, tongues entangled in silent declarations of trust and promises of forever.

Tony whips up his mask and reaches inside, but his fingers are still encased in steel and in any event, it is too late: the high-velocity snowball aimed precisely at the juncture between his helmet and his shoulder, has disintegrated on impact.

The fine spray of icy crystals melts quickly in the JARVIS-controlled heat of the Mach 56, and cold water trickles down Ironman's neck and back.

"Alright," he shouts, "next time, Legolas is on MY team."

Edited 2013-12-06 08:23 pm (UTC)

No warnings, no rating, no substance...

"Not here, not now, not like this, Tash, because it's not good enough for you," said Clint as he looked around the dingy motel room SHIELD used as a safe house.

As Natasha pushed herself up from him and hovered above his concerned face, she replied with a smile, "Stop making up excuses like a nervous teenager because where and when is irrelevant and the only thing that makes it perfect is that it will finally be with you."

He returned her smile, pulled her back down to him and growled, "Good, because I'm fresh out of excuses."

No apologies!!

:D very nice

Half light.

(no warnings, no rating)

All the experts said it was foolhardy to attempt a kill shot at twilight, a time when shadows were long and distances hard to read. Clint didn't care about what the experts said as he lined up the shot, a culmination of days of careful study and planning.

He didn't wait to see if the arrow landed, only stored the bow carefully in his duffle and walked deliberately down the stairs to blend in with the crowd of shoppers on the busy sidewalks below.

Go big or go home

"Bozhe moy," Natasha hisses under her breath as the beast thunders closer, "you really want to win that hunting trophy back from Stark pretty badly, don't you?"

"No worries," Clint answers, kissing the string of his bow, aiming straight through the time portal, "their brain is tiny, so one arrow to the eye should do it -- see?"

"Okay, so you got him, but just how were you planning on getting that T rex to the taxidermist?"

Hero worship

Steve sits in a corner of the bar cradling his beer and trying to breathe; apparently you can't take a drink without raising your head.

"You know, he's followed you around long enough to recognize the way you sound when you snort stuff out through your nose," Natasha observes.

"You might as well just go and sign those damn trading cards."

This is totally off-topic (I need to write a 3 sentence fic!! I can do that, right? Only 3 sentences. Sheesh, where's my xanax, haha), but in the banner pic, Renner reminds me so much of Jason Bateman. Now I'm picturing Jason Bateman as Barney. Marvel Studios, you're welcome.

Clint looked at the Washington Monument, looked at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"If you say "Mine is bigger," I'll kill you," Natasha told him, so innocently the tourists walking by didn't note her choice of words.

He leered at her before leaning down as she laughed, the traces of ice cream sticky and sweet on her lips.

I just cackled. Thank you. After the day I had, I needed that. Badly! <3

snickers, awesome

prompt: Reckless

(no warnings, no rating)
Natasha stood in the opening to his room, quietly seething, as he finished peeling his tattered shirt off. "Too close," she ground out between jaws clenched tight, "and you knew it."

"We don't trade our safety for a life," he responded halfheartedly as he dabbed at the worst of the still oozing wounds, "no matter if we like the person or not."

am wishing to be poked with prompts if anyone is interested, pretty please?

If this three-sentence fic interests you, feel free to run with it…

(No warnings)

Even after weighing the pros and cons and rehearsing the words for hours, Clint's final argument sounded weak as he ended it with, "… and there's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

One word from her mouth was all it took to break him: "Please."

He sighed in resignation, "Dammit."