FIC Shirt Thieves
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shanachie_quillTitle: Shirt Thieves
Characters: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Ariana Barton
Fandom: Avengers 2012
Series: Assassin Baby
Written For: completelyhopeless
Prompt: On Dreams
Summary: Clint comes home to find his shirt thieves have been at it again.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for completelyhopeless’s Shirt Theft story
Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me. Not making any money off this.
Second Disclaimer Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: completelyhopeless wrote a really cute story about Clint dreaming about a little girl. Well her story doesn’t have a daughter for Clint, but mine does so I “borrowed” her idea and filled in the blanks. Hope you like it!
Three Years after the Attempted Chitauri Invasion
Clint quietly closed the door to the suite, keeping his fingers in the opening as long as possible so it didn’t slam shut. They’d finally convinced Tony that sliding doors did not work with a curious and precocious child in the Tower. So most of the doors had been changed over. The ones that hadn’t, JARVIS was under strict instructions not to open them for Ariana unless it was an emergency. So far it had worked well. And as she got older, it wasn’t quite the issue it had been when she was four.
Dropping his duffle on the floor, he followed it more gently with his bow case. He was surprised that he hadn’t seen any sign of Ariana yet, but figured it might be late enough that Natasha had convinced her to go to bed. “JARVIS?” he asked quietly, hoping the AI would take his cue from the lowered voice. “Are Tasha and Ariana home?”
“Yes, Agent Barton, they are in your room,” was the prompt reply, the volume almost as low as Clint’s own.
Shaking his head, Clint headed towards the master bedroom, his feet silent on the hardwood floors despite the combat boots he wore. Slipping into the room, he scanned the corners before focusing on the bed, smiling softly when he spied Ariana curled up near the foot of the bed. Natasha lowered the book she’d been reading as he entered, putting her fingers to her lips. “How long has she been sleeping?” Clint questioned.
“About an hour,” Natasha answered. “That was after asking me every five minutes if I was sure you were coming home tonight.”
Clint winced. “Sorry. Couldn’t be helped. It’s not the same with all the restructuring.”
“She’s all yours tomorrow if she’s cranky,” the former spy informed him. “I told Steve I’d workout with him in the morning.”
“That’s fine,” Clint agreed. He leaned over, intending to roll Ariana off the bed and into his arms when he caught sight of the shirt she was wearing. “Is that…?” He glanced back up. “Is she…?” Looking more closely at Natasha, he realized he recognized the shirt she was wearing. “You’re wearing my shirt!” he exclaimed, a little louder than he meant to. “And so’s Ariana!”
Ariana sat up abruptly and only Clint’s reflexes saved him from getting cracked in the head with her head. “Daddy!” she shrieked, flinging herself at him.
He grunted as she landed in his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso. “You’re home!” she yelled in his ear.
Clint laughed as Natasha glared at them and Ariana wiggled around in his arms, trying to keep a hold of him and squeeze and kiss his face at the same time. “Settle down, Button,” he instructed when she continued to squirm. “Did you get a new shirt?”
She favored him with a look that was so ‘Tasha’ Clint had to stifle another laugh. “Daddy, it’s your shirt.”
“Why, yes, it is. And why are you wearing my shirt? Why is Mommy wearing my shirt?” As he spoke, Clint moved around the bed, dropping down onto it, and then realizing that he couldn’t undo his boots with Ariana clinging to him like a limpet. Natasha saw his predicament and twisted around, contorting herself so she was hanging off the bed. A minute later she hauled herself back upright and Clint kicked his boots off. “Thanks,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her.
Natasha returned his kiss, then indicated the child in his arms. “She’s your problem now. You woke her up.”
Clint considered his bed, his partner, and his daughter, then sighed before heaving himself to his feet. “Come on, Ariana. Let’s see if we can get you back to sleep.” He picked Ariana up and tossed her over his shoulder, shaking his head as she let out a peal of laughter.
Natasha just shook her head as they left the room. It was Clint’s problem if he wound her up now. She had a feeling she’d find them both collapsed on the floor in the morning, having worn themselves out. Meanwhile, she snuggled back down in the bed, soothed by the scent of Clint in the shirt she’d stolen, and fell fast asleep.
Characters: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Ariana Barton
Fandom: Avengers 2012
Series: Assassin Baby
Written For: completelyhopeless
Prompt: On Dreams
Summary: Clint comes home to find his shirt thieves have been at it again.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for completelyhopeless’s Shirt Theft story
Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me. Not making any money off this.
Second Disclaimer Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: completelyhopeless wrote a really cute story about Clint dreaming about a little girl. Well her story doesn’t have a daughter for Clint, but mine does so I “borrowed” her idea and filled in the blanks. Hope you like it!
Three Years after the Attempted Chitauri Invasion
Clint quietly closed the door to the suite, keeping his fingers in the opening as long as possible so it didn’t slam shut. They’d finally convinced Tony that sliding doors did not work with a curious and precocious child in the Tower. So most of the doors had been changed over. The ones that hadn’t, JARVIS was under strict instructions not to open them for Ariana unless it was an emergency. So far it had worked well. And as she got older, it wasn’t quite the issue it had been when she was four.
Dropping his duffle on the floor, he followed it more gently with his bow case. He was surprised that he hadn’t seen any sign of Ariana yet, but figured it might be late enough that Natasha had convinced her to go to bed. “JARVIS?” he asked quietly, hoping the AI would take his cue from the lowered voice. “Are Tasha and Ariana home?”
“Yes, Agent Barton, they are in your room,” was the prompt reply, the volume almost as low as Clint’s own.
Shaking his head, Clint headed towards the master bedroom, his feet silent on the hardwood floors despite the combat boots he wore. Slipping into the room, he scanned the corners before focusing on the bed, smiling softly when he spied Ariana curled up near the foot of the bed. Natasha lowered the book she’d been reading as he entered, putting her fingers to her lips. “How long has she been sleeping?” Clint questioned.
“About an hour,” Natasha answered. “That was after asking me every five minutes if I was sure you were coming home tonight.”
Clint winced. “Sorry. Couldn’t be helped. It’s not the same with all the restructuring.”
“She’s all yours tomorrow if she’s cranky,” the former spy informed him. “I told Steve I’d workout with him in the morning.”
“That’s fine,” Clint agreed. He leaned over, intending to roll Ariana off the bed and into his arms when he caught sight of the shirt she was wearing. “Is that…?” He glanced back up. “Is she…?” Looking more closely at Natasha, he realized he recognized the shirt she was wearing. “You’re wearing my shirt!” he exclaimed, a little louder than he meant to. “And so’s Ariana!”
Ariana sat up abruptly and only Clint’s reflexes saved him from getting cracked in the head with her head. “Daddy!” she shrieked, flinging herself at him.
He grunted as she landed in his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso. “You’re home!” she yelled in his ear.
Clint laughed as Natasha glared at them and Ariana wiggled around in his arms, trying to keep a hold of him and squeeze and kiss his face at the same time. “Settle down, Button,” he instructed when she continued to squirm. “Did you get a new shirt?”
She favored him with a look that was so ‘Tasha’ Clint had to stifle another laugh. “Daddy, it’s your shirt.”
“Why, yes, it is. And why are you wearing my shirt? Why is Mommy wearing my shirt?” As he spoke, Clint moved around the bed, dropping down onto it, and then realizing that he couldn’t undo his boots with Ariana clinging to him like a limpet. Natasha saw his predicament and twisted around, contorting herself so she was hanging off the bed. A minute later she hauled herself back upright and Clint kicked his boots off. “Thanks,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her.
Natasha returned his kiss, then indicated the child in his arms. “She’s your problem now. You woke her up.”
Clint considered his bed, his partner, and his daughter, then sighed before heaving himself to his feet. “Come on, Ariana. Let’s see if we can get you back to sleep.” He picked Ariana up and tossed her over his shoulder, shaking his head as she let out a peal of laughter.
Natasha just shook her head as they left the room. It was Clint’s problem if he wound her up now. She had a feeling she’d find them both collapsed on the floor in the morning, having worn themselves out. Meanwhile, she snuggled back down in the bed, soothed by the scent of Clint in the shirt she’d stolen, and fell fast asleep.
