bakerstreet | The Compulsive Truth Telling Meme.

Entry tags:

The Compulsive Truth Telling Meme.

Dignity? Modesty? Propriety? Being able to keep secrets? These things are someone else's problem now that your character has been somehow given a super dose of truth serum. No matter what they do, they cannot help but tell the truth. They are compelled to do it and, by God, nothing's gonna stop. Nothing can stop them.

How to:

→ Post with your character . . . who has just been dosed with the ultimate magical truth serum, blurting out something they would otherwise lie about or keep secret. Maybe they are in the middle of spouting off an unpopular opinion, an embarrassing personal fact or admitting to a favorite sexual position or partner? Run wild the idea. Just . . .
→ DO NOT LEAVE YOUR COMMENT BLANK. It's your character and their secret.
→ Other characters reply with their reactions. Shenanigans ensue!
→ If confronted with a question, your character MUST answer all of them honestly.
→ Have fun and be excellent to each other.

Meme idea taken and modified from previous memes, notably this one from TLH.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

“You wear a tutu?” Clint asked, eyebrows raising. “Okay, not that I have to see. It can be a private show, nobody else has to see.” He was positively grinning with delight at the whole idea of it. The deadly Black Widow in a tutu? If it was pink he might just die.

Watching her remove her weapons, he moved to do the same. Unstrapping his glove, he pulled at the ends of the fingers with his teeth until he could remove it completely, tossing it back over his shoulder to the small table behind him. He could feel his nerves beginning to rise as she considered his offer. He had never been the most open person in the world, neither of them were, so he knew she knew the importance of the offer, just as he knew the importance of her current circumstances. He wouldn’t take advantage of her while she was like this but he knew he had to try to be truthful in whatever she asked of him.

It wasn’t starting off good when she began with stipulations.

“I can promise to try,” he said, which was as good as he could give. He definitely couldn’t promise not to laugh at least without knowing what it was. Working off his arm guards, Clint stopped short at her first question. In a million years he would never have guessed it.

At least the shock kept him from laughing.

“Seriously?” he questioned, not knowing what else to say. She had to be joking. “You do know there’s about fifty of them, right?” Not that he’d really had an opportunity to see many of them himself. Movies hadn’t really been a thing he’d done growing up. Most normal kid things hadn’t.

The second question he should have expected. Maybe he had hoped she wouldn’t dig so deep, but it didn’t come completely by surprise. Tossing his guards back with the glove, he slowly removed the gun holster from his leg as well, taking the time to consider his answer. Folding his arms on the chair again he buried his face in them so only his eyes were visible.

“There was a fire in you I couldn’t extinguish,” he started slowly, casting a quick glance at Natasha before dropping his eyes to the floor again. “I saw someone who didn’t want to be doing what they were doing, someone who wanted out but didn’t know how to break free. I thought... Maybe you wanted me to kill you?” He looked at her again. “I knew what rock bottom felt like and SHIELD managed to pull me out of it. I saw... I guess I saw a bit of myself in you and thought they could do the same for you.”

It was hard to put it into words, everything he had felt in that moment, in that split second decision.

"No." She caught the grin on his lips and couldn't help matching a smile of her own. "I used to, back then." Her brows furrowed in concentration, eyes slipping shut. "It was black, edged in white lace, red bows". The images flickered through her mind like an old film projector, the reels skipping every so often. "I don't own a tutu anymore. I still have the pumps. They were black too. It seems to be a trending colour".

Stipulations kept her alive. More often than not she broke the terms of her own stipulations in the face of interrogations merely because she could, or she guessed she took a sick pleasure in watching people suffer for their sins.

She huffed a sigh past her lips, staring at him, any hint of a smile gone. "Yes seriously and no, I didn't know how many there are. I just want to watch them." It was Steve's fault. In a rare moment of downtime Steve had made her sit and watch Bambi with him. Natasha had feigned ignorance but deep down she'd enjoyed it far more than false explosions and gore. "I've seen Bambi, we can cross that off the list." He didn't need to know about that shared moment of understanding with Steve. Didn't need to know how she'd gone to bed thinking about all the films she'd missed out on, it had made her start to question her life choices, or her life in general considering she never had choices. "Disney wasn't readily accessable in the Red Rooms Clint." She'd sighed it out even though her fist had clenched. They'd robbed her of a childhood she should have had.

Natasha had diverted rull attention at the answer, never blinking and seemingly never taking a breath until he was finished and she took a breath and closed her eyes. "At that moment I wanted you to kill me. The come down was nasty. I'd become a traitor for putting faith and trust in a man who'd been sent to destroy me. I deserted the motherland. I deserved to die in their eyes." She reached out, tentively placing a hand on his arm, fingers stretching along the fabric of his jacket. "Now I'm glad you had some resolve."

Shield had become a home for her. Even if she wouldn't admit how much she enjoyed the company of them. There were no ulterior motives to their kindness, no hidden agenda's for wanting her company. It had taken her so long to get used to it, the feeling of being wanted for her, and not just because her body was the worst weapon, deadly yet seductive. They didn't treat her like some fragile flower that was stunted in her growth. They just accepted her and her demons.

She realised she was still touching him and slowly recoiled, fingertips burning as if she'd burnt them. "Thanks, for you know, not killing me and all."

Clint couldn’t help but picture the outfit Natasha was describing and it was sexy as hell in his mind’s eye. “That’s a damn shame,” he said when she claimed to now be tutu-less. Maybe he should get her one for Christmas. If he wanted to live to see New Years he probably shouldn’t.

Watching her oddly as she got all defensive about wanting to watch Disney films, he wisely kept his mouth shut until the end. Ah, of course. He hadn’t had much of a childhood for different reasons, but it hadn’t been stolen away like hers had, he hadn’t been forced to grow up and become a machine, an instrument of death. “I’m sure I can find a list somewhere. We can start at the top, go chronologically,” he gave in easily. If it made her happy he’d concede; besides, she’d said ‘we’. She didn’t just want to watch the movies, she wanted to watch them with him, and that was enough. They didn’t really get a lot of downtime to spend together, just the two of them anymore, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

Holding his breath after he had finished telling his own story of the day they met, he waited until she closed her eyes before finally looking away again. It was as he suspected, part of her had had a death wish, but to hear her confirm it tore at his heart. He had killed many people in his lifetime but he reasoned that they were all bad people, that it was for his country, for the world, that he did it. The thing he never let himself dwell on was the one question: how many of them had been like Natasha, redeemable if given the chance?

Eyes drawn to her hand on his arm he once again told himself it didn’t matter. He had saved her and that was enough; she was worth ten of anyone else, a hundred even.

Everything.

“Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, unsure what else he was supposed to say in reply. Leaning to one side he reached down to untie the laces of his boot and slip it off, the other quickly following. Getting to his feet and stretching, he pulled off his jacket and hung it on the chair. Standing at the side of the cot he motioned at her. “Now scootch over a bit.”

The idea of unwrapping a garish tutu would have made Natasha chuckle, a lot. Not her usual Widow chuckle, but an actual Natasha laugh, the rare emotion that only seemed to rear it's head around Clint.

"It sounds good, maybe we can convince Fury to let us have a couple of days off. Then at least we could sleep in between the marathon." Natasha rolled shoulders, releasing the tense muscle that was starting to ache in her position.

She knew the idea of her back-story unsettled him. Hell the mere idea of it unsettled her and she often wondered what she'd become, how she'd got to the point where she cared so much about the demons. Maybe it was becoming a Shield agent, or maybe it was just the care that Clint had shown her.

She breathed a sigh, watching him with intense concentration as he removed the boots, the way his deft fingers worked at the laces. It was alright for him, there were no strange buckles or straps that kept his boots connected to his clothing. The idea of taking her own shoes off passed through her mind, but she shook it off, not really caring.

She moved, shuffling along, drawing knees up to her chest to make more room on the cot, resting her head back against the wall. "I mean it." She mused, rolling her head to watch him carefully. "I appreciate the honesty, even though you're not the one with the inability to hide anything. If you have a burning question I'll let you have a free pass to ask it."

The idea of asking Fury for a few days off so they could do a Disney marathon got a chuckle out of Clint. He could just imagine the director looking back and forth between them with his one good eye, trying to figure out if they were putting him on or if the last mission had finally broken them. It was almost worth asking just to see his reaction. “Good thing he’s unlikely to ask just why we want the time off, unless he’s already got another job lined up for us.”

When Natasha moved over, Clint settled himself on the cot beside her, stretching the length of his body along it. There was another cot in the room he could have just as easily taken but for whatever reason the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Lying flat on his back, his head on the pillow, he turned his head slightly to the side and raised his eyes to her. He knew it wasn’t an offer to be taken lightly, this opportunity to ask her anything he wanted. It was a show of trust, a show of gratitude and... he couldn’t take it.

“I wouldn’t feel right asking anything... real knowing that you can’t refuse to answer,” he admitted quietly. Then he smiled. “Just be glad you’re here with me and not with someone like Stark. You know he’d be asking things like do you think I’m sexy? or have you ever wanted to just jump my bones?” Clint laughed, completely oblivious to how he’d phrased the words.

She hadn't even gave a thought to Fury's reaction, thinking about it now she couldn't help but plaster a grin on her face. "I think he's past the point of asking anybody why they want time off, although the look on his face would make my day complete."

The fact he'd chosen to bundle himself up on the same cot made her smile lightly. She knew in the comedown of the adrenaline hit that she liked being close to someone. It was a habit she'd picked up since working with the good guys and especially being around Clint. Mainly because she trusted him with her life and any concern about letting her guard down was overshadowed by the bond between them. Having him in close contact as the comedown struck was something she'd grown to understand and somewhat enjoy.

That was until he'd unknowingly pitched those two questions and her eyes instantly grew wide. Dark of her pupils dilating in the stunted light and she slammed her head back against the wall, gritting her teeth, fisting her hair until her scalp stung. It was really no use and she almost let out a glutteral scream, attempting to escape by stumbling over his legs and falling flat on her face on the floor. "Yes. Yes".

Time stood still, she took a ragged intake of breath, pressed her cheek away from him aware that she'd bit her lip on her tumble down and made herself bleed, drops rolling down the side of her face as she laid on the cold floor and squeezed eyes closed. Not offering anymore information considering she thought she'd said enough and made her jaw ache from teeth crashing together with the fall.

"Fuck" she mumbled weakly, spitting out a trail of blood, covering her head with her arms, tugging on her hair to distract from the self-inflicted split lip.

Clint had been completely unprepared for the violent reaction that followed his joke. He had just been relaxing further into the pillow when Natasha suddenly slammed her head back into the wall. Sitting up with a start, he stared wide eyes when she crawled across him as if to escape, almost like her life depended on it. The dismount looked painful and he visibly winced.

“Jesus, Tasha, are you alright?” he asked, confused and shocked and concerned. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed to the floor, he was just reaching for her when it registered that she had answered before he had even asked the question. She had said yes first, before he had asked if she was okay. She had... she had answered the questions he hadn’t even meant to ask.

“No. No, no, I wasn’t really asking anything! I didn’t mean... I was just... wait... what?”

She had said yes, yes to both questions, yes she found him sexy and yes she wanted to... oh man. Cringing at the blood he tried to shake his head clear. He hadn’t meant to ask her anything else and now... he kept asking question. “You don’t have to answer,” he jumped in quickly, though he was pretty sure it didn’t work that way. “I mean... shit.”  

The amount of blood pooling around her mouth had her rolling from her cheek to her forehead, still crumpled in an untidy heap on the floor. "No". She winced, banging her forehead lightly against the floor. "Stop."

She heard the floor creak, stiffened her body in case he tried to touch her. Right now she couldn't decide if she was actually ashamed or angry. She decided on the latter emotion, mainly because it was such a fond, firm favorite of hers.

She shifted her leg at his words, kicking him hard in the shin, another question deserved a kick. She just wished she could have aimed higher to his crotch.
"Stop. Please." She coughed out a choked back scream. "Yes I think your sexy, hot, all of the other alternatives you can think of. Yes most days I feel like jumping on you and clawing you out of that suit" She whimpered, bashing her head again.

She kicked him again in response, it didn't matter that he'd told her to not answer. Because it just seemed to fall out her mouth anyway. She really wanted to clamp her mouth down and stop talking, but this bad case of truthful verbal vomit had her saying things she'd have never told him otherwise. A small fragment of her was glad it was out in the open, maybe now she could get over it and move on. A larger part of her was mixed between wanting to strangle the life out of him or walk back to the Tower on her own, screw the extraction. She could get a ride when she found a road that wasn't in the middle of no-where.

“Dammit, Natasha, stop that,” Clint said, distressed by the harm she was doing to herself. He moved to reach for her again but was stopped short when she hauled off and kicked him. “Fuck ouch!” Grabbing his leg and rubbing his shin, he glared at her back.

Then she was elaborating and he momentarily forgot his pain.

There had always been a certain tension between them when adrenaline ran hot, and they certainly had their moments, but somehow they’d always managed to keep from crossing that line, no matter how close they got to it. The fact of the matter was, though, that he had wanted her for a long time, the problem was that he wanted more than to just ‘claw her out of her suit’ and have his way with her. She wasn’t just his partner she was his best friend, the only person he truly trusted and he didn’t want to screw that up because he couldn’t keep things casual.

“Tasha... he said softly before letting out another loud curse when she kicked him again. “Christ, would you stop doing that? And stop hurting yourself! You’re freaking me out.” 

She didn't answer, too concerned in spitting the blood from her mouth, the metallic taste all too familiar on her tongue. Feeling the weight of his glare like a heavy burden, but she felt no remorse. Out of everyone it should have been Clint who knew not to piss her off. He'd watched her take apart men in higher power than him through her anger, watched her laugh in their faces and saw the rage bubble under her skin.

Tension had always been apart of her life, but being around Clint had made her see tension in a whole other light. She didn't know how to control feelings, didn't know if they were real or something created to test her resolve. She knew it ran deeper, she just couldn't explain or understand how deep. Caring wasn't the same as loving but Natasha couldn't decide between the two.

"No" She mumbled into the floor. Finally finding the will power to push herself up, sitting back against the cots frame. Finally defeated and tired from her exertion. The cut would heal, by morning it would be nothing but a small mark, thanks to the serums she'd been pumped with, the enhancers. "Don't. Don't even.. no" Hand was raised defensively as if she was conducting the bricks to slot back into the walls he'd just torn apart. "I.. You.. I can't." She mumbled, wondering if this sudden come-down was what it felt like to be a lost child. Finally she stood, rubbing at her wrists, turning to face him, eyes finally raising to his face. "Congratulations. I'd give you a gold star but I didn't bring my sticker book" Eyes were narrowed, forcing herself down onto the cot, spread out on her back, fighting off the headache blossoming in her temples.

"Be lucky I kicked you and didn't just choke you out Barton"

Clint wasn’t sure whether to be relieved when she finally moved to sit up or afraid. When she stood he definitely settled on the latter. Her kicks had hurt enough when she had been curled up on the floor, and he had seen what she could do to a man when she was really trying.

He watched her carefully, brow furrowed in deep concern, wanting nothing more than to wipe away the blood but knowing that even moving right now could be dangerous to his health. He flinched when she laid down behind him but otherwise didn’t move. Well, hadn’t this just gone to hell in a handbasket real quick?

“Natasha... I’m sorry,” he started quietly, resting his elbows on his knees and keeping his back to her. “I wasn’t gonna ask you anything. Even when you gave me a freebie, I didn’t want...” Dropping his head he ran his hands back through is hair. “I didn’t want to screw everything up. You know how good I am at that.” 

Her pounding head wasn't helped by the lights, clasping a hand over her face in an attempt to filter the light, to fill her head with the calming darkness while it pounded. It probably hadn't been the best idea to beat her face into the floor, but for a moment it had felt good, gave her something else to concentrate on other than admitting to wanting him.

"Stop talking" Natasha sighed, trying to work things out in her head. Hand brushing the trail of blood that curved a path across her cheek and down her neck. "You can't be held responsible for the fact you have no filter between your brain and your mouth." Her words sounded tired, so defeated through her confession and ungraceful escape.

"You haven't screwed anything up." She rolled onto her side, staring at his back, the muscle shifting under his clothes as he moved. She swallowed everything back, the confession, whatever she was feeling and reached out, placing fingers on his spine, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry I kicked you, but you deserved it, both times".

She'd get over it, she'd brush it off her shoulders. The pain of having to admit things, the anger at his careless mocking questions. "If it's any consolation, if it was Stark in your place, I'd have certainly choked him out, just for a quiet life." She left her hand on his back, aimlessly tracing patterns of stars and triangles and a circle just for good measure. Natasha found it far too hard to be angry at him, maybe how she felt was real, maybe she'd have to consult a dictionary.

Stop talking, right. He could do that, it was a simple enough request... so why was it so difficult to actually follow through on? He wanted to protest against the insult, but it was unfortunately true; he really was lacking in the brain to mouth filter department. He just... he hated hearing her talk in that tone, sounding so lost and defeated, but more than that he hated that he was the cause of it.

His whole body tensing when she touched him, it took a moment for his muscles to relax, for him to realise she wasn’t planning on attacking him again. Once he did he may have even leaned into the touch a bit. “I guess I should thank you for at least kicking both legs so the bruises will be evenly distributed,” he said with a bit of a strained chuckle. Scrubbing his hands vigorously through his hair, when he finally dropped his arms again his hair stood at all different angles.

“That does help a little,” Clint said, finally looking back over his shoulder at her. What was he supposed to say now? Should he just pretend it had never happened and try to ignore what he now knew? Should he tell her he felt the same, that had she asked him the same questions he would have given the same answers? For a moment he said nothing, he just watched her silently. 

"You can't wear a skirt for a while, that's for sure" Her words were mumbled, hazy with the sense of sleep she was fighting off. Muscles ached and all Natasha wanted was a scorching hot bath to relax in and a good book. She smiled lightly at his hair, finding the odd angles of his shadow amusing.

"It should help. I couldn't put up with him. I'd have strangled him out not long after setting foot here." She caught his eyes, suddenly feeling overly self conscious she'd got a stained trail of red across her face, probably because he was just looking at her and not speaking. She fixed it by closing her eyes for a moment, fingers stilling until they were merely resting down on his lower back like he'd become her touch stone.

She finally managed to open her eyes, finding him still staring at her, unable to block the feeling of his eyes on her. "Stop staring at me like I'm either going to break or explode Clint. I'm done. Tired out."

Despite everything he managed a chuckle at her joke. “Damn, there goes all my fashion plans for the weekend,” he replied, feeling himself relax a little. They were going to be okay, he just had to pretend she hadn’t just admitted to wanting to tear his clothes off because she thought he was sexy. Right. He could do that.

Shit.

“I’m sure he would have given you a reason to before you even had the door closed.” Knowing the genius that was Tony Stark, he probably would have figured out Natasha’s predicament before they’d even left the laboratory and it would have taken all the willpower he didn’t have to wait until they were in the safehouse to start grilling her for information. He would have been unconscious in minutes, Iron Man suit or not.

“Sorry,” Clint looked quickly away when she called him on his staring. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, some sort of sign of what to do next? “It’s been a long day, why don’t we just get some sleep?” He moved to get to his feet, this time the second cot his chosen destination. 

Natasha managed a smile back, the images of Clint in a skirt was simply far too much for her to ignore.

"Stark doesn't even need to give me a reason, I'd just do it to stop him talking full stop." Then he was moving and her hand dropped from his back, hanging over the edge of the cot. Another question. Damn she was banning questions when this thing wore off.

"Yes" She mumbled in response to the question, sleep would probably help. Maybe when she woke up she'd be able to lie through her teeth at any question proposed. She watched him start to move, bit into her already split lip and furrowed brows. "No. Too far away" She mumbled, that one outstretched hand reaching fingers out further through the air, grabbing at nothing. "I.. don't want you that far away, not now" She'd have whined but it was beneath her, instead she just closed eyes and hoped he'd move back towards her.

The state she was in, feeling fragile like glass, the headache, the pounding of blood in her ears, the fact she'd spilled some of her darkest secrets. She felt no shame anymore. Just the need to have him close, like after most missions when she was feeling exhausted. The need of companionship could outweigh the shame or anger.

Badmouthing Tony Stark was a sport they could always both enjoy. It wasn’t that Clint didn’t like the man, he actually got along with him quite well and considered him a friend, but ragging on the billionaire still made for good sport. “Probably the only way to ensure he stop talking.” Tony had a comment for everything, time and place never mattered. Clint suspected he just loved the sound of his own voice so much he couldn’t help but fill every silence with it.

Getting to his feet, the archer barely made it a step before Natasha’s voice stopped him. He hadn’t asked a question, she didn’t have to say what she said; she was saying it because she wanted to, because she wanted him to stay. He stood silently a moment, his back to her and his brow furrowed before finally turning back and taking her outstretched hand. He didn’t want the distance either, probably why he hadn’t given the other cot a single thought before everything had gotten awkward. In their business they were exposed to the worst people and crimes the world had to offer on a daily basis, so at the end of the day it was nice to be close to someone, to feel that reassurance that not everyone was bad, that other people felt the horrors just as strongly.

“Okay,” Clint said quietly as he lay beside her again. Keeping her hand in his, he held it against his chest a moment, right over his heart, before finally slackening his hold so she could retract her hand if she wanted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Natasha clung to his fingers, grasping them in her warm grip, blinking sleep from her eyes.

It was stupid to say but she felt safe around him, usually she was the type of woman who could easily fall into a light sleep with her fingers wrapped around a gun or a blade hidden under her pillow, yet that's all it was a light sleep. However with Clint around she replaced the gun with him and didn't have to worry about being awake enough to get up if she needed to, kowing that whatever came through the door she wouldn't have to face it alone.

She exhaled a quiet sigh, forcing eyes open, teeth biting at her torn lip. Too close, her hand under his pressing against his heart, feeling the beat under her fingers. Even when he moved his hand she kept her hand there, finally curling fingers into the material of his clothing just for something to hold onto.

"I'm sorry" The mumble was lazy, forced out between soft breaths. "About everything.. I don't want you feeling awkward or anything. Or treating me any different." She lazily shrugged, wincing at the straining muscles, fingers re-gripping over his heart, shuffling closer as a shudder rolled down her spine. "Got more than you bargained for".

Letting out a deep sigh as he relaxed, Clint smiled a little as she kept her hand in place, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt. Sometimes they both just needed a little contact to remind them they were still human.

“Shh, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault,” he said, barely above a whisper. It had been all him and his big mouth, not watching what he was saying even though he knew it was a sensitive situation. He also had the habit of wanting to joke around when things were tense, kind of like right now. If he could get her to laugh he thought maybe everything would be alright. “I am pretty irresistible.”

More than he bargained for was an understatement. He knew he could still treat her the same as always, but he couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be awkward moments. It was going to be hard when they were sparring, or when they got teasing each other and got too close, just knowing now that if he made a move on her it wouldn’t be entirely unwelcomed. She wanted him just as bad as he wanted her, and that was not knowledge he could just forget or ignore. There had been times he’d wanted nothing more than to just push her against a wall and ravish the hell out of her, and now he knew that there were probably moments when she had the exact same thoughts about him. It was going to be a lot more difficult to not act on them now.

“I’d say we got about five hours until extraction. Try to get some sleep.”

She gripped tighter, green eyes watching him although her vision was fuzzy around the edges managing a half smile at his words. "Think you got irresistible and idiotic mixed up Hawk" she mumbled softly, supressing a yawn with the back of her free hand.

Natasha didn't plan on treating him any differently. There was no way she could, she wasn't about to pin him down and start locking her legs around his waist, no matter how long she'd wanted too she'd always resisted, so she could continue resisiting. The fact that he knew, hell, it didn't change anything, not to her. He was still her Hawk, no matter what.

"Five hours" She hummed softly, shifting her legs into a more comfortable position, not resting until she'd moved them close enough to touch his knee with her own. "Maybe if I sleep this will all either have been a nightmare or it'll have worn off. Nothing said leaves this room by the way. Nothing."

Clint chuckled at her shot, the laughter rumbling low in his chest. “They’re not necessarily mutually exclusive,” he replied, watching her through half lidded eyes. Her movements were usually so controlled and calculated that he always enjoyed the moments when she let herself relax. Seeing that she had no intention of moving her hand even after she’d gotten comfortable, he placed his own over hers again, not holding it but just letting it rest there.

“Nothing,” he agreed, pausing a long moment before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper. “Except maybe the part about the tutu...”

He could probably use a few hours himself; two, maybe three tops. He had learned to sleep pretty much anywhere, in any position and could fall asleep almost instantly, but he was also a very light sleeper. Any movement, and sound was usually enough to wake him at least when he was on the job. It was a good skill to have for someone who did so much surveillance, but it meant that any sleep he got was usually brief and broken.

Somehow, though, he always slept sounder when Natasha was at his side... when he knew she had his back.

Tasha laughed softly, feeling the vibration of his own laughter through her finger tips, shocking her all the way up her arm like an electric current. Pursing lips, unable to keep the corners from an upturned ghost of a smile. "I don't know how the women find it so hard to resist you."

Of course she heard the whispered words, she was the Widow albeit a sleepy one. "Internal voice Clint, use your internal voice" Fingers prodded into his chest as a stern reply. She didn't expect him to mention it, but he didn't forget things and she knew at some point he'd probably buy her one, and that she'd have to strangle him with it.

She let sleep roll over her in waves, comfortable and pliant, curled up next to him like a sated cat. The warm weight of his hands lulling her into a feeling of, well, submission almost. The one person who she'd be submissive for simply because of the respect and care she held for him. Fingers in his shirt loosened and for once she was almost thankful of the predicament earlier, only because it ensured that the nights revelations would keep the nightmares and demons of her past away.

[ obviously don't mind if you want to consider this done or continue the squishy feels more. the weight of the squishing is in your hands :3 ]

((I choose feels! Always feels.))

Clint let her last comments go with another chuckle, willing to hold back another witty reply so she might actually get some sleep. If he kept talking he’d probably just end up accidentally asking another question and all progress would be lost.

In the silence that followed he focused on her breathing, on her subtle movements. Only when her breaths grew more steady and her grip on his shirt relaxed did he finally allow himself to drift off as well.

For an hour or so he actually managed a deep, dreamless sleep until Natasha’s movements beside him drew him out of it. She was still fast asleep, he could tell by her breathing, but she had burrowed herself into his side, the hand that had been on his chest drawn further around him, the knee that had been barely touching his now draped across it. It wasn’t anything new but it never failed to make his heart ache. It would take some major adjustments to his sleeping patterns to keep from waking up every time he moved, but this was something he could get used to as more than just a post mission comfort. 

Usually Tasha had a lot of problems sleeping. Letting her guard down and closing her eyes seemed to allow memories and fragments of her past haunt her dreams. More often then not she'd wake up in the middle of the night, knowing she was safe, knowing she was protected but she'd be screaming and sweating and focusing tired eyes down the barrel of her gun at anything that moved. Being beside Clint was worlds apart. She slept without incident and even when she had slipped into limbo and the ghosts of personas past started talking her voice would cut through and tell them all the shut up, because she was safe and protected and nothing would harm her.

Then again he was like her, such a light sleeper and since she cuddled far too close he always managed to pull her out of sleep, like now. It took her a while to focus, breathing in the scent of his skin. Dust, metal, gunpowder and the tiny hint of sweat from the exertion of the mission. A familiar smell, a smell that reminded her what it felt like to have a home, a place in the world at last. She lazily opened eyes, finding herself staring at the hollow of his throat where she'd somehow managed to wiggle her way into him. Typical Natasha.

"Hi" She grumbled. Voice low, hazy with sleep, closing her eyes as the world swam. "Stop moving. I'm warm and comfortable" Damn him and his Hawkish behavior she'd grown to like.

Clint had tried to remain still so as not to wake her, but his arm was starting to fall asleep where she was laying on it, pinned to his side. He thought maybe if he could just ease it up around her then maybe he could just get comfortable again and drift back into oblivion.

No such luck.

Hearing her deep intake of breath he let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Raising his head slightly he looked down at the mass of messy red curls just below his chin.

“Sorry. Arm’s asleep,” he muttered. Figuring that she was already awake so he might as well just go for it, he stretched his arm out beneath her before bringing it up around her back, flexing his fingers to regain some blood flow. “Go back to sleep.” 

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject