***BLOG ON HIATUS*** AVENGERS. Clintasha.
Also Steve/Tony, Science Bros, pretty much anything you can think of, I've probably shipped it at some point and can write a decent enough little fic just for you.
Just send me prompts, ideas, things you secretly want to read but can't or won't write yourself. -- FOR THE MASTER LIST OF EVERYTHING AWESOME CLICK THE STORY LIST BUTTON!
Clintasha (Blackhawk) domestic fic
Companion piece to Shatter Me
“Yes, sweetheart?” Natasha called, sticking her head out of the kitchen. Her daughter, now twelve, had tipped herself onto the couch and was lying there, looking up at the ceiling. Natasha went in to stand in front of her, her sleeves still rolled up from cleaning.
“Did I have a brother?” Merida asked, rolling to look at her mother. Natasha’s chest twisted slightly, and she sat on the arm of the couch.
“How did you find out about that?” she asked softly.
“When I was little, I used to hear you and Dad talk about it,” Merida answered, her clear grey eyes regarding her mother sharply. Natasha sighed, twisting her hands in her lap.
“You did have a brother,” Natasha sighed. “Or you would have. But… he died. Before he was born.”
Merida’s eyes were solemn. “Why?”
Natasha shook her head. She had asked that question herself, so many times. “I don’t know. I suppose something went wrong while he was growing.”
Her daughter nodded. “Did you love him?”
Natasha nodded, mirroring her action. “Yes. Your dad and I loved him very much.”
“Do you still love him?” Merida asked, her voice soft.
“Yes,” Natasha answered. “We still love him.”
“More than me?”
Natasha’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I have never loved anyone more than I love you.” She sat on the couch and pulled Merida into her lap. Her daughter nuzzled into her shoulder.
“But he was your baby too,” she said quietly. “Do you love him the same as me?”
Natasha shook her head. “When you were born, Merida, you opened your eyes and you smiled at me. My first baby… I never saw him. I never saw his eyes, and I never heard him laugh. I loved him because he was my baby, but I love you because you are still my baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Merida protested.
“No, you’re not,” Natasha agreed, resting her chin on Merida’s head, glad her daughter couldn’t see the tears trickling down her cheeks. “You are my big, strong girl. My Merida.”
Clint came through into the lounge to find Natasha crying silently with Merida on her lap. He sat next to them, and his daughter crawled over to him.
“I’m sorry my brother died,” she whispered, and Clint bit his lip hard, and reached out to Natasha. She took his hands and the little family sat together a while, crying, comforting and remembering in turn.