Mon Coeur, Mon Âme

They go upstairs together, Jack’s hand leaving a damp handprint at the small of Bitty’s back. He likes it, his mark underneath his name like he actually has a claim on Bitty. Before, Jack hadn’t understood how horribly possessive he could be, what it would be like if his laser focus was directed at a person instead of a pursuit. Now, he’d upend the world for Bitty. 

They step carefully, avoiding the creaky floorboard on the second floor. Jack shuts Bitty’s door behind them, locking it for good measure as he pulls Bitty to him. “You’re ridiculous,” Bitty informs him, gazing up at him fondly.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees easily.

“I can’t believe you drove all this way in the rain.”

Jack flips his damp bangs out of the way and leans in again to slot his mouth against Bitty’s. Bitty’s got a death grip on his hips, but his mouth is soft and yielding. “I’d have come and found you even if you were at your parents place.”

“Stand outside my window with a boom box?” Bitty smiles gently, teasing but sleepy.

“Yeah,” Jack murmurs. “We’ll reenact the Breakfast Club too if you’ve got the time.” He raises his fist in the air and grins as Bitty huffs out a laugh.

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ruby2475  asked:

Can you do a Clintasha fic where no one knows they're married and they get reunited in front of the avengers after awhile apart and kiss in the heat of the moment and I want to see the avengers reactions. Please. You're such an amazing writer, I love your blog!

this deserves SO MUCH MORE than what i gave it i’m so sorry 
(also this prompt has literally been in my inbox for 28 years)

It’s been three weeks since the prison break. Three weeks of hiding away in the compound because they’re technically still criminals, unable to show their faces in public for fear of being sent back to a top security prison. Three weeks of frustration as they try to figure out how to answer for crimes they never committed. Three claustrophobic weeks of feeling stuck, trapped. Clint’s getting restless.

“Heard anything from Nat?” Clint asks Steve casually one day. Rain is coating the windowpanes and they’re all huddled in the kitchen, hands wrapped around mugs of steaming coffee.

Steve shakes his head. “She’s gone. Disappeared.” As much as it makes Clint anxious to not know where she is or if she’s okay, he has to admit that he’s proud of her ability to make herself untraceable if she doesn’t want to be found. Unless, and the thought causes a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, unless they’ve already found her and they’ve just been keeping quiet about it.

It’s like Steve can read Clint’s mind. “If she wasn’t okay we’d know. Tony’s been keeping an eye out. We all have.”

“You trust Tony?” Sam asks. “After everything we’ve been through, you trust him to help a criminal?”

“She signed the Accords,” Wanda points out.

“And then broke them,” Sam points out. “She’s just as much of a criminal as the rest of us.”

Bucky, who’s been uncharacteristically silent, pipes up. “She won’t let Stark find her. She won’t let any of us find her. She’ll come on her own, when she’s ready.”

It’s as if his words break some kind of spell. Lightning flashes, followed almost immediately by a loud clap of thunder that causes Wanda to jump, coffee sloshing over the sides of her mug. They almost miss the soft knock on the door, overshadowed by the sound of the rain.No one moves.The knocking comes again; louder, more insistent.

Wanda moves to stand but Steve stops her, a hand on her forearm. “I’ll take care of this.”

Her rain soaked jeans are so dark they’re almost black, her hair is plastered to her face, and there are dark circles of smudged mascara under her eyes. Steve stares at her blankly, both elated that she’s here and concerned that she made it all the way to the front door without setting off any alarms. “How did you bypass security?”

She snorts. “Nice to see you too, Rogers. I’m not getting any drier out here you know, the least you could do is let me in.”

Stunned, Steve lets the door fall open and she steps inside, water running off of her jacket and collecting in puddles on the ground. “Sorry about the mess.” She kicks off her shoes and looks up, face breaking into a smile as she sees the shocked expressions of everyone staring at her. “Hey, guys.”

Her eyes meet Clint’s. He abandons all form of decorum and runs at her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growls, lips crashing down onto hers. His arms around her are gentle, however, holding her with the tenderness she’s come to expect from him after all these years.

“Clint.” She laughs against his mouth. “It’s too late now, but did you consider maybe not doing that in front of everyone?”



Clint shrugs, reaching into his pocket to pull out two thin silver bands. “Well, if it’s all out in the open now…”

“No.” Sam’s voice is part shock and part awe. “No way.”

“God, that feels weird,” Natasha says as Clint slides one of the rings onto her finger. “I haven’t worn this thing in so long.”

“Right,” Bucky says as Natasha joins them at the counter, gratefully accepting the coffee that Steve hands her. “When exactly were you guys planning on telling us that you’re married?”

Clint shrugs. “Never came up.”

“It never came up?” Sam shakes his head in disbelief. 

“It’s not that simple,” Natasha says, sighing gratefully as the warmth of the steam rising from her mug meets her cold skin. “It’s seen as a weakness in our line of work. Something that could compromise us in the field.”

“But this,” Wanda waves her hand around her. “Are we not all compromised by now?”

“It’s been ten years,” Clint says quietly. “Takes some getting used to, is all.”

“Sorry.” Sam shakes his head, disbelief still etched across his face. “Did you say ten years?

“Give or take,” Clint replies with a grin. “The details are a little foggy but I seem to remember something about Vegas and a stripper.”

Natasha shakes her head, laughing. “That was your first wedding.”


“Let it go, Sam.” Steve claps his friend on the shoulder. “If you wanted to hear all of these two’s secrets we’d be here for days.”

“Weeks,” Natasha corrects.

Clint jumps in. “Did we tell you guys about that time in Oaxaca when-”

“We are not telling that story, Clint.”

“But it’s a good one!”

They pass the rest of the afternoon in laughter, the cares of the moment forgotten as the storm rages on outside the compound where they rest, even for the briefest of moments, in warmth and safety. 

“I hate to break up the party,” Natasha says eventually, “but I don’t remember the last time I slept and the floor is looking really nice at this point.”

“Sleep,” Steve tells her. “We’ll wake you up when there’s food.”

Clint shoulders her duffel and follows her down the hallway, his knuckles brushing lightly against the back of her hand as they walk. “So,” he says conversationally. “No more hiding.”

“Yeah.” She looks up at him with that soft smile, the one she’s always reserved for him, the one that made him fall in love with her in the first place, all those years ago. “No more hiding.”