russian—redhead:

“Tasha.”

“Tasha.”

“Tasha, wake up. ”

Maybe if she didn’t move he’d go away.

“Tasha, it’s Christmas!”

She pushed her face into her pillow, hoping that would muffle his voice, but no such luck.

“Tasha. I got you stuff. You like stuff!”

“I’m sleeping and I’m armed, Barton.” She grumbled into her pillow, opening one eye to look at the man that hovered over her like.. well, like a Child on Christmas morning, before squeezing her eyes tightly closed again, hoping she could fall back asleep.

“Tasha, the stuff might include that set of throwing knives you wanted…”

“If you don’t let me sleep I’m going to use you as target practice.” She growled into her pillow, eyes still closed, trying to block him out. Just another hour of sleep, even. She didn’t get days off often; she wanted to sleep as much as she could. And she didn’t care about Christmas, though Clint had insisted. And sleep sounded so good.

“You’re no fun, Natasha Romanoff.” He was using the fake pout in his voice that he knew made her laugh and irritated her at the same time.

“There is no fun in Russia” she mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

There was silence for a moment, and she wondered if he’d given up. Maybe she could get a little more sleep. Trying to lengthen her breaths, she let calm wash over her, trying to relax enough to sleep again.

But she couldn’t, not with the feeling that someone was near her, behind her on the other side of the bed. She rolled over, opening one eye, coming face to face with Clint peaking over the edge of the bed, crouched down to her level.

“But.. presents, Tasha.”

She let out a sound that was half amusement, half frustration, pulling the pillow over her head. She didn’t sense him move, though, and she moved the pillow slightly to check if he was still there. Apparently he had been practicing his stealth because he wasn’t there looking at her, and she pulled the pillow down from her face, looking around, wondering if maybe he’d given up finally. But she knew Clint, and there was no way that he would have given up that easily.

But there was no sign of him, so she laid back on the bed, closing her eyes again, arms wrapped around the pillow.  Sleeping was going to be difficult now, but she was going to try if it killed her.

She was just on the edge of sleep again a few minutes later when she felt the bed shift. Maybe clint was finally coming back to bed? But she didn’t feel his body hit the mattress, didn’t feel him next to her. Opening her eyes, she glanced up, looking at him perched on the edge of the mattress a few feet away from her, balanced on the balls of his bare feet, elbows resting on his knees as he stared down at her.

“But, presents, Tasha…” he said again with a silly grin. Groaning, she hit him with the pillow, hard, though she was trying not to laugh now. He was nothing if not persistent, and she was awake now, as much as she didn’t want to be, and two could play at this game. Sitting up, her fiery hair a mess around her head, she pulled her pillow away from him, though he didn’t let go and she pulled him down with it, causing him to tumble next to her into the mess of sheets.

She tried to lay back down, but he was there, his arms around her as he finally collapsed down on the mattress next to her, their faces just inches apart.

“No more sleeping, Tasha.” He laughed, and she tossed the pillow onto his face, trying to fight the urge to laugh too. He was good at making her laugh. He was the only one that could. “You’re going to open presents and you’re going to have fun and like it.” He added, knocking the pillow to the side and looking at her intently.

She wrinkled up her nose.

“I’m not moving.” She said stubbornly, a small smile on her lips.

“Either you go to the presents or they come to you. Either way, you get presents.” He said pointedly, and she sighed. She would never get used to his insistence on presents, but she sat up, running a hand through her messy hair.

“Fine.” She said with a bit of a fake pout, before pushing Clint out of bed with a thump.

He bounced up, grabbing her arm and pulling her with him out of bed, and she let him, feeling like a parent with an overeager child. Though, she couldn’t deny the fact that part of her suddenly was curious what he’d gotten her.

“You said something about throwing knives?”