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Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the July 5th Winterhawk Mandatory Fun Day prompt: “I’m not a hot mess. I’m a spicy disaster.”
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Calm After the Storm by luvsanime02
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Okay, Clint could have planned this better. It’s not like he meant to be standing in the middle of his room while wearing only an old pair of boxer briefs, with piles and piles of clothes strewn around him, when Natasha came over. It’s not like Clint ever plans for his life to look like a complete disaster in front of other people.
This is worse than normal, though. He tries not to wince as Natasha stands in his doorway and slowly, ever so slowly, raises an eyebrow.
“I’m almost impressed,” she says.
“Thanks,” Clint replies, because he can never pass up an opportunity to sass anybody. Luckily, Natasha doesn’t mind.
“You’re a hot mess, Clint,” she says with humor in her voice. “Why are you standing in the middle of a tornado of clothes?”
Clint looks around at his room again, even though he’s well aware of what his floor looks like at the moment. He shrugs. “I was cleaning,” he says. Not really. Kind of. He’d just… started cleaning, and then that had turned into looking through everything, and suddenly, his clothes were strewn all over the place. Clint doesn’t even have anywhere to go today.
“Cleaning,” Natasha echoes, and she raises her other eyebrow to join the first one.
Crossing his arms, which of course brings attention to the fact that he’s still almost entirely naked, Clint nods. “And I’m not a hot mess,” he adds, because he can’t let that one go. “I’m a spicy disaster.”
That gets an actual laugh, soft but genuine, out of Natasha, and she shakes her head but doesn’t argue. Because Clint’s right.
His phone starts ringing just then, and Clint looks around in silent despair. He has no idea where his phone is, but Clint has the sinking suspicion that it’s buried underneath all of his clothes somewhere. He sends Natasha a pleading look for help, and she walks unerringly to a specific pile and unearths his phone. She didn’t even step on any of his clothes, and Clint has no idea how she managed that, but he’s not surprised. Natasha looks at the caller and swipes.
“Your boyfriend’s a spicy disaster,” she informs the caller. Obviously Bucky. At least, Clint hopes Natasha’s talking to his actual boyfriend, and not one of their friends to fuck with them. Well, unless it’s Tony. Then Natasha can fuck with his head as much as she wants.
“There’s your hot mess,” Clint says, gesturing at the phone, meaning Bucky, and Natasha nods in agreement.
“You’re not late at all,” Natasha says, obviously speaking to Bucky again. Clint wants to check the time, but Natasha has his phone. Still, she’s likely right. Bucky’s not late. Clint doesn’t even remember what Bucky’s coming over for-
“Oh, we’re watching that new Chucky movie,” he recalls out loud.
Natasha rolls her eyes. “He just remembered your date,” she informs Bucky, and then, “He says ‘spicy disaster’ is pretty accurate,” she tells Clint. Why she’s still talking to Bucky and not passing the phone to Clint, he’s not sure, but he doesn’t really mind.
Clint rifles through some clothes, and finally puts on some old jeans and a t-shirt. Natasha hangs up the call, since apparently Clint doesn’t get to talk to his own boyfriend.
Not that he’s going to complain. Not after Natasha looks around his room again, and says, “I’ll help you organize everything.” Clint can forgive her for hogging his boyfriend if she’ll help Clint get his room into some semblance of order.
Not that she’s asking for permission. Natasha starts picking up clothes and telling Clint where to put them, and he quickly complies. Because he’s a spicy disaster and Bucky’s a hot mess, but Natasha’s a cool breeze of calm that blows through their lives and soothes everything.
Clint hangs up some clothes and folds more away, and lets Natasha organize his life. At least one of them is good at it.