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Princess Natalia Alianovna Natasha Romanova Romanoff of Volgograd was very good at her job. She was poised, socialised well and was effortlessly beautiful. When she walked, her red hair just barely brushing her shoulders, her hips swung and legs crossed over heel-toe heel-toe. She was very, very good at being a princess. She just hated it. Everywhere she went, she was followed by an entourage of bodyguards, stylists, fucking paparazzi. She couldn’t catch a break. Except, of course, when she was in her castle again. Then (and only then), with her primary (and favourite) bodyguard, Clint, she could relax. Slip on a pair of sweatpants and read or something. Clint’s eyes almost never left her, of course, he was a professional. (When they weren’t on her, they were scanning the entrances and exits.) She kind of liked it, though, so she smiled at him over the rim of her book. He flushed slightly and looked behind her shoulder. Clint was attractive, handsome and strong, but he was kind too, and funny (and smart.)
There was a shout, a gunshot bang , Clint pulled her into standing, forcing her behind him as his hand reached for his gun. Her book clattered to the ground. There was a banging crash down the hall of the castle, heading toward her chambers. There was a sound, like the door in the room across from them crashing open. Clint had his gun trained on the door. Nat refused to be useless. She squared her feet, ready to fight. Her parents, knowing that no matter her gender she would need to be able to survive in the event of a threat, had put her in self defense training from a young age. She pulled her hands up, fists curled tightly. The door swung open with a boom . Clint fired, a body went down.
It moved quickly. Clint fired round after round, fighting tooth and nail to keep Nat safe. Nat got a few punches in. (She had a feeling that Clint let them through with only an injury, rather than death, so that she could fight. She always loved to punch people. It wasn’t the safest thing to do, but it was definitely what Nat wanted him to do. She knocked them all out.)
The attack wore down, the assaillants losing ranks quickly. Nat was safe. The King and Queen were safe.
“Are you okay, princess?” Clint said, voice frantic as he scanned her body for injuries.
“Clint.”
“Yes, Your Highness?” He was only half listening to her, mind focussed on making sure she wasn’t hurt.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He surged forward, lips catching hers in a desperate kiss. She poured every emotion she could into his mouth. Fear, adrenaline, hope, love. All of it, from her to him. They sank to the floor, mouths still connected.
“I can’t lose you,” Clint whispered, forehead pressing into hers. Her hand came up to his cheek, the other sneaking into his hair. She smiled softly and pressed the ghost of a second kiss to his lips.
“You won’t.”