It's been a while, but I guess I'll publish this. It's been sitting in my Google Drive for months now, and I finally fixed it up. It can be read as a reader insert, but I wrote it as Clintasha because I'm into that.
This will also be on my Deviantart, where I'm publishing predominantly Star Trek reader inserts, so if you're into that drop me a line.
You were wrapped up in our bed sheets, covering nearly all of you in white. If I didn't know better, it seemed angelic. But that wasn't the aesthetic you were going for. Though in more than one occasion I had wished for an angel and you came, so for me it was at least probable.
You looked rather bridal too, a conclusion I pulled as I spun my wedding ring on my finger and mulled over my schedule this morning. Not at all how you looked on our actual wedding day, because you refused the idea of a white wedding. I wasn't too heartbroken; weddings always sounded exhausting when married couples talked about them. But we got rings and had a small ceremony at Stark Tower anyways.
I remember that night with sparkling detail because I was so in love and I think you were too. Or the smile on your lips and sparkle in your eyes had confused me. I'm sure I looked just like some lovesick teenager, so excited to finally feel validated in my affection. Tony took pictures, but he hasn't given me them yet.
But that evening was months ago, and it felt like nothing changed. Our last names didn't change on the document, but I teased you mercilessly about being Mrs. Barton. And you still stole the sheets and left me with the comforter or nothing at all. I have a feeling that will never change.
So I got up and put on some pants before I went to put on the coffee. You slept like the dead on our days off, which always made it impressive when you actually woke up. At least you don't snore.
As I was scrambling the eggs and frying the bacon for breakfast, you came shuffling into the kitchen. The sheet was still around you, now a modest regal cape. You descended upon your throne, a wooden chair that didn't match the table. I set your mug in front of you and filled it with coffee.
"How was your sleep?" I asked, returning to the stove. The clink of your mug against the table promised me an attempt at conversation.
"Good. Didn't want to get up, but I guess I am hungry." You said. "Also, can you pass me my pills?"
Your secret, what you thought was your weakness. You never told me about your pills, and I imagine you never will. It was your thing, and I was sure you would tell me when you were ready.
Returning to breakfast I dished up your food and set it in front of you. I sat across from you at the table, in silent awe that we had made it this far. A domestic life, where I ate breakfast shirtless and you didn't brush your hair. We looked great.
"What's the schedule for today?" You asked before hungrily digging into your food.
"We could go visit Stark Tower." I suggested. "Or a movie. I think there's a double feature of those movies you like we could go to."
"Yeah but we can watch those here." You said. "And we can make out on the couch."
As if you needed to sweeten the deal. I smiled, liking the idea.
"Well then that's the plan."
"Okay.