A/N So I just learned that Jeremy Renner was a makeup artist and asdfghjkl; this little almost-crack fic would not leave me alone. Okay? Okay. Enjoy babes.
She hated these sorts of missions. Sure, she could pull them off without a hitch, and yes, her legs did look great in the fancy dresses required, but she was out of her element. The sweat and blood and pain that thickened the air was her normal. Every crack meaning she had dealt a precise blow was a prize. All that she was went into her fighting and a loud beating rhythm shook her bones when it happened. Gala reconnaissance was not her speed, and it was also cliché to the extreme.
Though it was still nice to see Clint in a tuxedo.
It was not so nice when he insisted upon doing her make-up.
"Clint, I don't need your help!" She cried, scrambling around the bathroom as he hovered over her.
"I never said you did, but come on, you would look so good with the plum!" He shoved a container of eye shadow in her face. "I know, it's a bit much, but why not go overboard? If we can go overboard anywhere, it's at a gala."
She shook her head, throwing a slip to the side in favor of the dress with the slit. "No, Clint, I'm going to do my face however I want to."
"Please?" He whined, looking at her with a slight pout.
"I'm an assassin, puppy dog eyes don't work on me." She growled, mumbling to herself about heels. She turned to Clint and he zipped up her dress almost instantly, they were like clockwork at this point.
He grabbed a tube of bright red lipstick. "I know you love this stuff. I know it." He smirked, she was very partial to the shade.
"You realize this is very feminine." She chided.
The archer shook his head, smirk still curving his lips. "I'm an assassin, and confident enough in my masculinity."
She pulled up her hair into a somewhat elegant knot, finishing it off with some sort of engraved hairpiece. "Get in your tux."
"Fine." He huffed, spinning on his heel in boxers, strutting off to get the suit.
She would have giggled, but then Clint would tease her, so she settled on a snort. "Nice boxers."
"Purple compliments my ass." He struck a pose.
"Anything compliments your ass." She chuckled, it was a well known fact his butt was nicer than hers.
He turned in his tuxedo. "Good? Can I put stuff on your face now?"
As Natasha had nothing left to do, she shrugged, and with a sigh, sat down. She knew Clint would win, he always did.
"I love you, Tasha." He smiled, bounding towards the bathroom, digging around in the bags they had brought.
"I want the red." She insisted, talking about the lipstick.
He smiled softly. "Knew it."
The assassin's steady hand swept at her face, dabbing things here and there, not making a single mistake. He only stopped when asking her to blot or close her eyes. Maybe this wasn't so bad. She probably shouldn't call his heterosexuality into question, but it was very tempting. Alright, she took it back, having Clint do her make-up was very nice. He began to fix her hair and all it took were the gentle strokes of the hair brush and a bit of make-up from Clint to feel so loved.
A/N Yay, happy Black Widow fic! I really do love her character and this little one-shot would not go away so I hope you liked it! Review if you'd please and leave a story request or prompt if it makes you happy! I'll reply to very one :) Have a lovely day!