Child's Play

Summary: Or, how Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff fell in love.

I need some prompts! Lack of prompts may prompt me to go on a hiatus for lack of ideas and sometimes, chapters may seem repetitive. So please please give me prompts!

A/N: This will be a collection of drabbles, because curse my writer's block- I can't stick to one story without starting another one. So this is just drabbles & thank god I've stumbled upon 'The Nanny Diaries' or else I wouldn't be fangirling this hard.

There is no timeline to these chapters.

No beta & all mistakes are mine.

Please review- & I hope you enjoy.

Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing.

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

Disclaimer: As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.


"Love is for children," she says.

"It doesn't have to be," he responds.


cinquante.

Curled up under polka dotted sheets with Clint's arms wrapped around her lithe figure and blankets that seldom block out the strenuous noises of the New York skyline, Natasha dreams of the future.

In her dreams they've cut off all ties from SHIELD and live in a small town far, far away, where no alien or assassin would ever think of going. They'd live in a quaint little house surrounded by a white picket fence (which Natasha would paint black, of course- white was the colour of purity and she was anything but), and in her dreams she would be happy to observe the birds and the bees as they skittered around the garden she would've spent ages after ages catering to, drinking from her coffee she had delicately made at the touch of a button. It's a small house, which is unexpected for superheroes like them, but it's comfortable and warm and nice and feels more like home than anything, even Stark Tower, ever has.

As regimens have been built into her at the quiet little age of twelve, Natasha would always get up at six am, and by default Steve would rouse out of his slumber immediately after the (ex-) spy would rise to join Natasha at the table for morning coffee. It's usually silent, but the silence holds magnitude as Steve gently nuzzles Natasha's neck as she drinks, reveling in the fact that she won't recoil at his touch. It has become a daily reoccurrence; an annoyance, perhaps, but sometimes Natasha reciprocates the action, basking in the notion that she's safe; she will not be hurt no more.

Once the midpoint of the day hits, they're off to celebrate their passions. Natasha imagines Steve as an artist, of course, and she a ballerina; they've always been suckers for the arts. As their morning routine of coffee and nuzzling comes to a close, the pair would walk to the local arts centre across the street to practice their crafts. Natasha would go to the auditorium to sharpen her already stunning ballet steps for her many auditions for the town's ballet shows and Steve would go to the art room and teach some young aspiring kidlets who desired to be as talented as he was. But sometimes, Steve opts to duck out of his classes to watch his Natasha prance across the stage in her black tutu, a smile crossing his face as he slowly and intimately sketched every contour and curve of her body as she danced on.

But should Natasha pick a time of day that she would wholeheartedly desire to live over and over, it would be the night. Sometimes, she would have a show as a ballerina or Steve would have a banquet for a recent painting he painted, but more times than often, they were left to their own devices. Those nights consisted of exploring the town that had become their safe haven- the convenience store that they would always buy their grape-flavored slurpees from, the little candy shop on the hilltop and the hidden treehouse in their neighbor's backyard. However, there was always one place the pair always revisited, always looked at as new even though they had been there many times before- the town's playground. Stationed in the front of the town's only elementary school, the (ex-) soldier and spy would giddily climb upon the equipment with the excitement akin to a three year old's. They'd always end their 'playdate' (as they would all it) on the swings, using their superhero skills to pump themselves up, up, up into the sky, shooting for the stars. Steve would always get off the swings first so he could catch Natasha as she jumped, and as if prodded by the moonlight above, their eyes would be drawn to each other, and enchanted, Steve would brush Natasha's hair behind her ear and gently move in to kiss her with all the fervor he could muster. And as the dream ends, Natasha could not help but feel any happier.

But then, opening her eyes and coming face to face with a pair of stormy grey eyes instead of a baby blue, the pained feeling in her chest made her wish of nightmares instead.


A/N: ... Or we could just pretend that last sentence didn't exist. (;

So this, my dearies, is my 50th chapter! And as of the publishing of this 50th chapter (03/30/13), I have hit 218 reviews, 58 favorites and 94 follows! So I would like to take a moment to thank all of you for this; you guys make my heart feel super happy!

Honestly though, I'm quite proud of this chapter and that leaves me to wonder- would you guys love to see this in a multi-chapter piece where all of this is legit? Subtract the whole dream sequence thing, of course- Romanogers NEEDS a happy ending. (; I'll probably start this in the summer, so leave a review if you would read this fic or not!

Again, guys. Thank you for everything. (: More updates will be coming towards you TONIGHT and tomorrow because I love you guys too much.

- Jazzy(: