Prompt: Hot teacher Clint Barton.

"The Aristocracy in 18th century London. You got this, Barton."

The door of the lecture hall opened. He clamped his mouth shut and looked up from his notes to see the first student - his honest to God first ever student - enter the room. She paused at the top of the stairs, brows drawing together, black leather bag clutched tightly in one hand.

"History 312?" he called, and tried to inject a little enthusiasm into his tone, to cover the nervous butterflies clenching his chest. The woman's eyesbrows arched up at that, a wry little grin pulling her mouth up at one corner. "Come in. Sit anywhere. I won't do attendance or assigned seats or whatever."

She hesitated for a moment that seemed to stretch on indefinitely, long enough that he began to feel anxious that she was in the wrong place, this wasn't his first student at all, maybe he wouldn't have any students–.

She walked down the stairs and chose a seat right on the front row, placing her bag carefully on the seat beside her.

"Professor Barton," Clint said, stepping forward and sticking out a hand to introduce himself. Were you supposed to introduce yourself? She probably didn't give a shit. Was he being creepy? Super creepy, probably. He jerked his hand back, realizing too late that she'd been about to accept the gesture.

"Natasha," she said with a slow grin, and tucked her hand back into her lap.

"Sorry," he said quickly. Blowing it, Barton! "It's uh…it's my first class. You're early."

He went back to his notes, heat stinging his cheeks. He didn't look at Natasha again, didn't look up at all until the door opened once more and a tall guy stumbled in, looking a little lost. He looked to Clint and then at Natasha, sitting in the front row; she gave the kid a jaunty little wave and smile, and he took a seat in the back row.

Two students! The new kid even pulled a textbook from his backpack.

The lecture hall filled up, and Clint shuffled his notes on the podium. Were the tattoos peeking out of the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down too much? Probably so. He didn't want them to think he'd be an easy credit. He shrugged on his sportcoat and did up one button.

The clock at the back of the lecture hall read 9am, and he launched into his introduction. The kids actually paid attention, took notes, a couple even looked for a moment as if they'd interrupt, maybe to argue a point or ask for clarification, but they chickened out in the end.

No problem. He'd made sure to leave a transition in his notes, a good point to pause and regroup.

"Any questions?" he asked. Crickets. He felt his posture slump and tried to reign in the disappointment.

Natasha's hand shot up. Maybe she had a question and maybe she was just taking pity on him, but he didn't much care at this point. Relief swept through him and he gestured for her to go ahead.

"Could you tell me what day it is?" she asked.

Odd, but…

"Tuesday," he said. A hushed ripple of laughter swept across the room. Natasha smiled again, stood and stepped forward, stuck out her hand.

"Professor Romanoff. It's Wednesday and you're in my lecture hall."