Marvel Imagines, Preferences, One Shots etc. II

Clint Barton- Christmas Biscuits (c)

You had spent what felt like a lifetime making Christmas biscuits for the much-awaited day of festivities. You were to have many people come over for Christmas Day, so you wanted there to be enough biscuits to go around for people to snack on before the main dinner as well as for the evening. Baking many biscuits and then adding festive decorations on them in icing, you were proud of what they turned out like and hoped that your guests tomorrow would appreciate them too.

Many plates were piled high with biscuits, coated in cling film, keeping them safe for the next day allowing you to rest your mind of anything happening to them. As you had spent hours slaving away in the kitchen, you decided to have a nap, so that you would be awake for when your husband returned home from work. It wasn't completely the case. When you rose from bed, it was an hour and half after your husband should have come home and from the sound of the television in the living room you were pretty sure he had left you to your rest.

Before going to meet him in the lounge, you made your way into the kitchen to grab a drink, so you wouldn't have to get up from the sofa. When you entered the room, there were no longer plates covering the counters of the kitchen. Some still stood, but at least three were only coated in screwed up cling film and crumbs from the food that had once lain on them.

Instantly it was clear what had happened. You screwed up your fists, anger bubbling within you as you realised your hard work was to go for nothing.

"Clinton Francis Barton!" You shouted, trying to contain the annoyance not wanting to commit a murder the day before Christmas.

You heard him shuffling from the other room, leading to Clint poking his head around the kitchen door.

"Yes Love?" He smiled timidly, knowing you never used his full name unless he was in trouble.

"Did you eat the biscuits?" You growled, gesturing to the empty plates.

"Yes?" He said hesitantly as though it were a trick question.

Hot air shot from your nose as you attempted to compose yourself. Your husband was an idiot, but you loved him, even if that love was questioned more often than it should have.

"I cannot believe you," you frowned. "Actually, I can. Why the hell would you eat the biscuits that were clearly for tomorrow?"

He tried to throw you an innocent smile in an attempt to melt your heart. You were sad to say it was starting to work.

"I was hungry."

"You were in the kitchen. There is a lot you could have eaten."

"But they were so nice. I am so sorry my love," he smiled softly. "Would it help if I offered to help you bake more?"

You sighed knowing that was the only way to now solve that issue.

"Fine."

~*~

Written by Charlotte.