Fandom Reader Inserts!

One Shot: Clint Barton X Reader

A/N: Hello good people I've returned from the trash bin. Sorry for never updating

"No!", Sam Barton shouted, crossing his arms. Sometimes it seemed like "no" was the only word the two year old knew.
"Will you pretty please go to bed?", Clint begged his son.
"No!", the little boy with your eyes and a head of sandy blonde hair shouted again.
"You can't stay up all night!"
"Yes I can!"
This back and forth bickering went on for a solid five minutes before you finally could intervene. You'd been too busy trying to hold back your laughter to help your exasperated husband.

"Enough!", you said.
You scooped up your son and grabbed his favorite purple blanket.
"Will you go to sleep if I sing you a lullaby?"
Sam hesitated briefly before nodding.
You carried him to the oak rocking chair in his nursery. Clint cracked the window, letting the peaceful summer night's breeze enter. He leaned against the wall and waited.
Slowly rocking, you cleared your throat and began to sing a song you remembered from your childhood.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things. Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels, doorbells and sleigh bells, and schnitzel with noodles, wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings, these are a few of my favorite things....."
By the time you were done singing, Sam was fast asleep in your lap. You carefully stopped rocking and stood up before laying him gently in his crib and covering him up with his blanket.
The house was completely silent, except for an old clock ticking. Clint stood by your side and looked at you with a small smile on his face.
"I didn't know you could sing", he whispered.
"I'm not very good", you replied.
"Yes you are. That was beautiful, Y/N", Clint said as he placed his hand on your own that was resting on Sam's crib.
You took it and pulled him with you as you quietly exited Sam's room. Clint flipped off the light switch and closed the door behind him, leaving a small crack so your dog Lucky could get in. He followed you down the creaky old stairs and out of the beautiful farm house to the front porch where you sat together on the steps, taking in the fresh air of the warm July night.
Suddenly, Clint stood up and asked, "May I have this dance?"
He held up the sides of his purple flannel shirt and curtsied, showing his Stark Industries t-shirt.  
"Of course", you said while curtsying back.
He placed a hand on your waist and took your right hand in his, twirling you around the dance floor that was your front yard. The luminescence of the moon and fireflies were the spotlights. The chirping of crickets and the croaking of frogs were the orchestra. It was a lovely moment until you heard a soft squish. Clint cursed and ran to the porch light to examine his shoe. It was caked with dog crap. Lucky sat by the screen door wagging his tail, happy as could be.