You know me too well.

Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I’m Russian. Or I was.


[Felicia grins, feeling a little successful at being able to gauge what she’d like on only a handful of passings by. When she orders her own, it’s a lavender vanilla latte and a slice of devil’s food cheesecake. All paid for, she looks around and hums quietly.] Corner booth? 

Sounds good to me. [Natasha spots the booth that Felicia was eyeing and slides in on one side. The lighting is low and inviting but still allows her to see the other woman’s seemingly flawless features. She’s curious. About a lot of things. Which isn’t exactly new but she’s so used to being on the other side of things. Leaning back slightly, she tilts her head and offers a small smile] So this really isn’t about a job, huh?

can you show off the cool face you make when the camera comes up to you?

Come Out & Play


He didn’t realize she had approached until she was literally right next to him, and he jumped a little. He raised an eyebrow, feeling himself to a little red around the edges and squirmed. “…Like, right now?” Not his smartest comment. Looking away for a second, he resisted the urge to run through his gallery of nervous tics. “Where could we…?” he gestured awkwardly to finish the sentence. He hated the thought of putting the whole tower at risk, and, well, at the same time, he really liked the furniture in this room.

Her eyes shot around the kitchen, then back out towards the living room. “This is a pretty big area. High ceilings, open spaces. If we just push the furniture to the side, you’ll have plenty of room to… you know.” She balled her hands into tight fists and then flexed, brows creasing in mock anger. “I mean, you don’t have stage fright or anything, right?” Natasha returned to the living room and placed her hands on her hips. “Besides, I heard something about you always being angry.”


[He desperately wants to believe that, and as much as he’s not sure that he does, Bucky isn’t crass enough to stand there and argue with her over it; he figures she knows best most of the time anyway. He just wishes he had something a little more reassuring and honest to say to her, not false hope or positive thinking - an answer that didn’t feel like his brain was going to split open trying to remember] C’mere [Reaching out, he places a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her towards him] I’ll lie low. Try to— try to figure out what we’re dealing with, why they’re doing this, before I make any decision about handing myself over. Things’ll— I’ll try my damnedest to make this pass as smoothly as I can.

[His touch is calming and she finds herself melting against his chest as she buries her face in the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes flutter shut and she takes a deep breath] It’s not the end of the world [she admits, voice muffled slightly. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand that. Or that all things, including times of happiness, were temporary. But she was reluctant to let this — or him — go. The pain of what that felt like was still far too fresh in her mind. She hadn’t fought hard enough the first time. That wouldn’t happen again] Not anyone’s, not ours. I think I just let myself get too comfortable. I let myself pretend that we could build this perfect life and have an actual place to call home. But my home isn’t a place. It’s you.


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I’ve been watching Natasha in action since the 1950s, but she never fails to amaze me. Such graceful beauty. So beautifully efficient.