feral-yearning

[feral-yearning]

Femme Fatale ch 5 (Bucky x Natasha)

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natalia "Natasha Romanoff" Romanova

Tags: No powers, neighbors, messy, PTSD, sex work (not prostitution), war hero Bucky

Maturity rating: 18+

Warning(s): sex work (not prostitution), discussions of trauma, abandonment issues

Word count: 1910

AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad | Tumblr

_____________________________________________________________

Thinking back on it, Natalia shouldn't have fallen asleep in James's apartment. Yeah, they were neighbors, but beyond knowing what his footsteps sounded like through the floorboards and that he smelled generally good, she knew absolutely nothing about him.

When she woke up the second time, it was morning. She learned then that he didn't murder strange women that fell asleep on his couch. So now she knew three things.

That's better than nothing.

She nuzzled into the couch cushion against her cheek and sighed quietly, not wanting to admit she was well rested. The last few days had been stressful, the couch was very soft, and she wasn't a great fan of winter anyway. It was very atypical for a Russian, but she'd been that way even as a child. When she traveled with her dance company, she'd been overjoyed to preform in warmer climates. Italy and the American South were her favorites for the wintertime.

New York wasn't exactly a tropical paradise, but it was easy enough to not be found. With only a vague name change and three separate cellphones, she'd been able to mostly disappear.

After years of being tediously careful, she'd fallen asleep on a stranger's couch... and woke up to find herself curled against the cushions with a thick blanket laying over her legs.

James must be a really stand up guy, she thought, sitting upright and planting her feet on the ground. She could only imagine the e-mails she'd gotten from clients after the blackout. She figured that a lot of the messages would be about how their sessions were cancelled, so she should give them a new one on the house.

As if the snowstorm was her fault.

At least her bills were being paid.

Nat pushed her hair back from her face and turned her attention to the room as a whole. James clearly hadn't slept where she'd seen him last, the seat was pristine and looked almost untouched. She wondered how often he actually sat on any of his cushy furniture for a moment, it all seemed new.

His arm wasn't where he'd left it.

She stood up, folding his blanket, and straightening the throw pillows. The apartment was deadly silent, but she didn't think he would be sleeping. A chunk of metal wouldn't exactly be comfortable to sleep with, so he must have left her alone in his home. That's brave. She could see at least five things that she could pocket with just a single sweep of her eyes. But she outgrew that phase of her life almost fifteen years ago.

Instead, she gathered her robe and her personal phone, noticing the small note on the table for the first time. It was written on the back of an old crumpled receipt with what was probably a fading ballpoint pen, but Nat was still surprised by how neat the writing was. Beside the note was the bag of candles she'd asked for the night before.

Take these for the next black out.  It's supposed to snow all week.                                    - James

Her lips quirked up in the corner and she picked up the candles, examining them. They were just normal tea lights. "Thanks, James," she said to the apartment, picking the note up and pocketing it on her way out the door.

In the elevator ride down to her own floor, she decided that she owed James once again, both for the candles and for imposing on him for the night. He didn't seem like the talkative type, he couldn't have enjoyed the intrusion too much.

Or maybe she was convincing herself that she had a legitimate reason to see him again. Other than the warm feelings he was inspiring in her chest.

Wonderful, Bucky thought, bending his left arm a few times. At least the fabric wasn't going to get caught in the metal as often. He was pretty close to ripping the damn sleeve off and going to Steve's wedding in a homemade vest.

Actually, Steve and Peggy had offered to just let him wear a vest instead of the planned-on suit jacket. Steve even said he'd have the rest of the guys do the same if Bucky wanted... But they'd already gotten everyone tailored and spent the money.

Plus, he didn't want to draw attention to the metal, he remembered how the news went on about Stark Industries' generous donation to a war hero when he first got it. With the way that feel-good media liked to focus on Steve, Peggy, and their charity work... well, he imagined that someone would catch a photo of the wedding party.

So what if the suit was a little loose? He forced his frown to disappear when the door opened behind him and Steve appeared in the mirror.

"Well, don't you look spiffy?" He grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

"Spiffy?" Bucky scoffed, "Who says spiffy? I don't think anyone's done that for at least fifty years, Grandpa. What do you need?"

"I don't need anything, I just wanted to see how it was going," Steve shrugged, straightening the collar of his charcoal colored suit. His was a few shades darker than his groomsmen, but they all wore the same blood red ties to match the bridal party's dresses. "You have that 'I have a math test next period' look on your face."

"You're digging deep for that reference."

"I'm being funny," Steve shrugged, walking further into the room. "You should think about incorporating that into your whole 'grumpy hermit' thing. You might actually get a date that way."

Bucky rolled his eyes, wishing the tailor would come back already. "I know how to get a date."

"You used to know how to get a date. Now you scare people with the same look you have on your face right now. I'd work on that, if I were you," Steve tilted his hair as though he were thinking. "I might cut my hair, too."

This version of Steve might be a little more dickish than the stand-up-guy that was Captain America, but this was the kid he grew up with in Brooklyn. This asshole was a big version of twig-thin 5'7 asthmatic with heart issues that would pick a fight with a guy twice his size and an earnest belief he'd win.

"I'm not cutting my hair," Bucky said, pushing a stray strand back into the messy ponytail he'd tied so that the tailor could see his lapel. "I'm just saying that women--"

"Like something to pull on." A challenge glittered in Bucky's eye, a friendly warning that he was happy to get graphic.

He hadn't been with anyone for quite a while, but in the period between being released into the world and recovering enough to keep a single address for more than a month... He'd been unkind to himself. Not in any way that would leave a physical mark, but he had shoved himself back into the life he left with such frantic enthusiasm in an attempt to be the old Bucky. He used to like dating, right?

It turned out that the women interested in him and willing to put up with his disorganized lifestyle weren't really looking for a date. So, that lead to a few new notches in his bed post... tens of notches.

He supposed that he could have coped in worse ways. He could have been unsafe.

"I don't think anybody would want to touch that greasy mop, but I'll take you at your word," Steve responded. Bucky thought he heard a twinge of concern at the reminder of that period, but forced himself not to read into it. His therapist said that wasn't fair to anyone, that he had to stop putting words in peoples' mouths.

They stood for a moment, looking at the oversized suit, before the tailor returned to shoo Steve out the door. Bucky was apparently hard to work with when he had someone to talk to.

"Think about coming to lunch, Buck," Steve said over his shoulder, looking back at him from the door for just a moment. "No pressure, but everyone would be happy to have you."

Bucky met his eyes in the mirror. The smile Steve gave him said that he understood Bucky wouldn't be going to lunch.

"I'll call you later, Bucky. Answer, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky sighed, letting the tailor lift his left arm for more measurements. The man was determined to find a fit that would work. He was always muttering about how such a loose fit would make him look to other professionals.

The guy was funny. Most older people were, though he especially enjoyed the crochety ones. Ever since he could remember, Bucky's mother had said he had an old soul.

He couldn't wait until he was old. No one would ask him when it was his turn to get married. If he ever got married, he'd be married by then. If not, he'd be old enough to tell them to mind their goddamn business.

The next hour was spent arguing with Joseph about how tight the sleeves should be and eventually relented a little. He'd just have to remember not to bend his left arm. Easy-peasy. He said the suit would be finished by the next Monday.

Once he was freed from the little platform and allowed to change, Bucky promptly headed home. He took a train, narrowly avoided getting kicked in the shoulder by a busker, and then ice-skated his way home on the insufficiently salted sidewalks.

In next to no time, he was stalking down his hallway and slipping his key into the lock. He thought that it might not be necessary, that Natasha couldn't have locked the door if she even left. But when he found that the key turned, he knew she couldn't be asleep on his couch anymore. And then he was left with the question of how she locked his door.

He'd ask her next time, he decided.

When he walked into the apartment, he found that it appeared completely untouched. That was vaguely unsettling when he considered that it had, in fact, been touched. But his sister's blanket was folded neatly and his throw pillows were fluffed and chopped. He supposed that was a sign that someone else had been there. He didn't do that unless his mother was coming over and she didn't come over anymore.

He walked to the fridge, hungry because he'd decided to miss lunch. The only thing in the fridge that was ready-to-eat when he left had been the soup Natasha had given him the day before, the soup she'd spilled. But when he opened the door, he found that his fridge was much fuller than it had been. There were eggs, milk, butter, something leafy and green, and a very large container of what looked like chicken noodle soup with a note taped to the side.

I forgot that you said you didn't like that other soup. Thanks for the couch. - Natasha

Bucky picked up the soup and peeled off the note, instead sticking it to his cabinet. Last night, she'd mentioned that she didn't like owing anyone... and he did like chicken noodle soup. He didn't think that letting her crash on his couch and giving her a ziplock bag with shitty little candles required a fridge of food, but he'd find a way to even the scale.

For now, he poured himself a bowl of soup.

#Black Widow #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier fic #Bucky #Bucky Barnes #James Bucky Barnes #Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natalia Romanova #Bucky x Natasha #Bucky x Nat #Winter Widow #Natasha x Bucky #Nat x Bucky

[feral-yearning]

Femme Fatale ch 4 (Bucky x Natasha)

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natalia "Natasha Romanoff" Romanova

Tags: No powers, neighbors, messy, PTSD, sex work (not prostitution), war hero Bucky

Maturity rating: 18+

Warning(s): sex work (not prostitution), discussions of trauma, abandonment issues

Word count: 1,437

AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad | Tumblr

_____________________________________________________________

The electricity cut out at 8:46 exactly. Natalia knew because that was when her stream shut off and the last tip rolled in. She cursed a few times, knowing she'd have to find some way to make up for lost revenue, but then put herself together enough to pack up her shooting set up before she knocked over one of the big expensive lights. She put the long blonde wig on the mounted mannequin head and hung her silky blue robe beneath it before realizing that she couldn't spend the rest of the night illuminated by her cellphone.  Despite what she originally believed, Nat did not have any candles left in her apartment. She'd used them up in an attempt to clear away the smell of her terrible attempt at making Greek food. All that was left was half an inch of a citrus candle that she was betting wouldn't last more than an hour before putting itself out.

So, after a frustratingly fruitless search, Nat gave up and dressed herself in two pairs of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt decorated by the Barton kids' elementary school mascot. She shoved her feet into some beat up old Adidas sneakers and smartly snagged her winter coat before stepping out of her apartment.

Natalia Romanova, officially Natasha Romanoff, had been living in the same apartment for four years and she only knew one of her neighbors. There was a Ukranian couple who lived a few doors down and had just had a baby, a little boy named Konstantin. She sincerely doubted that they would appreciate being awoken. So, the next best option was Mr. Coat.

The stairwell was pitch black and absolutely freezing. Natalia pulled her coat tightly around her body while she shuffled up the stairs. Thankfully, she only had to climb one floor before she could escape the icebox that was the eastern stairwell.

The door to apartment 9E was completely undecorated, not even a Welcome doormat to wipe ones' feet on. It wasn't exactly a notable detail on its own, but most of the apartments in the building were decorated by some kitchy Christmas wreath, plastic menorah, or string of non-denominational twinkle lights. It seemed that Mr. Coat didn't want to be noticed.

He even looked somewhat disgruntled when he swung open his door. Nat realized she was shining her light directly at his chest and turned it down to face the floor. She tried very hard not to notice that his left arm was missing.

"Do you have any candles?" She asked.

"Candles?" He'd clearly been asleep, his voice was almost an octave lower than it had been that morning.

"Candles. The lights are out."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said, glancing behind her at the dark hallway. "You want candles?"

"Because the lights are out," she nodded, not sure why she felt the need to push his buttons. He looked so needlessly grumpy that she felt the overwhelming desire to poke at him.

It took him a moment of consideration, but he eventually turned and walked away from the door. Natalia hesitated for half a second before following him in and shutting the door behind herself. It seemed that Mr. Coat didn't actually need to see anything to find the candles, though she did attempt to illuminate his path with her cellphone light.

On the way to the hall closet, she passed behind the couch and found the missing left arm resting on some fancy charging mount. How hadn't she noticed that it was a prosthetic? He'd taken off his coat in front of her, she should have seen it. But then again, it wasn't like any of the fake limbs she'd ever seen. It looked a lot like Stark Tech.

"So you do own a winter coat, then?"

Natalia's head snapped up and she redirected her light to help her neighbor locate what he was looking for.

"Yeah, I just... didn't expect to be leaving so early," she responded, leaning against the wall. "Not that I need it in here. How're you keeping this place so warm?"

"Space heaters," he shrugged, pulling out a little plastic bag of tealights. There were maybe a dozen left. "Is this enough for the night?"

"I could probably make them stretch, yeah," Nat nodded, reaching out for the bag. "Do you have enough for yourself if I take these?"

"Those are the only ones I have, but I think I'll survive."

Natalia frowned at that, examining the candles and then looking back up at her neighbor. "At least let me trade with you."

"Trade? What do you want to trade?" He raked a hand through his nearly shoulder-length brown hair in a sign of clear frustration. She was suddenly reminded of Konstantin's grumpy Ukranian grandfather.

"I have wine downstairs. I had one glass earlier this evening, but it's still mostly full. It's a good bottle, too."

"You don't have to do that," he protested. Natalia held up her hand to stop him.

"I don't like having any debts," she insisted. "I'll tell you what: I'll bring up the bottle and a couple of wine glasses. You light the candles. That way you don't crack your shin on anything and I don't have to drink alone."

There was a suspended quiet, only the huffing of a nearby space heater and a far away siren between them. Mr. Coat let out a resigned sigh and nodded, reaching out and gesturing for her to give him the bag of candles back.

"Good," she agreed, depositing the bag in his right hand and wheeling around to face the door. She paused with one foot already in the hall, looking back at the vague shape of her neighbor. "My name is Natasha."

"James," he responded from the darkness near the closet.

______________________________________________

Neither of them spoke until they'd both finished two glasses of wine and Nat had started her third.

"Did you like the food?" She asked, pulling the heavy quilt higher on her lap.

"So you did send it, then?" James had a tendency to respond to a question with a question.

Nat cleared her throat and set down her glass next to one of the three burning candles. They'd done the math; there were 13 candles that would each burn for three hours each and ten hours until the sun rose.

"I wasted your breakfast, I thought it was only appropriate to buy you dinner."

James hummed, set down his glass opposite hers, and started to roll his metal wrist. She had avoided staring directly at his prosthetic arm, but the motion caught her attention. It was so advanced that it had to be at least a Stark competitor. There was no logo, though.

"Did you like it, then?"

He didn't seem to plan on responding until he looked up at her and found her waiting patiently.

"I'm not the biggest fan of sweet and sour soup. But the chicken was good," he lied, knowing fully well that the food was still in the paper bag it had arrived in on the second shelf of his refrigerator. "I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless."

"Wasting money on a gesture is better than wasting money any other way," Nat shrugged, pouring more into both glasses. "Where are you from, James?"

"Why does that matter?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Because I want to know which genepool I have to hunt in to find another face that looks like that," she teased. "It's polite conversation. I can go first if it makes you feel better: I'm from suburban Ohio. Moved out here too young so that I could work, haven't left since."

"You don't look like a Suburbanite," He noted, appraising her like he might a fairly uninteresting statue.

"What do I look like, then?"

He gave her a look that said he knew better than to answer that question. Her tone made it clear that she would feign offense to anything he could possibly have come back with.

"I'm from Brooklyn," he shrugged, picking up his glass and taking a big gulp. Home was a sensitive topic, then.

"You never really left the city, then?" She followed up, changing topics somewhat.

"I left for a good four years, actually," he said quietly, raising his glass to her. She was confused until she realized that he was drawing attention to his metal arm, not the glass. Her eyes flickered to his chest and found that, beneath the t-shirt and sweater he put while she was grabbing the wine, she could see the faint shape of dog tags. How could she have missed so many details?

"Believe it or not, I used to be considered fun at one point." His deadpan delivery did make her chuckle, but he was clearly covering up some bitterness that she wasn't responsible for addressing.

"Oh, I believe it. No one that wears that much cologne isn't fun."

"I don't wear that much cologne," James protested.

Nat laughed again. "I probably still smell like you, not that that's a bad thing."

"No?"

"No," she nodded. "But unless you baked orange cookies over a wood fire immediately before handing over the coat, you definitely wear that much cologne."

James genuinely laughed for the first time that night and Natasha felt like she'd won some invisible prize. "You could have kept the coat, you know."

"It looked expensive," she shrugged, curling her legs up under the blanket. "Like I said, I don't like to owe anyone."

"I don't either."

Mutual respect seemed to float between them. She didn't bother asking anymore questions, he didn't seem eager to answer. The quiet was more comfortable than it had been before at least.

She dozed off some time between the first round of candles and the second, but when she came to, James was sat in the same position. Only he had a small weathered book in his lap.

#Black Widow #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier #Winter soldier fic #bucky fic #Natasha x bucky #Bucky x Natasha #James Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #Natasha Romanoff #Natalia Romanova #Winter Widow

[feral-yearning]

Femme Fatale ch 3 (Bucky x Natasha)

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natalia "Natasha Romanoff" Romanova

Tags: No powers, neighbors, messy, PTSD, sex work (not prostitution), war hero Bucky

Maturity rating: 18+

Warning(s): sex work (not prostitution), discussions of trauma, abandonment issues

Word count: 2,140

AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad | Tumblr

_____________________________________________________________

Until the twenty minute walk between the tailor and the pub, Bucky didn't regret giving the coat to his neighbor. Once he was lightly frosted with snowflakes, he wondered whether it was really the right thing to do.

"Why're you walking so damn slow?" He grumbled, rubbing his hands together to wake his fingers. It didn't really work, his metal arm was basically frozen. The fingers were getting worryingly slow to respond.

"Aren't you supposed to be a native? I thought y'all were born cold blooded up in the Great White North," Sam teased, patting Bucky's back... His muscles were so tense that the light hits still hurt a little. He wouldn't admit it, though.

"The Great White North is Canada, but nice try," Bucky deflected, stepping faster once he saw their destination.

Sam retorted with something that was probably clever, but by that time Bucky was too focused to hear him. He slipped into the pub and sighed in relief the moment that he was enveloped in warmth. When Sam found him again, Bucky was perched on a bar stool as close to a heating vent as he could get. He'd already ordered them two beers.

"It's a little early, isn't it?" Sam pointed out, taking a sip of his beer nonetheless. Bucky shrugged, setting his bottle down.

"Warms the blood, doesn't it? Us cold-bloods need to get our warmth from somewhere."

Sam chuckled. The pub was emptier than they had expected, but the building blizzard outside was most likely why. He wasn't exactly upset that they didn't have to wait for a seat, he wasn't much of a fan of crowds.

For the first twenty minutes or so, while they were waiting for their food, they were shooting the shit. They talked about the tux fitting, about each member of the Howling Commandos and how Steve changed when he was around the whole group. He seemed younger whenever they all got together, it was nice. Nowadays he was too serious, not that Bucky was a ray of sunshine most of the time.

"Well, what about you? Hm? You didn't say a word unless someone spoke to you first," Sam pointed out, stealing one of Bucky's fries in the meantime. Only reason he could get away with it was 'cause he was on the left and Bucky's metal arm was still warming up.

"I'm fine-"

"I'm fine," Sam mocked him, saying it at the exact same time. "Yeah, I know you're always fine. But fine isn't good, man."

Bucky groaned dramatically. "It's really not that deep. I don't have anything interesting going on. I'm just... I don't know, I'm always tired. Even when I'm having a good time, I'm thinking about going home and taking a nap."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. Bucky knew that hum, it was his therapy hum. That hum said 'what you just said was a problem, but I don't know how to tell you that without making you act all defensive.' Bucky braced himself for the reproaching tone that came after, but nothing happened. Instead, Sam switched subjects.

"What about the arm?" He asked, looking down at Bucky's left arm. "It still looks brand new. How does it feel?"

Finally, and easier topic. "It doesn't feel brand new," he said, lifting it and slowly rolling his wrist. "It's better than the plastic ones, don't get me wrong. I can still use it the way I need to, it's just slow to respond when the temperature drops or rises too much. Plus, I think the battery is starting to go. I don't know how to replace that, but I bet I could find someone to do it."

"You don't want to give that to just anybody, Bucky. You should get Steve to talk to Stark about it, he's the one who gave you the damn thing in the first place."

Bucky wrinkled his brows, uncomfortable with the idea of having to ask Steve for something like that. It wasn't even that big of a deal, the arm lasted two full years and it was only an early prototype. He hadn't had a single complaint until recently and he was pretty sure it'd last another two years before he really had to get a new one. He could save up for one of the newer arms that Stark is selling by then. Sam tried his best to convince Bucky that he could just ask Sam, but that was already his decided course of action.

Once the obligatory prying was over, Sam let him relax. He knew how stressed talking could make Bucky and most of the time he just... let him be. As long as Bucky was eating right, his apartment was clean, and he didn't miss any of his therapy appointments then he couldn't be too bad, right?

At least, that's what Bucky did his best to make him believe.

"I'll see you on Friday, right? You're not gonna flake out on us?" Sam asked, shrugging his coat back on once they were ready to leave.

"I can't flake out, the whole thing's in my apartment," Bucky pointed out, laying down a twenty dollar bill for the tip. Sam raised his eyebrow but said nothing about the amount. That was close to a seventy-five percent tip.

"You never know. James Buchanan Barnes is a crafty one." Bucky pursed his lips, particularly unamused by Sam's joke. "Alright, fine. I've got to get to work anyway, you sour ass. Take care of yourself 'til Friday, got it?"

He clapped Bucky on the back and walked away without another word. Bucky watched the door shut before he pulled out his phone. It had vibrated three times during their lunch, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss that with Sam.

Two Text Messages from: Rebecca B.

One Voicemail from: Rebecca B.

Becca was nothing if not persistent. He read the messages while he walked to the nearest subway station.

Rebecca B.: Is now a good time? I have to talk to you.

Rebecca B.: It's either me or Mom, Jimmy. I'm trying to save you the grief, I swear.

As much as he didn't like it, Becca was right. She was a lot easier to talk to than their mother. At least she didn't pry when he clearly didn't want to talk about something. He waited until he found his seat on the train to listen to the voicemail.

"Hey, Jimmy. I know you're probably busy doing whatever it is hermits do, but you've really got to call Mom at some point. She's worried about you and the more you avoid her, the more that the rest of us have to hear about it.

"Plus... you know, we're worried about you too. I haven't heard from you since Thanksgiving and even then it was just through texts. I hope you're planning on coming home for Christmas. If Winnie's coming all the way from California, you can get here from Manhattan. Plus, I already got your present and I'd really like to see the face you make when you're trying to be nice about your disappointment.

"Oh! And bring Steve too. Unless he's visiting Peggy's family for the holidays.

"Call me back whenever you listen to this, okay? Love you."

Bucky listened to the voicemail one more time before even attempting to type out a message to his sister. He wasn't even sure that he had anything to say.

He finally managed a somewhat adequate reply.

To Rebecca B.: Sorry I missed your call, can't call back now. I don't know if I come home, but I'll try my best. Things are moving pretty fast at the moment, just trying to catch up. I'll call you soon and I'll do my best to catch Winnie before she flies back, I promise.

He could already hear her reaction, the exasperation wasn't exactly hard to predict. But what was he supposed to do? He was already exhausted, pretending to be okay for the whole Christmas break would wipe him out. He was already run ragged by having to plan Steve's bachelor party.

The bachelor party was going to happen on Friday 'cause the wedding was on January 5th and the holidays made it impossible for most of the wedding party to attend any time closer to the wedding. Frenchy even had a daughter and a wife to spend Christmas with.

As per Steve's request, it was going to be a relaxing night. Bucky wasn't exactly a fan of having strippers in his apartment, so that made him feel better about hosting in the first place. They were going to be drinking good liquor and playing cards the whole night, just like they'd do when they were sitting around in the muck waiting for a mission. The only difference was that Sam would be there too... and they'd have a bathroom to use.

Bucky was actually looking forward to it despite the nerves he had about so many people being in his space at the same time. When his post-nightmare-insomnia would strike, most nights as of late, he'd spend hours cleaning and rearranging his furniture.

It was hard to admit that just the thought of one night with his closest friends could overwhelm him so easily. He was supposed to be stronger than that.

When the train stopped, he shook off that thought and instead tried to think of what he could get his sisters and his mother for Christmas. He knew that Becca liked candles and the color yellow. Soph would probably like something for her cat, maybe a toy or one of those stupid outfits that she put the poor animal in. Winnie was a mystery to him, just like she'd always been. She was the chaotic sister, the one that went to California instead of staying in the area like the rest of the family. The art student. He'd have to ask Becca what to get her. He'd inherited their father's tendency to give absolutely terrible gifts.

He spent the rest of the walk home laughing to himself at the memory of when their father had given them all matching Muppet-themed pajamas. He wasn't even sure what the thought was behind that, none of them had ever been massive fans of the Muppets in the first place.

Thinking about his father always hurt a little bit, but it was getting easier. The man had died when Bucky was overseas, he'd gotten a short reprieve to attend the funeral but without Steve there... well, he'd spent the whole time being strong for his mother and his sisters. He didn't get to grieve until after he was home and by then there was too much to grieve for him to process it all. His dad, his arm, his health...

He was forced to shake out of that thought too, thankful to finally come back to his front door. The doorman was sat behind the front desk with his feet up, watching something on his phone. He didn't look up when Bucky passed him.

Bucky made it to the elevator before the guy spoke up. "Hey, Nine E! You've got a coat back here," He called out, sitting up and pulling out the peacoat he'd given the neighbor earlier. He nodded, collecting it and folding it over his metal arm before walking back to the elevator and climbing on.

Once the doors closed, he examined the coat. There was a receipt for a sandwich in the pocket and a long strand of brown hair on the collar. When he folded it again, he caught a wave of something floral... and maybe peaches? He chuckled, though he wasn't quite sure why.

The elevator stopped on his floor and he stepped off, already back to thinking about what he had to do before Friday rolled around. Maybe he should get something like those fancy cheese platters his mom always got for parties... He was so busy considering the food he'd serve that he almost tripped over the back of Chinese food sat at his front door.

He picked it up and glanced inside to find a note scrawled on the back of the receipt:

Sorry about your soup. Thought I'd pay you back for that and the coat. Also sorry about the coat.

- Natasha, 8E.  (from the elevator)

He folded the note into his pocket and unlocked the door. After putting away the food and hanging up the coat, Bucky dropped onto the couch like a bag of stones. There was always so much to do...

He decided that he would allow himself 20 minutes to relax. So, he unattached his arm and set it to charge, returning to the couch a moment later so that he could kick up his feet.

Three hours he woke up in complete darkness to someone knocking on his door.

#Bucky Barnes #Natasha Romanoff #bucky fic #bucky x natasha #buckynat #bucky fanfic #femme fatale #chapter 3 #winter widow

[feral-yearning]

Femme Fatale ch 2 (Bucky x Natasha)

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natalia "Natasha Romanoff" Romanova

Tags: No powers, neighbors, messy, PTSD, sex work (not prostitution), war hero Bucky

Maturity rating: 18+

Warning(s): sex work (not prostitution), discussions of trauma, abandonment issues

Word count: 2,053

AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad | Tumblr

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What a bizarre guy.

Natalia held up the coat, examining it while its owner ran away. It was a large charcoal pea coat, clearly good quality and probably expensive. She considered leaving it to the doorman, but one glance at the guy made her think that he'd probably sell it to whoever was passing by. The guy was fresh out of high school and he always smelled like pot; he was the super's nephew.

Plus, it was supposed to snow again in a few hours.

The slush outside was the final nail in the coffin and so Nat swung the coat around like a cape before maneuvering her arms into the sleeves. She swam in the wool coat: the cuffs hung over her hands and the hem, which settled over her neighbor's hips, hung down to her mid-thigh. Once she was buttoned up, it looked as though she was wearing nothing but the coat and her fuzzy slippers.

She turned up the collar to protect from the wind and shoved her hands into the coat pockets while she walked out the door. Her bare legs were immediately frozen, but she was Russian and that wasn't about to stop her from clearing the area. First, she stopped by the deli on the corner to grab something to eat. With a ham and cheese bagel stuffed into the deep coat pockets, she found herself walking to catch a train.

Once she was settled safely on the train to Eastchester, Nat finally started to decompress. That bastard was probably taking shit that didn't belong to him, but he knew better than to take anything she'd notice. He'd probably leave with all the toilet paper and batteries, which was replaceable despite being annoying. He barely had anything of his in her apartment, so he should realistically only need one trip to get rid of his shit. She just knew that if he thought she was waiting on him, he'd drag his stupid feet.

More confident in her decision to leave the area, Nat slumped back into her seat and pulled the oversized coat tighter around her body. It was surprisingly soft for a wool coat, she noticed. And it smelled like... soap, mostly. But there was more: rose water, vanilla, and wood smoke. Maybe there was something like oranges there too. She buried her nose in the collar before she caught herself and then flattened it back down to where it belonged.

She wondered why the guy would give her his jacket when she'd already ruined his food. It was like a weird thank you for something she'd objectively done wrong. What a weird guy.

Thinking back to the elevator ride down after the soup-stealing-incident, Nat had expected a question or a comment. He didn't say anything, not even to complain about his sudden lack of soup. She was so hopped up on adrenaline and some level of embarrassment over her own conduct that she'd been forced to break the silence between herself and the monolith.

She'd barely said ten words to the guy, he said even less, and he quite literally forced her to wear his coat before speeding off like a wily cayote was chasing him.

What a weird quiet guy. A handsome weird quiet guy, too. They were usually the weirdest ones 'cause they could get away with it. Maybe he collected dolls or had one of those walls of framed butterflies. She would think that he had a million cats, but he smelled too good for that. Once she thought about it, he did seem like a cat guy.

Maybe it was the long hair.

After that she got distracted thinking about whether she looked like a cat person or a dog person and that spiraled until she was scrolling down the adoption page of an online shelter. She couldn't take care of a pet just yet, she could barely manage the cactus she got for her birthday.

The hour long ride went faster than she would have thought. When it stopped, she tossed out the wrap from her bagel and then continued on her walk. The fluff on her purple slippers was starting to turn grey. How depressing, she really liked them.

After a ten-ish minute walk, Natalia came to stand in front of the surprisingly large 4-bedroom home that belonged to her best friend. She pulled the coat a little tighter around her body on her way up the stairs to the front door. She rapped her knuckles on the door before letting herself in.

No matter how sneaky she thought she was, there was no going unnoticed in the Barton household. She was caught before she'd gotten halfway to the kitchen by an extremely pleased Lila Barton.

"Mom! Mom, Aunt Nat is here!" She called, sprinting ahead to the kitchen without even stopping to say hello to her Aunt Nat.

Natalia followed, making sure to take off her mucky slippers before she hit the wood floor. In the kitchen, Laura was busy flipping pancakes while her husband was bent over the sink washing up the mixing bowl.

"Hey, Nat! What are you doing out here so early? You aren't usually awake this early on a Monday, let alone a Saturday." Clint grabbed a towel to dry off his hands before crossing the floor and giving her a hug.

"Some things are worth waking up early for," Nat shrugged, turning toward Lila and the bump that would hopefully be little Natalia in the near future. Or Natasha, either would work. "How are you feeling? I can take over if your feet hurt."

"No, I spend most of the day sitting after breakfast. I can't get him to let me do much these days," Laura opened her arms for her own hug, enveloping Nat almost like she was one of the kids. "What are you doing out here so early, though?"

Instead of the amusement in Clint's eyes, Laura seemed more concerned. Nat forced an airy laugh and waved her off. "I'm waiting for a bad smell to leave my apartment and I realized that there wasn't any other place that I'd rather be. Plus, I figured I would offer my company at the bus stop to the two munchkins wolfing down pancakes."

That earned laughter from Cooper and Lila while they finished up their breakfast.

"Wanda is going to be by soon; she's actually been helping us out with the bus in the mornings for the past few months," Clint said.

"It still feels like she should be getting on the bus herself," Laura laughed, flicking off the stove knob and plating the last monster pancake. Clint slipped past her, stealing the pancake from the counter and kissing his wife in the process.

"How old is she now?" Natasha cocked her eyebrow. That girl had always acted much older than she was but Natasha always thought of her as a surly 15 year old.

"23," Clint said between bites. "She's only four years younger than you, Nat."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, picking up one of the extra pancakes and picking it apart with her fingers. "But I wasn't fifteen when I was fifteen, I was probably twenty by then."

"Every sixteen year old thinks that," Laura pointed out.

Nat waved her off, focusing instead on the kids. "So when do you guys get to go on break, huh? We haven't had a sleepover in a while."

"Two weeks!" Lila exclaimed, turning to her parents with wide eyes. "Can we sleep at Aunt Nat's house when school gets out? Please?" Cooper, while much more nonchalant about the invitation, was staring expectantly.

"Of course you can, as long as you behave yourselves until then." A collective cheer came from Natalia, Cooper, and Lila. They talked about going to see the big Christmas trees in Rockefeller Center and maybe even going ice skating. That part of the city was usually off limits for her during the holiday season, except for when the Barton kids were in charge. After a few minutes of discussion, the doorbell rang.

"Cooper, go let Wanda in," Clint said, pointing toward the door. With a mighty groan, Cooper trekked off to the front door, mouth still full of pancake. Seconds later he returned, Wanda Maximoff following closely behind.

Wanda was taller than her, probably by three or four inches. She looked far different than the surly 15 year old that lived in her head. It was a little funny that she still saw Wanda and her brother that way, she saw them almost every Christmas and Fourth of July and maybe three times randomly through the year. They were hardly strangers...

"Nat! What are you doing here so early, don't you sleep until noon?" She asked, stepping quickly to give Natalia a quick hug.

"My super is getting rid of a rat problem this morning, I had to vacate the premises because of all the chemicals," she shrugged, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind Wanda's ear.

"You said you were waiting for a bad smell to leave," Cooper protested.

"The bad smell is from the chemicals," Nat retorted, sticking out her tongue. The adults in the room chuckles while the children retaliated with their own screwed up faces. Not long after, Cooper and Lila kissed their mom and dad, gathered their school bags, and headed out the door with Wanda close behind. Laura finished her food not long after and immediately made her way upstairs to get ready for work.

Nat settled down cross the kitchen table from Clint, working on her second pancake in the comfortable silence.

"He's gone, then?" Clint murmured, taking a sip of his coffee. Nat nodded. "Good. Never liked him."

Natalia scoffed, "You could have told me that."

"I don't think it would have made a difference. I'm not convinced you liked him either." He stared at her over the rim of his mug and Nat held her expression steady. Just because Clint was right didn't mean he needed to be told he was right.

Instead, she shrugged him off and started to drum her fingers on the table impatiently.  Silence droned on while Clint finished his coffee, stretching for some time after that.

"You heard back about the Stark job yet?" He finally asked, standing and crossing the room to wash his mug.

"Yeah," Nat nodded, standing and pulling her coat tighter around her. She caught another whiff of roses but didn't let that derail her thoughts again. "I've got my second interview tomorrow morning."

"Second interview?"

"Apparently Stark is paranoid after his whole 'kidnapped in the desert' episode."

Clint hummed thoughtfully, setting his mug in the dish rack. "I hope you get it."

"So do I. I'll be able to afford the suburban house and the two-point-five kids soon, just like you," she teased. Clint chuckled at her and checked the time.

As the responsible adult he was, he announced that he had to get ready and leave for work but that she could stay as long as she wanted. As the father that he was, he advised her to borrow shoes and pants or she'd get sick. If he wasn't under such a time crunch, she would have assumed that he'd turn off his hearing aids just to stop her from arguing about how being Russian meant she was fine in a bathrobe and a borrowed coat. Nonetheless, Natalia committed to neither but an hour or so after Clint was gone and all the dishes were done, she did borrow a pair of sweatpants from Laura so that she could head home.

It was only half past eleven by the time she stepped off the train in Manhattan. She took the long route back home, stopping by a deli for lunch before shuffling back into her building. By then her fuzzy slippers were muddy scraps, of course. But when she got back to her apartment all that was left was a note that she tossed in the trash without reading. Once her lunch was finished, she took a bubble bath in her tiny tub and then settled down for a nap. She had a good seven hours until work was going to start rolling in.

The coat was left hanging over the arm of her couch while she slept.

#Bucky Barnes #Natasha Romanoff #bucky x natasha #Winter widow #Bucky fic #Bucky Barnes fic #Winter Soldier #Femme Fatale #Chapter 2

[feral-yearning]

Femme Fatale ch 1 (Bucky x Natasha)

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natalia "Natasha Romanoff" Romanova

Tags: No powers, neighbors, messy, PTSD, sex work (not prostitution), war hero Bucky

Maturity rating: 18+

Warning(s): sex work (not prostitution), discussions of trauma, abandonment issues

Word count: 1,551

AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad | Tumblr

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Sock, sock. Shoe --

"Did you even sleep?"

-- shoe. Tongue, tongue. Lace, lace.

"Can you hear me? Bucky?"

His name caught his attention, pulling him back into the conversation. Bucky straightened up in his creaky chair and looked down at his cell with furrowed brows.

"Yeah, I can hear you. I slept just fine, Steve. Got eight hours and everything." He'd barely said a word about his sleep issues and Steve had settled over him like a mother hen, now he was much more cautious about sharing details.

"Eight hours last night or eight hours this week?"

A vaguely amused scoff escaped Bucky's mouth before he could stop it. He stood up, grabbing his Motorola Razr off the table and pressing it to his ear so that he could continue to get ready for the day.

"I slept fine. You're the one getting married, don't you have a million meetings in the next ten days?" Deflection was like a blade and Bucky was a master swordsman.

"You have no idea, Buck. I might even have to skip out before seeing you all spruced up, we have to meet a baker."

"I thought you had your cake," Bucky opened his fridge and bent down, looking at the abysmal selection of expired deli meats, cheeses, and take out containers. He attempted a sniff test on the beef container near the front and had to pull away from the phone to cough.

"-boss wouldn't stop calling her 'little miss'. I thought she'd skin him when he made a ball and chain joke."

"Must not be a man that values his life," Bucky murmured, picking out the subpar sweet and sour soup he'd ordered on a whim two days ago. It was the most edible and somehow not the most appetizing. Nonetheless, he poured it into a paper bowl, tossed the container into the sink, and put the bowl in the microwave.

"He knew his place when she was done with him," Sam assured, not going into more detail. They both knew the power Peggy Carter could wield with a single look. That was already written into his best man speech.

In eleven days, on what was supposed to be a beautiful Saturday morning, Captain Steven Grant Rogers the war hero was to be married in a grand historical church. His wife to-be, a former British agent, was none other than Margaret Carter. The five-foot-seven spitfire was enough to pull his absolute dork of a best friend up by his bootstraps. From what Bucky heard, Steve was only able to survive basic training because he was too busy focusing on getting Peggy's attention to feel pain.

"I'm sure he did, Steve. You don't mess with Peggy Carter."

"Damn right."

Bucky's watch started to beep. He glanced at the time and hissed.

"Alright, Cap. I've got to go if I want to make the train on time." He switched his phone from hand to hand while he pulled on the long peacoat his mother had sent him. It was too expensive for the jeans he was wearing underneath, but she'd insisted. He couldn't convince her that he ran hot anyway.

"Yes, please make the train on time. I want to see how the final suit looks," Steve agreed. "Sam, Gabe, Dum Dum, and Jim should be there when you get there and I'll follow after."

"When are Frenchy and Limey flying in?" Jacques and Monty.

"They're supposed to be coming in next weekend."

The lucky European bastards got to miss all of the planning and the tasting and the family events. Most they'd have to deal with is the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner.

"I'll see you in an hour, Steve."

"See you then, Buck."

Bucky flipped his phone closed just as the soup was finished heating up. He checked his watch again and then checked his pocket for his subway card. With everything present and accounted for, Bucky grabbed his breakfast-lunch and headed toward the door. He had no choice but to bring the food with him or risk not eating until he'd finished the fitting. He was under pain of death not to get anything on the outfit.

So, instead of risking the wrath of the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Carter-Rogers, Bucky carefully sipped his soup on the way to the elevator. Once he was safely inside, Bucky leaned against the back wall and started to use his plastic spoon as though he was feeling particularly civilized.

He hardly had a chance to peace and quiet. Just before the elevator started to move, Bucky heard a loud slam from a lower floor. There was another slam and a lot of nearby yelling. He crossed his fingers that they were too late, but no sooner had he started to descend from floor nine than the elevator slowed to a stop at floor eight. The muffled shouting wasn't very muffled anymore.

"If you want to play this game, I'll play this game. But I can guarantee you won't enjoy the end of it!"

That would be the redhead/blonde/brunette that lived beneath him.

"This isn't a game, you're just fucking crazy!"

And that was her... boyfriend? Maybe?

"I'll tell you what, you have until tonight to get the fuck out of my apartment. after that, I'll show you what fucking crazy is!"

Ding. The door opened and Bucky tried (unsuccessfully) not to look out at the drama. His neighbor, brunette now and wearing only a thigh-length blue silk robe, was walking into the elevator and still arguing over her shoulder.

"What, are you gonna keep acting like your mother, you stupid bitch?"

Bucky's eyebrow quirked up, but he didn't say anything just yet. He'd heard a few of their arguments in the past and he wasn't concerned for the woman's wellbeing. If anything, he would have to intervene on his behalf.

Just when he had that thought, he caught his neighbor's eyes. The fury smoldering in her green eyes was enough to cement his inaction. He casually lifted another spoonful of soup to his mouth while she stood in the door of the elevator. The doors tried to close on her once while she was frozen there.

"Is that hot?" She asked quietly, her boyfriend (?) heaving with overconfident anger over her shoulder.

Bucky nodded.

In one swift motion, Neighbor Woman had scooped the bowl out of his gloved hand and twisted herself around in order to land a perfect shot. The paper bowl hit the ground and split down the side, spilling the few drops that hadn't been splashed over Asshole Guy's face. He yelped like a kicked puppy, cursing her over and over.

Before the doors could shut on Neighbor Woman again, she called him a bitch and stepped into the elevator with Bucky. Soon they were alone in the quiet elevator, descending away from the dramatic shouts on floor eight.

All Bucky had left of his breakfast-lunch was a spoonful. He sighed quietly, swallowed it, and stuffed his spoon into his coat pocket. Neighbor Woman was staring at her reflection in the polished metal door.

He did the same, standing side by side with her on the way to the lobby.

Neighbor Woman broke the silence. "You live in this building?"

"Nine E," Bucky confirmed, glancing at his watch. He could still run and make the train on time.

"You're right above my apartment," she noticed blandly, pulling her robe tighter around her.

"I know."

They lapsed into silence.

Floor five.

Floor four.

"Sorry about your soup."

"It's not a big deal, I didn't like it very much," Bucky shrugged.

Floor three.

She wasn't wearing anything but her robe from what he could see. Maybe she had shorts and a t-shirt on under that, but it was February in Manhattan, that wasn't exactly a day outfit.

"Are you going back up?" He asked.

"Not 'til he's gone," Neighbor Woman shrugged, untying her messy brown hair and retying it back up into a bun. "Until then, I'll probably just walk. No point in wasting a day off 'cause that asshole wants to fuck some random girl while I'm working."

Bucky weighed his options until the lobby doors opened. Neighbor Lady stepped out like she was making a break for it.

"Take my coat," he said, pulling out his wallet and phone from the pockets before starting to shrug off the long winter coat. Underneath he only had a grey thermal, but he wasn't going to spend much time outside anyway.

"Your coat?" That stopped Neighbor Lady in her tracks. She looked skeptical and a little irritated.

"I don't like it and you're basically naked. No reason to be naked and barefoot on a Wednesday morning." He held out the coat to her. "Take it, I've got shit to do."

His irritation seemed to put her somewhat at ease. "Fine," she muttered. "I'll give it back tonight."

"Keep it for all I care," Bucky shrugged, striding past her and out the front door. Once he was outside he broke into a fast jog, speeding down W 127th toward Manhattan Avenue. He almost had to jump a turnstile, but he made it with almost thirteen seconds to spare. There wasn't a place to sit, but it was alright. He wouldn't be riding for long.

#Winter widow #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #james barnes #the winter soldier #bucky x natasha #Femme Fatale #Chapter one

[feral-yearning]

OTP Christmas Scenarios That Are Sort Of Original, But Somewhat Cliché:

Handing their S/O a positive pregnancy test with a sprig of holly and a note reading ‘Merry Christmas’.

Getting trapped in a shopping mall together during after-hours in which they were christmas shopping too hard.

SWEATER PAWS AND CUDDLES.

Losing S/O at a christmas market and having to make an announcement over an intercom as to reunite them again (I’m thinking early 80’s era with fluorescent jackets and big old scarfs and brick phones that they left at home).

Fluffy, pretty, ‘princess’ character meets emo, grunge, moody character at a trashy christmas party and accidentally (drunkenly) makes them fall for them.

A competition for cringiestchristmas sweater at an office party, in which your otp comes wearing the same sweater.

Christmas Eve has your otp trapped in an elevator until late, both hungry and cold and now asleep together on the floor with bags of shopping discarded across from them.

Being hit in the face by an angry customer swinging their arms about and their S/O beating them up in the parking lot.

Christmas shenanigans under the tree, if you know what I mean.

Otp acting domestic whilst cooking their families christmas dinner and worrying about whether their parents are getting on with each other.

Planning a beautiful engagement for christmas day, only to lose the ring.

Mothering their S/O’s younger siblings and making sure they’re getting enough to eat.

Falling asleep in front of the fire whilst their S/O is playing them ‘dance of the sugar plum fairy’ on piano. They pull a blanket over them and curl up beside them.

Spilling hot chocolate/coffee/a hot-fucking-beverage on the other and insisting on paying for a new drink and new clothes for them, unaware that they’re rich and very capable of buying themselves another coffee. Besides, they don’t know that this jacket is Louis Vuitton and cost more than the knock-off Gucci belt that had caught their eye in the first place (probably looking a little lower than the belt, but we digress).

First christmas with their S/O and panicking to their best friend/sibling about what to get them. Somehow, a plushie didn’t seem exactly suitable when they knew the other had bought them an engagement ring.

Flying overseas for christmas, but having their baggage lost/delayed, meant they had to walk around their hotel room naked for a few days. That was their excuse anyway.

Burning christmas dinner and trying to order take-out (congratulations, you plebs).

Being gifted tickets to see a family member overseas, but having to leave their S/O at home for christmas, not expecting them to turn up on their doorstep on christmas morning with a bouquet of roses.

Finding their S/O drinking eggnog from the carton and crying at ‘Love Actually’ on their return from working all day. Pulling the other into their lap and kissing their forehead until they stop crying and fall asleep.

SLIPPING ON ICE, SPENDING CHRISTMAS IN HOSPITAL AND GUESS WHO THEIR DOCTOR IS??? *cue us pterodactyl screeching and them ensuing sexy shenanigans***

Decorating the christmas tree together and blowing the fuse for the electrics. Waiting in candle-light for the electricians to arrive and- let me just say- nothing stays fluffy in candle-light.

Bringing each others home country traditions to the dinner table and experiencing a weird mix of food.

Secretly learning their S/O’s mother-tongue to surprise them and be able to talk to their family at christmas.

Buying animal-proof fairy lights, confusing their S/O, but it all makes sense when there’s an ENTIRE puppy in their living room on christmas day.

Falling asleep in the passenger seat whilst their S/O drives them to a family members house for christmas, but not wanting to wake them for further directions because they look so p e a c e f u l.

Cuddling in the bathtub because it’s so cold outside and their S/O got caught in the snow on the way home from work.

Kissing under the mistletoe is underrated, go big or go home.

Sleeping in until midday because they just want to be in each other’s arms and it is so warm with them right here beside them.

Making out under the christmas tree because the lights reflecting in their S/O’s eyes just looked too ethereal for them not to kiss them until they lost their breath.

Eating dinner together and sharing kisses over the dining table. This isn’t always fun when their S/O has a hate for brussel sprouts.

Falling asleep on their significant other’s chest whilst they’re wrapping christmas presents, meaning that some aren’t wrapped the next morning because the sellotape had RUN OUT.

Failing to get the right meat and their S/O sending them back multiple times until they end up going together and realising that they weren’t even going to the right store.

Slow kisses.

Text messages asking for their S/O to put the kettle on for them as they were almost home.

Sitting on the doorstep in the cold, waiting for their S/O to come home from working on christmas day (emergency services?) and hugging them for so long whilst whispering ‘merry christmas’ into their neck and kissing any inch of skin they can reach.

Slow dancing to Frank Sinatra’s christmas songs in the kitchen and forgetting to check the potatoes in the oven.

Ice skating and them BOTH BEING REALLY GOOD ACTUALLY.

ACCIDENTALLY WEARING MATCHING NAUGHTY/NICE JUMPERS IN PUBLIC AND THEN BUMPING INTO EACH OTHER.

Avoiding the mistletoe at all costs, however, everyone is trying their best to get the otp there.

Neighbour au in which one gets drunk on mulled wine and ends up knocking at the other’s door, drunkenly trying to seduce the other and- instead- passing out in their living room.

MAKING OUT IN THE CLOAKROOM OF SOME POSH CHRISTMAS PARTY.

Just lots of making out in general. Jesus wanted us to repopulate which means fuc-

Crawling into their roommate’s (S/O’s) bed because it is too cold in their own and they want cuddles.

[feral-yearning]

a shit ton of enemies to lovers prompts

warning: includes nsfw

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

you and your enemy has to kiss each other to create a distraction, though you get lost in kissing each other, and the only one who ends up getting distracted is the two of you, and as your enemy shoves you up against the wall, and you fumble with their belt, the antagonist sneaks right past you

chaining your enemy, leaving them behind while they scream and curse at you to release them

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

your enemy seduces you by kissing your neck, tracing their fingers down your body. bonus if it takes place on a balcony, with your friends in the garden below you. if one of them look up towards the balcony, you'll get caught, and yet you can't bring yourself to push your enemy away from you

you're upset one night, and you don't know where to go, so you end up at your enemy's house, and as they open the door, you stay silent for a second, before saying (with tears in your eyes) ''i don't know where else to go.'' your enemy doesn't say anything. instead they pull you into their arms, giving you a shoulder to cry on.

during a dance, formal or informal, character A is dancing with character C, and character B can't take their eyes off of them, and when character B notices this, character B smirks, and starts dancing more intimately with character C, while not taking their eyes off of character A

your enemy's crew is talking about kidnapping or torturing you, and your enemy doesn't understand why they feel a sudden urge to strangle their crew for wanting to put you in harms way

pinning your enemy against the wall, or straddling their hips, pinning their arms above their head

you snatch a knife from your enemy's grip and throws it at the ground, then you grab your enemy by the collar, and crash your lips against theirs. they're surprised, but responds immediately

you threaten your enemy, and when they close the distance between you, you realize how attracted you truly are to them

your enemy's crew tells your enemy that they have to choose between you and their crew. your enemy doesn't hesitate. they choose you. as your enemy's crew raises their weapons, your enemy shields you, because if the crew wants to get to you, they'll have to kill [your enemy] first

jumping into bed with your enemy to ''blow off some steam'' or to ''resolve sexual tension.'' you promise each other it's meaningless, but the next night, it happens again

wrestling your enemy to the ground when they threaten you, holding a knife to their throat ''touch me if you dare.'' ''is that a challenge?''

''you're not going to kill me.'' ''don't be so sure about that.'' ''if you wanted me dead, i'd already be six feet under.''

you've been wounded, your face is all bruised up, your enemy puts a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes to theirs, asking: ''who did this to you?'' when you don't answer, they ask again ''who did this to you?''

your enemy keeps on smiling when you've got them pinned down, and seem to enjoy having a knife against their throat ''are you getting off on this?'' ''i quite enjoy the view.''

you and your enemy bond over something you have in common. when your conversation is over and you need to leave, your enemy follows you to the door and says ''we still hate each other, right?'' you hesitate for a moment: ''i'd still kick your ass.'' ''i'm counting on it.'' you share a laugh, and as you walk out the door, you start blushing

you and your enemy hug each other, it's completely accidental, and neither of you know why it happened, and it's like,,, you glare at each other, with an expression of ''let's never speak of this again'´

avoiding each other for weeks after sharing an intimate moment, be it a kiss, a hug, holding hands, or just looking at each other's lips

you end up on your enemy's lap, and you yank the belt from their pants ''let's just get this over with.''

it's 1am, your enemy knocks on your door, and you're like wtf are you doing at my house, then you notice that they're carrying a dead body, and you're like what the fuck is that, and your enemy's like, i need your help, now, desperately, and you're like, fine, but if you get blood on my carpet, you'll end up just like him (dead)

you recently broke up with your partner, who cheated on you. knowing that you're upset and pissed, your enemy shows up at your house. you claim you don't want them there, and as you open the door, insinuating that you want them to leave, your enemy slams it shut and says ''use me.'' you know they mean in bed. and you know it's wrong. and you know you shouldn't. and you know you'll regret it. and you end up sleeping with them the same night.

''i can't go there with you, you know. everything's just... too complicated.''

''if you hurt them, i will kill you. do you hear me? i'll kill you.''

your enemy says ''slap me.'' you slap them, no hesitation. your enemy's like ?????

i might make a part two