„The Devil wears six inch heels“
Mob!James 'Bucky' Barnes x Mob! female reader (Mafia AU)
Summary: You may be the city’s Queen but he’s a King as well. Bucky has power, his people, his connections -just like you. The only reason for the truce between you and him, was the incident with John Walker’s gang a few months ago, where Bucky unfortunately had to ask you for help. And now you’ve come to him, ready to collect your payment.
Warnings: explicit smut, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degradation kink, orgasm denial, p in v, oral, fingering, choking, insults, blackmailing, dub/con
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Bucky gets up from his seat inside his rather big office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed club, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office, two bodyguards behind him and closing the door with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Bucky turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his club. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the asshole that’s responsible for his loan initially than with you.
Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Bucky could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it -he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.
There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive red heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary fur coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.
You draw attention like the color black absorbs light -from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, Bucky muses.
Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the club, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Bucky may think is beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.
“Good evening, James. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the building in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.
Bucky greets you before he extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around the club that looks a loot shadier when it’s empty.
“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You know there’s a kitchen right behind the bar and that they’re serving appetizer to their drinks that are surprisingly good.
You don’t look at Bucky when he doesn’t move from his place immediately.
“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your bodyguards is still by the door and the look he gives the other is also very compelling. Bucky feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."
One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money inside.
“So, how’s business?" You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the bars menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the club is located.
Bucky doesn’t say anything in return, silently signaling one of his men to work on your order in the kitchen. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry, but that would be a lie.
"So rude, James." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?"
"You wanted that bastard gone just as much as I.“ Bucky doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.
“You know, I really liked John. He had talent, James. It’s a shame you wanted him gone, he could’ve easily replaced you or Rogers by my side.”
Bucky’s snort is disrespectful. „By your side? Who said were on the same side, doll? The only reason your corpse’s not laying in my basement yet, is because you helped me out and I’m a nice man.“ The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking at Bucky, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the window next to the door.
“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Bucky’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.
"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, while his man comes back from the kitchen and depositions a plate with small delicacies in front of you. Bucky doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him. "But remember, right now, you’re on my side of the city. If you want to make threats, make sure the next time I’m on your side. Because as soon as this is over, i don’t want to see you or any of your lapdogs in my territory again, doll.“
Bucky chooses to sit next to you in silence, his bodyguard handing him a glass of scotch that he almost downs in one sip. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.
“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his tattooed arms to his deft fingers holding the fancy glass. Bucky just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn.
“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse. Bucky eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile before you take a bite of the delicious looking appetizer.
“See, this is why I like you, Bucky.” The brunette frowned at your loose use of his nickname, reserved for the people he trusts and that are close to him, and the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”
“It’s my job.” Bucky retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “-people like you.”
Bucky watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Bucky’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight.
He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.
You may be the city’s Queen but he’s a King as well. He has his people, his connections -just like you. The only reason for the truce between you and him was the incident with John Walker’s gang a few months ago, where Bucky unfortunately had to ask you for help.
Bucky may be looking down at you, but he almost feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.
"Seems to me you forgot some money, my love."
"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.
"You only have fifty thousand here."
“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Bucky deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"
“No, love. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”
"Ya gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.
"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”
"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Bucky has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”
"Are ya telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?
"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."
“I'm paying you back,” Bucky grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everythin' I owed ya is there. ”
"Not quite. You’re paying me back about…” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number. “82 percent of what you owe me.”
Bucky’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the bar counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Bucky stares back at your emotionless eyes, breathes deeply a few times, and then calms himself down. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money -he has. He has more than enough. But the amount of money you demand for helping him getting rid of a rival gang is ridiculous. He deeply regrets asking you for help, should’ve done the job alone even if it had taken him a while longer and probably cost a few more lives on the way…
There’s a reason everyone warned him to sign a contract with Brooklyn‘s devil.
"So how much do I still have to give ya?"
“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth. "Of course I can, who do think I am?“
“Okay then let me phrase it differently, love.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”
Bucky stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation.
You watch him slowly, almost amused. That disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling him up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.
And Bucky is right where you wanted him to be.
“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.
“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. You knew he could pay you twice the amount of money right now. He just didn’t want to. Bucky seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.”
You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive red plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”
“What do you want?” Bucky almost spits at you once you’re standing in front of him, entering his personal space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.
“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Bucky want to wreck it.
“I don’t respect you, doll.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss.
“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, James. Or am I wrong?”
Bucky blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.
“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”
You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping.
“See, I knew you were smart.”
“I’m not giving you any of my clubs.” Bucky hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee.
“Don’t want them.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.”
Bucky’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.
“I’m not laundering your money.”
“Money launder? My love, that’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the bar, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?”
Bucky stays silent again. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Bucky is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.
“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”
Bucky refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question.
“What do you mean?”
Your answering smile is sordid.
“You know what I mean James, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”
“I’m starting to think you are, though.”
Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.
“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… boring.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Bucky chooses to ignore that question once again.
“And what if I say no?”
“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and we know what’ll happen if you don’t pay me back… And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”
The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side.
Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Bucky looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. You can see the gears turning inside his pretty head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression.
Bucky’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the mobster boss. A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black suit. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.
“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man’s last word. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”
Bucky purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.
“I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”
“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.
“Ok, I’ll do it.” Bucky squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess.
“I don’t think that's how you say it, James.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.
“Ok… Ma'am. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -that’s why you chose him.
“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the bar where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”
“You just—” Bucky almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.
“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent.
“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.”
Bucky stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides.
You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue.
“I think I may need a little…” Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “—taste, you know?”
Bucky flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view- and he blinks.
The brunette thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Bucky thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback.
Bucky wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Bucky swears on his fucking name and whole life, nobody would be able to make you feel what he’s going to make you feel.
He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The mobster wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry.
“Sure.” Bucky smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give you the taste you deserve, doll.“
Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start.
You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips.
You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, next to Barnes Bodyguards. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.
“We need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They all look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside the small, equipped kitchen. Bucky follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest.
There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment.
“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of the rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -but he can’t lie to himself.
But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”
Bucky considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.
The brunette’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants.
It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Bucky’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table.
His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.
Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You look back at him once you’re so open right there on the table for him, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore.
You lay slightly back against the tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.
“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”
“Don’t worry, doll.” Bucky drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck you like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”
His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee.
You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil.
Bucky starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers.
“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching.
“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Bucky decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.
It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins.
Bucky knows it’s bait -and he’s willingly falling for it.
When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the mobster does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.
It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Bucky feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan.
His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.
He considers holding back his tongue, but Bucky has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.
“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Bucky lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “So wet.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”
Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Bucky has moves to back up the big talk.
He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his.
Bucky presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.
Bucky, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.
“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Bucky’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.”
He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Bucky even as his cock throbs from it.
“Maybe I’ll give you what you want.” The brunette teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this.
His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Bucky snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt.
“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much, doll?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Bucky’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, huh? Or is it that you enjoyed playing with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it you said? Foreplay, hm?”
You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Bucky plunges two fingers inside you without warning.
Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you.
It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something.
Your mouth opens, and Bucky snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you moan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going.
Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you.
“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Bucky’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting.
“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug— fuck!”
Bucky shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Bucky watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know.
He’s not stopping. Until he does.
You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Bucky’s chest swells in pride.
“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.
“What do you mean?” Bucky tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”
You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”
“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough, doll.”
Bucky retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.
The mobster pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin.
“Look at this.” Bucky plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.”
Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Bucky looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself. Oh how the table had turned…
Bucky kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.
“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth.
“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin.
James Buchanan Barnes, as you’re learning, is a fucking tease.
His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.
When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Bucky’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.
“Goddammit, James!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.
“Oh, look at that.” He smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving you a taste.”
“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Bucky feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound.
Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Bucky looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it.
“Oh, poor Bucky-” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt. “‘Cause I like pain.”
Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Bucky remains calm.
He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.
“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for ya?” Bucky snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat.
Bucky squeezes hard.
“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.”
Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along —passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect James Buchanan Barnes. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.
“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire.
Bucky pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the black bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are.
A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.
“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Bucky asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his icy blue eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.
He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.
Bucky smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.”
Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip.
It’s oddly relatable -Bucky also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved mostly one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure.
Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your chest, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.
“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Bucky retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.
You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”
His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Bucky knows it. The mobster pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your front on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you.
Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Bucky when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.
Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at his fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Bucky catch that.
Too soon. He pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Bucky’s hip.
He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Bucky fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Bucky to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.
“Shit— Bucky!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that.
Then he retreats again. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure.
"You’re coming already? Nope.” The mobster laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Bucky mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence.
“Such a greedy fucking pussy, doesn’t deserve to be this tight.”
Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Bucky hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me James. I know you have better lines.”
“Fuck you.” The man spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a filthy girl like you has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."
You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before.
Bucky’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.
You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Bucky to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding. Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Bucky’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes.
Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Bucky finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Bucky fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core.
The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of his hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever.
The simple thought of Bucky robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.
You’re tethering the edge and you feel Bucky pressing harder against you, and you break.
“Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit.
“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.
“Please, James, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Bucky rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking.
Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes.
Bucky watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Bucky feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.
But he’s not done yet.
He retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls, cold air from outside so less welcoming, and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Bucky spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.
The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect.
His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Bucky steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it.
You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Bucky is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but he doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat.
There’s resistance, so Bucky retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it.
It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Bucky’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.
He retreats again to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.
Bucky feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.
“You like being used like this, huh? Like being nothing more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”
“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?”
Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.
It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had.
Bucky can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Bucky’s whole being.
He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.
It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Bucky tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -and how it is all his doing.
The mobster is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.
And he does, his eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Bucky’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.
“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”
While you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself, he leans against the table, questioning his life choices and Bucky feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.
And worst of all, he’d happily give it to you…
“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it, James?“
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a merc with a heart? pt.1
Natasha Romanoff x Villain!Reader
Warning: cursing and graphic violence. No use of pronouns.
Word count: 2100
Summary: Reader is a part of the team of mercenaries and crosses paths with the infamous Black Widow.
Powers: matter absorption and weapon creation, enhanced strength, and accelerated healing.
A/N: I’m kind of back after a giant brick of writers block hit me.
Heavy influence from the game Cyberpunk 2077. You don’t have to know anything about the game to read.
Not my gif
“Dude, we have incoming from daddy long legs,” your teammate Jackie said peaking his head out from the vault door as you stuffed the duffel bags full of money.
“Everyone else is in position?” You asked into the comms in your ear as you zipped up your bag and swung it over your shoulder.
“Ready,” Marie said as you could hear her clicking keys in the background.
“We’re green,” Victor said probably eating a pizza in the truck while waiting.
“Allons-y, mes amis (Let’s go, my friends),” you nodded at Jackie and walked out of the vault slipping on your gas mask along with Jackie.
Jackie pulled out a gas bomb from his bag and pulled the release on it. Once the gas started releasing, he threw the container towards the hostages, who were blindfolded and tied up in a circle. Although you all were criminals, it didn’t mean you wanted to harm innocence bystanders. Plus, the gas would to wipe their memory.
Once you were outside you threw off your mask and booked it towards your respective motorcycles. Jackie had his ARCH, and you had your Tyger Claw, both perfect fast vehicles that got the both of you out of the worst situations. As your vehicles roared to life, you booked it right away weaving through the busy streets, ignoring the occasional red light and horns blaring with them.
“He’s on our tail,” Jackie yelled turn back to fire a few rounds at the hero.
Giving a quick glance, you say the red insect swinging between buildings trying to get to you as well as dodge your partner’s shots. Suddenly, you heard sirens getting closer by the second.
“Can you make it to the corner of East and Briar?” Victor asked.
You focused for a second at the view in front of you, catching the green street signs. Suddenly you saw two cop cars screech into view, blocking the road at the intersection. “Yeah, incoming in 20,” you confirmed before leaning your bike to the side and pulling off a chunk of the exhaust pipe of a random car. You absorbed the metal, completely coating your body in it, and consuming what was in your hand.
“Ay cabron, that is never not gonna be weird,” Jackie commented with a weird face, while keeping the spider occupied with his gunfire.
Ignoring his comment, you swallowed the alloy and shot out a metal ramp out the palm of your hand right in front of you. The both of you, increased your speed and leaped into the air directly over the policeman below. While in midair you produced some chains with the leftover metals in your system and shot them at the cops, binding their mobility.
“I can’t look, did you make it,” Marie whimpered.
Just as you land back on the ground you burn tread again for the van only a short distance away.
“Don’t jinx us, M,” Jackie said.
Right when he said that you heard a splat of the spider’s web on the back of your vehicle. “Marie!” You groaned as you jumped your feet onto the seat of the bike, in a squat position and hopped onto Jackie’s bike, totally abandoning yours.
“Do you know how many bullets I had to eat to steal that?” You complained as you watched the trophy get dragged away.
Finally, the two of you drove into the truck bed and Victor immediately took off into the hustle and bustle of the city.
“Sorry, Y/N. Surveillance is temporarily disabled,” she said.
“Goodbye little buddy, you will be missed,” you said dramatically blowing it a kiss from inside the truck, before shutting the doors.
“Can’t you just make another one of those?” Victor asked confused.
“Yes, but that’s not as satisfying as starting gang war,” you scoffed as you manipulated the metal on the exterior of the truck to appear as a different vehicle.
“You’re leaving out the part where, you were too busy drooling over Black Widow, so I was the one to actually steal the bike. You ate 60 bullets because you left your mouth open so wide,” Jackie said ratting you out without a second thought.
“I was not drooling. You’re making shit up,” you whined taking a seat after you were done sculpting. “Besides, that was ages ago. She’s got bigger fish to fry.”
“After we hid the bike, she found us and threw us in the slammer,” Jackie continued with a straight face.
“It was her job.”
“You were flirting with her the entire way in the car,” he said in the same tone.
“Someone’s got a crush,” Victor said in a sing-song voice and Marie hummed in agreement.
“I do not,” you argued crossing your arms defensively.
“Nagasaki is on the move,” you said following him from a safe distance.
“Just stay close enough to the target, long enough to download the virus onto his phone,” Marie said as you briefly made eye contact with her when you passed by.
You nodded your head and exited out the event room and walked towards the nearest supply closet. Once, you slipped inside, the light immediately switched on unexpectedly.
“Ahh! Putain de merde (Fucking shit)! You gorgeously scary woman!” You exclaimed as you jumped back hitting the wall behind you.
“What are a team of mercenaries doing in a ZenKai charity event?” Natasha questioned, ignoring your statement, without missing a beat.
“What’s an Avenger doing in a ZenKai charity event?” You countered.
“I suggest you and your friends get out of here before things get ugly,” Natasha said narrowing her eyes into a dangerous glare.
“Darling, it can’t get ugly if you’re here,” you smirked as she was clearly unamused. “Why all the hostility? We are guest you know,” you said crossing your arms in faux annoyance.
Natasha scoffed and looked you up and down before taking a look at your guest ID card, hanging around your neck. “Atualfo Jacobson? It’s that a type of mango?” She asked incredulously.
“It’s a family name!” You defended, trying hard not to laugh. Natasha clicked her teeth and opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by gunshots. Both of your heads whipped to the door and on instinct you coated your body with titanium, thanks to your pendant around your neck. Natasha’s hands went to her pistol as you lead the way out the door.
“Stay behind me,” you said keeping light on your toes in your fighting stance.
“Why should I trust you? Aren’t you behind all of this?” She whisper-yelled.
“Then I guess you’re just another pretty face,” you smirked as a group of guards turned the corner and open fired. As each bullet ricocheted off of your skin but left holes in your clothing, revealing your titanium skin underneath. “Get to steppin’, twinkle toes.”
“Don’t call me that,” Natasha demanded as she returned fire towards the assailants as she used you as a shield, literally. With Natasha behind you, you slowly pressed on down the seemingly long stretched hallway.
“The only way out is past those guards, Y/N,” Marie informed you.
“Whatever is happening there isn’t affecting the guest on the main floor, try to keep the mess there. We’re on standby, metalhead,” Victor said with a hushed tone.
As conversation ran through your mind, you were also simultaneously analyzing each of the attackers. Five men in tuxedos, three of the of slim build armed with standard pistols. The other two were more troublesome with bigger builds, making you wonder how much money it took for all the strength mods. One had a shot gun and the last one had a semi-automatic, both had katanas slung behind their backs.
“I’m headed towards the access door on the south side. Think you can meet me in 5?” Jackie asked.
At the rushed tone of your partner’s voice, you whipped your arms down from a defensive stance and unleashed dual katanas out the palm of your hands. “I’d never leave you hanging Jackie,” you confirmed.
The guards showered the both of you in bullets until their magazines were empty. The all-dramatic moment when the hollow clicks of their weapon dawned on them.
“I hope you’re ready to dance, darling,” you smirked as you saw her whip out her batons out of the corner of your eye.
Natasha sighed, “You’re coming with me back to SHIELD after this is all over, Y/N.”
You charged toward the group with Natasha in tow. In rapid speed, your blades clashed with the two other ones. “If that’s your way of asking me out on a date then you’re gonna have to do better than that,” you struggled as you forced back both men with all your strength.
You quickly back up from your two opponents, creating some distance between you both. But the distance didn’t last long as the one the right charged for you. The man made a heave swing from down on to your smaller form, but you quickly caught his strike with your blades, with an X formation. Out of the corner of your, eye you saw the other opponent start to make a move for you.
“Don’t you two know anything about a samurai’s code of honor?!” You grunted. With you last bit of strength you pinched the blade before you and twisted your katanas, ripping the man’s weapon out of his hands. With the weapon tossed to the side, out of arms reach, you swung your arms back down, slicing deeply through the man’s chest. Blood splatter hitting you and everything surrounding.
While working to defeat one opponent, you had almost no time to react to the next as he swung at your face. He almost managed to slice it through, had your skin not reacted on instinct and hardened right before contact. “Really?! My face?!” You shouted with your head tilted and your arms hung loosely by your sides.
The man made no effort to respond to you any more than an annoyed grunt. Sneaking a glance behind him, you saw Natasha takedown her second opponent.
“Okay, hunchback of Notre Dame, give me what you got,” you challenged absorbing your swords back into your body and hardening your skin.
The enemy charged at you one last time, swinging from his right side. In fast motion, you caught his blade in the palm of your left hand, crunching it under your strength. While his mind was focused on his blade, your right hand quickly grasps his neck. As his neck is in a firm choke hold, he drops his weapon and claws at your fingers. Without a second thought, you pulled your head back and smashed your forehead right into his.
“Maybe, that’ll teach you some code of honor,” you said throwing his body off to the side.
“So messy,” Natasha scoffed. When you looked up, you saw her with her arms crossed and back against the wall.
“Alright, next time I’ll let you handle the giant roid meatheads,” you countered, pulling out your handkerchiefs and wiping your face. You checked your watch and saw that you had one minute two minutes to spare. Just enough time to get to Jackie.
“I would, but they seem to be more attracted to your ugly face.”
“And here I was being chivalrous and what not,” you said clicking your teeth. Once you were done, you tossed the cloth aside and made your way down the hall.
“Like I need help from you,” she bit back as she walked cautiously beside you with her gun pointed out in front of her.
“No, no, of course not,” you said making a face and shaking your head. Without warning you held out your hand, holding out a handful of widow bites, you created for her.
Before Natasha could even dismiss the gesture, she looked at her wrist and saw an empty holster. Begrudgingly, she took them from your hand. You smirked at her silent admittance of defeat, savoring the feeling of her fingertips grazing your skin.
“There’s an exit on your right, that’s gonna take you down to where Jackie is,” Marie said breaking your moment.
Abruptly, you clasped her hand in a hold with the widow bites in between. “You gotta admit, ma belle(my beautiful), we make a great team,” you said keeping her hand in yours. You gently placed your hand on her waist and guided her as her back hit the wall. Her gaze searched your eyes, a hint of vulnerability held within them. For a second, you could have sworn she felt something for you. Her gaze faltered under yours, as if she was making a hard decision.
At the end of the day, you had a job to do, and you couldn’t slip up now after how far you have already come. Once, you were sure she was distracted you held her wrist against the wall and solidified and metal cuff, securing her in place and backing away.
“I’m sorry. I need find him,” you said with guilt washing over you before pushing he exit door open.
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