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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

The Bad Guy (3)

Bucky x fem!Reader

Smitten Kitten

Theme: It’s a good day in New York City for Bucky Barnes, who seems to feel right at home till his morning is disrupted by a bad guy. Maybe New York isn’t the same place after all. Now he has teamed up with the Bad Guy to fight the good fight. But this Bad Guy is bringing things on his surface he never knew he had

Chapter warnings: horny dumb asses and one thicc ass cock blocker

A/N: @writing-prompt-s once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me…I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: I hate periods!! Unless someone is paying me for this blood and mucus please just make it staaahp! I don’t know how many of you will get the reference of those dog and cat names. But oh my God if I could hug each and every one of you who reads, reblogs and comments on my fic I would hug the living souls outta you...five...people!!!!! Hnnnnghhhhh!!!!!

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

“Are you sure this is the location?”

“That’s what she texted Bucky.”

“...I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“...you…don't have a good feeling about...this mission or Y/N texting Bucky?”

Steve retreated his gaze from the binoculars to give Natasha a knowing look. The latter just shrugged her shoulders with the display of her innocent face. “He didn’t show you the text. He just told you the loc-esh. It’s normal to worry about it.”

Steve sighed and went back to the binoculars, looking at Bucky playing with a rock at the entrance of the warehouse before kicking it away. Steve hated the idea of Bucky wearing his favourite grey Henley shirt for a meeting with a bad guy.

“If I didn’t know him any better-” Tony’s voice crackled on the comms- “I’d say he was going on a date when he asked me if he could borrow my cologne. And if we go by our history, I really don’t know him any better.”

“Come on, guys. Cut Cap some slack,” Barton- who was screening the whole area from the top of the local water tank a couple of miles above the hill- added, “it’s not every day you see your best friends fall for the bad guys. Twice.”

A giggle and snicker eroded through the comms and Steve rolled his eyes while pushing himself into the seat. “Thanks for the input, Barton.”

“Alright, everybody shush,” Natasha interrupted the tease session, “she’s here.”

A Land Rover smoothly turned into the rundown estate to come and stop by Bucky’s Mustang. Those stooping shoulders suddenly found their rigidity and turned towards the car to welcome whoever was about to step out.

For a hot summer morning with plans to make plans to take down an entire cartel, you were dressed in a floral sundress. Brown shades covered your eyes and most of your face from that merciless sun. What they did not cover was the smile on those naked lips that had been painted the most enticing red Bucky had seen, apart from the gun you held in your dominant hand.

“Hello Sergeant,” you sang while taking patient steps in those white wedges that were in no way shoes made for a fight, “did you get my texts?”

Bucky, the soldier had already evaluated all the entries and exits, the type of gun, it’s range, the best stances if it came to playing offence or defence. Bucky the himbo from the past, though, was having a hard time concentrating on anything else but that suggestive smile and tilt of your head; the light hitting your hair perfectly while the languid breeze annoyed your strands now and then.

“Of course, that’s why I’m here, aren’t I?”

You tsked. “You know what I mean Sarge.”

Of course, he knew what you meant. He could feel his chest flutter by just the thought of those texts last night.

You: meet me @ the warehouse on boulevard street tomorrow. We’ll come up with a plan to bust those bitches. Gimme a suitable time.

Bucky: Ok. How does 12 sound?

You: In this weather? Sarge, we’ll be sweating like a bunch of pigs under the sun!

Bucky: *typing* How about 7? am?

You: Do you feel like going skinny dipping tomorrow with me?

Bucky:

You: I know a really good spot a little away from here. Might end up on a road trip.

Bucky: *typing* I think we should concentrate on the miss-

You: Where do you live, btw?

You: *sends location* This is my place

Bucky: *erases everything* shouldn’t you keep your home location to yourself?

You: Hmm...But if I do that, how will you come over?

Bucky: *silence* *types* why would I want to-

You: It’s not every day I feel like sharing a bottle of some good stuff with someone.

You: It is soooo hot. I’m taking my pants off.

Bucky:

You: The top’s gone too. Phew! Just my lingerie now.

*one minute later*

You: Yeah, it’s not working. Bra is never comfy. Ever.

You: It’s better now! The night breeze is hitting every sweat bead on the spot.

You: Every window is open now.

You: Hmmm...Sarge. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?

You: Well, thinking isn't gonna do you any good, Bucky.

You: Thinking about my clothes on the floor.

You: Thinking about my skin.

You: Thinking about how much more this wind is getting action than someone you know.

You: Thinking about my hands roaming on my chest.

You: And then my stomach.

You: And then down further…

By this time the phone was a crushed pile of junk in his hand and his cock a frustrated bulge in his boxers. Oh, the dissatisfaction of not being able to push you against a wall and grind his needy bulge against you was frustrating at best. The want to see you naked in the sheets under him while you called out his name increased with every second. Why did you have to be such a fucking tease?! A great one at that. Now he did want to dash out of the facility, steal one of Tony’s cars and drive to your home to take your by your hair and shut that pretty mouth of yours. He did think about it. But imagining you seeing him at your doorstep stopped him for some reason. Instead, he got out of his boxers, jumped on his bed and took care of that urge himself, fantasizing you, your touch, your moans, your highs with his hitting the rocks, till his legs were shivering and he had to stop himself from groaning out loud.

“I...fell asleep.”

Your tongue played with your upper lip and a tiny shudder in his pants was enough to tell him, you knew it was a lie. A lie through and through. There was a point when he started to fear that you might even know what he did after reading those messages.

"Sure, ya did," you chuckled the words through your teeth. "Anyways-" lifting your gun up casually to stroke it- "I was wondering about you last night. A lot. And there were things I did not like."

The safety clicked off and your arm turned straight to point it right at Bucky's forehead.

On the other side of the binoculars, Steve was already shouting his team to move in. Natasha was already driving forward, skidding to a stop right next to Bucky's wheels.

You could hear the commotion all around you but you were more interested in the disappointment building up on Bucky's beautiful face, looking at his pal with a hint of resentment.

"That-" you tilted your head a little in Steve's direction- "is what I don't like. You thought I wouldn't find out?"

"I told you to stay away, Steve!" Bucky yelled at him.

"Alright, this is over," Steve fumed from where he stood, "I knew we should not have trusted you."

With the right force, the gun crunched in your palms as turned towards Steve. You said nothing to the blonde. Removing your shades, you nodded at Natasha. "Hey, Nat."

"Y/N. How's Mr Fuzzy Boy."

"It's Fluffy Boy. And he still hates you. Talking about boys-" you looked around with your arms across your chest- "I thought you would have knocked some sense into them by now."

Natasha shrugged. “Not really. No.”

“She tried but we are too stubborn and our egos are bigger than our-”

“Hey, Stark,” you announced at the voice breaking out through Natasha's car. Turning to Bucky you sucked at your teeth. “I honestly thought you were doing this little team up because you wanted to work with me. Clearly that is not what this was about. You wanted to find out if I was working with the cartel, didn’t you, James Barnes?”

“Oooh, full name,” Clint cringed from his nest.

“You’re not really known for your goodness, Y/N,” Steve broke it down for you. “No offence.”

“Save it, Captain,” you spewed in his direction, “and to think I wanted to crush that face between my thighs.” Digging into your sundress’ pocket, you took out a burner cellphone and threw in his direction. “Happy hunting, you fucked up psychopaths.” You turned towards Bucky with no sign of any empathy in those y/e/c eyes. “Don’t expect anything more from me.”

The Land Rover moved out and away and with a part of Bucky’s broken heart that wanted to stop it so bad but had to do with turning to Steve and yelling out his anger at him. “You had to put your leg in the door, didn’t you. I had it handled!”

“Handled? Handled?!! Buck, she’s been playing you like a fiddle!”

“And you think I can be played?”

“I saw her texts for God’s sake!! Don’t tell me you’re going to defend her.”

Natasha cursed under her breath and stepped away from Steve. “Wow,” Bucky breathed in disbelief. “So just because she is horny on the phone means I am her little puppet? Is that how little you think of me, Stevie?”

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Buc-”

“I am not fourteen anymore! Neither are you! You know what, I’m out. I’m done. She’s given you something. Go use it and go punch some Nazi heads. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

And so he went away too, leaving everyone but Steve standing there to uncomfortably watch the captain look at the car.

“So…” Tony’s voice muttered over the comms, “which ice-creams should I keep ready in big dessert bowls when you guys get back home?”

It's good. Whatever happened was good. I mean, Steve and Tony got what they wanted. Y/N is no longer in the picture and...and…I don't have to interact with her...anymore.

The ball bounced from the ceiling into Bucky's hands, going back and forth without a pause. The other hand rested under his head- the very head that was blankly staring at the ceiling, thoughts running in there like a freight train. Wait, no, scratch that. No trains. They were running more like a leopard- just running around, presenting a brooding picture on the outside while on the inside- just like that very leopard, this poor muscular soul was dying of overthinking and anxiety. The agitation was on the level of a nine-year-old sulking in his bed because his mom was not letting him play with his friend. It was reasonable that the friend was bad, could be a bad influence, had been directly or indirectly leading him on some things he hadn't thought of in a while. But he had just made a frieeeennddd!! Hngh!

Crack!

The sound brought him out of the huffing trance to watch the paint and plaster crack in the ceiling. Fuck! Stark's gonna be pissed.

Bucky closed his eyes and let the hand engulfing the ball rest of his forehead.

Well, to be fair to his 'mom', Bucky was sure he was worried about what would happen if his new friend took him to the dark side again. After all the efforts and blood so many people had gone through, for one woman to undo it all. That was a genuine concern. But then again, she has been more interested in Sergeant Barnes than the Winter Soldier. Except for the part where she said she wants to see him…under the…sheets?

Right! What is with this woman! She speaks without a filter!! Does not care who's listening and what they'll think. I like that. I really like that. But all she wants to do is fuck me? And then what? Go back to ogling America's ass?

A part of him nudged at those angry corners, pressing at the fact that you had been too engrossed to be angry at him to even think about Steve today. So, maybe it was not all about the ass.

Bucky turned to his side, rolling that thought along with him. The ball was moved around by his flesh index while his mind jogged with the possibility of doing something next.

Well, there was one thing he could do. It would drive Steven Grant Rogers crazy but it would be worth all the trouble he would be going through. Well, if he were to get caught he would have been caught last night when he sneaked out of the facility to go check to your place.

The distance had not been much on the bike but the New York heat hitting his face the moment he entered the city was more unwelcoming than the people living in the city. Parking the bike in an alley, he had pretty much parkoured his way over the houses to reach the building next to yours. Silent as a cat in the night looking for its prey, Bucky had planted himself on your apartment’s balcony and watched in impressive horror the modesty you lived in. Paintings made by kids were pinned all over the living room walls while a volcano sat on the coffee table- half done. An empty bottle of orange juice lay on the kitchen table while cushions were sprawled over the floor. Taking a step to his right, he was looking through the french windows into your bedroom where you slept in your queen-sized bed like a baby. All around you were oil paintings in blue and green of what looked like ocean waves in different art styles. On the bed lay your worn down laptop still running. Bending at an angle, his throat let out a muted gasp at collage with his photos on the screen, suggesting you had fallen asleep looking at his photographs. What was weird for Bucky was that his accelerated heartbeat had not found a single photo of his winter soldier avatar in there. What cooled down his burning chest was the serenity on your face. Sleeping under those thin grey sheets with a plushie of a right next to your head, Bucky almost had the urge to grin so wide. He could not believe you were the same woman who had threatened his best friend in full public view. And he knew exactly what he was going to do. Take a picture and blackmail you with it.

Looking down at his jeans to take his phone, his heart felt like he had fallen down the stairs when a pair of glowing eyes caught his. Gaining his mental footing, he breathed in the fact that it was actually a cat staring back at him from the other side of the window. White fur stood out in the dark of the night as it hissed Bucky and tried to claw at him, clearly seeing him as a threat. Sensing the feline’s uneasiness with his presence, he thought it better to leave before that little white monster woke you up. But not before he left a bunch of biscuit crumbs on the balcony tiles as a sign of peace for the little fanged beast.

Now, he wanted to go back through the front door and get face to face with that rage today- not something he had expected after last night’s scenic view of that perfect face.

Pausing movement of the ball, he picked it up in his metal hand, got himself up from the bed and slid towards the edge to put on his socks and boots only to pause and form an attack stance with his metal arm towards that svelte figure leaning by the door.

“Gonna hit me with the ball?” Natasha cocked a brow at Bucky.

Loosening his muscles at Natasha and went on to put his boots on. “Going somewhere, Grumperella?”

“Outside. Away. Somewhere I can grump in peace,” Bucky stated, getting up.

“Take this pretty lady too,” Tony announced as he walked by his room and tossed a pair of car keys at Bucky, “I don’t think you’ll improve those points by going to her place on a bike.”

Silence.

The flutter in Bucky’s heart drowned by Natasha’s words. “Don’t worry. Only Tony and I know. We’ll handle Steve. Just don’t let our image fall further,” she concluded, walking out with a smirk.

“Truffle, Fluffy, stop looking at the neighbour’s lunch and come eat your chicken thighs,” you announced from the kitchen. With a bandana on to keep your hair as far away from your skin, your skin itched for something colder than what the air conditioner was providing right now. This was the third time you had fiddled with your thermostat today. Damn this summer! That’s it, I’m moving out of this fucked up city.

Fluffy’s taps came to a skidding halt at the doorway to slip towards his bowl while Truffle gracefully walked to his bowl and ate his share while keeping a paw between him and the corgi’s audible gobble and chomps, nearly pushing his face away.

Sighing, you sat down on the seat by the kitchen table, looking at your two kids devour their lunch while you questioned the disappearance of your appetite. Maybe it’s the PMS. Is it the PMS? You looked at the calendar over your fridge. Still a week to go. Maybe it is him. That stupid fucker.

Your thoughts started forming around that magnificent frame of Bucky. There were not enough times you could say you had been left attracted to a bewildered face of a guy in awe of your skills. Men would mostly take that power inside you as a wrong stroke on their ego. But this one? This one just stood there looking at you as if the theme of Love Story 1970 was playing in those anime eyes while he watched in gasping admiration at something out of this world. That was the first time someone’s face had given you such warmth. Well, a stranger’s face. Don’t let my family hear it, you thought to yourself. Just then, Truffle looked up from his bowl to turn and stare at your for a solid minute before going back to his lunch.

The doorbell rang, getting you out of those dreamy thoughts- for barely a second- that were making you sweatier by the minute. Getting up and walking to the door, you kept wondering about that metal hand, those absolutely luscious lips, those surprised yet aroused eyes and oh Gods! Those shoulders. Those beautiful shoulders you wanted to bite into. Arrr!

You did not realise when you clicked the door open. But you did feel like eating your own words when that Love Story 1970 theme started playing in the background just as your eyes locked onto those beautiful oceans of blue; the abyss inside them widening just as you came into view.

Bucky forgot how to breathe. For a second you did too. You did not expect him to be standing here; not after the humiliation you put him through in front of his team/friends. And yet, here he was. At your door. Standing in front of you, the bad guy, moving his hair back with his hand, revealing the redness of those kissable cheeks that had been struggling to keep the blood inside the veins the whole elevator ride to your floor. The rubbing of his hand fingers against his palms while his legs shifted his weight on each other.

“Hi,” his husky, barely audible voice sent shivers down your spine straight to your core.

“Hi,” you responded with a softness you had not heard in ages. And the guitars strum in the background, the tune carrying all the unspoken feelings in the shape of melodies in the air around the two of you.

“Can we talk?”

Bucky was almost scared of having the door being slammed in his face. But when you moved aside to let him in, he felt live rush back into his bones. He had not felt this alive since Wakanda. With sure steps inside, he was not letting this feeling go away anytime soon.

The gush of that one magical wind inside you made you discreetly smile to yourself and you could not help but wonder if it was his last night’s visit to your place that brought him back or just his curiosity with this mission. Whatever it was, you challenged yourself to not let this one get away till you had explored every little inch of his being in person.

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