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red-5 · 6 years

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Oh, Pussycat (Pt. 2)

*18+

Part 1

Summary: Sometimes, violence is the answer.

Pairings: Bucky x MutantReader/OC

A/N: This took way longer than I wanted it to. For bonus points, this is the song that eventually broke me out of my creative constipation and helped me write this chapter. With the blockage cleared, I have a back log of requests I’m about to get cracking on so if you are one of the wonderful people that sent one in, thank you so much for your patience.

“That’s a terrible idea.”

A well-manicured eyebrow quirked above a set of sparkling emerald eyes.

“Is it?”

He scoffed, placing his hands firmly on his hips.

“They’ll tear each other apart.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t a killer.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Both eyebrows shot into her matching hairline. He closed his eyes as guilt washed over him.

“That’s not what I meant. She belongs here.”

“I never said she didn’t.”

His eyelids slid open heavily as he dragged a hand through messy blonde hair.

“It’s just… It was hard… before… “

“Before there were two of them?”

He released a huff of air that was halfway to a laugh. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, unless you want a repeat of that absolute tragedy you need to let them figure this out. They’ve been circling each other for months. They’re lone wolves with over-inflated senses of Alpha-mentality. They’re not going to sit down and talk about their feelings.”

He heaved a breath as his eyes caught the clock. Quarter till. Fifteen minutes before the training room potentially became the damn thunder dome.

“You better be right.”

“You’re paired with Barnes.”

She blinked, waiting for Steve to crack a grin, roll his eyes, laugh, as unlikely as that was.

Nothing.

Just hard, unblinking blue eyes.

“What?” she hissed, the cold panic settling in her chest sending a wave of nausea to the pit of her stomach.

“This isn’t up for negotiation.” He uncrossed his arms and strode out of the center of the ring.

“I’m sorry, but was that disaster- “

“It is exactly because of that disaster.”

It was rare that Steve lost his temper. In fact, it was because of his saint-like patience that she often lost her handle on her own anger. But for the second time in less that 24 hours the polished facade of Captain America slipped, eyes flashing dark as his voiced climbed much higher than he had meant it to.

She didn’t flinch as his words rang out through the training room, stilling movement and quieting scattered conversations. The legendary shit show that had become of their last mission wasn’t exactly a secret, even when it was supposed to be. Bucky had baited her before it even began. She felt his steel gaze following her moment she stepped out on to the landing pad and up the ramp to the Quinjet. Quirking an eyebrow every time she yawned, scoffing as she dodged Steve’s now coherent line of questioning concerning her whereabouts and the skin discoloration she had to hide with make-up, quick to deliver a snide remark as she grumbled and tripped in those ridiculous stilettos.

‘Not every mission is a hack and slash, kitten.’

She had pranced in the strangling heels, paraded around in the skimpy ball gown, batted her eyelashes at the greasy billionaire funding independent, underground H.Y.D.R.A operations, charmed her way into a waltz where she slipped a nimble hand into his coat seductively. Plastering a coy smile on her face in effort to push through her disgust at the slow, suggestive smile that had broken out on his face, she had played her part even though she silently vowed to allow Natasha to handle these sorts of missions in the future. Hack and slash was much more her style.

Brick head Barnes had gotten antsy at the quiet coms, splintering the lock on the rich mahogany door before her sedative got a chance to take effect and rendering her carefully constructed seduction moot. She made quick work of the revolting man, but the shock of the sudden, rather explosive intrusion had given him the precious seconds of breath he needed to alert the entire mansion to their presence. She didn’t need to point out the irony as they carved their way out, the slim, unassuming flash-drive that started the entire thing clutched tightly in her fist.

In the end, the mission had been a success, but a hard earned one. Steve spent the entire ride home silently fuming in his seat and refusing to meet either one of their gaze until they were on solid ground. He barked out the order to debrief, get cleared by medical, and report to the training room bright and early and strode off without another word. The P.R team was still in damage control mode. What was supposed to be a victory, proof that she could actually belong on a team, that she could handle whatever they threw at her had ended up being a cold, hard reminder of what she was.

A reformation project.

“The two of you are going to have to learn to work together sooner or later and quite frankly, I’m tired of waiting for one of you to get someone killed. Whatever is going on between you two, work it out. Center mat. Now.”

The hard set of his face left no room for argument. He leaned in closer, face inches from hers as he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“And don’t think your little late-night meetings with your old friend aren’t getting tabled.”

So much for a poker face. Despite the rage she felt flood her eyes, she remained silent. She knew she was on thin ice right. She needed to pick and choose her battles, and right now she was much more content to take her anger out on the brunette that took up his position in the center of the room instead of in a shouting match with Captain America in front of the entire team.

The warmth in his eyes was gone, and she had mixed feelings about adding Steven Grant Rogers to her list of people that she had pushed to their absolute limit. So, she blinked first, dropping her gaze, and squaring her shoulders before marching to take her place opposite the feral animal that eyed her like a snack. The big, bad wolf, huffing and puffing. She allowed the ghost of a cat-like grin to tug at the corners of her mouth.

Oh, this would be fun.

Wanda’s voice echoed in the back of her mind, telling her to release her anger, her vengeful fury. She ignored that voice. This was a long time coming, and she would give him everything he deserved. Every nerve was suddenly set on fire with anticipation, skin bristling with gooseflesh, muscles taut and ready to pounce.

Steve didn’t get to finish the one, simple word before he swung, overhead lights gleaming across the metallic surface that came hurling in her direction. Her spine bent back, dodging his blow gracefully. It was a test shot. She suspected he now thought he knew what he was dealing with. She would allow him that assumption.

He swung again, and again, he kneed, and kicked, and grabbed, and she evaded each advance with ease. His face betrayed no agitation of his failure. It was a stone, cold mask apart from the animalistic fire that burned in his eyes. It wasn’t until the cold surface of his forearm came sharp into contact with her stomach that she realized what he was doing.

He was mapping her.

He couldn’t beat her in speed, and so he lured her into a trap.

She bit her lower lip to suppress the Cheshire smile that threatened to break out on her face.

Clever boy.

The gears and plates locked into place, stealing the breath from her lungs as her back was crushed to his torso. His hot breath fanned across her neck, hitching as he felt the rigid outline strapped against her spine a split second too late. She drove a sharp elbow into his ribcage, giving her the opening she needed to twist out of his grasp, fingers gripping the handle of the simple yet highly effective tactile knife she never so much as went to the bathroom without and yanking it from its sheath. Its sharpened tip caught the hem of his tank, tearing through the fabric like a hot knife through butter as she whirled back.

She saw Natasha grip Steve’s wrist out of the corner of her eye, anchoring him in place before training her sight back on her target.

He grinned slowly as his shock wore off, dragging his gaze down her defensive form to his ruined shirt. His metal hand gripped at the collar, fisting in the material, and twisting the tattered remains from his torso before tossing it carelessly to the side.

She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his as the muscles that stretched across his chest and abdomen flexed with his movements, tugging up the leg of his loose-fitting pants to retrieve his own blade with a flourish. They stilled for a moment, eyes locked, knives raised, and poised for battle. The calm before the storm.

It an instant, it was savage advances, clashing limbs, and scraping metal, white sparks flying from the edges of the deadly blades as they slipped against each other. Where she was fast, he was strong. A towering mass of flexing muscle and carnal rage, advancing tirelessly and without mercy. She hid the thrill of victory she felt when his foot hooked around her knee, knocking her to the ground and pressing his hips firmly against hers to hold her in place. Her hand caught his wrist just before the blade kissed her skin, but her block didn’t stop the sly grin that spread across his lips. He twirled the handle of his knife nimbly, pressing the tip lightly into her neck.

“Game over, pussycat,” he panted, eyes glinting.

She matched his grin, squirming beneath him just enough to bring her lips to his ear.

“You know,” she purred “predation instinct tells us to go for the jugular. The kill shot. It’s a shame really, when there are so many other delicious soft spots on the human body.”

She pulled away, the wild strands of his sweat-soaked hair dancing across her cheeks as their eyes met once more.

“The femoral artery, for example.”

His eyes snapped from hers to where the tip of her blade had sliced through the thin material of his pants from his knee up to come to rest just below his groin. He stared for a moment, chuckling softly as let his gaze slide up the curves and contours of her body to her face.

Checkmate.

It wasn’t until Steve cleared his throat loudly that he dropped his weapon with a clatter and moved off her, lifting his hands in surrender as stood.

She ignored the hand he offered her, rolling to her feet, and tucking her knife back in place. She didn’t care what else Captain Golden Boy had planned, as far as she was concerned, training was over. Nat eyed her proudly as she wordlessly strode from the room, neither hearing nor caring if Steve called after her.

The former assassin turned her attention to the anxiety ridden blonde as the door swung shut, practically beaming at him as he watched his best friend retrieve the scraps of his clothing wearing a poorly concealed grin.

“See? Progress.”

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