#red room reader

[badbitchsincebirth05]

Title: The Velvet Veil

Avengers!Bucky Barnes x Red Rood Stripper!Female!Reader

Warnings are for each part; not every part has the same warning.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: MDNI, Morally gray reader, angst, mentions of hydra, stripping, widows/red room, forced stripping, mentions of background OC’s for plot, spider-themed names, no use of y/n (in this part), pervy Bucky (if you squint), mentions of cigarettes and smoking, inappropriate language

A/N: Wanted to try something different, haven’t seen a lot of hydra! Readers. The next parts will be more explicit.

Part 1

“Ladies, gather up.” Victor’s voice cut through the silence. The club was about to open, and you tugged your silk robe tighter, turning away from the light-up mirror. Your makeup was finished, hair still in pins for curls. 

Victor was the club manager, a hydra handler with a fat belly and wearing velour tracksuits like every Russian mob man ever. He pulled up his pants, scanning the room. 

“My star ladies, you all work so hard. Just wanted to tell you the holiday rush is fast approaching, which means more money.” 

The club, The Velvet Veil, was a Hydra front in Manhattan, New York. They sold weapons out the back while stripping served as a cover. Any tips you all made, you've got to keep. Hydra made money from the bar and private rooms for paid sex. Another condition was no forced prostitution. You weren’t stripping by choice, but you didn’t have to do more than that. If you wanted extra money, you had that option. Security was tight, always making sure you women were safe.

You all are Red Room graduates, chosen for your looks. It was that simple. There were six of you in total. 

Brown Recluse, named after her light brown hair. Huntsman, because she was the tallest of the group. Red Back, named after her ginger hair and complexion. Banana, named after her bright blonde hair. Trapdoor is named after her powerful legs on the pole. 

And then there’s you: Tarantula. The favorite, the one all the regulars loved to see on stage. You earned the nickname because tarantulas are always the preferred pet spider.  

You all are like sisters, stuck in this club with no end in sight. You all could be the next Black Widow… if there was a way out. But you all stayed loyal; Victor was a good boss. He loved you ladies like family, gave good bonuses, and was never creepy. Hydra wasn’t in this business for creepiness. 

You don’t have phones, and you can never leave the club. When not dancing, there is a full kitchen and beds in the east wing, hidden behind a secret door. 

Victor didn’t linger after, just a quick Hurry up and he was gone. 

Banana sprayed more hairspray into her golden hair. A couple of you coughed, waving a hand in the air. You looked over at the other Widows, and they went back to getting ready. You let out a long sigh, pulling your hair from the rollers and making your way to the front. 

The club wasn’t open yet, and security stood by the doors counting down the minutes. Marco, the bartender, slid you a water on the bartop. You took it gratefully, and downed it in one go. You murmured a thanks and sat down. This was your favorite part, the calm before the storm. The quiet before the pervert men come in, either not knowing or not caring that you could kill them with a single stab to the neck. 

A lot of them talk, typically during a lap dance when they think you’re just some stripper, not a parrot for Hydra. 

The bass had barely kicked in when the doors unlocked. It was early, and not many would come in for a couple of hours. Not even the regulars. The main stage lights were dimmed to a soft red glow, just enough to make the chrome pole gleam.

Your costume tonight was simple, deadly: a barely-there black velvet bralette that laced up the front, a matching thong, and a sheer robe that you’d let slip off your shoulders the second the first customer walked in.

You swirled the last drops of water in the glass, ice clinking softly. Marco leaned on the bar, arms crossed, watching you with that same quiet respect he gave all the girls. He knew better than to flirt; he’d seen what happened to the last guy who tried.

“Big night?” he asked, voice low.

You shrugged, “Holidays.” 

Marco laughed, taking your glass and refilling it, “Ah, the Holidays. You ladies, could always use the extra money.”

An hour later, the first trickle of customers arrived. You slid off the barstool, letting the robe fall open just enough to tease. That was your cue to make yourself scarce until your stage time was on. The house lights came up slowly, bathing the stage in crimson and gold. The DJ dropped the first beat—something slow and filthy, heavy bass that vibrated through your bones. 

Banana was already climbing the pole like she was born on it, long legs wrapping around chrome, blonde hair whipping like a halo of sin. Huntsman took the smaller side stage, towering and graceful, her dark eyes scanning the room like she was cataloging every potential threat.

You sat backstage, cigarette between your manicured fingers. You wait until Banana is done with her set, but you’d rather just smoke than strip. What was the point of making money… if you didn’t think you’d ever leave?

A handful of men crowded the edge of the platform, tossing crumpled bills like they were throwing coins into a fountain. When a twenty fluttered down, you arched your back and offered the thin strap of your thong. They snapped the elastic against your hip with greedy fingers, the sharp sting making you smirk.

You didn’t need acrobatics: no wild spins or death-defying climbs. You circled the chrome pole slowly, hips rolling in lazy, liquid circles, letting your body do the talking. The song pulsed through you—deep bass vibrating up your spine, making your nipples tighten against the velvet bralette. You let your head fall back, eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the rhythm for just a moment.

When you opened them again, three new shadows had claimed the VIP booth. Hoodies pulled low, postures too still, too watchful. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes sharp and half-lidded, and dropped into a slow squat—hand trailing down the cool metal pole like you were stroking something far more intimate.

You couldn’t make out their faces yet. The strobe lights and distance kept them shrouded.

A couple of minutes later, the song ended with a low, filthy fade-out. You held your final pose—back arched, thighs spread, hair spilling over one shoulder. Long enough for the last bills to flutter down, hands to shove twenties and fifties into your garter strap. The crowd gave their usual mix of whistles and groans, but you barely heard them. You straightened slowly, rolling your hips one last time, letting the crimson lights kiss your skin before you sauntered offstage.

Victor was waiting in the wings, but something was off. His face was pale, sweat beading on his upper lip despite the air-conditioned chill. He grabbed your arm—gentle, but urgent and pulled you close.

“Tarantula,” he whispered, voice cracking like thin ice. “VIP booth. They’re Avengers.” The word came out like it burned his tongue. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I don’t know why they’re here, but they keep glancing toward the east wing. The door. They’re watching it.”

“What do you want me to do?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips, “Want me to fight 'em or something?” 

“I need you to do your job and distract them.”

You huffed, plucking the money from your straps and any that you put in your bra. “Give me like five minutes.”

Victor waved you off, running to the bar, probably to tell Marco also to act normal.

Bucky’s POV:

Bucky Barnes had seen a lot of shit in his long, traumatized life—blood-soaked battlefields, frozen decades, women who tried to kill him in a hundred different ways—but nothing, nothing, had ever hit him quite like the sight of her on that stage.

The club lights painted her in deep crimson and molten gold, turning every curve into a weapon. She didn’t need the pole tricks or the flashy flips the others pulled. She just… moved. Slow. Deliberate. Like she knew exactly how to make every man in the room forget his own name.

And right now, she was making Bucky forget his goddamn mission. 

It wasn’t just how she looked, nothing but skin under the lights, or the way she slowly blinked at him; it was the way she carried herself like more than just a stripper. 

All of the strippers, for example, moved powerfully. Like Red Room powerful. 

He sat in the VIP booth, arms crossed over his chest, metal fingers flexing against leather. Steve was on his left, jaw tight, eyes scanning the exits like always, except there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. Sam was on his right, pretending to sip a beer while cataloging every face in the room. 

But Bucky? Bucky couldn’t look away from her.

She circled the pole with a lazy grace, head tipping back, eyes closed as if the music was putting her in a trance. Then she opened them—sharp, half-lidded. It was downright predatory. Then glanced over her shoulder straight at the booth at him.

That slow drop did it.

She sank down, thighs parting just enough to make his throat go dry, one hand trailing the chrome like she was petting something alive. The garters snapped against her skin with every inch she lowered, and the way her back arched—Jesus Christ. The black velvet bralette strained against her tits, the laces begging to be tugged loose. Sweat glistened on her collarbone, catching the light like liquid sin.

Bucky’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

He was supposed to be watching the east wing door, counting security, mapping the layout, and looking for Hydra signs. Instead, he was rock-hard under the table, pulse hammering in his ears, every muscle coiled tight.

The song ended. She held the pose—back bowed, thighs spread, hair spilling like ink—and the crowd lost their minds. Bills rained down. Hands reached. She let them tuck twenties into her garters, smirking like she owned every single one of them.

Then she straightened, slow and teasing, hips rolling one last time before she sauntered offstage like she hadn’t just ruined him.

Bucky exhaled hard through his nose. “Fuck.”

Steve shot him a sideways glance. “You good, Buck?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Just… keep your eyes on the door.”

But his eyes were still glued to the spot where she’d disappeared behind the curtain.

The sway of her hips and the slow blink of her sharp eyes burned into his retinas like a brand.

Sam leaned in, keeping his voice low under the thumping bass. “Alright, focus up, boys. We’re not here for the show—though damn, that one’s got moves that could start wars.”

Steve ignored the side chatter and kept his tone clipped, professional. “We’re looking for the east wing access. Intel says there’s a hidden door behind the bar or in the back hallway—it leads to the Hydra staging area. Weapons transfers happen between sets. We need eyes on any movement, any packages, any faces that match the dossiers. No engagement unless they force it. We’re here to observe and confirm, not raid.”

Bucky nodded once, jaw tight. “Got it.”

But he didn’t. Not really.

Because right now all he could think about was how her skin had looked under those lights—slick with sweat, flushed, begging to be touched. How her thighs had parted just enough to make his cock twitch like he was a teenager again. How she’d glanced right at him, like she knew he was watching, like she was daring him to do something stupid.

His dick hasn’t been that awake since pre-hydra, when he was busy chasing skirts in the 30s. 

Steve’s voice cut through the haze again. “Buck. You’re supposed to be watching the east wing, not the stage.”

“I’m watching,” Bucky growled, but his eyes flicked back to the curtain anyway.

Sam smirked. “Sure you are. You’ve been staring at that stripper like she’s the only thing in the room. Mission clock’s ticking, man.”

Bucky shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “I said I’m watching.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We give it another twenty minutes. If nothing moves, we slip out quietly. No heroics. No distractions.”

Bucky’s metal fingers flexed against the leather couch, the faint whir barely audible over the music. Distractions.

Yeah. Easier said than done, because when the velvet curtain parted, there she was. Same lacy bra-and-thong set from the stage. Her sharp eyes tracked their eye movements, not just like a stripper should. It was calculating.

But Bucky was too distracted by the bounce of her boobs to notice anything else. 

He was so fucked. 

Dividers by @enchanthings

I rushed this. Not sure how much I like it, but it will be several parts. Trying to see how popular this series will be. I added Bucky's POV now to make it more interesting. I hope you all like it! Starting a new fic is always the hardest.

The series is completed: Part 2 here, Part 3 here

Taglist: @buckysslut @goobers-mcgee @galaxystar04 @buckybarneswife08

Grammarly is used when I proofread.

[writerslittlelibrary]

All assassins need a cat

masterlist

summary: since your rescue from the Red Room you had been living in the tower, and it didn’t take you long to realise that ex-assassins simply need a cat 

pairing: Winterwidow x widow teen reader, Natasha x widow teen reader, Bucky x widow teen reader

warnings: cats

genre: fluff

words: 1602

a/n: I really want a cat, so I figured I'd write something short about it :) 

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Living in the Avengers tower had been nothing short of amazing. The people were kind, the food was even better. After living in the Red Room for so long you were overwhelmed with the freedom you were given, and the choices you could make.

You had been in the tower for two months now, and although you liked almost everyone that lived in the tower, you preferred Natasha and Bucky the most. 

They were kind, and because of your shared life experience it was easy to get along with them. They understood you, and there was no pressure in talking to them. You knew that whatever you told them, they would understand. It was comforting. 

However, it didn't take very long before you realised that both Natasha and Bucky owned a cat. 

It happened during a movie night. Natasha and Bucky had sworn to catch you up on all the great movies you missed. While watching the entirety of the Indiana Jones movies, a small, black cat jumped up on the bed, snuggling against Natasha. 

After you asked who the cat was, Natasha explained that she got her after living in the tower for a while. She said it helped her feel better about herself, and her past. 

‘Liho,’ as Natasha told you she was called, took a liking to you rather quickly. It didn't take many movie nights before Liho wasn’t only snuggling on Natasha's lap, but also climbing on yours. 

During breakfast with Natasha and Bucky later that week, you spotted a white cat joining you in the kitchen. It walked up to Bucky and started yelling at him for food. Bucky picked the cat up, snuggling with it for a few seconds before grabbing some food, feeding it. 

“That's Alpine,” Bucky had explained, telling you how he had gotten a cat not long after Natasha did. 

Bucky and Natasha didn't share a floor when they had gotten their cats, but when they moved in together it didn't take long before the cats became friendly with each other. Natasha had told you how you could often find them snuggled up together. 

After meeting both cats, you could often be found cuddling with them. 

When you were sitting in your room, you would leave your door open, allowing the cats to enter whenever they pleased. Often, they would wander into your room, either jumping on your bed or jumping on your lap while you entertained yourself. 

They started following you around the house soon after, always begging for cuddles and kisses. You cheerfully obliged, and it didn't go unmissed by either Bucky or Natasha. 

Natasha had brought up the idea one night, after you had fallen asleep in their room. 

She shared her thoughts with Bucky, discussing how it might be good for you to get a cat of your own. You loved the cats that were already living in the house, and both Natasha and Bucky thought it would be great for you to raise a cat of your own. 

At breakfast a week later Natasha brought it up again.

“How would you feel about getting another cat…?” Natasha asked carefully, bringing up the question casually so as to not make you suspicious. 

“You want another cat?” You asked cheerfully, petting Liho behind her ears as she settled on your lap. 

Natasha nodded. “It might be fun for Liho and Alpine to get another play buddy.”

Bucky nodded along, settling in the seat next to you. 

“Besides, we were thinking, you might like one of your own…” Bucky explained carefully, but your gasp of excitement washed all their worries away. 

“I could get a cat?!” You asked excitedly, watching as Natasha chuckled before nodding. 

“If that’s something that you want,” she explained, sitting into the seat across from you. “I still have the contact information from the same people I bought Liho from. They have another nest and are looking for homes for the kittens,” Natasha told you, biting into her toast.

“We could go have a look if you want,” she finished. 

Another gasp of excitement left your lips. “I could get a kitten? We can go look at kittens?!” you exclaimed happily. 

Natasha and Bucky both nodded, chuckling a bit.

“We can visit today,” Bucky explained. 

------------------------------------------------------------- 

After finishing your breakfast quickly, you had gotten into the car, heading over to the address that had the kittens. On the way, Natasha told you that the kittens were already old enough to leave the nest, so if there were a kitten that you had a connection with, you would be able to take it home the same day. 

You happily stared out the window, humming along to the song on the radio as your excitement grew. 

Once inside the house, you were practically jumping from excitement, sighing a little when Natasha, Bucky, you, and the other two people sat down at the table to greet each other and catch up. 

Natasha noticed your impatience, grabbing your hand under the table and rubbing soothing circles on it, assuring you that you would get to meet the kittens soon.

After a tedious half hour, the woman finally got up, leading you towards a different room where all the kittens were. 

Once you were finally inside, you gasped in excitement when all the kittens ran towards your legs, playing with your shoelaces.

You went to sit on the ground, smiling as all the kittens started exploring around you, inspecting you. Natasha moved to sit next to you, lifting a kitten into her lap and cuddling with it. 

After playing with the kittens for a little while, you found out that the mother cat was actually one of Liho's siblings, so you would be adopting a cat of Liho’s family. 

You were in the kitten room for about two hours, and you had grown especially close to one little kitten. It was the smallest one, and she was sleepy and shy when you first came in. After about half an hour, she did come over to you, sniffing you for a bit before deciding that you were the perfect place to take a nap. She climbed on your leg and started sleeping. 

“Can we have this one?” you asked Natasha as you carefully petted the young cat's body, allowing her to rest.

“She does really like you,” the woman said, cuddling with the mother cat.

Bucky stood in the corner, observing you and his girlfriend as you had a bonding moment. He loved Natasha more than anything, and you were slowly becoming just as important to him. He loved both of you, and he wanted to give you this moment together. He knew how much it meant to Natasha to be a mother, and he was certain it meant a lot to you as well. 

Natasha nodded excitedly, giving the kitten on your lap a little snuggle.

“I wish we were able to take them all. They are all so cute,” Natasha said as she lifted another kitten from the ground, holding it close to her and giving it some kisses. 

The woman stood up, walking over to Bucky. 

“If you could come with me, I will get you all the medical papers and get everything sorted out.”

Bucky nodded and followed the woman out of the room, leaving you and Natasha to snuggle with the kittens a little longer. 

------------------------------------------------------------- 

After getting everything sorted you had taken the sleeping kitten into your lap, snuggling with it while you sat on the backseat. 

You were more than happy with your new best friend, and both Natasha and Bucky were more than happy because of the fact you were so happy. You cuddled with the cat a little more before you as well fell asleep.

When you woke up again you were back in the Avengers tower, sleeping on Natasha’s and Bucky's bed while Natasha read a book. 

“Good afternoon my little Malyshka,” she said when she noticed you were awake. She closed her book, setting it aside and brushing some of your hair out of your face. You groaned and blinked a few times before sitting up, noticing the weight that pressed on your legs. Your little kitten was still fast asleep. 

You smiled and reached down to pet her, enjoying the purring she made as she snuggled closer into your hand. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you said as you looked at her, smiling when she gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Anything for you, my little Malyshka,” Natasha said as she cupped your cheeks, giving you another kiss on your nose.

“Leave some snuggles for me,” you heard Bucky say from the door opening, watching as he walked inside and crawled into the bed, on the other side of you. 

You smiled and leaned forward, giving him a little kiss on your cheek. 

Bucky smiled as well. “Thank you little miss,” he said jokingly as he leaned forwards as well, giving you a little kiss on your forehead. 

Your kitten started making some noises, waking up and taking in its surroundings. Once her eyes landed on you, she crawled higher up your legs, settling onto your chest as you leaned against Natasha. It didn't take long before the kitten fell asleep again, enjoying your gentle pets and kisses. 

“Another movie?” Natasha questioned as she observed your state, realising she would not be getting out of the bed for a while.

You nodded happily, snuggling close into her side as she started the movie, stroking your hair. 

“Thank you,” you sighed contently before falling asleep as well, safe in the arms of your found family. 

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

[hyperfixiation-station]

Guilt-Tripped Pt.2

TW: Canon-typical violence Part 1 part 3 Pairing: Ghostxreader(ish) Summary: The mission does not go according to plan

Wc: 1758 A/N: The fights scenes are fast-paced/rushed intentionally, I was trying to give off the feel of combat, if it did not work please let me know and I'll fix it :)

You were off your game, that much was clear. Not only was this mission located in your mother country, but the base you were clearing was one you had been “trained” in. You were anxious, and you knew Ghost could tell. But, true to form, he did not pry. That was one of the reasons you liked him. Everyone else would have asked questions but Ghost didn’t. He respected your privacy, understood that not everything is meant to be shared.

“Ghost, how copy?”

“Solid. Moving in.”

“Copy.” You unsling your gun from your shoulder, following Ghost into the abandoned building. You cover his six as you clear the building, finger hovering over the trigger of your gun. The ghosts contained in the walls were dogging your footsteps, begging for you to turn and listen to them.

“Again”

“You’ll break them.”

“Only the weak.”

“No, please!”

“Do it again!”

“Do not defy me.”

“Again.”

“Y/N.” You snap back to attention, “Buildn’s clear.”

“Ay. Let’s look for the intel then.”

“It’ll go fas’er if we split up.”

“Ah…I guess.”

“Stay frosty.” With that Ghost heads up the stairs, leaving you to pray he doesn't find anything he’s not supposed to. You take a deep breath and turn away, searching the rooms more intently this time, on the lookout for files and a USB drive instead of hostiles.

The first room has nothing, just some rotting pieces of wood that used to be furniture. Still, something about it leaves you feeling deeply unsettled. You step out and head to the room across the hall, your hairs standing on end. The second room is basically the same, as are the third and fourth. And fifth. And sixth. After the final room reveals nothing, you head upstairs to help Ghost.

The stairs creak under the weight of you and your gear, the sound adding to the already eerie atmosphere. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to walk through the hallways that haunt your nightmares.

Ghost is in the first room you come to, his face lit up by a computer that somehow is still working. Alarm bells ring in the back of your brain, but you ignore them, instead focusing on the video that is playing.

“Again.”

The video is grainy, but you know the scene well. 3 girls stand side by side, guns in hand.

“Again.”

They drop to the ground, legs swinging around before standing.

“Again.”

They fire simultaneously, one loud gunshot echoing through the room.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Aga-

The video cuts out, but you still see what happened next.

“-in.” You are faster this time, the girls next to you running out of stamina. You had been at this for hours, a constant stream of crouch, stand, fire, reload. You drop into a crouch, sweep your legs around, and come up, you and the girl to your left firing at the same time. You don’t even flinch as the girl to your right is dragged away.

“Again.”

Crouch, stand, fire, reload.

“Again”

Crouch, stand, fire, reload.

“Again.”

Crouch, stand, fire, reload.

“Again.”

Crouch, stand, fire, reload. And once again, you are faster. The girl to your left is dragged away, leaving only you. Your palms are blistered and your knees are torn open, but you won.

“Y/n.” You stare at the target in front of you, breathing hard.

“Y/n!” You raise your head, searching for the woman in charge of your training. Except the voice calling for you is male, and…British?

“Y/n!” A hand touches your shoulder and you don’t think, just react. Your gun is buried between the persons ribs before your vision even clears.

“Fuck. Ghost I…fuck. I’m s-fuck.” You stagger back, blinking hard as you holster the weapon. Ghost has his own weapon trained on you, though his finger is not on the trigger.

“What in th’ bloody hell was that?” He hisses. You inhale, exhale, and shove your emotion down where they won’t bother you.

“I am sorry.” You say softly, “I zoned out and you…scared me.” He doesn’t say anything in response, just grunts and shakes his head, holstering his gun. You hold your breath as he stares at you with an indiscernible look in his eyes.

“We'll talk when we get t’ base.” He says finally. You nod, fingers trembling as you follow him into the next room. You hadn’t noticed when you were clearing it before but the rooms up here are much more preserved. This room is empty, save for a barre attached to the wall, the one way mirror above it shattered into a million pieces.

The girls dance in unison, repeating the moves over and over and over again. Your tutu makes your skin itch, and your toes are bleeding from the hours of non-stop practice. Still, you don’t complain. Even at seven years old, you know better than to voice your sorrows.

“Good y/n. Again.” Legs burning, feet aching, skin itching, you begin the routine again. You bring your leg up but your ankle rolls, your form wobbling.

“Oh y/n. I had such high hopes for you.” Your body is thrown across the room, stars dancing across your vision as the acrid smell of smoke fills your senses. Wait…smoke?

“Y/n!” You inhale sharply, looking up at Ghost. But he’s not there. In his place is an aging man with a road face and short beard.

“Dreykov.” He’s older, much older, but you would recognize him anywhere. You look around the room, trying to find any sign of Ghost. The simple movement sends waves of pain through your skull, makes your vision blurry. But you've operated in much worse condition before.

“Where’s Ghost?” Your voice sounds oh so far away.

“Hello to you too darling.” You shiver almost imperceptibly at his voice, “Why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours and tell me?” You can barely hear him over the high-pitched whine bouncing around your skull. Oh, right, your ears are ringing. Ringing, why are your ears ringing? You blink hard, taking in your surroundings. The room is filled with smoke, the remnants of the outer wall scattered across the room, the result of an explosion. Something sticky trickles down your face, dripping into your eyes as you put two-and-two together.

You and Ghost had walked into the room, you’d been violently thrown into a flashback, and while you were off in la-la land, Dreykov must have blown through the wall. But that still didn’t explain where Ghost was. You inhale slowly, trying to focus your vision. And-there! You spot a hole in the floor, and the only thing you can think is that Ghost fell through.

Later you’ll blame it your disoriented state for forgetting he was there, but really you just didn’t want to face Dreykov alone. You leave him in the room, leave him to escape with the intel you'd come to collect, and sprint down to the first level to find Ghost. You jump over fallen bits of ceiling, dodging debris as the building slowly falls apart around you.

Ghost is prone on the ground, a Widow prowling around his body. They always did like to play with their food.

Without thinking you launch into the fray, tackling the Widow over his back. It is a short but intense fight, serving as a distraction as Ghost forces himself up. It ends when she throws a sloppy punch towards your face. You grab her wrists, yanking her forward and sweeping her legs out from underneath her. She hits the ground at the same moment you unload your weapon into her chest.

“You always did think you were better than us.” You spin around as you reload, swaying slightly as your vision blurs again. Another widow, one you failed to notice, stands behind Ghost, a gun pressed at his head.

“I did not.” Your voice is calm and even, not betraying your inner distress as your eyes dart around the room as you try to find a way to get her away from him.

“Yes you did.” The widow snarls. She draws another weapon, slamming the butt of it into Ghost's skull with startling force, leaving him to collapse like a ragdoll.

“We were always second best, always the ones punished, always the ones in trouble. Nothing compared to you.” You begin to circle each other, your eyes trained on the gun she has aimed at you. The motion makes you sick, and you can’t hear anything over your focus on staying awake.

You blink, and suddenly the widow is in front of you. Just as she wraps her finger around the trigger Ghost, who'd be faking his apparent unconsciousness, tackles her. You can see how the scene will play out, and it doesn't end pretty.

You throw yourself at the Widow Just as she plants her gun in Ghosts chest, sending both of you flying across the room. She ends up on top you so you buck your hips, sending her flying forward. You're moving on pure instinct at this point, to dizzy to think.

You wrap you arm around hers and swing your leg over her side, using the momentum to flip positions so that you're on top. You draw your firearm, but are a millisecond too slow.

She flings you off, your skull bouncing of the pavement as you fall to the side. You manage to keep a grip on your weapon but God's does your head hurt.

You blink yourself back into awareness, coming too just in time to watch Ghost grapples with the Widow for he gun. Ghost may be good, but the Widow is great.

You are too dizzy too see straight, but that's no problem. The Institute had made sure you could shoot a target blindfolded, so you close your had around your 9 mil, raise it front of you, and fire.

You are awarded with a female cry of pain, a thud, and silence.

"You...solid?" You wheeze, gun still held tight in your hand.

"Aye. Y'...y' no' lookin' t' gud there." You can barely hear him, swaying slightly where you stand. Gods your head hurts.

You step forward, practically collapsing into Ghost. You can feel his heart beating rapidly, and you think he's talking to you, but you can’t hear him. Though blurry, your eyes are drawn to the Widow laying in a pool of blood, her brown hair pillowing her head.

It makes you sad, almost, to see someone who didn't get saved. Survivors guilt is what your court-therapist had called it. You thinks it was a load of bullshit but it's not like...is she moving?

You flip around Ghost without thinking, unloading your weapon on the Widow just as her bullet pierces your flesh.

tbc

Tell me what you think!!

@greatkittencloud

[badbitchsincebirth05]

Title: The Velvet Veil Part 3

Avengers!Bucky Barnes x Red Rood Stripper!Female!Reader

Warnings are for each part; not every part has the same warning. Pay attention to what is tagged. This is the part y'all have been waiting for. See A/N for more details.

Part 1 found here

Part 2 found here

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MDNI, Morally gray reader, angst, mentions of hydra, stripping, widows/red room, forced stripping, mentions of background OC’s for plot, spider-themed names, use of y/n (in this part, only a couple times), pervy Bucky (if you squint), mentions of cigarettes and smoking, smut, reader begs a little, licking, lap dance, grinding, mentions of masterbation, oral (m!reciveing), fingering (f!recieveing), breast play, nipple sucking, p in v sex, dubious consent, power imbalance, using sex for information, coersion, dirty thoughts, dirty praise/talk, sex in a chair, mentions of crude language (cunt, cock, pussy, cum, etc), mentions of Avengers, the tower, mission reports etc, mentions of following orders, attempted murder, mentions of violence, blood, stabbing and near death experience, and happy ending. 

A/N: Buckle up. This story is going to move fast, as I intended for it to be only three parts. I will do time jumps to speed things along. A lot is going to happen in this short part.

Part 3:

Bucky didn't show until a week later. A week of you all on edge, wondering if they were going to bust the door down. 

You’d replayed the dance a hundred times. His ragged breath, and the way his metal fingers had dug into your hip like he was fighting himself.

There was a hot pulse of him coming undone beneath you. You’d touched yourself to the memory more than once, fingers slick, whispering in the dark like a dirty prayer. It wasn't something you did often. You never had a reason until now. 

Victor had been a nervous wreck all week, pacing in velour tracksuits, jumping at shadows. The Avengers hadn’t come back. No raid. No bust. Just silence.

Until tonight.

You were halfway through your stage set—black lace bra, thong panties, and a matching garter belt snapping against your thighs—when Victor appeared at the wings, face flushed, eyes wide.

You glanced at him, hand still on the pole as you circled once to tease the crowd. 

“Tarantula,” he hissed, waving you over mid-song. You huffed and dropped your hand, walking over. The crowd groaned as you sauntered off early, but you didn’t care. Victor never interrupted a set unless it was big. 

He pulled you into the hallway, voice low. “He’s back. Alone this time. Booked the biggest private room for a full hour. Paid quadruple upfront. Cash.” Victor swallowed hard. “Requested you, specifically.”

Your stomach flipped—equal parts thrill and warning bells.

Alone.

No team. No witnesses.

You nodded once, squaring your shoulders, “I won’t let you down.” You whispered under the music, slowly making your way to the private room he booked. 

When you walked in, there he was, sitting on a velvet chair, hands on both of the armrests. He watched your every move, eyes sweeping over your entire frame. He tapped the armrest once with his pointer finger, observing how you moved through the room. 

You stopped in front of him, watching how he would react. He didn’t have the same look on his face as last week. 

His flesh hand shot out, stopping you from getting into his lap. “I’m not here for that.” 

You paused, not expecting that from him. “If you’re not here for a dance, then you need to leave,” you said, walking backwards to the little table in the corner with a fresh pack of cigarettes. 

You usually ask, or your clients join you. You weren’t asking him. Not with who he is and why he’s here. He watched you light it and fill the air with white smoke. 

“Just give me something. Anything.” It wasn’t quite begging, but it was close. You leaned against the cold wall, skin prickling from his gaze on your nearly naked body. 

You kept your movements slow, in case he got threatened enough to kill you with one blow from the metal arm. It wouldn’t take much. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” You raised a brow at that, hand on your hip. 

“Why not? Isn’t that what the Avengers do?” You ask, voice thick with disdain. 

“I can get you out. Safe. Stop this operation for good. Just tell me enough.” 

You took another hit of your cigarette while watching him. Your eyes flicked once to the clock on the wall, then back to him sitting there in the chair. 

“Is this the play?” you asked, voice thick with disdain. “Get close, bat those lashes, hope I fall for the sad super-soldier routine?”

He sighed, sitting back further in the chair. You flicked ash on the floor, watching the bright ember fizzle out. 

Silence stretched: thick, smoky, electric.

You weren’t giving him a damn thing.

And from the way his eyes kept flicking to your mouth, your throat, the snap of your garters… he knew it.

Another week later, he came back, same room, same amount of money.

Victor had barely slept, eyes bloodshot, pacing harder than ever. The Widows whispered in the lounge—plans, escape routes none of you believed in, glances at the east wing door like it might burst open any second.

Then, last night, Victor pulled you aside after your set. His hand shook as he gripped your arm.

“He’ll be back,” he rasped. “I can feel it. When he comes… please him. Whatever it takes. Keep him happy. Keep him here.”

You’d nodded, calm as ever. But inside? Your stomach twisted.

Because this morning, a new handler message came through the secure drop: Flip the Soldier. Or eliminate him. Do not fail.

Your biggest mission yet.

And tonight, he walked in.

The last time he was there, he didn’t touch you. Just watched you smoke half a pack to kill time. He didn’t get any intel from you, leaving him frustrated. 

Same private room. Same low red lights. Same hour booked—quadruple paid, cash left on the table like a challenge.

But everything felt different.

Bucky didn’t sit this time. He stood in the center, jacket off, black Henley stretched across his chest, sleeves shoved up to reveal the gleam of metal. His eyes locked on you the second the door shut. He didn’t bother hiding who he was now. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice low and final. “Not until you give me something. Names. Routes. Anything.”

You leaned against the wall, cigarette already lit, smoke curling between you like a barrier.

Victor’s words echoed: Please him.

Hydra’s orders burned hotter: Flip or kill.

You took a slow drag, letting the silence stretch. “You’re stubborn, Soldat.”

His jaw flexed at the name. “So are you.”

You chuckled once, “Then I guess we’re both following orders.”

You pushed off the wall, moving closer—slow, deliberate, hips swaying just enough to remind him who’s really in charge here, “You want something from me… maybe I want something from you.”

He didn’t back up. Didn’t flinch. But his eyes darkened as you stopped inches away, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.

“I’m here to please you,” you murmured, exhaling smoke against his neck. “It’s my job.”

His breath hitched—just barely. “That’s not why I’m here,” he repeated like it was going to stop you. 

You smiled, slow and sharp. “Doesn’t have to be. But I can tell you want it.”

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers tracing the line of his Henley. He caught your wrist—metal fingers cool and unyielding—but didn’t push you away. You flicked a button. 

“I’m not playing games,” he growled, his hold tightening. 

“Good,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear. “Neither am I.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You want intel? Earn it.”

His grip tightened on your wrist. “How?”

You let the cigarette drop, crushing it under your heel. Then you stepped back, reached behind your back, and unclasped your bra. You weren’t about to give him a lap dance; he was getting the complete package. You were wet just at the thought of him. 

You’d do it for free if it meant you got to fuck him. 

His eyes dropped. Pupils blown. You could tell he didn't want to look, but he’s a man. 

“You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you.” You whispered in his ear, low and sultry. Like a prayer and sin are combining in his brain. You got one hand free to slowly trace it down to the growing bulge in his pants. You bit your lip watching him. The second your hand touched his belt, he grabbed your wrist again. 

“I said I’m not here for that,” he rasped, voice rougher than before.

You ignored him, trying to get your hand out of his hold to get his cock out. It’s really frustrating when he won’t cooperate. 

He keeps making it worse, holding both of your hands now. You huffed, eyes locked on him. 

“What do you want then?” You said, ", annoyed. 

“I want intel. Answers. Codes to the east wing.”

You rolled your eyes, getting your hands free to step back. You didn’t care that your tits were out, bouncing and moving as you lit another cigarette. 

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves, Barnes.”

“Feelings mutual, y/n,” He responded. Your whole body stiffened when he said your name. Your real name. Your eyes snapped up, shock on your face. You hadn’t heard your real name out loud in forever. You’ve been Taranula so long you almost forgot. 

He stared back, watching you realize he did, in fact, know more about you than you led on. Your hands shook as you took another drag. 

“Don’t say my name.” You finally responded, voice hoarse from the tobacco. 

“Give me something. I can save you. All of your fellow widows.” 

You looked away, turning your back to him. His saying your name threw you off completely. Your strong bare back was to him, and you could feel his eyes on you. 

You didn’t know whose move it was next. And you weren’t sure who was in charge now. 

You heard him before you felt him. Boots hit the ground as he stood. The chair scraped, and he was behind you. His breath fanned your bare neck, your nipples tightened from the cold but also from his presence. 

He reached out and handed you the bra you left on the floor. You stared at it for a long moment—black lace dangling from his flesh fingers. Your fingertips brushed his, just once—a spark shot through you, electric and filthy, pooling hot and wet between your thighs.

“You don’t have to talk right now. Just give me something. Nod your head, anything.” 

You clutched the bra in your fist, the lace biting into your palm. His pleading words echoed in your head—soft, persistent, dangerous.

You knew you shouldn’t. They’d kill you if you talked. If you betrayed.

But you found yourself trusting him. The clock ticked on.

And for the first time in years, you weren’t sure if you were the spider… or the one caught in the web.

Nothing happened that night. He left when you still didn't talk, your back to him until the time ran out. 

You watched him leave just as fast as he came. He was back another week later, like clockwork: same room, same cash amount, same everything. 

Your mission demand kept repeating in your head. Kill him or flip him. 

You’ve killed before, several men and women for missions. But you have never hesitated. 

He was in the chair, blue Henley this time. Watching your every move like usual. You went straight to him. Body on display under a red lacey set this time.

His eyes wandered, lids heavy. You stopped just in front of his chair, knees bumping his. Without another word, you dropped to your knees. The carpet bit into your skin, a familiar burn reminding you of all the times you’d been like this. 

But this time was different. You wanted to. He sucked in a breath, hands staying on the armchair. 

You moved closer, hands hovering. You wanted to give him time to stop you. When he didn’t, you reached for his belt, slowly undoing it. 

Just like you predicted, he stopped you, his hand gripped your wrist hard. “Stop.” He responded, voice rough and strained. 

You flicked your eyes up to meet his blue ones. The room was dim, red LED lights framed your face and his, casting shadows. 

His thumb rubbed your wrist once, but he didn’t let go. You were close enough to rub your finger on his bulge, feeling him tighten the jeans further at your subtle touch. 

You leaned your face closer, watching him. “Let me.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free. It didn’t work. 

“No.” He responded, voice dark and final. His grip didn’t falter, but he didn’t yank you up either. “You’re trying to distract me, and it’s not working.” 

You raised a brow, “It’s not?” You purred, eyes going back to the way his cock is begging to be freed. “Looks like your little friend is begging to be touched.” Your voice dripped with enthusiasm and mockery. Your mouth watered at the thought of his thick, enormous cock gagging you. You wanted to hear him begging you to stop and to keep going at the same time. 

You hummed, your face inching closer. His cock jumped when your breath fanned over the dark jean material. You were so close; all he had to do was let go. 

“Can’t help it.” He grunted out, staring at the ceiling for a second like that would help, like it would give him all the answers. 

You hummed again in response, finger playing with his zipper, something you could reach as he still held your wrist. 

“Let me suck your cock.” You whined, trying your best to seem trustworthy. 

“How do I know you won’t just bite it off?” He asks, curiosity in his tone. 

“You don’t.” 

With your other hand, you reached down where your thong dug into your wet cunt, it was near dripping at the sight of him holding back. You knew he could smell it on you. You gathered some on two digits, watching him watch you as your fingers disappear and reappear with slickness. 

He sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring. You brought your glistening fingers to his mouth, letting him smell how much you want it. 

And oh, did he want it, because his cock started to leak precum. You had him right where you needed him. His tongue jutted out, just enough to taste you off your finger. He groaned, releasing his hold on you and sucking your two fingers into his mouth fully. As he licked you clean, you worked his zipper open with your newly freed hand. 

His head dropped back, hands going back to the armrests for support. You didn’t hesitate after that. Zipper down, briefs tugged aside, his thick cock springing free—heavy, veined, leaking.

You wrapped your lips around the head, tongue swirling, taking him deep in one slow, greedy slide. You gagged from his length, eyes prickling at the corner. 

You were only on him for a minute before his flesh hand went into your hair, yanking your head back and off him. His breath was deep, the rise and fall of his chest like he ran a marathon. 

You watched him, lips wet, mouth open like an invitation. Your tongue juts out past your teeth like a challenge. 

His grip tightened in your hair, “I didn’t come here for this.”

You raised a brow, looking up at him, “Would you rather cum in your pants again?” The question threw Bucky off. He let go, sending you on your ass. You landed with a soft muhm. He stood abruptly, tucked himself away, and disappeared out the door. 

You could only watch from where you sat on the velvet carpet. 

​​Next week, he’d be back.

And next time… you weren’t letting him leave with his jeans intact.

You had orders. Your mission seemed simple, but if anyone knew the Winter Soldier, he wasn’t easily swayed. You knew he’d never willingly rejoin HYDRA, especially since he had just gained his freedom. To him, you were nothing but a mission. That’s why he kept coming back, paying triple the price just to get you alone, hoping you’d crack first and spill secrets. 

You weren’t that easy. 

Bucky came back. Again. 

Same room. Same chair. Same amount of money.

When you walked in, wearing the same lacey outfit this time in purple, he watched you, like always. 

“You here to throw a tantrum this time?” You cooed, head tilting to the side. 

He huffed, almost a laugh—rough, reluctant, like it hurt coming out.

You tilted your head further, purple lace hugging every curve, the color making your skin glow under the red LEDs. “Did I manage to get the Winter Soldier to laugh? Or are you afraid that if you let me finish, you’ll spill more than just in my mouth?”

You knew provoking him wasn’t the best idea, but you needed a reaction. Needed anger to make him talk if pleasure wasn’t working.

His eyes darkened, that almost-laugh dying fast. He shifted in the chair, thighs spreading just a fraction—like his body was betraying him again already. “Watch it.” He warned. 

You sauntered closer, slow and predatory, stopping between his knees. You stood close enough that he had to tilt his head up to keep eye contact. “You ran last time, like a coward.” You reached out, a finger tracing the stubble of his jaw. Only a couple of gray hairs caught your attention. 

His jaw clenched, hands white-knuckling the armrests. “I’m here for answers.”

“And I told you already, I’m not the one you’ll get it from.”

You leaned closer, your finger dropping to his pulse on his neck. His heartbeat thudded fast against your skin. “You want to be here. I’m not stupid.”

You stood straight, walked back to the corner table for your cigarette. 

“What makes you say that?” He asked, voice laced with annoyance and something else. Gruff.

You glanced behind you, your hip popping as you let smoke leave your lungs. You kept your back to him; it was a move that could make him feel like you trust him. But you didn’t, at least not really. 

You still weren’t sure who would kill whom first.

“You traded HYDRA for another handler. What’s the difference? You’re still taking orders.”

“So you admit this HYDRA?” 

You scoffed, “You already know the answer. If you really wanted to finish your mission of taking his place down, you would’ve done it already.” 

“And how would I have done that?” He was playing coy now, trying to get you to fuck up. 

You turned and faced him fully, cigarette dangling from your fingers, smoke curling lazily between you like a challenge. “You’re an Avenger, don’t you guys normally just bust down the door?” 

Bucky’s eyes tracked the movement—down the purple lace barely containing your breasts, over the curve of your hip, back up to your face. His throat worked on a swallow, but he stayed seated, knuckles white on the armrests.

“Fine. You’re right. I’m here for you.” He responded, finally getting you somewhere. You snubbed out your cigarette, stepping back over to him. 

He was quiet now, glancing away, throat working like it was difficult to swallow what he was about to say. 

“They’re raiding this place in about 30 minutes.” His words rang in your ears. Your blood went cold. 

“What?” You asked, needing him to say it again. He said it again, this time looking at you. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. If they were about to bust the door down, it meant he was bait. Distracted you, make everything think it was just a regular day, he showed up. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“I’m warning you, giving you time to get your things. Help your fellow widows. They aren’t going to hurt you. They want your boss. They want HYDRA.”

“I guess we don’t have much time then.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You dropped into his lap, the thin fabric of your crotch was soaked, grinding down on his jeans. He had his usual bulge, had it since he first saw you in this little purple number. 

You leaned close, breath in his ear as your hands went around his shoulders for support, “You can touch me. It’s what you’re paying for. This might be our last time, Bucky.” 

He hesitated, flesh hand hovering by your exposed hip. You licked a stripe up his neck and took his earlobe into your mouth, letting it out with a wet pop. He shivered from it, eyes half closed. His hands, metal and flesh, finally went to your hips, gripping you as you ground down on him. 

“Make me feel good.” 

His flesh hand traced your hip, down the panty line of your thong. He found you wet, almost dripping. You took a shuddering breath when he felt your folds. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t want him to. You had him exactly where you needed. 

His hands pushed your panties to the side, two thick calloused digits disappeared inside, curling just right to make your toes curl, and a moan slipped past your lips. 

His thumb circled your clit as his fingers worked you open. You helped, fucking yourself on them, hips chasing the feel. His left hand traced up your spine, the cool metal sending goosebumps as he went. 

Your head tipped back, giving him access to your throat. He watched you use him, use his fingers for your pleasure. How easy he could get you to cum. 

And cum you did, your thighs tried to clamp shut, but couldn’t with how you were sitting on him. His fingers continued, while yours gripped the back of his hair.

By the time you came down, he finally withdrew. Your release coated his fingers, taunting him to taste. And he did, groaning around the taste of you on his tongue. 

Your hands dropped from the nape of his neck to his belt, taking your time. He helped free himself, his cock springing free. It was throbbing by the time you sank down, moaning from the stretch. 

Both of his hands held your hips, helping guide you as you take him to the hilt. It felt so fucking good like this, your arms back around him to hold his hair, bouncing on his cock while your breasts barely stayed in the seethrough lace. 

He finally crashed his lips on yours, hands running up your body to cup your neck, pulling you closer. You rolled your hips, clenching around him just to hear him hiss. You could feel how close he was already, balls tightening. He held back, not wanting this to end. 

He broke the kiss first to trail down your neck and to your chest, one hand pulled down your bra to free a breast so he could suck it into his mouth. Your eyebrows pulled together in pleasure as you continued to move your hips in time with his, milking his cock.

His metal thumb found your clit, swollen and sensitive. Your hips bucked once when he started circling it again. 

“Cum for me.” He groaned out, mouth full of your nipple. He switched to the other, both your breasts exposed, pushing the lace to be under them. He continued his assault, leaving your skin wet from his tongue. 

When you came, it was in time with him. Your moans and his groans mix together in the velvet room. The chair creaked as you slowed your hips, vision whitening out as he bucked into you a couple more times. 

Bucky should’ve known that this was too easy. The clock showed they would be busting the door down in 5 minutes. He should’ve known you fucking him instead of running when he gave you the warning was a bad move. 

He was just coming down from it, eyes half lidded when you shifted. Just as his eyes fully opened, it was too late. A hidden knife you had somewhere on the back of the chair was in your hand. You didn’t hesitate, like a good little widow. You drove it straight into the side of his throat, the knife embedded deep, and came out just as quickly. 

You didn’t know you were crying until tears fell down your cheek. He gasped, hand coming up quickly to try and stop the bleeding. You quickly got up, gathered yourself, and rushed out. 

You had a go back under your bed, everything HYDRA provided in case you guys needed to run. Just as quickly as you zipped on a hoodie and slipped into joggers, you heard shouting. Guns are hitting the ceiling, and the sound of a low voice yelling for a medic.

You didn’t linger. You slipped out the side door, running into the night, blood staining your fingertips. 

The mission was complete. Kill or flip. 

You choose to kill him because death was less cruel than what HYDRA planned for him. You couldn’t see them do that to him. 

What you didn’t know was that Bucky wasn’t as easy to kill as he appeared. 

Sam Wilson had found him just in time, slumped into the chair, blood pouring out fast. He was pale, breath shallow but alive. 

Super Soldiers were tough, but Bucky was too stubborn to die like this. Not when he needed to know if you were safe.

Bucky was in the med bay for weeks. The serum coursing through his veins was helping, but he still needed 21st-century medicine. 

He was lucky to be alive. 

The entire time he was in recovery, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. How you cried when you stabbed him. 

They took Victer in alive, and he confessed everything with ease. No one had to lay a finger on him, the sweaty man did it all him himself. 

The other widows were taken in for questioning. Those who wanted a job were offered SHIELD training to become an agent. None of them resisted; they would all rather switch sides than have to touch a pole again. 

As for you. You thought Bucky was dead. You were on the run from both SHIELD and HYDRA. You didn’t want to go back. Your loyalty ran out the second you stabbed the one man who might’ve been able to help you. 

As soon as Bucky could be medically cleared, he’d be looking for you. 

It was a month later when it happened. Your eyes met across the train tracks in Warsaw. He was in a black felt coat. His eyes were soft, hands were in his pockets as he looked at you.

Your chest cracked wide open. 

He was alive. 

The Warsaw wind whipped cold around you, but it did nothing to cool the fire roaring through your veins. You stood frozen on the opposite platform, bag slung over your shoulder, heart slamming so hard you thought it might shatter your ribs.

Bucky.

Those steel-blue eyes locked on you like he’d been searching every shadow in Europe for this exact moment. 

He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just stared—soft and broken. 

The train between you rumbled past, a blur of metal and noise. You should run, but your feet felt glued to the floor. Hydra could be watching. SHIELD might want you dead for stabbing Bucky. But your feet just wouldn’t move.

When the train cleared, he was still there. He looked at you like he was expecting you not to be there. Relief appeared on his face before he started moving.

He was across the tracks fast, stopping inches away, breath fogging in the cold, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing it all over again.

“You’re alive,” you whispered, voice cracking. Tears burned hot on your cheeks—traitors you couldn’t stop.

You’ve killed so much, but Bucky was the hardest. The only one to have gotten under your skin like this. 

He slowly reached up, cupping your face. His thumbs wiped your tears before he pulled you into a tight hug. Your head buried into his chest as you cried, breathing him in. Your hands held onto his coat like a lifeline. 

He rested his chin on top of your head, hand running up and down your back. 

He was still healing, and you were finally free. The question now was…

What next?

Part 1 found here

Part 2 found here

Thank you for reading!! Happy ending yay. Took me a couple days to sit down and write. ADHD brain.

Dividers by @enchanthings

Taglist: @buckysslut @goobers-mcgee @galaxystar04 @buckybarneswife08 @sleepy-k0i @cassity357

Grammarly is used when I proofread.

[badbitchsincebirth05]

Title: The Velvet Veil Part 2

Avengers!Bucky Barnes x Red Rood Stripper!Female!Reader

Warnings are for each part; not every part has the same warning.

Part 1 found here

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: MDNI, Morally gray reader, angst, mentions of hydra, stripping, widows/red room, forced stripping, mentions of background OC’s for plot, spider-themed names, no use of y/n (in this part), pervy Bucky (if you squint), mentions of cigarettes and smoking, dry humping/grinding, lap dance, untouched orgasm, premature ejectulation (in his pants), dirty thoughts, mentions of crude language (cunt, cock, pussy, cum etc), mentions of russian/american accent, mentions of Avengers, the tower, mission reports etc

A/N: Wanted to try something different, haven’t seen a lot of hydra! Readers. The next parts will be more explicit.

Part 2:

You were enjoying this a bit too much.

It’s not every day you get to give a hot man a lap dance, and it’s definitely not every day that he’s an Avenger. 

You see a lot of Wall Street types, a lot of good-looking men, but none look like the man sitting across from you—broad shoulders hidden under a dark shirt, a metal arm doing a poor job of hiding. Funny. His dark hair curled slightly at the collar, as if he didn't know what scissors were.

By the time you reached him, he looked like the scared one. Your heels raised you above him, where he sat. His eyes followed every move you made. You didn’t even glance at Steve or Sam. Your eyes were fixed on The Winter Soldier. 

The Winter Soldier. Your mission. Your little project. 

You could see both Steve and Sam watching, tense like they weren’t sure if they should intervene. Bucky gripped the chair when you stopped right in front of him. How he sat had your belly at eye level with him. 

You watched him take a deep breath, his eyes closely observing your skin and face. He didn't linger long on your breasts, how they filled out the decorative bra. You could tell he wanted to stare, but you two were playing a game. 

You slowly reached out, knuckles grazing his stubbled cheek. He could push you away at any moment, but he didn’t. Instead, he let you touch. It was your job after all. 

You took your knuckles from his jaw and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was warm, fleshy, and solid. You finally slid into his lap, taking his hands to place on your hips. As a stripper, you can touch the client, but they can’t touch you unless you do it for them. 

Tonight was one of those nights.

His flesh hand was warm against your skin, calloused in a way that sent an electrical shot straight between your thighs. His metal one was cold, prickling the skin on your hip. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time. If ever. 

Being stuck in this place, you didn’t get the luxury of dating or enjoying the touch of a man. 

Bucky followed your lead, his breath shallow, lips parted. You grind down once, feeling him harden beneath you. You bit your lip, just enough to catch his eyes. He watched you, fingers tightening just enough. 

You grinded again, your thong riding up higher in your ass, letting you feel the fabric of his jeans. You gripped the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand, grabbing his flesh hand with your other, guiding him up your soft side. He traced the curves and settled his hand on your rib. 

His thumb rubbed once, then stilled. It was like he had to remind himself not to get too close. Which was hard when his cock kept feeling you grind on his jeans. Your hips moved in slow circles, eyes locked on his. 

This was a mission. For both of you, but how come this mission feels so… right?

Meanwhile, Steve and Sam were kept distracted by Red Back and Banana. They did their jobs too, making sure their eyes stayed on them, not on you, trying to manipulate an Avenger. 

You continued grinding slow, deadly circles on his bulge. His jaw clenched, muscles jumping from the pressure. His hands tightened a fraction more, thumb moving in another slow circle before he stopped himself. 

You leaned in close, breath hot on his ear, “Soldat.” Your Russian accent peeking through your fake American one. He stiffened a fraction, something you would notice. The way his hands held you tighter, sucking in a breath as his pupils dilated more. 

“Don’t call me that.” He choked out, his gruff voice cutting through the beat of the DJ. You smirked, hand tightening in his hair to pull him back further, exposing his neck. He let you, eyes still trained on you. You could tell he didn’t trust you, but he didn’t want to stop you either.

You continued to give him a lap dance, small little grinds. His hands went back to the chair to grip harder. A little gasp escaped your lips when his cock hit your clit with perfect pressure. He bit back a growl, throat working as he dry swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed, on display as you hold on to him, tilting his head back. 

You were wet from this, feeling it soak your thong and grind on the rough fabric of his jeans. His eyes went half lidded, hands making the chair creak from how hard he was holding back. 

You should’ve stopped here, but you were enjoying it and seeing him hold himself back from doing something stupid. You had a mission after all. Please him. Distract him. 

One more grind, and you felt him lock up, eyes snap open. A low groan ripped from between his lips. You didn’t know what he was doing until you felt it—a hot, wet sensation between you. You looked down at his bulge. 

The jeans had an obvious dark patch from your wetness and from his cum. You bit back a smirk, grinding once more before standing up. He sucked in another breath, adjusting his ruined jeans to hide the evidence of his arousal. 

You winked at him, plucked the $50 from his pocket, and walked towards the backstage. Before you disappeared, you looked back and winked. He didn’t respond, but you know he saw it. Checkmate. You just made the Winter Soldier cum in his pants like a teenage boy. The thought alone had you clenching your thighs together as you walked to the back room for your break.

Bucky was a complete and utter wreck after what you just did to him. Not only did he not do what the mission required, but he also came in his pants most embarrassingly. It wasn’t just because you were hot, touching his dick like a skilled woman. 

You were a widow, capable of killing him at any moment if you wanted. He didn’t even know why he turned to Puddy at your touch. But he did know one thing: He wanted to do it again. 

Thank fucking God Steve and Sam were distracted to notice Bucky hiding his croatch from them for the rest of the night. Sam would never let it go. 

Back at the Avengers tower, he changed into sweats to join the others. He had to take a cold shower, cock fisted tight in his right hand to get a proper orgasm, not the pathetic one he had just from your wet pussy grinding on him. 

His hands were folded together in his lap, listening to Fury go over the mission. Steve and Sam apparently did their jobs, gathering as much intel as they could from where they were sitting. The two red room strippers, Red Back and Banana, took a liking to them. 

Fury had pulled up their information from old HYDRA files to confirm it was them. Natasha recognized them, a frown forming on her face. This was the last thing she wanted to see her fellow widows doing.

Then your picture popped up next to the other red room strippers. It looked like a mugshot, sharp eyes and a sharper glare at the camera. You looked like a killer, not the woman biting her lip while getting him off. 

He shifted in his seat, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Fury continued to talk, pointing out that they know it’s a HYDRA front, but they need more. And the best way to get it is to get one of the strippers to like you enough to talk. 

That’s when all eyes shift to Bucky. He felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him as he finally looked up.

“What?” He grunted out, knuckles whitening as he gripped his hands tighter in his lap. 

Steve talked first, “She liked you—code name Taranula. Way more than the others liked us.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, muscles jumping further from the pain. “What about her?”

“We’re sending you back in, Barnes. Your new assignment is to get her cooperation. From our analysis, she seems like the team lead of the other women.” Fury said, voice commanding and final. 

Bucky huffed, chest rising and falling out of annoyance. He did want to go back, just not for a mission. But he was an Avenger now, and a command is a command. 

His eyes went back to the monitor, this time showing a video of you on the stage, moving slowly as grubby, sweaty hands threw money at you. He thought about how you touched him, whispered the word he hates the most in his ear. Then he thought about how you could look under him, moaning his name as he drives into you. 

He nodded once. Final. Clear that he’d do it. As everyone shuffled out, Steve lingered, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You’ll be fine, Buck. It’s just a mission. Soon we’ll take them down with your help.”

Bucky sighed, “Easy to say, Rogers.” Then the two shuffled out together, two long lost friends, one is about to get in way over his head. 

_______

After you stepped backstage, a laugh bubbled out of you. It was low, triumphant, a little crazy. You tried to hold it back, but it was too late. The other Widows heard.

Banana poked her blonde head around the dressing-room door, eyes wide. “Tarantula. Get in here. Now.”

You pushed off the wall, legs still shaky, and sauntered into the east-wing lounge. The hidden door was already cracked open. The six of you rarely gathered all at once, but tonight felt different.

The room was warm, softly lit, a stark contrast to the red strobes out front. Plush couches, a kitchenette that smelled like fresh coffee and cigarette smoke, and robes hanging on hooks like armor waiting to be donned. Everyone was relaxed since the Avenegrs left. You all knew they would be back. If they showed up once, it means they have intel, enough to show their faces. It was a reminder of their power. 

Red Back was perched on the arm of a couch, ginger hair loose and wild, legs crossed like a queen. Huntsman leaned close to a mirror, touching up her makeup. Trapdoor sat cross-legged on the floor, stretching her quads. Brown Recluse nursed a bottle of water, light brown hair tucked behind her ear, watching you with those quiet, calculating eyes. 

Banana shut the door behind you. “Spill,” she demanded, hands on her hips. “You were the one with The Winter Soldier! Captain America and Falcon didn’t give us anything. Barely even looked at us.” She huffed, shoulders sinking. These women were utterly gorgeous, used to having men begging at their feet. So, having the Avengers not show interest definitely didn’t help their egos.  

You lit a cigarette. Red Back handed you, she helped you light it. You took a deep breath, letting the familiar burn ease your mind and bring you back to your job. 

“I did my job.” You said, hand on your hip, while the other one held the cigarette to your lips. Smoke curled from your mouth, floating to the ceiling. “Triple pay.” You said as you pointed to the $50 shoved in your thong at your hip. 

Red Back snorted. “Bullshit. You look a little too relaxed. Details.”

You rolled your eyes, but a slight grin cracked on your face. “Fine. He’s… intense. Big. Quiet. Let me touch him.” You bit your lip, remembering the contrast—scorching flesh, freezing metal. “I did my traditional lap dance, whispered some Russian, and he came in his pants like a teenager.”

Silence. Then the room exploded.

Trapdoor barked a laugh so loud she nearly fell over. Banana’s jaw dropped. “You made the Winter Soldier nut in his jeans?!”

Huntsman’s lips curved in a rare smile. “Our little Tarantula finally caught a fly worth keeping.”

Brown Recluse tilted her head. “Did he recognize this place?”

You shrugged, watching the cigarette burn down between your fingers. The high fades just enough for reality to creep in. “Maybe. If the Avenegrs were here, it means they have something.” You paused, voice dropping. “But I did my job.” 

Red Back’s expression dulled. “Victor’s panicking, scared they’ll bust the door down at any moment.”

You shrugged, unbothered. Truth was, you really didn't care if this place was taken down. It would mean you wouldn’t have to strip anymore. It would mean you could be free. But you were also loyal. You liked the women here, staring at you like you had all the answers. You wish you had them. To ease the burden of information. 

You didn’t want the attention. Attention wasn’t good when it came from the government. You took another drag, letting the tobacco fill your lungs. It was more than answering what they were all thinking.

“I don’t know what we’ll do. But they will be back. Just be ready, ladies, don’t show fear.” You offered, snubbing out your almost done cigarette in the ashtray and disappearing to change into your next set. 

Victor's nervous voice filled the room after, going through schedules like always. You heard it, though, the shake in his voice. He was scared. And if Victor was scared…

You should be, too.

Dividers by @enchanthings

Part 1 found here

Part 3 coming soon!

Taglist: @buckysslut @goobers-mcgee @galaxystar04 @buckybarneswife08 @sleepy-k0i @cassity357

Grammarly is used when I proofread.