#pastry chef!bucky

[writingchalamet]

Angels Like You II

Angels Like You Chapter I

A.N: Hope you enjoyed part 1, things will be heating up from here and we will be getting a lot more Y/n and Bucky interaction!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, violence, blood, mentions of S/A, mentions of graphic physical abuse, fluff, y/n has a child, Bucky being protective

Chapter II

Your day had begun like any other, waking to the sound of Forrest stirring on your baby monitor. You walk into his bedroom finding him sitting in his cot a beautiful smile instantly gracing his face as you enter the room, rambling the word 'mama' or an iteration of the sort over and over, you were both all smiles all morning as you most days, getting Forrest ready for day care was perhaps your least favourite part of the day, he still cried when you dropped him off and it broke your heart in two everyday. After Forrest was dropped off at day care, you start your day at work, keeping the door to the Bakery locked until your other baker joins you in an hour, you make a start on your breads taking your premade doughs out the fridge, giving them a quick kneed before placing them in their baking trays. Then onto pastries and cakes you can whip up from scratch, deciding on lemon and blueberry cupcakes with cream-cheese frosting as your 'chefs choice' for the week.

You hear a tap on the glass door and go through kitchen into the main shop to kind your employee Kay standing at the door smiling, clutching a bunch of flowers in her arms. You unlocked the door opening enough to let her in before securing the lock again, "Hey Kay, how are you?" you embrace her in a side hug "I'm good thanks, I got these flowers for the counter, I saw them yesterday and they reminded me of you, so you know" the thought brought a smile to your face in an instant. "Oh thank you, that's so cute" You find a jug to put them in, arranging the carnations on the counter next to the till. Yourself and Kay continue baking and prepping for the day ahead, finishing off some icing and glazing before placing the first batches into the display counter and finishing setting up.

The morning flew by, your regulars came in for their morning coffee and pastries, the couple of old ladies who come by once a week to pick up a loaf of bread and some cakes stopped by and had a chat, and a few college students stopped in, you were happy with how business was going, until you saw a certain head of curls across the street, dark eyes looking your way, his figure loomed over you like a dark omen, you just knew something terrible was about to happen, you could tell by the way he sat there chain smoking and swigging from his coffee cup, that was most likely not coffee, he wore a smug smile across his face while he continued to stare at you.

"Okay Boss, I'm gonna run down the road and grab some lunch, you want anything?" You tore your gaze away from the menacing stare of your ex to meet Kay's. "Uh, no I'm good thanks" she nodded and headed out the door, down the street and out of sight. You were alone. Shit. You look up again and see that Matt had moved from his spot on the wall across your shop, and was moving hastily towards you. You clamber over the counter and try to make it to the door before him, but you're too late. The sweet ding off the bell above the door ringing leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. "Get out Matt, you can't be here" you try to be firm but your voice only comes out broken.

"Or what, you gonna call the cops? You know they won't do anything" He stalks towards you until your backed up against your counter, the hard wood digging into your back. "Matt seriously, leave me alone, please" you were willing yourself not to cry but couldn't help the few stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. Matt picked up the jug of flowers smashing them down against the counter with force causing the glass to shatter, a few shards cutting your arm in the process. "Don't you fucking cry or I'll give you something to cry about" His hands wrapped around your neck cutting off your supply of oxygen while he threw you against the window, keeping you pinned there by your neck. You sputtered out a choke as tears slipped down your face, only making him grip you impossibly tighter, "You wanna fucking cry, you ran away while you were pregnant with my child, I have a right to see them, huh, where is the little brat" He shook your neck bashing your head against the glass. You only hoped he would tire himself out, he usually didn't last long when he'd had a drink anyway.

Over all the commotion you didn't hear the bell of the door opening, and you didn't see Bucky coming to stand behind Matt but thank the lord he did. "You're gonna wanna let the lady go" As soon as you heard his voice your senses ignited, your eyes opened and the tears stopped flowing immediately. Matt loosened his grip but refused to let go. "yeah or what" he scoffed before throwing his head over his shoulder catching a glimpse of your rescuer. You could have sworn you saw him recoil into himself, something you had never once seen. However his fear was short lived and soon replaced by anger once more. "Who's this guy huh? what you just opened your legs for the first guy you said hi to here, you whor-" the second his grip tightened around your neck once more it was enough to send Bucky into overdrive.

He reached forwards wrapping his hand around Matts wrist bending it backwards until you were sure you heard a snap, while Matt screamed Bucky secured an arm around you, giving you the once over, not stopping until you gave him a nod. "Oh I'm gonna fucking kill you, you stupid bitch" in a poor attempt to throw a punch Matt practically threw himself at Bucky, who didn't seem the slightest bit phased, caught Matt by his throat with his vibranium arm, squeezing until he was red in the face. Matt coughed attempting to pull back, Bucky only pulled him closer, clenching his fist all that bit harder. He pulled him close enough that his mouth reached Matts ear. "If you come near her again, I'll fucking finish the job" with those words he pushed Matt away from the two of them, Matt scrambling away and out the door nearly falling to the floor in the process. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding, feeling the weight of the world fall off your shoulders for just a moment.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks again in slow steady streams, burning the skin in their wake. "Thank you" you breathed out, your shaking hands reaching up to wipe your face, it's then your realise the blood dripping from a glass made gash on your arm, dripping down your fingers and onto the floor. "Hey, let me take a look at that, make sure you don't need stitches" you pull your arm away from him recoiling into yourself, "no it's fine, you've done enough, you can go, thank you Bucky" You stare at the floor the entire time watching as small droplets of blood begin to litter the tiles. "I'm not leaving in case he comes back, in fact I'm gonna patch you up and we're gonna get Forrest and go home, okay, sound good?" His hand raised to your cheek gaining your attention from your disoriented state, he wipes away the tears as they form under your eyes, brushing them away from your skin, you close your eyes for a moment allowing the feeling to sooth you.

"Alright lets get you cleaned up"

After the incident at the bakery Sam, Bucky and Sarah had been on high alert, Sam brought up the fact that they could have Torres flown in to be your own personal bodyguard, the thought daunting, that you might actually need one. Then Sarah brough up the fact that there are two more than capable 'bodyguards' here if they want to help. And that's how you ended up here, with Bucky living in your spare room for the past two nights, seemingly watching your every move afraid you'll shatter like glass.

What shocked you the most was how quickly Forrest had taken to Bucky, usually he was shy around people for weeks, hell he’s been going to nursery for a year and still won’t let some of the day care assistants hold or play with him. In a way you were glad he was so reserved, made you think that he would never just run off with a stranger, or your psycho ex. But with Bucky he was different, he seemed to open up pretty much straight away, showing him his favourite toys, wanting to sit next to him on the sofa, wherever you looked you would see Forrest’s little hand reaching up for Buck’s trying to show him something, the sight bringing a dull ache to your chest. Maybe it was the lack of a male presence in his life that made him take to Bucky so well, but you were grateful either way.

You were settling down for the evening after feeding Forrest his dinner, the three of you snuggled up on the couch watching a Disney movie before you put Forrest down for bed. You couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling filling your body as you watched Forrest nuzzle into Bucky’s side, his head leaning on his chest. You found your head lulling to the side more often than watching the film, admiring the pair of them, Forrest occasionally pointing to the screen and muttering some gibberish to Bucky excitedly. Towards the end of the film, Forrest had fallen asleep, cuddled into Buck’s side. “I better get him up to bed” you sighed in content beginning to sit up from your comfy seated position. “I can take him up if you want” Bucky spoke in a hushed tone, already slipping his arms around the boy and standing from the sofa. “Why don’t we go up together?" You smiled, getting up from the sofa and following Bucky up the stairs into your sons’ room, you admired the way Bucky gently placed him down on the changing table as if he had done it a thousand times, and stood aside letting you get the baby changed ready for bed. Once he had a fresh nappy and pyjamas on, Bucky picked him up once more, leaning over the side of the cot and smoothly placed Forrest down into his bed, without him stirring once. You both stood there and smiled over the sleeping baby for a moment before retreating back downstairs.

You opened a bottle of wine grabbing two glasses, heading back into the living room finding Bucky back in his original spot on the sofa once more. “I never really got the chance to thank you for the other day, or explain…” You avoided eye contact as you sat down, fiddling with the stem of your wine glass in an attempt to distract yourself. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’m just glad I was able to help is all” Bucky responds coyly, wrapping a hand around yours in an attempt to stop your nervous fidgeting around the glass. “Sarah spoke to me… She said that she told you guys about Matt… That you seemed pretty upset” you plucked up the courage to look in his eyes, as you did, he looked away, shaking his head. Almost embarrassed. “I uh… I don’t know what to tell you…” There was a pause after he spoke, neither of you knowing what to say. “Why do you care so much, you don’t know me?”

Bucky scoffed, seeming taken aback by your comment, as if someone caring about your well being was a problem. “Why wouldn’t I care, especially after hearing the shit he put you through, that would be enough to make any sane person mad, no?” His response seemed valid, even if you didn’t want to admit it, if it had been you that had found Sarah pregnant and sleeping in her car, hearing her situation you would have been just as furious. You understood where he was coming from. “I guess…” Your sentence trailed off and you stared into your empty wine glass. Bucky took the hint and opened the bottle of wine, filling your glass more than you normally would have, you giggled side eyeing him, tilting the glass up to your eyeline. “You trying to get me drunk Barnes, you know there’s a sleeping toddler upstairs right” you joked, clinking your glass with his, just as full. He laughed along shaking his head.

After sinking one or two bottles of wine, you felt yourself growing more confident. The wine raising a sweet pink blush to your cheeks which Bucky found undeniably cute, he found himself drawing closer to you and you let him, there was no room between you, his arm encased the back of the sofa around your shoulders, your head occasionally falling back to rest on the limb, your thigh hunched up resting on his own, as you chatted the night away truly getting to know each other. If Sam were to look in through the window Bucky knows he would have a shit eating grin plastered on his face at the sight of his best friend this close to a girl after so many years. And you couldn’t help but admit, it felt nice to be this close to someone, especially after the only relationship you had ever been in was an abusive one, you thought you would find it hard to trust, but Bucky made you feel at ease the second you were near him.

“So, what’s it like being a superhero?” you enquired eyes wide with wonder. He scoffed again shaking his head, and attribute you would soon grow attached to. “I’m no superhero doll” you shook your head, taking his glass out of his hand and placing it on the coffee table, you place yourself directly in his eyeline, practically sitting in his lap. “Oh common! You fought Thanos’ army, helped bring down that Zemo guy and you just stopped the flag smashers! And to top it off you were sergeant of the Howling Commandos. I’d say that’s pretty superhero-esque to me” you wink at him and couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the look on his face. “Okay stalker, someone’s done their homework” he laughs out, he raised his hands in defence, lowering them to rest on your lower back and his Vibranium hand on your thigh, your hands settled on his shoulders, and you gave them a light squeeze, feeling intrigued by the feeling of the metal under his shirt.

 “Of course, I had to, I’m not gonna let some strange man I don’t know stay in the same house as my son, am I?” you tilted your head to the side, eyeing him quizzically. “Of course, not” The flesh hand holding your back began to stroke up your back and you forgot to breathe for a moment. His hand stilled in the centre of your back, laying there flat and steady. You stared into the blues of his eyes, realizing now just how deep they really are. How much history they hold behind them, how many horrors he too has seen. You felt his gaze searching your own, tracing every spec on your face, you saw his eyes linger by your eyebrow where your scar was and regrettably you tore your own pair away from his face. Removing yourself from his lap, standing before him. He sat there; brows furrowed slightly in question as to why you were leaving. “I should get to bed, I have to get back to work tomorrow, but thank you Bucky for a lovely evening, thank you for everything…” You spoke to the floor before turning hurriedly towards the stairs. “Yeah, yeah, no problem… No problem at all…” Bucky spoke shallowly to himself wondering what he had done wrong.

Tag List:

@unaxv @mrsnikstan

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[wanda-widow]

Plum Croissants With a Side of Sunshine

Private Chef!f!Reader x Avenger!Bucky

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Bucky isn't used to people caring for him, much less being persistent with it because they think he deserves it. It all comes to a halt when Tony decided to hire a private chef who also has everyone's best interest in mind.

Warnings: slight angst, Bucky's kind of an asshole, fluff

18+ MDNI

Don't forget to like and reblog 🩷

Bucky's usual afternoon routine was work out, go for a run, and then go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers as dinner. Simple, easy, and he was left alone. He liked the familiar routine, the limited interaction. And he was perfectly fine with it staying that way.

What he wasn't perfectly fine with was walking into the kitchen one afternoon to find it packed with agents and his fellow team members, the vast dining table filled with fresh food. He took one look and turned the other way, deciding to eat later when Steve saw him.

"Hey Buck, you gotta try some of these dishes, they're almost heavenly" Steve yelled over thx chatter, waving him over as Bucky sighed wearily, turning around to almost smack into you.

"Ah, sorry" you said sheepishly, the platter of food wobbling in your hand slightly before you steadied it. Setting it on the counter, you turned back to Bucky to take in his full appearance. Shorter hair, piercing blue eyes, light stubble around his jaw. Tall. You offered a small smile up at him.

"I'm Y/N, Tony hired me a couple days ago but I haven't seen you around. You must be Bucky, right?" you said, excited to finally meet the super soldier that the team had been telling you about.

"Yeah, it's Bucky" he responded flatly before walking to the table to get some food, cutting off any further conversation.

You frowned to yourself but decided to not take it personally. Natasha had told you he was closed off especially after the whole deal with the Accords. Not that you could blame him, he had been through enough in one lifetime. You went to go wash the dishes, wondering how you could get the surly soldier to open up to you.

A few days passed with no sight of Bucky but you weren't surprised. It was late one evening when on a whim, you decided to bake. Taking out the ingredients you needed, you hummed some song that was playing on the radio earlier, feeling yourself slip into your comfort zone again.

Bucky was up, as he always was during these late nights. Sleep seemed impossible at times, flashes of blood and chaos invading his mind every time he closed his eyes. Scrubbing a weary hand down his face, he got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants to get some water.

As he padded to the kitchen, he paused at the sight of you dancing to your own tune in the kitchen, cleaning a couple dishes. The faint scent of a pastry layered with something sweeter enticed him but he shook himself out of the trace.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, voice rough with disuse as he slipped past you to get a glass.

"Oh! Bucky, hi. Uh, something like that. Just had the urge to make something and since I am getting paid to cook, might as well make the most of it" you said softly, stretching as you made your way to the oven.

His eyes followed your movements as you pulled out a steaming rack of croissants, the flaky pasty littered with strays of purple streaks.

"Plum croissants" you explained after seeing his furrowed brow. "Wanna try one? Steve told me you liked plums"

"No" he said flatly but his eyes kept straying back to the dessert. Frustrated, he left the kitchen with his glass of water, leaving you wondering if you had messed up.

However, in the next 2 days, the croissants were gone. Of course, the team could've eaten them but whenever you asked around, they said that they never knew they existed.

You were finishing up the last of the dinner dishes when you heard quiet footsteps behind you, freezing when you turned around.

Raising an eyebrow, you fought back a smile at the sight of Bucky holding the croissant jar against his chest, the container clearly empty.

"You liked my croissants" you stated as he scowled, putting the jar on the counter.

"They were okay" he muttered, glancing away as you held back a giggle, taking the jar to wash it.

"You uh... you like baking?" he asked awkwardly, grabbing a napkin to clean the grooves in his metal arm.

"Yeah... I think it's a little more calming than cooking" you replied after a moment, turning back around to lean against the counter, watching him.

"What." he snapped slightly, avoiding eye contact like a guilty child.

"I can't believe you actually liked the plum croissants" you laughed softly, a bright smile blooming across your face. Bucky didn't trust himself to look at you, at the sunshine you radiated.

Coming around the counter, you slid onto the stool next to him, observing his expression for a moment. Troubled.

"You don't like it when people take care of you?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Stop prying" he frowned, glancing quickly at you before meticulously focusing on one area of his arm.

"I'll take that as a yes" you hummed, yawning and stretching your arms above your head. "You know it's not a bad thing, people are just looking out for you"

He stayed silent, staring at his arm.

"Bucky?"

"I don't need your pity"

There was a strain in his voice, barely, but it was there.

"Bucky-"

"You're just a fucking chef, what would you know" came his biting reply.

"O-oh. Sorry, I didn't... um, it's late so I'm gonna go to bed" you whispered, the words cutting deeper than you'd like to admit. Sure, you were a chef but you also knew people. Knew how to connect with them.

Bucky watched as you hurried off, wondering why his words felt so wrong after he said it. He could almost feel the dimness of your light, like he sucked it out of you.

It was easy to say he hated himself for it.

It was a week later when you found a brown paper bag placed outside your door. You were oblivious to the pair of eyes watching you, wanting you to open it.

You reached out to get it, a familiar faint sweet smell reaching your nose. Opening it, you saw a somewhat attempted plum croissant and bit the inside of your cheek to stop a laugh.

You glanced around the hall before you spotted him lingering in a corner, watching your reaction. You stood there quietly, waiting for him to say something.

"I'm.... sorry... for lashing out" he finally said, shoulders slumping in defeat as he walked over to where you stood. "I'm not used to people being so insistent on caring about me or going out of their way to make... croissants"

"Thank you for the apology. And the croissant" you said, looking back down at the sad croissant before putting the bag down and wrapping your arms around him.

He paused for a moment, not used to the physical affection before wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. After a moment, he tilted his head down so that he could nuzzle his nose in your hair.

"Can you make some more croissants though?" came his muffled voice.

"Bucky!" you laughed, slapping his shoulder as he continued hugging you while walking you backwards to the kitchen.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading. This chapter contains violence and sexual content.

FIVE SEVEN

SIX (+18)

A few days later, after several visits to the hospital pretending to be Steve Rogers' wife, he is finally being discharged today. His recovery has been remarkable; he no longer needs support for his arm, only a brace. Naturally, you came to pick him up from the hospital, ready for your last performance as his wife and to return his car that you've been using. Sure, you have your own car, but it doesn’t quite compare to Steve’s. As soon as you walk into the hospital, you spot your fake husband bidding farewell to the medical staff.

"My beautiful wife, light of my life. Come and thank these wonderful people with me for the excellent job they did taking care of my arm and ensuring I’ll never have financial stability again," Steve says playfully, as he bids farewell to a group of nurses escorting him to the hospital entrance. You laugh as you approach him, and he pulls you into an embrace. You nestle gently against his chest, placing his arm around your shoulder so he can lean on you for support.

"Your husband is a very kind man, we’re going to miss him; he has some great stories," one of the nurses says, sounding quite interested in Steve. You smile faintly, imagining the nonsense Steve must have shared while he was either drugged or simply bored.

"He really is great at telling stories. Thank you all for taking such good care of him, I don’t know what I’d do without my precious husband," you say, placing a lingering kiss on Rogers' cheek. He looks into your eyes, as if you were a forbidden fruit he longed to taste. After the goodbyes, you both head to the parking lot.

"Where did you leave your car?" Steve asks, his arm somehow still draped around you. You smile a bit sheepishly and point to his car, just ahead of where you stand.

"As your wife, I had to borrow something personal of yours, you know, to make it seem real," you explain, trying to justify yourself as you watch Steve pull away and rush to his car, checking it over to ensure everything’s intact.

"No one would’ve known that your car belongs exclusively to you, my dear fake wife. But since there’s no damage, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now hand over the keys," Steve says confidently, as if he's ready to drive. But you shake your head, denying him the keys.

"The doctor said yesterday that you need to rest your arm for the next few days, and that’s why I came to pick you up—to take you home. After this, I suggest you call a ride service, a taxi, or use public transport," you say, opening the passenger door for him. He gives you a reluctant look, clearly displeased with not driving. Yet something in your fierce gaze and impatient grunt convinces Steve to get into the car, and soon enough, feeling victorious, you get in as well. In no time, you’re driving toward Steve’s house.

"My house is nearby. You must be wondering how I'm already living in a place, considering I just got back to the city," Steve says, fidgeting with his fingers, his voice a little slurred as if still under the influence of painkillers. "I'm staying in Bucky's old place. He's probably furious that he can't go back there—it would’ve made a good hideout. Maybe that's why he shot me. Or maybe it was Natasha's idea." He mumbles some of his words, and you try to keep a neutral expression, knowing full well that he’s aware it was either one of them who shot him.

"How do you know it was one of them? It could've been anyone. And if you don’t mind me asking, who is Natasha?" Your award-worthy performance of feigned ignorance seems almost convincing even to yourself. You watch as Steve stops fiddling with his fingers—despite the brace—and looks at you, as if carefully considering his response. He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking.

"As for the shot, you already know. Even when I’m not all here, I can still tell when you're lying. But Natasha... she was Bucky’s partner before he started working with the wrong people. They had a pretty close partnership, you could say. It was the first time in years I thought Bucky could actually have a healthy relationship with someone. They loved avoiding unnecessary emotions, obsessed with fieldwork, and even today, they’re both still great marksmen."

Steve pauses, his frustration palpable, and continues, "Their partnership ended when Bucky took on an undercover mission that was too dangerous for Romanoff. She didn’t want to lose herself in the disguise. I’m betting he ran straight to her for help, and that pisses me off. He could’ve come to me—I would’ve helped him. Now it’s my job to bring him in for questioning." His frustration boils over as he bangs his braced arm against the car's dashboard, letting out a grunt. You can’t quite tell if it’s the pain or the possibility of a scratch on the car that bothers him more. As he speaks, you finally start piecing together the puzzle of Barnes' past life and who Natasha is to him, though only on a surface level.

"Surely he must have had a good reason for not reaching out to you. As for him being your possible shooter, it seems foolish to believe there's any justification for him to have put your well-being at risk. Maybe he’s no longer your best friend; perhaps he’s just a reckless man." You speak, carefully holding back your true thoughts. This might be the perfect moment to reveal everything you know to Steve Rogers, to make it clear that you’re aware of much more than you let on. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. You feel like a pathetic fool, unwilling to risk your crush being put in jeopardy.

"You two had a fight while I was in the hospital, didn’t you? Your words are so sincere; you must really believe Bucky is an idiot for shooting me. Well, know that he isn’t. The shot was practically perfect, it didn’t do much damage. He’s just trying to keep me away. But he’s not a cruel or reckless man." Steve says, looking at you as if searching for a reaction that confirms his suspicions. You park the car in front of the address Steve gave you and lean closer after unbuckling your seatbelt, then do the same for him.

"Mr. Rogers, understand once and for all that your friend and I have nothing. Why would a man with such a dangerous life want anything to do with a mere bakery owner? It doesn’t make sense. But I hope things get clarified between you two soon. Now let me help you to your house, and then we’ll part ways and never see each other again," you say, locking eyes with him as you undo his seatbelt.

Steve's face, which was almost smiling, turns serious. "I want another date; our last one was definitely interrupted." He leans in slightly closer, your faces mere inches apart. You’re taken by surprise, trying to fathom what Steve could possibly want from you now.

"Let's get inside your house quickly; the painkillers must be talking for you. In case you don't remember, your only interest in me is to know about your Bucky, nothing to do with wanting my company," you say firmly, noticing him staring at your lips as he contemplates his response.

"That was before you saved my life. Now my interest in you is personal. I promise to try not to expose your lies on this second date. How about I pick you up in a week when my doctor says I can start putting effort into my arm again?" Steve replies, a hint of determination in his eyes.

"You just said that whoever shot you didn't intend to kill you, Mr. Rogers. I merely took you to a hospital," you say as you exit the car, then open the passenger door and lean toward him. "And I don't understand the need for your arm's recovery. Now, put your arm around my neck, and let's go inside; it's getting cold out here." It really is getting colder since you left the hospital. He leans on you, remaining silent, likely fearing that you might let go if you get annoyed or uncomfortable with something he says. It’s only when you both enter his house with some difficulty, and you lay him down on his large, comfortable sofa, that he grabs your hand before you can step away.

“I need my good arm to be free so I can give you all the fun and pleasure a real date with me could offer. Give me that chance, and I promise I won’t bother you again,” Steve says, smiling as he looks up at you.

You contemplate his face for a few moments, considering whether you truly want to go on a date with Steve. Gently, you caress his hand before moving it away from your arm.

"Next week, make that proposal to me again—with your arm fully recovered. Let’s see what my answer will be then. For now, I'm going home. Take care of yourself, Mr. Rogers," you say as you watch him give you a victorious smile. Before leaving Steve’s house, you place his car keys on the kitchen counter.

As you hear him shout a "See you next week," you take a rideshare back to your apartment, eager to rest. However, upon arriving at your door, a sense of alertness washes over you. Given the recent events, you had decided to keep a can of pepper spray in your bag for self-defense. If some thug were to try to rummage through your things or rob you, they would certainly regret it. Without hesitation, you slowly open the door and spray pepper spray at the first figure you see in front of you. Barnes lets out a grunt of pain, murmuring "fuck, fuck, fuck" repeatedly as he covers his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? This stuff got in my eyes!” Barnes growls, writhing as he tries to rub the pepper spray out. Without hesitation, you rush to the kitchen, grabbing cold water and a cloth.

“Hold still, I’m trying to help,” you say, but he pulls back sharply, resisting your touch. Your patience snaps. Pushing him against the counter, you press your body firmly against his, taking control of the situation. You pull his hands away from his face with swift determination and begin gently wiping his eyes with the cold, damp cloth. As you carefully clean the remaining spray, his tense frame finally stills, allowing you to tend to him without further protest.

"Apparently, you must have suffered some kind of brain damage if you think trying to shoot me compares to me simply defending myself from an intruder. We're nowhere near being even, Barnes." You place the cloth down on the kitchen counter and turn to take in your apartment. Bucky had brought a bouquet of roses, most likely as a peace offering.

"I missed having you around, even when it feels like you want to hit me," Barnes says, his gaze fixed on you. You immediately turn to face him. You so dearly wish to trust his words, but lately, it seems as though he’s been toying with you.

"There’s no need to come at me with your charm, trying to use me again. I have no intention of continuing to be manipulated by you," you say with firm resolve, attempting to distance yourself from Bucky, though you don’t truly wish to. Yet, he pulls you closer, pressing you against the kitchen counter before lifting you onto it. He positions himself before you, standing between your legs. You lock eyes, both wearing expressions of seriousness.

"As if much evidence were needed to reach that conclusion. You hid in my restaurant because you had likely already noticed my little crush on you. Then, you must have used me to provoke your partner, with whom you had a relationship—so much so that she thought it necessary to nearly shoot me. And finally, you are using me to distract Steve. It's all clear now: I’m just a simple woman you decided to manipulate because I’m naïve enough." You spill your conclusions, struggling to contain the sadness welling within you. He shakes his head as if to deny everything, his body language betraying his discomfort under the weight of your accusations.

"You must think I’m a monster. If you believe I’m manipulating you because you’re an easy target, you’re sorely mistaken. You simply fail to see what’s right in front of you," he says, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. He is clearly irritated, yet there is a hint of sadness in his expression. "The day we met, you asked me how my day was going. I told you I was having a tough day. You said everything could be fixed with a cup of coffee and then handed me one. I sipped your bitter coffee and told you it was delicious. Do you know why? Your eyes—they told me you were worth the effort of pretending to enjoy it. I don’t live near your bakery; I was there while working undercover, and even then, I used my real last name because I didn’t want to lie to you. I fought against the urge to ask you out for months because I knew I would have to deceive you. But I returned almost every day to your bakery because I wanted to see you. To drink your bitter coffee and taste your new recipes. Because seeing you made me feel normal," he confesses, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt, realizing you may have crossed a line.

"I want to say that I don’t trust a word of what you’ve said, but the truth is, even if you’re using me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And if my accusations have offended you, I apologize. It’s just that you’re not sincere with me. You didn’t tell me about Natasha, and I…" You pause, contemplating your next words. Should you admit that you feel somewhat jealous? Or that you’re considering accepting a date with his best friend? At this moment, everything feels so confusing to you.

"You’ve drawn your own conclusions. I don’t blame you, but I can’t reveal more than what you already know. So, in the end, you’re right to conclude that I’m using you. What other justification could there be for all of this, right?" Bucky’s expression and tone reflect a certain weight, a gravity that hangs in the air. It’s amusing how you find yourselves engaged in this relationship discussion that doesn’t truly exist, all while so close to one another. He continues to occupy the space between your legs, positioned right beside your body, as if holding you in place. The question remains: do you want him to step back?

"If that is all you have to say, then you had best leave," you reply, unsettled by the casual way he speaks, as though he isn’t erecting a wall between you. Yet, instead of stepping away, he draws closer, a tension growing between you that had not fully existed before. His hands gently cup your face, and you close your eyes, trying your best not to give in just yet.

"Do you truly want me to leave?" Barnes asks, his fingers brushing over your cheeks, then tracing your lips. You open your eyes to meet his gaze—those blue eyes, the most beautiful you’ve ever seen, fixed intently on you. You shake your head no, still watching him, unable to look away.

"I want you to want me. But nothing suggests that we’ll cast aside reason and embrace this mutual attraction," you say softly, as though too shy to openly admit your desire for him.

"To hell with reason," Barnes replies, pulling you toward him. His lips, possessive, devour yours as though he were savoring your taste. You return the kiss, urging Barnes to press even closer to you. Your hands explore his body while he holds your face, deepening the kiss with fervor. Your hands trail down Barnes' back, when you reach his rear, you squeeze his ass. He lets out a drawn-out moan near your ear as he starts to reach for the opening in your pants. With impressive agility he manages to help you take off your pants while holding you closer to him.

"Fuck me on the couch, Barnes. I want a reminder of you every time that I sit on it," you say with your mouth still pressed against his. He immediately picks you up, carrying you to your couch. You let out a little laugh, as if you were getting nervous but at the same time excited. Which was true, she'd wanted to have this moment with him for so long her mind was almost exploding. Barnes leans you against the edge of the couch as if he wants to support you there to continue where you left off. You reach for the hem of his shirt, ripping it off his body immediately. He's definitely as ripped as you'd expect him to be. Gently, you begin to kiss his belly, from bottom to top. When you kiss near his neck, he holds your face; pulling you in for a kiss. A slow kiss, as your tongues find each other's rhythm. He only breaks the kiss when he realizes that you still have a lot of clothes on.

"I hope to make you have a pleasant memory of our time together," he kisses your neck as he removes the rest of his clothes and yours. When he lowers the strap of your bra, he places small kisses on your shoulder. While with one hand he opened the clasp of your bra, as it fell to the floor, he massaged your breast. His cold fingers made contact with the tip of her breast, pulling it lightly. Then he ended up grabbing the other breast while massaging the other. His warm tongue sucking your left breast while his cold fingers pinched your right breast. Between your moans and his grunts, you were being deliciously explored by Barnes.

"I want your cock, Bucky. Inside me, fucking me; I want to feel you," you say almost as if you were pleading. The smug smile Barnes gives you makes you almost regret what you said.

"Your wish is my command," Barnes says, stopping whatever he was doing and spreading your legs, positioning himself at the entrance to your pussy. "Tell me how much you need me, Y/N. Tell me what you want from me," Barnes whispers as he teases you by lightly thrusting his cock into your pussy. His fingers stimulating your entrance too, massaging your pussy that is already wet, by the feeling of almost having his dick there.

"I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, I want to feel you deep inside me," you say almost as a mumble. Your fingers scratch Barnes's six-pack, making him let out a groan. His eyes light up the moment he looks at you and finally, he penetrates you. His cock is completely inside you almost as if it were throbbing with pure lust. You let out a loud sigh, grabbing his bare ass with your hands. You help him with the movements, while he thrusts into you. The feeling of grabbing his ass while he puts his dick in you, it's almost divine. Your moans increase with each thrust of his, as you feel an explosion of pleasure take over you. At this moment it doesn't matter that your ass is hurting a little, that your back is in a almost uncomfortable position. The pleasure of being fucked by James Barnes is far greater than any momentary discomfort.

"Hold on to me, princess. My body is yours to do with as you please," Bucky speaks and you grab his neck, scratching him as you feel your orgasm form as Barnes continues to thrust his cock into you. As if he notices that you are about to cum, he starts thrusting more slowly, as if he wants to prolong the moment. You hold him close to you, nibbling on his ear and then kissing him. Finally you both come, almost in sync. You melt in his arms, not feeling strong enough to pull away from him.

"How about we take a bath together and then we can go to bed?" Bucky says while you don't even have the strength to answer him.You just nod your head and let him carry you to the bathroom.

You wake up in bed, uncertain whether what happened on the sofa was reality or merely a figment of your desire. Yet, your body confirms that you and Barnes truly slept together. But the other side of the bed is empty—he left while you were still asleep. Perhaps it’s for the best; this way, you won’t foster false hopes. Maybe it will hurt less if you pretend it was just a dream. You rise, though standing proves a bit difficult, and upon seeing the time, you rush to open the bakery. After a refreshing shower, you slip into a loose dress, tie up your hair, and hurry out to open your bakery.

But something feels off—you sense that someone is following you. Perhaps it's paranoia, yet the feeling lingers. Just before grabbing the keys to open the bakery, you turn around. It turns out you weren’t paranoid after all. A strange man, wearing a cap and dark sunglasses, stands right behind you. He pulls a knife and thrusts it into your stomach. The force of the blow causes you to stagger slightly as you lock eyes with him.

"Tell Barnes he can’t hide forever. Tell him Alexander Pierce sends his regards," the man sneers, twisting the knife deeper. "Hail, Hydra!" he exclaims before yanking the blade out of you and running off.

It feels as though your world has stopped, your life flashing before your eyes. All the times you wanted something but let it slip away, all the moments you couldn’t be who you were meant to be. The mistakes made, the victories earned. Your eyes grow heavy as you clutch the wound, feeling your blood spilling from you. Then, through the haze, you see a figure rushing toward you, and you recognize him instantly. A weak smile forms on your lips.

"I knew you'd be my hero," you whisper, as the strong arm of the man holds you steady. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you," is all you hear before you lose consciousness.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[ninikrumbs]

Sweets or my sweet?

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You were baking cupcakes but Bucky has other ideas with the batter.

Warnings: Bucky barnes (he is a warning), Fluff, slight nsfw, implied smut. 18+

Comment if I should write a part 2 😏 (iykyk) Also this in unedited so im sorry for the mistakes.

"Okay, this looks right!" I beamed, as I finally turned off the mixer. The smell of chocolate wafted throught the air after our baking session.

Spontaneously deciding to bake chocolate cupcakes were suprisingly a good idea.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist, one warm and one cold. While a strong chin rested on my shoulder, his light stubble brushing my cheek; making me giggle.

"Smells good, doll." Bucky commended, his deep, husky voice tickled my ear earning a light shiver from me.

I grabbed the spatula and leaned it towards his mouth. "Here, have a taste."

"Won't t that make me sick?"

I arched an eyebrow before saying, "I thought super soldiers dont get sick?"

"Touché."

He leaned in towards the spatula and took a small lick of the the batter. His throat bobbed as he swallwed it. "Wow, that is good."

His compliment made me grin in delight."I know right!"

I was about to start putting them into cupcake holders, before I noticed a small fleck of chocolate batter on the lower left side of Bucky's lips. Cometpalting to leave it there for others to see, but deciding againts it since he was such a good sous pastry chef today.

Turning in his arms to face him, "Buck, theres a bit of chocolate on you lips." I said, touching to my own lips, trying to show him where it was.

"Really, where?" I thought he was gonna use his hands to remove it, but he suddenly just started darting out his toungue in a silly effort to remove it.

"Is it gone?"

"No.." I said, covering my mouth with my hand, stifling a laugh.

He looked so ridiculous, his tongue has licked every side other than the place that actually has the stain. You'd think he was doing it on purpose. "Okay, stop stoop! I got it."

His lips formed into an adorable pout before leaning his face closer to me, warm breath hitting my face. I quickly glanced at him to see that he was watching me like a hawk. And it made such a simple mundane thing feel more intimate which made me purse my lips as my cheeks felt a bit warm.

Since the chocolate was already a little dry, I licked my thumb before gently swiping on his lower lip, effortlessly removing the chocolate. "There! that was-"

Before I could wipe my thumb somewhere, Bucky held my thumb in place with his metal hand as he sucked on it. I could feel his tongue going over my skin and it felt like my entire body was on fire. I inhaled a sharp breath, not sure whether to pull hand away or let him lick some other places that were currently callimg out his name.

He let out a satisfied groan, the sound echoing through my body. "If tasted good before, now its a fucking 5 star michelin restaurant."

His mouth lets go of my thumb with a pop as his steel blue eyes gazed at me with such a predatory gleam, it should make me feel terrified, instead it makes me rub my thighs together. Already feeling the wetness pool between them.

Strongs hands carresed up and down my waist to the curve of my hips, til it gave my ass a light squeeze that made me squeal.

He continued carresing my ass before he dipped his 2 fingers, one from each hand into my covered core, making me clutch on tightly to his biceps.

"I see my favorite meal is already ready for me." He whispered huskily into my ear.

"Bucky.. not here." I whimpered

A smug smile formed om Buckys face at my reaction. He grabbed the bowl of cupcake batter behind me and pulled me by the hand as he says, "Now lets go eat dessert with my favorite meal."

PART 2??

[buckets-and-trees]

Mob Bucky taking his chef to fancy restaurants around the globe, each time stating that your food tastes better (and sometimes saying he needs to chase the flavor of the eaten dish with something that never disappoints, so he spreads your thighs...)

You left this ask AGES AGO, my dear Eva, but it's been on the tip of my fingers for quite a while...

Collection: Devour Title: YEAST Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x female!Chef!Reader Word Count: 360 

Content Warnings: prelude to/implied female oral receiving

↠ Aspen's Ask Box | Masterlist | Field Guide to the Forest

“Well, now you’re delusional levels of wrong,” you laughed.

“I can’t be wrong, we're debating opinions, not facts,” he insisted, his face serious, but his tone playful.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you’ve traipsed us all around Europe taking me to places where I’ve eaten some of the most incredible food of my life, and yet any time I rave over anything, you’re determined to argue that my food is better.”

“Mhmm,” he smirked. His thumb brushed easily back and forth over the back of your hand as he held it in his lap.

“I do not bake,” you argued, having just eaten breakfast at a café with a gloriously abundant bakery selection of fresh breads and pastries. “And of the two of us, who’s actually a professional chef?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Maybe I’m just not satisfied until I get what I really want.”

Oh.

“James,” you whispered, glancing between him and up to the driver in the front of the sedan.

He hit a button and a privacy divider slid up between the front and back of the car, but he was already shifting to kneel between your legs before it was even up all the way, pushing your thighs apart and hitching the hem of your dress up. He planted his lips just inside your right knee, making a trail of slow, deliberate, heated kisses along the tender flesh of your thigh, his destination no question. He kept his eyes locked on yours. Your hand sought one of his again, and your fingers interlocked on your left thigh.

“Be as quiet or as loud as you want, I don’t care if he hears,” you knew he meant the driver, “just be a good girl and let me feast while I take you apart right here. I’m too impatient to wait until we’re back at the hotel.”

Once his tongue was finally fucking your dripping cunt, you did your best to keep from screaming, but you had no idea how much of your pleasure the driver heard. If he heard anything, he was smart enough to act as if he didn’t hear the mob boss draw two orgasms from his pretty little fiancé.

Read more of the Devour series.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[winterspiderpurrs]

Pastry Chef Peter Parker.

Catering to a Stark Gala event.

Sure there was a select menu, and Peter always delivered. But he had a simple dessert he thought would go better for the event. So after sneaking it around, and not added it to the bill. Peter set up a small station that he himself would run.

Not many come up to his station. Potts already gave him a look that said they would talk about this later. She wasn't going to cause a scene.

But it wasn't until James 'Bucky' Barnes-Stark showed up at his station with a smirk did more people actually show up.

" You got Potts all riled up doll."

" It's in the contract that substitutes could be used...plus I think this is perfect. Try one Mr. Barnes-Stark"

Peter turns, scoops out some coffee that he grinded before arriving to the event. Presses it down and starts the custom espresso machine he retrofitted. As the espresso pours into a cup, he gets a small bowl and scoops out some fresh Vanilla Gelato he made. Once the espresso shot was done, he poured it over the Gelato.

Sliding it over to Bucky, " Affogato al caffè for you Sir"

Bucky smirked, before getting a small spoon and taking a bite. His eyes widen a little bit before smiling. " Oh Tony is gonna love this..."

He then disappeared into the crowd with his dessert. Peter blinks but smiles. He was proud that his dessert was well received. Especially since it's the husband of Tony Stark.

But he didn't realize what he was getting into. Or how Bucky went to Tony and shared the dessert and talked about the cutey chef.

[thebrooklynnway]

Bucky’s wrapping up Clint’s latest ink when a captivating fragrance wafts through the air.

He knows that scent—the soft, subtle fragrance of spiced caramelized apples. It’s been ten years since he’s smelled it, ten years since walking away from it and starting a new life here in the Magic City.

** For the @fluffystevefest — prompt: party **

Title: Miami Nights [AO3 Link] Word Count: 3.3K Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Omega Verse, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Omega Steve Rogers, Tattoo Artist Bucky Barnes, Pastry Chef Steve rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Exes to Lovers, Pretty Boy Steve Rogers, Steve is Living His Best Life, So Was Bucky Then Steve Came Back, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Casual Sex Bucky Barnes Love Steve Rogers, and Steve Still Loves Him Too, Hopeful Ending, Steve Rogers’s Birthday

[mystictf]

City Lights & Warm Nights

Avengers x Reader (AU)

3.3k Words.

Days turn into weeks, and as the initial whirlwind of starting a new school begins to settle, you find yourself swept up into the lively rhythm of city life. With each passing day, you grow more comfortable at school, navigating the hallways with a growing sense of familiarity. Your new friends have become an integral part of your life, guiding you through this transition with laughter and warmth.

Afternoons often lead you back to the cosy corners of your favourite coffee shop - now affectionately dubbed “home base��� by Clint. Here, the aromas of brewed coffee and freshly baked pastries become synonymous with comfort and camaraderie. The barista even greets you by name now, a testament to how often you and your friends frequent this haven. Seated at your usual table by the window, you clutch a steaming mug of hot chocolate, listening as your friends tease each other about everything and nothing. The autumn leaves dance around outside, painting the city in hues of gold and red. “Alright, hypothetical question,” Sam announces as he leans back, crossing his arms with a mischievous smile. “If you could have any superpower, what would it be, and why?” “Oooh, tough one,” Wanda remarks, pretending to mull it over. “Probably teleportation. That way, I could avoid NYC traffic permanently.”

You laugh with the group as Clint quickly interjects, “Definitely the ability to pause time. Imagine all the extra sleep I could get in! Or pranking Bucky without him even knowing.” “Hey!” Bucky nudges Clint with a good-natured grin. “You already try to prank me daily, dude.” The conversation flows easily, your group tossing ideas and laughter around. These moments at the coffee shop, shared over steaming drinks and crumb-filled plates, slowly chip away at the walls you had unknowingly built around your heart after leaving your old home.

Another staple of your blossoming routine are the regular pizza nights. The mere mention of your group’s favourite pizzeria sends excitement buzzing. One crisp Friday evening, you and your friends spill out onto the street from the subway station, eagerly making your way to the buzzing pizza place a few blocks away. “I’m telling you, this place has the best slices you’ll ever have,” Steve insists, gesturing animatedly as you near your destination. “You’re hyping this up too much. What if it doesn’t live up to my very high expectations?” You tease, exaggerating a sceptical look. “You won’t be disappointed,” Bucky assures you, his eyes twinkling with confidence. “There oregano is chef’s kiss.” He mimes a kiss to the sky, drawing laughter from everyone. The pizzeria’s neon sign glows warmly, beckoning the group inside. The decor is simple, with chequered tablecloths and walls adorned with black-and-white photos of the city. The hum of conversation fills the air along with the mouthwatering aroma of dough and melted cheese. As soon as pizzas arrive, everyone dives in, and the next few moments are a blissful blur of flavours and laughter. Steve and Clint engage in a lighthearted debate over the merits of different toppings, while Natasha and Wanda roll their eyes playfully. “So, verdict?” Natasha prompts as you savour a gooey, cheesy bite. “This is definitely worth the hype,” you admit, grinning as Bucky and Steve exchanged triumphant high-fives.

Evenings at the pizza place becomes a cherished ritual, where stories are swapped, secrets are shared, and bonds are strengthened with every delicious bite. The conversations range from silly debates about the best pizza toppings to deeper discussions about dreams and aspirations. One evening, as you’re walking home with Bucky, he gestures to the sky, now a velvety canvas studded with city lights. “You settling in okay?” He asks, a note of genuine care in his voice. “More than okay,” you reply, feeling the truth in the words. “I really feel like I’m starting to find my place here. Thanks for being so welcoming.” “Hey, it helps that you’re awesome,” he says, a hint of a playful wink in his tone. “I’m glad you’ve joined our group. You’re like the missing piece we didn’t know we needed.” You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “I feel the same way.”

These warm, fun-filled afternoons and evenings create a patchwork of unforgettable memories, each one leaving an indelible mark on your heart. Whether sharing secret pizzas from hidden spots around town or diving into impromptu and passionate debates about superheroes in the coffee shop, each moment is woven into the fabric of your new life. You find solace and joy in these small adventures, the city gradually transforming from an unfamiliar maze into a vibrant backdrop for friendships that deepen with each passing day. They lighten the burden of homesickness, reminding you that, though you left a piece of your heart behind in your hometown, you’ve also gained something precious in return. New York, with its bustling streets and towering skyline, begins to feel less like a stranger and more like an ally in your journey of self-discovery.

One weekend, as Autumn deepens, Natasha suggests a day trip to Central Park. The idea is met with enthusiastic agreement, and soon you’re strolling through the park’s sprawling paths. The crisp air carries the scent of falling leaves, and the sound of laughter echoes as your group weaves through the sea of people enjoying the weekend. “Let’s rent a rowboat,” Wanda suggests, pointing toward the shimmering lake. Her eyes alight with excitement, and the idea is met with an enthusiastic chorus of agreement. You find yourselves drifting leisurely on the lake, the boat gently rocking amidst a backdrop of fiery red and golden trees. As you float, the conversation flows like the water around you - free, easy, and comforting. “Don’t fall overboard, Clint,” Steve jokes as Clint playfully rocks the boat, earning a collective protest that dissolves into laughter. “Central Park is beautiful,” you muse aloud, watching the New York City skyline peek through the trees, a reminder of the city’s constant pulse. “It’s one of my favourite spots,” Natasha admits, closing her eyes and tilting her face toward the sun. “There’s something peaceful about it, even when it’s filled with people.” Taking a moment to breathe it all in, you realise how much you’ve grown to cherish these friends and these moments. Each adventure, whether big or small, adds another layer to your experience, shaping your perspective and your time in New York.

As the day winds down, your group finds a cosy spot on a grassy knoll, sharing a picnic of sandwiches and snacks. The sun begins its descent, painting the sky with vibrant hues of pink and orange, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and gratitude. “This is perfect,” you say softly, and the others murmur in agreement, allowing the tranquil evening to envelop you. As you sit together, exchanging the last stories and plans for future adventures, you come to understand that New York is no longer the city you had to move to; it has become the backdrop for an unexpected new chapter filled with friendships and connections that make leaving not feel so much like losing, but rather like gaining something extraordinary. “Heads up,” Bucky suddenly warns, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before tossing a crumpled napkin across the circle. It lands in Clint’s lap, prompting another bout of laughter and friendly banter, a perfect capstone to an absolutely fulfilling day. These heartwarming moments help etch New York firmly into your heart. In this sprawling metropolis, among newfound friends, you’re no longer just passing through - you’re home.

As the weeks pass, the chilly nip of Autumn gives way to the first hints of winter. The vibrant tapestry of day-to-day life wraps around you, as familiar and comforting as the thick scarf you wear against the breeze. Among friendships that have warmed your transition to New York, your connection with Bucky has grown into something subtle yet undeniably special. In quieter moments, you begin to notice the lingering glances from Bucky - the way his eyes meet yours across the cafeteria table, or during those shared moments of laughter over hot chocolate at the coffee shop. There’s a gentle warmth in his gaze, one that hints at unspoken words and emotions.

During a particularly bright afternoon, with the sky clear and crisp overhead, you find yourself wandering through the school courtyard, joined by Steve and Bucky. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by shared jokes and the occasional interruption of passing students. Just as you pause near a large oak tree, Steve’s lips curl into a mischievous grin. He leans in toward Bucky, his voice low yet distinctively playful. “Dude, you’re staring again. Maybe you should just talk to her about how you feel.” Your heart skips a beat as you catch a glimpse of Bucky’s face - his usual confidence gives way to unexpected vulnerability. A flush creeps into his cheeks, and you pretend to examine something on your phone, giving him a moment to recover. “Shut it, Steve,” Bucky mutters, half embarrassed and half amused, though his eyes never stray far from yours. “I’m just… thinking.” Steve chuckles. “Thinking about how you’re going to ask her out right? Come on, dude, she’s amazing. What are you waiting for?” Bucky rolls his eyes but there’s a spark of something - perhaps reassurance - in his gaze. “Easier said than done. What if I mess it up?” He confesses, his voice just loud enough for you to overhear. Seizing the moment, Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Trust me, you won’t mess it up. Just be yourself. Everyone can see you two have a connection. She likes you, and if you need a distraction to break the ice, try discussing more culinary delicacies of New York. I’m sure there are a few you haven't argued about yet!” Bucky laughs, appreciating the humour. “Yeah, maybe that’ll work. Or I could still mess it up.” Steve nudges Bucky forward, a silent, supportive encouragement before they both catch up to you.

As the three of you resume your walk, the air around seems charged with possibility. Bucky draws a steadying breath, his mood lighter. As he catches your eyes, his gaze filled with newfound resolve. “Hey, Y/N, how about exploring that new bookstore you mentioned? We could grab a bite after.” Surprised yet pleased by the spontaneous invitation, your heart does a little flutter. “I’d love that,” you reply, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I’ve been wanting to check it out.” “Great! Let’s turn this into a little adventure,” he says, the confidence returning to his voice, his smile broadening. With plans set and the afternoon stretching invitingly before you, the walk through the courtyard feels like the first chapter of an unfolding story, one where all the treads slowly weave into something beautiful and unexpected. As the three of you continue with laughter and easy conversation, you can’t help but wonder what new stories and memories await. Though you’ve known Bucky as a friend, anticipation stirs at the prospect of discovering what lies beyond those shared moments - an adventure of its own, filled with vulnerability and potential, and all the wonderful nuances that come with the brave act of opening your heart.

As you, Bucky, and Steve make your way to the bookstore, the city buzzes around you, the crisp air filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts and the chatter of holiday shoppers. The anticipation in your chest is matched only by the excitement bubbling between you and Bucky. Occasionally, he brushes against your arm, and each time sends a spark of electricity through you, gratifying yet charged with unspoken potential. The bookstore comes into view, its fairy-tale exterior adorned with twinkling lights, inviting you inside. The cosy warmth envelops you as you step through the door, and the familiar scent of aged paper and warm coffee greets you, settling a reassuring calm in your heart. “Wow, this place is amazing,” you say, your eyes wide as you take in the rows of bookshelves that stretch towards the ceiling. Bucky glances around with an appreciative smile. “Yeah, it’s one of my favourite spots. They have the best selection. You’ll find anything from classics to obscure titles.”

As you browse the shelves, your fingers glide over the spines of the books, and you make spirited recommendations to each other, exchanging thoughts about stories that captivated you in the past. The love for literature shines in your eyes, and you both discuss your favourite authors and genres, drawing closer as your shared interests tie you together. “Alright, time for a challenge,” Bucky declares, a playful glint in his eyes. “Find a book you think embodies your personality and another that describes mine.” You laugh, intrigued by the challenge. “Deal! But you know I’m going to pick something incredibly obscure just to mess with you.” Bucky chuckles and playfully rolls his eyes. “Bring it on. Just remember, I’m not easily intimidated by literature.” The challenge creates a spirited dynamic between you, and you both dive headfirst into the task. You spot a colourful cover of a whimsical, thought-provoking novel and instinctively feel it screams “Bucky.” “Found it!” You call out, holding it up for him to see. “What about this one? It’s adventurous, light-hearted, and fun. Just like you.” He takes the book, flipping through the pages and grinning. “I’ll take it! This seems right. Now let’s see what you picked for yourself.”

After some searching, Bucky holds up a book with a deep, contemplative cover - an introspective piece about finding one’s place in the world. “It’s perfect! If you hadn’t picked this,” he says, “I would have been worried.” You laugh, your heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. “You know me too well already! But it’s fitting, isn’t it?” It feels as if the world has shrunk around you, leaving just the two of you in this moment. A shared connection exists in the keen understanding you have about one another. But just then, Steve appears at your side, a handful of random titles under his arm. “Alright, bookworms,” he interrupts, smirking. “I’ve got a treasure trove here. What’s everyone’s verdict?” You both laugh and check out the bizarre selections Steve has found - a mix of comedy and absurdity that showcases his light-hearted spirit. The atmosphere is infectious, filled with laughter and shared stories, your friendship blossoming into something more with every passing moment.

With the challenge complete, you migrate toward the cafe nestled at the back of the store, your arms full of carefully chosen books. You order coffee and pastries, the warmth of the drinks contrasting with the Autumn chill outside. Sitting at a small table, you feel a sense of peace wash over you as you share stories over bites of pastries, the conversations flowing seamlessly. “So, Y/N,” Steve says, suddenly grinning impishly, “do you know that Bucky here is quite the art connoisseur?” Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, and he shoots Steve a mock glare. “Seriously? I didn’t say anything about that!” “Oh, come on. You have to tell her about your secret dream to be an art critic!” Steve nudges, clearly enjoying Bucky’s embarrassment. “Art critic?” You ask, intrigued. “I didn’t know you had such hidden talents!” Bucky rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s nothing like that. I just appreciate good art. Sometimes, I… go to galleries on my own.” “See? That’s endearing,” you say, genuinely touched to learn this about him. “I’d love to check one out together someday.” Bucky’s expression softens, visible gratitude shining in his eyes. “I’d like that.”

As the afternoon begins to fade and the daylight outside dims, you find yourselves lingering over your plates and cups, conversations flowing like a soothing current. Bucky shifts slightly, his voice dropping to a more sincere pitch. “I’m really glad we did this. I’ve had so much fun.” “Me too,” you reply with a soft smile, feeling a warm flutter in your chest at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you both better. This place, the books, everything - it feels special.” Bucky leans forward, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. You’ve brought a lot of good vibes to our group. It’s nice seeing you fit in so seamlessly.” You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, grateful for his words. “Thank you, Bucky. That means a lot to me.” As you share lingering glances, the air around you seems to shift, thick with unspoken feelings. It’s a comforting silence, filled with the possibility of what might blossom between you. Bucky appears to be grappling with his thoughts, his gaze dropping momentarily before he meets your eyes again. Just then, Steve interrupts, breaking the tension, “Okay, mushy moment over! We’re here to support our friend - and I think Bucky needs to be reminded that he’s, well, not as smooth as he thinks he is!” You laugh, the lightness returning to the mood. Bucky shakes his head, playfully pushing back. “Thanks for that, Steve. Just what I needed - a confidence booster.” “Anytime, buddy. You know I’m here for you - even if it means embarrassing you a little,” Steve says, a broad grin on his face.

With your plates empty and spirits high, you’re all but ready to head out to explore more of the bookstore or the nearby streets when Bucky suddenly leans back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “Hey, Y/N, can I ask you something?” He starts, his voice turning serious. You nod, curiosity piqued, even as a small part of you tenses in anticipation. “Of course - what’s up?” “I was wondering… if you might want to hang out again sometime. Just us,” he says, his tone earnest, the slight hint of vulnerability surfacing as he searches your eyes for a response. Your heart races at his proposal. “I’d love that, Bucky.” You can’t help but smile brightly, and you notice his shoulders visibly relax, relief washing over his features. “Great,” he replies softly, almost as if he’s testing the weight of his own words. “Maybe we could hit up that art gallery I mentioned? Or I could cook for you sometime. My… speciality is pasta.” You laugh, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a comforting hug. “How about both? I’ll hold you to that pasta promise!” Bucky’s grin widens, and you feel an electrifying connection between you. “It’s a date then.”

You finish your drinks, and as you all rise to leave, excitement courses through you, mingling with the thrill possibility for what lies ahead. Outside, the city hums with life, the evening sky shrouded in hues of deep indigo and the sparkle of stars emerging as dusk settles around you. As you walk back to the subway station, the three of you share light banter, but a subtle undercurrent of anticipation lingers in the air, the tension between you and Bucky softening further with each step. You glance at him, catching his eye again, and this time, there’s a different kind of spark - a promise of potential and the beginning of something exciting. As you part ways with Steve just outside the station, you watch as he heads off, leaving you and Bucky on the corner, the city lights dancing around you both. “So…” Bucky starts, taking a small step closer, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. “I’m really glad Steve encouraged me to ask you out today. It’s nice not just having you as a friend, you know?” “Yeah, I feel that too,” you say, trying to control the flutter in your stomach. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. And it’s been great to see the layers behind your quiet charm.” Bucky chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck in that endearing way you’ve grown to find irresistible. “Well, if things keep going this way, I’ll have to work on showing you even more of what’s behind those layers.” “Deal.” You share an earnest smile, the city sparkling in the background as the moment hangs between you - full of potential and warmth, with the promise of adventure lying ahead. And as you step into the subway, your heart races at the thought of what this budding connection with Bucky could grow into, cementing your place not only in the bustling city but also within the bonds of friendship that are expanding into something beautifully unforeseen.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Just A Taste - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: chef Bucky, pastry chef OC, second-chance romance, grumpy x sunshine, office smut, 18+

word count: 12.9 k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1351680783-just-a-taste-olivia

Masterlist

“Steve,” Olivia sighed, her feet up on the coffee table. 

She was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off, swiping through Tinder and watching TV while drinking far too much wine. But Steve called her right as she sat down to unwind, begging for coverage at White Wolf.

“Look, I wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t desperate,” Steve replied. “This isn’t exactly an ideal scenario for you or Barnes, but Parker burned his hand.”

The mention of her ex-boyfriend made her chest clench. She was more than guilty of scrolling through his Instagram to see if he had started dating again. Outwardly, she told people she wanted him to see other people, but there was always a knot of desperation in her throat whenever she typed in his username. Followed by a sigh of relief when he was still single. 

She still loved him, but their obsessions with their jobs drove them apart. Olivia wanted to be friends, Bucky was the one who pushed her away. She left, it was what was best for everyone, even if it killed her. 

She hadn’t had any communication with Bucky since, other than him liking her Instagram posts. It was the tiniest olive branch, but she was always afraid to ask for more. 

“How?”

“Tripped and put his hand right down on a hot burner.” Olivia winced and audibly hissed. Steve chuckled. “He almost rivals you for biggest klutz of all time.”

Olivia frowned.

“You’re not exactly winning me over with compliments.”

She could hear him tapping his pen on the desk, the rhythm quick like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. 

“You know the restaurant inside and out and we need to be impressive tomorrow night.”

“Why, exactly?”

“Tony Stark.”

She almost threw up. He was the most ruthless food critic Olivia had ever read. Stark had the power to make restaurants explode in popularity or to shutter their doors- all it took was a single review of approximately 1,000 words. He was a god in the New York restaurant scene. 

“Please, Liv. We’re desperate.”

She sighed.

“And?”

“You’re the best,” Steve sighed somewhat dramatically.

She grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear, Rogers.”

“I’ll pay you double—”

“No, you—”

“No arguments! You’re too nice!”

“I haven’t even said yes yet!”

“Ah! Your voice went up a partial octave, that’s a yes!”

“It so is not!”

“So is! Be here at 2:00 for prep! Byeeeee!!”

“Steve!”

The line went dead and she couldn’t help but laugh before dread crept in. Bucky wasn’t going to be happy about this, but part of Olivia was hopeful that they could repair things. 

She hardly slept, was showered and pacing with her pastry kit and knife set by the door by 10 am, itching to get back into the kitchen she loved so much.

Excitement laced with apprehension, but she could be professional around Bucky and cooking for Tony Stark was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if Bucky shut her down, she knew they could work with each other in the kitchen like clockwork. In truth, she was most excited to see him at work again after so long. A master at his craft, there was nothing like seeing Bucky with a knife in his hand.

Before she could get too hot and bothered thinking about it, she decided to just head out, getting an early start on dessert prep was never a bad thing.

The trip to the restaurant felt familiar, dangerously so. Olivia came to a halt in front of the big glass doors, gaze running the length of the steps to the classy wooden reception desk; her hands fled to the straps of her tote bag, gripping them tightly to ground herself.

Next to the desk, tinkling with his phone, stood Steve. Hair combed neatly, white chef’s uniform on. He furrowed his brows before flickering his eyes up as if he was sensing Olivia standing there and staring at him like she just saw a ghost. 

He smiled then, a calming curl of his lips that allowed her to breathe out and open the door, stepping inside with purpose despite how shaky she felt.

“Lookin’ good, Rogers,” she said coolly, heart hammering away under her playful tone. “The beard is new!”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, smirking, and slipped his phone into his uniform’s pocket. 

“And so is my phone,” he sighed, snaking an arm on her shoulder in a half-hug. “I’m having trouble understanding how to set it up. Peter was supposed to help me, but y’know…”

''He took a trip to klutz-town and almost singed off his hand, I know. I can help you, old man.'' Olivia chuckled as she watched the blonde man's brows furrow. 

That man didn't look a day over 30 and he knew it.  ''I'm gonna set up in the back.'' She turned on her heels to walk into the state of the art kitchen, when Steve called after her. ''Make sure you don't end up strangling Barnes.'' 

''Can't promise you that, Rogers.''

The air around her lightened a bit, the walk through starting to feel like she was back home despite the ball of nerves that had settled at the pit of her stomach at the anticipation of the rush that awaited them tonight. 

You’re the best in this town, Liv. She whispered to herself as she stopped just short of the traffic door and released the tight grip she had on her tote. She smoothed down her coat and squared her shoulders before pushing the door open with a tap of her toes. 

Her eyes followed the sound of soft chopping against a board. With an hour to 2 left on the clock, the kitchen was still, quiet except for the low whistles of the over 6-foot-tall man who stood at the helm of the White Wolf.

Olivia had always loved the dark, stormy shade of blue that formed in his eyes when he was angry, and despite her nerves and regret, tonight was no different. They were hypnotizing. His hair was longer, a few stray chunks falling from the bun he had pulled it into before starting his exhausting shift. 

The kitchen stilled as she came into his view and the silence that fell around them was deafening. 

"No," the word left Bucky's lips, dragging her eyes down to his tense jaw. The muscles in his neck flexed as he let the knife fall to the board, he floated around her like he was afraid to touch her and pushed out into the empty front of the restaurant.  "Anyone else Steve."

Olive sighed, turning around and following the sound of Bucky's voice back to where Steve stood, trying to calm a furious Buck.

"Buck–" Steve rolled his eyes at the broad man storming into the office. 

"I'm sorry, Liv. Just... set up and I'll talk to him." 

Her heart was heavy as she nodded. Watching a tired Steve follow the man that was and still is the one her heart desired, even if he was mad at her for being here. The little whiff she caught of his cologne was enough to feel the longing knock on her heart's door.

Back in the kitchen, Olivia emptied her tote. Unfurling her knives and pulling out her apron. Peter kept the station immaculate but then Bucky wouldn’t have his kitchen any other way, she knew that. 

A glance around the space told her that he still ran the place like a sergeant would his unit and a wave of nostalgia for the place suddenly hit even as she stood in the centre of it. 

A flashback of hard-ass Chef Barnes, critiquing a sauce and then the sudden warmth of him as he’d slide up behind her and whisper something a tad too rude for his professional critique just to make her giggle. 

She could almost feel it again, the shadow of his broad frame — until someone cleared their throat and she turned to see him, jaw set and eyes hard. His tattoos were peaking out from the sleeves of his chef's jacket, the white starchy material strained over his arms as he crossed them in front of himself. 

“You can stay,” he murmured and Olivia glanced up to see a pout on his lips, “just don’t get in the way.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, if it was relieved or not she couldn’t say. Returning her gaze to her station, she glared at the mixing bowl like it was all its fault. “We have a big night ahead.”

Okay, conversation, she thought sheepishly. Let’s start small.

“Mh-hm,” he simply hummed back, stalking to his previous spot and resuming his task. No indication whatsoever that he wanted to grace her with the sound of his voice.

The air felt so thick Olivia had actual trouble remembering what the hell she was supposed to do, opting to try and keep her breath even for just a second. She puffed her cheeks with air, somehow feeling guilty about being there even if Steve coerced her by flattering her and dropping the name every chef in town was scared about.

The doors flew open, almost knocking her off her feet from how harshly the noise pulled her out of her mind. 

“Am I travelling back in time?” A voice boomed dramatically from the threshold, an amused pitch to it Olivia would recognize everywhere. Thank god.

“Did Steve even tell someone I was coming tonight?” She chuckled, glancing above her shoulder to find a smirking Sam standing with his arms folded across his chest.

''He got a new phone and apparently texting is a thing he doesn't know about yet.'' Olivia snapped her head to the snickering Bucky who was checking on the oven, the muscles in his back playing along with the movement. She remembered the way those muscles and the heat of his skin felt beneath her palms, don't you dare even go there. She shook her head from the thought, gripping the edge of the mixing bowl to ground herself. 

As she heard the sound of more kitchen staff making their way through the restaurant she walked over to Sam, throwing an arm across his shoulders as she fell into his open arms. 

“It’s good to see you Sammy,” she whispered. 

He tightened his grip on her and nodded, “You taught the kid well but we’ve missed you in here Livvy.” 

They both pulled back from the hug and Olivia looked at him, a tight-lipped smile on her face as her heart squeezed in her chest. 

“I said we,” he reiterated, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you keep at it, I need to set up too.” 

She nodded sharply and quickly turned to head over to the pantry to grab hold of all the dry ingredients to begin preparing her desserts. Mumbling beneath her breath what she needed she walked into the pantry without looking and crashed into someone making their way out. A strong hand grabbed hold of her waist as she bounced back on impact, a huff leaving her lips.

“Head up,” he grumbled, letting go of her as quickly as he had reached out. 

Olivia froze as he stepped back from her leaving her feeling like she had done something unforgivable. And maybe she had at some point, stepped in the wrong direction, left him behind. But he had been pulling away long before she had the chance to tighten her grip. 

She had just been the first to cut the strings that threatened to hang them. 

“Sorry chef,” she nodded, swallowing the half-baked apology that rose in her throat.

The crease between Bucky's brows had gotten deeper since she last saw him. Those ocean blue eyes were dark, cascading over every part of her face, and for a split second, he let his guard down, revealing pain despite the scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. She remembered what Sam said:

We missed you.

A tidal wave of emotion threatened to knock her over and her knees locked. Bucky’s tattooed fist clenched at his side. 

“I told you not to get in the way.”

“I said I was sorry, chef,” she repeated, her face bright pink with humiliation. “It was an accident.”

Over Bucky’s shoulder, Sam was watching them. The weight of his eyes was nearly crushing. In fact, most of the kitchen was watching them, waiting for something to explode.

“This is a big night for me.” Bucky’s tone was measured. “And it’s not exactly starting the way I wanted it to. Don’t screw this up for me, Olivia.”

The use of her full first name felt like a gut punch. With a grunt, he turned and headed back toward his station while Olivia turned her back to the pantry and took a deep breath. 

“Don’t let him get to you,” she whispered as she grabbed what she needed. “It’s one night, and you can cry later.”

She took a deep inhale of breath, slowly counting to five as she let it out before she continued. 

When her arms were full, Olivia straightened and prepared to walk back to her station, avoiding everyone's eyes because she could feel them all. Knowing it was better to look ridiculous and carry everything in one go then have to make a trip back to the pantry and be at risk of pissing off Bucky even more. 

She reached her station with measured steps and dropped everything with a loud thunk. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't disturbed anyone, her eyes caught Barnes' gaze focused on her before returning back to prepping and chopping and leaving her to curse internally at the heat flooding her face.

It was fine, everything was fine. Lemon tarte was on the menu for dessert. It was her specialty, so much so that when she was an in-house pastry chef, Bucky used to write Liv’s Lemon Lovely on the whiteboard in the kitchen and draw hearts around it like the sap he was. Tonight it just said Lemon Tarte w/ citrus and ginger crust — straight to the point. 

Olivia sighed and washed her hands, up to her wrists, in between her fingers until her palms squeaked. 

And then she set about prepping. Lemons first, enough zested for both the pastry cases and filling and it soon became second nature as she scraped fruit after fruit over the zester and then— 

“Shit!” 

Blood pooled instantly on the tip of her finger as she caught it on the blade and she squeezed it tight to try and stop the flow. 

Just what she needed.

What the hell was even happening? Olivia was extremely skilled, one of the best in the field, and she earned every right to be in that kitchen by breaking her back hours a day for years— and Bucky had been there to witness the whole damn time. He was being an ass, preaching about not standing in his way, but what about Olivia’s? What about knowing well enough how she could get in her head, how dangerous it would be for his restaurant to push her like that?

Maybe he just forgot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry chef,” she didn’t even raise her eyes to meet his cursed blue pits, because if his hoarse voice was any indication of the look on his face, Olivia was going to stop breathing altogether. “I’m gonna clean this cut up and be right back at it. No worries, everything’s under control.”

Before she could spin on her heels and stalk to the first-aid kit conveniently hanging in the far corner of the kitchen, right before the small hallway that connected the space with Bucky’s office, he grabbed her wrist. 

“Let me see.”

Slowly she held out her hand. He looked at her waiting for inaudible permission to touch her. His brows furrowed as he lightly turned her hand to inspect the injury. 

"Looks like you micro planed a few layers of your skin. Let me clean this off and put a bandaid on it." 

"I can do it myself, James." Olivia tried to sound tough while the juice of the lemon was penetrating her wound, making it burn.

"Always the tough guy, Liv."

She watched him closely as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a navy handkerchief with JBB embroidered in the corner in gold string. Another pang shot through her chest when she saw it, that had been a part of the gift she gave him when he and Steve signed the lease for the space the White Wolf now stood. 

He pressed it to her finger with a gentle hand and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Olivia's breath caught in her throat as his eyes met hers, the strained look in them letting her see that he hadn't even noticed what he grabbed until it was already too late. He swallowed thickly and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, "Keep pressure on that and follow me." His voice was stern once more as let go of her hand and reached for the Microplane laying on the table.

“Bucky, I'm fine,” she chuckled nervously as everyone seemed to stop in their tracks. “This is kind of my M.O., remember?”

The only thing she heard was an exasperated sigh as he led her toward his office pulling the first aid kit from its place on the wall along the way.

“This ain’t a goddamn movie, kids!” He shouted to the rest of the kitchen in his thick Brooklyn accent. “Keep prepping!” 

Olivia lingered near the doorframe, not wanting to come inside. The office hadn’t changed at all. On the desk was a picture of him, Steve, and her on the day they opened the restaurant. She was Bucky’s first hire. Even though they’d broken up, there were remnants of her all over this place. Bucky sighed and his massive body covered the picture as he grabbed a bandaid.

“I can't help you if you don't come here," he grumbled.

“I said I'm fine. I don’t need—“

His jaw ticked and he turned to her, eyes blazing. She could almost feel soft pops of electricity on her skin as his eyes dug into hers. Whenever Bucky looked at her, it felt like he could see everything, and right now, the only thing she wanted to do was run.

“Olivia, I’m in charge tonight. Come here and let me help you for Christ’s sake.”

With trembling legs, she took the small six steps toward the desk and stood in front of him. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he took the handkerchief away and examined the wound before wrapping a bandage around it. 

“You’ll live,” he whispered. 

“Was that a joke, Barnes?”

The moment the words slipped out, she bit her lip and winced. Bucky glanced back up at her, eyes icy.

“I— I mean, thank you, chef," she stammered.

Olivia didn't miss the flash of mischief in his eyes at her response, something remaining of the carefree man who just wanted to do what he loved every day with his best friends. She watched his hands as he crumpled up the bandage wrapper, tossing it over his shoulder into the trash. A perfect shot, of course, Olivia thought to herself. 

"You workin' anywhere new?" 

The barely audible question made her gaze snap up to his but he wasn't staring at her, just the space between them. A few strands of hair fell onto his forehead and her fingers suddenly itched to push them away like she used to. The reminder made Olivia's chest flare with heat.

"Interesting question from a man whose last words to me were "do what you want, I don't care"," Olivia remarked, crossing her arms in front of her. 

Bucky pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. Olivia just wanted to see one part of him, one still gaping wound, that regretted any of the things he had said to her, or the kitchen he wrecked the last time they fought. The stress in those days built into something unbearable and their relationship was the first to crumble under the weight. Instead of waiting for his response, Olivia turned on her heel and pushed the door of the office open much wider than was necessary. Her finger throbbed with the motion but at that point, she felt like she deserved it. Just another reminder of how being around James "Bucky" Barnes would only bring her pain.

Back at her station, she cleared the contaminated lemon zest in silence and made a swift journey to the pantry for more lemons, avoiding eyes and tuning out the rest of the kitchen. 

They still had a little while til service started, enough time to start over. Both with her dessert and maybe Bucky. He used to ease up a little once service was underway, helping out where needed and actually smiling. 

“He’s been miserable without you, y’know. Parker doesn’t giggle like you do.” 

Sam stood beside her, offering a cup of iced lemon water. 

“It’s not 5 o’clock yet, Sammy,” she chuckled, sparing him a sideways glance. 

“It’s water and you know it,” Sam grinned as she took it from him, gulping it back with a blissed out sigh. “And I mean it, Steve has had to reel him in a few times when things get heated back here.”

"As much as I'm sorry for you guys, being miserable and lashing out is his choice." Olivia got to work on the lemons again. 

"I know. I know. But I can't help to notice the way his focus has changed ever since you came here today. The stolen glances he makes, trying to not get caught staring at you. Not on my watch, Buckeroo." 

"Sam," Olivia said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Livvy. I just wish my best friend would smile more since you were the light of his life." Sam looked kind of defeated. 

"Well, sometimes a light can dim until it goes out completely."

"Change the bulb," Sam knocked her gently with his elbow, "flick the breaker, have you tried turning it on and off again?" He joked. 

"You've been spending too much time with that Parker kid, he's making you crazy," Liv shook her head and turned back to steal a glance at Bucky but found him leaning over the metal counter staring at her while the pan behind him smoked. 

"You're on fire," she said plainly and loud enough for him to hear her. He doesn't move, he just holds his glare leaving Liv to say, "Not you, your chicken." 

Finally, Bucky turned to look at the pan, swearing at himself as he went. "Like a moth to the flame," Sam chuckled and floated away from her.

Olivia continued to whip up the lemon tarte, moving with grace and ease like it was the most natural thing in the world. She caught Bucky walking past her with the still flaming pan— the only reason she knew it was him was because she could see the flames and smoke in her peripherals. She had to focus. She was notorious for being a klutz in the kitchen when she was nervous, and right now, Barnes made her feel like she was in the goddamn military.

She could feel him stop for a second, and the weight of that gaze on her, watching her work just like he used to. Olivia looked up just in time to see him heading for the dish pit. She heard a clatter and more swearing as she turned her focus back to the dessert.

“I think you’re making him nervous,” a voice announced. She glanced up to see Steve grinning at her. “He’s turning into you.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Olivia giggled. “He’ll lose his mind.” “He's all talk, you know. He really does miss--”

“Rogers! Get back to your station!” Bucky barked.

Steve turned and gave his best friend a mocking salute.

“Yes, Sir, Sergeant Barnes!” He winked at Olivia. “Good to have you back, Liv.”

“I’m not back!” She called as he walked away.

“Damn right you’re not,” Bucky grumbled as he stomped back to prep another chicken.

"Oh shut up, Buck, you know you love it!" Sam hollered across the now-bustling kitchen. 

"You know what I would love, Wilson? If you could add some balsamic to those fucking dry-ass green beans," Bucky shot back, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he seasoned the pan. 

Olivia bit her cheek to hide her smile, catching Sam's raised eyebrow through the stainless steel rack. He grabbed a whisk before sliding across the tile, barely missing Kate, one of the new prep chefs. 

"Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven...I need some lovin'" Sam crooned into the utensil, eyes closed dramatically as snickers erupted throughout the kitchen. "And baby, I can't hold it much longer" 

"Marvin Gaye, Sam? Really?" Bucky said with a shake of his head, jaw flexing as he attempted not to grin. 

"Why you gotta say it like that?" Sam whined. "Who doesn't like Marvin Gaye?" 

"I love Marvin Gaye, Sam!" Olivia shouted, catching Bucky's annoyed eye roll before he turned back to his pan. 

Sam sauntered over, grabbing Olivia's hand and making her giggle as he spun her in a slow circle, still singing. Olivia glanced up to see Bucky watching them intently, a different kind of look on his face, one that actually made her think he really missed her just a little.

It seemed the moment was too good to be true though, the slight twitch upwards of Bucky’s lips and softening of his eyes gone not even a second later. 

Was it because Olivia may have caught her foot on Sam’s and stumbled just a little? Maybe. But old Bucky would have at least chuckled at that, swooped in to steady her before murmuring a soft ‘what am I gonna do with you, my love?’ as he pressed a kiss into her hair. 

This time though, he shook his head and bore his steely glare into Sam. 

“Real smart dancin’ in a working kitchen, Wilson. Get back to work.” 

“See! Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Sam shrugged, nudging Olivia before returning to vegetable prep. 

She stole one last look at Bucky before turning back to her station. Watching him wipe his brow with a cloth from his shoulder, sweaty hair suddenly wild as it frizzed away from his face. 

She fought the urge to go over there and fix it.

Olivia rolled her shoulders with resolution, chin raised defiantly to no one in particular. And eventually, falling back into character became almost natural. Working in what used to be her kitchen, surrounded by the best wingmen ever known to mankind, everything made her stomach warm just enough to forget the anxiety the tiniest bit.

After all, she was doing the thing she loved the most. Nothing works as a better therapy than that. Even when the person you love the most is glaring at you at every given chance.

A couple of doughs of buttery crust were now staring at Olivia through their cocoons of plastic wrap, cool enough to be worked on, as she lined up small tart pans to put in the fridge and start on her lemon curd. Perfectly on time. Smiling to herself, she glanced at Steve who simply shook his head with a grin. 

“Whatcha laughing about, Rogers?” She called a snicker hidden beneath her tone as she pulled the wrap from one dough. “Mouth watering yet?”

Sam chuckled beside him. “We need to do a taste test, y’know?”

“A taste test,” Olivia laughed, breezy and amused despite herself. “Consider it done, boys. We gotta make sure Stark is pleased, don’t we?” 

“Just hide a couple of those, Boo. Or I’m gonna steal one when you’re not looking.” Sam replied, gaze flickering beside her for a second before Steve sucked his cheeks to keep himself from smirking.

“Make it three.”

And sure enough, Bucky’s grumble rang in her ears like an alarm. 

Keeping eye contact with Sam, gaining strength from Steve’s effort to not snort at his best friend's crankiness, she smirked, “Yes, sir.”

With a pastry bag filled with lemon curd, she piped the tarts and let them level out before sliding them in a neat line on her counter.

She saw Sam and Steve sneak behind her, approaching the tarts.

"Boys." she playfully scolded them.

"How did you notice? We were quieter than mice." Sam pouted as she swatted his hand away from the pastries.

"Y'all do realize you are both about 6 feet built like dump trucks, right?"

“Yeah, and we need to be fed!” He exclaimed, reaching out for one of the tarts.

Olivia slapped at his hand, earning herself a pained squawk.

“Leave them to set, you heathen. I won’t have my best work ruined by an over-eager man child.”

A subtle huff of laughter sounded from behind her and she turned just enough to catch the soft smile spread across Bucky’s face before he managed to wrangle it back into the grumpy expression that was his comfort zone.

“Ooooh!” Sam teased. “Was that laughter, Barnes? When did they program that into your brain?”

“Get fucked, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled as he turned back to his station.

“Been trying! But I spend too much time here!”

Olivia chuckled, continuing to work and make some extras for the kitchen. She knew that Bucky adored her lemon tarts. It was part of the reason why she decided to make them for tonight. She wanted to build a bridge. As she whipped up some more filling, the kitchen grew quiet and all she could hear was Sam humming Marvin Gaye.

“Wilson…”

“I can’t stop, Buck! The music’s got me!” Olivia looked up to see Sam doing a little wiggle at his station, knife in hand. 

She rolled her eyes and realized she needed to grab one more thing from the cooler, some fruit to put on top of the tarts. The cooler that was right next to Bucky’s station. Olivia decided to kill two birds with one stone and headed for it, opening the door. She turned to him with a smile.

“I’m making some extras for the staff after work.”

He grunted in response, flipping the meat on his pan while sweat gathered at his hairline. Her eyes drifted down to his tattooed forearms that flexed as he worked. She missed the way those arms held her against the bed, the wall… 

She cleared her throat and pretended to huff as she headed into the cooler, grateful for the cold air on her flushed face.

Leaning over, she reached down for a tray of already prepped blueberries, imagining how pretty they would look sprinkled with powdered sugar when the cooler door closed behind her. She snapped up, almost hitting her head on the shelf before turning around to face a very agitated Bucky. His cheeks were flushed and it made every freckle on his face stand out. 

"Um, you locked us in the cooler, Buck," she laughed shakily, nodding behind him. 

"It's a new door, has one of those stupid little buttons," Bucky gestured with one hand, the other coming up to brush his hair back with frustration. "Olivia..." 

"James," she replied, mocking the raspy gravel of his voice as he stared at her incredulously. 

"What do you want, Olivia?" Bucky nearly growled, frustration in every syllable. "Why did you tell Steve yes?" 

Her mouth dropped open in shock. The chill of the cooler was raising bumps on her arms, but she started to sweat regardless. 

"I told Steve yes because about three months ago, my asshole ex-boyfriend told me to fuck off and I've been unemployed ever since," she snarled, gesturing to Bucky with the tray of fruit. "Not that you even care. I came here to work, and right now you are keeping me from doing that."  

It was petty, but Olivia needed to say it. He broke her heart by choosing all of this over them. Bucky took two steps forward and suddenly the cold metal box he'd trapped her in seemed much much smaller.  His icy stare bore into her skin and warmth spread throughout her body at the sight of the flecks of grey in them. 

"Yeah, well I can't do my job because I can't stop watching you." 

The admission made Olivia almost break, drop the container she held and climb him like a tree in the middle of the cooler. His gaze flickered to her lips just as a knock sounded through the thick metal door. 

"Uh, y’all?" Sam's voice was almost scared. "I hate to break this up, but Stark's here and Steve looks like he's gonna cry."

Bucky groaned, closed his eyes tight and with his fist clenched, muttered an angry “fuck” to no one in particular. 

“We’ll be right there,” Olivia answered Sam, catching Bucky’s eye and silently asking if he was good to head back out there. 

When he inhaled sharply and breathed out on a count of five — something she’d make him do when things got a little too much — she knew the answer. 

“Good. Let’s go, chef.” 

“Liv,” Bucky started, catching her wrist as she pushed past him. Bewildered eyes stared down at her and for the first time, Olivia could see the toll this evening was taking on him. Knowing Bucky, he probably spent the last week staying late, working and reworking the menu until it was perfect.

“Later,” she replied and Bucky sighed. “This is one of the most important nights of your career, Bucky. I’m here to help you succeed and nothing else. If it helps, for now, pretend I’m not here.” 

“Easier said than done,” Bucky whispered, letting go of her wrist and running a hand over his forehead in an attempt to tame the flyaway hairs. 

Before Olivia could reply, Bucky was back out in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the start of service.

You could have cut through the tension with a knife back there. I can't stop watching you. 

The chaos of the kitchen swirled around her as Bucky began barking out orders and everyone fell in line. Steve looked particularly nervous as he put up the first appetizer for service, and they waited. Bucky tapped his foot against the floor and flipped his knife in his hand. He was dripping sweat, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their moment in the cooler.

She could have sworn she could see the longing in the piercing blue eyes of his; the same semblance of longing that he had when they shared a bed, when he pinned her against the wall, caging her in his warmth, in his desire. Every inch of her skin was worshipped by him. 

"Earth to Liv, Barnes is about to combust. Stark sent back the appetizer. Better you go into hiding before pans start flying,” Sam announced.

She heard those words and she knew. Hurrying over to the pass she saw Bucky, his arms braced against the stainless steel countertop, staring at the barely-touched plate of food that Stark had returned. His eyebrows were drawn into the deepest scowl she had ever seen and he was almost vibrating with tension.

Without even thinking Olivia reached out and laid a palm in the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, pressing gently, letting him know she was there without having to speak a word.

She held her breath, allowing him a moment to collect himself before she flexed her fingers slightly. The feeling of him leaning back into her hand, however subtle the movement may have been, made her heart soar. Turning his head a little, as if searching for her presence, he let out a deep sigh and then projected his voice to his kitchen.

“We’re gonna blow him away with the entrée people!” He announced.

Without thought and years of practice, Olivia fell into step beside him. Silently working together like they had so many times before she stretched the limits of her cooking knowledge, helping where she could but never hindering his movement or craftsmanship. Olivia had always been better at sweets, chocolate and pastry. Delicate hands and perfect math. Bucky was built for the chaos of a hot kitchen, he was born into wielding sharp knives and demanding attention. 

Olivia had missed watching him work, missed seeing the way his massive frame became like water as he moved in and out of bodies. There was nothing like the tidal wave Bucky Barnes became when he cooked. He finished the proteins, laying across a bed of vegetables and started in on the sauce. 

"There," she pointed as he cleaned the plate of any imperfections, "and that," she noted as he missed a small detail of sauce in his hurry. "It's perfect," she whispered, giving him the nudge of confidence he needed.

Bucky stared at the plate the way most people would stare at a complicated equation, searching for imperfections. He lived to beat himself up, and it was hard not to in this job. He demanded perfection out of everyone in his kitchen, but nobody was harder on Bucky Barnes than he was.

“You think so?” He asked as his throat bobbed and he turned to her, eyes aching for approval.

“I know so," she beamed.

He looked back at the plate with his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, still searching for an imperfection and finding nothing.

“We were a hell of a team.”

She couldn’t help herself, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm. His muscles twitched but he didn't move.

“Still are.”

“Buck, I need that plate!” Steve shouted.

He sucked in a breath and his mouth opened to protest, to buy more time - but Olivia grabbed it first.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” she whispered before handing Steve the entree. “Right here, chef!”

Steve beamed when he saw the plate perfectly laid out, colorful, and decadent. He glanced up at Bucky.

“This might be your finest work yet,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

As he walked away, Olivia reached out her hand, palm up while Steve passed the plate off to a server. Bucky slapped her palm and they did their dumb little handshake, wiggling their fingers together before they collapsed into laughter. She had missed this so much.

"Ooooooo, Bishop, you smell that?" Sam asked the dark haired girl to his right with a wide grin as Bucky and Olivia separated and returned to their respective stations. "Smells like...a reunion??" 

His eyebrows wiggled as Bucky walked by before dodging a slap from the man himself. 

"Dude," she replied, watching Bucky help another chef chop zucchini and squash with a deft hand. "I'm not answering that while he has a knife."

“I wouldn’t,” Olivia piped up with a chuckle as she passed them, hands full of two perfectly plated lemon tartes. She weaved her way through to the pass, calls of ‘behind’ as she rounded other kitchen workers. 

Bucky had left his station to see off a side order Stark had ordered last minute, a small plate of honey-glazed carrots and parsnips. They used to make them every Sunday lunch without fail and Olivia’s mouth watered a little as she caught the honey glistening under the heat lamp when one of the wait staff swiftly took them away. 

“How are we doing?” She asked Bucky, squeezing in close so she could whisper as she deposited the desserts. She followed his eye line to where Stark sat in the centre of the restaurant.

“I can’t tell and I hate this. The waiting, trying to figure out if he likes it or not.” 

“Everybody loves your food, ba- Bucky,” she replied softly, “you’re a genius with it, and don’t you dare deny it or you’ll have both me and Steve kicking your ass.” 

Bucky laughed, finally a full, face splitting grin and he pulled her under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I missed you, peach.”

Olivia's breath hitched in her throat, feeling his arm squeeze her into him just a touch but enough to be reminded of the hardness that was disguised under his chef's coat. She glanced up at him, the smile on his face quickly faded with the realization of what he had said and their closeness. 

"I--" she started before his arm dropped, cutting her off. She so badly wanted to tell him that she missed him too. That every day since she had left was filled with tiny reminders of them. Of him. 

Bucky huffed out a breath in frustration that lingered between them now and went back to preparing another dish. It took a moment for her legs to move and shift her back to her station. She glanced up watching him through the line of the other chefs, his shoulders were pinned back and his voice gruff shouting directions and demands. 

"That looked cozy," Sam said just loud enough for her to hear, nudging her with his elbow. 

"For all of five seconds before he realized he hates me again." She muttered, angrily rearranging blueberries and tiny leaves of mint on top of the small tarts. 

Sam chuckled, "Livvy, what he feels for you is far from hate."

Olivia shook her head and set the tarts aside before pulling a chocolate and raspberry cheesecake forwards. Peter had baked them the day before and she had to admit they looked fantastic.

She sliced the dessert into equal portions, her expert eye needing no measurements, and plated them up, adding fresh raspberries and raspberry coulis to the top. They’d be finished at the pass with whipped cream and a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

“You remade these from those miniature cheesecakes we had in Paris,” Bucky’s voice rumbled close to her ear. “I let Pete use the recipe.”

“You kept my recipes?” She asked, emotion gathering at the base of her throat.

“Of course, I did, Liv. They’re the best. Your name is still on the menu in the dessert section.” He turned to her and drew in a breath, and she could see his pulse thrumming in his throat. “You helped make this place what it is, it would be wrong of me to try to erase you from it completely.”

She smiled.

“Bucky, you didn’t have to—“

“Yes, I did. You helped build this place, Liv.” He shook his head as they continued to plate the desserts, working expertly. “I’m sorry I said that shit to you. I was angry and obsessed with the restaurant. I didn’t realize that I was losing you until you were walking out the door.”

There were tears in his eyes and Olivia put her hand between his shoulder blades, taking a deep breath. Bucky breathed with her.

“Why don’t we talk after service?” She asked.

He nodded.

“I’ve got a bottle of champagne in my office.”

“Well, you’d better put it on ice, because Tony Stark is smiling and devouring that entree.”

He turned to her, eyes misty as his large arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pressed a kiss against her temple. Her stomach flipped.

“You did this.”

She shook her head and gazed up at him.

“We did this.”

Nodding with a soft laugh, Bucky sniffed and shook his head. 

"Fuck," he murmured, almost in disbelief before pulling away and speaking with more volume to the kitchen, Olivia's hand still resting on his back. "Alright look, that asshole out there is lovin' it and we got one more course." 

He trotted off back into the fray, Olivia's face breaking out into a broad grin at the added spring in his step. Checking the plates for another table, he glanced at two of the servers before pointing at them. 

"And if either of you fuck up my girl's plate-" 

The servers nodded immediately in response, muttering "Yes, chef" under their breaths like they were part of the crew and not on the restaurant floor. With a snort, Olivia turned back in time to see Sam pass Steve a folded-up $100, a grin on the tall blonde's face.

“Did you plan this, Rogers?” Olivia asked with a tilt of her head, her lips betraying the tone of her voice as they curved into a smile. 

She expected Steve to deny it, but instead, he shrugged, his eyes soft as he glanced over Olivia’s shoulder to where Bucky was hovering over a dish. 

“I know you two,” he replied simply, “I’ve seen you fight and make up more times than I can count, and I saw a little piece of each of you turn to the shadows the moment you walked out that door. You just needed time, Livvy. Him more than you,” he added and Olivia suddenly felt Bucky behind her again, his large palm landing on her shoulder, warm and grounding like it always used to be. 

“You’re such a punk, Stevie,” he chuckled, kissing the top of Olivia’s head, “and stop distracting my pastry chef, I need her, uh, to… check the quality of some berries in the cooler.” 

“Smooth, chef!” Olivia heard Sam laugh as Bucky’s hand fell to the small of her back and he guided her away.

Olivia let him guide her. She opened the door stepping inside the cooler, his hand practically burning through her chef's jacket as the door clicked shut behind them. "There are no berries here, are there?" She chuckled, turning to him. 

The deep shade of blue in his eyes had brightened a little, the corners of his mouth turned up as he shook his head. "Do you remember opening night?" His voice had dropped low and raspy in a way that sent goosebumps up her spine and judging by the way his grin grew, he knew exactly how it affected her. 

"You mean when we got locked in here for ten minutes and Steve was convinced we did it on purpose?" She laughed, pushing away the nerves crawling up her neck. 

Bucky tilted his head back and chuckled, those small tendrils of hair falling and framing his face. "To be fair, finding us lip locked wasn't a convincing scene." 

Her bottom lip moved between her teeth as he took a step toward her, "I hate when you call it that." She rasped, the air in the room dissipating with each tiny movement he made toward her. She hadn't realized she was also moving until her back hit the cold metal shelving and his arms framed her in. 

"I should have never let you walk out that door," he almost groaned, his eyes raking over her face and landing on her lips. Bucky lifted his thumb, running it along her chin before tugging her lip from between her teeth, "when you walked through that door tonight," his voice trailed off. Her heart hammered in her chest as the warmth of his breath fanned across her face, "I really, really, need to kiss you." 

Her breath hitched again as her eyes flicked up to his own and she hadn't realized truly how much she had missed him until now, "so kiss me, Barnes." She breathed, anxiety ripping through her until a low growl left him and his lips crashed into hers, melting away every doubt she had about coming back tonight.

Olivia couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from her lips but he drank it down like the restaurant’s finest Barolo. 

Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, tangling with the short hairs that had escaped his hair tie, and pulled him even closer, until there wasn’t even space for baking parchment between them.

She kissed him back feverishly and the two of them stumbled until he had her pressed up against the shelf. Something clattered to the floor and she broke the kiss, laughing as he let out a pathetic whine and unbuttoned the top half of her chef’s jacket to get at her collarbones.

“Bucky, something fell.”

“Sweetheart, this whole restaurant could collapse on us and the only thing I’d care about is kissing you."

"You lie," she giggled. He cupped her face and kissed her again. She surrendered to him completely, feeling one hand reach down to squeeze her ass. “We still have to finish service.”

Bucky let out another pained whine. She missed every single second of this, and she was embarrassed to admit that whenever she let her mind wander, this was the thing she went back to. They had incredible chemistry. It was lust at first sight, and love not long after that. He was her partner, and Olivia didn’t realize how lonely she was until she saw him tonight. 

“I only need five minutes." 

She cackled as he sucked on her neck.

“Well, I need a lot more than that, baby.” 

This time, it wasn't a slip-up. He peppered her face with kisses and she couldn’t stop giggling, mussing up his hair despite the sweat and grease that lived in it. She liked it. It meant he was working hard.

“Baby?" He purred. "Are we finally getting somewhere?"

“Obviously," she rasped. "But we still need to talk."

“You’re right,” he breathed. “We should stop.”

“Agreed.”

But neither of them could. The second his mouth found hers again, she whimpered and hooked her leg around him.

It was the only sign he needed to ground his hips into her, pressing her between the shelf and his body until she could only think about him. The growing bulge in his pants turning Olivia's mind into mush as her hips moved like a wave over his, out of her control with his hand on her ass helping guide her.

She recalled every time they did this in the past. Stealing whatever time they could between working in the kitchen, stoking the flame until they could finally put it out at the end of the day and release all the tension. But she wanted to talk to him before they fell back into that rhythm again. 

They needed to survive this service first. 

Pulling back from his lips with a gasp, their eyes met and she was struck by how pretty his looked blazing down on her like that. For her. 

"We really should get back out there," she whispered against his lips, voice thick with desire. Peering up at his beautifully flushed face as he took a deep breath, Olivia felt his hand run down her leg in a gentle caress before lowering it to the ground and steadying her on her feet. 

"We should." He nodded. 

"We'll talk?" It came out as a question. Uncertainty swirled in her mind until he lifted her chin up to look into her eyes.

"We'll talk." He affirmed. His tone leaving no doubt.

"Sounds good," she murmured back with a soft smile, Bucky leaning down to press his forehead to hers. 

Olivia let a few moments pass, breathing in time with his as Bucky's fingers trailed the edge of her ribs with a featherlight touch. Without a word, she stepped around him and forced the door open. 

Bucky ran into her back with a small "oof" followed by a muttered "shit" when Olivia stopped about ten feet from the sarcastic expression of the man who they had been busting their ass to impress.

Olivia tried to subtly slide to the side as Tony Stark’s gaze flitted between them, an eyebrow raised before his mouth quirked in a way that could only be interpreted as a moment of understanding. 

Her efforts were in vain though, as Bucky’s hands anchored her to the spot in front of him. 

“Mr. Stark, I… uh— hi, I would have come to your table, sir.”

Bucky was rambling and Olivia could feel his fingers tapping on her shoulders as he tried to keep his cool. 

“Oh, I like to see backstage,” Tony replied like it was nothing. “The food is only half the story, Chef Barnes. It’s good to see where the magic happens.” 

Bucky’s breath hitched as Stark winked at them, eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“What, uh— how was your meal?” Bucky inquired. 

“Delicious… but I gotta say, that lemon tarte? Best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. And I’ve put a lot in my mouth.” 

Olivia couldn’t hide the giggle that burst from her, earning her a playful jab in the side from Bucky. 

“Is this your sweet dealer?” Tony asked, his gaze falling on her expectantly.

Olivia's eyes widened for a moment until Bucky's throat cleared above her, "This is Olivia Anderson the best Pastry Chef on this side of the Atlantic." He hummed, pride dripping from his voice. Tony's eyes flickered between the two of them before landing directly on her again. 

"Is that right?" His hands folded in front of him, pausing for a moment, "Well if it's not too much trouble I'd like to take a few of those tartes home." A sly grin spread across his cheeks, "inspiration for the article." His eyes finally peeled from her to pick off an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. Both of them frozen with whatever was coming next from the man in front of them. 

"Chef Barnes, I must say, aside from the appetizer hiccup, You've outdone yourself tonight." 

Bucky's body tensed behind her. "Th-Thank you, Mr. Stark, coming from you-" 

Tony waved his hand dismissively, "I don't need compliments, Barnes, you've already got yourself a shining review. Keep up the good work." 

Olivia finally glanced up to Bucky seeing the glossiness return to his eyes as his throat worked to swallow whatever lump was stuck there. "I'll have those Tartes waiting for you with Steve, sir."

“Perfect!” Tony called as he headed for the entrance. “I look forward to coming back!”

The entire kitchen stopped and before Olivia could wrap her arms around Bucky, Sam was hurdling toward him at breakneck speed, crashing into him and nearly knocking Bucky back into the cooler. The door slammed open and Bucky gripped the doorframe, trying to keep himself upright. 

“Wilson!” He roared. “Get off!”

“Shut up, you idiot! Let me love you!”

Olivia cackled and Steve packed up the tartes, handing them off to a server to give to Tony’s table. Soon, the entire kitchen was in the cooler, wrapping Bucky in a giant hug. Sam made room for Olivia, who was pressed right up against Bucky’s chest, hugging him tightly.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “That’s enough. We’ve gotta debrief. Clean up your stations and let’s shut this place down.”

“I’ll go and get the good beer out of the fridge,” Steve replied.

“You guys keep beer here?” Sam asked. “How come no one ever told me?”

“Because you’d be cracking a cold one and singing Sexual Healing,” Steve chuckled as everyone let go, giving Bucky and Olivia pats on the back.

“What’s wrong with that?!” Sam barked, stomping after him.

Soon, it was just Olivia and Bucky shutting the cooler door. He smiled at her, he looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

“Let’s open that champagne,” she whispered.

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You come back here,” Bucky whispered. “Full time.”

“But Peter—"

“Peter will stay, we’ll make space for you. I could use an extra set of hands and we made a hell of a meal tonight.”

In all honesty, she wanted to say yes the second the words left his mouth but nerves kept her from doing so. She knew she was a great pastry chef. Had no doubt in her own abilities whatsoever.  It's the fact that she and Bucky would be working together again and possibly butting heads again. Even if tonight's service was great, it wasn't without a few hiccups. 

It was scary and exciting at the same time. Her heart was already beating a mile a minute at the possibilities.

"I–" 

"I need you here. In this kitchen. With me." He interrupted. Blue eyes pleading with her to agree.

She gulped audibly, scared to voice her thoughts.

"Please baby, say yes?" His hands had slowly come up to her face, his thumbs running back and forth on her cheek soothingly. Temptingly.

"What about outside of the kitchen?" 

Bucky glanced down at her in confusion for a split second, causing Olivia to continue. 

"I mean," she whispered, nerves creeping in at his response. "What about...when we aren't here? Do you still need me?" 

"If I ever don't, it's probably because I'm dead," Bucky laughed before giving her a soft smile.  "And even then, I'll still be a little lost without you to guide me." 

Lifting up onto her tiptoes, Olivia pressed her lips to his, the sweet taste of him and this night on his lips.   She squealed as Bucky deepened the kiss with a grin, swiping his tongue along her lip and making her knees weak. 

"EW."

"GET A ROOM, Y'ALL ARE GROSS." 

Olivia met the smirk on Sam's face with an eye roll as he followed Steve out, both of them chatting animatedly. She felt bad for the bartender who was gonna have to deal with those two tonight. 

Bucky's hands caught her waist and he looked at the door, then back to her. His eyes were softer now, a polar opposite of the man she first walked in on. 

"Lemme go lock those two jerks outside and I'll meet you in the office, 'kay?"

She nodded as Bucky scurried off, opening the swinging kitchen doors to a wolf whistle and some name calling that Olivia prayed none of the younger staff heard.

She took a deep breath, letting her nerves settle as she moved through the kitchen and toward his office. Aware of the fact that the last time she was here the room was a thousand times more tense than now. Olivia pushed open the door feeling like she had stepped through a time machine. Papers were still scattered over the small wooden desk, empty water bottles filled his trash can tucked in the corner and the bulletin board screwed into the wall was covered with images of food and scribbled down recipes. 

A small smile spread across her lips as she settled into his chair, spinning around slowly to take in the room that was Bucky Barnes when he wasn't behind a stove. Cluttered and chaotic but never the less organized. Her tornado of a man all wrapped up in four walls. Her feet stopped her as soon as she spotted a picture frame tucked into one corner of his desk. The photo they took of themselves under the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Her gaze was glued to the camera and a huge smile plastered over her face from eating their way through Paris but when her eyes flickered over to Bucky in the photo, his eyes were focused on her. 

Tears sprung up again in the corners of her eyes. She had missed him. Missed the laughs and even the stupid fights they had. But it was Them. 

"I snagged the last two clean flutes-" Bucky pushed open the door with his shoulder, two champagne flutes in one hand and a bottle in his other, "what's wrong?" He asked, his brows furrowed as she quickly turned to him.

“You kept the pictures too,” she whispered, swallowing tears. He never forgot her, even though she tried so hard to forget him. 

“What pictures?” Bucky asked. “Liv, darling—“

“Of us in Paris… of you, me, and Steve at the opening of… Goddammit, I said I wouldn’t cry today!”

She sniffled and Bucky laughed, setting the two flutes down on the desk as he wrapped her in a hug. She was crushed against his chest, smelling a concoction of sweat, herbs, and sweetness with his cologne lingering just beneath the surface. Every part of her ached for him and she buried her face in his chest. 

“Of course I kept them,” he breathed. She could tell he was fighting back sobs from the way his body twitched and the tremor in his voice. “I never stopped loving you, and I never stopped wanting forever with you.”

"I just got in my head thinking.." he mumbled against her hair, arms tightening even more around her. 

Her arms slowly lifted to wrap around his torso, her small fingers running up and down his spine to soothe him. His heart was beating wildly against her ear and his whole body was shaking as he tried to hold back tears.

".. I got scared, Livvy." 

He pulled back, looking at her with tear stains on his flushed cheeks. His eyes were mesmerizing even when they were sad.

"Why were you so scared?" Olivia murmured her question softly. No judgement in her voice and wanting him to know that she just wanted to understand.

He huffed out a nervous breath, a hand coming to brush back the hairs falling on his face. 

"The pressure got to me," he started shakily. "I was scared maybe you'd realize that there were better opportunities for you than being stuck in this place... Stuck with me."

“So I pushed you away.”

His eyes had left her face. Refusing to meet her eyes as he confessed the last part.

Olivia brought her hand up to his cheek, running a thumb over the slight dimple of his chin. Shocks of pain coursed through her chest at the sight of his beautiful blue eyes welling up. He was too much to give up again. 

"And I shouldn't have let you," she replied, tears causing his handsome features to blur. "It was easier not to fight it. I knew you were in there, that what you said and did wasn't forever. I'm ready for all of it now." 

With a gentle motion, his forehead bumped hers, their gazes still locked.  Olivia ran her hand down his jaw and felt the tip of his nose brush hers. Her fingernails skated down his neck as he moved, pushing her back against the desk. 

"Bucky?"

"Hm?”

"You are not fucking me with my apron on." 

He smirked wickedly, pulling away only to untie the apron string around her neck, then at her back. Her body pressed up against the hard planes of his chest as he did it and she bit her lip in anticipation.

In theory, she should have been bitter. He was the reason she spent two years bouncing from kitchen to kitchen, never able to fit in the way she fit in at White Wolf. 

But she wasn’t angry, she just wanted him. 

Olivia wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him with everything she had, two years of missing him, of checking his Instagram and making sure that the restaurant was surviving. She still loved him, no matter how many times she looked at herself in the mirror and professed that she didn’t. There was no escaping him, she was tied to him forever in this place, and right now there, was nowhere else she wanted to be. 

Bucky tore his lips away from hers, leaving both of them gasping for air. He lifted her up and set her down on the desk. 

“You wanna toast to us now or after I make you come?” He asked as he let her apron drop to the floor and took off his chef’s jacket. “I’ve got a lot of apologizing to do, darlin’.” 

She licked her lips, fire roaring through her veins.

“Mmm. Better put that mouth to good use, Barnes.”

He threw his jacket across the office, letting it land on a pile of papers. 

“Yes, chef,” he purred before his mouth engulfed hers once more in a slow and sensual kiss.

There was no urgency. They had time, and Bucky kept his movements slow, caressing her thighs as he pushed them apart to make room for his massive frame. She just wanted to feel him and all of that softness that she'd dreamed about for two years.

His tongue entangled with hers, teasing her with what it could do to her. What it had done to her many times before. His kisses were always an addiction. A habit she couldn't kick easily because even now, kissing him, she found herself still craving. 

His hands were roaming every inch of her body, setting her on fire and making her blood sing as he leaned over her until her back hit the desk. Arching her into him further with a hand pressing on the low of her back. 

Olivia almost cried when the need for breathing hit them both and his lips left her own to trail soft, wet kisses on her jaw and down her throat, pulling moan after moan out of her. 

"I've missed you so much, Liv," he rasped. Harsh breathes against her ear as he ground into her making her close her eyes at the overwhelming sensation of him all around her.

"Bucky," Olivia breathed, head falling back as he gently pulled up her shirt from where it was tucked in, undoing each button with torturously slow speed. "C'mon, I need you." 

She felt his smile against each part of her chest that he exposed and knew he could feel the hammering of her heart. Blown out blue eyes on her own hooded ones, Bucky pushed it from her shoulders. His fingers trailed against her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to every freckle and mark he could find. Removing her pants so slowly, Olivia thought she was going to combust. By the time he knelt between her legs, she was a melted, writhing mess on his fucking desk. 

"Sweetheart," he murmured, accent thick with home and lust, "I have waited 24 months...over six hundred fuckin' days...waiting for you." 

His nose trailed the inside of her thigh and as if on muscle memory, Olivia's legs fell apart and she moaned from deep in her chest.

Large hands wrapped around her exposed thighs, tugging her to the edge of the desk as her fingers fumbled to find anything to grasp a hold of. A gasp left her when his lips pressed just above her clit, blowing cool air over her already swollen bud. “Jesus,” she moaned. 

Bucky chuckled, the sound reverberated through her, lighting tiny fires across her heated skin. 

“More, please,” she choked out just as the tip of his tongue dipped into her. A groan left him and she lifted her head just in time to see his eyes roll back and close before pulling back again. 

“Still as sweet as I remember.” He rasped before diving back into her core, tasting her, savoring every last bit of exposed skin he could reach while his finger dug into the soft flesh of her thighs. 

Olivia arched her back, the rubber band in her chest tightening with the realization that it had been way too goddamn long since she had Bucky between her legs and again breathed out the word “more” before falling back against his desk and sending his own cup to the floor with a clatter.

He devoured her like an animal, his stubble burning the insides of her thighs and making her squirm as he alternated between fucking her and teasing her with his tongue. Soft moans escaped her lips and she thanked God the door was locked. Her hands pushed more papers off of the desks, and more recipe books tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t care. She burned for him. 

His tongue lashed against her swollen clit and he slowly pushed two thick fingers inside of her, making her nearly tumble over the edge. Bucky stopped and looked up at her, a big smile spread across those perfectly plump lips.

“Already?” He teased. “I’ve just started with you, darlin’.” 

“You wanna carry me out of this restaurant when you’re done with me?” She laughed, reaching down to push some dark strands of hair away from his face. 

“Yeah, and back to my apartment."

"Oh?"

He grinned and she saw the storm clear in his eyes. 

"You’re not getting any sleep tonight. I've got two years to make up for and I don't want to waste another second doing anything other than making you scream my name.” 

He crooked his fingers and she cried out, clamping her hand over her mouth as Bucky began to thrust them slowly, his mouth wrapping around her clit. A low chuckle tumbled from his mouth, making her whole body vibrate and tingle. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back while she rocked her hips against his mouth, her climax nearly reaching its peak.

It was maddening how skillful he was at eating her out, stopping right on the edge of her climax every time her moans started to get higher in pitch. She could feel the smirk against her wet folds every time Bucky slowed down to nip and suck on the apex of her thighs. Teasing her as his thick fingers thrust slowly in and out of her and curled to brush perfectly against that spot that only he could reach.

"Please!" She whined as she felt her walls clenching around his fingers, tugging harshly on his hair. 

Thankfully, he only sped up, granting her the release her body craved. His satisfied groan vibrated against her sensitive clit as her taste started to flood his mouth. 

"Oh god fuck!" She screamed. His tongue followed her mercilessly as her hips writhed on his desk, the waves washing over her and threatening to take her under. 

As he, oh-so-slowly pulled back from her with a resounding smack when he released her clit, her eyes met his ocean ones when he got up to hover over her. 

As they both caught their breath, breathing each other in, she decided that she wanted to drown in James "Bucky" Barnes. To dive head first into his waters.

"Christ," he growled, tongue darting out over his swollen lips as they practically breathed the same breath, he was so close. "I love that sound." 

Olivia gave a dazed smile as he kissed her, the taste of her on his lips and restarting the fire in her belly. Her hand drifted down to Bucky's belt as she caught his tongue, sucking softly while unzipping his pants. His hips snapped closer to her hand, the head of his cock already weeping before Olivia could even start. With her other hand, she had pushed his pants down just below his ass before Bucky gripped her hips and tilted her throbbing cunt towards him. 

"Bucky, please," Olivia whined and his smile only made her more frustrated. This was some kind of punishment for two years of separation and a night of desperate tension. "Fuck me."

He reached down, dragging the tip of his cock through the wetness between her legs and making her head fall back once more. With a high-pitched moan, her hips chased the sensation and his hands came to her belly, holding her still as he teased her further by barely entering where she wanted him most. 

"Just remind me not to break the desk like last time," Bucky drawled. 

Olivia's almost maniacal giggle turned into a breathless groan as Bucky swiftly buried himself deep inside her.

“Well, now I want you to break it.”

He laughed and discarded his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a torso decorated with tattoos. She saw the one he got for her. Olivia. Right above his heart. When they broke up, he told her he was going to get it covered up. Bucky was right, she was embedded into every part of him. 

He pushed a little deeper as his mouth eclipsed hers.

“Don’t go talking like that. New desk isn’t in the budget.”

“And I am?”

He bottomed out and they both groaned. Bucky held her tightly as her eyes rolled back, his hips setting a slow and languid rhythm. He wanted to draw this out, and she wanted to let him.

“Spending everything to get you back, Liv.” He paused. “Was there anyone else? After me?”

“No,” she breathed honestly. 

She’d tried a few Tinder dates, but nothing worked. They weren’t him. They weren’t this, his strong arms holding her while he drove himself deeper and deeper, hitting that spot that made her moan his name. Bucky fit her like a puzzle piece in every conceivable way. 

“Good,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

"Yes. Yours– aah" Her words were swallowed by a loud whimper as Bucky pulled back slowly and slammed back in at her words. 

His cock was filling her just right. She'd missed the feeling of him inside her like this, thick and pulsing while caging her in with his big, tattoed arms and stealing her soul. 

The desk was creaking under both their weights. The sound of it joining their moans and the filthy sound of their bodies slamming together. Her legs dragged up his thighs and wrapped around his back, one foot digging into his ass while Olivia's fingers scratched his back as she felt the delicious drag of his cock along her slick walls.

"Feels so good," she whined. "Please don't stop." 

The deep moan that he let out as his lips sucked marks all over her neck had her shivering in response. 

"Never. Never gonna stop," he swore against her skin. The sting of his bite on top of her breast increased the pleasure coursing through her body and her sweat-slicked body arched like a bow, clinging desperately to his own as he continued to drive himself into her swollen cunt.

Every snap of Bucky's hips neared her closer and closer to the end, causing her own hips to rock against him as she chased the feeling they both missed so much. 

"Shit, Bucky, I'm-," Olivia whimpered, nails digging in and gripping the thin fabric of his shirt. "I'm so fucking close." 

"Me too, baby, fuck you feel good." 

He grasped her ass in his palms, gripping her soft skin and spreading her wider for him. With a groan, Bucky rolled his hips deeper, and faster until the desk creaked across the floor. Olivia could only hold on, the breath knocked out of her with each thrust. 

"Come with me, Olivia," Bucky growled in her ear, nipping at her skin. "Gimme what's mine. I'll fill you up so fuckin' good, come on-" 

With a bone rattling moan, Olivia felt as if her entire body lit up, stars dancing behind her heavy eyes as Bucky throbbed deep inside her. Her muscles went taut, the orgasm lasting for what felt like a lifetime as she simply held on. His thrusts grew sloppy and small whimpers left Bucky's mouth as it captured hers, rocking them both until they were too sensitive and spent to keep going.

He nuzzled against her neck and let out another whine as he shivered, still filling her to the brim as his muscles rippled and pleasure washed over him. She stroked his back, her fingers running up and down his spine the way she used to when he would pin her to the bed and fuck her like he owned her. 

“I love you,” he rasped.

It had been far too long since she'd heard those words.

“I love you too, Buck.”

His mouth was clumsy and stumbling as he peppered messy kisses up her neck and along her jaw. 

“Take me back.” Laughter filled the space between them but Bucky lifted his head, those eyes forever needing reassurance. “I’m so sorry.”

She pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

“No more sorries, okay? I’ll come back to work. I want to.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped her in another bear hug. 

“I have something for you.” He kissed her temple. “Bought it a month before you left. I was gonna have Pete or Steve drop it off at your place, but I didn’t have the guts. It’s been sitting in my desk drawer.”

“Bucky, I am not marrying you—“

“No!” He laughed, pulling back. “Are you insane?!”

“No, but you are.”

He opened his mouth to protest but instead nodded.

“Fair. Hang on.”

Bucky pulled out of her, leaving her hollowed out. She watched him, shirtless, his pants shoved down his hips as he rifled through his desk drawer, tossing things behind him while he swore.

“Where the fuck— Oh!” He pulled out a long rectangular box. “Found it.”

Bucky placed it in her hands and she stared at him. He grinned, popping the champagne and pouring it into the champagne flutes.

“I didn’t get you the box, Liv. You gotta open it.”

She sighed and flicked it open with her thumbs, gasping when she saw a beautiful emerald pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds on a silver chain.

“Bucky…”

“It’s your birthstone, right?” He asked. "Please tell me I didn't fuck that up."

"You didn't."

He grabbed the box, putting the necklace on for her as he kissed her cheek. Olivia wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let him go.

“Welcome home, darling.”

[smutconnoisseur]

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞-𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

Masterlist of all my creations for @buckybarnesevents - Juneiverse 2023

My card was C4014, and throughout the event, I had three cards. I completed two full cards and one square on a third.

C4014 (1)

C - 1 ★ Demon ★ Demon!Bucky x Librarian!Steve | Rated: E | 2.5K

𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ➣ As an incubus, he is not in the business of fulfilling wishes. Bucky, however, literally lives to make one man's fantasies come true.

“This is my world.”

C - 2 ★ Bed & Breakfest ★ B&B Owner!Bucky | Rated: E | 892

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐩 ➣ Bucky finishes checking storm precautions at Barnes Bed & Breakfast but is startled by a sudden knocking at the door. With no guests due to flooding, he investigates the noise with growing apprehension.

C - 3 ★ Adrenaline ★ Thief!Bucky | Rated: M | 934

𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐲 ➣ He thrives under pressure, fueled by the ticking clock and the thrilling rush of almost getting caught. That's why he does what he does - there's no high like pulling off a great fucking heist.

C - 4 ★ Friends With Benefits ★ Bucky Barnes x Johnny Storm | Rated: E | 2K

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐫 ➣ After a fight in mid-town, Johnny returns home after a shitty day. Beaten, tired, and to an unexpected guest.

"I don't remember giving you a key."

"Forget who you're talking to?"

C4014 (2)

C - 1 ★ Priest ★ Losing My Religion | Dark!Priest!Bucky x Demon!Steve | Rated: E | 1.3K

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 ➣ A priest must protect his secrets at the cost of his faith while grappling with his own inner demons.

C - 2 ★ Historical ★ King!Bucky x Gladiador!Steve | Rated: M | 728

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐡 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧 ➣ In the midst of a gladiator fight in the Colosseum, a young king finds solace and courage in the unwavering support of his consort.

C - 3 ★ Farmer ★ Trailer Park Prince | Trailer Park Slut!Bucky x Farmer!Steve | Rated: M | 500+

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 ➣ Steve had offered Henry and Cheryl a farewell and a thank you for everything they had done for him over the years as he took over the farm from his folks. But now that left Steve without his main supplier and labor source since their grandsons only came during the summer to visit.

It was something Steve was used to—adapting. Until one day at the local farmers market changes his world. And the tiny denim shorts don’t hurt either.

C - 4 ★ Modern ★ Pastry Chef!Bucky x Wedding Planner!Steve | Rated: NR | 181

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 ➣ As Steve savored the delicate pastry at Barnes Patisserie, he couldn't help but feel captivated by the effortlessly elegant pastry chef. He knew he had to find a way to catch sight of the chef again. After all, he needed more sweetness in his life.

C4014 (3)

C - 2 ★ Circus ★ Ringmaster!Bucky x Performer!Steve | Rated: T | 311

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 ➣ If their story were told in a book of fairytales and romance, Bucky imagines it would go something like this: "And then, amidst the wonder of the circus, the handsome ringmaster fell for the fiery flame breather in the heart of the big top.”

A/n: Thank you to the mods @buckybarnesevents for hosting this event and sparking so much creativity!

Graphics courtesy of @rookthornesartistry

[themculibrary]

Fics Named After Foods (2) Masterlist

part one

60 Beans and a Cup of Magic (ao3) - crinklefries steve/bucky T, 28k

Summary: In a little corner of Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes is a baker, Steve Rogers is a witch, and over the course of a year, they bake some goods, drink a lot of coffee, and discover, between them, a little magic.

or;

steve rogers--once a disaster bi always a disaster bi; and now a disaster bi with magic

A Bun (Well, Cookies) in the Oven (ao3) - EachPeachPearPlum pepper/tony G, 1k

Summary: Pepper is tired, achy, and has had more than enough of people telling her she's glowing. Fortunately, Tony is a genius, and knows just how to cheer her up.

It's just a pity cooking isn't one of his strengths.

American Pie (ao3) - MoreThanAFeeling (Daretodream66) steve/bucky G, 5k

Summary: Steve starts making cooking videos and Bucky starts working at the Tower as the new chef.

Bagels and Bandaids and Bad Guys and Breakfast (ao3) - florahart clint/phil M, 7k

Summary: Clint owns a bakery/coffee shop, and he needs the following: an accountant, an occasional medic, and for those assholes in the track suits to just gtfo.

Phil shows up looking for part time work just in time to meet some of those needs. And maybe some other needs too.

Baking Powder (ao3) - dara3008 steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: Steve witnesses a strange sight in the middle of the night... Tony Stark baking. Maybe it's time to get to know the man better.

cherry red as sweet as sin (ao3) - soniclipstick (veriscence) clint/phil E, 3k

Summary: Clint is the sexiest thing on the planet, Phil's always known that. But the reality of a Clint with kohl-rimmed eyes and cherry red lips slams into the pleasure centres of Phil's brain like a freight car so hard it takes him a full twenty seconds to recover.

It's not surprising how quickly the fleeting fancy of Clint and skin and heat becomes reality after that.

coffee and cupcakes (ao3) - HeartonFire bucky/clint T, 3k

Summary: After leaving his government job, Clint decided to open a coffee shop, but it turns out, running your own cafe doesn't mean getting free coffee forever. You have to actually have customers.

When Clint is almost ready to give up the whole idea of the coffee shop, Natasha suggests he add some pastries to the menu, and she just happens to know a guy who can help.

Coffee Spoons and Fish Fallacies (ao3) - 27dragons bucky/tony T, 3k

Summary: Harley and Peter think their dads would get along great, since both of them are uber nerrrrrds. They set up a date, and eagerly await the outcome.

Cookies and Cthulhu (ao3) - diner_drama steve/bucky, peggy/natasha T, 11k

Summary: The Rise Bakery was a homely type of place, for an establishment run by three ex-assassins.

After retiring from Special Forces with a sizeable pension, a lot of weight on his conscience, and a top-of-the-line prosthetic arm, Bucky Barnes was ready to start doing some good.

Food American Style (ao3) - vanillafluffy clint/phil, bucky/maria T, 3k

Summary: The Sniper!Bros get a food truck.

Just Keep Trying 'til You Run Out of Cake (ao3) - K_R_Closson bucky/clint M, 11k

Summary: Clint Barton sometimes has a name on his wrist. Sometimes he has a couple letters. Sometimes he doesn't have anything at all. By the time he's an adult and working for SHIELD, he figures his soulmate is a ghost. Figures he's never going to meet whoever it is.

He's got it half right.

Promises and Pie-crust (ao3) - Merideath darcy/steve T, 9k

Summary: “Hey Lewis! We need you out here. Got a big order. And you gotta see this guy.” Kelly shouted as she held open the swing door. Darcy huffed and grabbed a cloth, wiping her hands clean and straightening out her blue and red uniform.

“What’s the problem? Did you not read the sign?” Darcy snarked pointing up at the blackboard that read ‘Menu: Slice of Pie and Coffee. If you don’t like it, get out.’

Salami (ao3) - L1av steve/bucky E, 25k

Summary: Everyone hears stories about the idiots who have to go to the ER to get random objects removed from their asses. If someone told Bucky he’d be spending his weekend in the hospital for one of the most embarrassing occurrences of his life, he’d probably laugh in their face and tell them to go fuck off. But here he is, in the ER with eleven inches of packaged, cold salami stuck up his ass. To make matters worse, his nurse is really hot. Really hot.

Join Bucky for one of the most awkward and yet comical experiences of his life that leads to self-discovery, trust and maybe even love.

Sauced (ao3) - ABeckoningCat G, 742

Summary: Clint encounters three drunk girls in a hotel elevator.

Spice (ao3) - im95notdead G, 2k

Summary: Try though he might, Bruce struggled to be around Wanda.

Sprinkle of Love (ao3) - NachoDiablo steve/sam T, 3k

Summary: Bakery AU where Sam realizes that maybe he and Steve aren't quite so platonic after all.

Starbucks Is Canon (ao3) - 74days steve/bucky T, 8k

Summary: Bucky's been trying to book Captain America actor Steve Rogers on his show for longer than he can remember. But when the actor does agree, he's not expecting their first meeting to be quite so... well documented... by social media.

Tea and Circumstance (ao3) - Vee (Vera_DragonMuse) bruce/tony M, 6k

Summary: For the prompt: Bruce had to have worked his ass off in between studying his ass off, so why not at a coffee shop?

The original prompt was a bit longer, but would contain fic spoilers. It can be found here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5758.html?page=9.

The coffee shop became a tea shop somewhere along the line.

Them Apples (ao3) - tielan maria/steve G, 2k

Summary: Supersoldiers cannot live on apples alone, but they can live on home cooking.

X-Mas Cookies (ao3) - Magan_Strimer G, 1k

Summary: Just a few avengers baking for the holidays with some guest star help. Do not leave Wade and Peter anywhere near loose flour. Cooking chaos ensues.

[lillywillow]

Secret Ingredient

Summary: When completing a delivery for Sam, you must work together with one of your least favourite people to get the job done but things get a bit more complicated.

 Written for: @buckybarnesbingo

 Words: 2752

 Square Filled: K3- Secrets

 Pairing: PastryChef!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader  

 Warnings: Mild adult suggestions, mentions of injury

 A/N: Set in a Baker!AU

 Ever since you first started working at Sam’s patisserie, Bucky Barnes had been a thorn in your side. Yes, he was handsome, charming and very skilled at his job but he was also a terrible flirt and was always trying to show you up. There wasn’t a day that went by you didn’t butt heads. You were only the commis chef, or in other words, you were Bucky’s underling and he never let you forget it. You had training in other areas of the culinary arts but you still had to learn the fineries of pastry. Sure, you were pretty good at baking simple recipes but when it came to more complicated dishes or getting the decorating just right, you needed work. Bucky was more than happy to assist you but that often came with the price of his gloating and or flirting. The metal armed chef got on your nerves. There were rumours about how he lost his arm but nobody seemed to know the truth and should one ask Bucky, he’d give some impressive backstory. You couldn’t stand him and his showboating which is why when Sam asked you to deliver goods to a four-star hotel upstate, you were less than thrilled.

 “Come on, doll. I’m sure it’ll be a piece of cake,” Bucky winked.

…

 A piece of cake indeed. On your way upstate, the car broke down, your phone died, Bucky had forgotten his and it started to rain heavily. Bucky got out of the car to push while you steered but eventually you made it to ‘les Vengeurs’ but by then it had gotten dark. Bucky went in first but almost got into a fight with the concierge over him tracking in mud through the clean floors but when you walked in with the boxes from Sam’s, it became a different story.

 “You must be the famous pastry chef Madame Marvelle! Come in, come in,” the concierge preened, ushering you inside.

 “We’ve been expecting you. And this gentleman with you must be your husband,” he continued.

 “Actually, he’s-”

 “Her fiancé! Yes, we’re not technically married yet but the wedding is just around the corner. Right, honey?” Bucky smoothly interrupted.

 “R-right…”

 Why was Bucky doing this?

 “We’ll prepare a room for you right away,” the concierge said.

 “Thank you. We’ll pay for it as soon as we can,” you replied.

 “No, no, no. THE Madame Marvelle will not pay in my hotel. Consider your stay here a gift from us.”

 “That would be great,” Bucky grinned, putting his arm around you before you could object.

 “What are you doing?! You’ll get us in trouble!” you hissed.

 “Relax, Y/N. We’ll stay here tonight and make up some excuse to leave tomorrow,” Bucky confidently replied.

 “Everything is all organised. I’ll show you to your room,” the concierge explained.

 The pair of you followed him through the hotel, Bucky deliberately squishing mud and flicking water at times. He smirked at the subtle twitch in the concierge’s eye. You gave Bucky a nudge to the side to make him stop.

 “I must say, Madame, you’re a lot younger than I would picture for someone with your prestigious accolades…”

 “Well, I take good care of my skin,” you sheepishly smiled.

 “I see… well, here we are. I hope this room will be to your liking. My name is Phil Coulson, if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll give you some time to settle in and then I’ll come and get you to show you to our kitchen. With your help, we may be able to earn that final star…”

 Phil handed you the key card and left you be. You and Bucky walked in and looked around the room which could only be described as the height of luxury. The king-sized bed had an expensive looking duvet with plush pillows piled high. A chaise lounge draped with an exquisite blanket was in the corner. The windows were decorated with velvet curtains either side. The bathroom was just as luxurious with a tub made for two and all sorts of bottles filled with shampoos, conditioners, lotions and other such items lined the spotless vanity.

 “I’m going to take a shower,” Bucky announced, heading into the bathroom before you could say anything.

 With a sigh, you laid down on the bed. Now it was just you and your thoughts. How were you going to get away with this? Pretend to be this famous pastry chef when you were only a beginner? Bucky could help you but how long would it be until you were discovered as a fraud? You were still deep in thought when Bucky emerged from his shower in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes and flopped himself down on the bed.

 “What do you think you’re doing?” you asked.

 “Making myself comfortable,” he replied, running a towel through his hair.

 “You’re sleeping on the floor,” you huffed.

 “What?! No, I’m not!” he protested.

 “Well, I’m not taking the floor,” you stubbornly retorted.

 “Why do either of us have to take the floor? It’s a big bed, big enough for two. We don’t even have to touch…”

 “Fine,” you groaned. “But you stay on your side of the bed. Anything that comes over my side, I’m breaking off. Got it?”

 “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

…

 After Bucky managed to get his clothes dry, you let Phil know you were ready to see the kitchen.

 “This is very exciting; having such a famous chef helping us in our hotel. In fact, we have one of your former students in our employment…”

 Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. This could blow everything. Your skin felt hot and itchy, your pulse started to quicken. You were brought out of your head by a warm hand holding onto yours. To your surprise, Bucky gave you a kind smile.

 “Madame Marvelle, and fiancé, this is Carol Danvers. I’m sure you can get reacquainted as she shows you around the kitchen,” Phil smiled.

 Carol looked you up and down before offering you her hand to shake.

 “Of course. It’s an honour to work with you again Madame,” she smiled but it was tight lipped.

 There was something that didn’t feel quite right about this exchange.

 “I’ll leave you be,” Phil nodded, leaving to tend to other matters.

 “Alright, who the hell are you? I’ve worked with the real Madame Marvelle and you’re not her,” Carol hissed once he was out of earshot.

 “I’m Y/N and this is Bucky. We’re stranded here until our car gets fixed,” you sighed.

 “Why shouldn’t I go and tell Phil the truth?”

 “Because, you have that inspector coming tomorrow to decide on whether or not this hotel should be giving another star. I’m still in training but Bucky, he’s really good. He can help you earn that star…”

 Bucky looked surprised you were giving him such high praises.

 “Thanks, Y/N,” he breathed.

 You smiled a little and nodded in response.

 “Alright, if you’re a good as she says you are, I want you to make a croquembouche,” Carol ordered.

 “No problem,” Bucky shrugged. “Come on, Y/N. I’ll teach you how to make it…”

 Carol watched Bucky like a hawk as he made the dessert, walking you through the same process. You followed his steps and produced a decent looking stack although, it wasn’t anywhere near as elegant as Bucky’s tower. When you had finished, Carol tried some of Bucky’s first.

 “This is satisfactory. I’ll cover for you until the inspection is over but if you blow this for us, you’re out of here,” she warned.

 Next, she tried some of yours.

 “You have a lot of potential but you could use a little work. Keep practicing.”

…

 You spent a few hours baking and decorating until the pastries looked to the standard of perfection one might expect from a luxury hotel. This of course would not have been achieved without Bucky’s help. It was quite late by the time you decided to go back to the suite.

 “You know, Y/N, I’m surprised you think so highly of me. I always thought you hated me,” Bucky started, getting into the elevator.

 “I don’t hate you. It’s just… you’re always criticising me or nit-picking over every minor error,” you sighed, tired from the long day.

 “That’s because I want you to be better than me and not make the same stupid mistakes that will get you hurt like I…”

 You were shocked. Slowly, your eyes were drawn to his left arm; the metal one. Bucky had told many stories about how he lost the arm from a shark attack when he was surfing off the coast of Florida to an epic tale similar to the guy in ‘127 Hours’.

 “You…?”

 “It was an accident. I was training to become a chef. I was young and arrogant… I… I was showing off with the creme Brulé blow torch and it caught my sleeve on fire. My arm got burned pretty badly… It later became infected and they eventually had to amputate…”

 “Is that why you make up stories about how you lost it?”

 Bucky nodded and sighed. You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him. To hide something like that from everyone.

 “It was my own damn fault. I did this to myself… but that’s why I’m hard on you sometimes, Y/N. Because I don’t want you to go through what I did. I want you to more have opportunities…”

 Before you could say anything, the power went out, causing the elevator to jolt and sending you into Bucky’s arms.

 “The storm must have cut the power,” Bucky mused out loud.

 You clung to his shirt, terrified to be in this small, dark place. At least you had someone with you that you could talk to.

 “It’s okay, Y/N. I’ve got you,” he assured you, holding you closer.

 You actually felt safe in his embrace.

 “You know, Bucky… there is another reason I pushed you away…”

 “Oh, really?”

 “Yeah… it’s because… you remind me of my ex…”

 Bucky waited for you to continue.

 “We met in college when I was training to be a chef. He was a little bit older than me and studying medicine. He was flirty and charming, just like you. We had one of those sappy romances…”

 You felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled.

 “Once he graduated, we broke up but he always promised to keep in touch… The last I heard he was some rich and famous doctor but out of the blue, I get a call from him wanting to meet up in the place we had our first date. Stupidly, I went, and by the time I got there, he was proposing to his girlfriend…”

 “What?! He had a girlfriend and he was still going to meet you?”

 You let out a dry laugh.

 “She was perfectly lovely. The thing that hurt the most is that he introduced me as his ‘friend’…”

 “What a jerk!”

 “I guess he was…”

 “No, he definitely was. You’re better off without him, Y/N.”

 You smiled a little at his words.

 “Thanks, Bucky. I’ve always been scared to get back into the dating world because what if the same thing happens? What if I fall hard and fast for someone only to have them toss me aside like he did? I don’t know if my heart could handle that…”

 “I would never treat you like that,” Bucky softly muttered.

 You were starting to see Bucky in a new light and beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t the jerk you thought he was.

 “Bucky, I…”

 Once again, you were interrupted as the lights came back on and the elevator started moving again. You both silently made your way back to the room, both thinking of the moment you shared.

 “Bucky?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Forget about what I said before about my side of the bed… but, don’t take it as an invitation to get weird…” you quickly added.

 “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled.

 When morning came, you woke with Bucky’s arm gently around your waist. You actually felt comfortable with his touch.

…

 Later that morning, you busily helped Bucky and Carol prepare for the upcoming inspection. You followed every order the two professional chefs as fast and as the orders arrived. Mostly you stuck to following the orders while Bucky and Carol made them look good. It was long, hard work but eventually you made it through the huge rush. When things quieted down, the three of you took a breather. Phil took the opportunity to come and check on how you were doing. You chatted for a while when you noticed him looking at you strangely.

 “Where is your ring?” he asked.

 “My ring?”

 “Engaged women usually wear rings…” he subtly pried.

 “Oh! I usually take it off when I’m baking. I wouldn’t want to soil something so precious to me…”

 “That’s so sweet! I’d love to hear more. Your first date? First time you met? Oh! How did you propose?” Phil grinned like a giddy school boy.

 “Actually, she was the one who proposed to me,” Bucky supplied, casually putting his arm around your shoulders.

 “Really?” Carol challenged, raising an eyebrow.

 “She made a wonderful candlelit dinner with all my favourite sweets. When she popped the question, well, she was just so beautiful, all I could say was yes…”

 The look in Bucky’s eyes melted your heart.

“That’s so romantic! Sorry, I know I’m a big sap when it comes to this kind of thing,” Phil chuckled. “I should check on our esteemed guests…”

 “You make a pretty convincing couple,” Carol stated once Phil was gone. “Makes me wonder how much you’re really hiding…”

 You and Bucky exchanged glances. Could you make a go of things? Your concentration was broken when Phil came back to proudly announce that les Vengeurs was officially now a five-star hotel.

 “Thank you so much, Madame!” Phil beamed.

 “Actually, I can’t take all the credit. It was mostly thanks to Carol…”

 Carol looked at you in surprise.

 “Yes, she put a lot of hard work in. You should really give her the praise.”

 “Well, I couldn’t have done it without your help,” she smiled.

 It was half true. If it wasn’t for Carol and Bucky, there was no way you could have pulled this off. Phil was grateful for all your help and once he was gone, Carol offered her gratitude as well.

…

 Once the mechanic had fixed up your car, you and Bucky made up some excuse to leave before you were discovered.

 “Before we take off, can we talk?” Bucky asked.

 “Of course. What’s up?”

 “I was wondering if… I could take you out on a date sometime…”

 “You think we should start dating?”

 “Yeah… We could give it a try. Tell you what, how about one kiss? If you don’t feel anything, we go back to being co-workers and learn to get along. On the other hand, if you feel a spark, we could explore where it goes…”

 “Alright. One kiss,” you agreed.

 Bucky gently pulled you into his arms as you wrapped yours around his neck. As he pressed his lips to yours, you felt butterflies erupt in your belly. It had been a long time since anyone had made you feel this way. By the time you pulled away, you were totally breathless.

 “Well?” Bucky breathed.

 “I think I’d like to see where this goes…”

 Bucky smiled and kissed you again.

…

 You and Bucky agreed to keep your relationship a secret for now. During the day, you pretended it was like it was before but at night, Bucky was teaching you how to improve your technique. You got away with hiding your relationship for quite some time until you were caught making out one night after Sam came back to grab something he had forgotten. He teased you for some time but he thought you were good for each other. With Bucky’s help, you really improved your pastries. After all, every good chef knows the secret ingredient to making any recipe is love.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

THREE FIVE

FOUR

You're trying to avoid looking directly at Steve while he enjoys an éclair and sips your mediocre coffee. In reality, you're pretending to be busy in the back of the bakery, hoping he'll leave without asking you anything else. Despite him being easy on the eyes, you're afraid he might be too persuasive, and you might accidentally give away Barnes, which would break his trust in you.

"You always knew your hands could make treats like these that seem to be made by angels?" Steve asks as he stands up from the small table where he was sitting. You smile slightly, finding his compliment to your baking skills sweet, though you're still on edge.

"In reality, my mother is a chef, so I was always inclined to work with cooking. Ironically, my mother isn't very fond of baking. But I fell in love with it, making some desserts and breads. To answer your question, I always knew I had to be good at something culinary, even if just as a hobby," you speak gently as you collect the plate and utensils that Steve used. When he hands them to you, your hands briefly touch. You notice that his hands are incredibly soft for a guy, and the sensation sends a slight shiver down your spine.

“Are you interested in going out today?” Steve asks, still close to you. At first, you think he might be joking, but he really seems to want to go out with you. However, something tells you that it's more out of suspicion than genuine interest.

“I don’t know your friend, and a date isn’t going to change that. I sincerely hope you find this Bucky of yours, but it won’t be with me.” You say, stepping away and likely sounding too blunt. What a hassle—having to turn away a handsome stranger to protect another handsome stranger.

“It’s clear when you’re lying. I saw your reaction to Barnes’s photo, which might be nothing, but it seems like something. So, go out with me and prove me wrong, or cowardly hide the fact that you know James Barnes. The choice is yours.” Rogers’s blue, maybe greenish eyes seem to pierce through you. He’d make a great priest, as something in his words eats away at your guilt. You’re lying to him, and it doesn’t feel fair. But he could be deceiving you, and you can’t take that risk.

"I close the bakery normally at six in the evening, if the business is slow. There's a restaurant right across the street; we can have pizza and maybe a glass of wine. You can interrogate me as much as you want. After that, this matter will be closed. Does that sound good?" You say, looking him straight in the eye, and then extend your hand towards him, waiting for him to seal the deal. He takes your hand firmly while looking at you with determination.

Steve then leans in close to you, almost as if he’s about to kiss you. It would be crazy, right? But then he whispers, "I’ll be at the restaurant at seven o'clock waiting for you. I believe you don’t want me to come to your place and find out what you're hiding from me. And by the way, tell Barnes it’s a shame he’s making such a beautiful woman turn into a big liar." Steve says, leaving you speechless before exiting your bakery.

The thought of finding Barnes's best friend and lying to him, while also accepting a date that seems both tempting and terrifying, distracts you for the rest of the day. So, an hour earlier than usual, you close your bakery and rush home, knowing you need to inform Barnes, Bucky, or whatever other name he goes by, that his best friend is searching for him. As soon as you enter your apartment, you rush to your bedroom, frantically searching for something to wear for your date with Steve. Your mind is in chaos, and no dress seems right for a man whose main interest in seeing you is to figure out if you're lying. On top of that, you're confused about why you're even in this situation—lying and acting like a criminal when you've done nothing wrong. All of this because a customer at your bakery is handsome enough to make you lose your sense of right and wrong. Suddenly, a wave of desperation washes over you. Amidst the clothes scattered on the floor, you reach into the pocket of your pants and pull out your phone. You dial the emergency number, feeling a wave of nausea, both metaphorical and literal. Are you really about to report Mr. Barnes? Well, you’re just telling the truth, right? It will probably lead to his arrest, maybe even worse... but that’s not your problem, is it?

"You can tell them I'm standing in your living room when they ask if you know where I am," a voice says from behind, startling you. James is standing there with his arms crossed, looking less than pleased. You quickly hang up the phone before the emergency line even picks up. Honestly, you feel like a rebellious child caught red-handed doing something wrong.

"How did you get in here?" you ask as you try to recover from the shock. Your hands tremble as your nerves take over. You're not sure if you're safe with Barnes or if he's the kind to seek revenge for an almost-betrayal.

"I came to check on you, see if everything was alright. I noticed you got here early, and I got worried… but it seems that was for nothing. You didn’t need to rush to your apartment just to turn me in. And don’t bother denying it." Barnes says, still standing there, his voice low and tense, sending chills down your spine. It’s clear you’ve struck a nerve—maybe his pride, maybe something deeper. You stare at him, searching for the right words to explain yourself.

"I won’t lie, I was going to turn you in. I’m not like you. The weight of knowing something that others don’t, it’s eating me alive. First, two agents showed up at the bakery looking for you, and now your best friend, who doesn’t seem like he's just here to catch up. I had a moment of weakness…" You trail off, not explicitly naming what you were about to do, though it’s painfully clear. You were ready to hand Barnes over to the authorities. He lets out a frustrated sigh, followed by a bitter smile. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel exposed, almost tainted, under his gaze.

Barnes steps closer, extending his phone toward you since yours is still on the floor, discarded in your rush to hang up. You look at him, puzzled, unsure of what he wants you to do. "Clear your conscience, make the call. I promise I won’t resist," he sighs, waiting for you to take the phone from his hand. An unsettling feeling creeps over you, a weight of guilt, as if you’re betraying him in the worst way. His calm demeanor makes it even worse, and the thought of going through with it makes you feel like you're stabbing him in the back.

"Are you really going to let me turn you in just like that?" you ask softly, feeling a bit ashamed, knowing that no matter his answer, there’s something strangely intimate about him letting you be the one to hand him over. Maybe you’re losing your mind. Barnes looks at you for a long moment, his eyes softening just a little.

"If that’s what you need to do," he says quietly, "then go ahead. I won’t stop you." You can't help but feel a knot in your chest. The idea of having this power over him, of being the one who decides his fate, makes everything feel even more complicated.

"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have acted like that. It wasn’t fair to try to turn you in; it was just too much pressure, I’m not used to this." You look at Barnes, regretful of what you might have done. His hand with the phone is in front of you, so you place both your hands under his and shake your head as if to say he can trust you, at least for a moment. He looks at you, then places the phone on the coffee table. He turns to you, placing his hand gently on your face and caressing your cheek. It’s so comforting that you close your eyes, feeling like you can finally breathe peacefully for the first time.

"You don’t have to carry this burden, not for me," he says softly. You’re still lost in the gentle touch of Barnes’ hand. You then open your eyes to find Barnes looking at you as if you were his most precious treasure. All the anger he seemed to be feeling earlier seems to have vanished.

"I'll go on the date with your best friend and try to throw him off. I hope you'll accept this as an apology," you say, looking into Barnes' blue eyes. He’s still standing right in front of you. "I don’t want you to expose yourself like this, Y/N. I can handle Steve my way. This life full of dangers and lies is mine; I never should have involved you in it," Barnes replies, pulling his hand away from you. His gaze is distant, and it saddens you in some way.

"Let me do this for you, then," you say almost weakly as you feel Barnes pulling away. "And then I'll leave you in peace." You can’t bear to look at Barnes anymore; instead, you gaze down at your feet.

“Look into my eyes, Y/N. And tell me, when you look at me, do you see a man who isn't at peace when he's with you?” There’s a melancholy in Barnes's voice, and you gather the courage to meet his gaze. He’s closer than you realized.

"I see a man who has a lot to hide. You must carry a burden much greater than mine. So let me help you; maybe I can be of use to you." You step closer to Barnes, and as he looks at you once more, you feel as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe or move. You’re sure you must be blushing, given how hot your body feels.

"Wear a dress that shows your legs; it’ll distract Rogers enough to make him forget why he’s interrogating you. Also, lie about trivial details. Tell him your favorite color is green, that you have two older brothers—something like that. He’ll analyze your facial expressions to see when you’re telling the truth or lying. It’ll confuse him. Try not to deny that you know me; just say you remember seeing me as one of your customers. He might be convinced." Barnes advises you, but doesn’t come any closer. He appears hesitant, as if struggling with conflicting thoughts. You nod in agreement without speaking. The silence in your apartment becomes painfully oppressive. You want to walk over to Barnes, to kiss him and perhaps make love on the cold floor of your apartment. But he doesn’t seem to feel the same way, as he turns and walks away, leaving you with a heavy heart.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

So…forgive me if you’ve done something like this before but Steve/Nat/Bucky have been living rent free in my head for a while now and I thought…what if Nat was just having a really lousy time and Steve and Bucky just cooked her an authentic Russian meal to cheer her up but they can’t cook. So they keep practicing and tasting until they get it right…putting on weight as they go because…decadent cuisine, amirite? She notices her little pelmeni getting bigger but she doesn’t mind. She keeps tasting, taunting them, saying it’s not right, try again. Until they get it right, only they’re not the only chubby ones anymore…but Nat doesn’t realize it until she indulges in one of their truly amazing meals and ends up popping a button. Sexy times!

Completely ignores the fact that the last writing I did here was all but a month ago and returns like nothing happened.

I haven't done something like this before! I dig it! It's giving this scene between Wanda and Vision

Also, it reminds me of this Steve and Natasha fic that I adore "Shaping Happiness"

Inspiration/reminders aside... yes! This idea is great!

I went off the prompt a little bit because I couldn’t help myself, I hope it’s still enjoyable!

Warnings for Steve × Natasha × Bucky belly kink below the cut. Unbeta'd. Stuffing, weight gain, dirty talk, etc.

At first, all the food Steve and Bucky attempt to cook for Natasha to cheer her up is truly terrible.

Steve has never been much of a cook, so he claims it’s not his fault. Listen! He's unlucky enough to burn water! So, as Bucky rediscovers Steve’s kitchen ineptitude, he's quickly relegated to boiling water at most and tasting as Bucky cooks at least. Steve cannot be trusted with knives and veggies most of the time (Bucky will never understand how he’s a superhero who can hold his own in combat), nor can he be trusted to measure something correctly (he’d much rather just "eyeball" it), and there is never a time where it is acceptable to allow Steve to cook something. He will turn up the temperature, thinking it’s not cooking fast enough, and accidentally attempt to burn the entire apartment to the ground. So, Steve gets to taste.

Only taste.

Bucky will give him spoonfuls or bits and pieces, and Steve will greedily take them. Praising Bucky’s cooking ability (re: his non-disaster existence in the kitchen that Steve occasionally envies, lmao) and asking for more, please? Weaponizing those pretty baby blues when Bucky’s successful enough for things to be edible.

Obviously, Bucky is a better chef between the two of them, but he's out of practice (years of being the fist of HYDRA will do that to you) and unfamiliar with these kinds of foods. So, even though he's still got a few of his Ma's recipes in the very back of his brain (not that Depression-era foods to keep the family fed are very good compared to a lot of these Russian delicacies), nothing is really… right… when they first begin making comfort food for Natasha.

They try all the staples:

Solyanka (sweet and sour beef stew), zharkoye (beef (or whatever extra meat you have around the house) and vegetable stew), zharkeo (chicken stew), etc.

Borscht (red beet soup), okroshka (vegetables, egg, potato, and meat soup), rassolnik (beef, barley, and pickle soup), shchi (cabbage soup), ukha (fish soup), etc.

Pelmeni (meat dumplings), pirozhki (savory baked or fried puff pastries), blini (wheat crepe-like pastries with sweet or savory fillings), borodinsky (dark rye bread), vatrushka (sweet pastry with cottage cheese and raisins), shashlik (kebabs with cubed meat and vegetables), ikra (caviar on bread/blini), pirozhki (yeast dough stuffed with savory or sweet fillings), etc.

Morozheneo (extra creamy Russian ice cream), pashka (sweetened cheesecake), kartoshka (basically Russian cake pops, often chocolate), kissel (cherry soup), medovik (layered honey and condensed milk cake), etc.

Steve will often spend the time that Bucky is spending cooking by looking up new recipes, and new foods, making sure to take them from credible sources so they don’t end up in a “diner situation”

The diner situation was what happened when Bucky was first recovering and they were surviving on takeout because Bucky was too afraid to allow himself around knives again and Steve was struggling (unsurprising), so no cooking for him, and they went to an “all-American diner.” Hoping for a taste of home and instead finding that the diner served food that was God fucking awful and worst of all, nothing like the actual food of the day it was claiming to represent! It made them both feel worse - lonelier. No one understood what it was like. What the food was, what the culture was, what it was like.

They don’t want that.

They will not be making some bogus “Russian food” that isn’t actually authentic.

Anyway -

All traditional Russian cuisine that Bucky attempts while Steve watches and tastes and researches aren't any good at first.

Like, they suck so much that Steve and Bucky don't even serve them to Natasha. Tasha doesn’t even know what they’re doing. She’s always out on missions or on Capitol Hill with Fury whenever they try their hand at making her familiar Russian foods by their design. While alone together in the apartment, Steve and Bucky quietly try each creation themselves, can barely swallow it at first, and decide… not yet.

Not yet.

They both want it to be perfect.

So, even when Steve begins to use his puppy-dog eyes for evil, begging for more treats, more tastes, because, holy shit, Buck, that’s great! That has to be what that is supposed to taste like! They don’t share the plan with Natasha yet.

Not yet.

Natasha catches onto the fact that something is going on as she starts to squint her eyes and pinch Steve’s hip or ass, gratefully sighing, “at least between the two of you, someone is fully embracing the house-husband lifestyle.”

Embracing the house-husband lifestyle by packing on a few pounds. Just enough to soften Steve’s usually perfect abs into a flat belly (unless he’s stuffed or bloated) and turning his thighs and ass into soft, squeezable shapes.

Bucky and Steve have both retired, giving them all the more time to spend experimenting and practicing recipes for Natasha as house-husbands and homemakers. But Steve is the only one beginning to plump up. He’s stopped going for his morning run and afternoon workouts cold turkey. Bucky still goes to the gym. He finds it meditative. Cooking and working out seem to be some of the only things that completely clear his mind. Steve, on the other hand, has always been single-minded. And it seems like eating has taken up all of his focus.

There's no room for anything else.

Steve tastes as Bucky goes, describing the flavors the best he can, telling him what he might try adding and how the flavor compares to what his research has told him the dish is supposed to be like. Then, when the dish is done, Steve tries it first, while it’s still hot (even if it’s supposed to be served cooled, Steve can’t help but have a healthy serving before it goes into the fridge). He gives notes again. Bucky tries it when it's fully ready. He has a nibble or two, just enough to taste - nothing like the full servings that Steve takes. Bucky has already had his lunch, and he doesn’t want to spoil his dinner. Then, if it’s good, Steve eats the rest of whatever they’ve made.

All of the rest.

Bucky’s taken to telling Steve to “hide the evidence” since they don’t want Tasha to know until they’re ready for her…

Is it really hiding, though, if they both know where the extra food is ending up in the form of a pretty, shaping-up pot belly? Sticking straight out from Steve's well-defined chest.

Food for thought. Ha.

“What is Bucky feeding you when I’m away?” Natasha purrs, on her knees, her sharp, white teeth digging into the new slope of Steve’s belly. He chugged a whole, huge pot of stew when Natasha texted an approximate 10-minute ETA. Getting rid of the evidence except… the stew was full of melt-in-your-mouth meat and potatoes and salt. Heavy. This stew isn't fucking around and it's apparently delectable (Steve's word). So, it’s obvious where the stew has gone. Right into his pot belly.

Swollen.

Once Natasha arrived, Steve was still sweating and just beginning to bloat up like a balloon from the excess sodium. And Tasha's always present 6th sense for knowing how best to drive Steve up the wall, complained about how hungry she was.

A devious grin split Bucky’s face, asking what she was craving because they’d be sure to order lots of it. Whatever she wanted.

She said Indian food.

Perfect.

That’s not something Steve can resist. He loves Indian food. And, sure enough, he wolfed down a whole ‘nother dinner. Getting red in the face from the spice heat and temperature heat, his poor belly gurgling loudly in a fit of digestion.

Steve shrugs in reply to her question, biting his lip out of arousal but also out of desperation to hide the overfull groan that wants to come out of him. He’s been fighting burps and moans and hiccups all evening. Trying to not make his packed state so fucking obvious.

Bucky thought he was into seeing Steve like this - bloated and round - because he loves seeing his fella happy and healthy and fulfilled. Bucky thought he was into cooking and baking and experimenting with food for Natasha because he loves her, and he wants to make her happy and bring her comfort and just do something sweet for her. Those things are true. But, watching Natasha dig her painted nails into Steve’s soft parts…

There’s something else here, too.

Woo, boy.

“Mm,” Natasha is half-asleep, exhausted from yet another mission, yawning, and curled up like a cat in a sunspot between them. Her head is cushioned on Steve’s chest, “‘m pretty sure we could get rid of our pillows and be just fine.” She squeezes the pec that her head isn’t pillowed on in her hand, groping him, “got enough right here.”

Steve inhales shakily, turning bright red.

Bucky can tell by looking at him that he’s not insulted, far from it, that’s his this-is-making-my-dick-hard face. He's squirming, too. Blood going straight for his dick with a vengeance.

“Eh, just wait a little longer 'fore we make any rash decisions, m'kay, doll?” Bucky murmurs, amused, running his metal fingers through Tasha’s fire-red hair.

She grumpily frowns but then snuggles more into Steve’s jiggly chest, taking it as being warned about how tired she is rather than waiting because Steve’s going to get plumper. More cushion.

Good.

The more blindsided she is by the comfort, the better. Bucky wants it to take her out - to make her feel so much better that all she can do is accept it. She has a hard enough time allowing herself simple pleasures.

She deserves it all and more.

“Damn, Rogers, you ever think about doing a centerfold? I’m pretty sure Playboy would make an exception for you if we asked.” Natasha husks, her face all up in Steve’s business. Lips and teeth and tongue working at his little hole while her hands spread his extra full cheeks apart.

Steve simply whines, high-pitched and pathetic.

It’s a damn good response, considering her question and considering how Bucky has his cock rammed down his throat. Stuffing him.

Steve is suspended between them, face-planted onto Bucky’s cock, choking, his arms useless, half crushed under his chest against the bed, and arching back against Tasha. His legs shake under him when Natasha does something special with her sharp tongue. Steve’s in heaven. Choking on dick, throat full, and getting fucked with a hot, wet tongue deep inside his sweet hole.

Now, after weeks and weeks of practice, not just Steve’s big, heavy dick hangs down toward the bed... now his belly does, too. It jiggles when he squirms. Every time Bucky squeezes his growing gut, Steve makes a sound like he’s dying. It’s a different sound to what he makes when Natasha gropes his thickening ass or widening love handles. Also, different from the sound he makes when they feel up his expanding tits. All his sounds are sweet, but the sound he makes for his belly is especially guttural and desperate.

“Curves for days,” Bucky bites out, thrusting in hard. “Better than any of the girls in those pages.”

Steve chokes.

Tasha laughs, just this side of cruel. “Mmm-hmm,” she spanks his ass just to watch the fat flesh ripple, “getting more and more curves these days. I guess retirement is good for somethin’.”

The growl Bucky lets out is unintentional. It’s barely been a year since they retired. So, what will Steve look like in a year? What will Natasha look like when she’s face-first in his ass then? Will Natasha have to buy a longer strap to reach Stevie’s hole, much of the plastic length getting swallowed by his monstrous ass? How fat will Steve be if they keep going, his perfect, little, superhero figure ruined?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Bucky can’t take the thought. He ends up coming down Steve’s throat with a shout from behind gritted teeth.

Steve doesn’t mysteriously grow forever, though...

When they’re ready, Bucky and Steve arrange with Fury for Natasha to have a full three-day weekend off, no interruptions unless the world is literally being torn in two. Then, with the guarantee, they prepare.

First, Steve does research into the traditional Russian foods that would be used for a celebration - a feast - and arranges an entire multi-course menu for the occasion. His poor belly, so used to tasting and now able to recognize most of the dishes he comes across, wails the whole time he works. He’s not hungry. Not exactly. He just wants something in his mouth. He wants to taste. He can’t wait for the feast. Bucky has to remind him again and again that this is Natasha’s feast. She’s going to eat what she wants, and then Steve can destroy the leftovers.

Second, Bucky prepares all the dishes. One last time. Every detail on point. Practicing. Getting everything as perfect as he can. Making sure the dishes and drinks in each course compliment each other well.

Steve gobbles it all up, stuffed like a traditional American Thanksgiving turkey by the end of it. Panting around his bounty, all of it shoved down his throat, turning his belly into a red, tight beachball that Bucky wants to worship.

And for once, Bucky is relieved that Natasha is currently, before her long weekend, on a multiple-day mission. She’s out of the apartment and not returning tonight. He’s relieved because it means he doesn’t have to explain this to her.

Steve. Stuffed. Food-drunk and hard and moaning about it.

There’s no way this would be an accident. No one gets completely, illogically gorged like this without trying.

When did tasting bits and pieces become vacuuming up the entire dish Bucky made anyway? Bucky doesn’t exactly know. But he can’t complain. All he can do is rub Steve’s skin with lotion then jerk him off slow and tight, dragging it out until Steve is sobbing, holding his taunt gut desperately like he can keep himself together, keep himself from splitting at the seams, and then blacking out when he’s finally allowed to come because it feels so good.

Third, they prepare all the food before Tasha is set to arrive home. She’s been in debrief most of the morning, but before that, she caught a cat nap on the quinjet and then showered at Stark Tower. She should be refreshed. There’ll be no reason to delay the feast. Bucky doesn’t want to have to reheat it and ruin some of the delicate flavor.

He wants it perfect.

Steve waddles around, helping Bucky to set the table the traditional Russian way - including the shot of vodka next to the water and wine glasses. Steve waddles because Bucky had to make sure he had his fill of food before the feast. Otherwise, he would’ve probably been helpless not to hoover up all the decadence laid out in front of him. He’s created a monster. Even if it’s been hotter than sin to watch him lose self-control after so many years of being perfectly in control of every little part of himself and his life - but, there needs to be an intervention of that new habit today.

So, Steve is stuffed, barely holding himself together. Panting. Flushed. Sweaty. Aroused. Filled.

Bucky is so focused on the stew in front of him, steaming on the stovetop, as he ladles it into an appropriate bowl for serving that he doesn’t hear Natasha unlock the apartment door. The first thing he hears from her is a pleased moan.

“What is that smell?” She asks, her husky voice bright.

“I think you know what it is,” Bucky chirps back, charming.

“Mm-hm,” she hums. Bucky hopes he isn’t projecting when he thinks that she sounds delighted.

But, before he can get anything else out of her, he hears her gasp. He’s about to round the corner and check on her, make sure nothing is wrong after her mission, when -

“Oh, маленький поросенок,” she purrs, “this is why you’ve grown so plump, isn’t it?”

Bucky shivers, setting down both the ladle and the bowl, quickly stalking toward the dining table. Little piglet. God. Did he hear her correctly? Did - is… is that what she really just called Steve?

Little piglet.

The meaning of the words themselves, along with the sound of smooth, purred Russian in Natasha’s voice, leaves Bucky’s heart pounding in his chest.

This was part of the plan, too. Making Steve irrestiable, putting him on display, was part of the plan. He just didn’t -

He didn’t expect it to affect him so much.

He wanted it for Tasha.

Just for her, he left Steve at the dining table, sitting back in one of the heavy wooden chairs with his big belly wedged between the armrests as a gift. Huffing and puffing, stuffed as he already is. His hands resting on either round, bowed-out side of his tummy, rubbing himself lazily. He’s in a tight white t-shirt that’s been pushed up by his swollen middle, exposing a delicious, pale slice of his lower belly that’s been marked by hot, pink stretch marks. Even the serum can’t keep up with the ravenous appetite inside of Steve. The elastic of his grey sweatpants has been stretched to its limits and crushed under his gut. If his heavy belly is lifted up, jostled enough to make him moan, it becomes obvious just how low his sweats are on his hips because the top of his neatly trimmed, blond pubic hair is right there.

Sweet.

He looks delicious.

He looks like one of the Russian pastries Bucky has prepared. Golden and puffy. Hell, he might look more like the dough for the pastry before it’s baked - he’s certainly doughy and soft and he’s expanding out of his clothes like he’s expanding, growing from too much yeast.

Natasha is standing next to him now, her mouth open, staring at him, trying to figure out where to begin. A cat with a mouse, all hers to play with.

The moment she touches him, Steve arches his back, pushing into her touch. Hungry for even that.

Gluttonous.

He’s so gluttonous.

More. More. More.

More of everything. Anything.

“You gonna sit down, doll?”

Natasha shuts her full lips with a click but nods, almost shy with how her eyes flick toward him, then away. Demure in a way that she never is. Normally, if she wants something. She’s going to get it.

This is a different side of her, and Bucky already likes it.

Bucky pulls out a chair for her, the one directly across the table from Steve. She sits, and he pushes her in. He leaves quite a bit of space between her and the table, hoping her gluttonous side will appear and flourish, too. He wants to see her belly grow until it touches the edge of the table.

Christ.

He wants her to eat until she can’t have another bite.

Maybe she’ll let him feed her like Steve lets him.

Maybe she’ll grow as round and fat as Steve has.

He enjoys having one little piglet as a lover, so what could be better than two?

Fuck.

More than excited, Bucky sits himself at the head of the table after bringing the first course. He serves Steve just as much as he serves Natasha, unable to not feed him when he looks so sweet. Even if the plan had been to stuff Steve beforehand so he would be sated (and also to allow him to sit for long enough that he’d be ready to play by the time Natasha was done eating).

Steve is...

He's perfect. Irresistible. Blue eyes dazed, eyelids heavy, cheeks red with heat, head hanging low enough to give him a full double chin. A preview of what’s to come if he keeps blowing up like a balloon. It’s delicious.

Tasha eats everything that Bucky serves her. Everything. Practically licking each plate or bowl clean. She praises his dedication, obviously noticing the care and preparation of the presentation but also tasting the care and prep. These are not flavors that are easy to attain. It’s not perfect. But Natasha is glad it isn’t perfect. That means they can do this again. And again and again and again. Until they have it perfect. Then. Even after that, they should do it. This is good.

Natasha is enjoying herself because, perfect or not, it does settle her. She feels like she could close her eyes and be in one of the rare moments of her childhood where she felt safe and comforted. Better than that, too. With her eyes open, she’s here with her lovers. Her маленький поросенок [little piglet] and her… her кормушка.

Кормушка.

That feels right.

Her feeder.

That’s what Bucky is doing, feeding her, stuffing her, giving her everything she wanted and beyond. More than she could’ve imagined.

The fuller Tasha gets, the farther they get through the courses, the more settled she feels.

It’s hard, she realizes, to allow her abs to let go and expand with the bulk of the food she’s putting down, but, when they make it to the third type of stew, Bucky pauses to rub her belly over her tightening blouse and she moans and breathes heavy and let's go.

She unrounds.

She didn’t realize she was sucking in every moment of every day. Exhaustive. Letting go makes her toes curl. She watches Steve across the table and does as he does, mirroring him, squirming.

“Oh, Джеймс,” Natasha moans his name in Russian, James. Moving side to side, squirming, she can feel the food sloshing inside her. It’s so akin to the feeling of being fucked that it’s shocking. Full. Every sweet spot inside her hit. No wonder Steve loves this enough to have plumped up so deliciously, so rapidly.

She must be making a wet spot on her chair. The heat between her legs is so intense. She would love to squeeze her legs together and feel the throb of her pussy, stimulating herself, but she’s afraid she can’t move her legs. They’ve fallen apart. Spread. Making room for her belly to grow between.

Grow and grow and grow.

Until it’s inhibited by the size of her shirt and the band of her pants, belted tightly to her skin. Her blouse is too tight. The belt is cutting her in half. Without the belt, she’s sure her pants would be giving her trouble anyway. Together, it’s all agony. And these pathetic sounds she only makes when her lovers spend their day working her up and up and up, not letting her come until the sun has begun to set and all she can do is weakly clutch at them, crying, sobbing, and whimpering for her release. Begging to have it. And making a massive mess when she does, squirting hard enough the first time she was convinced she pissed herself. Just. Drenched. Broken like a dry branch snapping.

Crack.

How does she feel like she’s there already?

Steve is watching her from across the table with this obscene, blatant, animal desire etched into his pretty face. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him look so dumb and dominant at once. Like he wants to take her, to devour her, but he doesn’t know how.

Not a thought in his head.

She doesn't blame Steve, though. It is exquisitely difficult to think when so stuffed. She's full up to her eyebrows, and every swallow is forcing her brain out of her head. No thoughts.

Bucky reflects the look on Steve’s face, just, without so much of the stupid. He’s clearly awed, but he knows exactly what he wants.

What he wants to do to her.

What he wants from her.

Pop.

Before she can even realize what’s happened, Natasha is moaning, gruff and loud, and breathless all at once. She has a mouthful of food that she’s having a hard time swallowing, and her body doesn’t want more food. Her mind wants more food. She needs. More. Just a little more. Please? This feast has to end at some point, doesn’t it? So she might as well take all she can get while she can get it, right?

What happened? She turns her head towards Bucky, feeling entirely shit-faced drunk in a way that she… she hasn’t maybe ever felt.

Tasha swallows her mouthful of food, moaning as it slides into her. Stuffing her more. Deep. And -

Pop. Pop.

“AH!” She moans again, twisting her head too fast when she hears an answering clink, clink.

Her eyes follow the sound and find Steve’s plate and her answer.

Two of the three buttons she’s just popped off of her blouse, each feeling like an orgasm in their own right, has landed on his plate.

Steve is staring at them. Chin doubled. Hungry and dumb with his mouth open.

Oh.

Natasha squirms as much as her overfull, clothes-breaking gut will allow for, crying out when she feels her bare skin come into contact with the edge of the table.

She's grown so huge.

Please, please, please.

She doesn’t know what she’s begging for, what her little, hurt, desperate sounds mean. She just knows she needs.

And the second Bucky pulls out her chair, rips her blouse open to allow her to fully expand, tears her belt out of the buckle, shreds her pants, and gets his head between her shaking thighs, she’s coming. Coming and coming and coming. It feels endless. Steve’s eyes are hot enough on her to feel like a physical touch that throws her over the edge that much more. The hot, wet press of Bucky’s mouth against her, her soaked tight core, is too much.

“Oh, oh, oh!” She can’t stop moaning as she orgasms, entirely swept up by the tide of pleasure and excess.

This is absolutely happening again. She's already -

Yeah.

She already knows.

Absolutely.

She gets off so hard on it, stuffed to glutted at their dining table, Steve in the same condition, that Tasha thinks she may never get off on anything else ever. She's been ruined. She already knows.

She's ruined, and this is going to ruin her figure. All she can think about is how decadent Steve feels, fat and soft and lush, and her own body being that? Oh, it blows her mind. Their bodies together, both fat and soft and lush and curvy and round, next to Bucky - all solid, hard muscle. Oh, fuck, that obliterates her mind.

😳

[ao3-stucky]

Flour Power

Read on AO3

by SmutConnoisseur

As Steve savored the delicate pastry at Barnes Patisserie, he couldn't help but feel captivated by the effortlessly elegant pastry chef. He knew he had to find a way to catch sight of the chef again. After all, he needed more sweetness in his life.

Words: 181, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 7 of Into Alternate June-iverse '23, Part 19 of Slash Multiverse Pride

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Pastry Chef Bucky Barnes, Wedding Planner Steve Rogers, first sight, Tasty Treats, embedded art, Not Beta Read

from AO3 works tagged 'James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers' https://archiveofourown.org/works/48194062