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mishkatelwarriorgoddess · 1 year ago

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Devour: FAT

Fandom: MCU Title: Fat (Devour, part two) Characters/Pairings: mostly-dark!mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: True achievement in the restaurant industry requires a relentless drive. No compromises. You’ve risen through the ranks, and now hold the mantle of executive chef at Devour - a restaurant now owned by the infamous James Buchanan Barnes. He's just as relentless as you, and he's used to always getting exactly what he wants.

Content Warnings: smut (vaginal fingering), some strong language, mildly dark possessive behaviors

Additional Notes: Sequel to Salt (part one of the Devour series). Filling my tenth square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - U5 "Kink: Lingerie" and circling back to hit week 6 of Hot Bucky Summer for the prompt "How do you want me?"

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“What’s that look?” you narrowed your eyes as Stanley’s approached. As Devour’s Maître d’ Stanley was regularly in and out of the kitchen on any given night, but it was the air of intent that had you questioning him.

“Mr. Barnes is dining with us tonight. Just arrived.”

“Right, everyone, the big boss is dining tonight!” your sous chef Charlie called out to the rest of the kitchen.

There was an immediate flare of sound and activity over the announcement, and so you threw your pan down onto the counter.

“Everyone stop – right now. Stop.”

The whole staff turned their attention to you.

You didn’t raise you voice but made sure you spoke clearly. “I will say this one time: if you cook better tonight than you have every other night because Bucky Barnes is here, you better keep that fucking level every minute you stay in my kitchen from here on or else don’t come back tomorrow.” You let your eyes quickly rove over all of them.

You don’t doubt this staff, you’ve worked with them for years – inherited some of them from your predecessor and recruited some of them yourself – and helmed them without questioning their loyalty since taking over the past week. But you’ve made it clear with this statement, letting them know this is the final test of the transition in your eyes.

“Understood?”

“Yes, Chef,” is the assent from everyone.

“Back to it then.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow as everyone got back to work. “You good?”

You nodded. “It’s not his kitchen, it’s mine.”

To his credit, Stanley didn’t push you any further on the matter and took you at your word.

An hour later, the Maître d’ returned. “Mr. Barnes said, ‘my compliments to the chef,’ on his way out.”

You tilted your head to the side and frowned. “’My compliments to the chef?’ That’s it?”

Stanley waves his hand in a vague gesture that indicates that’s the extent of it.

“And he left?”

“In and out smoothly from our new owner is all I want to see,” Stanley said before returning to the front of the house.

Bastard.

You worked to ignore the disappointment that took over the anxious heat that had been simmering in your core knowing he’d finally come back. It had been exactly a week since your debut as the new Executive Chef, meaning it had also been a week since mob boss James Buchanan Barnes came in, dined, bought the place, tripled your salary, and took you apart in this empty kitchen.

You excuse yourself, needing to take a walk out back to work off the pent-up energy. Once out in the cooler night air, your hand works under the shoulder of your chef’s coat to fidget with the strap of your bra. Then you huff at doing that because it’s one more thing that reminds you of him.

It had also been a week with an early morning delivery every day of a simple white box wrapped in a silk ribbon, and a a set of under garments resting in a bed of tissue paper and two cards – one indicating it’s La Perla lingerie (a quick Google search confirming it was some of the most expensive intimate wear in the world, an Italian line that used only the finest European silks and lace), the other with a hand-written –JBB on it to let you know exactly who it was from. It was more than a little bold to send you something like that, but when you touched the soft, luxurious material with your fingers, you sighed, thinking it would be a shame to waste something so fine. You had tried it on, just to see.

It was maddeningly also the perfect fit.

You rationalized that if he was going to send it, who were you to deny yourself something so nice just because it was a bit audacious? Let him waste his money sending you these gifts.

Today’s set was black silk and tulle. You hated how wonderful it was.

The ticket for his table that night had been dinner for two with a bottle of wine.

You hated that, too.

He returned two nights later. The order brought back by his waiter this time was to “surprise” him. Another table for two, another bottle of wine. You sent the evening’s special.

Fifteen minutes after the plates went out, so did you.

Hell if James Barnes thought he’d dine and disappear again. (It hadn’t been a dine and dash the last time – he dined for free now as the owner, but he the staff couldn’t help remarking on the more than generous tip left.)

Again, in one of the more private table alcoves, you knew you were approaching his table with a bit of steam pouring from your ears, but you were not going to be deterred and wanted to strike while your resolve was strong.

Steve was his dining companion tonight, and as he saw you coming, he shot you a very small smile, excused himself from the table, and gestured for you to take his spot across from the mob boss.

“Good evening,” James said, voice low, eyes hinting at a bit of mirth.

“You buy my restaurant, take me in the kitchen, drop off the grid for a week, return to dine with a woman and leave without even a word, then show up here again tonight, and think you can get off without seeing me this time?”

He smiled. “Do you want to know who she is?”

Your mouth snapped shut. You hadn’t wanted to divulge that you knew he’d been here dining only with that woman, whoever she was, or that you cared that he’d been dining with a woman. Except a little of you also did want him to know you didn’t want to be one of a string of conquests.

He slid out of his side of the booth and came around and moved in next to you. “Interesting choice of words there, too: ‘get off.’”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. His eyes were dark with lust now, a smirk on his face, and the air felt suddenly thick around you.

“And she was my sister, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“But you should care. I like that.”

He moved even closer to you and placed his hand on your thigh, just above your knee. He brushed a finger along the side of your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

“Now you said, it’s your restaurant.” His lips moved just to the shell of your ear. “Don’t forget it’s mine, Chef.” His tongue darted out to lick the curve there.

Half a whimper escaped your lips as your breath hitched.

He chuckled in your ear then pressed a kiss to your temple. He lifted his hand from your leg, and reached to the middle of the table where he dipped his finger into the dish of soft herbed French butter, then wiped it over your bottom lip. “This was delicious,” he started. You licked what he’d left on your lips, and you watched him lick the remainder of the butter off his own finger.

“But I bet you’ve got something even more delicious for me.”

You knew exactly what he was going to do, but maybe it was the intensity of his eyes locked with yours that made you remain still, practically holding your breath as his hand moved to the waistband of your pants and inside, going directly for the wetness he was creating between your legs. You shifted, body reacting to allow him more access even though your face burned with the heat of panic, not at all comfortable at the thought that anyone could see what was happening, but also desperate for him to give you the pleasure he was dangling in front of you.

“I remember the taste of your skin, and now I will get my taste of this.”

A full whimper fell from your lips this time, and you closed your eyes as his fingers circled your clit. His other hand came to rest at the nape of your neck as he planted his lips at your ear again.

“How do you want me? I bet you’ve been thinking about it.”

You gasped as he stroked up and down your labia and then slipped his fingers inside your cunt.

“Do you want me pushing these thighs open with my face buried between your legs, eating you out until you cry from it being too much for your over-sensitive clit? Splitting you open with my cock, you caged in beneath me while I fuck you into a mattress? Pressed up against a wall while I fuck you from behind? Have you thought about sitting in my lap and riding me?”

Your head fell forward, eyes closed, and you tried desperately to concentrate on your breathing and controlling the sounds you were trying to keep at by while he worked diligently to bring you towards ecstasy. Every word he said was making it all the more difficult, and you clutched at the edge of the table.

His other hand moved from caressing your neck to slip under the edge of your collar, pulling the shirt back enough for him to hook his fingers under the silky band of your bra. “Wearing what I got you.”

You reached up to grab his wrist and pull that hand away. He didn’t fight it, but he did grab your chin and tilt your face up to his for a fierce, hungry kiss. He bit at your lip, and his tongue coaxed and demanded entry to your mouth. He curled his fingers up against your pelvic wall, finding the sensitive spot there, and your lips immediately parted on a true keen over the sensation he stoked in your core. He swallowed up the noise in his mouth. His tongue stroked yours as expertly as his fingers stroked your heated channel, and within only a few more moments, your whole body seized up and then shuddered in the peak of the orgasm he demanded from you there at the table.

His kiss and his fingers both brought you down softly but quickly, and then he pulled you into his chest, tucking your head under his chin and rubbing small circles at the small of your back as your breathing returned to normal. When he removed his fingers from your cunt, he brought them to his lips, and made a low hum as he tasted your essence on his tongue.

“James,” you rasped.

“Delicious,” he whispered. “Mine.”

“Oh god.”

He snickered. “Nowhere close, you know that.”

You straightened your shirt and adjusted your trousers while he kept his broad torso sideways, and your glad he was so big he truly did afford you a modicum of privacy through the whole episode due to his size.

He pushed out of the booth, then took your hand and helped you out as well. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you put your fingers up to stop him. His brow furrowed.

“If I’m yours, I need more than this.”

He cocked his head just a fraction, his expression unreadable, but you saw a glimmer in his devastatingly blue eyes. “More it is, then.”

He pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand then sent you on your way. Steve passed you as he returned to the table and you to the kitchen, giving you a nod.

When you arrived home that night after your shift, something seemed different in your apartment, but you couldn’t put your finger on it immediately. You dropped your clothes into the laundry hamper, then jumped in the shower to wash the kitchen smell off you before bed. It was when you made your way to your closet, wrapped in a towel, that you noticed exactly what it was – you weren’t a slob, but everything was now extremely tidy.

Opening your drawer to get some panties, you audibly gasped.

A drawer cleared of all your old underwear, almost overflowing with new lingerie, and a card with the word ‘enjoy’ and his initials told you everything you needed to know.

He was an audacious bastard.

And when you looked at your phone as you crawled into bed, you had a goodnight text from an unknown number that undoubtedly had to be his. You frowned and did not respond.

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