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wheelsupmarvel · 2 years

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°•☆A Very Special Recipe☆•°

♦️ Neighbor! Bucky Barnes x reader ♦️

You’re feeling adventurous in the kitchen and your sinfully attractive neighbor has just the ingredient you need for that unique experiment.

CW: Smut, oral sex (f/ receiving), fingering, p in v sex, taunting and praising, a little humiliation, use of bodily fluids for…alternative purposes 👀, crack fic, masturbation, light death threats, slight D/s dynamic, this fic is unhinged y’all are warned 💀💀💀

Words: 4.2k

A/N: when I say I was beyond nervous to share this... thanks to @musingsinmoonlight for encouraging me to share this weird story regardless 😂

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A frown creases your brow as you flip through the recipe book, followed by a sigh riddled with frustration and weariness.

It’s wild. Insane. Positively ridiculous.

Why would you even want to try?

And yet…

Incredibly tempting.

You’ve always been curious at heart. Never quite coloring inside the lines. Never quite remaining on the straight, narrow, little path. You soar and thrive off trying new things. And cooking happens to be your passion, what makes your heart thrum in joy.

It might be a little smug to declare but you can’t think of a well-known recipe you haven’t yourself tried and added your own personal touch to.

The endless array of combinations, the limitless possibility of flavors, the satisfaction rushing through you at a well-executed meal.

Cooking provides you a thrill, one nothing else compares to. Not even sex.

You chew on your bottom lip, thoughts wandering.

Highly nutritious.

Complex, subtle, dynamic taste.

The taste can widely vary based on origin.

"What are you reading?"

Charlotte’s shrill pitch yanks you away from your musings. When you’re back to yourself, it’s too late. When you’re back to yourself, she's already swiped the book from your hands.

Right, you aren’t alone.

How long were you daydreaming for her to have time to get up from the couch and take the book from your hands.

Charlotte opens it, interest growing on her face as she examines its contents.

Your heart thunders. Her eyes lift from the book to meet yours. Then, she guffaws.

"A semen cookbook?" she exclaims. "Look at that, Anna."

You gulp the lump in your throat. Your friend Anna rises from the couch, joining Charlotte’s side. A grin forms on her features.

"Oh, yeah. I lent it to her as a joke," she says. She chuckles, casting a pointed glance your way. You avoid it, grabbing your glass of Chardonnay and taking a sip from it. "Didn’t think she’d actually look through it." She pauses, another laugh bursting forth. "You're not thinking of actually…"

You cut her off before she can finish her sentence.

"No! I just think some of the recipes are funny," you retaliate.

Heat nestles in your cheeks. Doubt lingers on your friends’ expression. They don’t believe you. Who would? Hell, you don’t believe yourself. To be fair, when Anna first mentioned the old recipe book collecting dust in her attic, you thought it a joke as well.

She had to be kidding. Then, she slipped it in your bag at one of the cooking club gatherings, winking at you as if to mean 'Told ya'.

Saying your jaw fell to the floor would be a humongous understatement. In fact, you’re still bewildered. Still, the book has ensnared your attention since.

Much as shame lines your stomach at admitting it, it’s veered into an obsession. You’d crave to try one of the singular recipes.

Problem is, you’re missing the key ingredient.

"Funny, huh?" Charlotte snorts.

You clear your throat, putting some distance between you and your friends to pluck back some modicum of composure from the bottomless pit of embarrassment you find yourself drowning in.

Your attempt at escaping takes you to the window. Outside the sun is bright, the sky clear and blue.

Your gaze falls to a man, your brows shooting upwards. Lengthy chestnut locks framing a ludicrously handsome face. Eyes so blue, one could easily drown in those mesmerizing depths. A metal arm glistening silver under the sunlight and rippling muscles beneath a tight shirt, droplets of sweat traveling the expanse of his suntanned skin and dripping and dripping-

"Damn, who’s your new neighbor?"

Anna’s excitement rips through your daze.

You blink and sputter, rushing to draw the curtains closed.

"I don’t know. He keeps to himself."

You pull away from the window. You’re not sure what came over you. He moved in a week ago. Vague mentions of his name have circled the neighborhood.

But you don’t know him and you don’t want to know him. He’s withdrawn and quiet. Emphasis on withdrawn. The desire to be left alone oozes from the man, clear to you even miles apart and behind the brick walls and fences separating you from him.

Charlotte growls, wrinkling her nose mischievously as she stands before the window.

"He could choke me with that arm and I wouldn’t mind," she confesses.

"Charlotte!" you chastise her, scowling at your friend.

Anna approaches, gauging your mysterious neighbor with a glint of appreciation in her eyes.

"Maybe he can give you samples for that éclair recipe?" She winks at you. "They say the fresher, the better."

You roll your eyes, tossing yourself on the couch with an annoyed grumble.

"I’m gonna kick you both out," you hiss, arm covering your face, hot from shame.

Charlotte giggles.

"Come on, you know you want to."

You do want to.

It guts you to admit it…but you do.

The thought runs in your head. Day and night. Night and day.

Teeth sinking into your lip, you soak in the spectacle of him, skin glimmering under the sun. The coffee in your hand has long gotten cold. Your throat’s too tight to sip from the cup, your stomach too knotted.

What is he doing in the yard? You squint, curiosity keeping your eyes glued to the man’s broad frame, hunkered in the grass. The shirt clings to his sweaty frame, the sun’s flaming rays battering down on him. He wipes his forehead and a few brown strands stick to his reddened cheeks. His hands are buried in the earth, a befuddled expression adorning his chiseled features. Or is it frustration, anger, or maybe even…

His head snaps up, his piercing, cobalt glare zeroing in on you.

The coffee tumbles out of your tremulous hand as you gasp. The sound of the broken porcelain shards hitting the floor echoes in the kitchen.

The curtains are yanked shut. The roar of your blood racing in your veins explodes in your eardrums.

You tremble as slow steps drag you away from the window.

You put a hand on your chest, your breathing erratic as you lean against the kitchen counter.

It’s unmistakable. The prickles spreading all over your skin leave no room for doubt.

He saw you.

It’s a mistake, egregious, stupid. You should go back home. Still, your bouncy feet remain attached to the front porch of your mysterious neighbor.

Nervousness twines your insides as you twitch. The warmth of the raspberry pie leaks from the plastic container to your hands.

It tethers you. A reminder. To be a good neighbor. To welcome him with a kind gesture. To apologize for staring.

To maybe ask him something no one’s supposed to ask anyone.

You dart glances at the front yard, hoping to calm the storm raging inside you. Head tilting sideways, you’re astonished to notice turned soil with tiny leaves peeking from below the earth. So he’s been gardening. And it appears to be going well.

"It’s you."

A sharp exhale exits from your lips, your eyes rounding.

The door’s open, your tall, broad-shouldered neighbor occupying most of its width. The pie almost drops from your shaky hands. Your fingers clench around the container.

Your mouth quirks into an awkward smile.

"Hi, hm…We’re neighbors," you utter lamely, grimacing as the words spill out in a stuttered heap.

"I know."

You freeze, the breath hitching in your throat. Two simple words. It’s all it takes to halt the smooth, coherent train of your thoughts, his soft timbre pouring in your ears like warm honey.

You swallow and breathe. Holding his gaze is tougher than you were prepared for. Words falter on your tongue as you get lost in a sea of vivid blue. "My name is…"

He finishes your sentence, pronouncing your name with slow motions of his pink lips you follow with your eyes.

His mouth cants crookedly.

"I know." Once again, the two little words siphon your ability to think straight. He approaches, ever so slightly. The warm, woodsy scents of bergamot and pine engulf you and you soak them in. "I’m Bucky."

You nod, his dizzying scent drawing a long exhale from you.

"Nice to meet you. I made raspberry pie," you offer, extending your arms bashfully. "It’s a…a housewarming gift."

He takes the pie from you, opening the door wider.

"Thanks."

Glimpses of the inside of his house are stolen by your curious eyes. It’s so bare, with only the mandatory amount of furniture. Just a few chairs, a table, a couch… you couldn’t live like this if you tried. You like a space that’s warm, lived-in, cozy.

Bucky purses his lips, scoffing at your curious expression.

"You can come in…" he says. As you fidget on the doorstep, he adds with a nonchalant tone, "Or maybe you’d rather keep staring at me from your window?"

Your face catches fire.

You knew it. He saw you that day.

You study his face, searching for annoyance or anger. It’s a fruitless query that sparks your worry anew. Bucky Barnes is unreadable.

Fiddling with your hands, you mumble, "I’m so sorry…"

A small smile unfurls on his lips.

"It’s okay. Come in."

As you enter, your arm brushes against his. You convince yourself your heart isn’t fluttering at the shallow contact. It’s probably low blood sugar. Yeah, it’s probably what it is. After all, you haven’t grabbed a single bite today, too anxious to stomach any food.

"This is nice," you compliment, gaze wandering over his near empty interior.

He shrugs. "It’s not much, I know. I’m still trying to make it a home." He goes to the fridge, collecting a beer from it and unscrewing it with ease with his metal hand.

"A drink?" he asks, absently rummaging through the fridge.

"Just water will be fine."

He directs you to the couch and you plop down into it, attempting to ignore the sizzling in your nerves. You gracefully accept the glass of water he gives you with a muttered 'thanks'.

He takes a seat in front of you, legs open wide. You gulp down some of your water, despising how tempted you are to let your eyes travel lower than his face.

You are a sick individual. Screw Anna and Charlotte for planting those ideas in your head. You really should toss the stupid book away.

"So…" Your voice trails off. An air of awkwardness hangs about, clogging your airways.

Bucky speaks before you can mull over what to say next.

"So, you’ve been staring a lot. That’s usually my thing."

Your head snaps up, heart bouncing in your chest.

"Sorry about that!" you squawk.

Mirth sparkles in his blue eyes.

"Why? Something on my face?" He pauses, his expression more subdued as he lifts his metal arm. "Or maybe ’cause of this?" He leans back on the sofa, gulping another swig of the beer. "People look sometimes. I’m used to it."

You wave your hands in the air apologetically. "No!" you shriek. "It’s not the arm, I swear." Scratching the back of your neck, you wonder what to say. Your fingers fall to the hem of your dress, twisting the fabric as nervousness slithers through you.

There’s no way you’re telling him why you’re really here, what you meant to ask. You would die. An awkward laugh exits your lips. "I was…just a bit curious about what you were doing in the yard."

He shrugs.

"Just planting some seeds, making sure the soil is nice and fertile."

Seeds…

Nice and fertile…

Heat rushes to your head. It’s too much.

You slam your glass down on the coffee table, bolting upright.

Hasty excuses tumble from your mouth. "I-I have to go. I…left something in the oven."

Bucky squints at you.

"Nothing’s burning in your house," he says matter-of-factly, his nose twitching. "In fact, you haven’t cooked anything all day, except for this." His head slants towards the pie sitting on the kitchen counter.

You swallow thickly.

"You can tell?"

"Sharp sense of smell."

He holds your gaze.

Right, you remember, he’s one of them.

Your heart leaps, your mouth going dry. You don’t want to unpack what this means, what other senses of him are sharp enough for him to know more than you’re comfortable with.

You decide this is your cue to leave.

"Oh," you squeak, a wide smile that hurts your cheeks pulling up your mouth. "It was nice meeting you, Bucky! Enjoy the pie."

You gasp as your wrist ends up ensnared by Bucky’s steely grip.

"Wait. What are you hiding?" Suspicion darkens his blue orbs as he stares you down harshly. Sweat gathers under your armpits. You lick your lips, your pulse clamoring in your ears.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Heat prickles your skin when his gaze lingers on your heaving chest.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he mumbles, thumb circling your throbbing pulse. "So you’re either lying or…something else is making you nervous." His crooked smirk is downright devilish. "Which one is it, doll?"

"I think…I think you should let me go," you shakily reply.

A derisive chuckle bursts up his chest.

"I think I don’t want to do that."

He inspects your face, pausing for a few seconds before uttering, "How about you tell me what you’re really here for."

"Please…I’m not hiding anything."

His voice lowers, edging on a threat.

"Lying to me, again. You know, doll…" He bends near your ear. "I’ve killed people for less." He laughs as your mouth drops, his blue eyes glinting with shameless glee. "But I can think of more interesting ways to make you talk."

"Bucky…"

"Doll…"

You take a deep breath, growing dizzier beneath his intimidating stare.

"I…I…The truth is…"

You dip your head low in the steamy bath, hoping your shame will melt in the near boiling water.

You told him. The words actually left your mouth.

Any excuse would have been better. Even the dreaded lie about a crush (which you obviously, absolutely do not have).

But this…

This isn’t something anyone can live down.

You told Bucky Barnes you wanted his…

Bubbles rise to the surface as you exhale a long sigh of frustration into the water.

And this isn’t the worst part.

The worst part is that he said yes.

"How did you pull this off? I have to admit, I didn’t think you had the balls…"

You almost choke on your mouthful of the chocolate eclair as Charlotte smirks at you. Flames consume your face, memories sneakily flashing back to the forefront of your brain.

Pink lips parted in pleasure.

Thick lashes caressing sculpted cheekbones.

A sea of blue stormed over by lust.

Metal wrapped over shiny, taut, veiny flesh…

"Hm."

You force an anxious smile on your lips as Anna quirks her brow at you.

"Hm, what?" you reply as innocently as you can.

"You fucked your hot neighbor, didn’t you? You had that 'freshly fucked' look on your face."

This time, you truly suffocate on the dessert, sputtering as you cough,

"No," you shriek.

Charlotte snorts, taking another bite of the eclair without hesitation. She can barely hold her laughter in, her smile wide and teasing as she peers at you.

"No?"

"Really…no?" Anna parrots, crossing her legs on the sofa. There’s a hint of disappointment in her tone. "So, he just…put his stuff in a jar and dropped it on your doorstep. And nothing else happened?"

You shrug.

Charlotte giggles, wiggling her eyebrows. "Just regular neighbor housewarming gifts."

You clear your throat.

"So what do you guys think?"

"This is definitely…not what I expected," Charlotte says.

Anna hums in thought, "Unique."

"But what do you think? You are the chef."

They both stare at you with evident curiosity. Making the chocolate eclairs took much longer than collecting the…key sample. It was only a few minutes. But those few steamy minutes are forever etched in your brain.

"It’s…interesting."

Delightful. Thrilling. But you keep the scandalous thoughts to yourself. You’re already knee deep in strange, untreaded waters. No need to sink even further.

"So, is it in the filling or the glaze? Tell us more."

"Mostly the filling. The book said it needed to be as fresh as possible."

Anna slams a hand over her mouth as dots appear to connect in her brain.

"Oh, don’t tell me he…" You pinch your bottom lip, squirming in your armchair. Her brows fly to her hairline. "Here?"

Your silence and pointed refusal to meet their stunned gazes is answer enough.

"Where?" Charlotte presses.

You unleash a long breath before admitting,

"The chair over here."

Both of their heads instantly snap to the lone chair near the window. Your belly tingles as you glimpse at it from the corner of your eye. You can barely look at it, indecent thoughts of what happened in it when Bucky showed up in your home the other day flooding your mind every time.

"Oh my god," Charlotte beams. "You naughty bitch."

"Shut up," you groan.

"Why do things like that never happen to me?" she laments with a playful pout.

"You should call him," Anna says.

"You totally should. The guy must be an absolute freak."

You roll your eyes at Charlotte’s antics. Still, the urge to do it lingers.

You’ve thought about it. A lot. But you also can’t help the embarrassment strangling your resolve each time.

Turns out calling Bucky isn’t needed, as he knocks on your doorstep in the middle of the afternoon two days later.

A wave of shame swallows you at the sight of the smirking supersoldier. You bite the inside of your cheek. You’re not ready for him. In fact, you doubt you ever will be. You tug on the hem of your dress and tuck a stray coil behind your ear.

"Hey, neighbor," he greets, slanting his head. His timbre is blatantly teasing.

"H-Hi," you stammer, failing to meet his gaze.

He surprises you again when he enters inside your home, looming over you as he bluntly inquires, "So… how did I taste?"

You flinch as your eyes widen. Your face is hot as words leave your mouth in a hasty stutter.

"Look, you can’t just show up in people’s houses unannounced and-"

The corners of his lips curl in the most infuriating, self-satisfied smile.

"Oh, you liked it. A lot." He reaches out to caress the side of your face and you go still. Your pulse is thunderous as he lifts your chin. "You know, doll. It got me thinking," he singsongs, leering down at you. Lewd promises ooze from his sinful tone. "You got to have a taste and I didn’t."

"Ah, well that’s-" you start but your sentence dies in a pathetic whimper when Bucky’s mouth collides with yours. You moan against his tongue, getting lost in the sloppy, heady kiss. You quickly grow intoxicated with Bucky’s soft lips and his rough hands groping your flesh.

Insatiable hunger lingers in every one of his fevered touches.

"Your bedroom," he gruffly demands, his scorching breath fanning over your face.

"Upstairs," you pant.

It’s the only cue he needs to carry you to your bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist while he resumes devouring you with his tongue. His stubble grazes your jaw and his wide hands knead your ass.

Bucky laughs, turning his head as you eagerly return the kiss. He tosses you on the sheets and the mattress bounces as you yelp.

He sweeps his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his lust-flared pupils drinking in your breathless form.

"You’re so greedy, doll…" he chuckles. "But I want you to put on a little show for me first." He sends you a mischievous grin. "I gave you one too, remember?" Your cheeks warm at the memory. His fingers dance over your thigh, below your dress.

"Give me your panties," he urges. "You won’t need them today…" His smug smile grows. "Or tomorrow for that matter."

Beneath him, you hesitate, your breath catching a little.

"Really, doll, you want to act like a prude now? After what you asked of me," he taunts, grazing the inside of your thigh. His gaze hardens. "Panties," he snarls, no room for doubt or arguments left in his commanding tone. Fire tickles your core.

With quaking hands, you reach under your dress and shimmy out of your panties. The bulge in Bucky’s pants grows as he watches you. Your mouth waters at the sight. You remember all too well what lies beneath the denim.

You give him your panties and Bucky smells them, his lashes fluttering entrancingly, before he shoves them in his back pocket.

Bucky tilts his head, backing away from the bed.

"Lift your dress and show me, doll."

Bucky’s tongue peeks out as he swallows, letting out a sharp exhale when you do as he says. His focus never wavers from you, a slight frown settling over his forehead as you shyly part your thighs.

"Wider," he grumbles.

Self-awareness nips at your skin as you follow his command, exposing your glistening cunt to his ravenous gaze.

His metal arm twitches, his fingers clenching and unclenching.

"Touch yourself, doll." Your fingers crawl down between your legs. You trace hurried, tremulous circles at first. Bucky’s Adam apple bobs. "Slower." His timbre is hoarse, strained with desire. "I want to see everything."

Your pace slackens. You nudge your folds gently and play with your aching clit. Your hips writhe as arousal pools in your belly.

He approaches slowly, remaining at a torturous distance. His knees sink into the sheets when he bends forward. The dog tags around his neck dangle as he does.

His voice lowers to a suggestive whisper.

"Did you think about me since the other day? About my big cock in your tight little pussy?"

Your belly tightens at his words. It becomes hard to focus on your task, his musk and mesmerizing voice taking hold of your senses.

"No…"

Bucky hums, blue gaze flicking down to your pussy.

"That wet little cunt tells a different story, doll."

Your core clenches around nothing, the aching emptiness almost making you weep.

Bucky smiles.

You’re completely unprepared when his mouth lands on your lower lips, your tender bud rolling on his tongue. You jolt, your head falling backwards on the pillows. The dual sensations of his soft mouth and his stubble grazing your delicate flesh drive you wild. Bucky purrs against your folds, stretching you open with his firm hands. The vibrations cascade through your body.

You bite your lip, burying your fingers in his chestnut locks.

His tongue twirls over your clit, a sensual tease that keeps you at the edge of pleasure.

The filthy sounds of Bucky eating you out swell in the room, mingling with the incoherent pleas falling from your tongue. He inserts his index finger between your slick walls and your hips curl.

He traces fevered patterns with his tongue that have you gasp and shout.

"Already so loud and we’ve just gotten started, doll," he gibes, planting a kiss over your quivering folds.

Bucky doesn’t stop, not until you’re crying and begging, having come on his ravenous tongue too many times to count.

He crawls over your heaving frame, licking you off his lips and beard. A lopsided, victorious grin decorates his handsome face.

He strokes your cheek.

"I want to hear you say it, doll."

"I need it, please."

"Please, what?"

A tinge of humiliation radiates in your chest. Face sizzling, you take a minute to respond.

"Please, fuck me, Bucky."

His dark blue gaze sluggishly wanders over you. He grabs a hold of your chin, prompting you to elaborate. "That’s not very specific. I just let you come on my fingers and tongue five times, doll."

It’s a wonder you’re not spontaneously combusting from the sheer shame searing your insides.

"Want your cock, Bucky, please," you whimper.

He grazes his lips against yours.

He pauses. "Where do you want it?"

"In my p-pussy, please," you squeak, shivering beneath him.

"That’s my good girl," he praises.

Bucky fumbles with his pants and removes his shirt, baring his toned chest. Your stomach clenches with anticipation at the clanking of his belt. He frees his massive cock, giving his veiny length a few pumps before resting his tip against your swollen lips. He places his forearms besides your head, pushing inside you as your breath falters. You clench your teeth and tremble as he stretches you open.

Inch by inch, Bucky’s cock finds a home inside you.

You unleash a high-pitched moan when he sinks inside you to the hilt.

He gives you time to adjust to his size, whispering soft praises against your shoulder.

Your nails slice into the taut flesh of his back as he begins to rock inside you. Each of the sharp thrusts steals the air from your lungs. You moan as your toes curl. Every time he drives himself inside you, his pelvis grazes deliciously against your bundle of nerves.

He fucks you more bluntly as you grow slicker, sliding inside with determination.

You come undone with a sharp cry, your walls fluttering around his cock. As your eyes quake shut, Bucky seizes your jaw, causing your eyes to snap open.

"Like I’ve said," he rasps between uneven exhales. "We’ve just gotten started."

You keen as he snaps his hips at a vicious angle, slamming roughly into your cervix. A desperate mewl escapes your throat.

Bucky chuckles then drops adoring kisses over your forehead. "So don’t go dumb on me yet." A beautiful smile and sparkling eyes sway in your vision. His sensual promise seeps into your skin. "I still gotta taste every part of you, doll."

I do not have a taglist anymore. Turn up notifs for my sideblog @straytales to know when I update or post something new.

#bucky can get it anyday if the week #wheelsupmarvel.nsfw

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