bucky barnes imagines

liii. TABLE FOR TWO

"What can I do for you, sir?"

The words left your mouth before you'd even got a proper look at the customer in front of you. When your eyes met his, you couldn't help the tiny gasp that escaped you.

Actually, you recognised the man next to him first – Steve Rogers, Captain America, a regular in your little New York coffee shop. But, his friend... he was new, and he was gorgeous. Thick, brown hair, icy blue eyes, muscles that swelled beneath the red Henley shirt that suited him so well. And a metal arm.

You desperately wanted to reach out and run your finger along the shiny prosthetic, to ask the man for his story; he'd intrigued you, even after being in front of you for barely five seconds. But you couldn't do that, especially when you didn't even know his name.

You chatted with Steve as you prepared his usual drink. His friend's eyes followed you as you ground the coffee beans, frothed the milk, dusted the cocoa on top. And, as you handed him the cup, the stranger finally spoke with a deep, husky voice that was music to your ears.

"Hi, I'm... I'm Bucky."

Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The best friend that Steve had fondly told you a little about, mostly old stories from the forties. Once a confident, charming ladies man, now reduced to a shell of his former self for reasons unknown to you.

"And I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

You smiled reassuringly and Bucky visibly relaxed. He watched you, enthralled, while you made the simple black coffee that he'd politely asked for. When you passed it to him, your fingers brushed against his, leaving you both blushing uncontrollably while Steve smirked knowingly.

"Thanks, doll."

You practically swooned at the sweet pet name; not leering or arrogant like the usual "babe", but endearing, old fashioned. Even after so long, Bucky was still a gentleman.

The two super soldiers sat by the window, enjoying their drinks while you worked. You kept stealing glances at Bucky, giggling to yourself every time you caught him gazing back at you.

Once you finished your shift, you gathered your belongings from the staff room and headed towards the door, slightly reluctant to leave. But, as if he could read your mind, Steve beckoned you over, standing up to make room for you at the table for two.

"I'll be right back," he assured, as you glanced at him quizzically. And then he was striding away, leaving you sitting opposite Bucky, who was twiddling his fingers nervously.

Seizing your opportunity, you reached forward and gently grasped his metal hand, pulling it towards you to admire it. It was smooth, intricate, cool to the touch.

"This is amazing," you murmured, watching the way the plates whirred and shifted under your grip.

"You're not scared of me?" Bucky was in awe of you. He had been from the second he saw you, but this was the cherry on the cake. He found himself staring at you, noticing the twinkle in your eye, the soft slope of your nose, the way your hair framed your face.

"Of course not," you replied, bewildered, "why would I be?"

Somehow, knowing he could trust you, Bucky told you his story. He told you about the countless years of torture and abuse, the terrible crimes he'd been forced to commit, the horrendous feeling of knowing that, wherever he went, he wasn't truly safe anymore.

You listened until the very end, long past caring about why Steve hadn't returned yet. Tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over.

When he saw your expression, Bucky sighed dejectedly, ducking his head. "I'm sorry, I know you don't want to talk to me anymore after hearing... all of that." He stood up to leave, internally cursing his stupid mind for thinking he might've had a small chance with you.

And suddenly, your arms were around him, hugging him tightly because you figured that he probably needed it.

"Don't go."

It had been several decades since somebody had held him like this. For a second, Bucky's entire body tensed up, but he reminded himself that you were good, that you weren't going to hurt him. And then he was melting, savouring the warmth of your embrace as he felt you rest your head on his shoulder.

You could feel the eyes of the customers watching you, judging you. Pulling away, you offered your hand to Bucky; he took it and followed you towards the door.

He would gladly accompany you wherever you wanted to take him. Because, strolling along the sidewalk with your hand still tucked into his, he already felt safer and happier than he even thought was possible anymore.