mam’selle - james buchanan barnes
forties!bucky x waitress!reader inspired by frank sinatra’s “mam’selle”
warnings: MAJOR FLUFF, use of the nicknames ‘’sweetheart’’ ‘’sugar’’ and ‘’mam’selle’’, flirty but shy bucky!! and bulky bucky and steve
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Holding back a wince, you hummed under your breath. “’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t serve ya our breakfast options at this time o’ day,” a thick southern accent weaving through your words. The man grumbled, before settling on the tomato soup. “Now sir, that I can serve ya!” You grinned enthusiastically, just glad he hadn’t gotten mad at you for doing your job, which was all too familiar to you. You spun on your heel, flats clicking on the floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. “Martha!” you called, watching as her unruly hair and scrunched up face turned to you. “Yeah, hon?” She replied, tucking her cloth into her apron. “The man on table 8 would like the garden tomato soup, please,” you told her, sticking the paper slip through the pin on the counter. “10 minutes, top, hon,” she smiled, before the sound of slicing could be heard once more. You turned to the rest of the customers, smiling contently as everybody either sat waiting for their food, or had already been served it and were digging in happily. You were only a few tables short of a full house, and in contrast to the hustle and bustle outside, the café was surprisingly calm.
Breaking your peaceful daze, the bell that hung above the door rang shrilly. Your head snapped toward a sight you would have never expected to see. Not just one, but two of the most handsome men you had ever laid eyes on stepped into the café. Your mouth hung agape for a moment, before they started to make their way to a booth in the far end of the building. You waited for a moment, as to not seem too keen, before walking to their table, clutching your notebook nervously. Never had you been so flustered, let alone by customers, and you tried your absolute best to pull yourself together and be professional. Your eyes fluttered shut for a short moment as you drew in a sharp breath, before you were at the side of their table. Clearing your throat, you greeted them. “Hey, boys! What can I do for ya’ today?” You grinned, only just keeping your voice from shaking as their eyes bore into you.
The first man, slightly smaller than his companion, smiled at you sweetly. His hair was blonde, and he looked as if he had spent a day by the beach - his skin gleamed as if he were under the summer’s sun, and his eyes shone a bright blue hue. You turned to his friend, and if you thought the first man had been gorgeous, then you certainly had another thing coming for you. The second man was somehow even more attractive than the first, and you felt as if all the air in your lungs had vanished. He, too, simply stared at you, although you couldn’t quite tell if time had merely slowed to a halt. Much like his friend, the man’s body was perfectly sculpted, like the mythological Gods your father had told you tales about as a child. His muscles were visible, even through his tightly fitted shirt, and his shoulders were impossibly broad. You had started to wonder how he had even fit through the door. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue, specks of green complimenting his irises. His eyes sparkled, like wine does.
“Hi, sugar,” and with those two words you felt as though your knees would betray you. The second man, whose hair was a dark shade of brown, began to flick through the menu, his eyes barely leaving you before he hummed in satisfaction. “I think I’ll have the blueberry pancakes please, and a black coffee.” He said, smiling at you once more. Before you could even think about it, you nodded a quick ‘yes’ and scribbled the order down in your notepad. Your turned to the first man, internally cursing yourself, before smiling expectantly at him. “I’ll have the poached egg ‘n’ bacon, if that’s alright,” he murmured, shyly, flashing a small grin at you. “Is that all, gentlemen?” you asked politely. “Think so, for now, sugar,” The dark haired man replied, your blood rushing to your cheeks. Once again, you internally cursed yourself. What was wrong with you? You didn’t even know the guy! “Comin’ right up,” you confirmed, scrambling away to tell Martha the bad news.
“Martha!” You yelled through gritted teeth, slamming the order down in front of her. You scowled in self-annoyance, eyeing her down as she scanned the order. “Y/N, we don’t serve breakfast after 10-” She went to sigh, but you grabbed her by the apron and dragged her with you until the both of you were peering at the far booth where the two gorgeous studs sat. “Oh my,” She trailed off, whipping back into the kitchen. Following her, you yelped, “How am I to say no to them?!” Then, you began to plead. “Martha, please, for me, make ‘em their breakfast, just this once,” You cupped her face in your hands, staring sweetly into her eyes and pouting. Finally she sighed, smirking lightly as you squealed in relief. “Martha, darlin’, you won’t regret it!” You thanked her, lurching forward to embrace her. “My, my, Y/N, you sure are smitten,” she chuckled warmly, before asking which one you liked with a raised eyebrow and childish smirk. “I don’t.. I don’t...” you hummed, before a smile cracked your almost convincing facade. “Fine!” you squeaked as she prodded your sides. “The dark haired guy,” you sighed with a dreamy look in your eye. As Martha filtered the coffee into a spotted mug, she giggled alongside you. “Go, take this to them,” she said as she handed you the coffee. “Thank you, Martha, thank you.” you whispered giddily.
Coffee in your hands, heart in your throat, blood in your cheeks, you shuffled toward the table. You set the drink down, steam rising slowly from the cup in curls. “Here you go, sir,” you grinned, casually placing one hand on their table to steady yourself. He smiled back at you warmly, eyes staring right into yours, weakening your legs again. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he beamed. Sweetheart, you gushed internally. “No problem, mister,” you responded, fiddling with the fabric of your apron. “Can I get you anything else?” You asked, stare fixed upon the dark-haired man, until the blonde spoke up. Your eyes flitted to him as he stuttered, “Could I maybe get an iced tea, please?” You chuckled sweetly in response to his request, and the brunette’s shiver went unnoticed by you as the sound of your laugh made his hairs rise on the back of his neck. The smile he held never left his face, and the blonde eyed him amusedly, unbeknownst to you. “Of course darlin’,” you soothed, almost charmed by the smaller man’s sheepish nature. Your gaze snapped back to the brunette, whose eyes had never left your frame. As your eyes met his, an embarrassed cough erupted from his chest. You raised your brows at the sharp sound, offering the man a napkin. He quickly declined, too shaken by your warm hand on his shoulder. You too noticed the placement of your hand, speedily withdrawing it before smoothing your skirt. “Your food should be ready soon,” You affirmed, quickly turning and rushing back to the kitchen.
You groaned as you entered, wiping your hands over your face in shame and embarrassment. “What now?” Martha urged expectantly. “This is hell!” you cried, covering your eyes and shaking your head. “Hon, you may never even see them again.” She tried to comfort you, fingers smoothing over your shoulders. When you uncovered your face, Martha couldn’t help but snigger at the hot-red hue of your cheeks. You frowned at her suggestion. “’wanna see him again, though,” you mumbled softly. “What will be, will be,” Martha hummed in response. You let your eyes close hopelessly at her suggestion. She tapped your head, gazing down at you smugly as you opened your eyes to look at her. “Their food is ready, and you can’t just sit in here all day, or they’ll starve, You don’t want your man to starve, do you now?” She mocked. You pushed her hand from your scalp, huffing. “You’re mean,” you moaned, pouting. “Hon, lets not forget that you begged me to make these,” Martha reminded you. “Fine.”
As you placed both plates before the men and polite ‘thank you’s slipped from their lips, the brunette’s eyes were fixed on you despite the delicious smell flooding his senses. The pancakes may have smelled heavenly, but he didn’t care for them as long as you were there. He knew it was stupid, to crush on a waitress he had never met, but you were gorgeous. Your voice was soft and warm, and he adored your accent. Your laugh sounded like a symphony of violins. His heart, for whatever reason, yearned for you, and he was confused by this. He was usually flirtatious, yes, but he had never truly felt drawn to somebody like he had to you. To make matters worse, he couldn’t seem to flirt with you how he did with others. He wasn’t sure how he would win your endearment. Little did he know, he already had.
Whilst the man gazed at you, wishing he could make you his, your thoughts mirrored the ones racing through his mind. Usually, men took a fancy to you. You hated to sound self-absorbed, but it was simple fact. However, this man had only called you common nicknames, nicknames familiar to you as a local waitress, nicknames that he likely called hundreds of other swooning women. Little did you know, he never typically used pet names for other ladies. It didn’t usually come natural to him, not when most girls had little to no meaning. He wasn’t a bad man, he took care of ladies and showed them a good time, kept them happy whilst they were with him, but most of his encounters were purely flings, mutually. He knew that the women he usually met were looking for nothing more than an exciting week, but you? How could he know what you wanted from somebody like him? The answer was plain and simple: he couldn’t. Unless...
“How would you like to go to dinner with me some day,” He asked boldly, his voice nearly quivering with unfamiliar anxiety. He glanced at your name tag, before adding, “Y/N?” Both yours and the blonde’s eyes snapped up to stare at him, the blonde’s eyes flooded with a look of knowing awe; yours filled with a look of utter shock. You turned briskly to meet Martha’s gaze, who was peeking for behind the kitchen door, smirking at you excitedly. “I- um, yeah.” You babbled, completely dumbfounded by the quick turn of events. “Yeah?” the man chuckled, flashing a kind smile at you. “Yeah.” you affirmed. The two of you just stared at each other with starry eyes, before you realised that you didn’t even know his name. “What, um, what’s you’re name?” you asked awkwardly, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The man reached for your hand, his calloused palm smoothing over yours. He pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand, before he spoke. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, mam’selle.”
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