Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (not Stucky)
Word count: 3k
Warnings: maybe a couple curse words? I don’t remember. Lots of coffee
Summary: Steve is fond of a particular barista. Bucky has a favorite customer. Let’s see where this goes!
A/N: Somewhat inspired by real life events, this is (hopefully) going to turn into a new series! No idea where I’m going with it or how often it will update, but let’s have fun and see where it goes! As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading <3
It’s July - early morning and already hot - and the door squeaks loudly somewhere over her shoulder as she preps a fresh batch of coffee to brew. She doesn’t look up or turn around, intent on her task, but she calls a distracted “good morning”, along with her coworkers. The humid morning air has left a sticky fog on the windows and doors, on skin and clothes, and it follows them inside, in spite of the air conditioning. She’s already regretting the long-sleeved shirt she plucked from her laundry pile, though it was the only passable shirt she could find and still be in dress code.
“Hey, you got front?” Bea, her supervisor, pipes up over the headset. Her head bobs over the open door of her bar fridge, where she’s counting milk.
With a nod, she turns back around from the brewing machine, putting on her customer service smile as she sees-
“Oh, morning, Steve,” she laughs, her smile blooming genuine. “I barely heard you come in, sorry.”
“No worries,” Steve smiles. His eyes look tired, but she knows hers are as well - it’s 6:30 in the morning and they’re already into their work day. He ducks his head, leaning a hip against the front counter. “I’m quiet, I guess.”
“What can I get for you?” she asks, tapping away at the screen to open her till. “Just the americano with stevia and almond milk?”
Steve chuckles and blushes under the dark stubble on his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It strains the seams of his plain white t-shirt, stretched too tight already across his broad shoulders.
“I’m predictable, huh?” his nose scrunches as he asks, and she drops her eyes back down to the screen in front of her, displaying his order as she rings it up.
“Nothing wrong with that,” she shrugs, pursing her lips in an effort to contain her smile. “Anything else for you?”
“Uh, yeah actually, can I get an iced coffee, too? With a little bit of cream?”
“Sure thing,” with a couple of swipes at the screen she’s got the order rung up. She pushes it through, prompts him to swipe his card, and glances down towards the bar, wondering where her coworkers have suddenly disappeared to.
“Well - I guess I’ll get those ready for you,” she quirks an eyebrow at him as she makes her way down towards the espresso machines, with Steve following along, separated by the counter between them. He watches, her head down, labeling a cup and pulling espresso shots, turning for a stevia packet.
“So,” he clears his throat. “How you been?”
“Oh, you know,” she shrugs. “I’m here - and it’s 6:30. And hot.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Tell me about it. I’m already sweating.”
“Same here!” Her face disappears as she bends down to dig in the fridge for a tetra of almond milk. “I mean, I really played myself today - wearing long sleeves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Wow, rookie mistake,” Steve shakes his head.
She slides the americano out at the end of the bar, after adding a cardboard sleeve to protect against the scalding heat of the water. Their eyes meet over the drink, his fingers just slightly brushing hers even as she spins away and grabs the cup for his iced coffee. Conversation lulls; he clears his throat, takes a small sip of the drink and enjoys the slight burn on the tip of his tongue. She’s fast and smooth, never quite looking at him but never turning completely away from him; he’s in the corner of her vision and she’s the center of his. The cream swirls downward into the iced coffee, softening the color and the taste - though Steve has never been a fan of cold coffees, but he knows how Sam takes it.
“Here you go,” she holds out the iced coffee with a polite smile, plucking a straw from the caddy next to her and extending it in her other hand.
“Thank you-” he trips over whether or not to say her name; he wants to say it, and it’s written right there on her apron, offered on the tip of his tongue. He’d like to taste it. But the leap of familiarity scares him, as it has the last two months he’s been coming in here, and he swallows down the letters. Settles for an answering smile.
“Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he half-jokes, coffees in hand, backing towards the door one step at a time. He watches her head bob as she ducks down to grab a rag out of her sanitizing bucket; she wrings it out and wipes down the counter, sparing him a lifted eyebrow, a sly sideways glance.
“Maybe-” she smirks, swiping an already clean spot on the counter before dropping her rag back in the bucket. “I might be off tomorrow.”
“Might be?” Steve’s head quirks to one side. “You don’t know?”
“Well…I asked someone to trade shifts with me so I could have the weekend off…” she sighs and crosses her arms. “But I haven’t heard back from her, so it’s probably not happening.” Her wry smile is accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just as well, though. This place would probably fall apart without me.”
“Oh, definitely,” he chuckles. “So I guess, maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Have a good one, Steve!” she waves as he ducks out the door, bell jingling overhead at his departure. It really is hot today - her cheeks feel warm. Her whole body does, actually; but the cafe is quiet and empty now, the sun just rising over the buildings outside, and she gets a sip of water from the cup she keeps stashed under the front register.
“So how’s your man today?” Bea jokes over the headset. Looking over, she can see Bea’s mirthful expression peeking around the corner from the back of house where she’d been washing whip canisters.
“Yeah, when are you and Steve gonna go out?” Ally’s voice joins in the teasing, innocently sarcastic in her trademark way.
“Come on, guys,” she huffs, glad that neither of them is out front on the floor, where she was unable to hide her smile. “Steve is just a customer. He’s just another nice regular, that’s all.”
“Uh huh. That’s why you giggle every time we bring him up?”
“I do not!”
“Well, you just keep telling yourself that,” Bea smirks, banging through the back of house door with an armload of milk. “But you should know that store is taking bets on when he’ll finally ask you out.”
She chooses not to answer, just rolls her eyes and heads out the front door to set up the patio umbrellas. It’s July, early morning and already hot, but at least there’s a breeze out here - enough to cool the blazing in her cheeks even as she wrestles the umbrellas open to shade the outdoor tables. Her mind drifts away, to Steve’s easy smile and Steve’s breathtaking eyes, and the way he always dropped a dollar or two in the tip jar. Not to mention, the stretch of his white tees across those ridiculous shoulders.
Well, anyway. He is a nice regular. That’s why she enjoys him coming in every day, that’s all.
**********
“She there today?” Sam smirks as he eagerly plunges the straw into his iced coffee, swirling the cream into its depths. He waggles his eyebrows at Steve’s flushed cheeks while he takes the first satisfying sip.
“Yes.” Steve clears his throat, keeping his eyes down on his own drink. They’re sitting in Steve’s office - well, Steve is sitting, safely behind his desk. Sam posts himself in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his feet crossed. He watches his friend’s flustered fluttering behind the desk - Steve shuffles papers, taps on the keyboard of his computer to open his email, moves his coffee to one side of the laptop and then the other.
“Well?” Sam prompts, gleefully swirling his iced coffee, listening to the ice rattle before taking another loud slurp. “You ask her out yet? Give her your number at least?”
Steve scowls up at his buddy over his laptop screen.
“Sam you don’t get it-” he huffs. “This girl…she’s - God, she’s so beautiful, Sam. You know how many guys must hit on her every day? In a town like this?” He shakes his head. “I’d just be another asshole to her; she’d file my number away with all the other guys she’s not gonna call.”
“Whatever, dude,” Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s just an excuse for you to not take a chance on it. You just gonna keep going in there early in the morning and wasting money on coffee you used to brew at home?”
Steve doesn’t dignify that particular dig with a response, instead choosing to take a large swig from his coffee - he had to admit, she made a damn good cup. Simple as it was. But he knew, as many excuses as he made, he was addicted to more than just the espresso; her sweet smile perked him up in the mornings the way caffeine just couldn’t quite cut it.
He’d been going into the cafe at the crack of dawn for at least a month now. Sam practically begged him once to go out for an iced coffee, an early morning at the end of May, and with a sigh he’d agreed, though he complained loudly about wasting money on expensive coffee shop brews when he preferred to make his own in the coffee pot sitting three feet away from his desk.
The bell dinged over the door, the sun already streaming through the windows at the early hour, summer flushing full and bright. Familiar coffee shop sounds and smells carried across the empty cafe as he strolled in, hands in his pockets, taking in the quaint tables and mismatched chairs, an overstuffed sofa invitingly empty in one corner. Cute. He shuffled towards the counter, not really looking, till he heard a voice welcoming him in and-
She turned around from the brewing machine behind her, smiling soft and brilliant, her eyes a 6 am combination of sleepy brightness, caffeine buzzing in her own veins already.
One hit. That’s all it took to get him hooked.
*********
Her shift couldn’t have ended soon enough. The bright sun and gorgeous summer weather had her itching under her apron, aching to get outdoors in spite of the heat. Every few minutes it seemed she turned to the register to check the time, or slipped her phone from her pocket. Never quite time, never quite close enough. Until-
“Okay, if you’ll just wipe down the bar, you’re good to go,” Nat sighs as she ties her apron, looping the strings around her waist and knotting it in the front. Nat usually takes afternoon and evening shifts, so they haven’t gotten to know each other well, but there’s something about the redhead that she both likes and fears.
With a little whoop of joy, she whirls around to her bucket and grabs the rag for the last time (today at least) and wipes away the splashes of syrup, coffee, and milk that have accumulated over the course of her shift. The counter is a little sticky, but a little elbow grease dissolves the tacky syrup puddle, and with a flourish she stows her carton of coconut milk in the fridge under the counter, tosses her rag back in the bucket, and flashes a peace sign to the other baristas on the floor.
“Alright, I’m out you guys!” she calls, already tugging her apron over her head. Her tote bag hangs on a hook in the back of house, and she rolls the apron up into it before stepping over to the computer to clock out.
“Whatcha doin’ this afternoon?” Bea is off now as well, having handed off the keys to Nat, and was tucking her own apron into her backpack, her Juul sticking out of one corner of her mouth.
“Mm. It’s such a beautiful day…” she sighs. “I think I’m going to go read at that new place I like, get a cold brew, maybe sit outside.”
“Leaving this coffee shop and going to another one?” Bea laughs, taking a hit off her vape, a little cloud puffing in front of her face. She’s not supposed to have it inside the building, definitely not supposed to use it inside at least, but the current manager hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to tell her to stop, so she carries on as she pleases.
“Gotta support local business.” She swings her tote bag up on her shoulder, regretting her habit of stuffing it so full that it’s uncomfortably heavy, and then she’s on her way out the door. “See ya later!”
Besides being a proud supporter of local businesses, she’s also totally addicted to the Garage - the other café and pub she frequents whenever she gets the chance. Their cold brew? Smooth and chocolatey. Their patio? Perfectly shaded and comfortable. Their vibe? Grunge-y without being dirty, hipster without being pretentious. She’d loved it from the first moment she stepped inside on her afternoon off, looking for an iced drink and a cozy spot that wasn’t her own home. What she found? A near-perfect coffee shop with amazing sweet potato fries.
“Oh, hey welcome in!”
Well. And there’s that, too.
“Hi, Bucky - how’s it going?” she smiles at the barista and bartender behind the counter, who is currently stocking the pastry case with an assortment of mouthwatering scones. His hair is swept up in its usual bun, and his mechanic’s shirt is tucked into a pair of black jeans, the short sleeves rolled over his biceps to reveal one flesh arm bearing a full sleeve of tattoos, and one gleaming polished prosthetic.
“Oh, it’s going,” he shrugs, a little bashful. He wills his eyes back down the the pastries at hand, though it’s hard with the way she smiles, hands in the back pockets of her shorts as she approaches the counter.
“Been busy today?” she asks, giving the menu a customary glance, though she’s too far gone on their cold brew to ever order anything else.
“Not too bad, no,” he shakes his head, sliding the glass panel behind the pastry case shut and tossing paper box from the bakery in the trash bin. “Little bit of a rush earlier around lunch, but nothing like what you guys get in the mornings.”
“Oof, for your sake I hope not,” she shudders. “The morning rush is wild, you’ve got no idea.”
“Oh, I’ve got some idea, I’ve seen that drive thru line,” he smirks, leaning his elbows on the counter. Unconsciously she takes a step closer, leaning against the other side of the wood, a mere couple of feet between them.
“I’m literally triggered by the words ‘drive thru’,” she says, with an exaggerated eye twitch that makes him laugh.
“Alright, alright, I won’t bring it up again, my bad,” he raises his hands in supplication, an almost prayer, watching her nose wrinkle and rearrange the pattern of the freckles there.
“Well, anyways, can I get a cold brew, please?” she sighs, looking at him under her lashes.
“You got it,” he nods, tapping the counter. “Perfect day for it, too.” They both glance out the wide front windows of the café, where the patio furniture is arranged under a well-shaded awning strung with criss-crossed globe lights. In the midsummer afternoon, it’s a perfect place to be lazy in public, to sip a drink and read, to pretend to be the sort of person who gets to do those things in the middle of the day.
“It is,” she sighs, looking wistfully at the patio.
“You can go on and get a seat,” he lowers his voice as a couple new customers shuffle into the café. “I’ll bring it out to you.”
“Oh, you sure?” She glances around, noticing that he seems to be the only staff member here. Their shop is laughably less busy than hers, able to survive on a single barista for any length of time during the day, but she still doesn’t want to make more work for him. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“Nah, it’s no problem,” he smiles, dimpling his scruffy cheeks. “I’ll have it out in a minute.”
She’s back out the door and at her favorite table; he can see her from his place behind the bar, with her feet tucked up on the sturdy outdoor ottoman, her bag stuffed under her chair and book already cracked open in her lap. She’s not looking at the page, though - the beautiful day seems to distract her, as she lifts her face into the breeze and stretches her legs out further across the ottoman, spreading out to catch even more of the sunlight.
Wanda hip checks him as she breezes through from the kitchen, having come in through the back door.
“Your girl here today?” she teases, raising one brow suggestively. Bucky scowls at her, embarrassed and flustered and a little guilty.
“She’s not my girl, Wanda,” he corrects her. “She’s just a customer.”
“Pretty regular customer,” Wanda shrugs.
“Doesn’t mean anything. We’ve got plenty of regulars.”
“No other regulars that you look at like that.”
He doesn’t respond. Turning his back on her, he takes a straw from the condiment bar and grabs the cup of cold brew he just poured, and stalks around the counter towards the door.
Wanda stands in the kitchen door, a bin full of dirty dishes under her arm, and watches as he crosses the patio, tucking one hair behind his ear and smiling at the sweet girl with the book in her lap. The girl smiles back, squinting in the bright summer sun, and laughs at something Bucky says, while Buck ducks his head and shoves his hands in his front pockets. He lingers, lingers far longer than required for delivering a single cup of cold brew.
Yeah, sure. She’s just a regular, alright.
