Summary:Â Bucky manages to get you a signed matching set of your favorite fantasy series, then canât believe it when you tell him theyâre way too perfect to actually read.
Trigger Warnings:Â Bucky being too perfect for your book goblin self.
Authorâs Note:Â For all the book goblins out there. For those of us with an audiobook, ebook, and hardback copy of our favorite books and series.
Masterlist
You slumped into the passenger seat, the door closing with a hollow thunk that echoed your disappointment. The little paper bag from the bookstore rested limply in your lap, its weightless presence almost mocking. It was thin, pitifully light, nowhere near what you'd hoped to carry home.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun spilled gold across the windshield, streaking light through the dust on the dashboard. The warm scent of leather seats and faint pine from Buckyâs air freshener curled in the air, but none of it lifted your mood.
âThey didnât have it,â you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair as you slouched lower in the seat. âThe last copy of Crown of Shadows sold yesterday. Now I have to wait a week for the restock.â
Beside you, Buckyâs hands tightened on the steering wheel. He glanced over, brow creasing like youâd just told him your car had been stolen. âA week?â
âMm-hmm.â You tried to shrug it off, though your shoulders barely moved. âItâs fine, babe. Iâll live.â
His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching just beneath his cheekbone. His grip on the wheel turned white-knuckled, like he was trying not to take your heartbreak personally. âItâs not fine. Youâve been waiting on that book for, what, eight months?â
âSeven,â you corrected with a small, amused smile, watching how seriously he was taking this. âBut itâs not like itâs life or death.â
He gave you a look, then said, âRemind me why you canât just read it on a Kindle?â
You gasped, offended on a spiritual level. âBecause itâs just not the same as feeling the pages under your fingers or smelling that new book smell. Ebooks donât have soul, Bucky.â
He didnât respond. Just stared straight ahead and merged into traffic with a sharpness that made the tires grumble. When you tried to lighten the mood with a joke or two, he only hummed distractedly, lost in thought and visibly irritated on your behalf.
Two days later, you came home to find your kitchen bathed in soft afternoon light, and in the center of the table, a massive cardboard box. It dominated the room like it had grown roots there. No note. No receipt. Just Bucky, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand and a look of exaggerated innocence on his face.
You arched a brow. âWhatâs all this?â
He took a sip, voice casual. âOpen it.â
You tore the tape back with hesitant fingers, tissue paper crinkling as you pulled it away, and then froze. Nestled inside were the gleaming hardcovers of your favorite fantasy series, all seven volumes, their spines shimmering in the soft light like rare artifacts. Each one was signed in metallic silver by the author herself. And not just a signature, every title page had a little doodle and a handwritten message addressed to you.
Your breath caught like youâd been punched in the chest. âBuckyâwhatâhowâ?â
He sipped again. âCalled the author. Asked real nice.â
You just stared at him, lost between awe and disbelief. âThis is insane.â
He shrugged, like heâd just run to the store for milk. âSweetheart, this is bare minimum when youâre with me. Now you donât have to wait for the restock.â
Your heart swelled, and then it broke into laughter. âOh, Iâm not reading these.â
He blinked. â...Youâre what now?â
âTheyâre basically collectorâs items, Buck! The spines have to stay pristine. No bending, no cracking, no fingerprints on the pages. Oh my god, if I smudged the signature, thatâd be sacrilege.â You cradled the set to your chest like a dragon hoarding gold. âIâll still wait for the restock before I actually read the new one.â
Bucky stared at you, stunned and blinking like youâd just spoken in tongues. âItâs a book. Itâs meant to be read.â
You grinned. âAre you kidding? I might have to get a display case for these beauties.â
He squinted. âSo⊠I got you a gift you canât use?â
You looked genuinely alarmed at the idea. âNo! You got me the nicest gift ever. Iâm just gonna have to handle it with gloves, like a museum curator.â
He watched as you clutched the box, smiling so brightly it looked like it hurt. And when you looked back at him, eyes glassy with emotion, you stepped forward and pressed a hand gently to his jaw.
âThis is the most thoughtful, ridiculous, amazing thing anyoneâs ever done for me,â you murmured. âYou called an author. You got her to sign them. Thatâs not just a gift, Bucky. Thatâs you putting your heart on paper and handing it to me.â
His expression softened instantly, the tight line between his brows easing as your words landed. He didnât say anything, but you could see it in his eyes, how much it meant to be understood like that.
You stepped closer, rising onto your toes to kiss him. It was slow and lingering, a kiss that carried every ounce of your gratitude. When you pulled back, you whispered against his lips, âAnd Iâm going to appreciate it exactly the way it is, because I want to remember this feeling every single time I see them on the shelf.â
A slow smile tugged at his mouth, exasperated and helpless. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd you, James Buchanan Barnes, are the best thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
is your girl working out 4-5X a week, exfoliating, shaving, self tanning, doing her nails, doing her makeup, doing her hair, curating the cutest fucking lingerie collection to ever exist, dressing adorably, a huge freak, cums 2-4 times a day minimum, always horny, so fucking smart, and actually hilarious?
