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𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Shit." You groaned, your arms giving out as your comb dropped to the floor. You were starting to regret training your arms today with Natasha because your head full of coils was all the workout you needed for the day. Grumbling in defeat, you sit on your bed, sprawling your aching body across your bedspread.

You'd been a part of the avengers for three years now. Ever since you went viral on social media for stopping a band of thieves— burning their faces with your bare hands. It took five minutes of convincing before you found yourself inside of avengers tower, making your way around.

Now here you were, three years later, struggling to put your hair in some damn plaits. "Alright, round two," you muttered. This hair was not going to get the best of you, again.

A small knock formed on your bedroom door, taking your attention away from your reflection in the mirror. "Hey," Steve smiled, his hands resting in his pockets as he leaned against your door frame.

"Hey," you smiled back, waving him in and motioning for him to take a seat in your hammock.

Steve couldn't help but stare.

He loved your hair and appreciated the time and creativity you put into it.

Those nights after missions where everyone sat around unwinding, and you disappeared—swearing you had a hair 'crisis to attend to.

He wished he could follow you those nights, watch what it took to style your hair.

And now he was finally getting front row tickets.

"What's going on, Stevie?" you asked, taking another swipe of grease to your scalp. The super soldiers piercing blue eyes watching your pattern intensely. He almost forgot to respond.

Liquid, grease, and of course, the hibiscus leave-in he enjoyed the smell of.

When you'd fly past him on missions—it's all he'd smell for the rest of the night.

"Stevie?" You smile softly, your arms shaking as you finish your first plait. His eyes fluttered from your workstation to your brown eyes as you looked back at him over your shoulders. "I...I'm just checking in on you. Doing my rounds." You chuckled, looking back at yourself in the mirror. "I guess you could say I'm great, besides this." You tug at your excess hair. "Good," Steve said, standing and making his way over to you. His larger frame suddenly crowding the mirror.

It was no secret that you and Steve had something.

Some would call it chemistry.

Whether it was on the field.

Or right now.

When his hands grazed over your exposed shoulders, sending shutters down your spine. His nose practically dug into your hair.

"Can I ask you something, doll?" Steve took a deep breath, inhaling your scent some more. "Hm?" you hummed making another part. Steve took the liberty of taking the comb from your hands. His fingertips grazing over yours as he did. "Can I help you braid your hair?." He said meekly, his voice had a nervous tremor. You snicker, looking him up and down. “Are you sure?” Steve beamed, shaking his head up and down vigorously. “Yes.”

Smiling, you took his hand. Placing him on your bed while you slipped between his legs on the floor. “Alright, now just as I did, make a part as straight and even as you can.” You instructed him.

Although Steve was a captain and was good with orders, he just couldn’t seem to get it right.

There was a lot of tugging.

And re-doing braids.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Okay, maybe I should—.”

“No, please let me try again.”

But eventually, he got the hang of it. And unknowingly you had fallen asleep in between the super soldiers' legs. Using the inside of his knee as a pillow.

You woke up to soft stroking on your cheek. “Doll, I’m all done. I think.” He snickered. Shifting awake you quickly ran to the mirror, a huge smile growing on your face. “Oh, Stevie. I love it.” You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you in. “Not too bad for the first time, huh?”

You smirked, placing a kiss on his cheek. Watching the old man's face grow red. “No, not bad at all.” You giggled, turning your head from side to side, viewing the beautiful plaits he had done for you.

Every day after that Steve begged to do your hair or at least watch.

It got so bad you let him help you on wash day.

You could say Steve became your helper, taking the stress off your shoulders.

You’d be lying if you say you didn’t like it.

"𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬" 𝐁.𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

001

Series warnings: for mature audiences (18+). Includes mentions of death/murders in graphic detail, leg closing NSFW sex (eventually), slow-burn. Also overall angst and fluff!

Series summary: Peyton thought she had everything she wanted. She had a family, were they complicated—no doubt. Not to mention a cafe struggling on its own two feet. But for Peyton, that was more than enough. Insert Bucky Barnes, the mysterious man from her cafe. The more she begins to pull back the layers of the elusive Bucky Barnes, the more the facade of a full heart begins to fade and craves to be filled by his presents. All the while Bucky's own guilt consumes him—seemingly only being cured by his bed of lies.

Peyton noticed him; hell, how could she not. The cafe wasn't big at all. In fact, it was the exact opposite. With its six tables, including the bench outside, there was no hiding in the Beanie Bussiness Cafe. And the man who sat in the corner every day was no exception.

Often Bucky would watch Peyton or her mother, Adrianna, with his intense blue eyes, sending shutters down their spine. It had been the beginning of week three since he had started visiting them, and today Peyton had enough. She would talk to him, confront him if she had to.

Peyton burst through the kitchen doors, wiping her wet hands off on her worn-down lemon print apron. "Charlie, I'm gonna do it," Peyton blurted.

"Do what, exactly?" Charlie muttered, her striking green eyes never leaving the fresh cinnamon roll she was icing.

"Confront him.' Peyton said, taking a sip of her hours-old coffee. "Confront blue eyes, I mean."

Charli snickered, brushing a loose piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Is that what we're calling him now?" She asked, pushing her iced cinnamon rolls into the warmer.

Peyton rested her arms on the flour-dusted counter. "I've always called him that—besides, have you got any better names?"

"Hm. Touché," said Charlie, glancing over her shoulder.

"Great, now give me a cinnamon roll." Peyton grinned, her palm covered by a plate that she held out in front of Charlie.

"I think you can ask a bit nicer," Charlie smirked, dancing around Peyton with the cinnamon roll clasped between a pair of tongs.

Peyton took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the baked goods that surrounded her. "Charlie, may I please have the cinnamon roll that you are holding hostage from my clutches so that I can give it to the strange man who sits in my cafe every day." She asked in a robotic tone.

Charlie dropped the cinnamon roll onto Peytons plate, tilting her head to the side. "Fine—but we're working on your manners, young lady!" She shouted, pointing at Peyton with the pair of tongs she held.

"Pff. I have manners! So many that I think it could be my superhero name." Peyton boasted, as she faced Charlie while walking backwards.

"We aren't the avengers, Pea," Charlie said.

Peyton paused, her lips pulling tightly together. "I know—because if we were, we would have never blipped for five years, and my business wouldn't have gone to shit." Peyton said. She used her green manicured nails to push open the kitchens swinging doors, walking the peace offering over to table number ten.

Finishing her strut to the table, Peyton smiled down awkwardly at Bucky, who sat sipping his freshly roasted black coffee. No sugar, no cream—just coffee. She cleared her throat in an attempt to get his attention. She wanted him to look at her the way he did so many times when he believed she hadn't noticed.

Eventually, he did. Slowly, Bucky lifted his eyes to see Peyton holding a fresh cinnamon roll in front of him. Bucky shot her a stiff grin, one that looked almost painful to produce. He hadn't ordered the cinnamon roll, he never ordered anything but black coffee from the cafe, and he assumed Peyton knew that.

She was aware Bucky's only order was coffee. And in Peyton's opinion, Bucky had the easiest, and if she was honest, most basic order out of all of her regulars. So, of course, she knew he didn't order the cinnamon roll.

Bucky coughed, placing his mug down with his flesh hand. "I didn't order that." He stated.

"I know.' Peyton placed the plate down, scooting it in front of Bucky with the tips of her slim fingers. "I wanted to give it to you." She smiled.

Bucky's eyes nervously looked at the roll, then back at Peyton, who had found herself seated comfortably in the chair across from him. He stiffened as she watched him with her intense brown eyes. Her stare wasn't the worst he had ever seen. But it was so obvious it was physically painful to Bucky. 

"What are you doing?" Bucky said dryly.

Peyton leaned back into the chair, squinting her eyes at Bucky who sat before her. "What are you doing?" She asked back.

Bucky's eyebrows drew together as he took another slow sip of his coffee. He didn't know what she was implying, and he was nervous about finding out.

"I mean here.' Peyton's brown eyes grew wide as she slapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry—not that you aren't welcome! What I mean is, I've never had a customer come in so often and never speak to anyone."

Bucky tried to respond, but the words were logged in his throat. All he could do was give Peyton his intense stare as it usually got people to leave him alone—but Peyton kept going.

"You see Mr. Jeffery?' Peyton shifted her gaze toward the older gentleman who sat reading an old book. "He comes in every day around the same time as you, maybe five minutes earlier. But he always speaks to us."

Peyton placed her hands onto the table, lifting out of her seat and leaning close to Bucky, causing him to shift back into his chair, uncomfortable with how close her nose was to his own.

"So I need to ask you two questions.' She glared. "Do you work for the Feds?"

"What? No." Bucky croaked, his eyes growing wide.

"Okay then.' Peyton sunk back into her seat. "So, are you stalking me?"

Bucky nearly choked on his coffee. He was coughing loudly while Peyton stared at him in distress. Bucky knew he looked peculiar sitting in the coffee shop each morning, not saying a word. And his approach to making amends was obscure, but Bucky was scared to reveal the truth—he'd be cruel to come in and ruin their happy lives.

Initially, Bucky had planned on slipping them a note and never returning. But when he saw how full of life they were, he couldn't. It felt wrong. So, he would settle for the stalker narrative—it felt better than the truth.

"No,' Bucky coughed once more. "I'm not—I should leave." He rapidly stood out of his chair as Peyton did the same, almost blocking him from leaving.

"No, I should leave you alone." Peyton ran her fingers through her hair, the tips getting stuck between her thick curls. "Please, sit.' She reassured, pointing to his seat. "The cinnamon roll is on the house. Tell me if you like it—it's our first batch of vegan rolls we're selling." She smiled, walking away backward, bumping into a table with her hip.

Bucky nodded, slowly sitting back down. His attention now focused on the warm roll sat in front of him, hesitantly he picked it up, turning it from side to side. It smelt marvelous, and before the cinnamon roll was placed in front of him, his stomach hadn't growled. But now, he was ravenous.

Bucky took one more sniff before taking a bite. His steel-blue eyes grew wide as the silky dough melted in his mouth like a marshmallow. He let out a low moan of satisfaction, it had been years since he had something so sweet, and he intended on savoring every bite.

From behind the display case, Peyton watched as Bucky devoured the cinnamon roll. She had a huge grin plastered on her face, mentally checking off talking to the man in the corner from her to-do list—not that she honestly had one.

She watched as Bucky stacked his plate and coffee mug neatly, pushing it to the edge of the table. Bucky would leave his coffee cup on the table on a typical day, with a generous tip tucked underneath it. It was thoughtful, and Peyton felt he was kind—or at least kind enough for her to bombard his space the way she just had. Peyton walked through the kitchen and into dry storage, where her mother stood. Pen and paper in hand, collecting inventory for the cafe.

"Momma, I did it." Peyton squealed, gripping her mother's shoulders, shaking them a bit.

Adrianna took Peyton's hands in hers, removing them from her shoulders. "Did what baby," She asked while counting the number of flour they had in stock.

"There's fifteen, by the way.' Peyton pointed to the flour."But I talked to blue-eyes."

"Thank you, darling." Adrianna jotted the number down and moved on, her eyes narrowing as she paused her stride. "Who?" She asked.

Peyton groaned, dramatically tossing herself onto the baking utensils behind her. "The man that always sits in the corner, remember him?" Peyton flayed her arms. "Oh, of course you do because he only sits there every day!" She exclaimed.

Adrianna glared at Peyton over her shoulder, not impressed with her daughter's tone. "Don't get smart. I might be pushing fifty, but I'll still give you a beat down." Adrianna threatened.

"Momma, you know I don't mean it like that. It's just, how am I the only one who notice him."

"Because you're a weirdo." Adrianna laughed. "But you're my weirdo, so it's okay." Giggling, she kissed her daughter's hairline, moving around her to finish inventory.

"Whatever," Peyton chuckled lightly. "I should be getting Mr. Jeffery his third round of matcha anyways." Peyton stalled, looking around her."Where is my coffee?"

"I threw it out!" Charlie shouted as she washed a pile of dishes.

"You did not!' Peyton marched over to Charlie. "Why I outta feed you to Alpine!" Peyton shouted, shaking a finger in Charlie's face.

Charlie smirked, biting Peyton's finger playfully. "That cat loves me." She said, releasing Peyton's finger from her mouth.

Peyton moved a curl out of her face raising her eyebrow cheekily at Charlie. "Seeing as he's my cat, I'm pretty sure he loves me."

"I think he loves him," Adrianna said, her head peeking out from the kitchen's swinging door.

"What?" Peyton frowned, walking over to her mother, standing on her tiptoes. "What the hell." She whispered.

There, she saw Alpine, her cat who was rubbing against Bucky, resting comfortably on his lap. But Bucky wasn't repulsed by Alpines friendly nature. Instead, he stroked Alpines white fur, only making the cat nuzzle into him more. From the kitchen, Peyton could see him whispering to Alpine— and of course, she couldn't hear what was said, but she was still curious.

"Oh man, what should I do?" Peyton paced, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Charlie, being the tallest, had no use for her tiptoes. She simply looked above Adrianna's head, getting a view of the action as Peyton paced back and forth behind them.

"Maybe go get your cat, just a thought." Said Charlie.

"Right," Peyton said, fluffing her hair a bit in the reflection of the window.

"What the hell are you doing?" Charlie laughed.

"Nothing," Peyton snapped back all too quickly.

Peyton walked out of the kitchen doors, slowly making her way to Bucky's table. Where Alpine rested on his shoulders, she thought of the ways she'd ask for her cat back. Maybe she could try "Hey, mister, can I have my cat back," or "May you please return my cat." It all sounded stupid, and before she knew it, Peyton found herself standing above Bucky once more.

"Hi," Peyton grinned, eyeballing Alpine.

"Hi," Bucky said, allowing Alpine to climb on his covered metal arm.

She watched as Alpine rolled over, swatting at his gloved hands. "He likes you." She chuckled.

Bucky began to pet Alpine once more. "Hm."

Peyton was taken back by his lack of words, not knowing what to say to him or if she'd get more than a three-word response in return.

"Do you have any pets?" Peyton blurted.

"No."

Peyton sighed, slipping into the same chair as she had done before. "Well, do you have a name?" Her voice had a nervous tremor as she played with her fingers.

"Bucky," He said, gently handing her Alpine while walking past.

Following him, she stuck out her hand for him to shake. "Well, I'm Peyton." but by then, Bucky was already halfway out the door.

Bucky nodded, shooting her a faint smile before shutting the door behind himself. Bucky knew her name—Bucky knew all their names. He had to because painfully, he remembered all of them. All of the victims who suffered at the hands of the Winter Soldier. Especially the innocent ones.

Walking down the crowded street, Bucky's phone began to buzz in his pocket. Taking it out, he flipped open the screen. He groaned aloud when he saw it was Sam trying to get in contact with him. Composing himself, he answered.

"Yeah," He said bleakly.

Back at the cafe, Peyton had Alpine cradled in her arms as she rocked him back and forth. She walked around to where Bucky once sat, she cleared his mug and plate from the table, placing them into the tub she had placed beside her. She picked up the daily tip Bucky left, putting it in her pocket. In the corner of her eye, Peyton watched as a tiny napkin fell to the floor. Placing Alpine down and letting him roam, she bent over and picked up the small napkin. Unfolding it, she read the one word written on it.

"Thanks."

How fitting, Peyton thought.

Smiling to herself and releasing a small laugh, she shoved the note into her pocket, feeling as if she had accomplished something for the day. All Peyton wanted to do was make those around her feel good—and most times, she achieved that with her baking. So knowing  Bucky enjoyed her first batch of vegan cinnamon rolls warmed her heart. After today she could officially put speaking to Bucky behind her.

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