A Collection of Marvel Imagines [sfw]

A Change of Routine [Barnes]

Summary: 

Librarian AU;  Bucky finds what he's looking for without even knowing it's what he needs.

Warnings: 

my garbage mouth, fluff is not my strong suit but neither is anything else whoop here we go, there's also like three (3) whole dialogues in this rip  

Excerpt:

"Hey, do you need help finding something?"

Of course, it's not a fifty-page essay that you managed to pull together three hours before the deadline on why he needs to pick something quick and sit the fuck down but—t's a start.

He doesn't answer for a moment but that moment is enough for you to realize just how blue his eyes are and the arch of his mouth and the five o'clock shadow decorating his jaw and the strand of stray hair falling in his eyes that it takes everything you have not to lift a hand up and brush it away—you almost don't catch his response, "No, thank you."

He looks out of place. Maybe he doesn't know it but dressed in a sweater with a cap decorating his head—who the fuck wears hats indoors—he looks completely, utterly out of place and a little lost.

And it makes sense—he's new. To this place, to this library—to you, he's different. But it's not a bad different really, it's the sort of different that you crave after a long time of being greeted with the same surroundings, after following the same routine.

The first time he shows up, you figure that after what, three hours of walking around like an idiot, not even choosing a book—he wouldn't be back, 'cause he didn't find what he was looking for.

But he comes back. You think that it's temporary - three hours weren't enough for him to find what he wanted in the small library—this small library - in the corner of some godforsaken part of New York City where it was always maddeningly silent for a city that never slept.

No. He comes back day after day, wearing the same fucking hat and the same fucking sweater - maybe that's what really bothers you about him—he's becoming constant.

It's always the furthest from your desk that he looks, it's always the same clothes, the same curious gaze - he's not fancy or even remotely exciting but he's always here—or it seems like it anyway.

It's a little funny if anything—you, a non-seeming, 'calm' librarian seething at a man who hadn't said a word, a man who made use of a resource that was open to the public.

Of course, it's not like you hate him - you haven't got a plausible reason to. And maybe, you're looking for one but you're the one who first talks to him—

"Hey, do you need help finding something?"

Of course, it's not a fifty-page essay that you managed to pull together three hours before the deadline on why he needs to pick something quick and sit the fuck down but - it's a start.