Marvel Imagines

you are in love, true love ➳ bucky barnes

Your hands fiddle with the top button of your coat, twisting it back and forth. Was it too much?

You turn side to side, staring into your too-small mirror. The white blouse and black dress pants caressed your figure perfectly, and those black heels didn't pinch your toes. A well-chosen, respectable, elegant outfit for a job interview. You just couldn't make up your mind on that damn blue coat.

"Buck?" You call out, and a moment later he's opened the door of your bedroom. "Do you like the coat?"

He hummed, eyes darting from the coat to the mirror, and back again. "That depends. You going for a Paddington bear look?"

"Buck,"  you hiss, turning around to swat his arm. His laugh is loud as he steps aside, dodging your attack. Even with your stress, you can't help the smile that spreads across your face at his laugh.

"Sorry, sorry! What about Rick Blaine?" Bucky arches his eyebrows with a grin, and you laugh at the reference.

"Interesting references. Do I have Sam to thank?"

"Hey, someone had to show me the classics."

Your laugh fades as you stare down at the coat again. "So, no coat?"

"No coat," Bucky takes your hands in his, flesh hand warm, metal fingers cool. "You look stunning."

. . .

The hour of midnight is quiet, the road almost completely deserted, headlights lighting up the dark. Your head rests against your propped arm, staring at Bucky's hand as it shifts the gears. Adele's cover of 'Make You Feel My Love' plays from your Bluetooth, as he drives you home.

"I'm happy for them," you murmur in the dark. Steve and Nat's housewarming was a small affair, but the excitement left you drained. Their apartment was slightly larger than yours, with space in the living room for Steve's drawings and close proximity to a gym.

Bucky turns his gaze from the road to your exhausted figure, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

The comfortable silence is broken a few minutes later, when he murmurs, "Look up."

Your hand brushes his grip on the gear stick as you shift, eyes focused on the road.

Instead of turning right into one of the many streets leading to your apartment, Bucky continues down the freeway. You open your mouth in confusion, with understanding taking its place as the golden arches of McDonald's come into view.

"Figured you might want some hash browns, maybe a coffee?" His voice is tentative, and you wonder why he remembered such an insignificant detail about your midnight cravings.

If you weren't careful, you just might fall in love with this man. Your reply is soft, almost lost to the night as Little Mix's 'Change Your Life' starts. "I'd like that."

. . .

The knock to your bedroom door is soft, but it reverberates through your already-throbbing head.

You groan, "Go away, Buck," and turn onto your other side in the hope of falling back to sleep. But your thin curtains don't keep out the morning light, the lump in the mattress presses into your ribs, and the door opens anyway.

"Made you breakfast." Bucky's voice is rough, indicating he himself didn't wake up too long ago.

The harsh smell of burnt toast offset by sweet coffee floods your senses, forcing you to sit up and acknowledge his presence. "You call burnt toast breakfast?"

"That toaster is going to be the death of me... that is, not if you kill me first."

Your glare softens as you reconsider — he made you breakfast. In bed. Unprompted. The least you can do is try to choke down the meal. Bucky wrote a smiley face with the butter, and the coffee's in your favourite mug. Being sick had its perks.