Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

65. STEVE: As I Love You... 2

"He seems way better than normal to me." Kimmy takes a long drag—smudging her bright red lipstick in the process. "Normal guys send you dick-pics over Tinder and get fucked up on ecstasy over the weekend before coming back to their mom's basement for the night." She taps her cig out. "Steve's perfection."

"He is." I nod with a smile. I pull my legs to my chest and glance around the parking lot filled with cars. "He told me he wants us to get married."

"WHAT!" Kimmy squeals. She starts shaking me, making me laugh and pull away. "We have to start planning the wedding! Oh my god! Okay—here's what I'm thinking: destination wedding. Okay? Bear with me here, okay? Okay: 4th of July reception on the Hawaiian coast." She holds out her arms dramatically as if showing me the scene.

"Not the fourth, Kimmy. We can't have three events stacked up on that day. It's already his birthday."

Kimmy lets out a puff of smoke. "Okay, okay. How about June?"

"How about December? I've always wanted a winter wedding."

Kimmy sighs. "Okay—fine. I guess it is your day." We both start giggling like high schoolers again. "Oh, Y/N, I'm so excited for you guys. I mean—I know he hasn't proposed or anything—but you guys are going to be so happy together."

For the first time in her life, my cousin Kimmy is precisely right and I know it. A life with Steve would be the best thing to ever happen to me. Gone would be the days of dreading home. I'd never have to walk on eggshells ever again. I can be myself with Steve. We can laugh and cry together. He holds me when it's cold and when I'm lost all I have to do is say his name and he's showing me the way home. We'd live in a cute little fixer upper somewhere with a white picket fence and a thousand Gerber daisies planted in the front lawn. There'd be extra bedrooms for all of our best friends when the holidays came and the kitchen would always smell like fresh coffee.

The image of a happy life with Steve is thrashed away at the sound of glass shattering. Kimmy and I both strain our necks to try and find the source of the noise. The bottle breaking is followed by a round of chaotic laughter—reckless intoxicated chortling, more precisely.

"Let's go—let's go, let's go man, let's go. I gotta do a stupid fuckin' father daughter dance or s-something."

"Oh no..." Kimmy mumbles.

I'm already on my feet. Rounding the corner of one of the parked cars is my father and his wife's brother in law—two of the drunkest fools I know. Kimmy sighs when she sees our fathers hammered on cheap whiskey and puffing on cigs. She tosses hers under her feet before following me towards the scene.

My dad is making for the door of the building. I block his way before he can get inside. My arms are crossed at my puffed up chest and Kimmy is right behind me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the hazel eyed man squints down at me and asks.

Kimmy grabs her dad by the arm. "What the hell are you two doing out here? Getting smashed? You know Uncle Matt can't handle it."

"Your Uncle Matt is fine," Kimmy's dad, my uncle, chimes. He's buzzed but not hammered. "His youngest daughter is getting married! Let a man celebrate."

I can't stop myself from saying, "My dad has no business becoming inebriated when all it does is turn him into even more of a jackass than he already is."

Suddenly, as if a dog's leash has been snapped, my dad reaches out for me. His fingers wrap around the top of my dress and he tugs me towards him. Our chests are flush as he glares down at me. "You watch your fucking mouth."