Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (engaged, gn, I think)
Word Count: <500
Summary: You're a morning person. You drag Bucky out of bed to go jogging with you.
Trigger Warnings: Pancakes and morning jogging.
Author’s Note: Idk, guys. I'm a morning person. Not a jogger, but I like pancakes.
Masterlist
The sky was still dim with early morning haze when you tied your shoelaces and turned toward the bed.
“Bucky,” you whispered softly.
He didn’t move.
You crouched beside the bed. “Bucky,” you repeated, poking his shoulder.
Still nothing.
You leaned in, lips just next to his ear. “If you don’t get up in the next five seconds, I’m taking Steve on the jog instead. You know he owns three pairs of compression shorts.”
A deep, suffering sigh came from under the blanket.
“You’re a menace,” came his groggy reply, muffled by a pillow.
“You love me,” you sang.
“I have no idea why.”
Ten minutes later, Bucky shuffled beside you in joggers, hoodie, and the most unamused face you’d ever seen. His hair was messy, his steps reluctant, and he looked like a war survivor forced into cardio.
“This is cruel,” he muttered as you started stretching. “Actual psychological warfare. I would know.”
“It’s a thirty-minute jog, not the Siberian tundra.”
“I liked the tundra better. No one made me do jumping jacks before sunrise.”
You started running. Bucky followed, dragging his feet like a toddler before reluctantly finding a rhythm. He made one final attempt to circumvent this morning torture.
“Are you sure we can’t go back to bed and do MY kind of cardio?,” he said between breaths.
“Quit complaining babe.”
“You need help.”
You smiled to yourself. You had a plan. A delicious, syrup-covered, breakfast-shaped plan.
By the time you reached the end of the trail, Bucky was leaning on a tree, squinting at the sun like it had personally wronged him. His hoodie was unzipped, and the sleeves were shoved to his elbows as if baring more skin might help him survive.
“Are we done? Can I go back to pretending mornings don’t exist now?”
You silently pointed just past the clearing.
He squinted. His brows furrowed.
“…Is that an IHOP?”
“Uh-huh.”
His posture straightened like you’d just announced world peace. “I take it all back. Mornings are beautiful. Jogging is noble. The human body was meant to suffer for pancakes.”
You laughed, jogging up to catch him. “You were ready to fake your own death twenty minutes ago.”
“Desperate times.”
You pulled the door open and gestured grandly. “After you, Sergeant Grump.”
Inside, the warm scent of coffee and frying bacon seemed to physically revive him. He pulled out a chair for you, sat down, and grabbed a menu like a man on a mission.
“If this ends in a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and six cups of coffee,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your cheek, “I might actually marry you.”
“You say that like the ring isn’t already on my finger.”
