#his salt n pepper hair and jolly face...

[1o1percentmilk]

ok there HAHA

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1941

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, death

word count: 5449

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

Lips were pressed softly against his. Bucky’s heart was singing. It was a pure tonic. A drug. Something he’d never give up. He’s not a quitter. Lips parting and joining, a wet sound between them as he buried his fingers in your hair, shifting you back against the seat of the car. Thank god for bench seats. A movie neither of you cared about playing in the background. 

They pressed against each other in the small kitchen of your apartment. His hand fisted in your dress at your hips while your hands we’re wrapped around his neck. The edge of the counter digging into your back. Billie Holiday’s ‘God Bless the Child’ playing softly over the radio. Soft moans as his tongue brushed yours, heads titling and breath catching.

In the back office of Barnes & Son’s Autorepair. Blinds half pulled sitting on the couch in the office, his fingers twisted in the ends of your hair, leaning over you. Legs laid over his lap as he pulled you close to him, the tension thick but unbreakable. This forever buildup that will result in both of you parting with shuddering breaths and half lidded eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your lips, thumb brushing the skin of your knee through your hose. “What are your plans for today?” It was a rare day off for you, Bucky had been frustrated that he had to work, but you stopping by with a Tupperware container of leftover pisto from last night made up for it. Only slightly. 

You shrugged, picking at the letters on his uniform. ‘Bucky’ it said there. A childhood nickname he’d explained to you before.

“I dunno how it came about,” He had shrugged. “My Pops has been calling me that ever since I could remember.” 

You rolled your head to the side, leaning your cheek on your palm, “Probably groceries, some cleaning.” The heavy winter had just been lifting from New York. You’d opened the windows this morning, letting the chilled air flow through the stuffy apartment for the first time in months. The apartment needed a good wipe down, rugs needed to be beaten, and some fresh linens. 

“I’ll be done around six,” He explained, trying to fix a curl he’d mussed in your prior activity. He raised your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You’re coming for my birthday dinner right?” It was not unknown to Bucky that you specifically planned to come around to the shop on days where his Dad was off nor was he naive that every time he’d tried to bring you home you’d get cold feet.

You’d always offered to bring him around yours, Claudia loved him and he’d fixed the whole apartment so well that he’d probably gained a good five pounds from the torticas de moron that you loved so much. The ones you sent him home with after your Mother had none so kindly stuffed about ten down his throat after feeding him a minimum of two plates at dinner. 

“Engordar a un hombre [Fatten a man],” Claudia said, “El nunca te dejará [He’ll never leave you.]” He laughed as you rolled your eyes, clearing the plates from the table. He watched your hips sway as you wiped some crumbs of the counter, looking at him over your shoulder with a look that made his cock twitch in his slacks. He cleared his throat, standing from the table before helping you wash the dishes. 

It was routine.

What wasn’t routine was you coming by his house for dinner. You never have. You’d been avoiding it actually. And both of you knew it, but Bucky just couldn’t understand why, “My folks are gonna love you, I already know that.” You nod, and Bucky watches your pouty swollen lips pull into a frown. “What are you so worried about dahlin?” Thumb still caressing your knee. It wasn’t the concern of them being progressive that was the issue. The acceptance of minorities had been made clear by George Barnes after he’d integrated his auto shop. That wasn’t the issue here, the issue was,

“What if they don’t like me?” What if you weren’t what they wanted for him? The fact that he’d never brought a girl home before was daunting. What made you so special? Bucky laughed, your face flushing with heat. 

“Of course they’re gonna like you.” His teeth were perfect, how were his teeth so perfect? “I talk about you all the time. They basically know everything there is to know about you.” His other hand met your chin, lifting your head and bringing your lips back to his. So soft. “If it makes you that uncomfortable we can try again another time, but I would really like you to come tonight.” 

He was always like this. So accommodating. He worked everything around you, and that is what made you feel so guilty about this. He would meet you out wherever you wanted, he came to your house for dinner almost every night he could. He worked around your schedule mostly and the pale pink bolt of fabric that sat next to your sewing machine was your latest gift from him. 

“Spring is here, you’ll need some lighter dresses right? The girl at the shop said--” He’d walked into the fabric store not knowing anything about anything and walked out with this beautiful soft pink cotton fabric, enough to make both you and your mother dresses with a little bit left over to make him a shirt as well. 

He always showed up with flowers, the vase of flowers on your kitchen table replaced every time a bloom began to droop. Every leaky faucet and creaking floorboard was repaired as soon as it was noticed and you swore you put on a pound or two from no longer having to walk anywhere you needed to go. 

You’d fallen for him, and fast. The ease at which he’d slipped into your daily life had been almost alarming. It was if he was this missing piece, like he was meant to be there all along. 

“I want to go.” Your hand covered his, now cupping your cheek. “I’m just nervous, it will be alright.” 

The Barnes’ lived in a brownstone in the middle of a pretty nice park of Brooklyn Heights. Just blocks away from Sunset Park, but almost a completely different world. The bubbling in your stomach wouldn’t settle as Bucky parked his car in the street, looking at you reassuringly, 

“C’mon babydoll,” He lifted your knuckles to his lips, “My sisters are a little bit of a pain, but once everyone’s eating it’ll be okay.” 

Steve was already at the house, sitting with Suzy as she wrote out a paper she had due for English class the next day, he was scribbling on his sketchbook beside her as she rambled, 

“I don’t really care for Hemmingway,” Suzy, 13, was telling him, Steve looked up at her from his scribbling, “I heard he’s a drunk.” 

There was a scream from upstairs and two girls, Ginny 17 and Ruth 15, were arguing, “You ripped it!” Ginny yelled, tears in her eyes as she held the bundled fabric in her fists.

“I only ripped it because you wouldn’t let go!” Ruth stomped her foot, “I was only borrowing it!”

“You have to ask to borrow things otherwise it’s stealing!” Ruth made hands for the garment again, Ginny pulling it out of her reach and screaming in frustration, “Mom!” There’s a clatter of pots and pans under the sound of the radio playing in the sitting room where George Barnes was reading a book, ignoring the chaos building in his home. 

Becca skid into sight at the top of the stairs, “Y/N!” She yelled as her sisters disappeared into the kitchen, she lay herself dangerously over the banister before attempting to slide down, Bucky quickly stepped from your side to catch her as she fell over the side, laughing in his arms. “Y/N, I’m so happy to see you!” Becca had gone through a bit of a growth spurt as she neared her eleventh year. The beginnings of puberty shown in the few little dots on her face and the way her attitude was now easily sparked. 

“Let her breathe Becks.” Bucky hung his coat up on the rack, Becca parted from you, rolling her eyes at her brother but still grinning. Bucky moved to take your coat, 

“I couldn’t wait for you to come,” She grinned, taking your hand as Bucky hangs your coat next to his, taking your hat and gloves as well. “Here, come meet my Dad.” 

Bucky Barnes was a spitting image of his Father, right down to the blue of his eyes. If you wanted to know what Bucky would look like in his late forties, George gave you a good idea. Hair stark grey at his temples and salt and pepper throughout, George kept a thick beard. His hands were rough from working with machinery for so long, but the man cleaned up well. He wore wire rimmed glasses that sat low on his nose, ones he peered over to look at you for the first time. A smile crossed his face, “Well Hello!” Jovial. Cheerful. Downright jolly. He was soft in the middle. “You must be Y/N.” The book was discarded and the radio close to him was turned down low as he stood from the armchair. He crossed the room in two quick strides, taking your hand and shaking it softly as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Buck you weren’t kidding,” George smiled at his son, “You’re absolutely stunning.” 

“Thank you,” A flush on your cheeks, Becca was holding your hand to the side. 

George’s hands on your shoulders, he patted them once before turning to his boy, “Have you said hello to Mom yet?” 

“No,” Bucky hugged his Dad, coming back to your side and wrapping an arm around your waist, “We just walked in the door.” The girl’s screaming could be heard from the kitchen, George winced. 

“Best give her a minute to get them to calm down, Steve’s in the dining room with Suzy doing homework. I’m going to go help your Mother.” With that he disappeared down the hall. 

“See?” Bucky whispered to you, “Not bad so far?” The butterflies were still there, it wasn’t George you had to win over, it was Winnie. 

“Do you like to read?” Suzy asked, shifting her papers aside. You shrug, 

“There aren’t many books here in Spanish,” You say, “I have a few from Cuba, but I’m not very good at reading in English.” Suzy smiled, 

“I could help!” She reached into her bag, pulling a book out. Jane Eyre. “This is one of my favorites, you’re speaking really well so I don’t think it’ll be that hard for you to put two and two together maybe-” 

“Suzy.” Steve interrupted, “I’m sure Y/N appreciates the enthusiasm, but I’m sure she’d want to do that another time” She blushed heavily. It was no secret she was harboring a little crush on Steve. Whenever he was at the Barnes’ residence, which was often, she was sure to be stuck to his side. The blond didn’t notice though. He would never notice. 

“She’ll come over again, I’m sure.” Bucky nudged your shoulder, “I hope so anyway.” 

“Did you want to go to Coney Island this weekend?” Steve asked, “I’ve seen plenty of people there before.” People like her. Steve has been searching for places they could all go together. Like a real pal. The three of them had spent some time together, mostly at the park, occasionally at the drive-in and once Bucky and Steve had taken you to that diner down the road almost without issue. 

You could still remember how red Bucky’s face had gotten when that woman had accidentally spilled her milkshake on you. He ”...couldn’t believe it”, he said to you later, “That you just let her do that. You didn’t even--”

“What am I supposed to do?” You asked him heatedly, “Punch her?” Bucky’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel even tighter as he stopped at the light. 

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry.” His teeth clenched, “I wasn’t thinking--”

“No,” You sighed heavily, rubbing your forehead, “I’m sorry.” There was a dark stain in the front of your dress, covered by your coat, something you hoped would come out. “There’s just not much I can do.” And you can’t solve problems with your fists. 

“Buck,” Steve spoke from the backseat, “Things will get better.” Eventually. You gave him an appreciative look. There were people out there, some just like the Barnes’ family. Some like Steve who believed in racial equality. For every bad experience you’d had since you came to New York you’ve had an equally good one. 

Two days ago a woman kindly asked you to hold her child while she dug in her purse for some change at a food cart. The sweet little thing cooing in your arms as she said, “I love your lipstick,” The harlot red some people called it, “I’ve been looking for a shade just like it, but my husband isn’t keen on me spending so much on makeup.” She was sweet, blonde, a couple years older than you are. 

“You should do whatever makes you happy,” You smiled, the baby’s pudgy hands coming to grip a strand of your hair. A gentle tug, a harsh tug, and the blonde was apologizing. You gently worked the hair from between the cherub’s fingers, “She’s fine.” You laughed, “That’s what babies do.” 

And the men at Barnes & Son Auto Repair were always so courteous and nice to you. Bucky seemed to only remember the bad things, but that’s life isn’t it? 

Bucky was looking at you with hope now, “I’d love to.” Steve grinned, looking at his friend. 

“I wanna go to Coney Island.” Becca whined to her brother, gripping his arm. 

“Me too.” Suzy shifted down in her seat, agreeing softly. Bucky sighed heavily, 

“Let me ask Ma, see what she says.” 

“Ask me what?” Winifred Barnes was a sight. The four Barnes daughters were beautiful, so she had to be too. And she was. Her hair in a polished chignon, green eyes, and a beautiful green velvet number that made you feel like you were very under dressed. 

“She likes company,” Bucky will explain to you later, “That’s just how she always dresses.”

Her nails were perfectly lacquered in a soft nude color and her heels matched perfectly. A single strand of pearls lay around her neck. A perfect figure you couldn’t believe birthed five children, but here she was. The perfect American wife. The one you see in adverts and who coo over commercials about what dish soap they prefer. 

“Oh!” Her peachy lips grinned, “No one told me you’d arrived.” Her hand went to pat the side of her hair and she removed the white apron from her front, laying it over the back of the chair as you stood to politely greet her. Her hands gently grasped yours, soft, the kind of soft you get from not having to work a day in your life. “Let me get a look at you.” And she stepped back, taking you in. 

You’d felt a little uncomfortable, nervous. The dress you were wearing was a bit older, but nice, it buttoned down the front, it had little blue birds on the white fabric. Your shoes were a little worse for wear. The scuffed black kitten heels you’d been trying to get an entire life out of. 

“You really are a gorgeous thing.” She cooed lovingly, looking at her son she glared, “James why haven’t you gone and changed?” He pushed back his chair and stood, 

“Sorry Ma,” A kiss to her cheek, a playful look to you and he disappeared upstairs. 

“Here,” She smiled at you, “Come help me in the kitchen.” It was very organized, a practiced orchestration of dishes and side dishes, “James’ favorites.” She said, Winnie must have been cooking all day. Brisket, mashed potatoes, string beans, a whole roasted chicken with rosemary and a garlic butter sauce, sweet corn, and freshly baked dinner rolls. An iced pound cake sat to the side, nineteen candles jammed into it. “You can thank Becca for that,” she had explained laughing. 

Their house was noisy, crowded for the space they had. The four girls were fighting almost constantly, playfully bickering over who was going to get the leg of the chicken, Bucky because it’s his birthday and Ginny for being the oldest, and who was better at singing also came up at the table causing the two youngest girls to belt out what they could remember of I’m Yours. 

Steve and Bucky talked about what Howard Stark’s latest invention had been and news of the Stark Expo he was trying to put on next year, while both Winnie and George asked you about the factory you worked at and how Bucky had told them you make all of your own dresses. 

“You must be very talented,” Winne motioned towards your dress, “It’s very beautiful.” 

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispered, his hand gripping yours in your lap. He had a little mashed potato on the corner of his lip that you wiped with your napkin. 

“I’m okay.” There were some words that you’d never heard before that Bucky had translated for you, but the girls seemed eager to learn some words in Spanish as well. The discussion of language breaching the table as Winnie disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing with the fire hazard of a cake and a silence before the tune of Happy Birthday was sung. Bucky’s hand not leaving yours as Becca yelled, 

“Make a wish!” And his candles were blown out. You didn’t know if you belonged here, in this world. It had always been you and your Mom and you’d always been poor. This house, these sisters, this family. You doubted they’d ever had empty stomachs. The girls had talked about buying new dresses for Spring. They begged George for money so they could go over to Neiman Marcus and go shopping. And he’d given it to them. 

They had everything they needed, and things they wanted. It made sense how Bucky was kind of naive in some ways. Sometimes he couldn’t understand why you weren’t able to just do certain things, but he was getting better about it. Steve would knock some common sense into him from time to time. 

He looked so happy right now, it was hard to say anything about how you were feeling. 

Bucky pressed his lips to yours in the darkness of his car, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m so glad you came babydoll.” His mouth was sweet, sugary from the two slices of cake he’d eaten. His tongue brushed yours and a heat developed in your core. He whispered against your lips, “I’m gonna take you to Coney Island,” Kiss, “And I’m gonna win you a teddy bear,” Kiss, soft moan, “And then I’m gonna take you on the ferris wheel,” Slower kiss, “And I’m gonna kiss you when we get to the top.” His fingers sunk into your hair, “Cause you’re so damn sweet.” 

“Happy Birthday James.” You whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded looking at him. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before exiting the car, walking around to open your door and help you out. Stealing another kiss as he shut the car door behind you. 

Mateo was standing in the hallway when you’d reached your door. The man hadn’t given you much trouble after the night at the club. Your Mother had talked to him once about leaving you alone, about how she didn’t like the way he would grab you sometimes. He left seething and every time he’d seen James from then on he had a steady glare and a hard grip on whatever he was holding. 

“Your Mother needs you.” Was all he bit, before disappearing into his apartment and slamming the door. You wished Bucky hadn’t left. But he’d seen you to the door of the building, stealing one last kiss before skipping back down the stairs. You wish he hadn’t left. 

The room was still when you’d entered the apartment, where radio was usually always playing it sat silent in the corner. You dropped your house keys on the kitchenette, slipping your coat off your shoulders as a heavy cough sounded from your Mother’s room. “Mama?” You called, “Estás bien? [Are you alright]?” The sound of your heels clicking was so loud it was almost deafening as you walked down the hall, she was laying there in bed, pale as a sheet. A pile of used rags next to her, and they were covered in blood. You gasp, covering your mouth at her sweaty pallor. 

What were you supposed to do now?

You stopped going to the shop. Bucky would come by the apartment and you would tearfully tell him it wasn’t a good time. Your Mother was sick and there was nothing Bucky could do to make it better. His heart ached with the sudden distance. She’d been sick for a while apparently, and she hid it well. He could only hope you wouldn’t come down with the ailment as well. 

He’d asked his family Doctor to stop by, the one that had been at his own birth. It was lung cancer, and a late stage. It was only a matter of time. Bucky began dropping off groceries, you’d woefully sat on the step of the apartment building with him for a few minutes thanking him and saying, “What do I do without her?” Because you both knew it was coming, and soon. 

“I’m so sorry dahlin.” His arm around your shoulders. He could remember when Sarah died. Steve had been a mess, trying to be strong, level headed about it. But now the things Claudia had been telling him made sense, 

“La amas? [You love her?]” She’d asked him once as he watched you sway side to side to the radio, dusting a picture frame. 

“I do.” He remembers his heart being warm, smiling. 

“Prométeme que cuidarás de ella. [Promise me that you’ll take care of her.]” Of course he would take care of you. You were everything. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Bueno.” She shuffled around in the kitchen, repeating, “Good.”

She knew. She knew she was dying and did nothing. There was no cure. She complained about poking and prodding, the Doctors who would just destroy her life faster than she could live it. She decided against treatment. She decided against telling you until she had to. Until she couldn’t hide it anymore. 

Bucky didn’t know what to say, but Steve did. 

“When my Ma died it was really hard, and it’s going to be really hard.” They were at your kitchen table, a bowl of ropa veija in front of the three of you, mostly untouched but still steaming. “But you’re strong, and she’ll want you to be strong.” His hand lay on yours comfortingly. “My Ma told me women are survivors and much better than men at pulling themselves together and pushing against all odds.” And you’ll survive. You will.

Her last words are a gentle affirmation. “Eres el amor de mi vida. [You are the love of my life.]” Her chapped lips pressing against your hands, weeping eyes not being able to focus as her breath rattled and then stopped all together. 

Her funeral was small, a couple of men and women from the neighborhood, you, Steve, and the Barnes family. George Barnes bought a plot in the cemetery for her and paid for the casket himself. “It’s the least we can do.” And you were grateful, because you wouldn’t have been able to afford it. Bucky held your hand tightly in his grip, pressing a kiss to your temple as they lowered your Mother’s casket into the ground. 

The six of them were now shoved into your tiny apartment, the girls helping their Mother roll out dough and fix dinner in the small kitchen, George and Bucky were stripping the bed and Steve had just gotten back from starting a load of laundry in the basement. You didn’t know what to do, sitting out on the fire escape, blankly watching the cars pass by on the street below. 

“Hey honey.” Winnie Barnes leaned out the window, pulling one leg up and then another to scoot herself outside. It would look almost ridiculous if she hadn’t been so put together. She gently pulled you into her chest, letting you wrap your arms around her tightly, crying into her shoulder. It was quiet for a beat, then another, then she said, “We have a guest room if you want to stop by, ever.” Hand soothingly rubbing up and down your back. “James aside, if you don’t want to be alone.” 

You doubted you’d take them up on their offer, but “Thank you,” You sniffled into her shoulder, “Thank you.” 

Comfort food. That's what they’d made. A large pot of beef stew you’d eat on for almost a week. Rolls, pie. You were okay throughout dinner, you ate some, but your appetite hadn’t fully returned yet. And Bucky didn’t leave you. 

After dinner was put away and the family left, the two of you lay in the dark above the covers, staring at each other. This was very improper. Some say it would ruin your reputation. But at that moment you just really didn’t want to be alone. His hand outstretched and softly holding yours, the comfort of him just being there. 

“I don’t have to leave,” He whispered, “But if you don’t want me here I understand.” You gripped his hand a little harder and he pulled you closer to him, letting your head lay on his chest as he pulled you in tight. Eyes dry and puffy from crying all day. “I love you babydoll.” A kiss to your hand while he stared at the ceiling. 

“I love you too.” Voice watery, spoken into his chest. 

Life goes on. Life went on. The apartment was just emptier. Quieter. Lonelier. Your Mother had done everything for you. She created this life. She brought you to America knowing you’d have a better life here than you did in Cuba. More opportunity. And if you hadn’t came to New York you would have never met Bucky. 

Sweet, gentle, caring Bucky who brought you groceries every week now. He stayed for dinner every night. Sometimes he would even try his hand at cooking, as unpracticed as he was. He started doing laundry on days where you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. He cleaned on days you couldn’t get out of bed. 

He bought you new shoes when your old ones began ripping up at the soles, “You have to take care of yourself dahlin, you need a new pair of shoes.” He had argued with you about it until he decided to just go get you a pair himself. He knew you were struggling to pay for this apartment and every time he brought groceries, every time he’d brought you some new fabric, and every time he’d slip money into your purse you would argue, but he would always win. 

He just wanted to help. And he did. Wherever he could. 

Arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you stirred a pot of rice. Lips pressed against your neck as he sung softly in your ear, Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered. 

I'm wild again

Beguiled again

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

“I love you.” You whispered, placing a hand over his on your stomach. “So much.” He let out a heavy breath,

“Marry me.” Your stirring halted, head turning to look at his flushed cheeks. 

“James…”

“I’m serious.” He stepped back, bringing you to face him in his arms, swaying you side to side. “Be my wife,” A gentle kiss against your lips, then his blue eyes searching yours, “You’re so smart, so beautiful,” Another kiss, “I wanna be with you, I told you that on our first date.” He did. “I don’t have a ring or nothin’ yet, but just say the word and I’ll have one by lunchtime tomorrow.” Fingers twisting in your hair as he tilted your face. “I love you.” A gentle kiss, tongue brushing yours, fingers entwined in your hair, scratching your scalp. You moaned into his mouth, 

“Ask me again.” He parted from you, pressing a kiss to your hand as he sunk down to one knee in your small kitchenette. 

“Y/N,” Your hand held to his cheek, “You are the most caring, beautiful, intelligent woman I’ve ever met. I knew from the moment I saw you standing outside of the corner store that I would marry you. I love you, and I want to love you for the rest of my life. Everything I do and everything I will do will be to give you everything you ever wanted. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” You blinked, teary eyed, nodding. 

“Yes.” 

“It is no joke, this is a real war.” Spilled over the speakers of the radio in the Barnes’ living room. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed. 

It was a quiet Sunday morning until that point. At lunch the family was sitting down to, the entirety of the Barnes clan, you and Steve. You’d just gotten back from church, George turning the radio on to have some background noise when the broadcast came on again. The United States were now part of the war. Troops were going to start being sent out any day now. 

Steve and Bucky shared a look and the three men shut the doors to the parlor. Your fiance avoiding your eyes. Winnie lay a hand on your shoulder, turning you back into the kitchen as your heart dropped out of your chest. 

“You’re not going.” You said sternly. “No.” Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair. 

“You don’t understand dahlin, I have to go.” His hands reached for yours and you backed away out of reach. 

“No, you don’t have to go.” You spat. “You want to go.” 

“Stevie isn’t going to be able to, both of our Pops fought in the 107th and I have to continue on. This is for us, I’ll still be sending checks--”

“You think I want money?” You couldn’t help it, you started to cry. “I want you, here. With me.” He ran over to you, pulling you into his chest. 

“Listen, baby.” A kiss pressed against your hair, “It’ll be fine.” 

“It won’t.” You hiccuped, “Men die in war every day, James.” 

“I’ll be fine.” You pushed your hands against his chest, trying to get away. 

“No, you won’t be.” He held you tighter, “You’re leaving me.” Bucky let out a heavy sigh, beginning to rock the both of you side to side.

“Not forever,” He whispered, “Only for a little bit. I have to serve my country, to keep my family safe.” He moved to cup your cheek, tilting your teary eyes up to meet his, pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks before pressing his mouth to yours. “They bomb Pearl Harbor, who's to say they won’t bomb New York, huh? Gotta keep them off our shores.” 

“James,” His face was serious, determined. There was no talking him out of this. This legacy he needed to fulfil. A war. A stupid fucking war. Wars gave a promise of work and promotion, they gave young boys like him good money to go out and put their lives on the line for men who sat in offices and just pointed fingers. It chewed young men up and spat them back out, you’ve seen it before. And you were going to lay witness to it again.

“There are people over there, innocent people,” He said softly, “Being persecuted for being who they are.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, scratching the nape of your neck with his blunt fingernails, “I would never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t fight to free them.” You sighed, closing your eyes and looking down at his chest. 

“I just lost her, James.” You hiccup, “I can’t lose you too.” Silence filled the apartment for a moment, the gentle rocking side to side continued on before he responded, 

“You’re not going to.”

.

.

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taglist //  @corneliabarnes​ @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @albinotigerpython​ @cake-writes​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @000bananaclip000​ @shadowbuisness​ @sprinkleofbooty​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @vhsbarnes​  @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​

[nerdy-bookworm-1998]

Signed, Sealed and Delivered

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Day 10 of my 25 Days of Christmas Celebration Calendar.  Y/N gets Fury an early Christmas present. Fury is not very jolly, or so they think. Words: 1040 Warnings: Fluff, alcohol, drugging. A/N: If you liked this please leave feedback/reblogs and consider donating to my Ko-Fi and/or Patreon, links are in my bio. If you would like to be tagged in future works please send me an ask. Merry Christmas! 😘🎄🎅🤶

It is the day before Christmas Eve and Y/N is sitting in one of the conference rooms, waiting for the debrief to start after having just gotten back with Bucky and Clint from a mission in the Maldives. Freshly showered, dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, fuzzy reindeer socks, and a red cashmere sweater, she lounges back in her chair with a cup of hot chocolate while Bucky and Clint sit on either side of her when Fury, Steve, Tony, and Maria Hill walk in.

Fury tosses down a picture on the table of a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in only a bright red speedo and bound with his hands behind his back and a bright red and green bow on his head. "Agent y/l/n, would you care to explain what that is?"

"An early Christmas present for you, Director," Y/N grins cheerily while Bucky and Clint try to hide their grins behind their hands.

"And how exactly did this present end up unconscious in a broom closet of the Soneva Jani hotel?" Fury asks as he takes a seat opposite her.

"Well, you see, it happened like this..."

Y/N, Bucky, Clint had been tailing Thomas Riddle Jr for the past week while he was in the Maldives for a 'business trip'. In reality, he was setting up meetings between their good friends AIM and Hydra to exchange information and weapons of mass destruction.

Currently, y/n was lounging at the bar, drinking her pina colada (non-alcoholic, of course since she was on the job), while Bucky and Clint were hanging out on the lounge chairs close to Riddle and his entourage. From the corner of her eye, y/n saw Riddle get up and saunter his way over to her in his speedo, over-oiled chest gleaming and what she assumed was supposed to be a seductive smile, but in reality, just came off as creepy. She pretended to ignore him as he slid into the seat next to her and flagged down the barman. "One old-fashioned and whatever the lady is drinking," he ordered in a thick English accent. Once the barman left to make their drinks he turned to her, resting his hand on her lower back. "So, what is a goddess like you doing all alone in a place like this?"

Plastering a coy smirk onto her face she leaned in closer to him and batted her eyelashes, her hand landing high on his upper thigh. "I'm just waiting for a gorgeous, English knight in shining armor to sweep me off my feet," she says sweetly as she hands him his drink.

"Well, gorgeous, it looks like today is your lucky day," he grins cockily as he downs his drink before taking her hand in his, "What do you say we get out of here, my damsel in distress?"

"Lead the way, handsome," she smirks mischievously as he leads her away from the pool area and into the hotel, unseeing of the two figures shadowing them. When they reached an empty hallway inside the main building she pushed him up against the wall, leaning in close to whisper into his ear, "What are AIM and Hydra up to?"

"They are planning a takedown of the Avengers facility in upstate New York in order to capture the Avengers and torture them until they are as compliant as little lambs that they can use to take down the UN and all governments apart of it," he slurs out as he drags his lips up and down her neck before slumping over and snoring quite loudly.

Y/N brings her hand up to her ear to press on the comm device hidden by her hair. "Did you boys get that?" she asks as she pushes Riddle off of her so that he falls to the floor and continues sleeping.

"Loud and clear boss," Clint says through the comms as he and Bucky round the corner with Bucky looking very much like a sulking child.

"Did he have to touch you so much? I was about 2 nano-seconds away from ripping his hand off," he pouts as he draws his girl into his arms for a tight embrace, the fabric of the camouflage wrap on his metal arm feeling delightfully cool on her sun-warmed skin.

"He was. This guy is lucky that serum took effect when it did," Clint snorts from where he lounges against the wall. "So, what do you wanna do with this guy until Shield gets here?"

Y/N gets a mischievous glint in her eyes that immediately spells trouble. Running up to their room, she comes back with the new instant-lock cuffs Tony designed as well as a red and green hair ribbon and some duct tape. Working quickly, she cuffs his arms behind his back, tapes his mouth closed and ties the ribbon into his hair in a pretty, festive bow before Clint and Bucky shove him into the maintenance closet since it wasn't safe to keep him in his room or leave him in the hall for anyone to see. After radioing Shield on where to find their prisoner, the three of them went back outside to enjoy the last of the warm climate before they had to head home.

"So you see, director, I just wanted to add a little holiday flair to brighten your day," y/n smiles innocently.

"I see. Well, luckily for you, once Riddle woke up and heard his own confession he was more than willing to provide us with all the intel we needed to prevent the attack, as well as shut down several other operations in exchange for the comfort and safety of the Raft. So, well done. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will personally ensure that you get back to back sparring sessions with agents Romanoff, Hill and Captain Danvers. Now get the hell out of here!" Fury dismisses them.

Bucky and Clint are quick to make their escape, but y/n turns around at the door to give them all a salute and a cheery "Merry Christmas!" before she's out the door and down the hallway.

Nick merely shakes his head, whispering beneath his breath, "Merry Christmas indeed, agent y/l/n."

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[pinknerdpanda]

Heart of Gratitude

Word Count: 2149

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Warnings: Fluff, language

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, fam. Thought we could all use a little fluff before the food-coma sets in. :) I hope you are able to find something to be thankful for this year.

Beta’d by: my loves @hannahindie and @wheresthekillswitch - I’m thankful for both of you. Thanks for being the wonderful, hilarious, talented ladies you are. Love you both dearly!

x

Heart of Gratitude

“What are your thoughts on cranberry sauce?” I yelled over my shoulder without looking away from the computer screen. I wasn’t even really sure which one of them had just entered the room, but I didn’t care, either.

“You mean like the red, jelly stuff that comes out of a can...still looking like a can?” Dean’s voice echoed through the cavernous room before he rounded the table and dropped into the chair across from me. I glanced over the top of my laptop for a moment and noted his apparent disgust.  “I don’t trust it.”

“So that’s a no then,” I mumbled, returning my focus to the notebook on the table. I scratched a long, blue line through ‘cranberry sauce’ and went back to scrolling.

“Whatcha got over there, y/n?” Dean rested his elbows on the wooden table, and leaned forward, his eyebrows creased, straining to see what I was writing.

“I’m making a grocery list,” I scanned the various options Pinterest had to offer. I scowled. I didn’t even have to ask to know Dean wouldn’t appreciate Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Balsamic Vinegar and Honey, or Roasted Hasselback Beets. Creamy broccoli cheese and rice casserole...now THERE’S a side dish I could get behind. I began scrawling the ingredients listed on the website and glanced back up to find Dean studying me.

“What about gravy?” I ignored his questioning gaze and continued my search. “Do you like the brown gravy from the packet? Or homemade turkey gravy? Do people eat pepper gravy with turkey?”

“Wait. Are you gonna cook for Thanksgiving, y/n?” Dean’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“I mean, I was thinking about it,” I shrugged, trying to fight the smile I felt twitching my lips. There was something about the look on Dean’s face that was contagious and for a second I felt like I would have done anything to make him stay this happy. “If that’s ok?”

“If it means there’s gonna be pie, then the answer is always ‘yes’. Man, I can’t remember the last time that we had a real Thanksgiving meal,” Dean squinted into the distance and frowned. He didn’t say it, but I almost wondered if they’d ever had a traditional Thanksgiving. That thought made my heart hurt.

“Hey guys,” Sam bounded into the room, a tattered newspaper clutched in one hand. “I think I may have found us a case.” He tossed the paper down in front of Dean.

Dean scooped it up and skimmed it before passing it across the table.

“Third victim in four days found with their heart ripped out,” I looked back up between the two men. “So what? A Werewolf?”

“That’s what I thought too, but the full moon isn’t until next week,” Sam came around the table and I handed him the paper.

“Could be an alpha,” Dean offered.

“It’s possible, I suppose. I think it’s worth checking out. If we leave now we can be there by tomorrow evening,” Sam paused to look at the pile of cookbooks and scribbled notes in front of me. “Roasted beets? That sounds good. What’s all that for?”

“Wait, beets?” The look on Dean’s face could only be described as betrayed.  “You never said anything about beets.”

“I’m not making beets, Dean.” It was hard not to laugh at the sigh of relief from Dean’s lips. Sam’s words began to sink in and I frowned. “I may not be making anything now that there’s a case.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam leaned against the table facing me, his long, lean legs crossed at the ankles and his hands shoved into his pockets. It was distracting as hell.

“Y/n promised me pie,” Dean scowled.

“First of all, I didn’t promise shit,” I threw a pointed look at Dean before turning back to Sam. “And B, I was thinking about making a Thanksgiving dinner for us, but sounds like that’s gonna have to wait.”

Sam’s lips pressed together in thoughtful consideration. “Well, I mean, if we leave now - get in, get out - head home, we could make it back on time. Or we can always push it back to the weekend after.”

It was an unreasonable response, I recognized that, but I was immediately overcome with an urge to stomp my foot, push my lip out and pout. It wasn’t just the meal that I’d been looking forward to, it was the whole experience. Before this life had become my new normal, Thanksgiving had been my favorite. My dad would wake up early and head to the gas station for a cup of coffee and a paper. He’d always bring back a crappy convenience store cappuccino for Mom and I to sip as we perused the ads for the post Thanksgiving sales, strategizing for our Black Friday adventures. The parade, the food, the football...all of it made Thanksgiving Thanksgiving. The thought of my parents made my heart hurt and only made my disappointment deepen.

“Right. Yeah,” I snapped my computer shut and scooped it up along with my cookbooks and notebook and headed toward my room. “I can be ready to leave in about 15 minutes.”

-----

I woke to the sound of a rhythmic beeping, but my eyelids felt heavy and my limbs refused to obey my commands. I heard voices from somewhere nearby, and I thought I recognized one to be Dean’s. Where the hell was I?

I focused all my energy into forcing my eyes open and immediately regretted the decision. Harsh, white light assaulted my retinas and I wrenched my head to one side, only to be greeted by a roar of searing pain as it reverberated through my chest. I forced several lungfuls of stale, sterile oxygen in through my nose and back out through my mouth.

“Thanks, doc.” Dean’s muffled voice preceded the squeak of the door opening by mere seconds. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to come around!” His tone was light, but I could see relief in his deep, green eyes as he strode to my bedside and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Dean?” my voice was croaky and pathetic.

“Hey kiddo. How are you feeling?” He dragged the chair from beside the window to sit closer to me.

“Like shit. What happened?” I moved to sit up and thought better of it.

“Well, the good news is, turns out it wasn’t a werewolf,” Dean avoided my eyes.

“And the bad news? What was it?”

“It was a lamia,” Dean said.

“That’s the bad news?” I narrowed my gaze. He was clearly hiding something from me.

“Well, I mean I guess it just depends on your definition of ‘bad’ really…”

“Good Lord, just spit it out, Winchester,” my stomach rumbled and his pussy footing around whatever was going on just annoyed me more.

“After we split up, you got hit. Hard,” Dean sighed. “Guess it knocked you out. By the time we caught up to you, the lamia was on you and the cuts were pretty deep, but Sam, the boy scout he is, was prepared. A little rosemary, a dash of salt and some fire and poof...son of a bitch was gone.”

I glanced down for the first time. Under my hospital issue gown, I could see a large, white, gauze bandage, it's taped edges nice and clean.

“Ok, but why am I here? Couldn’t you and Sam dental floss and whiskey me back together? Where is he, anyway?”

“He ran back to the motel for some of your stuff, he should be back about any time, actually. The cuts were so deep that Sam and I were afraid we’d miss something. You’d lost a lot of blood and we couldn’t get you to wake up.” Dean’s forehead creased as his tongue traced first his top lip, and then the bottom.

I studied him for a minute. “Why do I feel like there’s more you aren’t telling me?”

“It’s just,” he rubbed his palms together. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I know how much you were looking forward to making a big dinner and if I had just insisted that you stay back, you wouldn’t have…”

“Oh my God. Dean, can we not with the blaming yourself for this?! We can shoulda woulda coulda all day long if you want, but that isn’t going to change anything.” I wiggled my fingers and he took my hand. “I’m alive, the lamia is dead. You and Sam are ok. Let’s just be thankful for that. We can eat turkey anytime.”

“Y/n,” Sam engulfed the doorway and a look of relief softened the lines in his face.

“Hey Sammy,” I smiled as he pulled up a chair to the other side of the bed.

His gaze flitted to Dean and I’s still joined hands for a second and then met mine again. “I’m glad you’re ok. How do you feel?”

“Like a lamia tried to have me for the main course. You ok?” Sam’s expression was hard to read, which was unusual for him. Typically, everything he thought or felt played across his handsome face.

“Yeah, fine,” his lips pressed together in a hard line.

Dean cleared his throat and released my hand. “I’m uh, gonna go grab some coffee or something. You two good?” He stood and turned to leave without waiting for an answer.

I studied the younger Winchester carefully. He ran one hand through his chestnut hair, that curled around the collar of his shirt; his mesmerizing hazel eyes apparently trying to memorize the pattern of the floor under his feet.

“You Winchesters are the worst sometimes, you know that?” I chuckled softly.

Sam turned to look at me, shaking his head gently and scrunching up his nose. “What?”

“Dean was tiptoeing around telling me about the lamia, and now whatever it is that you’re not saying,” I sighed. “Doesn’t that get exhausting?”

It was Sam’s turn to laugh, albeit softly. “Yeah, it does, actually.”

“Then out with it, Jolly Green,” I shifted so I could more clearly see his face.

“I don’t know, I just,” Sam’s dimples made a brief appearance as he pondered his statement. “When we found you, there was so much blood, and you wouldn’t wake up…” he settled his shoulders and huffed out a quick breath. “I was scared that I’d lost you.”

I blinked at him, my brain slowly turning over each word he’d said.

“Okay...” There seemed to be some disconnect because my heart was beating out of control but my brain was struggling to understand why. “But I’m still here, so…”

Sam’s warm hand covered mine, his thumb stroking gently across my scraped knuckles. I looked at him, completely confused, which he found amusing.  

“I like you, y/n. A lot,” Sam’s voice was soft. “I don’t know. Maybe even more than that.”

“I like you too, Sam.” Was it the painkillers they gave me? Because it felt like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grasp what he was getting at.

Sam leaned forward and place a single, soft kiss to my lips, but as he pulled away, it felt like my mouth had been set on fire and all the gears in my head clicked into place. Sam liked me. Liked me liked me. Was I still asleep? Was I actually captured by a Djinn and forced to live out my ultimate fantasy for whatever remained of my life? Was I being Punk’d?

“So, when you say ‘like’...”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “I think you need more rest. We can talk about this when you are on the mend.”

“But what if I wake up and this was all a dream?” I whined, unconsciously touching my lips with my free hand.

“When you wake up, I’ll be right here. We can watch the parade and eat hospital turkey,” he smoothed the hair from around my face and smiled, “and we can pick up where we left off.”

“Right where we left off?” I waggled my eyebrows at him and he grinned, flashing me his dimples again.

“If that’s what you want,” He squeezed my hand gently.

I yawned and felt my eyelids growing heavy again. “Oh, I do want. I want that very much.”

“Ok, it’s a date then. Get some rest, y/n.” He leaned forward again and kissed me again, this time aiming for my forehead.

Just as my eyes drew closed and I began to drift off, I opened them again.

“Hey Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make you those beets when we get home if you really want them.”

He snorted a laugh, the sound of it swirled through my belly and sent jolts of warmth throughout my body. If ever there was a time to be thankful, this was it, and I fell asleep, happier and more grateful than I’d been in years.

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