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afictionaladventure16 · 5 years

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One Hell Of A Blind Date (Sebastian Stan x Latina!Reader)

Masterlist

Description: You were Anthony Mackie’s neighbor, so he always invited you over to his parties or hangouts, getting to know his friends and cast members. Anthony decided to take it upon himself to set you up with a cast member that he was really good friends with.

I know, horrible description. But like, I got this idea in the shower, for some reason. I get my best ideas in the shower because why not? Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: None?

Word count: 2,144

Y/N= Your Name

C/C= Career Choice

*Not my gif, credit goes to the gif owner

Anthony’s parties were something that he tends to invite you too and whenever you had the chance you would go to them. It was how you met some of your closest friends like Chris Evans and Mark Ruffalo. Anthony was one of your close friends too, you were also his neighbor and you loved taking care of his kids when he politely asked, you adored his wife. They were like an extended family to you.

Anthony looked around at the crowd in his house, smiling at his friends as he made his way around. He spotted Sebastian looking at something, deep into thought, walking up to Sebastian. Anthony gently placed his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, making him jump, he noticed what Sebastian was staring at you talking to Chris.

Anthony smirked, “maybe instead of just staring at you, you should just go over there and strike a conversation with her,” he suggested. Sebastian had met you before but never really spoke to you, you had always ended up having a conversation with Chris or Mark. But Seb always wanted to have an actual conversation with you, he found you beautiful and just wanted to get to know you better but you always just turned the other way for some reason.

Seb just shooks his head, taking another swig of his drink, “Nah, looks like she’s already got something going on with Evans anyway.”

Anthony rolled his eyes at Seb. Robert came up to Seb, starting a conversation. Anthony thought of this as his chance to go over to you and Chris to be noisy and maybe see if he can change things.

“Come on, Chris, trust me,” Anthony heard you say.

“I don’t know, blind dates are scary,” Chris expressed.

“She doesn’t know anything about you, she’s never seen Captain America, this would be a perfect girl for you! She’s a Disney freak like you, she loves dogs, she- please stop me because I’m running out of ideas,” you said causing Chris to laugh.

“Why don’t I set you up for a blind date,” you heard Anthony say.

You rolled your eyes, “No, hell to the no,” you stated.

“Aw come on, Y/N, why not?”

“Because it’s you, Anthony, I don’t trust you.”

Anthony looked at Chris who just smirked, “I’ll go on my blind date with your friend if you go on a blind date with Anthony’s friend,” Chris said. You gasped, looking at Chris in shock, he was teaming up with Anthony.

You pondered it for a second, “it’ll be a double date, if that makes you feel better, Me and Sheletta and you and my friend,” Anthony suggested.

Knowing that Anthony’s wife was going to be there put you more at ease, “Fine,” you stated, catching Anthony by surprise.

He smirked, “I’ll text you the details,” with that he walked off, you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into.

A couple of days went by, Anthony had set the date for Friday night, he told you to dress nice. When you suggested to carpool, Anthony said it’d be better off you all just met there, this caught you a bit off guard but you didn’t think anything much of it. You took an uber to the address that Anthony had sent you, the restaurant looked way to fancy for your taste, you felt a bit underdressed with your black skater dress that had thick spaghetti straps. You sighed to yourself texting Anthony real quick, asking where he was at.

A couple minutes went by and he texted back that he was running late, to go ahead and go inside, that the guy he had set you up with was already inside waiting.

You felt so confused, why would you go inside if you didn’t know who your blind date was. You texted Anthony, asking how you would know who it was.

Anthony sent another text back with a winky face emoji, you’ll just know, he texted.

Sighing to herself, you were already tired of waiting outside, not liking the looks you were getting from people passing by. You decided to just walk in, you were instantly greeted, asking who the reservation was under. You quickly informed them that they were already waiting for you, they gave you a small nod and let you walk on into the dining area.

You scanned the room as you walked around, spotting a familiar face, you smiled and walked over to Sebastian, “Sebastian?” He looked up from his phone, his breath was caught at the sight of you, the sight of how gorgeous you looked in that dress.

“Um- uh, Y/N,” He stuttered, he didn’t know why he was suddenly so nervous around you.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned.

Sebastian chuckled, “You’re gonna think this is dumb but I’m actually waiting for Anthony, he set me up on a blind date.”

You looked at Sebastian with widen eyes, you admitted to yourself that you had a small crush on Sebastian a while back, partially why you tried to avoid him to avoid any embarrassment on yourself. “you don’t say,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling nervous. You muttered some words in Spanish that shouldn’t be repeated.

“What about you?”

“I’m waiting for Anthony too.”

“You’re Anthony’s date?”

You laughed, “No! Anthony’s married! I’m your date!” Sebastian facepalmed, he was so nervous that he had forgotten that Anthony was married, “Anthony set us up together,” you sat down on the chair next to Sebastian, “I knew he was up to something.”

Sebastian smiled, this was the most you had ever spoken to him. “No wonder he said,”

“You’ll know when you see them,” you both said in unison, causing you both to erupt in laughter.

“So, how did he drag you into going on a blind date?” You asked.

“Oh you know, Anthony is like a brother and well, he hates seeing me single. Also, he said he may have blackmailed me into it.”

You laughed at the last part, “sounds like him.”

“And you?”

“I was trying to get Evans to go on a blind date with my best friend and well, they both teamed up basically and now I’m here.” Sebastian gleamed at the thought that you were actually trying to help find Evans someone else to date, that must have meant that you weren’t interested in Evans.

“So, did Chris ever go on that date with your friend?”

“They did actually, yesterday and they have a second date today,” you smiled proudly, “I’m a pretty good matchmaker.”

You both talked for a couple more minutes, mostly about Anthony and how you both got played by him.

“That’s like the fifth time the waiter has come by to check up on us,” you stated, “I kind of feel bad for just sitting here, traffic must be pretty bad if they’re this late.”

Sebastian decided to check his phone, letting out a small chuckle at the text message he had received from Anthony. He slid his phone on the table over to you, showing you the message, “Sucker, enjoy your date,” you read aloud. You instantly knew that Anthony had this all played out to ditch you both. “Asshole,” you crossed your arms, you still didn’t feel comfortable in this setting.

Sebastian must have noticed by your body language, “hey, why don’t we just ditch this place?” You quickly agreed, causing Sebastian to grin. You both left the place unnoticed.

“He’s going to get what’s coming to him, Sebastian.”

“Seb,” Sebastian said.

“What?”

“Call me Seb,” he stated, “Sebastian feels too formal.”

You smiled, “Seb,” you said quietly. You both walked down the block for a little bit.

“You know we don’t have to go through with this date,” Sebastian said quietly.

He was starting to let his insecurities get to him, “What if I want to?”

Sebastian looked up at you with a smile, “really?”

You nod, “why do you think I avoid you?”

“I thought it was because you just didn’t like me.”

You shook your head, “I’m just afraid I’ll embarrass myself in front of you.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “I doubt that.” He then cleared his throat, “Alright so if we’re going to go through with this date then what should we do?”

You grinned as you noticed a familiar diner coming into your view, “come on,” you grabbed Sebastian’s hand, you felt something shock you but you decided not to make a big deal about it. You and Sebastian ran over to the small diner, “I love this place,” you said as Sebastian held the door open for you, you thanked him.

“Booth?” He questioned, you gave him a small nod and followed him to a booth in the corner. “So, why this place?”

You smiled, “my dad used to bring me here when I was younger, whenever I had a bad day, usually to grab an ice cream Sunday or shake.”

“Are you and your dad close?”

“We were,” you said softly as you let out a small sigh, “he passed away a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

You shook your head, “it’s alright.”

A waitress came and you both ordered the same thing, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake.

“Tell me more about yourself, Y/N. I want to get to know this girl, the one that is so afraid to embarrass herself in front of me that she avoided me for months now.”

You laughed, “Well, I work as a C/C and I live in my aunt’s old home, she gave it to me when she passed…” you didn’t know what else to say, you kept catching yourself staring into Sebastian’s blue eyes.

“Oh really? Were you two close?”

You nod, “she was like a grandmother to me, she was much older than my father. There’s actually a treehouse in the backyard from when I was a little girl, I hope one day I’ll get married and my kids can play in that treehouse like I did as a little girl… I don’t know, that sounds dumb now that I say it out loud.”

Seb shook his head, “it doesn’t sound dumb, sounds like someone just knows what she wants.”

“And you, tell me about yourself,” you said as you turned to him. The food then arrived, you both began to eat as Sebastian told you about his move to New York when he was a kid, about Romania and what it was like living there. “There was seriously no bananas?” you questioned.

“No bananas,” Sebastian repeated, “and I’ve always wanted a banana because I saw them on t.v.”

“That’s crazy.”

You both fell silent, taking in each other’s presence, “I really like you, y/n. I’ve had this crush on you for a while now…” You smiled at Sebastian, “And I hope this first date doesn’t end horribly because I would love to take you on a second date.”

“I would love that,” you stated. Sebastian’s eyes lit up, “but let’s finish this date first.”

Throughout the night you talked and ate, ordering dessert as well, you were full but if it meant staying at the diner a little longer and talking to Sebastian, then so be it. Once you both decided it was time to go, Sebastian ordered an Uber for you, you both waited outside, talking a bit more about stories from the past.

“Okay so, how do you say how are you in Spanish?” Sebastian questioned.

“Como estas.”

“Como,” he repeated perfectly, “estas?”

You gave him a nod, “You’re good at this!” you said as you noticed a car with the Uber sign pull up, “that’s probably my uber.” You turned back over to Sebastian, “Thanks for an amazing night, Seb.”

“No problem,” Sebastian said with a smile, you both stood there awkwardly for a second, you hadn’t noticed how close your bodies were. You looked up at him, he was smiling down at you. He gently placed his hand on your chin to lift your face, “is this too soon or…” he trailed off.

You rolled your eyes, your lips brushed his lips softly, long enough to feel his warm breath against your skin. You couldn’t help but think about how soft his lips were, and he couldn’t help but smile. Sebastian placed his hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss, both your lips moving in sync. You let go of the kiss, a little out of breath, “I really should go,” you gestured to your Uber who was probably tired of waiting. Sebastian let out a dry chuckle, “can I at least get your number before you leave?” He said with a wink. You facepalmed as he handed you his phone, you quickly dialed your number and hung up.

“Thanks again, Seb,” you said as you gave Sebastian a kiss on the cheek before getting into your uber. You were right, you didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into but you were okay with that. Anthony was one hell of a matchmaker and you and Sebastian both knew it.

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captainmarvels · 7 years

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Muñeca Traicionera

Summary: Sam decides to pull a prank on one Bucky Barnes - how far will it go?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Latinx!Reader

Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendos?

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I’m real scared about this fic b/c I feel like its not good but ANYWAYS, about 85% of the dialogue and some descriptions are in Spanish - NO English translations so either ask me or google translate for help lmao sorry - the songs mentioned are Propuesta Indecente by Romeo Santos and Loco by Enrique Iglesias! I want to dedicate this to all my Hispanic/Latinx/POC writers and readers who have felt the lack of representation; hopefully this is the start of something good for all of us :) Enjoy! [PS: this is definitely not the last time I write a poc!/latinx!reader fic!]

Masterlist

As soon as you walked into the conference room, you were tackled into the wall.

“¿Por fin llegas, Y/N! Ay, como te he extrañado, por qué no vienes más seguido, eh?” You pulled away, giggling while enjoying Sam’s thick American accent. “¡No te reís de mí, chica. No soy una broma!”

“¡Jaja, por favor, nunca me burlare de ti, Sam! Te extrañe también, tontito.”

“Okay, eso dolio un poco, don’t do that to me!” Sam pulled away, laughing along with you.

“Perdoname, but your Spanish has gotten better since the last time I saw you, mi Falcon. ¿Como están todos?” You took a seat next to him, pulling out your laptop.

“They’re good - we’ve got a few new additions to the team, but you’ll meet them soon enough.”

You were about to ask about the new members when Tony strolled in, Steve and Natasha right behind him.

“Wow, hace tiempo desde la última vez que nos vimos, ¿verdad? ¿Como estas, nena?” Steve said as he pulled you into his embrace, practically smothering you. Once he lets go, you give Natasha a quick kiss on the cheek, hugging her as well.

“Muy bien, gracias. Y si, demasiado tiempo. ¡Pero, buenas noticias! ¿O todavía no les dice Tony?” You glanced over at him, his eyes scanning some document in his hands. “¡Oye, Stark! Para hoy, ¿no?” Sam and Nat snickered behind you as Tony just glared at you before turning around.

“You’re even snarkier in Spanish, Y/N. How did I ever deal with it before?”

“¿Quién sabe? Lo bueno es que sobreviviste para ver lo bueno que he hecho con tu ayuda.” You smiled as you walked up to him, pulling him in for a hug.

“Ugh, stop getting so sappy. Now, time for the briefing.”

“Man, I wish I could vacation in mother freaking Brazil! Take me next time, alright?” Sam was putting away his files while the rest of you stuck around, catching up before grabbing some lunch together. “Hey, Y/N? I got a favor to ask, and I really hope you’ll say yes.”

“Sam, this better not be the same thing from earlier-”

“Rogers, c’mon! You know it’d be funny, too! Natasha thought so! Right?” Sam looked between Steve and Nat, who kept a straight face while shrugging her shoulders. “Nat, c’mon, back me up, woman!”

“Just spit it out, Sam!” You laughed, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt, revealing a few painful scars on your tan skin from your last mission.

“Yo, where are those from?”

“Sam! The favor?”

“Okay, okay. So, like I was telling you, we have a few new teammates, right? Well, one of them is Bucky, and he’s just like Natasha - es un ex-asesino, y habla varias lenguas, incluyendo el español. I thought it’d be kinda funny to make him think you only know Spanish, and convince him that he’s the only one who can translate or talk to you? I was just wanna see how long the man lasts speaking Spanish - he once went like 4 months speaking pure French around here before Tony threatened to send him to Texas for 6 months.” Steve covered his face with one hand while Sam just looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to say yes.

“So, you just want me to pretend like I don’t know English? Isn’t this, como se dice...um, neglectful? No, no, eso no es...ah, demeaning! I mean, I’ll do it because it’s you, Sam, but I don’t want to make someone suffer.”

“Oh believe me, he won’t, cariño!” Sam smiled, walking out of the room. Steve walked you out, pulling you aside just before reaching the elevators.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Steve frowned, concerned etched on his face.

“No soy una niña tonta, Steve. Lo quiero hacer; por lo menos puedo hablar español como siempre, y no perderme en los dos idiomas todo el tiempo.”

You were standing at the front of the conference room, right next to your mentor, Tony. You shyly looked up at the team, who had just begun to make their way to their seats. You spotted Bucky - Sam had mentioned he’d be the one to stick out like a sore thumb. You were pulled away from your thoughts when Tony mentioned your name.

“Well, like I said before, this is Y/N - they work for a Secret Service-type intelligence agency in Portugal; fluent in Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and French. Y/N, por favor.” Tony winked, gesturing that you move to the front of the room. You stepped forward, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your hair as you began to speak.

“Me llamo Y/N, soy latinx, he trabajado en varias misiones con Tony, pero solamente en Europa, América del Sur, América Central y México. Es un placer conocerlos, y me emociona trabajar con ustedes en los meses que vienen.” You smiled, looking up to see understanding nods with the translator comms in place.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. It’s a pleasure.” Vision was the first to greet her, and soon everyone else followed. Bucky was one of the last ones, and after seeing Natasha greet you in Spanish, he decided he would as well.

“Hola, Y/N. Es un placer conocerte – ojalá podemos conocernos mejor luego, ¿sí?” He smiled, clearing his throat as you shook his hand.

“Por supuesto, Bucky. Eso me gustaría mucho.”

“Han pasado dos meses, y apenas acabamos nuestra decima telenovela juntos, Barnes. Esto si es una locura.” You laughed, handing him a bowl of grapes and cherries while taking your spot on the couch. He smiled, laughing too.

“Es una locura que nunca los descubrí antes de conocerte, Y/N! ¿Ahora, como si llama la que vamos a ver ahorita?”

“Teresa. Es una de mis favoritas, desde que era niña. Te va a encantar, Bucky. Mucho drama para alguien como tú.”

“Órale, que quieres decir con eso, nena? No seas mala conmigo, por fa.” Bucky frowned while eating his fruit. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ay si, pobrecito. Cálmate, ya verás. ¡Anda, déjame ponerlo!”

Bucky se tapó la cara con un cojín del sofá, tapando sus gritos de frustración, mientras tú te quedabas acostado, riéndote.

“¡Cariño, por favor dime lo que va pasar, tengo que saber!”

Le diste la espalda saltando sobre el sofá para ir a la cocina. “Ni madres, Bucky. ¡Te tienes que esperar como los demás!”

“¡Muñeca, por favor, te lo suplico, dime! Hare lo que quieres si me digas lo que pasa.”

“¡Cabezón, no te voy a decir nada! Ya, pon el próximo capítulo.”

“Te gusta hacerme sufrir.”

You were scouring the kitchen for something to eat when Bucky’s voice came out of nowhere, causing you to almost drop a massive pan on your foot.

“Maldita sea, Bucky! ¡No me espantes así, cabrón!” Bucky giggled, leaning against the island counter as you closed a few of the open cabinets. “¿Que quieres?”

“Nada. ¿Que estás haciendo, muñeca?”

“¡Tratando de encontrar algo de comer porque el bastardo Stark nunca deja nada bueno para los demás, como siempre!”

“¿Jaja, porque no salimos entonces? ¿Yo pago – que quieres?” You turned around, eyebrows raised.

“En serio? No tienes que pagar, Bucky, está bien-“

“Yo invito, Y/N. Basta ya, que se te antoja?” You rolled your eyes, walking over to where he stood.

“Sé que es una pregunta tonta-“

“Nunca.”

“Que chistoso. ¿Has probado los tacos en Harlem?”

“No. Ya ves? Nunca una pregunta tonta contigo, muñeca.” You smacked him in the arm, laughing as he feigned discomfort.

“Déjame subir pa’ agarrar mi bolsa y chamarra. ¿Te veo en el garaje?”

“’sta bien. Si, te veo allá bajo.”

“¿En serio, por cuanto tiempo has guardado este tesoro de lugar? Están riquísimas estos tacos”

“Lo sé. ¿Mm, quiero decir como tres meses desde que llegue? Ya llevo cinco, así que todavía era un poco egoísta pa’ compartir este paraíso con los demás hasta ahora.”

“Pos, gracias por compartirlo conmigo primero – ahora ya sé que soy tu persona favorita!”

“Ay si, ¡tú crees! En tus sueños, Barnes.”

“¡Todas las noches, muñeca!”

“Ya cállate y disfrute de los tacos, bobo.”

“Ya ves, ¡hasta me tienes un apodo cariñoso!”

“Bucky, cállate!” Bucky laughed, winking at you before taking a bite of his taco.

You adjusted the speakers in the deck before plugging in your phone to the surround sound system. Bucky was pacing back and forth, rolling the sleeves of his henley up and down.

“No tengas miedo, Buck. Todos tenemos que aprender en algún momento, ¿no? Iremos despacito.”

“Y si piso tus pies con las mías?”

“Deja de preocuparte! Vente, ya va a empezar la canción. Es una de mis favoritas.”

The music began, and you grabbed Bucky’s hands; placing one on the small of your back, holding the other in your left hand. You swayed your hips, taking two steps to the left, before stepping towards the right, in the same fashion. Bucky watched your feet, doing his best to follow the rhythm you had set.

As you slowly stepped along to the song, you began to softly sing the lyrics.

¿Si te invito a una copa y me acerco a tu boca

Si te robo un besito a ver te enojas conmigo?

¿Qué dirías si esta noche te seduzco en mi coche?

Que se empañen los vidrios

Y la regla es que goces

¿Si te falto el respeto y luego culpo al alcohol

Si levanto tu falda me darías el derecho

A medir tu sensatez?

Poner en juego tu cuerpo

Si te parece prudente esta propuesta indecente?

“Cantas muy bien. ¿Nunca has pensado en una carrera como cantante?”

“¡Que broma, hombre! No, soy la peor en cantar y bailar.”

“Por dios, bailas bien también, muñeca. ¿Me vas a enseñar más?”

“No dijiste tu que tienes dos pies izquierdos?”

“Anda, me gusta bailar contigo.”

“Anda pues, pero vas a tener que escuchar mi voz terrible.”

“Gano de cualquier manera, Y/N.”

A ver, a ver

Permíteme apreciar tu desnudez

(Take it off)

Relájate que este Martini calmara tu timidez

Y una aventura es más divertida si huele a peligro

It was after celebrating their one year of being at the tower - and their official invitation to become an Avenger - that Bucky decided he wanted to ask them out. Y/N had become his best friend over time, and he grew so fond of speaking Spanish and learning about latinx culture because of them. He only realized his feelings when he was listening to the lyrics of one of Y/N’s favorite songs.

Being the cheesy romantic that he was, Bucky decided that he would ask Y/N out by serenading them. He told the rest of the team to steer clear of the main living room, and he especially threatened Sam and Nat if they tried to pull anything.

He told you to meet him there in 30 minutes, so you could go out for lunch. Just enough time for him to set up the sound system, and get the music ready. Bucky had instructed Friday to let him know when you were in the elevator and about to get off, so he could stop psyching himself out.

“Mr. Barnes, Y/N is about to arrive from the elevators.”

He took a deep breath, hitting play on the music, right as you opened the doors.

“Wow, nunca pensé que iba tener una banda sonora en mi vida. ¿Que pasa, Bucky?”

“Y/N, ven, por favor. Quiero decirte algo; bueno, es mejor decir cantarte algo.”

“¿Me vas a dar una serenata, Barnes?” Sentías como tu corazón se iba a saltar de tu pecho, el sonido de tu latido fuerte en tus oídos.

No te perdonare

Si me dejas solo

Con los sentimientos

Que pasan como el viento

Lo revuelven todo

Y me vuelven loco

Loco

Por besar tus labios

Sin que quede nada por dentro de mi

Diciendo te lo todo

No te perdonare

Si me dejas por dentro con ese dolor

No te perdonare

Si me vuelves loco

You felt the tears at the brim of your eyes, and your face hurt from smiling. You could tell Bucky was nervous, pouring his feelings out to you in song, so you decided to cut him some slack. You walked up to him, cupping his face with your hands. He stumbled over his words, looking down at you.

“Eres un romántico desesperado. Mas, mi romántico.”

“Tuyo?”

“¡No juegas conmigo, James!”

He laughed, closing the distance between you. His lips were gentle and soft against yours, and you couldn’t stop smiling as you kissed him back, the music softly playing in the background, as if you were in a movie. After you pulled away, Bucky held you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your head.

“Nunca pensé que sentirías lo mismo, muñeca.”

“Bueno, ya sabemos que eres un tontito, pero está bien. Ahora sabes.” You laughed as you looked up at him, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Cuando me dejaras vivir?”

“Jamás.”

While you two stood there, on the other side of the door, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Tony and Wanda stood, high-fiving each other after witnessing your little moment. Sam slumped back against the wall, rolling his eyes as Natasha and Steve stuck their hands out.

“Man, I never would’ve thought he’d last this long. 14 months?! Goddamn it, I’m gonna be broke now.”

“Your loss, Sam!”

tags: @bladebarnes, @retroasgardian, @roamingharlem, @thesaraaaaahpfan, @avengershavethetardis, @buenostardissherlock, @jurassicbarnes, @storyofavengers, @imsecretlyromanburki, @buckyswife, @cassandras-musings, @nottheopera, @coltcas, @thefridgeismybestie, @rda1989, @callamint, @dejmccray, @kaaatniss, @seb-ass-tian-stan-ws, @bootypoppinbarnes, @hollycornish, @h4izel, @charliexowrite, @kapolisradomthoughts

@hum4ntrash, @mrs-dr-strange, @yes---soldier, @cxptain-americaa, @waitforthehurricanlore, @thecrownedrose, @sexylibrarian1, @leah5684, @worldsroses, @wintertrbl, @griseldaevn, @bananahero13, @toofangirl, @saradiamayaf, @orbiting-leslie, @howlingbarnes, @captaingiemarie, @bi-diana-prince, @farfromjustordinary, @shunnybunnysunny, @kimmybear, @theweirddragon, @ailynalonso15, @trylenawinchester, @writingmarcy, @thewinterswimmer, @kidasol, @myfriendmagislit, @fucky-thebucky, @mirnita, @ssweet-empowerment, @20joso, @puezzy, @vampirewithniceheels @slutforteenwolfimagines @persephone-is-here-omg, @papi-chulo-bucky

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asphalt-cocktail · 4 years

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Yeah... imma just leave this here

#if i catch any id your asses writing Latinx people like this expect an ask from me #but like also just reach out to someone who is actually latinx for some advice #roger taylor x reader #sebastian stan x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x reader #fanfic

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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amor de mi vida - 1948

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 2423

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.

You told Bucky you were never having sex with him again.

Jaime was the eldest of three, Dia becoming a middle child, and those newborn cries you weren’t given the time to miss sounded from your bedroom at night every two hours like clockwork.

Grant was a handful. But he was so cute you forgave him for it. Jaime looked like his father with your coloring, Dia was an exact replica of you, but Grant, he had his father’s eyes. They just about knocked the wind out of you when they didn’t change from that milky newborn blue to brown. His sweet fat little cheeks and blue eyes.

Dia waddled her way over to you, holding onto the side of the couch and bouncing while looking at her father, babbling for his attention. Bucky peaks at her over his newspaper, the radio keeping Jaime preoccupied while he plays with a toy car Santa brought him for Christmas, making motorized sounds as he pushes it across the carpet.

Dia lets out a little screech. Bucky laughs and drops his paper, her little arms reaching out for him. He picks her up and settles her on his lap. Another screeching sound as she bounced, Bucky’s mouth blowing raspberries and tickling her. Grant was milk drunk and falling asleep on your breast.

“We need a vacation I think.” Bucky laughed, Dia pulling roughly on his hair that desperately needed to be cut. You smile softly, looking down at your newborn.

“Just you and me?” Dia screeches again, accidentally jumping on Bucky’s lap, feet first into his groin. He groans, lifting her off his lap,

“Just you and me.”

Martha Green was still talking to your husband. He was short with her, mostly ignoring while he mowed the lawn. You stood in the front window of the house, watching her. Leaning on the fence, pushing her breasts out, smiling. She was wearing a frilly pink dress and for a moment you envied how she had two kids and kept her figure, there was no secret that yours had filled out. Almost every dress you owned had been adjusted.

But Bucky had seemed just as insatiable as ever. He still kissed you a hundred times a day, he still pressed himself against your back at the sink, he’d grope your ass or breast in passing. A playful slap here or there. But he was respecting the fact that you weren’t comfortable enough to have sex again, not yet.

But maybe you were wrong for that.

Grant was three months old now and while the weight from Jaime didn’t stick to your tummy or hips, Dia and Grant certainly did. Bucky respected the fact that you weren’t ready, and not out of fear that you’d get pregnant again, which he was happy to buy rubbers for, but the change in your body was hard to deal with.

You loved your children more than life itself, and you heard the ‘girls steal your beauty’ more than once after Dia was born. That didn’t help.

Bucky had packed on muscle. And a lot of it. Between boxing and training with Steve. Completing missions, his arm had been upgraded to just about match his flesh arm, and he was sporting a six pack when he flexed. But luckily enough he seemed annoyed with her. Bucky could hold a grudge and the woman had called the police on you after all.

He glared at her, pulled the mower, and resumed cutting the grass. Grant wailed from behind you and you gave her one last look, her face clear with disappointment and annoyance before she stomped back into her house.

Later that night, after the kids were sleeping soundly, you knew Bucky wanted to have sex. He had a tell. “I just like looking at you.” He always says when you’d playfully tell him to stop, but his eyes stay on you as you wash your face and set your hair at the vanity. You could see how hard he was in the mirror. The gentle hands that began to massage your shoulders.

But the doubt and the insecurity from earlier was still nestled in your chest. You shrug his hands from your shoulders and step from the vanity, walking to your side of the bed and removing your robe before slipping under the covers. Bucky was looking at you from his spot still next to the vanity, debating,

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You’d known each other for nine years now, if he couldn’t tell something was wrong there would be a bigger problem in the marriage other than insecurity about extra weight. He squat next to your side of the bed, brushing his fingers across your cheek, cupping your face.

“Nothing.” You shake your head, pressing a kiss into his palm. “It’s nothing.” Three months was the longest the two of you had gone without sex since he’d gotten home from the war.

“It’s not nothing, talk to me.” You roll onto your back, rubbing your eyes, before looking back at him. Concern clear on his face.

“I uh…” You felt anxious, sitting up in bed he rested his chin on your knees, looking up at you. “Do you…” His hands found yours, thumbs brushing over the back of your hands. “I just…” You could feel yourself getting emotional, wanting to swallow it down.

“Dahlin, talk to me.” His voice was full of concern.

“Should I lose weight?” You ask him. “Do you think I’m…” His brow furrowed and he leaned back on his haunches.

“Is that what this is all about?” He asked. You let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Sweetheart, I don’t care about any of that.” His hands left yours and held your hips. “You’ve given me three children,” Hands bunching your night dress, “You’re so beautiful.” A kiss to your knee. “If losing the baby weight is something that would make you happier, I’ll support you.” Kiss to your other knee, “But I don’t mind either way.” His hands met your hips under your night dress and pulled you closer to him, his lips trailing up your thigh. “I’ve loved you since the minute I first saw you.” Hot words against your thigh as his fingers twisted into your panties, tugging them down your hips, “Nothing is going to change that.”

Your back met the mattress as he placed your thighs on his shoulders, fingers intertwined with yours as his tongue met your clit. Back arching and soft moans, his hands leaving yours to grip your thighs and fondle your ass as his tongue pulled moans from your lips and made your hips roll against his face. You were quick to cum, his eyes hooded and mouth tangy with your release as he kissed you. The quiet shift of his boxers being dropped and he paused over you long enough to roll a rubber down his shaft.

Whispered love and affirmation as you joined for the first time in three months, hands gripping sheets and mouth muffled moans to keep from waking the kids.

Bucky made it a point to tell you that you’re beautiful daily after that. And he meant it, truly.

Bucky had gotten home midday in Spring, another mission done, tired to the bone. But from the kitchen sink he could see clear into the backyard. Jaime was in just his shorts, running around the backyard, enjoying the playset Steve had helped him build a few weeks before. Dia in her diaper following him, your sweet voice calling out to them and ‘ralentizar’ and ‘ven aquí’, Dia coming back to play with the blocks you laid out on the blanket that 6 month old Grant was currently banging together.

His eyes moved to you, a slip of a dress on, shoulders bare, laying back in a day of heat that was causing the flowers you’d planted to bloom. He admired you from the window. Your skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, hair in loose curls down your back the way he remembered seeing for the first time in that club so many years ago. A relaxed loose, carefree way he always wanted for you.

He sighed in contentment, leaning over the sink to stare out the window. Watching you lean back on your forearms, Grant’s one tooth smile grinning up at you, holding out his blocks and banging them together while he laughed.

Your dress business is being taken care of by five employees of your own now. You’d talked to him about maybe getting a building in the city, maybe with his backing you’d be able to open a small store. Once the summer was over, the two of you decided, after the vacation he’d been planning, then you’d work on opening a store in the city.

“I’ve never been away from them.” There was a little panic as Winnie took Grant from you. Bucky rubbed your arms, Jaime’s hands wrapped around your legs. He was already so fussy that day. Like he knew you both were leaving, he’d thrown three tantrums which caused Dia to be uncontrollably fussy, Grant was the only one who seemed content to go with whatever was going on.

“They’re going to be fine.” Bucky soothed. George was bribing Jamie with a toy, trying to pry him from your arms, but the two-year-old was not having it. His face red and wailing, arms wrapped around your neck as you hugged him goodbye. “It’s just a week sweetheart.” Your heart broke as you walked down the steps of the Barnes’ brownstone and to the car. Winnie having Grant wave goodbye and cooing to Dia and Jaime that the two of you will be back and that they’re going to have so much fun.

Howard had a beach house in the Hamptons, quiet and secluded. Far away from anyone able to protest and argue. A beautiful house with large bay windows and natural light. Bucky was unpacking the groceries, your shared suitcase by the front door still, while you looked out at the crashing waves. This was your home for the next week. And while you’d sit on the phone with Winnie each night, asking her to hold your babies up to the phone, you couldn’t help but be relieved for finally having some kind of break.

The sun was going down, both of you warm with it, sleepily laying in the sun listening to the waves crash. No kids to care for, no responsibility, just the two of you. You’d eaten cold cut sandwiches and had started drinking at lunchtime, followed by an indecent amount of kissing and fondling on the blanket in the sand.

He blocked out your sun, leaning over your frame, mouth consuming and hot, malty from the taste of liquor.

“I’ve missed this.” He said, your face on his chest, fingers dancing down your back. “Just being the two of us.” You hummed, sleepy and a little drunk.

“Me too.” His hat is halfway propped onto his face, he continues,

“Once the kids grow up and move out,” He says, “Maybe we could retire up here.” You hum, knowing that it probably won’t be possible, not unless they abolish segregation, but who knows. Maybe one day, maybe when you retire forty years from now things will be different.

Maybe.

The bath is big enough for the both of you and once the sand is rinsed from your bodies you find yourself there, sinking into the warm water, your back to his chest. Bucky tried his best to make it romantic, all the candles, the oils in the bath. A bath that wasn’t littered with toys and having the ability to bathe longer than five minutes was a definite advantage.

The days that followed were much like the first, a steady routine you both created in the absence of the normal routine you had at home. Automatically formed out of habit.

The sex was passionate and much needed. The ability to love each other openly without worry of a baby crying or interrupting in any way. Bucky’s stamina was unparalleled. You’d even risked it out on the sand, swimsuit bottoms pulled to the side, legs over his shoulders, moaning against the sound of the waves beating on the shore.

You’d lost count of the times you called the Lord’s name in vain. Dumb and babbling with it. Bucky’s back was littered with deep red marks that weren’t given time to disappear. A revitalization for your marriage, with a realization that you’d been together for eight years. Married for six.

You celebrate your anniversary in the Hamptons, definitely not on your anniversary, and eat cake naked on the kitchen floor.

“Okay,” You hum, “You look beautiful.” Peggy gave a watery smile in the mirror, the satin and lace wedding gown draped over her body accenting every curve she had. You smiled at her, your dark blue bridesmaid dress a stark contrast.

Turning she grasps your hands and holds them between the two of you, her nails red lacquered and pale.

“Thank you for being here.” She lets out a heavy sigh from nerves, “I don’t have many girlfriends.” You shake your head,

“You’re my friend,” A grin, “Of course I’m here.”

A small ceremony, not much fuss, that’s what Peggy wanted but certainly not what she settled on. It was a little larger, with a lot more flowers, and a bigger audience than she expected. She was marrying Captain America after all. They’d gotten requests from reporters, people wanting to take pictures as the couple took their vows, but they were told a hasty ‘no’ and now sat outside the church waiting to snap a picture of the newlyweds as they left.

You cried. Standing across from Bucky as he stood behind Steve. You tried not to, but you couldn’t help it. Not just for the happiness of the marriage, but the love you could feel from your friends. Bucky met your eye and smiled, eyes watering as well, clapping with everyone else as Peggy and Steve shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

Bucky met you behind them while they walked down the aisle, pulling you tightly into his side. “Do you regret that ours wasn’t like this?” You met his eyes and they were watery, he seemed upset. You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his lips, the congregation more focused on Captain America and his bride.

The love you felt for him chokes you and you begin to cry, “Not at all.”

taglist // @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbusiness @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @loseralert @wendaiii @mcueveryday @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious @thefandomzoneisdangerous

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #1940s!bucky barnes #sebastian stan #steve rogers #peggy carter #latinx!reader #latina!reader

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callmelinamfsnow · 2 years

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Anyone interested in an OC x Bucky (or other Marvel characters) rp by any chance? Been feeling kind of bored/done with reality lol.

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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amor de mi vida - 1949

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 3362

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

Sunset Park was ever growing with Hispanic population, in the years since you and your Mother came to New York the population had grown and people, while still not allowing certain people to mix, there was a little less of a stigma of someone brown walking down the street. Surprisingly enough the property you’d found was right across the street from the bodega where Bucky had first dragged you in trying to buy bread and the man refused you. It straddled the line of the Hispanic and white population in Brooklyn.

It was the perfect spot.

The upstairs level would be for sewing and crafting, the downstairs would house the shop and sales. Bucky and George painted the upstairs and downstairs, fit new light fixtures, and fixed the shoddy wiring that hadn’t been worked on, you were convinced, since electric light had been invented.

“What do you think?” He asked, coveralls splattered with paint and sweat on his brow. You grin up at him,

“I love it.”

The women you’d been selling dresses to over the past few years now had somewhere to shop and you could sell more products standardly while offering tailoring services. A big, ‘EVERYONE WELCOME’ sign in the front window. Which means you had to hire more people. You stuck to hiring women, the women who wanted to work in your community.

You figured things were going pretty well, until the first time you were vandalized. Broken glass and a clear message of not being welcome a month into opening. You couldn’t help but figure it might have something to do with the man across the street who seemed to remember your faces.

He stood there now, arms crossed. Lips pressed so tight they almost disappeared from his face. You huff, trying not try cry as the girls help you sweep up the glass. You called Bucky, knowing he was home with the kids, from the back office.

“The front window is shattered.” You couldn’t help but cry when you heard his voice.

“Okay,” He sighed, you could hear Grant fussing in the background, “Let me call my Pa and I’ll see what we can do.” The police didn’t care, but George was the one who originally talked to the inspectors and bank having already started his own business before.

He had someone out in an hour to fix the window and to install new, easier to pull down, grate for them.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, he’d finally got the kids to sleep. The excitement of Mama coming home and a quick dinner had been followed by a carefully orchestrated bath and bedtime routine. Now it was just the two of you, and the bottle of wine you’d opened.

“We are very lucky,” You start, “In New York they haven’t banned us being together, they segregate, sure, but we have a good amount of people who believe in integration. We don’t have a lot of problems with prejudice so sometimes I forget.” His hand met the back of your neck, massaging. “It’s just a little bit of a wake-up call.”

He shrugs, “I thought that now Jackie Robinson was playing for the Dodgers that people would be a little more accepting.” You glare at him and he laughs. “If we are being honest here...” Bucky sighs, taking a sip from his glass, “I worry about our kids.” He leans further into the couch, “I worry all the time about the day we have to send Jaime to school, I worry about them playing outside. I worry about things happening to you and the kids when I’m not here.”

People respected Bucky Barnes. He was a war hero, right hand man to Captain America himself. You lost count of the amount of times you’d take the kids for a walk and be stopped. Women wanting his autograph and men wanting to thank him for his service to the country. There was a level of protection there. It was possible that it was keeping you and your children safe. Not out of the realm of thought. Especially when you were actually with him out.

Without him was tight smiles and folks crossing the street to avoid you, like you were some kind of threat to them.

You lay your legs on his lap, wordlessly asking him to rub your aching feet. You’d worked the floor all day, first cleaning up glass and then helping with customers and you did four fittings in the afternoon. He drains his glass and begins to rub your stocking clad feet.

“How was the shop today besides the window?” Thumbs digging into the sole of your foot you moan, letting your head roll back against the armrest of the couch.

“Good, we sold ten dresses.” He switched to a different foot, “I think Amara and Rosalyn are a little more than friends.” He pauses, looking at you.

“Like?” You nod.

“Huh.” He shrugs, “That makes a lot more sense.” The two women, your first employees, told you they moved in together to save money and were tired of living in the boarding house. With their savings they bought a cute little property not far from the store. They also adopted a few animals.

“What did you think?” He shakes his head,

“I just thought they were strange.” They always seemed so fidgety, like they were doing something suspicious when you weren’t in the room, but it would make sense of having the fear of getting caught. An interracial marriage some could be okay with, but a same-sex marriage? That was a whole different story.

His fingers danced their way up your skirt, to your hose, removing the stay ups slowly, keeping eye contact, while massaging your foot with his other hand his fingers slipped under the hose and rolled the first one down your leg. Then the other.

“I missed you today.” He whispered, kissing your ankle. “We all missed you today.” He tapped your leg, tugging gently on your thigh to get you to sit up, straddling his lap. His erection was already straining against his trousers. You ground yourself against him, meeting his lips. His hands held your hips, moving you against him enough to tease. “It’s so sexy,” He whispers, going for the button on his slacks, you lift up, shimmying your panties off and tossing them to the side. “You're going off to work,” A breathy kiss, you bury your fingers in his hair, tilting his head back as you press kisses down his jaw and onto his neck. “You’re so talented dahlin.” He groaned as you sunk down onto him, rocking your hips with his hands. “So fucking talented.”

“Te quiero mucho.” Kisses wet and sloppy as you muffle your moans against his lips. His hand held the back of your neck, body slipping down to hover his hips off the couch, bringing your body close to his in order to thrust upward into you. Mouth pressed tightly to keep quiet while you came, fingers dipping between your thighs to strum your clit, riding out the pleasure while Bucky’s hips stuttered with release.

“I love you too sweetheart.” Erection staying stiff inside you. He breathes and lets you collapse on top of him before sighing, “We forgot to use a rubber.”

And just like that, pregnant again.

You pretended to be hateful. “This is all your fault.” But Bucky just laughed. “You planned this.” Grant crawled over his shoulder, going to tumble down his back, letting Bucky catch him before he falls, laughing and doing it again. Dia and Jaime were playing with the new dollhouse she’d received for her birthday. A present that ‘Santa’ brought her, but was really bought from Macy’s and you didn’t even want to ask Winnie how much it cost.

This pregnancy was a little rougher than the last three. You felt sick constantly and the ginger mints only did so much, aside from the fact that you started showing almost immediately. Your feet were swollen from working at the store and a rushed doctor visit was needed after you’d started spotting.

“Bed rest.” Was what the doctor said, you’d huffed indignantly. The last three pregnancies you’d lived normally up until the day they were born and the doctor had the nerve to tell you that it was because you were older now. You weren’t even thirty yet.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried to calm you down after you cursed the Doctor, “He’s an asshole, but if he’s recommending bed rest, you should probably rest.” So the keys to the shop were handed over to Amara and Rosalyn.

“I hate this.” You grumbled, the kids were a mess today, and you felt very stressed. You couldn’t do anything right for Jaime, Dia seemed to want nothing to do with you, and Grant was throwing a tantrum over a soft breeze. “When are you coming home?” You could hear him pause on the other end,

“About an hour left and I should be on my way.” The longest hour of your life.

The sickness, the bleeding, the swollen feet. You’d been blessed with twins by the way your belly was measuring. “You did this.” And Bucky laughed.

You sat in Peggy’s kitchen, snacking on a cheese plate she layed out for the two of you, grumbling about it.

“He doesn’t know what it’s like.” Peggy, radiant as ever, nods in understanding, “In the seven years of our marriage I’ve been pregnant for four of them. The other three he was gone.” Every year you’d been together resulting in pregnancy. Jaime and Dia within months of each other. Grant a little while after that, and then a break in between him and now. “I love my kids,” You defend, “But you’ll understand when you have them.” You sigh, rubbing your belly, “It’s difficult.”

“I’m not sure Steve and I are ready quite yet.” She laughs, “Our work is dangerous,” She wasn’t joking. You knew their apprehensions, you felt them every time Bucky walked out the door. You weren’t sure if he was coming home or not, every time. “But I’m living vicariously through you in the meantime.” The playpen was set up in the living room, the three kids in view of you, playing quite loudly to the noise of the radio. The boys were out back, fixing loose shingles on the roof.

“You can take one if you want,” You joke, arching your back trying to relieve some of the pain. Bucky stepped inside behind Steve, grabbing a drink from the fridge he lays a sweaty kiss on your cheek before going over to the chorus of Papa from their sitting room. Dia was the one who wanted his attention the most, her little feet climbing up on the gate and reaching her arms out to him while Grant and Jaime quickly lost interest as the noise from the radio changed. Bucky picked her up and brought her over to where you were sitting, handing her a piece of cheese to nibble on.

“You trying to sell our kids?” He asked.

“I’m trying to give them away for free.” Another kiss to your head and a hand on your belly.

“Baby.” Dia said. Pointing to your stomach.

“That’s right mija,” You smiled, “You want to feel the baby?” She nods, chewing on a finger. Bucky sits her on your lap, your sweet girl’s hair was finally growing, the soft brown curls done back with a bow, she put her hands on your tummy.

“Big belly.” She whispers, tapping on your stomach.

“There’s two babies in there mija.” She scrunches her nose, tapping on your belly again before reaching beside you for some more cheese. Bucky takes down the gate for the playpen, the other kids coming around to snack on cheese. Jaime whining to come up into your lap as well, Grant behind him. Peggy picks up Grant, settling him in her lap. Bucky taking Dia for you to let Jaime snuggle up into your lap. His body curled around your tummy, thumb in his mouth.

“Who would have ever thought.” Steve mused, “I thought you were crazy for chasing her the way you did.” Bucky chasing you, ten years ago now. So young and naive.

“I thank God every day that I did.” He grins at you and you could almost see the way he looked when he was seventeen, when he ran into you on the street and dragged you into a shop you knew you wouldn’t be allowed in.

You smile back, “Me too.” When Bucky leans in for a kiss Jaime groans and pushes him away, pulling you to him and making you give him a kiss on his forehead instead.

“Mama.” He whines, “I’m hungry.” You give Bucky a look.

“Alright mijo, let's get you something to eat.”

Something was wrong next door. The only reason you knew that was because the house was quiet today. Bucky had taken the kids to his parent’s house so you could nap, so you heard the shouting clear as day. You slipped out of bed, and walked to the bedroom window, the window facing the side of Martha Green’s house. The shouting was loud, almost frightening. Your hand fumbled with the bedside phone, dialing quickly.

“James,” You rest a hand on your belly, still looking out at the house, but their blinds were shut, “Something is happening next door, I think he’s hurting her.” There was a blood curdling scream you were sure he could hear,

“Call Steve,” He said, “I’m on my way.”

Steve didn’t answer, you placed the phone in the cradle and heard another scream. Waddling down the stairs, you knew it would take Bucky thirty minutes to get home. Another call to Steve, another unanswered call.

You could hear glass break. And you called the police. But how far out were they? You could hear her screaming and crying. There was a gun by the front door that felt heavy in your hands, shaking and nerves you walked outside, to her house and up the stairs. You knocked on the front door, hard.

There was a pause in noise, the gun heavy in your hand, hidden in the pocket of your house dress. The front door ripped open. You’d seen Martha’s husband a number of times and you believed Bucky when he said he didn’t think that he treated her very well. There was a wild look in his eyes and behind the small crack he opened you could see the shattered remains of what must have been their china cabinet.

You swallow nervously, but quickly ask, “Is Martha here? I uh�� I came to return this.” In a quick moment of clarity you’d grabbed the glass dish you’d left by the front door that you’d asked Bucky to take back to Winnie, you thanked God he was forgetful in that moment. His jaw was tight and he looked down at the casserole dish in your hand.

His grip was rough on the dish, yanking it from your hand, “I’ll be sure to give it to her.” You see movement in the background, Martha. The two children hiccuping in tears as she ushered them in the closet under the stairs. You could see the bruises blooming on her face. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I would just like to talk to her.” You found some firmness.

“I’m sure she would not like to talk to you.” And you knew why. A spit at your feet. Your jaw clenched, your ears listened for sirens but you couldn’t hear any. It felt like it had been twenty minutes but you knew it had only been maybe five.

“Martha!” You called behind him. His hand quickly shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking you into the house.

“You nosy fucking bitch.” Your back met the hallway wall, fingers fumbling for your gun. You quickly pulled it and aimed it at his chest. He looked startled and backed away.

“Martha.” You could see her out of the corner of your eyes, “Grab the kids and go to my house.” She was frozen in the doorway, the anger from her husband clear on his face. “Go!”

You were shaking, which was a mistake, he rushed you. You fired the gun but it missed, the bullet embedding itself in the wall above his shoulder. He quickly grabbed your arm and brought a fist down on your face. You fired the gun again, clipping him on his arm. Screaming as you fell, hands coming to protect your belly as you fell. The gun spun out from your grip.

Martha’s husband, the big hulking man he is, stepped over you and grabbed the gun, pointing it in your face. You gasp, coming back onto your knees, eyes springing with tears.

“You stupid fucking bitch.” He spits, pulling the hammer back. You’ve made a mistake. Your heart in your throat you grab your belly.

“You’re a fucking coward.” It springs from your throat before you can help it. His upper lip curling, his finger tenses on the trigger. But before he could pull it you see a flash of metal, Bucky’s hand going to grab his wrist with the gun and in one instant, disarms him and the gun, flinging the piece of metal to the side he wraps his arm around Martha’s husband’s neck, bringing him to the ground.

When he arrived home he found a bruised and beaten Martha sitting in his den, her two sobbing kids beside her. When she told him where you were, his heart dropped. He felt like he was going to be sick. He snuck through the back door and came into the hallway through their den. Stopping the man about to take his wife away from him.

“What were you thinking?” He would yell later. Crying. Both of you. “I told you to call Steve.”

“I did.” You were blubbery, “He didn’t answer.” Bucky sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face before turning back to you and sighing heavily.

“Come here baby,” A tight hug to his chest, “I’m sorry. You were so brave, I’m sorry.” Hands rubbing up and down your back as you cried. “Please, never do that again.” You’d talked to the police, Bucky backing your story and telling them what he’d done. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The next day Martha showed up on your doorstep, an apology pie in hand. “I just wanted to say thank you,” She was looking at her shoes. You stepped aside, inviting her in. Settled down at your kitchen table with a cup of coffee she continues, “I honestly thought he was going to kill me yesterday.” A rough swallow, “He almost killed you.” Her blue eyes meeting yours for the first time. “I’m sorry I was so jealous of seeing how your husband treated you.” Her lips swollen with bitten worry, “And I used race as an excuse to treat you poorly and for that I apologize.” Her hands shaking, you reach over to comfort her.

“I forgive you,” a mutual cry between new friends. “Listen,” You scribble down your number on the pad by the phone. “If you need help you can always call, James’ work…”

“I know what he does.” She thumbs the paper. “He’s a good man.” You smile softly,

“Yeah, he is.” You muse at the thought,

Ten long years have led to this. Five children and an ever passionate love between the two of you that, at first, you thought was a simple infatuation that would pass with time. But he loved you, he married you. He helped you create five beautiful children and you couldn’t help but love him endlessly for that.

He’s shown you how intensely he loves. Every single day. And doesn’t relent, even when things had gotten a little hard. You admire him for that, and know that he was true in every sense of the word.

His love was all consuming and with every kiss he lay on your lips the relationship between you grew more solid.

He truly was the love of your life.

And you were his.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #1940s!bucky barnes #1940s au #latinx!reader #latina!reader #sebastian stan #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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amor de mi vida - 1944

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, graphic descriptions of concentration camps/gore

word count: 2686

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: in this year’s letters bucky goes into detail about what he sees out on the war front, it might be upsetting.

In the middle of Harlem, almost an hour on the train from Brooklyn there was a movie theater you could go to. One that showed the movies of the war effort. Moving pictures that showed Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You could see him there, large and in black and white. Your husband. You cried the first time you saw him in action.

You wrote to him about seeing it. His hair was a little longer than he’d kept it at home. His face was more serious. You could see the dark circles under his eyes that sparked the memory of how he wrote to you about the lack of sleep. How he was always tired now. How the first thing he was going to do after getting home, aside from kissing you and eating dinner at his Ma’s, was sleep.

He’d lost weight. You knew he wasn’t able to eat enough. Not like when he was home. You knew it was something he had to deal with. His last letter talked a little about hunger. The chocolate bars they gave them in their rations, he wrote, were chalky but the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

He asked if you’d make the dulce de leche you’d made not long before he’d left. Your Mother’s guilty pleasure. He said he could taste it in his dreams. That’s what he wanted, that and his Ma’s spice cake. He wrote about boliche and his Ma’s roast chicken. He wrote about getting ice cream at the soda shop, having a burger at his favorite diner.

You watched a man you couldn’t believe was actually Steve lay out plans on the hood of a war vehicle. Laying out plans for a mission already completed. Your husband, a man you hadn’t seen in two years, fighting tirelessly beside him. You only hoped he would continue to do so. And that this war will end and he will be home soon.

“I wanted to apologize.” Winnie lay her hand over yours, “I was taken off guard by what she said,” Winnie stopped by in the morning bearing a loaf of banana bread wrapped in cloth, still warm from the oven. “I shouldn’t have let her say those things about you.” Truth be told you’d already forgiven Winnie. You could understand that it’s hard, but times were changing. Slowly. But they were.

“Thank you.” For the apology. Winnie cried when you opened the door, it broke your heart a bit. George conveyed her sorrow to you a bit earlier in the week. And the girls came over once or twice to check in and brought food with them each time, undoubtedly made by Winnie.

Bucky and Steve. The Howling Commandos. He didn’t outright say it, but he was doing dangerous work. That you knew. These side missions, these bases they were infiltrating, something to do with a cell called Hydra. A brutal underbelly of the Nazi regime. Something deeper, more sinister with worse intentions.

It made your heart leap in your chest every time there was a knock on the door. The fear that it would be someone from the government coming to tell you that Bucky was gone. That he wasn’t coming home.

But his letters kept coming. Fewer in number than they had before.

It’s harder to write when they’ve got us in the middle of nowhere. He says. They ship the commandos all over Europe. Chasing after Hydra cells. He sends out the letters in a thick stack when he can. Steve met a woman, he says. Margaret Carter.

Bucky says you’d like her. And how when they get home the four of you should go out. A double date. Some realm of normalcy after the horrors he sees out there.

He talks about something truly horrible. They were skin and bones, these kids. These people. Starved half to death. Flies on their bodies as though they were already dead. Taken from the concentration camps and put in these Hydra facilities to be experimented on. Bodies left to rot in the cells with them.

The smell, he says. He doesn’t think he will ever forget that smell.

These aren’t in the letters he sends to his family.

He said he started having nightmares. He couldn’t understand how someone could do something so evil. To hate someone so passionately for what they believed. For who they were. But then again, he hates them for what they believed, for who they were. These monsters who ripped people from their homes and starve, beat, and kill them.

He just wants to be home. He sends a pressed peony on your anniversary.

I love you, he says, more than anything. I can’t wait to see you again.

He acts like he’s not afraid, because he doesn’t want to worry you. He says that the allies are winning, that he’ll be home in no time.

“Are you Y/N Barnes?” Usually you don’t get bothered while out. Most women who shopped at this grocery store ignored you, the rumors of whether you were hired help or housewife circulated, but they were all too afraid to ask. It was impolite after all. And most believed you were the Help regardless.

“Yes, can I help you?” Your english had gotten better but was still heavily accented. The woman behind you had a soft smile, you didn’t recognize her as someone you knew but the younger girl behind her looked to be Becca’s age. The Mother blushed,

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Her voice soft, so those around could not overhear, she stepped closer to you, “My daughter is infatuated with the dress Rebecca Barnes was wearing last Sunday in church and Rebecca says that you’re the one who made it.” You did. It was a soft blue for the oncoming spring. Yellow daisies hand stitched into the skirt.

“I did.” The basket in your hands was growing heavy with the fresh peaches they’d recently gotten in, you weren’t sure where this woman was going with this.

“Would you be able to make my daughter a dress just as fine?” The woman asked, “I’d be happy to pay you.” The young girl, fourteen, looked hopeful behind her mother. “A dress like that would probably be ten dollars in the store? Does that sound fair?”

“What color would you like?” Ten dollars was good money for a dress. You couldn’t say no and the woman and her daughter were both very sweet. You’d worked hard on the dress for seven days before she came to pick it up. Her daughter cooing over the fabric and turning around in the mirror as you made final measurements. The blush pink and white stitching, blush pink roses soft in the hem.

“Thank you very much.” The Mother, handing you the money as payment for the dress now zipped in a garment bag they’d brought. “I’m sure once I wring a little more out of my husband's pockets we will be back for more.”

One dress became another, and another Mother wanted a dress for her daughter, and then the other girls in Becca’s class asking for dresses. Suddenly you were making your own money, not in the factory this time, but enough to keep your fingers busy and give you something to do during the day with the help of Winnie.

Winnie would help you measure and fit the girls. She would help you with the basic stitching when the orders piled up, you would work on the finer details. The small stitching. The tug and pull of forming flowers.

You excitedly wrote to Bucky about it.

Once you were married he didn’t want you working at the factory anymore. “It’s a death trap.” He explained. But people could get away with a lot when it came to immigrants. Poor working conditions, not having the proper ventilation, and the long hours. You were doing the very thing he encouraged you to do all along.

But making dresses for family was vastly different than making dresses for strangers. When prom season came around you were up to your ears in tulle and velvet.

It seemed a little arbitrary, but he praised you for it anyway. You imagined him covered in dirt, out in the heat of summer, blood on his boots and an empty belly, writing this letter telling you how proud he was that you were doing something you loved doing. It felt heavy in your stomach.

Like it was unfair.

But his checks went into the same account you put this money into. And it was good money. A plan for the future.

A woman brought her baby once. A sweet fat little thing. Yes, she wailed and cried, she tugged on your hair and just about ripped the earring out of your ear but it gave a new craving. You wanted to start a family.

You thanked God that you hadn’t gotten pregnant before Bucky left, a baby was hard to handle alone. And with the stress and heartache with him being overseas you weren’t sure you could have handled having a baby going on two years old now. But when he got home, it was something to be brought up. A maternal craving you didn’t know you had.

The summer brought backyard barbecues and trips to the beach. For Bucky it was a little different.

He wrote about some nice things. The countryside. Steve rambling incessantly about his new girl. A village that made them a decent meal. He said that he’d forgotten what good food tasted like. He wrote about how he got to sleep in an actual bed for the first time in a while. About how he got to meet Howard Stark. That Steve knew him. That Stark helped him become whatever he is now. Stronger, faster, a super soldier.

Stark was talking about starting an organization to deal with people like this, Hydra. To keep groups like this from taking root. He offered Bucky a job when he gets back to New York. But that would be a conversation for another day, he writes, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.

He also wrote about the Russians liberating a camp, how they felt like they were getting closer to the goal. He said this time next year he should be home with you the way it’s looking now. There were a number of hydra bases left, but they’ve spent the better part of a year eradicating them.

These letters that were being read by you now, albeit slowly, but Suzy was no longer looking over your shoulder became brazen, a little racy.

Bucky wrote about how he dreams of you, every night. How you feel against him. How you taste on his tongue. You felt heat grow in your cheeks reading about it. He talked about how he looked at your picture every day, how he craved your lips. How your hair felt in his hands. How your body felt under his.

You wrote back about tracing your fingers over his back, trailing your lips there. The closeness that sex brought you. How it made you feel. A breath apart and panting with it. The reunion was craved by both sides. The longing in the letters was clear. But it quickly turned sour.

There was a husband, he wrote, in one of the villages. He’d gotten to safety. But his wife was taken. There was a Hydra base nearby. These men, he wrote, come whenever they want, whatever time of day they want, and they rob these people who have no means to defend themselves. When they found the base, it was similar to the others. He didn’t want you to know what conditions he was put under, so he never described it to you. But you could assume it was terrible with the way they found the people there.

The man’s wife was dead. And he described how this man fell in the street. The emotion of it, raw and powerful. It broke your heart. He lamented about how the man told him that he’d met his love as a child. He spent his entire life with her. And now she’s gone. He asked what he should do. Because he didn’t know. And he wasn’t the only civilian who experienced loss that day.

The sorrow was palpable, he wrote, there were no songs of victory by the campfire that night. There was no celebration. The village was small enough that everyone lost someone, and it was felt.

The summer closed with the boys back in London, seemingly the home base for whatever missions they’d been working on. And there was something big, or so Bucky eluded to. He couldn’t say to compromise the mission, but it was something big. He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but it was the beginning of the end, the real end. Of Hydra and Nazi Germany.

It gave you hope. Maybe he’ll be home soon. Maybe this war will finally be over and he’ll be home, safe.

Communication was tight for the rest of the year. Something you chose to ignore by making the girl’s fall and winter dresses. Throwing yourself into your dress orders, an entire room in the house, one that would, god willing, be a room for one of your future children, covered in crushed blue velvet and rich greens and reds. You’d gotten a beautiful champagne colored tule you couldn’t help but buy along with some frivolous ribbons and playful buttons to change up the looks of the back of the dresses.

It was something easy to focus on, mindful and relaxing tasks that took your mind off of the fact that letters were fewer than ever and your husband was thousands of miles away doing truly dangerous work.

The Barnes household was buzzing with activity. All morning preparations for Christmas dinner, straight after Church you found yourself in the Barnes’ kitchen peeling potatoes, cutting carrots, and trussing a turkey.

Softly in the background was a memory of last year. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. The optimism of last year drowned with the optimism for next year. Bucky said he feels like it will be over soon. And hopefully it will be.

There was a stack of presents accumulated from last year's Christmas and birthdays, and the year before’s. Waiting for him to open.

“Maybe he’ll be home by his birthday.” Ginny was twenty and beautiful, now with a steady boyfriend you were sure would propose any day now.

The room was light and hopeful. George Barnes was stringing cranberries with Rebecca and Suzy, and now eighteen-year-old Ruth was reading a letter that had just arrived for the family.

“They got to see a USO show before going back out.” Ruth reads, “Dinah Shore.” You looked at her confused. You didn’t know who Dinah Shore was. “She sings ‘Yes, My Darling Daughter’, she was in ‘Thank Your Stars’.” You shake your head, never having heard the song or seen that movie before. Ruth shrugs, a smile on her face, “She’s blonde and pretty.” As an explanation to why they would have Dinah Shore try to raise the morale of the troops. A laugh was shared. “He said that he’s never going to eat another can of beans for the rest of his life.”

You focused on placing the turkey in the oven. There was some unfound jealousy at the thought of your husband screaming and shouting, hollering at a woman sent to perform for them. It was dumb, but it was there.

You tried to remind yourself about his last letter, the one he’d written before he left for his mission. He’d written enough to stagger out some letters, but you were afraid they were going to stop coming all together. You felt like you were being silly having jealousy about some woman who you didn’t even know. And it quickly went away as you thought about maybe this time next year. Maybe it’ll be all over. And that extra spot at the table will be filled.

You could only hope.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #latinx!reader #latina!reader #1940s!bucky barnes #1940s au #the falcon and the winter soldier #steve rogers #captain america #sebastian stan

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1943

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst

word count: 3800

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

The apartment was quiet. Eerily so. The steady drip from the faucet that Bucky hadn’t gotten around to fixing, the commotion from the street below. All of it muffled behind the walls of your bedroom. Your marital bed with the thick duvet, fingers tracing the empty sheets beside you. The faint smell of his aftershave still on the pillow. You’d stopped crying days ago, but this space for the first time was empty.

Bucky filled the place in this little apartment where your Mother had been before. This was the first time in your life you were truly alone. No one to take care of, no one to wrap yourself around to take comfort. Alone.

But not really.

“We should go to the shore.” Winnie said over breakfast. The Barnes household wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t lonely. But there was an empty spot at the table. “We could go up to the Adirondacks. Rent a cabin?” George hummed in agreement.

“Here,” Suzy, “So what would you like to write?” The small desk crammed in between her bed and Becca’s. Sheets of paper laid out and an envelope already addressed to James Barnes of the 107th. You tugged your bottom lip through your teeth, unsure of what to write.

You’d written him a letter before, very painstakingly, back when you’d first started dating. And you’d written him many letters since he left with the help of Suzy, but they’re all so superficial. You talked about the weather, about a new fabric you’d gotten with his Mother. You told him how Steve had written to you saying he was alright, but you hadn’t seen him since the Stark Expo, but he swore to visit soon.

You told him that you missed him every minute of every day, but you didn’t tell him that you missed him wrapping his arms around your waist and singing love songs softly into your ear. You didn’t tell him that you missed those early morning kisses, sleepy and gentle. You didn’t tell him that you missed how he would playfully tug on your hair or how he would always bring you new flowers. You didn’t say that you missed how he would pluck one from the bouquet and place it behind your ear. You didn’t say that your body longed for his. The fire set in your core that made you long for one more time, just one more before he left.

You couldn’t. Not when Suzy was helping you write the letters.

“Tell him we are going on vacation.” You said. She handed you a pen, and taught you how to spell out the words. Eventually you’ll be able to do it on your own. You’ll tell him then.

“It’s so great.” Becca said from the back seat. “We all get to wear pants and I’ll show you the tree I love to climb, and then we can go swimming in the lake, and then…” Her voice rambled on and on. You sat in the passenger seat, Ginny next to you driving. Winnie and George were just ahead of you, toting Ruth and Suzy. “I wish Bucky was here.” She mumbled, almost to herself. Ginny’s hands noticeably tightened on the wheel.

“Me too.” You agreed, smiling on the now thirteen year old girl. Her face freckled, pimples had broken out on her forehead from her bangs, but it was just family. Winnie pinned them off her forehead for the week, telling her that it would help them go away.

Bucky’s absence was felt, but was somewhat soothed by the little package of letters that had just arrived the day before. One for Winnie, George, Ginny, Ruth, and Suzy. Two for Becca. And ten, ten letters for you.

He’d just finished basic training. They’d given him the letters they had withheld during the weeks before they took him out to Italy. The front lines, Suzy read to you. It made your stomach drop and your hands shake. The war was in Italy right now, the allies trying to take back the country from Nazi control.

In the margins of his letters were hastily scribbled flowers. Some had little poems, a book one soldier kept with him of love poems. One his girl had given him. One letter just had I love you written over and over a border on a letter that explained what he saw out there. The horrors of bombs going off in the middle of stone paved streets. Businesses that would never recover having their windows blown out.

The first death he ever saw happened that first week. He wrote about how the man who died just had a baby girl. They named her Judy.

Your hand rubbed Suzy’s back as she read that part. Her eyes sad, wet with tears for the passion in which Bucky said he couldn’t let this man’s death be in vain.

Winnie read you some letters too. Helping you sound out the words, on the porch of the cabin, the girl’s and their Father hanging up the tire swing, the cobwebs just swept from the house. A glass of wine in front of you as the love of your life’s Mother helped you read about how hard it was for Bucky to fall asleep without you. How the beds were so hard. He slept on the floor for the first time, aside from when one of the girls had nightmares. How he would lay on the floor next to their beds and talk to them until they fell back asleep, not leaving just in case they woke up and he wasn’t there.

“I never knew he did that.” Winnie smiled, “Oh goodness.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking out on her girls and taking a sip of wine. “I never knew he did that.”

He described how beautiful some parts of the city were. Parts where war hasn’t reached. He talked about how they landed on the beaches of Sicily first and worked their way up. There was a small town, just outside of Rome they passed. It was as if nothing happened. The sleepy little town had been untouched by this war. He said he felt guilty walking through it. Like the mud on his boots was going to defile the cobblestones. Like it was bringing the war to disrupt the lives of these people who just wanted to keep on living.

I’m sorry, he kept writing, I’m sorry I had to leave. He said if he wasn’t part of the solution he’d just be part of the problem. The denial that it was happening. And he saw it happening. He talked about a camp they’d found. Ferramonti di Tarsia, he said. They were planning on liberating the camp, but they hadn’t figured out what to do yet. How to proceed.

That was the discussion at dinner.

The war.

Fresh fish that George and Ruth had gone out this morning and caught lay filet on the table, vegetables, roasted potatoes and white wine.

“The government isn’t saying much about it.” Winnie said, the United States government. Everyone knew that there was Jewish prosecution over there, but no one knew it was like this.

It wasn’t long after that newspapers started talking about them. Concentration Camps, POW camps. The real image of what exactly was going on in Europe.

You wrote to him, through Suzy, through Winnie. An attempt at comfort, and attempt to sympathize with the shedding of his innocence as he viewed how hard and cruel the world could truly be.

I don’t understand, he wrote, how someone could do this to another person.

The cruelty in which these people were treated, just for having different beliefs, just being different people, different values, while at the same time being very much the same as everyone else.

It was a somber dinner.

It was on a boat in the middle of the lake that George Barnes taught you to fish.

“I always enjoy getting away.” He said, “Just come out here with one of my girls, nice and quiet.” He had more grays since Bucky left, they were growing thick around his temples and in growing his beard on this vacation it mostly showed salt and pepper. He smiled at you, fixing the fishing rod into the little divot on the side of the boat. The lake was still. Not too far behind you the cabin sat still sleeping.

He seemed a little down lately.

Those private times Bucky had told you about. Those scars from the war. They were a little more open now in the crisp morning air. The fresh air of the mountains that were around you. The wrinkles around his eyes were more noticeable. For the first time since you’ve met George Barnes he’s looked truly old.

“Bucky hated comin’ out here.” He continues, “He’d get bored after the first half hour, wanna go back and sneak some of the bacon off the table while Ma was still cookin’.” Bucky had a habit of doing that. Sneaking bites, little pieces of chicken shredded on a plate, a string bean freshly snapped and crunchy in an empty pot ready to be cooked. A dip of his finger against the side of the bowl in some batter. Cakes, cookies, brownies, the dulce de leche you’d made for a Sunday dinner at his parent’s house got a double dip. First with his pointer, then with his pinky. A long kiss pressed to your cheek and a hum of approval.

“He’ll be okay,” George’s soft blue eyes meet yours, the same eyes that Bucky and Becca both had, “He’ll be just fine.”

It took practice, but the words were coming a little easier.

You could read on your own now, slowly, but still. Privacy helped.

Bucky pressed a daisy in between the pages of his last letter. He’d found it on the side of the road as his campaign shook the last official day of winter from their bones. The temperature is steadily rising. The cold winter nights on a hard cot gave way to summer sweat and he was finally able to sleep. It’s not so bad when you get used to it, he wrote.

He complained about the mud on his boots, how thick it would crust on. The rain had been endless in the spring. He wrote about how sometimes his boots would sink almost to his shins in the muck. How he would have to wait for it to dry before he scraped it off with a pocket knife.

The next letter had a crocus. Purple and pressed, the flower stained the page.

You wrote to him about how you’d seen someone who looked just like Steve on a poster in Manhattan. If Steve was a poster boy for a carved out all american man. They were calling the guy Captain America. They even started making short films. Becca had told you about going to see one with a classmate, she also thinks he kind of looks like Steve. He had sent you a letter, you told Bucky. Steve did. And she assumed he received one as well. He had gone to basic. Someone let him into the military. You hoped they put him behind a desk.

A picture came in the mail.

A picture of Bucky in his uniform. The kind of picture, you thought, and couldn’t help but think, would sit next to his casket.

It was on your mantle now.

“Cómo estás? [How are you?]” The noise startling. You fumbled with the keys in your hand, turning to look at him. Mateo. You hadn’t seen him much, he’d moved onto another girl, someone else to push around quite quickly after you. A guy like him didn’t stay single for very long.

In the early days of your relationship with Bucky you’d run into him in the hall. A bubbly girl wrapped around his arm. Someone young, younger than you, and too naive to see the man they were in love with was trouble. A girl that would get jealous and possessive when another girl looked at their man. You’d been on the receiving end of a glare or two, or five. But he never talked to you after that. Not until right now.

Your hand wrapped around a stack of letters fresh off the front lines.

A dish of leftovers in the fridge waiting to be warmed up and aching feet from walking in your heels up and down the streets of Manhattan under the guise of being Winnie’s maid or servant or however the department store clerks viewed you.

A day of shopping for a few new summer dresses. For the girls, and for you. Your new dress hung in a garment bag over your arm.

Now your heart was racing.

Mateo was close, a little too close for comfort.

“Qué deseas? [What do you want?]” You ask, fisting your keys tightly. The corner of his lips twitch.

“No puedo ver cómo estás? [I can’t see how you are?]” He was trying to act innocently, but you knew he was up to something.

“No,” Your eyes shift behind him to look down the empty hallway, “No puedes. [You can’t.]” You jam the key into the lock, twisting it quickly as he grabbed your arm.

“Relax.” He said, standing too close. Far too close. “Voy a la guerra mañana. [I’m going to war tomorrow.]” His chest almost flush with yours, hand tight around your arm. “Solo estoy buscando algo de consuelo. [I’m just looking for a little comfort.]” You roll your eyes, pushing on his chest to create some distance.

“Estoy casada [I’m married.]” You try once again to push him further from you, heart rate spiking.

“Él no está aquí. [He’s not here],” Mateo grumbles, “El nunca lo sabrá. [He’ll never know.]”

Locks clicked heavily as he yelled from the other side of the door. A white man’s whore. That’s what he called you. The garment bag tossed over the back of the chair Bucky liked to sit in to listen to the radio at night. The pack of letters clutched tightly to your chest as you sunk down to the floor, kicking off your heels. The next day you’d talk to Winnie and George about moving.

They helped you get a house.

Close to theirs, but it was in Bucky’s name. It was a ruse that had been worked out. Just make people think you’re the hired help so they weren’t calling the cops when a strange Hispanic woman was coming and going from a home on their street. The pursed lips and upturned noses didn’t talk to you, and that’s fine. That worked out for you.

The home was beautiful. Bought with your saved wages and Bucky’s military income. The dark hardwood and an eat-in kitchen. It needed a little polish. It was an older house, but the family was happy to help.

You polished the floors with Winnie. The girls helped you paint each room. George fixed the little things that Bucky would have had he been here. The leaky faucet, new knobs on the cabinets, a creaky floorboard or two.

Winnie stood in the doorway of one room. The one closest to the master, a wistful look on her face. “God willing this will be a nursery one day.” She said. And it made your heart ache. Bucky’s side of the bed was especially empty after that.

You wrote to him about the house, but you didn’t mention his Mother’s comment.

You wrote to him about the way the sun filters in through the kitchen window. How the house was much more quiet than the apartment. No loud neighbors arguing at 2 am. No thick scented mixed smell of dinner that took over in the evenings. No banging on the ceiling or floors. So quiet. So lonely.

You told him how you hung the dried peonies in bundles on the entryway in the kitchen. Another bundle near the front door. You could see them as soon as you walked in.

He wrote about how he couldn’t wait to see it. How he couldn’t wait to see you. How his missed you. How he looked at your picture every chance he got.

Italy surrendered to the allies. It was time to move on.

His letters stopped.

And so did you heart.

You sat in the middle of your bedroom floor. The letters in a box you kept under the desk in what would be the study if you ever got it set up. The box was in front of you now. Fingers shaking as you thumb through, rereading the loving words of your husband. Praying to God that he was okay. That maybe they were lost in the mail. That maybe he couldn’t find time to write right now. He was in the thick of the war after all.

It had been a particularly rough week. And that thick bundle of letters that seemed to arrive like clockwork on Thursdays was something you’d been desperately looking forward to. Someone had made a comment.

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to those comments. But it was from a friend of Winnie’s. You had gone to her house with a bundle of fabric, enough for a dress for you and Becca. One you’d promised to let Becca help with. It was there that one of her friend’s had come around for lunch. The two women chatted merrily in the kitchen while Becca was talking animatedly about what Bucky had written to her since the last time you saw her.

Something about the last Dodgers game. She kept him updated about scores and something about Curt Davis. But what rang clear as a bell from the other room, was Winnie’s friend saying, “You shouldn’t let your children get so comfortable with the help.” She then called you something you wouldn’t repeat. Casual. Like talking about the weather. But the worst part about it is that Winnie said nothing.

You realized something then, and you had this argument with yourself more than once. You love Bucky. You love his family. But there was always going to be this little line of distance between you and it all. When Bucky was around he seemed to bridge that gap.

You could imagine if he were here and heard that comment that woman would have met the door, but he wasn’t here. And she didn’t. Because as much as Winnie and George were progressive and believed in equal rights and desegregation, it wasn’t easy to speak out about it. Especially with the people they’ve known their entire life. It’s easier to let people think you’re the help. It’s easier for them.

And you couldn’t help but think they don’t mean it. Times are slowly moving forward and they’re not sure what to do with the change. How forward could they be? How open could they be about it without being exiled from the community they grew up in?

But you had been exiled. You had spoken out about your relationship with Bucky when you’d been confronted about it by some of the girls when you were at the factory still. And you defended him. They thought it fine for him to chase your skirt but once that ring was on your finger it was a whole different ball game. You chose to stand your ground. Dig in your heels, and only two girls and a friend of your Mother’s stuck by you.

It’s hard, but it’s what you have to do. And Winnie didn’t do it.

So here you sat, Bucky’s letters no longer arriving. This wasn’t like when you’d first moved in and had to go pick up your mail at your old apartment building. He wrote the new address on the recent ones. He couldn’t have mixed that up, but maybe? Tears smudged the corners.

You wouldn’t feel relief until letters showed up the week after. The horror of expecting men at your door to tell you that your husband was killed in action was squashed when a pack of letters arrived.

It was Steve on the posters, he wrote. Steve rescued him. He’d been captured, but he was okay. He didn’t go into detail. He didn’t say what happened, but just that he was okay. He apologized for scaring you, the letters you’d written him they’d given to him almost all at once. The last few frantic writings of please answer me.

You didn’t say anything about what happened with Winnie.

But you also didn’t go to the Barnes household for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Doin’ alright in here kid?” George came over with a glass dish. The gentle knock and enter that Dad’s do. You were writing Bucky, his old Spanish-English book tabbed and sat next to you at the kitchen table.

It wasn’t his fault. Nor the girl’s, but you couldn’t help but want to stay away. It sat heavy as a rock on your chest. You knew it wasn’t his fault, and part of you wanted to forgive Winnie. Maybe she was caught off guard, maybe she didn’t know what to say. But you couldn’t help but feel like she could have said anything and it would have been better than what she did. Which was say nothing.

“She’s been crying.” He said, “She knows you don’t want to see her.” George was a stand up guy. He’s the one who had been employing minorities in his shop. He’s stood up against some men that had shattered his front window in the beginning. He threw a bible in their face and called them all heretics. “She didn’t think that Lucille would ever say something like that, and I know that doesn’t make it right, but you know none of us feel that way about you.”

The glass dish had servings of everything from Thanksgiving dinner. A piece of pie wrapped in foil on top.

“I think the two of you should talk, it’s not good for you to be in this house all alone.”

Bucky wrote to you about the Howling Commandos. He sent a picture of him and Steve that sat on the mantle now.

I’ll Be Home for Christmas. It was a new song by Bing Crosby.

He wrote about how he heard it on the radio for the first time right before they left London. It would have been your first Christmas as husband and wife. This Christmas. He mailed home some trinkets he’d been collecting for you. A little eiffel tower. A hair pin he got in Italy. A box of tea and chocolates from the UK. He wrote that maybe the war will be over next year. Maybe next Christmas you’ll be together again and you can celebrate Christmas as a family.

Maybe.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #1940s #captain america #latinx!reader #latina!reader #steve rogers #sebastian stan #the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1940

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: slow burn, racism, prejudice, fluff, language barrier

word count: 8497

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: finally, i’m sorry it took so long! the next chapter should come quicker than that i promise lol enjoy guys

It was snowing, thick and blanketed in New York. The city streets hadn’t been plowed yet. Kids were having snowball fights in Sunset Park. They were pulling sleds down the street, laughing. The New Year freshly rung in, resolutions formed and already broken. Bucky Barnes drug his bundled up ten year old sister behind him back up the hill he’d just sled down with her.

“Y’know this would be a lot easier if you’d get out of the sled.” She cackled from her seat,

“How else are you gonna get some real muscle?” She jeered, “What girl is gonna let you bring her home looking like that?” Bucky had plenty of muscle, he told himself. He was no strong man but a few rounds in the boxing ring each week kept him fit and fast.

“I get plenty of girls.” The teen scoffed. The little girl rolled her eyes as her brother stopped at the top of the hill.

“We never see any.” It was true. He never brings any of the girls he takes out home. Never did. But, he thinks, he’d bring you home.

He’d bring you home in a heartbeat.

His own heart skipped, wondering what you were doing right now. Just as he wondered what you were doing every day for the last four months. He was working up the courage to go back. He was. And in between shifts at the shop and the few boxing matches he was doing for some extra cash, he hadn’t found much time to try to make it down there. But he knew where you were. He knew you liked him too. Maybe, possibly.

And that’s all that mattered.

He turned, hands on his hips looking at the girl with cheeks flushed red from the cold. Her little nose tipped red as well and sparkly white teeth smiling at him.

“Just because you don’t see any doesn’t mean they’re not around,” He say heavily on the sled behind her, bracing his hands against the hill. “I’m pretty sure I found the dame I’m gonna marry.” And Becca squealed as he pushed off the hill propelling them quickly down the side.

And as they tumbled down in the snow it was like God heard his prayers. A curl of your red lips and fingers clutching the fence on the other side. You’d found him this time.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Heels black and sensible, the peak of a well worn dark green dress underneath what looked like a brand new coat, matching green scarf wrapped around your delicate throat. Those red lips he’s been dreaming about in more ways than one. And underneath a darling hat were your pinned curls, tightly placed on the nape of your neck.

He stumbled and fell, sliding on the snow to land at your feet on the other side of the fence. “Hi.” He breathed, breath coming in a cloud in front of his face.

“Hi.” Your voice sang back. It’d been so long since he’s heard your voice. The sound that made his toes curl in his shoes.

“Te he extrañado. [I’ve missed you.]” He was a fool. He knows that. He’d never been this smitten. If the boys could see him now. If Steve could see him now. He’d laugh at him for being such a sucker. He watched you shift to one foot, pressing yourself closer to the gate, your face peering at him from over it.

“Have you?” You were coy. Your lips pulled into a smile. He’d be a fool every day if it meant you’d smile at him like that.

Bucky didn’t know what to say, “Como has estado? [How have you been?]” He asked, standing from his now soaked knees. He could do it. Lean in just a little closer and steal some love from your lips. He could totally do it.

“I’ve been well,” You adjusted your grip on the fence, “Nunca hacía tanto frío en La Habana. [It was never so cold in Havana.]” You tugged a perfect lip between your teeth. “It’s a lot to adjust to.”

Becca had been oddly quiet eyeing this interaction from behind. Silent. Studying.

“Have you…” He gestured behind himself to the sled that sat empty, his sister standing silently next to it. “Have you been sledding yet?” He grinned. You shook your head,

“No, not yet.” He leaned his full body against the gate, the fabric of his pants brushing your hose clad legs, fingers gripping the fence just above yours.

“That’s a shame,” He breathed, “Es la mejor parte de tener nieve. [It’s the best part of having snow.]” Other than picturing the two of you cozy by a fire. Feet tucked close to him, your curves pressed against him. He felt hot with the thought. “Come join us.” He pushed the gate open, you stood awkwardly on the other side. Your eyes drifted to the ten year old girl behind him. Her quick footfalls reminded Bucky she was even there.

“I’m Becca.” Her hand thrusts out in front of her at you, “Are you my brother’s girlfriend?” You took her hand but met Bucky’s eyes in confusion. He was sure you didn’t know that word.

“She’s my friend, Becca.” He turned to you, “Ella es mi hermana. [She’s my sister.]” He’d been practicing his Spanish. At first the guys down on the docks, the ones who worked in the factories there, laughed at him. They didn’t pay him any mind. But he tried. He was still trying. They’ve been helping him now with his pronunciation. He could make it there once a week at most but he hoped it showed, his effort. “Becks this is Y/N.”

A glimmer of recognition passed over Becca’s face. You stood there awkwardly, tense and unknowing. The Barnes’ have been in America practically since the first settlers. But truth be told they were once immigrants too. That’s how Winnie viewed it. In the Barnes household they typically didn’t concern themselves with immigration, but George Barnes once said,

“They made America the land of equal opportunity and then pitched a fit when everyone wanted to have a fair shot.” The family didn’t care that immigrants were coming by the boatload. They believed in the American Dream. For everyone. But it wasn’t discussed often.

Becca’s eyes were wide, she grinned, “I’ve never been anywhere else but here. Where are you from? What’s it like there? I like how you do your hair. Could you do mine like that?” Babbling you looked overwhelmed, the English being spewed at you faster than you could understand it.

“Becca, hold your horses.” Bucky laughed, he gently grasped your arm.

“She can be overwhelming,” He said with a comforting smile. His heart was racing. He looked down at your shoes, the little heels he knew would probably get stuck in the soft snow. “Do you want to sled?” He gestured at the old wooden thing that he was sure had been in his family since the beginning of time itself. You tugged your lip between your teeth once more and before he could help it his thumb met your chin and pulled it free. “No dejaré que te pase nada malo. Lo juro. [I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I swear.]” His blue eyes met yours and you nodded.

“Okay.” He could tell you were hesitant and he looked down again at your shoes. He looked back at Becca and grinned.

“Get on the sled.” She rolled her eyes and you squealed as he lifted you off your feet and carried you the few feet to the wooden toboggan. This was the best idea he’d ever had, he reasoned, your hands clutching his own coat in shock, your breath so close to his own lips it almost made him trip over his own two feet as he settled you behind Becca on the sled before grabbing the rope and making the steady climb up the hill.

“How do I tell her you’re an idiot?” Bucky rolled his eyes at his sisters question.

“He’s funny.” You replied. He tightened his grip on the rope, biceps and thighs working to pull the both of you up the hill.

“He’s stupid.” Becca laughed she leaned in and whispered something to you out of earshot of himself, but he didn’t care once he heard your peal of laughter. It gave him what he needed to push through and finally reach the top. This was gonna be the best part. He settled himself behind you, bracing his hands against the snow just as he did with Becca a few minutes earlier.

“Get ready,” He whispered hotly into your ear. His heart was racing. Surely he was a minute away from a heart attack. Your waist nestled against his hips and he hoped you didn’t feel the erection that was now throbbing in his slacks. He pushed off against the ground, the three of you screaming in delight as the toboggan raced down the hill.

Your perfume smacked him in the face. A sweet floral scent that smells almost like those peonies he’d been so keen to give you months before, mixed with something a little more bare skin. He wanted to press a kiss to the nape of your neck. Right where the scarf dipped and revealed your caramel skin to him.

It was over too quickly. You and Becca giggling in the snow, holding tightly onto one another as he admired you from his place behind. He imagined a future between the two of you. He imagined a little girl that was yours and his in this same situation. And he wanted it, he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted ever in his life.

It was a strange feeling. But he leaned into it.

“Did you like it?” His raspy voice asked you. Your eyes met his, grinning ear to ear.

“Can we do that again?” You asked. He grinned in return. He’d do anything for you. Even if it meant icing his sore muscles the next day because he for damn sure pulled you up that hill every time.

“Like this.” Becca said, spinning the twine around the stem of the flower, “Then you can hang it upside down until it dries, or you could press it between two heavy books.” Bucky nodded, taking the information in. Peonies were hard to come by here in winter, but he wanted to keep tradition. That’s what he’d been giving you since the start and he wanted to keep it that way.

He imagined himself bringing you flowers every week. A vase full of them on the kitchen table, always fresh and fragrant. The two of you sharing breakfast before work with them sitting in between. Your bare feet, swollen in his lap, you rubbing your pregnant belly as you talked to him about what you did that day. The flowers a silent witness in the background.

Becca twirled the stem between her fingers, studying her brother for a moment, “I really like her.” She said. You, she really liked you. Becca couldn’t speak any Spanish but she helped you through your broken English as best as she could. She really enjoyed the thick accent and had asked once again if you could pin her hair like hers, which you had eyed Bucky cautiously before replying,

“Maybe one day.”

It was clear to him that you were nervous. He couldn’t quite register why. Some niggling part of his brain nagged him with the thought. The reason why. “I really like her too.” Bucky replied, pressing a peony between the thin pages of a dictionary, laying a thicker English textbook on top.

“She was the one you were talking about, right?” Becca was smart. Very smart. Bucky was proud of that but also sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

“Yeah,” He blushed, wrapping the twine around the bar in his closet between his church suit and a dark blue button down. “She is.” Becca grinned,

“That’s another sister then.” Which made Bucky laugh. Becca loved her sisters, the girls were pretty close and did a lot together, but it was a fairly common joke in the Barnes household of the power struggle between the two men against the five women living in the home. Another tally against them.

Bucky didn’t mind at all. “Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, “If she’ll let me take her on a date first.”

It had come a week later, stuffed in the mailbox at the mechanic shop. He didn’t know how you’d found out where he worked but he’s pretty sure his surname slapped on the front of the building didn’t help. Nor did he really care. He’d had Steve slip you the dried peony two days before.

The small man waited outside of your work, Bucky around the corner and out of sight. You’d been leaving with your usual crowd, your Mother quickly approaching when the bloom was placed in your hand, Steve slipping quickly out of sight. The little slip of paper wrapped tightly around the stem loosened as you slipped it into your jacket pocket in just enough time that your mother was none the wiser.

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen

Scrawled in practiced script.

Bucky’s heart was racing as he stuffed the letter in his pocket before running the rest of the mail to his father. He’d read it when he got home, the envelope weighing heavily in his pocket for the rest of his shift.

It was when he’d scrubbed his oil stained hands three times that he’d pulled it from his uniform, the envelope an off white,

James

written swirly and perfect on the front. His heart skipped as he brought the envelope to his nose. A floral perfume that made his heart sing, he gently pried the envelope open, a swift slide with the sharp letter opener across the top.

A picture of you.

Gorgeous and sweet. Hair perfectly curled, lips perfectly painted. Black and white, laughter in your face as you stood in front of a fruit cart in Havana. His finger traced your shape. His mouth watered with it.

The letter was more swirly script, a practiced hand.

James,

I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for my flowers. I cherish them, always. I’ve kept all that you’ve given to me. I wish to see you again. The sledding I think you called it was very fun for me, the snow has taken a lot of getting used to but it’s a nice change from Havana.

I don’t have many pictures from my home. This is one taken not long before we came to Nueva York. It’s perhaps the most recent picture I have of myself. Thank you for being who you are,

Y/N

Bucky read it three times over, lying on his bed like a schoolgirl, belly down, feet up. Eyes tracing the picture of you that you’d enclosed in the letter.

You liked him. He was sure of it now. Otherwise why else would you give him a picture?

“Dinner!” His mother yelled from the bottom of the steps.

It took a lot of planning, coordination and Steve’s footwork to make this happen. Bucky checked himself in the side mirror again, the stubborn curl on his forehead refused to stay gelled back. He combed it back once more, hoping it would stay there when he saw you turn the corner, looking slyly behind you before picking up pace and jogging in your flats to his passenger door, he barely beat you there, yanking the door open and saying, “Hi.” With a soft smile.

You smiled softly in return, nervously, “Hi.” The door shut and he circled the car and slid into the drivers seat.

“I hope you like peanut butter and jelly.” He smiled nervously. He’d been nervously packing the basket all morning, taking things out and placing them back in. His Mom had baked some chocolate chip cookies the day before so he was sure to wrap four of them very delicately in cloth before placing them on top of the wedge of cheddar, grapes, apples, and two sloppily made sandwiches in a basket he had to steal from his Mom’s linen closet. It now sat in the backseat with a blanket and two bottles of coke he’d bought from the corner store.

The old clunker that had definitely seen better days rattled along as the two of you sat silently. This was the first time since the day you met that you’ve actually been alone. Now it seemed as though there wasn’t much to say.

Spring had just shaken the chill from the air, but not so much the ground as Bucky lay the thick blanket down. Your hands gripped around the handles of the basket as you gazed around the park. You seemed to be looking for something but Bucky couldn’t imagine what.

“Here,” He grabbed the basket from you and helped you sit, your skirt covering most of your legs in your position. You could feel a slight damp chill beneath you.

It was the first warm day of spring, the two of you really lucked out as you tucked into your sandwiches, the bottles of coke sweating between you. Bucky gave you a grin,

“Have you ever been to the movies? That’s where we should go for our next date.” Bucky took a bite as your cheeks flushed, his knees close to yours on the blanket.

“I’m not sure I’ll be allowed…” You spoke nervously. You looked out at the park, mostly empty aside from a few mothers pushing prams and smaller children tailing them.

Bucky brushed a piece of hair out of your face, exposing your cheek and pulling your attention from the others in the park back to him. “We’ll figure it out,” He soothed. He watched a smile pull across your lips and you took a bite from your sandwich.

We’ll figure it out.

“I’ve never been to the movies before.” You breathed. Knees almost touching as you turned into each other. Bucky grinned,

“I just took Becks to see The Wizard of Oz and my sisters really wanted to see Gone With The Wind so we went as a family you woulda loved Gone With The Wind,” Bucky rambled, “You’d love my family, they’d love you… Becks already does,” Your laugh. It stretched the grin on his face even further,

“¿Ya estás pensando en llevarme a casa? [Already thinking about bringing me home?]” You jested. His grin never wavered,

“I’ve wanted to bring you home the minute I saw you.” You felt your cheeks heat up. There was a tense silence before you watched him tug his pink lip between his teeth. “So what do you like to do?” He took a sip of coke, “When you’re not working.” You pondered for a moment, before running a finger over the swirl of the rose in your skirt.

“I like making my dresses,” You met his eyes, “And music… dancing.” Bucky sat up straighter,

“I love dancing, and music, and the dresses you wear.” You laughed, rocking back slightly as he joined you, “I like all of those things.” The sandwiches gone, the cheese laid out as Bucky carved an apple with a knife, handing you a slice before eating one of his own.

“Have you been dancing since being in America?” Bucky asked, laying a slice of cheese over his apple and taking a bite. You nodded your head,

“There’s a Cuban club in my barrio that has live music and dancing almost every night of the week.” Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Maybe we can go sometime.” A hand met a hand, soft skin against his. So soft. Bucky traces his thumb against the back of your hand, his calloused pad relishing in the soft skin there. A shoulder pressed to a shoulder. The two of you sitting close. And closer, and closer.

“I work at my Dad’s shop.” Bucky said, his arm around your shoulder as you lay together under the swaying leaves of the giant oak. “Eventually he’ll retire and it’ll become my shop, but right now he wants me to start working on the books and fixing some stuff around the house he hasn’t gotten to yet, then I’ll start working more hours at the shop.” He shrugged.

“Have you always wanted it?” The shop. Your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“I wanted to be a boxer,” Bucky laughed, “I’m not bad at it, I’m a good mechanic, but… I always wanted to go a couple rounds with Joe Louis.” The current heavyweight champion. You could see the scars on Bucky’s knuckles as you turned his hand in yours, the motor oil stuck in the corners of his nails from his shift yesterday that he couldn’t quite scrub from his nail beds.

“What did you want to do?” He asked you, fingers brushing up and down your bare arm, eyes watching the leaves sway and clouds drift across the sky.

You’d never really thought about it. You shrugged, “We were never given much of a choice,” You explain, “A wife and mother,” You lifted your face from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes dragging from the sky to meet yours, “Maybe…” His finger traced a stitched rose on your side. “Maybe I would make my dresses, maybe I would design clothes.” His hand drifted up your side to your shoulder, rubbing a thumb against your sleeve.

“You make beautiful dresses.” He agreed. You blushed. His hooded eyes causing a shiver to run down your spine. He lifts his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. Lips a breath away, the heat of your skin under his palm. And then pain.

A coke bottle, one just like the two empty ones that had already been stuffed back into the basket beside you, landed on your bodies. Bucky moved over you, his back in your view as he sat up and stared down the man whose arm was still raised from throwing, his wife standing behind him, both with tense brows and frowns.

“This is a family park,” The man yelled, “You’re not allowed here.” Bucky bristled, standing from the blanket as your heart dropped in your chest.

“We’re just having lunch.” Bucky’s voice was tense, scary. “We’re allowed to be here just like everyone else.” The man scoffed,

“You maybe, but not her.” Bucky looked back to you, your eyes downcast to the ground. Bucky stepped to the man,

“She can go wherever she wants.” He spat at the man, hands curling into fists. The man glared at you from over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, she can go back to wherever the hell she came from.” A word never heard by Bucky before tumbled from the man’s lips, but the way you reacted to it made Bucky flush with anger. The man’s wife screamed as Bucky’s fist connected with the man’s jaw.

“James!” You stood from the blanket, grabbing Bucky’s bicep as he went to swing again, the man stumbling back and raising his own fists. He slowed, turning towards you as the man swung his own fist, connecting with Bucky’s temple. Blood poured from the man’s nose as Bucky turned back from you and punched him again.

It was happening so fast, police who’d been patrolling nearby had come to break up the fight, Bucky and the stranger being separated. You watched them interrogate the two men, the stranger angrily pointing over at you as Bucky spoke from his seat on the grass,

“Y/N estará bien, no te preocupes. [Y/N it’ll be okay, don’t worry.]” Your line of sight was blocked by the officer stepping between you. There was nothing technically illegal about what you were doing. Having a picnic in the park. They couldn’t arrest you for that, what they could arrest you for was disturbing the peace and the fight between Bucky and the stranger. That was the fear.

“Take her home.” The cop spat, “And if you know what’s good for you kid, you wouldn’t bring her around here or anywhere anymore.” The hostility. The anger. It sunk like a pit in your stomach. Bucky’s face was still pulled in a glare, but directed at the ground this time. Resolve on his face as he stood, walking to you and gently grabbing your arm, and picking up the blanket and basket with his other hand.

“James.” You whispered softly. A bruise was blooming on the side of his head. A gash where the man’s wedding ring had caught. His knuckles were split. He sighed heavily, reaching the car and dropping your arm, digging his keys from his pocket.

“I can’t fucking believe some people.” He spat. “It’s ridiculous.” His eyes met yours after he tossed the basket and the blanket into the trunk heavily, shutting it with a thunk. You shrugged, arms wrapped around your middle. The anger drained from his face as he saw the tear tracks on your cheeks, the mascara you’d been wearing smudged around the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry dahlin.” His gentle hands coming to grab your elbows.

“It’s just how it is.” You mumbled. Bucky shook his head,

“But it shouldn’t be,” His hands moved from your elbows to curl around your back, pulling your tense body tightly into his. Holding you tightly, a hand soothingly rubbing your back. “I’m sorry that people treat you this way dahlin.”

The tears were dried and you pulled away from him, feeling the absence of his warmth as you rounded the car to the passenger side, reaching for the door but Bucky beat you to it. He opened it silently letting you sit in the passenger seat before softly closing the door and rounding the front. As he shut his door he looked back at you, you could feel him want to say something. “Do you want me to take you home?” His voice was weak and sad. It broke your heart.

Truthfully you didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to leave him. In his arms you felt safe, but your Mama and Mateo’s words were ringing through your ears. His kind doesn’t do well with ours. He is fascinated by something new. Like a baby with a new toy. You’d soon be discarded and he would marry a girl who looked like him. Someone who was easier to talk to. Someone he didn’t have to stumble through his words with.

But he was trying. He was trying so hard. The sweet words that poured from his mouth making you drunk with love. How could it be love? You remembered a boy from the island, the one who lived four doors down who would walk with you to school every day. Your tiny child heart fluttering with his fingers brushing yours and him carrying your books for you.

This was nothing like that.

This wasn’t fluttering. This was pounding. Like hurricane waves on the shore. Crashing and ebbing and flowing. Consuming. You had a box under the couch. Dried peonies and the little note asking you on this date. You’d wish you could add to it, but after today you weren’t even sure if you’ll have anything to add to it in the future.

“Yes.” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to. You had to do what you felt was right in the moment.

Bucky’s heart fell.

He was back to not seeing you. And Steve was done with Bucky’s shit.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked him. Voice tense, snapping. Bucky wiped his hands on the oil stained rag in his pocket, not taking his eyes away from the engine of the car he had been working tirelessly on for the last hour.

“I’m about to change the catalytic converter and put on--”

“No Buck.” Steve’s pencil was posed over his sketchpad. A warm bottle of coke next to him, he had to take it easy drinking soda so his blood sugar wouldn’t spike. He’d usually drink half the bottle and Bucky would finish the rest. “With Y/N. It’s been a week since your date and you’ve done nothing but mope around and act like you can’t walk three blocks to go see her.” Bucky’s jaw twitched,

“I can’t.” He lifted a dirty car part from under the hood. “You shoulda seen how upset she was Stevie.” His eyes glassy as he picked up the new clean part, disappearing back under the hood. The soft rambling of the radio in the background. “I put her in that situation. It’s my fault for that.”

“You didn’t know someone was going to do something like that.” Steve defends, “How could you have known? If that couple hadn’t walked by--”

“Whose to say someone else wouldn’t have done the same thing? I can’t put her in a situation where she could get seriously hurt. That bottle hit me, but if it had hit her?” Bucky scoffed, “I would be sitting in a holding right now or on my way to Sing Sing I swear.” Steve sat back in his chair, staring at his friend.

“Sunset Park is growing in Hispanic population.” He stated factually, “Things will change, people will grow. This segregation won’t last forever. Not when there’s guys like us.” Bucky smirked at him,

“Barnes and Rogers knocking every piece of shit on their ass in Brooklyn.” He joked, “Home grown vigilantes.”

“We should go.” Steve offered, “Tonight.” Bucky stared at him skeptically.

“To Sunset Park?” Bucky’s heart skipped in his chest, as Steve smirked at him,

“Yeah, to Sunset Park.”

To this little barrio that Bucky and Steve didn’t belong in. And it was clear. A culture shock. But everyone who glanced at them didn’t bat an eye. Maybe they were used to interlopers? The temperature had just begun to rise in the city, but on these streets it felt like summer had already hit. It was at least ten degrees hotter here, the black tar holding that heat. Music spilled into the streets. This horn heavy fast paced jive that Bucky imagined was coming from the little dance club you’d told him about. Maybe that’s where he’d find you?

The club was hot, messy. Bodies everywhere. A dancing style the boys had never seen before. It was close, so close. Sweat lined bodies and rhythmic hips gyrating to a pulsing beat. The band was playing on a small stage and a woman in a tight red dress was crooning her smoky voice over a microphone with words Bucky half picked up.

Something about lovers. Something about a revolution. He couldn’t be sure. The woman’s words spilled fast. His heart stopped when he spotted the bar. Your hair was loose, spilling in thick waves down your back and pinned back by a red peony. A matching red dress, not tight like the singers, but tighter than anything he’d ever seen you it. Your cherry painted lips parted as you sipped from a tumbler glass filled with some kind of amber liquid with a slice of orange and a cherry.

He felt naughty, like he was taking a peek at you in a way he wasn’t supposed to.

He’d never even seen his own mother without her hair perfectly pinned and curled. The hair loose and free, combed out and he wanted to bury his face in it. He could almost imagine you so soft, so relaxed and carefree. You laughed at something the girl said next to you, but before his feet moved to bring himself closer to you Mateo came into frame.

The tall Hispanic man was handsome. Bucky could see that. His hair was slicked back and there was a tattoo of a pin up model on his right forearm. A little dangerous, hardly anyone outside of sailors had tattoos. It made Bucky wonder if he was one. If so… you know what they say about sailors. The guy would never be faithful to you. Mateo brushed your hair off your neck, pressing his lips to your cheek. And Bucky’s heart broke.

Had you really given up on him?

Maybe so.

Maybe this was a mistake.

“Is that the guy?” Stevie asked from beside him. Bucky nodded, sighing,

“Yeah.” He quickly turned and walked from the club. The air didn’t feel as hot this time. Bucky stomped angrily a few buildings away, Steve following him at a slower pace. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

Steve sighed heavily, “She likes you Bucky.”

“I love her.” Bucky emphasized. He shook his head, turning to face his friend, the club music a dull thump against his rib cage. “If she would marry me tonight, I would--”

“You’re so intense, Buck.” Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead, “You’ve been hooked on this girl for almost a year now, I know you love her, but you have to be logical here. She likes you too, I don’t know if she loves you, but she definitely likes you. I think she’s just scared.” Bucky stood, hands on his hips.

He looked over Steve’s shoulder, watching you step from the club, Mateo hot on your heels. His breath catching in his chest as you caught his eye. He watched your red lips part a slight stumble on your feet and Mateo helped steady you before following your line of sight to see Bucky standing there, mere feet away.

His lips pulled in a frown, hands leaving your waist as he straightened, pulling his shoulders back. Mateo was a big guy, but so was Bucky.

“I thought I told you to not come around here anymore.” Mateo yelled. Bucky watched you put a hand to his chest, trying to push him back slightly.

“I thought you meant the factory.” It spilled from Bucky’s mouth before he could stop it. Shut up Barnes.

“Bucky,” Steve said to him in warning. The jealousy Bucky felt seeing Mateo’s hands on you flushed his neck. He couldn’t stop.

“You’re a funny man, aren’t you?” Mateo stepped up to him, his chest almost touching Bucky’s, Mateo’s dark brown eyes locking with Bucky’s blue.

“What are you going to do?” Bucky spat. Your hand pressed to his chest, a hand pressed in likeness to Mateo’s where you pushed them apart, stepping between.

“Stop it,” You said sternly, “Both of you.” Mateo glared down at you,

“Los hombres estan hablando. [Men are speaking],” He spat, grabbing your arm roughly and yanking you to the side. You stumbled on uneasy feet, buzzed from the drinks in the bar. Steve caught you, helping you steady as Bucky’s fist met Mateo’s jaw.

A mirror of a week ago. But Mateo didn’t throw a punch back.

“You see this man.” Mateo pointed to Bucky, fuming, blood in his mouth, “This idiot you’re messing around with.” Bucky smacked the guy’s hand out of his face, the man turning back to him as you started crying. “You see, if you hit me you’re a goddamn hero. If I hit you I get jail time.” Mateo spat blood on Bucky’s shoes. “Stay away from her.”

“Mateo,” You called shakily. “Stop.” Bucky wanted to break his face, but you looked so scared. It was his fault this time. He put you into this position. Not the stranger. Not Mateo. He did this. And he wanted to puke. “James.” Softer this time, almost a whimper. Your glassy eyes meeting his, “Usted tiene que ir. [You have to go.]” He shook his head,

“Y/N” Bucky knew his voice sounded pathetic. But he’s so sorry. Please don’t leave with Mateo. Please. Your eyes snapped between his and Mateo’s before settling back on his.

“James, please.” Bucky felt like he was missing out on something here. Some kind of exchange that made him uneasy.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Steve had whispered to you.

“She’ll be fine.” Mateo bit, laying a hand out and gesturing for you to come over to him. Bucky wanted to kill him. Isn’t that what he said earlier? Sing Sing. Bucky watched you take the few steps on shaky legs back to Mateo’s side. The two boys watching as you looked at them once again before Mateo wrapped and arm around your shoulder, pulling you tightly under his arm. “This is your last warning James.” Mateo glared at the both of them.

The two of you disappeared into a building across the street. The one Bucky assumed that you lived in.

“Buck.” Steve started,

“Don’t say anything.” Please.

This time he stayed away for two weeks. Hands in his jumpsuit pockets. He’d left work early today having worked late yesterday. He had to do this. He didn’t have any time to change, hands still dirty, forehead with a sheen of sweat. The creeping summer sun didn’t help any. His car sat silently in front of him just in case he needed a quick escape.

He’d had a lot of time to think about it. A lot of nights unable to sleep, tossing and turning, cursing himself for being such an idiot. A hothead. That’s what his Ma had called him before. “So stupid.” He mumbled to himself.

It was embarrassing, but more importantly you probably hated him. The way Mateo grabbed you though, it set his blood boiling. He couldn’t help it. If a man was willing to put his hands on you like that in the street, he could only imagine… no. He didn’t want to imagine that. Fists clenching in his pockets.

Mateo would never put his hands on you again, not if Bucky could help it.

The familiar chatter, the girls were finally off work and you stepped out like a dream. Shoulders scandalously bare. The off the shoulder white blouse you wore was tucked into a silky powder blue skirt. Bucky imagined pressing a kiss to your bare skin. He wondered if your neck was as soft as your hands were.

Your breath faltered when you’d seen him standing there. You’d felt so embarrassed at the way Mateo had acted when he found Bucky outside of the club two weeks ago, but it had been the second time Bucky had fought to defend your honor and honestly you didn’t know how to feel about it.

He was young. You both were, but what he felt for you seemed so wild and untamed. You’d never experienced this before. It terrified you.

He pushed off the wall, his hands leaving his pockets. You remembered those hands, calloused, working hands. “I’m sorry.” He said immediately. You felt the eyes of the girls behind you and you wished they would just disappear, but they were nosey and you were going to have no such luck. “I was such an idiot, I shouldn’t have….” the two of you took a step in tandem towards each other. “He shouldn’t put his hands on you like that.” A chill went down your spine.

Mateo.

When you’d first moved he was a stunning prospect. Perfect hair, chiseled jaw, a couple of tattoos, and the ability to speak English. He could provide. He could pave a life for you here. But he had a wicked temper. One you’d found yourself at the end of more than once.

You shake your head. “It’s complicated.” You said, the two of you taking another step closer in tandem. Bucky started at you for a moment, before brushing his fingers against your arm.

“Please forgive me,” He said, “I never meant to hurt you.” Confusion.

“You didn’t hurt me, James.” You placed your hand on his arm, “I just don’t know what to do, I don’t know if we should be doing this.” Bucky stared at you with glassy eyes. “The more time we spend together the more people seem to hate us.” Your thumb stroked his arm softly. He placed a hand over yours.

“I’m crazy about you dahlin, from the bottom of my heart.” He stated smoothly, “No one else matters, I can take care of you. I wanna take care of you.” Marriage implied.

“James.” Your voice thick with emotion. The heat between your bodies severe.

“Y/N.” It was your Mother. Bucky stepped back from you and your Mother almost stepped between the two of you.

“James solo quería verme, eso es todo. [James just wanted to see me that’s all.]” You tried to explain. She held her hand up to you, ceasing you from speaking. She studied James for a moment before shoving her bag in his arms.

“Take us home.” She said, “My feet hurt.” Bucky looked between you and your mother before quickly nodding and opening the passenger door for her. The older woman slipped into the seat and he shut the door before turning to you questioningly. You only shrugged. You had no idea what she was doing or what she wanted.

Truly it wasn’t far back to the apartment, but Bucky drove diligently, the car silently parked. And he definitely carried your mother’s bag all the way up to the apartment. You’d unlocked the door, Bucky waiting for the two of you to enter before your mother turned to him,

“Vamos [Come on].” And he stepped in the apartment.

It was small.. Cozy. Vibrantly decorated. Pictures of family on the walls and a picture of Jesus hanging over the dining table. The apartment seemed messy, but everything had its place. The two of you stood awkwardly side by side as your Mother began taking food out of the fridge.

“You fix things? Yes?” Your Mother asked him. He opened and closed his mouth, looking over at you to see you shrug at him again.

“Yes ma’am.” He stuttered, “I can fix some things.” She nodded, pointing towards the tool box that Mateo had left by the front door.

“Our bathroom sink isn’t working,” You explained, “Mateo can’t fix it, and we can’t afford a plumber.” You looked to your mother questioningly, to which she gave no reply. Bucky nodded,

“I’ll take a look at it.” He fixed the sink, then he fixed the bedroom door that’s hinge was loose, and then he fixed the living room window so that it would actually open, letting a cool breeze into the hot apartment. He was sweating and as you and your Mother cooked in the kitchen the temperature had only risen. His jumpsuit was off of his arms and tied around his waist. The white undershirt he wore underneath smudged with dirt and sweat from his work.

“Here.” A glass with a muddled looking liquid in it. With first sip Bucky couldn’t place the flavor. Something he’d never had before. You sat next to him where he rest on the windowsill. “She wants you to stay for dinner, if that’s okay.” Bucky looked at your Mother’s back. The older woman was spooning something in a pot. He nodded,

“Of course.” A grin. He finally feels like he’s won this. He did it. He’s in. They’ve cooked him dinner right? His Ma wouldn’t cook dinner for anyone she didn’t like.

He’d never eaten food like this before. Rice and beans, these fried banana looking things, meat that was spicy and made his tongue burn but he couldn’t stop eating it. Whenever his plate emptied your Mother, Claudia, would refill it. He was grateful for the jumpsuit because if he was wearing slacks he was sure they’d be unbuttoned by now. He leaned back heavily in his seat after his third plate, taking another sip of the sweet juice you’d placed before him when he’d sat down.

“That was incredible,” Bucky praised, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Caudia smiled, looking between you and him. She looked at you before beginning, “Si vas a hacer esto, debes saber que no será fácil. [If you’re going to do this, you have to know it will not be easy.]” You nodded, looking at Bucky across from you. Your Mother sighed heavily, “Solo quiero que seas feliz mija, eso es todo lo que siempre quise, por eso vinimos aquí [I just want you to be happy mija, that is all I ever wanted, that is why we came here.]”

“Él me hace feliz. [He makes me happy.]” You whispered, cheeks growing hot. Bucky’s hand reached out and grabbed yours softly.

“Ella me hace feliz. [She makes me happy.]” He agreed, looking at your Mother very seriously. “No quiero nada más que hacerla feliz ... por el resto de nuestras vidas. [I want nothing more than to make her happy… for the rest of our lives.]” It was bold, but worked. Your Mother smiling softly and humming.

“Alright, now do the dishes, an old woman is tired.” She stepped from her chair, circling around to turn the radio in the living room to an ambling level, sitting on the couch and taking out her knitting needles. Leaving the two of you to pack up the leftover food and stand hip to hip at the sink.

A rambling comes over the radio which your Mother turns up, the hispanic announcer stating that the Germans had begun air attacks on Great Britain. Bucky stiffened beside you, his hands pausing in his drying before continuing, but much slower.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, he smiled back at you,

“Yeah, I’m good.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. Soft lips against your skin. “We just might be going to war soon is all.” He shrugged, “My old man fought in the last one, he served his country like he was supposed to.”

“So if we go to war…” Your voice trailed off. Bucky looked at you with a strange expression before his boyish grin came back across his face.

“Let’s not worry about that right now dahlin,” He bumped your hip softly with his, “It’s a possibility, not a certainty.” You hummed softly in response, unsure. If that’s what he wanted to do you’d support him, you had to right? If we went to war.

If.

“I have to talk to you about something.” Bucky sat in front of his parents. The girls were already off at school, their chatter and yelling silenced by the closing of the heavy oak front door. Winnie and George Barnes looked at their son from their places. His father cleaning up the girl’s plates, his mother packing their lunches for the day.

“What is it son?” George placed the dishes in the sink, turning to sit back down in front of Bucky.

“I’ve met a girl.” He started, his Mother stopped what she was doing and turned to him fully, “She’s amazing. Smart, beautiful, she makes dresses and is really talented. Becks met her and she’ll tell you how incredible Y/N is....”

“So when are you going to bring her home?” His Mother asked eagerly, laying a hand on his Father’s shoulder. “We’d love to meet her.” He’d never brought anyone home before, he’d never even mentioned a girl to his parents other than school dances.

“There’s one problem,” He started, “Not to me, not to us, but…” This felt hard to say. He didn’t know how they’d react. “She’s from Cuba.” He said, “I met her last year, when she first arrived, but I haven’t really had the chance to get to know her until now.” He thought back to your apartment, your Mother softly humming to Billie Holiday on the couch, the two of you swaying side by side washing dishes.

Sitting on the fire escape afterward, your back against his chest. You’d told him about the beaches in Cuba. How you loved playing in the sand as a child. He told you about his Dad talking him to Dodgers games and his Ma trying to teach him how to sew. His fingers weren’t practiced enough for it. You told him about your father. How he died when you were young. He remembers pressing a kiss to your temple. To your cheek when he left.

His parents sighed, Winnie coming to sit next to George. “Son, it will be very hard for the two of you, you know that right?” His Dad said, it wasn’t a stern voice, but it was firm. Factual. Winnie looked at her husband and then to her son,

“The world is changing,” She started, “You’re not going to be the first couple to do this and I’m sure you won’t be the last… Do you love her?”

The smile you gave him as he stood in your doorway, his hands pressed onto the door jam above your head. “I’m gonna marry you, you know that?” He whispered.

Your eyes widened a fraction before you grinned, “I do.”

“Yeah Ma,” Bucky smiled, “I do.” The two parents nodded.

“Okay then.” George nodded, “I think we’ve got a bit of work to do.” He patted his wife’s knee, giving her a kiss before standing. “Let’s get down to the shop kid.”

“Invite her over for dinner,” Winnie brushed her son’s hair out of his forehead, that errant curl that never seemed to stay in place. “As soon as you can.” Bucky nodded, a grin on his face.

“Will do Ma.” A kiss to his forehead,

“I love you.” And he loved her too. He felt lucky to have his parents. He wasn’t sure if they were anyone else they’d be as accepting. Later he’d painted a sign for his Dad. One to go in the front window of the shop.

EVERYONE WELCOME

The backlash was sure. Bucky and his Dad didn’t care. They were well known and trusted enough to keep business and while they would have never turned anyone away before George wanted to make sure that his son knew he supported him with his decision. Business dipped at first. Men that were once close friends yelling in protest, screaming expletives, slurs. Bucky had to keep himself in check multiple times.

But George stayed steadfast. “If you don’t do anything,” He said to Bucky as they repaired the front window, “You’re just as bad as them.” And Bucky understood. They hired men who needed work, anyone who needed work and was skilled with cars. It was then that business picked up. They became busier than ever. And they were making enough money that Bucky started stashing some away.

Was it for a wedding? Maybe.

A house? Maybe that too.

But for right now, as he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, arm wrapped around your shoulder at the drive in he could only be grateful for everything that had happened. Everything that led him here. He could only be in this moment. The moment where in the dark of the car, while Pride and Prejudice played on a big screen two cars ahead, you pressed those rosy lips to his for the very first time. And he knew he was lost to this forever.

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#1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #latina!reader #latinx!reader #challenge #sebastian stan

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