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mcu-binge · 29 days ago

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LOVE IN BROOKLYN pt 6

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Sundays had always been sacred in my family, ever since I could remember. No matter what was going on in our individual lives, no matter the arguments or the tension, we always gathered around the dinner table for a weekly family meal. It was an unspoken rule—one of the few things we still held onto as a family. And, as the youngest, it had always fallen to me to ensure everything ran smoothly.

I pulled up to my parents' house, the familiar sight of the old, warm stucco and terracotta tiles greeting me like an old friend. The house hadn't changed much over the years, and neither had my family. Inside, I knew my mother was probably already in the kitchen, preparing the spread for tonight's dinner, while my father was either watching TV or sitting outside on the porch. My siblings? That was another story.

I took a deep breath, grabbed the containers of extra food I had made at the bakery for dessert, and headed inside.

"¡Mija!" my mother's voice greeted me the second I stepped through the door. She was at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. The smells of chiles, tomatoes, and cilantro hit me immediately—familiar and comforting.

"Hey, mamá." I leaned over to kiss her cheek, careful not to disrupt her cooking.

"Are those the pan dulces you made?" she asked, glancing at the containers in my arms with approval.

I nodded, setting them on the counter. "Yeah, I made conchas and a couple of churros too. Figured we'd mix it up."

She gave me an appreciative nod but then frowned as if something was missing. "Your brother and sisters are late, as usual," she muttered, shaking her head.

"They'll be here," I assured her, though even I had my doubts, I pulled my phone out and began texting all of them. Family dinners had become more of a chore than a cherished tradition for my older siblings in recent years. It felt like every time we gathered, there was some kind of tension or underlying argument that hadn't quite been resolved. My dad hadn't exactly taken too well that none of them wanted to take over the family businesses. I was the only one who really pushed for it anymore.

I stepped out of the kitchen and found my dad sitting on the couch, watching a soccer game. His face was as stern as ever, a permanent scowl etched into his features.

"Hola, papá," I greeted him, leaning down to give him a hug.

He grunted in response, barely acknowledging me as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. My father wasn't one for words, especially when it came to feelings. That was how he and my siblings had clashed so much over the years—they all wanted to be heard, but he didn't believe in listening.

It wasn't long before the front door swung open, and my brother, Alejandro, walked in, followed closely by my two older sisters, Brenda and Camila. As usual, they were late.

"Look who finally decided to show up," I teased, trying to keep things light.

"Traffic," Brenda said with a shrug, dropping her purse on the chair as she headed straight for the kitchen. Camila barely looked at me, her usual tension with our parents already hanging in the air.

Alejandro, gave me a quick nod as he passed, and I forced a smile, already feeling the weight of what tonight's dinner might bring.

We gathered around the table, the familiar setting feeling both comforting and tense at the same time. My mother began serving pozole—and we all passed the dishes around without much chatter.

"So," Alejandro finally spoke up, glancing at my father across the table, "How's the shop?"

The dreaded question. I hate that he always has to bring it up. My father owned a small repair shop, one that Alejandro had worked in when we were younger, but had no interest in taking over. Neither did my sisters, despite my father's hope that one of them would step up.

"It's fine," my dad answered shortly, not looking up from his plate.

I could feel the tension brewing between them, the familiar unease settling over the table like a dark cloud. Alejandro wanted to talk, but my father didn't. They had this dance every time we gathered, and it never ended well.

"So, Camila," I interrupted, trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction. "How's work going?"

She shrugged, barely looking up from her food. "Fine."

Great, real talkative tonight.

I glanced at Brenda, hoping for something more upbeat. "And you? How's the new apartment?"

"It's fine," she said, her voice a bit sharper than it needed to be. "Smaller than I'd like, but it'll do."

I sighed inwardly. This was how it always was nowadays —short, clipped answers, as if none of us really wanted to be here. And yet, here we were, every week like clockwork, going through the motions. I had taken over the family bakery because I felt like someone needed to stay behind, someone had to carry on the tradition, but it was hard not to feel like I had been left to carry the weight of it all while everyone else moved on with their lives.

"You know," I said, trying once again to inject some life into the conversation, "the bakery's been doing really well lately. I've been thinking of expanding a bit, maybe adding some new pastries to the menu."

"Pastries?" My dad finally looked up, his brows furrowed. "You should stick to what's worked for decades."

Here we go.

"It's just an idea, Papá," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "It could bring in more customers, new ones."

"There's no need for that," he grumbled. "We've done fine without all these new ideas."

My siblings all looked down at their plates, avoiding the tension brewing between us. This was how it always went—I'd try to bring something new to the table, and my father would shoot it down. My siblings stayed silent, content to let me be the one who bore the brunt of his disapproval.

I loved my family—I really did—but sometimes it felt like I was the only one holding it all together. My siblings had distanced themselves from our parents, pursuing their own lives, while I stayed behind, managing the bakery and keeping the peace. It was a role I had fallen into, but one that was becoming increasingly taxing.

"I think it's a good idea," Alejandro said quietly, surprising me. "The bakery could use a little freshening up."

My father glared at him, clearly displeased that Alejandro had taken my side for once.

"You don't know anything about running a bakery," my dad snapped. "You don't even live near here anymore."

"Neither does anyone else," Alejandro shot back, his voice rising slightly. "But at least Dani's trying to do something with it. If you keep this up don't be surprised when she leaves too."

I cringed as the argument began to unfold, my heart sinking. This was exactly what I had been trying to avoid. The family dinner had turned into yet another battleground. I looked up to my brother and gave him a silent thank you. He nodded a you're welcome but he looked pissed.

My mother, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. "Enough, both of you. Let's just eat in peace, please."

The table fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick in the air. I stared down at my plate, picking at my food, wishing there was a way to break through this wall that had built up between all of us. But communication wasn't exactly our family's strong suit.

After a few more minutes of quiet, Camila glanced up at me. "You're still running the bakery on your own, huh?" I could almost hear a bit of guilt.

"Just doing my part," I nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It's a lot, but I've got it handled. ."

"You always were the responsible one," she said, her voice carrying a mix of admiration and guilt.

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Someone had to be."

Camila sighed, looking away, and I knew she felt the same guilt I did—the guilt of not being able to keep the family together, of not being able to fix the fractured relationships between us.

Dinner continued silent then we started clearing the table. My dad went to smoke a cigarette outside and my sisters and I helped my mom.

"I'm glad you stayed," Brenda said softly, surprising me with her sincerity. "Papá may not say it, but he's proud of you."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in mood. My sisters rarely spoke so openly about our family dynamics, and for a moment, I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Thanks," I said, my voice a little choked. "That means a lot."

"Thanks for coming, mija," my mom said, hugging me tightly. "You're the glue that keeps us together, you know that?"

I smiled softly, returning her hug. "I know, mamá. I just wish it didn't feel so hard sometimes."

She pulled back, giving me a knowing look. "Family is never easy. But you're doing your best, and that's all we can ask for."

As I left the house and climbed into my car, I couldn't shake the feeling of being both connected to and burdened by my family. I loved them deeply, but the responsibility of keeping us all together felt like it was resting squarely on my shoulders. And sometimes, I wasn't sure how much longer I could carry it.

I had dreams too. I wanted to go to NYU and become a teacher. I wanted to travel around teaching in different places and changing lives but no one asked me what I wanted. I just saw my parents struggling and no one helped them. What hurts me the most is even if my siblings had a vendetta against my dad why couldn't they help me? I'm not even going to go there. I'll just make myself upset again.

—— The warm spray of the shower was exactly what I needed to wake up. The night before had been a whirlwind of emotions as usual. I don't know how much longer my siblings will show up.

After drying off, I wrapped myself in a towel, heading back into the bedroom to pull on some clothes for the day. That's when I heard the faint buzz of my apartment intercom. I frowned, glancing at the time. It was early, and I wasn't expecting anyone. Still, I padded over to the small screen by the door and pressed the button.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Steve's voice crackled through the intercom, deep and steady.

I blinked, taken aback for a second. "Steve?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to show up unannounced. "I'm downstairs. Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

I glanced down at myself—still in a towel and damp from the shower. "Uh, give me two minutes," I said, laughing softly. "I'll buzz you in."

I rushed back to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of athletic shorts and a simple t-shirt, my heart beating a little faster than normal. Why was Steve here? I hadn't expected to see him so soon, and definitely not at my apartment. But there was something exciting about it, too—this feeling of unpredictability that came with Steve.

I rushed to my door, opening the door to find him standing there with a coffee in hand. He looked as put together as ever, jeans and a tight grey shirt, his signature casual charm hard to miss.

"Hey," I said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to catch my breath. "What's this? A surprise morning visit?"

He gave me a boyish grin, lifting the coffee cup. "Thought you might need this. I know you've probably got a busy day."

I smiled, stepping aside to let him in. "You know, most people don't just show up at someone's place without warning."

"Wanted to keep you on your toes," he said with a playful shrug as he walked in, glancing around.

I watched as he took in the space, his eyes wandering over the exposed brick walls, the open kitchen, and the shelves lined with cookbooks and framed pictures. I could see the curiosity in his gaze, but he was polite enough not to say anything just yet.

"This place is amazing," he finally said, turning back to me. "It feels like you."

I laughed lightly. "I hope that's a good thing."

"It is," he assured me, moving closer. "You've got great taste."

I tried not to blush at the compliment, my hands fiddling with the edge of the counter. "Thanks. I like it here. It's... cozy."

Steve's eyes shifted to the photos on the walls—family photos of my parents, my siblings, a few candid shots of me as a kid. I could see the moment when he locked onto one picture in particular, a black-and-white photo of my dad when he was younger, standing in front of his repair shop.

"Is that your dad?" Steve asked, nodding toward the picture.

I felt a tightness in my chest as the conversation turned toward my family. "Yeah," I said quietly. "That's him."

Steve looked at me, sensing the hesitation in my voice. "You're close? I couldn't really make a distinctive decision at the bakery. It felt both hot and cold."

I hesitated, my fingers tracing the edge of the counter as I thought about how to answer. "We are... but it's complicated. He's a strict guy."

"Did you always want to take over the bakery?" Steve asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, lying a bit letting out a small sigh. "Yeah. My siblings moved away, started their own lives. I stayed behind. I didn't really have much of a choice. Somebody had to keep the family together, the bakery had survived too much to one day die with my parents."

Steve watched me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "That sounds like a lot to take on."

"It is," I admitted, finally letting some of the weight show. "But I love my family, and I love baking. It's just... sometimes I wish things were easier...different, you know?"

He nodded, stepping a little closer, his presence somehow both comforting and grounding. "I get that. Family can be... complicated. But you seem like the kind of person who handles it with grace."

I smiled, appreciating his understanding. "Thanks. It's not always easy, but I try."

He looked around my loft, taking it in again. "I like this place. It's got personality."

I raised an eyebrow, not missing the way his eyes again, lingered on the family photos that lined the walls. He seemed genuinely curious, like he wanted to know more, but I could feel the familiar tug of reluctance inside me. My family was a complicated topic, and I wasn't sure how much more I was ready to share.

Still, I could see the question forming in his mind as he stopped by a framed picture of me with my siblings. "Are these the siblings in question?"

I nodded, stepping closer to look at the picture with him. "Yeah. That's us. My older sisters and brother."

Steve studied the photo for a moment. "Do you get along with them despite everything?"

I let out a soft sigh. "We were when we were young. We try to be amicable now especially with my sisters. It's... complicated."

Steve nodded, leaning on the counter across from me. "I get that. Family can be a lot sometimes. But it sounds like you've done a great job keeping things together."

I smiled softly, appreciating his words. "I do my best.

Steve's gaze softened, and for a moment, I felt like he really understood. Like he saw through the layers of responsibility I carried. It was a little disarming, but also... comforting.

"So, how about we make this morning even better?" I said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm going to cook us some breakfast. You ready to have your taste buds blown away?"

He grinned. "I'm always ready for that."

I moved around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chilaquiles, a traditional Mexican breakfast dish. Steve watched with genuine interest, asking questions about the different ingredients and spices I used. It was easy, comfortable—the way we interacted. It felt like we'd known each other for a lot longer than just a couple of days.

"So," I said as I chopped some onions, "do you always just show up at people's houses with coffee, or am I special?"

Steve chuckled, leaning against the island. "You're definitely special. I don't do this for just anyone."

I shot him a teasing glance. "Good to know."

As I moved around the kitchen, the smell of sautéing onions and frying eggs filled the air. Steve's curiosity got the better of him, and he eventually joined me by the stove, offering to help with little tasks like stirring the sauce or flipping the tortillas. He tried flipping one and immediately burned his finger.

"How about you stir the sauce." I said giving him an ice cube to put on his finger.

"This smells amazing," he said, inhaling deeply. "I think I could get used to this."

"Careful," I teased. "You might never want to leave."

"I could think of worse things," he said with a wink.

I laughed, shaking my head as I plated the food. We sat down at the table in the corner of the kitchen, digging into the chilaquiles. Steve took his first bite, and his eyes widened in delight.

"Okay, you weren't kidding," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is incredible."

I smiled, feeling a little proud. "Told you. I don't mess around in the kitchen."

He nodded, taking another bite. "I'm beginning to think you're secretly a superhero in disguise. First the bakery, now this..."

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, right. If I were a superhero, my superpower would be perfecting the perfect pie crust."

Steve chuckled, but I could see the curiosity in his eyes again as he set his fork down. "You don't talk about your family much."

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers tracing the edge of my plate. "It's not that it's just... complicated."

He gave me a gentle look. "I'm not trying to pry, Dani. Just trying to get to know you better."

I let out a small sigh, realizing that I didn't mind talking to Steve. He was easy to talk to, and for some reason, I felt like I could trust him.

"My dad's a strict guy, serial cheater in his younger days, but my mom grew up without a dad so she endured it all so that we wouldn't grow up without one," I said after a moment. "Old-school Mexican values. He wanted all of us to stay close to home and live the life he and my mom did. My siblings took flight the moment they could. Alejandro went to trade school and runs a construction company. Brenda didn't go to college but took her trust fund and left immediately after graduating high school. Camila did stick around longer helping where she could but my father never acknowledged that. Always finding something to pick at, always something telling us how to do it "better" it got too much for her so she left too." I explained. I felt a knot in my throat begin to form. This is why I don't like talking about it. "I don't blame them but I was the youngest so I couldn't leave. By the time I realized I wanted to leave too it was too late. The bakery was failing. I had been accepted to NYU but changed my mind and went to culinary school because the thought of losing the place I grew up in was killing me." I took a pause suddenly getting emotional.

Steve listened intently, his gaze never leaving mine. "That's a lot of responsibility." He put his hand over mine in a comforting gesture. I tried to smile but it was hard. My glossy eyes closed and I fought back tears.

"It is," I admitted. "But it's what I had to do."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You made the sacrifice."

"I love them. I stayed because while they saw the bakery as the place where dad was always yelling and stressed. I can still hear Camila and I playing store giggling and having fun. I still remember Alejandro laughing at me when he was teaching me how to make change. I remember Brenda and I learning how to bake."

Steve smiled, and for a moment, I felt a warmth spread through me. It was nice, talking to someone who didn't judge or push too hard. Someone who just... listened.

"Well," he said, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair, "if you ever need a break from all that, I'm happy to be your distraction."

I laughed, feeling a little lighter. "I might take you up on that."

Steve's eyes sparkled as he gave me a playful grin. "Good. Because I plan on sticking around."

#captain america #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #steve rodgers imagine #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #latina #mexican #captain america fanfiction #fluff #hispanic #mcufff

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mx-pastelwriting · 1 year ago

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hi there :) could i please request a dark!charles boyle (from brooklyn 99) x younger!fem!reader? maybe charles becomes really obsessed with the reader (he goes full-boyle, like in the show) and wants to marry her asap and is obsessed with getting her pregnant and starting a family, even if she isn’t ready. feel free to make it as dark as you’re comfortable with, im comfortable with dark stuff like drugging, forced pregnancy, etc so whatever you’re comfortable with :) thank you so so much & just let me know if you’re not comfortable with this request!

Trust me this is nothing compared to my AO3 history :)

Sorry for the late reply!

Dark!Charles Boyle x GN! Reader

Summary: Request up Top!

Warning: Dark/Yandere, Obsessive Behavior

Jake's pleas ran through Charles's mind, but they did little, as even without his state of denial, he was going full-boyle no matter what. Wanting you to be spoiled beyond repair, Pulling back into reality, looking down at his phone, and seeing your reply for your date at his place.

After only dating for a bit, it sounded like a fun idea for a movie night after making dinner together with a take-out number as a backup. His jacket hugged you, having been from your first date. Walking up to his door, it swings open, and Charles smiles widely.

His eyes immediately scanned you. "Wow, you look amazing." He says, making you smile and gush over his face of shock, "And you don't look bad yourself, handsome," seeing him dressed in a nice button-up with a cooking apron hanging from his neck.

Letting you into the aroma of dinner being started, walking further in a video played next to the stove, "You started without me?" You looked back at him. "Yeah, I thought you could watch instead," He said, leading you further to the kitchen and sitting you on a kitchen stool.

You were tired, so you didn't protest. Watching as he stopped the cooking video and began to fry up something in the pan, making your mouth water. "I know this is our third date, but I wanted to discuss some things," He said, still stirring the pan. "Oh?" Your attention was pecked looking at his soft face. "I think we should get serious—married, in fact." His eyes met yours, and his lips thinned as your shock formed your face.

It wasn't that you didn't like him; it was just too much for a third date. "This soon, I mean, I agree to get serious, just not..." Watching as he put down the spacial, he looked at you with blank eyes and said, Well, I do imagine that months from now you will be waddling around here." He says looking around his place.

That was it. You needed to leave and give him a day to think over his words. Standing up from your seat, you walked to the door without saying a word. "I wouldn't do that," He said, stopping you in your tracks. Looking closer at the door, it was bolted with locks only a key could open.

"Please sit back down." His voice was calm, but it did nothing for your racing heart or the sinking feeling you had to eat your insides. Tears stung your eyes. He had the upper hand.

Making a choice, you walked back and sat with your head down. Your throat hurt as you tried to swallow down your cries. Looking up at Charles, his soft eyes looked back at you, "See, I knew you were the one," Before going back to cooking with a cheerful smile.

Your feet hurt as you stood folding your husband's clothes. You had promised him not to be up working, so you had to rush before he came home. Working around your pregnant belly, you struggled next to get the clothes in his drawer. "I told you not to be on your feet." A cold voice sounded from behind you.

"Sorry, I just wanted to help." You just wanted the bed to be cleaned off, not wanting to share your nap time with his pile of clothes. A sigh made your shoulder tense, but his arms gently wrapped around you with a kiss planted on your shoulder.

"Go lay down," He says, then kisses your neck, releasing you to sit on the bed. Watching as he closed the dresser before turning to the bed and putting his jacket and bag on the bed.

"What did you do all day?" He asked, undoing his tie. "Not much except the clothes," you explained, but only got a hum back from him.

Throwing his tie in the laundry basket, he turns to you and says, "I'm going to draw a bath for both of us, so don't go anywhere." He says it, smiling, then walks to the bathroom. His words mocked you like he would allow you to, but definitely not with the sharp eye he has on you thanks to your rib kicker.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#charles boyle #charles boyle x reader #dark!charles boyle x reader

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robertbturnerfl · 2 years ago

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Good Old Appliance Service Expands Its Reach to Brooklyn, NY, Offering Professional Appliance Repair Brooklyn Services to Local Residents

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Originally published at https://presssynergy.com/newsroom/good-old-appliance-service-expands-its-reach-to-brooklyn-ny-offering-professional-appliance-repair-brooklyn-services-to-local-residents/

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source https://presssynergy.com/newsroom/good-old-appliance-service-expands-its-reach-to-brooklyn-ny-offering-professional-appliance-repair-brooklyn-services-to-local-residents/ from Press Synergy https://presssynergy1.blogspot.com/2023/04/good-old-appliance-service-expands-its.html

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frigerepair · 2 years ago

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Appliance repair, services, guarantee, Brooklyn, NY

Appliance repair, services, guarantee, Brooklyn, NY Appliance repair, services, guarantee, Brooklyn, NY, installation, refrigerator, dryer, washer, stove, dishwasher. Full service repair of all brands of appliances NYC Link to the source: Read more »

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brownstonerenovation · 2 years ago

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Chimney Repair NY - Captain Renovation & Contracting Inc

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noisilyscreechingtheorist-blog · 2 years ago

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(со страницы Appliance repair, services, guarantee, Brooklyn, NYC - STOVE REPAIR)

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bartleysappliances · 2 months ago

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Reliable Stove Repair Services in Brooklyn, NY: Fast and Affordable

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hardlyinteresting · 5 years ago

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Gone with the wind

Bucky makes it home from war and finds an unlikely friendship with the daughter of the man he’s working for.

Loosely based on the song “Cleopatra” by The Lumineers. 1940s!AU (I haven’t written in a long time so please be kind, I’m rusty) Warnings: Mildly toxic home life, 1940s sexism, alludes to past sexual assault, mugging, swears

July 1949

It’s hot. Far too hot, Y/N thinks. The ringlets her mother had insisted she wear her hair in have fallen loose since this morning, tight frizzy curls beginning to form at the nape of her neck and temples. She can feel the sweat forming and she wishes she was young again so that she might be allowed to go swimming in the stream behind the estate. Instead, she’s stuck in frills and lace of white and cream, forced to take tea with her mother, father and their guests; her father’s business associate, Joseph Redding and his son, Robert.

The conversation is dull especially since she’s not allowed to contribute any of her ideas on the stock market or trade. She allows her eyes to wander across the yard to the man her father had hired at the beginning of the summer season. She watches as he rolls up his shirt sleeve for the third time, wiping his grease-covered hand on his grey slacks. He’s handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes; he has a kind smile too when anyone approaches, but he works alone The best mechanic and vallet her father has ever employed apparently.

She wonders if he fought in the war, like her brother William had. He’s tall and strong--he must’ve been overseas. Maybe he had served with William, maybe he’d know what really happened over there, what happened to Willi-- She’s snapped out of her thoughts by a subtle kick under the table from her mother.

“The Reddings are hosting a gala, Y/N. Isn’t that lovely?” her mother smiles politely, but Y/N knows the annoyance that lies beneath, just for her.

“Yes, it is. A lovely way to end the social season, I agree” Y/N nods taking a sip of her now cold tea.

“I’d be honoured if miss Y/N might accompany me to the gala,” Robert speaks.

Y/N isn’t shocked, but she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Y/N would be delighted” Her father speaks for her. She can only smile though it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“May I be excused?” she asks, “I think the heat might be getting to me, I’m feeling quite faint”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead, she stands to leave the patio and makes her way towards the door.

“Good afternoon miss,” The mechanic greets politely as she passes.

Slowing her steps on the gravel of the driveway she smiles, “Good afternoon”.

He is far more handsome up close she decides.

_____________________________

August 1949

The gala is only a week away and she still hasn’t found a dress to wear. It’s her first public outing since the war ended. Something doesn’t feel right about shopping for the perfect dress knowing that her brother isn’t with their father at the tailor having a new tux made. Maybe, if she can’t find a dress in time she won’t have to go to the gala at all.

Y/N slips into her favourite dress. The red one with little white polka dots. Her mother despises it, but maybe that’s why she likes it so much. She paints her lips with her victory red lipstick to match. Perfect.

Maybe she’ll get a red dress for the gala.

when she gets downstairs she finds the car man waiting patiently. Clean white shirt and black pants. They’re ironed and pleated perfectly she would almost think they were new if it weren’t for the repair that’s been made in the knee of them.

“Good Morning Miss,” He greets with a smile.

“Good Morning”.

He makes sure to hold the door for her, closing it behind her before running ahead to open the door of the black Lincoln, making sure the front seat was forward enough for her to get in the back.

“Don’t bother, I’m sitting in the front today,” She grins opening the passenger side door.

“your father said for me to make sure you sat in the back seat Miss”

“My father is on a business trip and my mother is at tea with the neighbours. I won’t tell if you don’t. Besides, I’d like to drive with the roof down, and how am I ever supposed to hear a word you say with all the wind back there”.

He swallows and nods, shutting the back door. Slipping into the driver's seat he sighs, “Where to first miss?”

“It’s Y/N”

“Alright, where to first miss Y/n” he smirks starting the car.

“Manhattan, fifth and 38th”

She likes the sound of the engine and the breeze through her hair. Her smile is bright and genuine as they near the city.

“So, you’ve been working for my father all summer and I still don’t know your name”.

“My name is James. But you can call me Bucky”. “Bucky...I like it. It suits you. Have you always worked with cars, Bucky?” “For the most part. When I finished school I started helping my dad out in his shop before he died. And then the war happened. I’m glad to be back doing what I’m good at.” “I’m sure you were very brave over there, Bucky” she offers kindly.

Y/N talks a lot, but he doesn’t mind. She’s quieter and kinder than her mother, and smarter and more tactful than her father. He enjoys her company.

When they arrive in the garment district Bucky turns the rearview mirror for her so she can see herself and fix her wind-tossed hair.

“Thank you for the drive Bucky. I’ll see you back here in an hour”.

“Your father asked me to be you escort for the day. I’m meant to come with you”.

“I am more than capable of looking after myself. I don’t need a man to look after me. What do you think we all did when you men were away at war?”

He can tell she’s frustrated. He doesn’t blame her. He knows her anger isn’t really directed towards him. So, he lets her have her moment of free speech. He knows she spends most of her days holding her tongue at home.

He nods. Leaning against the hood of the car he lights a smoke. “I’ll see you in an hour then. But, I will come and find you if you’re late. Your father will have my head if anything happens to you”.

“I’m glad to hear we agree,” Y/N bubbles. Bucky can only shake his head as she walks away. She’s something else. He knows that if steve could see him now he’d be in for a world of jokes and jabs. Bucky just hasn’t been the same since he got home. The dance halls don’t feel as light as they used to, instead, they’re only a reminder of who he was before he watched the world change before his very eyes. The girls aren’t the same now either, everyone wants a soldier, and that's the last thing he wants to be anymore. Y/N is different. She gorgeous without trying. She’s kind even though her position in life doesn’t lend itself to compassion. He can tell she wants more from life and there’s something about the way she looks at people- right into their souls that makes them want to give her everything they have, Bucky is no exception.

45 minutes later she’s returned a large box in her arms and a grin as wide as the new york skyline. He hopes she got a red dress like she said she wanted.

_______________________

It’s two days later when Bucky is asked to take Y/N into town so she can meet with a friend. He’s parked outside the restaurant reading a book Steve gave him the week before when he hears the commotion. He wants to ignore it, there’s always something bad happening in New York and often times it’s better to just turn a blind eye, but a woman’s scream has him leaping over the car door and running up the alleyway behind the restaurant and hotel.

“Bucky!” she screams again. Y/N.

His fist flies and he’s reminded of his time before the war beating up the guys who tried to hurt little Steve. His knuckles are bloody when he’s done, he has Y/N’s purse in his hand, torn away from one of her attackers.

She’s sobbing when he approaches her, shaking in her little blue dress. He slips off his jacket wrapping it around her shoulders. She clutches his shirt tightly as he guides her back to the car, a friendly hand on the small of her back. When she’s situated in the front seat he takes a moment to look her over. The knee of her stockings is torn, she’s bleeding. She holds her left hand to her chest as she cries. He’s filled with rage once more, wishing he had done more than just punch those fuckers’ teeth out.

“let's get you home, yeah?” he asks quietly a comforting hand on her shoulder, she leans towards the warmth of his body her head against his shoulder. He knows he shouldn’t, but he hugs her anyway, she deserves the comfort and she’s sure as hell not going to get it at home. “I don’t want to go home,” she whispers against his shirt collar, “I’ll be in trouble”. “Alright...well we’ve got to get you cleaned up then.”

She nods. “you’re alright now...you’re safe. I promise”. “I knew you were brave,” she offers a small smile with her watery eyes and a pink nose.

He drives to Brooklyn. To his home.

“Is this where you live?” Y/N asks quietly as he helps her from the car. “Yes”. Inside, the house is warm. There’s soup cooking on the stove and music plays from the radio in the living room.

“Ma? We have a guest!” “Steve, I’ve told you you’re not a gues--” his mother pauses as she rounds the kitchen door, “You’re not Steve”. Y/N shakes her head, “No, Ma’am”. She moves closer to Bucky’s side, her hand still held tightly to her chest. “Ma, this is Y/N. Y/N this is my mother, Winnifred”. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Barnes,” Y/N sniffles holding back tears. “we’re going to get Y/N cleaned up so I can take her back home. She’s had a hard day”. Winnifred nods feeling sorry for the girl. “Is Becca home?” Bucky asks. “up in her room”.

Bucky guides Y/N the stairs to the washroom sitting her on the edge of the bathtub. “I’ll be right back”.

Y/N hears a knock on what she assumes in Becca’s door. When Bucky returns he has a new pair of stockings and a face towel in his hand. He sets them aside, rummaging under the sink for the first aid kit his mother put together. Wetting the towel he dabs gently at the wound on Y/N’s knee. When it’s clean he wrings out the towel before wetting it again, he holds his hand out towards the girl. Nervously she extends her left-hand palm up. It’s caked in blood and dirt, but he can see the shard of glass in her palm. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” he tells her, making sure their eyes meet. “I trust you”.

_________________________

It’s the night of the gala. Her dress feels too tight. The clip her mother put in her hair is digging uncomfortably against her scalp. Her hands are sweaty in her long silk gloves and the scab on her palm from where Bucky removed the glass shard is an itchy reminder of how much she hates the company she’s about to be in. She had tried sneaking out the back door of the restaurant to avoid Robert Redding who had conveniently been dining in the same restaurant. She knew the moment she saw him it was her mother’s doing, and her friend’s encouragement for her to go over and say hello only lead her to believe that she was in on it too. Not that she was surprised. From the moment Robert had begun visiting the estate with his father in June Y/N knew her parents planned on having them married. Without her brother around to inherit her father’s company and estate, Y/N would have to marry well, and who better than the son of her father’s vice-president. There was a sinking feeling in Y/N’s stomach when her mother asked her not to wear any rings to the gala, saying they might be a distracting from the main attraction. But, Y/N doesn’t want the ring she knows Robert is going to give her. He’s good looking enough and nice enough, but he’s dense and condescending. Y/N wants more. She wants the rugged and handsome and hard-working, honest and brave. Not the man who has had everything handed to him, the man who shied away from service when the world was begging for soldiers, Not the man who is going to trap her in an endless cycle of fake smiles and tea parties.

She can hear her parents in their bedroom getting ready for the night. Martin her father’s other driver is waiting in the car downstairs. Looking out the window she can see Bucky getting in his own car ready to head home for the night. Quietly she makes her way down the stairs and out the kitchen door.

“Bucky” she startles him. “What are you doing out here? You should be inside, you’re going to get your dress dirty”

She did buy a red dress, and she looked like a dream. Bucky knows she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he tries not to look too long, he’s heard the gossip around the house, he knows you’re meant to be engaged to Robert Redding tonight. “I want to go to Brooklyn” “what?” “Take me away from here please?” damn her and her eyes, how could he ever say no. “You’re parent’s aren’t going to like this, and Robert isn’t likely to ask you to marry him a second time” “I don’t care. I don’t want to marry him”. Bucky nods, opening the passenger seat door for her.

and so they speed off towards his home, where her new friend Rebecca and the lovely Winnifred wait.

She learns to cook and to sew, she helps make ends meet helping Winnifred with her laundry business. She puts her fancy education to good use and starts to teach. She reads all the books that she wants, she gets to sit in the front seat of Bucky’s car any time she wants. And she gets to marry the hard-working honest man from Brooklyn that she really wanted.

Author’s note: Sorry the end is rushed, it’s super late here now and I knew I’d never finish it if I let it wait until tomorrow. anyway, let me know what you think!

#bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #1940s!bucky #40s bucky

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