As the group translator, you seem to be the only one who can wake Bucky from his nightmares but soon everyone is left wondering if it is just your language skills that have an effect on Bucky.
WARNINGS: fluff, mention of sex
WORD COUNT: 2.3K (wow this is a long one… worth it though)
A/N: If you messaged me about being on my tag list, see the bottom. I made a boo-boo lmao. Also, apologies if the Portuguese bits are wrong. I do speak a little Portuguese but not much so feel free to correct me!
“Would you look at this,” Sam smirked from beside you. “The old crew back together again.” He sounded almost sarcastic as he glanced back at Bucky.
“Yeah, bosom buddies we are.” Bucky rolled his eyes and Sam smiled, knowing he’d got his sparring partner back.
“To share bosoms you’d actually have to get some, Barnes.” Sam teased and Steve chuckled, Bucky glaring at the back of Sam’s head.
“I get some, birdbrain,” Bucky muttered. “Besides, at least I don’t pine after red-headed Russian spies who are clearly out of your league.” You chuckled from the driver’s seat, twisting the keys to turn the engine on.
“Oh shut it, Miss Daisy,” Sam smiled and you fake gasped at his insult.
“I’ll have you know, I am the most experienced out of all of you.” You smirked, pulling out of the gas station and onto the road.
“Yeah right.” Bucky laughed and you looked in the rearview mirror to see his mouth twitching into a smile.
“Think about it logically fellas.” You said, shrugging. “Golden boy here has been on ice for ninety years and has only just bagged himself a girl.” You gestured to Steve who blushed but smiled. He didn’t care about experience. “You have only been alive for what, thirty years?” You turned to Sam who frowned.
“You say that like it’s an abnormal thing.” Sam muttered.
“And Mr. Robot was brainwashed for most of his life and I doubt Hydra considered his sex life.” You shrugged. Bucky knew you were right but glared anyway. “I on the other hand was young, alive and kicking in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, decades of sexual exploration and freedom.” You smirked at the road and the men glared at you. Bucky suddenly felt uncomfortable talking about your sex life and Steve noticed.
“Ugh, this isn’t fair.” Sam muttered.
“Suck it up, chickie.” You teased, pinching his cheeks. “How does it feel to be the baby of the group?” You teased and Sam glared, causing you to laugh.
The next twenty minutes passed, full of Bucky and Sam bickering sarcastically. You all couldn’t help the grins on your faces as you slipped back into the normal routine. Usually, after this amount of time, you and Steve would step in but neither of you could bring yourself to do it. The boys automatically silenced when the border approached. You passed the old man in the crappy toll booth without a problem and were soon on your way, the car comfortably quiet as you all admired the mountainous scenery.
“So how many?” Steve asked suddenly.
“How many what?” Bucky asked, frowning.
“People.” He was looking at you and you stared back at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m not telling you that.” You laughed quietly, focusing on the road.
“You brought it up.” Sam sided with Steve and you laughed again, ignoring them. The two continued pestering you. You finally gave in.
“It’s above thirty.” You admitted just as Bucky exploded.
“Cut it out!” He shouted and you all silenced. Steve smirked at his friend who stuttered for an explanation. “I was just gonna tell you to stop making her share something she doesn’t wanna share.” Sam looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows. You smiled at Bucky in the rearview mirror but he wasn’t looking.
“Thanks, Buck.” You said. He mumbled something that sounded like ‘no problem’ under his breath, looking out the window.
The rest of the journey through Spain consisted of Sam and Steve worming out stories of Tony’s childhood from you. You told them about his fascination with building things as a kid and how his father wasn’t around much to help him grow. You told him about the day you prepped him for his first date and how you watched him suffer through his parents’ death alone. That story was told in hushed tones, worried about Bucky’s reaction. He stilled but didn’t speak, relieved when the subject was changed to your life in the 70s. As night began to fall, you were pleased to find that Steve was right, you had made it to the border by the evening. Crossing the final pointless border check, you led the van behind you to a motel, parking up in the carpark.
“We can go for dinner tonight if you want?” Clint suggested and you smiled but declined the offer, declaring you needed to rest. This time you managed to get three rooms, one twin, one double and one twin with a sofa bed. You and Wanda offered to take the double, Clint and Scott settling for the twin, leaving Steve, Sam and Bucky with the family room. You dragged your duffle up the stairs and collapsed onto the bed, Wanda laughing at your exhaustion.
“You sure you don’t want to come for dinner?” She asked you for the millionth time as you lazily lounged on the bed, reading again.
“I’m sure Wanda.” You smiled. “I’m going to order some room service and take a bath.” She hesitated before leaving the room but said goodnight and shut the door behind her.
You were thankful you were finally alone. It had felt like weeks since that had happened. You decided on bathing first, filling the tub with hot water and bubbles as you sat on the side of the tub reading. When the tub was full you stripped down and assessed the damage under the bandage. Luckily the scratches had closed up a lot with your healing capabilities but the bruising was dark and sore. It was that that was causing you the most pain now. You ripped the bandage away, knowing it was doing no good now that the cuts had healed and climbed into the bath.
The warm water immediately soothed your aches and you relaxed, enjoying the quiet. After a long soak, you climbed out, stared at your clothes on the floor and huffed, not feeling like dressing in the clingy jeans and t-shirt. Instead, you wore the robe. It was a little small for you, the material only just covering your butt, and the material was a little scratchy, but it was loose and comforting and better than the alternative. With that you exited the bathroom, ready to order room service. To your surprise, Bucky was relaxing on your bed, your notebook in his hands.
“Hey.” You frowned at him, snatching the book away. He immediately jumped up, shocked at your presence.
“Y/N!” He stuttered, looking anywhere but your face. He tried to explain himself but gave up and settled on an apology. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like you it’s anything you haven’t heard me tell you today.” You sighed, instantly forgiving him as you walked over to the room service menu.
“I wish you’d stop that,” Bucky mumbled.
“Stop what?” You asked, flicking through the menu.
“Forgiving me so easy.” He admitted. “I don’t want you to treat you different.”
“I’m not treating you differently, Bucky.” you turned to him, holding out the menu. “I’m treating you like someone I care about.” Bucky frowned but took the menu from you, scanning its contents. You picked up the phone and began talking in Portuguese, ordering a Spaghetti Bolognese for yourself before turning to Bucky.
“Chicken pie.” he whispered.
“Torta de frango.” You repeated down the phone. You mimed a sign for beer followed by a thumbs up and Bucky responded with a nod “Quatro cervejas também, por favor.” You asked.
“Si, Obrigado” You said. “Tchau” Bucky looked at you in awe and you frowned.
“How do you speak so many languages.” He asked and you smiled.
“I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”
“What’s your favourite?” He sat down on your bed, legs kicked up onto the mattress.
“Portuguese, actually.” You admitted, sitting at the foot of the other side of the bed. You swung your legs up, careful not to flash under your robe, and used your arms to prop yourself up. “It’s the first language, besides English, that I could speak fluently.”
You weren’t sure why Bucky was in your room but you were unable to ask why. It seemed out of place. Like it shouldn’t be questioned - it was just happening. You talked more about languages and you even started teaching Bucky some Portuguese, laughing as he failed at the pronunciation.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Bucky said suddenly and you rolled your eyes. “No, let me say it. I’m sorry I hurt you - both physically and emotionally.”
You studied him for a second, examining the worry on his face. “I already forgave you for all of that, Barnes.” you whispered. You both looked at each other for what felt like a lifetime and you swore you saw his arm twitch toward your legs when there was a knock on the door.
“Serviço de quarto.” The voice called from the door and you grinned, jumping up to get the food. The man entered the room, placing the tray on the table by the window. You handed him some euros as a tip and he thanked you, nodding his head with a smile.
“Aproveite, senhor e senhora Y/S/N.” You blushed as he assumed you were married but didn’t have the heart to correct him, moving to sit at the table. Bucky joined you, taking his pie and opening the beer bottle with his teeth. You handed him your beer and he did the same with yours, throwing the two bottle caps in the bin. Silence settled over the pair of you as you ate but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You were just enjoying each other’s presence. It did, however, give you time to think about the last twenty-four hours. You had somehow managed to spill your secret back story to the entire group, fall out and makeup with Bucky in one morning and now you were eating dinner with the stupid super soldier you had a crush on. Your head spun. Bucky also couldn’t keep his mind from wandering. He too was baffled by this morning’s events and even more baffled to discover your history.
You were like him. Steve always tried to relate to him but willingly enduring a couple of hours of pain in a machine never seemed to stack up to Bucky’s eighty years of mindless torture. Sure the two had been in the war together and suffered through the losses of shared friends, but Steve and Bucky knew there were bridges that were impossible to build. But now, everything you said to him and the way you acted around him made sense. It may have only been a few years you were tortured, but it wasn’t consensual and it was repetitive. Bucky finished his meal and watched you scoop the last spoonful of spaghetti into your mouth, chuckling at the spot of red sauce at the side of your lip. Instinctively, he reached out and ran the pad of his thumb across the spot, wiping it away. You froze under his touch and even Bucky looked surprised at his action, quickly licking the tomato sauce off his finger.
Did he really just do that? You thought, leaning closer over the table.
“Y/N.” Bucky leaned forward, watching as your body inched closer to him. You froze for a second realising what was happening but stood abruptly. Bucky joined, stepping around the table and taking you into his arms, his hands cupping the small of your back as he lowered his face to yours. The kiss was soft but powerful, his lips moving against yours gently. You placed your hands on his chest, kissing back immediately. The heat of his body pressed against yours was enough to drive you insane and your hands moved up over his shoulders to tangle in his hair. His hands steadily moved downwards and you gasped when they gripped your ass.
Bucky took advantage of this and deepened the kiss, tongue running against yours. You lost yourself in his touch, the feeling of relief becoming too overpowering to notice the door opening. Bucky, however, did hear the clearing of a throat and broke the kiss, turning to see Wanda stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. You held your breath and Bucky stepped away, looking at you then back at Wanda. He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.” He frowned and then in three strides, crossed the small room and left, brushing past Wanda. You stared at the door long after he’d gone before turning to Wanda, who smiled sheepishly. “
What was that?” She teased, her voice excited but you just sighed, grabbing your pyjamas from the duffle.
“I don’t know.” You muttered, storming into the bathroom. You changed out of the robe and into the pyjamas quickly, knowing you didn’t want to think too much about what had just happened. You focused on brushing your teeth and splashing your face with water. Wanda was changed and waiting on the bed when you returned to the room and she looked up from her phone to greet you.
“Well, well, well.” She smirked and you ignored her, climbing under the covers. “You know I could just read your mind and find it all out myself.” She muttered. “Go ahead.” You murmured drowsily. “It’s not like you could make sense of that either.” Wanda frowned, going through your memory of what just happened.
“You’re right.” She defeatedly admitted. “But it was hot.” She wiggled her eyebrows at your back and you kicked her, causing her to let out a yelp. Wanda watched it a few more times over in her head, trying to piece things together. She couldn’t - but knew one thing.
“One thing is for sure.” She started, not aware that you were already fast asleep. “Bucky likes you too.”
okay so I did a stupid thing where I answered all tag list requests before writing down usernames as you can see I’m new at this so these are what I remember
If you did want to be tagged and don’t see your name below, please message me again and I’ll do it right this time lmao. Also, specify if you just want to be on the tag list for this series or the tag list for all my fics! Also also, if you are tagged and didn’t want to be, I am sorry - please let me know! :)
I’ve been thinking about this for a while but I think the reason so many teenagers/young adults of today yearn for the 90′s and the decades before that is because when 9/11 hit (when a lot of the teenagers and young adults of today would have been babies or children) it essentially shattered the prosperity and safety of ‘90′s culture.’ So I don’t think it’s because of the movies, music, and fashion, it’s because all these kids have known is a world full of nationalism, fear-mongering, and negative energy.
being able to use this platform to showcase vintage woc is truly amazing! first and foremost, this will always be for woc now and all the woc celebrities of bygone eras who continue to remain underrepresented and unappreciated in other vintage related blogs. it’s also extremely important to include the 90′s! remember y’all, 1990 is almost 30 years ago and 1999 is almost 20 years ago. another thing to consider is that more than ever before, there was a splurge of woc artists who emerged during the 90′s than past decades of the 20th century, for obvious reasons. vintage isn’t exclusive marilyn monroe, hippies, and gibson girls. vintage also includes g-fuck music, fiorucci jeans, and scary spice.
the 90’s certainly were his decade. i was just happy watching this kid mope through a lonely summer. it didn’t have to have this guy/angel/his older self intrude on it and work to make him happy, but i’m glad it did.
Were you born on the cusp of the 90′s decade? Did you grow up watching classic 90′s shows? Do you constantly have to justify the fact that you do get 90′s references? Then you should join the “I’m a 90′s Kid, I Swear” Net!
“A lot of this came from conversations about fashion. What ended up going in the K-Hole report was less explicitly about personal style but a lot of the things that spurred the ideas were related to fashion.” -Emily Segal
In K-HOLE’s conception, fashion can never be normcore, fashion can only ever be an expression of normcore. Normcore is the theory, Uniqlo is a practice.
Thought: Fashion symbols are hollow vessels with porous shells, open to being invested with new meaning by any new wearer. Normcore is not a vessel, it’s a core; but every corps has to wear clothes.
Acting Basic — "an attempt to getting out of the system of infinite difference by trying to be as simple as possible" — is the trend.
Normcore/Acting Basic vs “Mass Indie,” the mode of differentiation that spawned, e.g. 2012’s slippery debates around seapunk.
Appropriated on a purely surface level, Acting Basic is just another iteration of Mass Indie, the latest hit for the fashion junkie—a coolifying of the decidedly Not Cool, an ironic anti-fashion statement like the early-aughts trucker hat or an American Apparel-level blankness that proves you can look hot in anything.
Fashion is dialectical & temporal and there’s a reason normcore is manifesting as Acting Basic right now.
What was once-maybe-countercultural (sex, drugs, rebel w/out a cause) is now commonplace. Rebelliousness is saleable.
“In other words, niche markets were becoming mainstream propositions — and soon gave us the entire gloriously fractured culture we’re unavoidably (and more often than not wirelessly) connected to today.” -Carl Swanson
The fashion industry, which I once followed with the same nerdy glee I read comic books, has given way to something more like reality TV; designed for HD, to be sold with a Diet Coke.
Why 90’s basics: rewinding two decades of angst that pit the individual against society, authenticity against saleability, cool against the Man, to get back to our childhoods, back to a time before high school separated us into tables of preps, nerds, and hardcores.
The nostalgia of wearing the same clothes we once wore for recess serves as an added comfort to the physical ease of this practical uniform.
Reason we nostalgic for our youth = time before work = freedom
Also: play = mobility = openness = freedom
“When do you feel free?” she started asking everybody. Anxious silence.
“But if everyone can agree that all fashion is flawed, than we can agree none of it is. It’s a huge weight off of us, to be able to become who we would once call a ‘poser,’ and to know that there is no other option.” -Natasha Stagg
Bruce Sterling on the topic of our aesthetic recurrence, that not much has changed in fashion/design since the ’60s: “I’m wondering if the changes that are happening to us now aren’t so much cosmetic and stylistic on the outside, I kind of wonder if the really big changes are happening physically, biologically, organically inside of our heads with no plasticity.”
I feel transformed by change — climate change, economic swings, technological innovation. I sense storms coming, see the middle class disappearing, and appreciate that future tech will continue to alter my inner life as every new app seems to.
The basicness of normcore isn’t an attempt to halt such movement (like the movement from the subcultural to the mainstream or the churning of the global luxury industry), it’s decking ourselves out for changes still yet to come.
Normcore via Acting Basic is not a look for resale—it can’t be fully editorialized, because you can’t sell ad space without luxury labels.
What’s going to be cool next is whatever hasn’t been pillaged from thrift stores yet? The remainder pile?
Or, fashion allergies, see Gibson: “CPUs. Cayce Pollard Units. That’s what Damien calls the clothing she wears. CPUs are either black, white, or gray, and ideally seem to have come into this world without human intervention.
…What people take for relentless minimalism is a side effect of too much exposure to the reactor-cores of fashion. This has resulted in a remorseless paring-down of what she can and will wear. She is, literally, allergic to fashion. She can only tolerate things that could have been worn, to a general lack of comment, during any year between 1945 and 2000. She’s a design-free zone, a one-woman school of anti whose very austerity periodically threatens to spawn its own cult.”
Trends simultaneous 2 normcore: streetwear/athletica; new tech looks (GoogleGlass), VFILES/DIS/logomania.
Yesterday I swear to god I wore my iPad mini as an accessory.
Where: Instagram, which is the new street (street style blogs are the new magazines).
Emily Segal I think rightly called out Merrell’s as a next step in normcore lol.
ONCE YOU NAME A TREND YOU KILL IT THO.
The American Mall Look: post-Empire fashion, crumbling American Dream, an embrace of their monuments, manufacturing from overseas, post-Fordist workwear…
What I miss most about your smile are your canine teeth, the way your eyes turned into crescent moons, and the dimples in your cheeks. I miss how you sat, the way you half-way crossed your legs. I miss the way your freckles wandered down your neck and then across your chest. I miss the way your knuckles cracked and the way you arched your back. I miss your music taste, born in the 90’s, three decades late. I miss riding with you in the passenger seat of your car. I miss the look on your face and then how you’d laugh when it wouldn’t start. I miss the time we spent at the coffee shop and how we sat, sipped our coffee, and talked. I miss all the late nights that we spent, just us and our darkest secrets. I miss how we were back then, but while I’m missing you, you’re missing him.
I sometimes wish the world ended in 2000 (the millennium) because apart from Technology, everything has basically gone to crap. The 90's was the last decade of everything that was great and I'm glad Fresh Prince was apart of that.
There’s nothing wrong with being proud of the time that you grew up in and to feel nostalgic for it. As a fellow 90’s kid, I get it. We didn’t really have the internet, we didn’t have iPods, we didn’t know what Netflix was yet, we read books instead of blogging websites, the only phones we had were still attached to the wall, and if we weren’t doing chores around the house, we were playing outside with our friends because that’s all we could do. And yes, I agree that when we were “their age,” we were much more active. But you have to understand that nobody has a choice of what decade they’re born into. Today, they’re being raised on technology. Sitting here making jokes about it on social networking sites is not going to change that. You can’t hate kids born after 1997, just because your parents happened to meet and have sex before theirs did. It’s illogical. You can be mad at the parents for spoiling their kids, I’m not arguing with you there, but that’s not the kid’s problem. Just think of how the 80’s kids felt for us 90’s kids. Every decade is going to feel sorry for the next one. Yes, I still roll my eyes when I see an eight year old sporting the latest iPhone, or when I see eleven year olds who think that having no wifi connection is the biggest problem in the world. But you can’t expect kids today to beat themselves up and walk around hanging their heads in shame, wondering why, oh why, was I not born in the 90’s. So, go on and brag about primitive technology if you want, but being bitter towards the next generation isn’t going to make them any better. When you have kids of your own, you raise them how you want. If that means raising them like a 90’s kid, then so be it.
My contribution for May’s Let’s Draw! Sherlock. This month’s theme was School!Lock, so here we have Sherlock receiving some unsolicited “help” from his big brother!
Since Sherlock is in his mid 30’s during BBC Sherlock, he would have been in his teens during the 90’s decade- hence his Nokia phone (the only phone Mycroft considered sturdy enough to survive Sherlock’s abuse).