#picture1000wordswc

[brookecuzyes]

No Need To Worry — B.B.

40s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary: After Bucky and the other soldiers were rescued, Bucky, Steve, and some of the other soldiers went to a bar to relax. Who would’ve thought that a few beers could turn into something more? (3rd Person POV)

Word Count: ≈5.1k (wha-😃)

Warnings: extreme fluff, cursing, it gets a little spicy but also doesn’t at the same time, sorta alludes to loss of virginities, alcohol consumption, Bucky gets upset at reader but nothing too crazy happens, sadness (If i missed anything, please tell me!)

A/N: This one-shot is for @startrekkingaroundasgard ‘s writing challenge. I had sooo much fun writing this. It was originally supposed to be smut, but I chickened out lmao. I hope you enjoy this regardless, though! (I added the picture prompt for the header thing— if you don’t want it there, just tell me and i’ll remove it)

———————————————————————-

Steve Rogers had just gotten some-400 men out of the hands of German scientists. They were so relieved to have been saved after quite a few weeks of being Prisoners of War. After returning to America, Steve wanted to go back and take down HYDRA. So, he took on the responsibility to assemble a team to go with him.

“See,” Bucky said to Steve, who was walking over to the bar. He had just convinced a couple of guys to join him going back to Germany. All they needed were a couple beers and were drawn-in immediately. “They’re all idiots.”

“How about you?” Steve asked, “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight… I’m following him,” Bucky replied, earning a small grin from Steve. “But, you’re keeping the outfit, right?”

“You know what? It’s kinda growing on me.”

“Well I think it looks remarkable, Captain Rogers,” a lady’s voice said, putting an arm around the two boys. Steve and Bucky turned their heads slightly and were met with a familiar face. “Hello, boys.”

“Y/N!” Steve exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. “Surprised to see you here. Bars aren’t really your thing.”

“Well, they are when I know my two idiot friends just came back from a war. Speaking of,” she slapped Bucky’s shoulder, “don’t scare me like that, Barnes. Becky had me thinking you were dead.” He smiled sadly and stood up to hug her too.

“My bad, doll. Next time, I’ll make sure to write,” he wittily replied. She scoffed and sat down in between the two boys. “And, by the way, if you’re calling Steve ‘Captain’, then you get to call me ‘Sergeant’. Understood?”

“Yes, Sarge,” she replied while saluting him, making the two boys laugh. The soldiers Steve recruited had been singing quite loudly for the last few minutes, and it came as a surprise when the singing ceased. Steve, Y/N, and Bucky turned their heads to the doorway and saw the one and only Agent Peggy Carter. She was dressed in a beautiful red dress— something that no one would normally see her in. No wonder the boys stopped singing; they were in awe.

The boys stood up when she walked in, and Y/N stayed sitting in her chair, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

“Captain,” Peggy greeted.

“Agent Carter,” greeted Steve.

“Ma’am,” said Bucky. Peggy looked at the girl sitting at the bar, knowing who she was, and waved at her. Y/N waved back and gave her a nice little grin.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” she asked Steve.

“Sounds good.” Steve was eyeing her, and both Y/N and Bucky picked up on it. Though, Bucky was more focused on Peggy himself to really give it a second thought.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.”

“You don’t like music?”

“I do, actually. I might, even when this is all over, go dancing.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Bucky added.

“The right partner,” Peggy replied, not taking her eyes off of Steve. “0800, Captain.” And then she just walked off, not even glancing at the Sergeant besides her.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be there,” Steve replied, loud enough so she could hear. Bucky watched her as she left, shocked.

“I’m invisible,” he announced. “I-I’m turning into you. This is a horrible dream.” The boys walked back to the bar and sat next to Y/N.

“Oh, that’s not true, Sarge. I still see you. You and your greasy hair,” Y/N joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“Yeah, don’t take it so hard, maybe she’s got a friend,” Steve added, placing a friendly pat on his back. ‘I’m gonna go hang with the other guys for a minute. I’ll be back.” Steve walked away into the other section of the bar, leaving Bucky and Y/N alone with each other. Bucky seemed disappointed in the situation and was staring at his near-empty beer bottle.

“Ya know,” Y/N started, noticing his sad demeanor, “I knew Peggy in high school.”

“Okay, and?” Bucky asked, not getting the hint.

“We were very close friends. She was always top of her class, and I was… well, not quite there. We always hung out after school. When she joined the military, we promised to keep in touch, which we have. It’s just different,” she explained. After a brief moment, she grabbed the beer bottle and drank some of it. Bucky looked at her wildly (a good wildly) and just grinned-- teeth and all.

“Damn, I didn’t know you drank,” Bucky remarked, staring at her eyes.

“Hmm, I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Barnes,” Y/N said, setting down the now empty bottle.

“Yeah, I guess not.” He positioned himself back in his chair to sit forward. He turned his head to look at her, processing the drink. She saw him staring at her in the corner of her eye and proceeded to turn to look at him.

“How long will y’all be gone?” she asked after shaking her head slightly.

“I’m not sure.”

“Hopefully not too long. I’ve missed you, James.”

“Really? You? Missing me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s true. Plus, you’ve left me with your sister, and she’s a very social person. I’m not,” she said, giggling.

“What do you mean? You love people.”

“Not when it’s the very few boys that didn’t get drafted or enlist,” she responded, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Oh,” Bucky said, realizing what she’d been doing the last couple of months. “You’ve been going on dates.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to, but your damn sister dragged me into it. Hey, can I have… whatever the hell this is?” Y/N asked the bartender, who just so happened to be walking by.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he said, going to grab another bottle.

“Lemme guess: you’ve taken to alcohol to cope with the dating?” Bucky asked, turning his body to face Y/N and placing his elbow on the counter-top to rest his head on his fist.

“Precisely,” she said. The bartender set down a beer for her after he opened it. She gladly accepted it, and took a small swig of it. It was small because Bucky took it out of her hands.

“Gimme that,” he said. He took a sip of it and set it down.

“Don’t tell me that I shouldn’t be drinking when you just drank my beer.”

“No. I was gonna say that you should slow down for a minute, OK?” He stared at her with this look in his eyes. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but would eventually figure it out.

“Trust me, Barnes, I’ve been taking it slow. This is slow,” she said, reaching for the bottle. Bucky quickly placed a light grip around her wrists, but it was tight enough so she couldn’t get out of his grip. “What the fuck, James?”

“I said no, Y/N.” His voice was stern. He was serious. However, Y/N being Y/N, she wanted to see how far she could take this. He slowly let go of her wrist and she moved her hand to the counter. She was eyeing the bottle. Bucky knew what was up. “Don’t do it, doll.” She didn’t listen. She grabbed the bottle as quick as she could, and actually got her hand on the bottle, but she wasn’t able to grab it.

Bucky had enough of it. He knew that she was messing around, but he was being serious. When she went for the beer, he stood up and grabbed her shoulders. He towered over her, trying to give himself more power over the situation. He was physically very close to Y/N. Bucky kept a lock of his gaze on her, staring straight into her. She looked up at him, startled by what he was doing, and saw the look he was giving her. Their eyes were stuck on each other’s for God knows how long. His eyes, as Y/N observed, went from stern to soft real fast. His pupils went huge.

“Bucky,” Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Hey,” he whispered back, keeping the stare on her. He released his grasp on her, but left his hands on her. They slowly went from her shoulders to her sides while saying, “I- uh… I don’t know-”

“It’s OK,” she reassured him, carefully placing one of her hands on his chest and the other ventured to the side of his face, resting on his left cheek. He wasn’t focused on her eye anymore, but her lips. Bucky’s eyes shot back and forth between the two. He was looking for a sign to go ahead with what he wanted to do— something that he didn’t realize he wanted to do for a while now.

“Kiss me, James.” Y/N was straightforward, and she wanted this as much as he did. Shooting his eyes back and forth a few more times, he slowly closed the small space between, landing a magical kiss on her lips. Immediately, Y/N kissed him back, both of them steadily melting into it. On any other given day, Y/N is not the type for public displays of affection— especially when it comes to kissing. However, right now in this moment, she felt as if the room was empty and it was only her and Bucky.

After quite a few seconds, Bucky reluctantly pulls away. He looked at Y/N with that look he gave her earlier, only now Y/N knew why. He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger on the side of her head.

“Y/N?” he quietly asked.

“Yeah, Buck?” He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out.

“Is James Buchanan Barnes finally at a loss for words?” Y/N teased, making the two of them chuckle, their smiles not fading from their faces when they were done laughing.

“Do you want to, um-”

“Hey, Sarge!” Gabe said, snapping Y/N and Bucky out of their trance. “Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. The Captain wanted you to know that we were heading out. You coming? You can bring your girl with you, if you want.”

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Y’all can go,” Bucky responded.

“OK. Goodnight, Barnes. Ma’am.” Gabe walked off, leaving the two alone once again.

“You didn’t deny it,” Y/N said, turning her attention back to Bucky.

“What do you mean?”

“He said, ''You can bring your girl,” she pointed out.

“I mean... he wasn’t wrong.”

“You could’ve gone with them. They are your team.”

“Yeah, well, I have other plans for tonight,” Bucky replied.

“Really? What’re your plans?” Bucky just smiled and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chair. He navigated her through the bar, trying to get to the exit. The bar was still packed, even though it was getting incredibly late. However, tomorrow would be Saturday, so getting wasted was the first thing that came to mind for most people. Eventually, Y/N and Bucky found their way out, and were now faced with the brisk air of Brooklyn.

“Bucky, what’re we doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky shifted themselves to where Bucky was behind Y/N, holding her tightly by her waist.

“I’m taking the pretty girl from the bar home,” he answered, delicately nipping at her neck. She deliberately let her head fall back onto Bucky’s shoulder, giving him more room. He tactfully dug his fingers into her sides, creating more and more tension between the two.

“Bucky…” She whispered his name once again, only this time she wasn’t pissed at him. This time, she wanted everything to do with him. “Take me home, James.” He stopped kissing her neck and repositioned his face to the side of hers-- his nose gently brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

“Anything you want, doll,” he entrancingly whispered in her ear. He got a hold of her hand once again and walked with her down the street, making sure she was by his side at all times. His apartment was a few blocks away, so the walk would’ve been a little over twelve minutes, but was fixated on getting home. As an effect, the walk was under nine minutes.

They soon arrived at the front door of Bucky’s apartment. It was a small complex, but the apartment itself was the perfect size for Bucky, since it was really just him. He dug around in his pocket looking for his keys. Y/N was leaning against the doorway, amused with watching him fumble with his pants pockets.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asked, lips upturning slightly.

“You’re looking in the wrong places, Sarge,” she implied. Bucky’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. In an attempt to show him what she meant, she stood up straight and walked in front of him, placing her hands on his chest. Her right hand moved up to a pocket on his shirt and grabbed a set of keys out of there.

“How did you-”

“I watched you move them from your back pocket to this pocket while we were walking,” she answered, pointing her finger to his chest. Bucky took the keys out of her hand and placed them into the lock, looking at Y/N with a smile. He opened the door and let Y/N walk in first. He followed behind her and shut the door, locking it.

“God, it’s been awhile since I’ve been in here,” she remarked, taking a nice glance around the room. She took her sweater off and neatly set it down on the back of the couch. Bucky set his keys in a bowl which was sitting on a half-wall divide at the entrance.

“You can take your shoes off, if you’d like to. I’m sure those heels are annoying,” Bucky said, pointing at her heels.

“Yeah, they are. Guess who got me wearing them?” she teased, knowing that Bucky got who she was talking about. She walked over to the front door where Bucky still was. (There was a mat by the door where Bucky kept his shoes when he walked in.) He watched as she walked over. She stopped right in front of him, fixed on his blue eyes. She bent over and picked her leg up to reach for her shoe. When she got that one off, she got the other shoe. They slipped off pretty easily. She set them down on the mat and turned her attention back to Bucky. He kicked off his shoes while she was, and he maintained a glance on her.

“I, uh… I wanna talk,” Bucky said. He took ahold of her hand and walked her over to the couch. He let her sit down first and he followed behind. They sat looking at each other. Bucky played with his fingers in nervousness.

“Y/N,” he started. “I-I really like you. I have for a while, actually.” He felt his heart beating out of his chest, and he was quiet when he spoke. “I just don’t want to mess anything up with us. I mean, we’ve been friends for a while now— good friends, at that. And I’m not the best at relationships-“

“James,” Y/N interrupted, placing her hand on his fidgety ones, “you’re not gonna mess anything up.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes shot to her lips, and he realized that she was doing the same thing with him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” she groaned, leaning in. Bucky started leaning in, too, but slowly-- and they,, once again, closed the space between them. This kiss was different from their first one. The first was sweet and soul-stirring. This second kiss was rougher and more heated. Bucky’s heart was beating like crazy. He was nervous but absolutely in love at the same time. He wasn’t necessarily sure where to put his hands, so he just put them on her waist again. Y/N’s hands fell on his shoulders, her right hand creeping up his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. She tilted her head to the side a bit, breaking the kiss for a split second to get a breath of air, and getting better access to Bucky's lips. Their breathing was getting heavier, they were both getting touchier, their bodies are the closest they’ve ever been. Everything was electric and anything they ever wondered was clicking.

Bucky tenderly pushed themselves down on the couch, leaving Bucky laying on Y/N. The kiss was gradually getting hotter and more intense as time went on. When Y/N started moving her hands to Bucky’s chest and played with the buttons on his shirt, he abruptly pulled away, leaving Y/N confused. Bucky had a hungry look on her, and they were both catching their breaths.

“Is everything OK, Buck?” Y/N asked, concerned that she might’ve done something wrong.

“Uh, yeah, I just…” he chuckled nervously, “have you ever, um…”

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” he replied after a second. Their breathing was beginning to go back to normal. Y/N didn’t take her eyes off of the man— Bucky didn’t either, but he felt as if he physically couldn’t take his eyes off of her beautiful eyes, or any other perfect feature on her face.

“Do you not want to? It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I mean, it’s me, of course I wanna. But, do you want to? That’s what I’m more concerned about.”

“I do,” she answered. And, with that, Bucky wasted no time. He swiftly picked her up and carried her to his room, kicking the door closed behind him. That night, Y/N and Bucky gave themselves up to each other. They went all night, and had never felt as good as they did at that moment. They— eventually— fell asleep, somehow getting enough sleep.

——

The following morning, they both woke up nestled in the bed and each other. Bucky had his left arm draped over Y/N’s body, never wanting to let go. Half-awake, Bucky moved his head into the crook of her neck and peppered a few light kisses there.

“Y/N,” he mumbled in her neck. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” She shifted a bit and managed to turn her head to look at Bucky, half-asleep.

“G’morning,” she said, her eyes barely open. Bucky moved and propped himself up on his fist, continuing to stare into Y/N’s eyes. He didn’t know how lost he could get in those eyes.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

“Yeah, a little sore, though. Did you?”

“I did,” Bucky chuckled. After a few moments, he asked, “Do you want food?” Y/N tiredly nodded, and Bucky threw the thin sheets off of them, completely exposing their bodies. A rush of cold air hit Y/N’s body, making her gasp slightly. Bucky noticed and quickly moved the sheet back on her, placing a kiss on her temple and whispering a small, “sorry,” in her ear. Bucky picked his clothes off of the floor and put most of it back on— he threw his underwear and socks into his hamper and dug for new ones in his drawer. He needed his uniform for work and didn’t have time to wash it last night. Y/N sat up, holding the sheets over herself, as Bucky was putting his clothes on. As he was putting on his belt, he turned back because he heard the rustling, and smiled. Y/N was running her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look decent, and then rubbed her hand on her face to try and wake herself up.

“Ya know, you’re a really pretty woman,” Bucky complimented, lifting his pants up to fit him better. Y/N smiled nervously.

“Thank you,” she replied, not really knowing what to say.

“Do you need a change of clothes? I think I got something you can wear,” he offered, opening up another drawer to look for something.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I can wear the skirt I was wearing, though.” Bucky rummaged through the drawer, looking for a t-shirt. He found a grey t-shirt and held it up to her.

“Could this work?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied. Bucky walked closer to the bed and reached over to hand it to Y/N. She took the shirt from his hands and looked over to her right. She saw all of her clothes just sitting right there. She was about to just hop out of the bed, but thankfully Bucky had finished getting dressed.

“OK, I’ll give you some privacy and I’ll cook up something,” he said, making his way to the door. He put his hand on the handle before turning around and asking, “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m good, thank you.” With one last glance and her figure, he walked out and closed the door softly behind him. She sighed in content before standing up, keeping the sheet close to her body, and putting on her clothes. Thankfully, the shirt Bucky pulled out worked well enough with the skirt she chose the night before— a grey shirt with a black skirt. There was a mirror leaning on the wall, so Y/N went over to look at her outfit before she walked out of the room. She guessed that Bucky had meant to hang up the mirror or get rid of it, but never got to it. She straightened out her outfit and turned around to head out of the bedroom. She slowly opened the door and saw Bucky in the kitchen. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, as if he wanted it to be perfect. She walked out of the doorway and into the living space, leading to Bucky looking up to see her. He smiled when he saw her in his clothes.

“You look good, doll,” he complimented. “Shirt looks good on you.”

“Right, I’m gonna have to give this back to you,” she said, making a mental note to herself.

“No need. You can keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.” Y/N smiled and nodded her slightly in understandment. She wasn’t going to say no to that. She scratched out the note in her head, and strolled over to the kitchen. Bucky was making eggs— which, by the way, made her day even better knowing that Bucky was so focused on making the eggs perfect. He was finished by then, and grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets, putting some eggs on it and handing it to Y/N with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you, Buck,” she said, taking her plate into her hand then opening a drawer to grab a fork for her and Bucky. She walked over to the kitchen table, and started eating the eggs. They were really good. Bucky soon joined Y/N at the table, both silently eating breakfast, not entirely sure of what to talk about.

“So,” Bucky started, awkwardly. “Should we talk about last night, or…?”

“I mean, I guess so. You said it last night— that you liked me. I like you, too. I don’t know what you wanna do with that.” Bucky looked up from his plate and into her glowing eyes. Her eyes seemed to sparkle more in the morning than he had noticed during any other time. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud knock at the door, scaring the absolute shit out of the two.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbled, getting up from his chair to answer the door. “Steve!” He exclaimed.

“Bucky! Good morning. I figured I’d give you a ride. Carter needs us this morning,” Steve said, eager to get back to work.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. Uh, yeah, just gimme a second. You can come in, there’s a couple eggs on the stove.” Bucky ran to his room for something, but Y/N didn’t know what. She was left dazed and confused. Steve walked in and glanced around, only to find one of his close friends just eating breakfast at his best friend’s house.

“Y/N?” He asked. Y/N’s head jerked up, just now realizing that Bucky invited Steve in— that idiot, she thought.

“Oh, hi, Steve… How are ya this morning?” She asked, trying to make the situation less awkward. Bucky ran back into the living space with a duffel bag full of stuff (probably his clothes).

“I’m ready to go… oh, right, Steve- er… Y/N stayed over last night,” Bucky stammered, trying to come up with some form of excuse without completely outing each other. Y/N smiled at the attempt.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“It’s just, ya know, we’re leaving tomorrow and all that. We would have invited you, but you were off with those loud-ass dogs that are supposed to defend our country,” he explained. He wasn’t necessarily lying. That technically was a legitimate reason why they hung out last night, they just so happened to do a little bit more, though.

“Dogs? Really? That’s all you got?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, just howling all night. Fuckin’ annoying if you ask me.”

“OK,” Y/N chimed in, standing up and walking over to the shoe mat. “I think you boys need to head to work. It’s almost eight.” Steve’s eyes went wide and he started freaking out.

“C’mon, Bucky! We’ve gotta go, I’ll be in the car. Bye, see you later, Y/N.” He speed-walked all the way to the car. Y/N grabbed her heels and sat back down, putting them on. Bucky slid his shoes on and strolled over to Y/N, kneeling in front of her. She picked up her head just a bit and was met with Bucky’s steel blue eyes. Their faces were impossibly close.

“I have to go,” he announced, though she already knew that.

“OK… promise me you’ll come back?”

“I promise, doll,” he grabbed her hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. She rested her forehead on his, their eyes closing.

“Yeah, you’ll come back and we will… be together. Right?”

“Anything you want. I’ll do you one better: I’m gonna marry you when I get back, darling.” Y/N smiled and a tear fell down her face. Bucky’s eyes were starting to water.

“I like the sound of that, Sergeant Barnes.” They both chuckled at the name. She moved her head to look at Bucky real good before pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, never wanting to let go. He took in how her hair felt, how she smelt— he didn’t want to leave a single detail out, he always wanted to remember everything about her so he could brag to his buddies about his girl. Y/N did the same, but mainly due to the fact that there was a huge chance that he wouldn’t even come back.

“You stay safe, you hear me, James?” She said, now looking him dead in the eyes. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears, and Bucky couldn’t stand the sight of that— breaking out in silent tears himself.

“There’s no need to worry about me, baby. I’ll be fine. You make sure no low-life tries to put his hands on you, alright. You’re my girl.” Y/N’s heart melted at the statement. She was James Barnes’ girl. That’s when the tears fell from her face.

In a moment like this, you wish for it to never end. But, moments like this can never last. Steve honked the horn of his car, making the couple chuckled once more.

“You better go before Peggy gets mad at you.” Without another word (but a whole lot of staring), Bucky stood up, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the door. He stopped in the doorway, looking at her beautiful eyes once more.

“I get it now. What you said about being Peggy’s friend last night at the bar. You were hitting on me, weren’t you?” Bucky asked. Y/N searched for the memory in her brain and remembered what he was talking about.

“Oh, right… yeah, I guess I was,” she said, smiling at the memory. That’s when Bucky knew he had to go or he’d never leave.

“Goodbye, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Adíos, Sargent James “Bucky” Barnes,” she replied, saluting him. He smiled and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Now, Y/N was left alone with just her thoughts and anxieties. She sobbed for what felt like an eternity before forcing herself to clean up his apartment just a bit before taking off.

For the next few months, she would be hanging out with Rebecca or some of her other girl friends. All of her friends had these serious relationships with their military boy. They never knew about Y/N’s hookup, though. She didn’t want to bring it up. No one had to know, it was their little secret. Well, she did end up telling Rebecca that they were together, just not in detail as to what actually happened. She was so excited. Her and Y/N would be sisters now. That’s all she needed to hear, really.

Y/N was left content. She frequently receives letters from Bucky, and a few from Steve. She even got photos of the guys, too. She wrote back, always happy to hear that they were doing just fine.

That was until she didn’t get a letter from either of the guys in weeks. It was an understatement to say that she was worried. She would re-read the previous letters to try and calm herself down—which worked sometimes.

Peggy Carter showed up at Y/N’s doorstep one day. When she opened the door she was happy to see her, until she read Peggy’s face. Something was off.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, but-“ was all she had to say. Y/N was shaking her head, tears were already forming in her eyes, her hand shot over her mouth. She was in disbelief, grief, denial, all of it.

No he couldn’t be dead, that’s impossible, he promised to come back. Turns out, there wasn’t even a body. Of course, no one told Y/N this, especially Peggy, she knew how she would react.

So, for the longest time, Y/N’s questions were left unanswered and didn’t get answered for years and years on end.

Who would’ve known: it would take the same people who killed Bucky for Y/N to learn everything she needed to know about James Buchanan Barnes… or should I say the Winter Soldier?

———————————————————————7/8/21

[dilfbane]

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard 

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic. 

Word Count: 7.8k. 

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy!��

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.” 

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties. 

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town. 

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed. 

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air. 

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening. 

“You don’t see that problem with that?!” 

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor. 

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now. 

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.” 

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed. 

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “ 

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?” 

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you. 

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end. 

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.” 

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.” 

He smirks at you, then. He knows. 

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?” 

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks. 

Tonight? 

One bed? 

You are screwed. 

                                                             ***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers. 

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay. 

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy: 

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it. 

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful. 

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one. 

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you. 

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG? 

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all. 

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting. 

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse. 

Actually, though? Not really. 

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” 

“Sorry?” 

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.” 

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.” 

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but - 

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch. 

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.” 

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him. 

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.” 

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.” 

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things. 

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

 Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.” 

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.” 

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers. 

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.” 

“Why?” He asks you. 

“You - really?” 

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.” 

“Yeah,” You  tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.” 

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.” 

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.” 

In reality, it’s several someones. 

                                                             ***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?” 

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring. 

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment. 

“I’m working on it,” He says. 

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’” 

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.” 

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.” 

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts. 

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes. 

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.” 

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply. 

“Did Tony not -“ 

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.” 

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t. 

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says. 

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret - 

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time. 

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you. 

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and - 

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.” 

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet - 

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles - 

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said. 

That you will survive this. 

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue. 

“So what do we do?” You ask him. 

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin. 

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

 “Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze. 

And then the Pink Cobra walks in. 

                                                             ***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with - 

It might be easier not to - 

Fuck. 

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on. 

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by - 

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong. 

You’ll never trust him again. 

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell. 

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out. 

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger. 

He’d looked as scared as you feel. 

And you have no idea why. 

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce. 

You can’t do anything, much. 

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles. 

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.” 

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look. 

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear. 

Next, he addresses Loki. 

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?” 

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose. 

And you know that you can’t let him choose it. 

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?” 

“The thing could be managed.” 

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life. 

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?” 

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess. 

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down. 

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.” 

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?” 

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth. 

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says. 

And then your body knows pain. 

                                                             ***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head,  drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still. 

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm. 

You breathe, and your body knows pain. 

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain. 

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged. 

You blink, and your body feels pain. 

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.” 

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again. 

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this. 

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on. 

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.” 

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?! 

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“ 

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.” 

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch. 

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content. 

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin. 

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body. 

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.” 

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this. 

                                                             ***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him. 

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm. 

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly. 

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking. 

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.” 

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word. 

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.” 

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.” 

That’s… different. 

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.” 

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“ 

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.” 

You nod. 

“Best get it over with, then.” 

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says. 

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted. 

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back. 

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all. 

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“ 

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” 

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad. 

“Will I have to - “ 

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.” 

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate,  quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern. 

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.” 

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.” 

“And you wanted to -“ 

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

 “Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it. 

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t. 

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety. 

You’d failed him. 

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.” 

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware. 

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.” 

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you. 

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.” 

“Enlightening.” 

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.” 

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale. 

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.” 

“I don’t -“ 

He holds a hand up. You still. 

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.” 

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort. 

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing? 

He could not - he can’t - feel the same. 

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.” 

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.” 

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous. 

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip. 

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.” 

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice. 

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow. 

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that? 

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you. 

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart. 

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?” 

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr. 

“Go to sleep.”

[jasmine-jules]

Escaping to Chaos

Sylvie & Loki & Mobius

1500+ words

Warnings: Fairly general. Little depiction of violence, mild language

A/N: Hey all! I can’t believe I wrote this piece only two days after getting the prompt. I mean I can, but it all has to do with the fact that I saw this theory on TikTok the other day about Sylvie’s relationship with the TVA and why Mobius is so invested in Loki variants. And then because the episode airs tomorrow, I didn’t want my cute and sweet theory destroyed by whatever painful thing we get. So yeah :)

Here’s my submission for the ever so lovely, @startrekkingaroundasgard 6k writing challenge: A picture is worth a thousand words. My picture prompt was the darkened, rainy street view in the writing challenge post, I couldn’t get it to paste in well Here

Hope you enjoy! Leave me a comment or a heart if you do, and feel free to check out my Masterlist if you want to see others like it!

~~~~~~~~~

Sylvie feels the time winds bluster past her as she steps through the door, and the air around her falls silent. The chaos of Lamentis 1 fades as the door slams shut, leaving her in quiet and safety. For now.

How? She’s actually not hundred percent sure yet, all she knows is that she saw a door; she saw a chance to live. And she couldn’t not take it. 

She’s spent this long surviving, this long fighting for the freedom of herself and everyone else around her—if anything, wishing for life to be the exact sort of chaos she just ran from. The TVA stole her from her home, they destroyed her family and everything she knew before she even got a chance to know it. She will not give up that easily.

“So, where do you think we ended up this time?” Loki’s lilting voice breaks through the peaceful din of the rainy, empty street they stand on. 

“Damn,” she mutters under her breath as she hears the one voice she hasn’t been able to shake yet.

“You think I would know? I don’t even know who was responsible for the stupid time door.” She whirls around, exasperated. Why is he still here, the only reason they stuck together was to get away from that doomed moon, and it wasn’t long before she couldn’t hold back from voicing those same thoughts,

“Why are you still following me around like a homesick puppy? I was only resisting my urge to kill you to get off that planet, and guess what? My reason is-” she snaps her fingers, “gone. So now you should be too.” After all, he’s just another person for the TVA to steal away from her, so it’s better that he leaves before he turns into anything more than a nuisance. 

“You need me.” Loki jabs towards her chest, “You wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for me, and I you. So,” he crosses his arms indignantly, “fortunately for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

She resists the urge to smack him across that knowing grin he flashes her, he’s won and he knows it, “Fine. But we need to move, we still don’t know who opened that door and I’m not eager to meet them.”

“Lead the way, my Lady.” He gestures his arms towards the open sidewalk in front of him. 

Sylvie rolls her eyes and walks in the opposite direction of his arm, crashing her shoulder intentionally into his as she passes by. 

As they walk, she fights to push away the ease the comes with being in Loki’s presence. The sense of family. Of belonging. Of having someone by your side that knows you, understands what makes you tick and why you fight. She has no idea when it did turn from a very real urge to kill him, to this. 

She knows that Loki feels it too, but his fondness based more on a memory of a brother that she herself never had a chance to know. His pull to be near any Asgardian kinship stronger than the instinctual distrust of a stranger. She feels it every time he drops a hushed truth about himself, and every time he pushes her out of the way of a meteor. He can’t help but think of family either.

Sylvie hasn’t felt this in years. Decades even... she stops in her tracks.

“Sylvie?” 

But she barely hears Loki’s question through the hurricane of thoughts stampeding through her mind, whizzing past her faster than time. She hardly registers his presence even as he hesitantly steps towards her like trying not to spook an animal.

“I know who opened the time door for us,” She manages to get the words past her choked throat, “And I think you do too.”

She can see the dots piecing together behind Loki’s eyes—his face falling as the realization dawns on him.

“Do we run?” He asks, but she knows it’s a fruitless, rhetorical question. They both know the answer. 

“Ahhh, you two finally figured it out?”

Sylvie would recognize that soft, drawled out voice anywhere, even considering the centuries that’s passed since she last heard it in any meaningful conversation. She doesn’t turn to look at him just yet, but instead pleads silently to Loki’s eyes, begging him to take the lead. She can’t bear to talk to Mobius, not this time at least. 

It takes hardly any time at all for Loki to catch on, and she almost doesn’t comprehend the tiny, imperceptible nod he aims her way, the flood of white noise drowning out any constructive thought. All she can manage to do is to move in harmony with Loki as he makes his way towards Mobius. 

Instead of following any charming word or thrown slight that falls from Loki’s mouth, she’s overtaken with memories of when she first stepped into the dingy, perpetual grayness of the TVA.

Fingers wrapped too tightly around her little arm. Her long black hair stinging her scalp as the Agent pulls her along too roughly down the endless wall of windows, showing her the expansive city of lights, and space too large for her small mind to even grasp at. 

She hears the high pitched drone of Miss Minutes explaining to the younger version of herself, barely just figuring out her identity and the path she wants to take in her life, the crime that she had committed. That she broke the sacred timeline and varied away from her pre-destined road, and must pay the price.

She doesn't hear a word spoken in that vast courtroom. The gavel rings loudly on the dark wood of the judges bench as her sentence is decided, and she’s herded out of the court room. But this time, the arm that leads her doesn’t pinch too tight, doesn’t pull at her hair. This time the hand rests gently on her shoulder, and it’s not a cold voice, one hardened like steel in war-like conditions, but it’s almost goofy. His vowels twang and his words always have a soft uptick to them, like he’s always questioning what he’s saying.

They get to a different chamber, this time with a round table and a couple of chairs, so they can talk face to face instead of one looming over the other. 

He introduces himself at Agent Mobius, and he’s in charge of the variants that aren’t meant to be reset yet, but rather help them carry out tasks that the other agents haven’t succeeded at yet. Although, that’s not what she is here for either, 

“No, my sweet Loki, you’re here because you broke the timeline, but it’s still not your time. You deserve a chance to live.”

So she grows up beside Mobius. He raises her like Odin never did, he’s kind and he teaches her to fight, he tells her stories of the worlds that he’s seen, promising her more than she can even dream of. At night, Loki steals away precious moments under her covers or in the quiet of her closet to practice magic. The kind that the fading memory of her mother always talked about, and slowly she becomes not a Loki variant, but Sylvie, the Enchantress. 

Soon her need to learn expands wider than the scope of the TVA, she gets too curious, starts asking the wrong questions.

The TVA is too ordered, everything works the ways it’s supposed to and never strays from what the Timekeepers declare. It’s too perfect to be good, the universe tends towards disorder. And they’re doing everything in their power to prevent that.

She begs Mobius to tell her the truth. He never does, his stoic face never breaking no matter how many times she asks in every different way she can think of.

He never breaks, and eventually, decades after coming to the timeless place, she’s dragged away to yet another room, this time to be quieted down for good. So Sylvie fights, she kills anyone that gets in her path, she does anything necessary in order to escape.

She slits the last throat of the agent in her way and pockets her dagger. Her still bloody fingers manipulate the time clock, trying to program it the way she’s practiced a thousand times before. As she steps through the door, she feels eyes burning into her now blonde, short hair. She can’t help but look back and hold Mobius’ eyes.

“I have to do this.” Sylvie whispers, her own eyes burning as the time winds rush her into the first of the never ending line of apocalypses. 

She has to bring chaos back to the world, with or without Mobius. 

But now he’s here, and somehow he’s caught her off guard, practically making every evasive maneuver she’s done up to now completely useless. Loki still dances through his words, him and Mobius bantering like they’re an old married couple. And honestly, she now understands the drunken ramblings of Loki on the train. 

Love is a dagger. It cuts and it slips through your fingers before you can even realize.  And as the rain starts to fall lightly on her face, she captures both men’s attention,

“Just shut up, please.” Loki starts to protest, but she cuts him off, “You can squabble with your prince later. For now, Mobius? If you truly are here to help, then help. Because we need to keep moving.”

[brookecuzyes]

This is crazy, thank y’all for the 100 notes! It means so so much!

I’m currently writing a part 2 to this, mainly because an idea that I’ve had in mind recently would work perfectly here— so that’ll be showing up at some point 😊

No Need To Worry — B.B.

40s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After Bucky and the other soldiers were rescued, Bucky, Steve, and some of the other soldiers went to a bar to relax. Who would’ve thought that a few beers could turn into something more? (3rd Person POV)

Word Count: ≈5.1k (wha-😃)

Warnings: extreme fluff, cursing, it gets a little spicy but also doesn’t at the same time, sorta alludes to loss of virginities, alcohol consumption, Bucky gets upset at reader but nothing too crazy happens, sadness (If i missed anything, please tell me!)

A/N: This one-shot is for @startrekkingaroundasgard ‘s writing challenge. I had sooo much fun writing this. It was originally supposed to be smut, but I chickened out lmao. I hope you enjoy this regardless, though! (I added the picture prompt for the header thing— if you don’t want it there, just tell me and i’ll remove it)

———————————————————————-

Steve Rogers had just gotten some-400 men out of the hands of German scientists. They were so relieved to have been saved after quite a few weeks of being Prisoners of War. After returning to America, Steve wanted to go back and take down HYDRA. So, he took on the responsibility to assemble a team to go with him.

“See,” Bucky said to Steve, who was walking over to the bar. He had just convinced a couple of guys to join him going back to Germany. All they needed were a couple beers and were drawn-in immediately. “They’re all idiots.”

“How about you?” Steve asked, “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight… I’m following him,” Bucky replied, earning a small grin from Steve. “But, you’re keeping the outfit, right?”

“You know what? It’s kinda growing on me.”

“Well I think it looks remarkable, Captain Rogers,” a lady’s voice said, putting an arm around the two boys. Steve and Bucky turned their heads slightly and were met with a familiar face. “Hello, boys.”

“Y/N!” Steve exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. “Surprised to see you here. Bars aren’t really your thing.”

“Well, they are when I know my two idiot friends just came back from a war. Speaking of,” she slapped Bucky’s shoulder, “don’t scare me like that, Barnes. Becky had me thinking you were dead.” He smiled sadly and stood up to hug her too.

“My bad, doll. Next time, I’ll make sure to write,” he wittily replied. She scoffed and sat down in between the two boys. “And, by the way, if you’re calling Steve ‘Captain’, then you get to call me ‘Sergeant’. Understood?”

“Yes, Sarge,” she replied while saluting him, making the two boys laugh. The soldiers Steve recruited had been singing quite loudly for the last few minutes, and it came as a surprise when the singing ceased. Steve, Y/N, and Bucky turned their heads to the doorway and saw the one and only Agent Peggy Carter. She was dressed in a beautiful red dress— something that no one would normally see her in. No wonder the boys stopped singing; they were in awe.

The boys stood up when she walked in, and Y/N stayed sitting in her chair, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

“Captain,” Peggy greeted.

“Agent Carter,” greeted Steve.

“Ma’am,” said Bucky. Peggy looked at the girl sitting at the bar, knowing who she was, and waved at her. Y/N waved back and gave her a nice little grin.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” she asked Steve.

“Sounds good.” Steve was eyeing her, and both Y/N and Bucky picked up on it. Though, Bucky was more focused on Peggy himself to really give it a second thought.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.”

“You don’t like music?”

“I do, actually. I might, even when this is all over, go dancing.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Bucky added.

“The right partner,” Peggy replied, not taking her eyes off of Steve. “0800, Captain.” And then she just walked off, not even glancing at the Sergeant besides her.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be there,” Steve replied, loud enough so she could hear. Bucky watched her as she left, shocked.

“I’m invisible,” he announced. “I-I’m turning into you. This is a horrible dream.” The boys walked back to the bar and sat next to Y/N.

“Oh, that’s not true, Sarge. I still see you. You and your greasy hair,” Y/N joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“Yeah, don’t take it so hard, maybe she’s got a friend,” Steve added, placing a friendly pat on his back. ‘I’m gonna go hang with the other guys for a minute. I’ll be back.” Steve walked away into the other section of the bar, leaving Bucky and Y/N alone with each other. Bucky seemed disappointed in the situation and was staring at his near-empty beer bottle.

“Ya know,” Y/N started, noticing his sad demeanor, “I knew Peggy in high school.”

“Okay, and?” Bucky asked, not getting the hint.

“We were very close friends. She was always top of her class, and I was… well, not quite there. We always hung out after school. When she joined the military, we promised to keep in touch, which we have. It’s just different,” she explained. After a brief moment, she grabbed the beer bottle and drank some of it. Bucky looked at her wildly (a good wildly) and just grinned-- teeth and all.

“Damn, I didn’t know you drank,” Bucky remarked, staring at her eyes.

“Hmm, I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Barnes,” Y/N said, setting down the now empty bottle.

“Yeah, I guess not.” He positioned himself back in his chair to sit forward. He turned his head to look at her, processing the drink. She saw him staring at her in the corner of her eye and proceeded to turn to look at him.

“How long will y’all be gone?” she asked after shaking her head slightly.

“I’m not sure.”

“Hopefully not too long. I’ve missed you, James.”

“Really? You? Missing me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s true. Plus, you’ve left me with your sister, and she’s a very social person. I’m not,” she said, giggling.

“What do you mean? You love people.”

“Not when it’s the very few boys that didn’t get drafted or enlist,” she responded, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Oh,” Bucky said, realizing what she’d been doing the last couple of months. “You’ve been going on dates.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to, but your damn sister dragged me into it. Hey, can I have… whatever the hell this is?” Y/N asked the bartender, who just so happened to be walking by.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he said, going to grab another bottle.

“Lemme guess: you’ve taken to alcohol to cope with the dating?” Bucky asked, turning his body to face Y/N and placing his elbow on the counter-top to rest his head on his fist.

“Precisely,” she said. The bartender set down a beer for her after he opened it. She gladly accepted it, and took a small swig of it. It was small because Bucky took it out of her hands.

“Gimme that,” he said. He took a sip of it and set it down.

“Don’t tell me that I shouldn’t be drinking when you just drank my beer.”

“No. I was gonna say that you should slow down for a minute, OK?” He stared at her with this look in his eyes. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but would eventually figure it out.

“Trust me, Barnes, I’ve been taking it slow. This is slow,” she said, reaching for the bottle. Bucky quickly placed a light grip around her wrists, but it was tight enough so she couldn’t get out of his grip. “What the fuck, James?”

“I said no, Y/N.” His voice was stern. He was serious. However, Y/N being Y/N, she wanted to see how far she could take this. He slowly let go of her wrist and she moved her hand to the counter. She was eyeing the bottle. Bucky knew what was up. “Don’t do it, doll.” She didn’t listen. She grabbed the bottle as quick as she could, and actually got her hand on the bottle, but she wasn’t able to grab it.

Bucky had enough of it. He knew that she was messing around, but he was being serious. When she went for the beer, he stood up and grabbed her shoulders. He towered over her, trying to give himself more power over the situation. He was physically very close to Y/N. Bucky kept a lock of his gaze on her, staring straight into her. She looked up at him, startled by what he was doing, and saw the look he was giving her. Their eyes were stuck on each other’s for God knows how long. His eyes, as Y/N observed, went from stern to soft real fast. His pupils went huge.

“Bucky,” Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Hey,” he whispered back, keeping the stare on her. He released his grasp on her, but left his hands on her. They slowly went from her shoulders to her sides while saying, “I- uh… I don’t know-”

“It’s OK,” she reassured him, carefully placing one of her hands on his chest and the other ventured to the side of his face, resting on his left cheek. He wasn’t focused on her eye anymore, but her lips. Bucky’s eyes shot back and forth between the two. He was looking for a sign to go ahead with what he wanted to do�� something that he didn’t realize he wanted to do for a while now.

“Kiss me, James.” Y/N was straightforward, and she wanted this as much as he did. Shooting his eyes back and forth a few more times, he slowly closed the small space between, landing a magical kiss on her lips. Immediately, Y/N kissed him back, both of them steadily melting into it. On any other given day, Y/N is not the type for public displays of affection— especially when it comes to kissing. However, right now in this moment, she felt as if the room was empty and it was only her and Bucky.

After quite a few seconds, Bucky reluctantly pulls away. He looked at Y/N with that look he gave her earlier, only now Y/N knew why. He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger on the side of her head.

“Y/N?” he quietly asked.

“Yeah, Buck?” He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out.

“Is James Buchanan Barnes finally at a loss for words?” Y/N teased, making the two of them chuckle, their smiles not fading from their faces when they were done laughing.

“Do you want to, um-”

“Hey, Sarge!” Gabe said, snapping Y/N and Bucky out of their trance. “Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. The Captain wanted you to know that we were heading out. You coming? You can bring your girl with you, if you want.”

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Y’all can go,” Bucky responded.

“OK. Goodnight, Barnes. Ma’am.” Gabe walked off, leaving the two alone once again.

“You didn’t deny it,” Y/N said, turning her attention back to Bucky.

“What do you mean?”

“He said, ''You can bring your girl,” she pointed out.

“I mean... he wasn’t wrong.”

“You could’ve gone with them. They are your team.”

“Yeah, well, I have other plans for tonight,” Bucky replied.

“Really? What’re your plans?” Bucky just smiled and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chair. He navigated her through the bar, trying to get to the exit. The bar was still packed, even though it was getting incredibly late. However, tomorrow would be Saturday, so getting wasted was the first thing that came to mind for most people. Eventually, Y/N and Bucky found their way out, and were now faced with the brisk air of Brooklyn.

“Bucky, what’re we doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky shifted themselves to where Bucky was behind Y/N, holding her tightly by her waist.

“I’m taking the pretty girl from the bar home,” he answered, delicately nipping at her neck. She deliberately let her head fall back onto Bucky’s shoulder, giving him more room. He tactfully dug his fingers into her sides, creating more and more tension between the two.

“Bucky…” She whispered his name once again, only this time she wasn’t pissed at him. This time, she wanted everything to do with him. “Take me home, James.” He stopped kissing her neck and repositioned his face to the side of hers-- his nose gently brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

“Anything you want, doll,” he entrancingly whispered in her ear. He got a hold of her hand once again and walked with her down the street, making sure she was by his side at all times. His apartment was a few blocks away, so the walk would’ve been a little over twelve minutes, but was fixated on getting home. As an effect, the walk was under nine minutes.

They soon arrived at the front door of Bucky’s apartment. It was a small complex, but the apartment itself was the perfect size for Bucky, since it was really just him. He dug around in his pocket looking for his keys. Y/N was leaning against the doorway, amused with watching him fumble with his pants pockets.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asked, lips upturning slightly.

“You’re looking in the wrong places, Sarge,” she implied. Bucky’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. In an attempt to show him what she meant, she stood up straight and walked in front of him, placing her hands on his chest. Her right hand moved up to a pocket on his shirt and grabbed a set of keys out of there.

“How did you-”

“I watched you move them from your back pocket to this pocket while we were walking,” she answered, pointing her finger to his chest. Bucky took the keys out of her hand and placed them into the lock, looking at Y/N with a smile. He opened the door and let Y/N walk in first. He followed behind her and shut the door, locking it.

“God, it’s been awhile since I’ve been in here,” she remarked, taking a nice glance around the room. She took her sweater off and neatly set it down on the back of the couch. Bucky set his keys in a bowl which was sitting on a half-wall divide at the entrance.

“You can take your shoes off, if you’d like to. I’m sure those heels are annoying,” Bucky said, pointing at her heels.

“Yeah, they are. Guess who got me wearing them?” she teased, knowing that Bucky got who she was talking about. She walked over to the front door where Bucky still was. (There was a mat by the door where Bucky kept his shoes when he walked in.) He watched as she walked over. She stopped right in front of him, fixed on his blue eyes. She bent over and picked her leg up to reach for her shoe. When she got that one off, she got the other shoe. They slipped off pretty easily. She set them down on the mat and turned her attention back to Bucky. He kicked off his shoes while she was, and he maintained a glance on her.

“I, uh… I wanna talk,” Bucky said. He took ahold of her hand and walked her over to the couch. He let her sit down first and he followed behind. They sat looking at each other. Bucky played with his fingers in nervousness.

“Y/N,” he started. “I-I really like you. I have for a while, actually.” He felt his heart beating out of his chest, and he was quiet when he spoke. “I just don’t want to mess anything up with us. I mean, we’ve been friends for a while now— good friends, at that. And I’m not the best at relationships-“

“James,” Y/N interrupted, placing her hand on his fidgety ones, “you’re not gonna mess anything up.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes shot to her lips, and he realized that she was doing the same thing with him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” she groaned, leaning in. Bucky started leaning in, too, but slowly-- and they,, once again, closed the space between them. This kiss was different from their first one. The first was sweet and soul-stirring. This second kiss was rougher and more heated. Bucky’s heart was beating like crazy. He was nervous but absolutely in love at the same time. He wasn’t necessarily sure where to put his hands, so he just put them on her waist again. Y/N’s hands fell on his shoulders, her right hand creeping up his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. She tilted her head to the side a bit, breaking the kiss for a split second to get a breath of air, and getting better access to Bucky's lips. Their breathing was getting heavier, they were both getting touchier, their bodies are the closest they’ve ever been. Everything was electric and anything they ever wondered was clicking.

Bucky tenderly pushed themselves down on the couch, leaving Bucky laying on Y/N. The kiss was gradually getting hotter and more intense as time went on. When Y/N started moving her hands to Bucky’s chest and played with the buttons on his shirt, he abruptly pulled away, leaving Y/N confused. Bucky had a hungry look on her, and they were both catching their breaths.

“Is everything OK, Buck?” Y/N asked, concerned that she might’ve done something wrong.

“Uh, yeah, I just…” he chuckled nervously, “have you ever, um…”

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” he replied after a second. Their breathing was beginning to go back to normal. Y/N didn’t take her eyes off of the man— Bucky didn’t either, but he felt as if he physically couldn’t take his eyes off of her beautiful eyes, or any other perfect feature on her face.

“Do you not want to? It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I mean, it’s me, of course I wanna. But, do you want to? That’s what I’m more concerned about.”

“I do,” she answered. And, with that, Bucky wasted no time. He swiftly picked her up and carried her to his room, kicking the door closed behind him. That night, Y/N and Bucky gave themselves up to each other. They went all night, and had never felt as good as they did at that moment. They— eventually— fell asleep, somehow getting enough sleep.

——

The following morning, they both woke up nestled in the bed and each other. Bucky had his left arm draped over Y/N’s body, never wanting to let go. Half-awake, Bucky moved his head into the crook of her neck and peppered a few light kisses there.

“Y/N,” he mumbled in her neck. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” She shifted a bit and managed to turn her head to look at Bucky, half-asleep.

“G’morning,” she said, her eyes barely open. Bucky moved and propped himself up on his fist, continuing to stare into Y/N’s eyes. He didn’t know how lost he could get in those eyes.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

“Yeah, a little sore, though. Did you?”

“I did,” Bucky chuckled. After a few moments, he asked, “Do you want food?” Y/N tiredly nodded, and Bucky threw the thin sheets off of them, completely exposing their bodies. A rush of cold air hit Y/N’s body, making her gasp slightly. Bucky noticed and quickly moved the sheet back on her, placing a kiss on her temple and whispering a small, “sorry,” in her ear. Bucky picked his clothes off of the floor and put most of it back on— he threw his underwear and socks into his hamper and dug for new ones in his drawer. He needed his uniform for work and didn’t have time to wash it last night. Y/N sat up, holding the sheets over herself, as Bucky was putting his clothes on. As he was putting on his belt, he turned back because he heard the rustling, and smiled. Y/N was running her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look decent, and then rubbed her hand on her face to try and wake herself up.

“Ya know, you’re a really pretty woman,” Bucky complimented, lifting his pants up to fit him better. Y/N smiled nervously.

“Thank you,” she replied, not really knowing what to say.

“Do you need a change of clothes? I think I got something you can wear,” he offered, opening up another drawer to look for something.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I can wear the skirt I was wearing, though.” Bucky rummaged through the drawer, looking for a t-shirt. He found a grey t-shirt and held it up to her.

“Could this work?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied. Bucky walked closer to the bed and reached over to hand it to Y/N. She took the shirt from his hands and looked over to her right. She saw all of her clothes just sitting right there. She was about to just hop out of the bed, but thankfully Bucky had finished getting dressed.

“OK, I’ll give you some privacy and I’ll cook up something,” he said, making his way to the door. He put his hand on the handle before turning around and asking, “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m good, thank you.” With one last glance and her figure, he walked out and closed the door softly behind him. She sighed in content before standing up, keeping the sheet close to her body, and putting on her clothes. Thankfully, the shirt Bucky pulled out worked well enough with the skirt she chose the night before— a grey shirt with a black skirt. There was a mirror leaning on the wall, so Y/N went over to look at her outfit before she walked out of the room. She guessed that Bucky had meant to hang up the mirror or get rid of it, but never got to it. She straightened out her outfit and turned around to head out of the bedroom. She slowly opened the door and saw Bucky in the kitchen. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, as if he wanted it to be perfect. She walked out of the doorway and into the living space, leading to Bucky looking up to see her. He smiled when he saw her in his clothes.

“You look good, doll,” he complimented. “Shirt looks good on you.”

“Right, I’m gonna have to give this back to you,” she said, making a mental note to herself.

“No need. You can keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.” Y/N smiled and nodded her slightly in understandment. She wasn’t going to say no to that. She scratched out the note in her head, and strolled over to the kitchen. Bucky was making eggs— which, by the way, made her day even better knowing that Bucky was so focused on making the eggs perfect. He was finished by then, and grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets, putting some eggs on it and handing it to Y/N with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you, Buck,” she said, taking her plate into her hand then opening a drawer to grab a fork for her and Bucky. She walked over to the kitchen table, and started eating the eggs. They were really good. Bucky soon joined Y/N at the table, both silently eating breakfast, not entirely sure of what to talk about.

“So,” Bucky started, awkwardly. “Should we talk about last night, or…?”

“I mean, I guess so. You said it last night— that you liked me. I like you, too. I don’t know what you wanna do with that.” Bucky looked up from his plate and into her glowing eyes. Her eyes seemed to sparkle more in the morning than he had noticed during any other time. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud knock at the door, scaring the absolute shit out of the two.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbled, getting up from his chair to answer the door. “Steve!” He exclaimed.

“Bucky! Good morning. I figured I’d give you a ride. Carter needs us this morning,” Steve said, eager to get back to work.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. Uh, yeah, just gimme a second. You can come in, there’s a couple eggs on the stove.” Bucky ran to his room for something, but Y/N didn’t know what. She was left dazed and confused. Steve walked in and glanced around, only to find one of his close friends just eating breakfast at his best friend’s house.

“Y/N?” He asked. Y/N’s head jerked up, just now realizing that Bucky invited Steve in— that idiot, she thought.

“Oh, hi, Steve… How are ya this morning?” She asked, trying to make the situation less awkward. Bucky ran back into the living space with a duffel bag full of stuff (probably his clothes).

“I’m ready to go… oh, right, Steve- er… Y/N stayed over last night,” Bucky stammered, trying to come up with some form of excuse without completely outing each other. Y/N smiled at the attempt.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“It’s just, ya know, we’re leaving tomorrow and all that. We would have invited you, but you were off with those loud-ass dogs that are supposed to defend our country,” he explained. He wasn’t necessarily lying. That technically was a legitimate reason why they hung out last night, they just so happened to do a little bit more, though.

“Dogs? Really? That’s all you got?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, just howling all night. Fuckin’ annoying if you ask me.”

“OK,” Y/N chimed in, standing up and walking over to the show mat. “I think you boys need to head to work. It’s almost eight.” Steve’s eyes went wide and he started freaking out.

“C’mon, Bucky! We’ve gotta go, I’ll be in the car. Bye, see you later, Y/N.” He speed-walked all the way to the car. Y/N grabbed her heels and sat back down, putting them on. Bucky slid his shoes on and strolled over to Y/N, kneeling in front of her. She picked up her head just a bit and was met with Bucky’s steel blue eyes. Their faces were impossibly close.

“I have to go,” he announced, though she already knew that.

“OK… promise me you’ll come back?”

“I promise, doll,” he grabbed her hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. She rested her forehead on his, their eyes closing.

“Yeah, you’ll come back and we will… be together. Right?”

“Anything you want. I’ll do you one better: I’m gonna marry you when I get back, darling.” Y/N smiled and a tear fell down her face. Bucky’s eyes were starting to water.

“I like the sound of that, Sergeant Barnes.” They both chuckled at the name. She moved her head to look at Bucky real good before pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, never wanting to let go. He took in how her hair felt, how she smelt— he didn’t want to leave a single detail out, he always wanted to remember everything about her so he could brag to his buddies about his girl. Y/N did the same, but mainly due to the fact that there was a huge chance that he wouldn’t even come back.

“You stay safe, you hear me, James?” She said, now looking him dead in the eyes. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears, and Bucky couldn’t stand the sight of that— breaking out in silent tears himself.

“There’s no need to worry about me, baby. I’ll be fine. You make sure no low-life tries to put his hands on you, alright. You’re my girl.” Y/N’s heart melted at the statement. She was James Barnes’ girl. That’s when the tears fell from her face.

In a moment like this, you wish for it to never end. But, moments like this can never last. Steve honked the horn of his car, making the couple chuckled once more.

“You better go before Peggy gets mad at you.” Without another word (but a whole lot of staring), Bucky stood up, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the door. He stopped in the doorway, looking at her beautiful eyes once more.

“I get it now. What you said about being Peggy’s friend last night at the bar. You were hitting on me, weren’t you?” Bucky asked. Y/N searched for the memory in her brain and remembered what he was talking about.

“Oh, right… yeah, I guess I was,” she said, smiling at the memory. That’s when Bucky knew he had to go or he’d never leave.

“Goodbye, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Adíos, Sargent James “Bucky” Barnes,” she replied, saluting him. He smiled and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Now, Y/N was left alone with just her thoughts and anxieties. She sobbed for what felt like an eternity before forcing herself to clean up his apartment just a bit before taking off.

For the next few months, she would be hanging out with Rebecca or some of her other girl friends. All of her friends had these serious relationships with their military boy. They never knew about Y/N’s hookup, though. She didn’t want to bring it up. No one had to know, it was their little secret. Well, she did end up telling Rebecca that they were together, just not in detail as to what actually happened. She was so excited. Her and Y/N would be sisters now. That’s all she needed to hear, really.

Y/N was left content. She frequently receives letters from Bucky, and a few from Steve. She even got photos of the guys, too. She wrote back, always happy to hear that they were doing just fine.

That was until she didn’t get a letter from either of the guys in weeks. It was an understatement to say that she was worried. She would re-read the previous letters to try and calm herself down—which worked sometimes.

Peggy Carter showed up at Y/N’s doorstep one day. When she opened the door she was happy to see her, until she read Peggy’s face. Something was off.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, but-“ was all she had to say. Y/N was shaking her head, tears were already forming in her eyes, her hand shot over her mouth. She was in disbelief, grief, denial, all of it.

No he couldn’t be dead, that’s impossible, he promised to come back. Turns out, there wasn’t even a body. Of course, no one told Y/N this, especially Peggy, she knew how she would react.

So, for the longest time, Y/N’s questions were left unanswered and didn’t get answered for years and years on end.

Who would’ve known: it would take the same people who killed Bucky for Y/N to learn everything she needed to know about James Buchanan Barnes… or should I say the Winter Soldier?

———————————————————————7/8/21

[brookecuzyes]

Thank you guys for all of these notes! Y’all are very much appreciated 🥰

No Need To Worry — B.B.

40s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After Bucky and the other soldiers were rescued, Bucky, Steve, and some of the other soldiers went to a bar to relax. Who would’ve thought that a few beers could turn into something more? (3rd Person POV)

Word Count: ≈5.1k (wha-😃)

Warnings: extreme fluff, cursing, it gets a little spicy but also doesn’t at the same time, sorta alludes to loss of virginities, alcohol consumption, Bucky gets upset at reader but nothing too crazy happens, sadness (If i missed anything, please tell me!)

A/N: This one-shot is for @startrekkingaroundasgard ‘s writing challenge. I had sooo much fun writing this. It was originally supposed to be smut, but I chickened out lmao. I hope you enjoy this regardless, though! (I added the picture prompt for the header thing— if you don’t want it there, just tell me and i’ll remove it)

———————————————————————-

Steve Rogers had just gotten some-400 men out of the hands of German scientists. They were so relieved to have been saved after quite a few weeks of being Prisoners of War. After returning to America, Steve wanted to go back and take down HYDRA. So, he took on the responsibility to assemble a team to go with him.

“See,” Bucky said to Steve, who was walking over to the bar. He had just convinced a couple of guys to join him going back to Germany. All they needed were a couple beers and were drawn-in immediately. “They’re all idiots.”

“How about you?” Steve asked, “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight… I’m following him,” Bucky replied, earning a small grin from Steve. “But, you’re keeping the outfit, right?”

“You know what? It’s kinda growing on me.”

“Well I think it looks remarkable, Captain Rogers,” a lady’s voice said, putting an arm around the two boys. Steve and Bucky turned their heads slightly and were met with a familiar face. “Hello, boys.”

“Y/N!” Steve exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. “Surprised to see you here. Bars aren’t really your thing.”

“Well, they are when I know my two idiot friends just came back from a war. Speaking of,” she slapped Bucky’s shoulder, “don’t scare me like that, Barnes. Becky had me thinking you were dead.” He smiled sadly and stood up to hug her too.

“My bad, doll. Next time, I’ll make sure to write,” he wittily replied. She scoffed and sat down in between the two boys. “And, by the way, if you’re calling Steve ‘Captain’, then you get to call me ‘Sergeant’. Understood?”

“Yes, Sarge,” she replied while saluting him, making the two boys laugh. The soldiers Steve recruited had been singing quite loudly for the last few minutes, and it came as a surprise when the singing ceased. Steve, Y/N, and Bucky turned their heads to the doorway and saw the one and only Agent Peggy Carter. She was dressed in a beautiful red dress— something that no one would normally see her in. No wonder the boys stopped singing; they were in awe.

The boys stood up when she walked in, and Y/N stayed sitting in her chair, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

“Captain,” Peggy greeted.

“Agent Carter,” greeted Steve.

“Ma’am,” said Bucky. Peggy looked at the girl sitting at the bar, knowing who she was, and waved at her. Y/N waved back and gave her a nice little grin.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” she asked Steve.

“Sounds good.” Steve was eyeing her, and both Y/N and Bucky picked up on it. Though, Bucky was more focused on Peggy himself to really give it a second thought.

“I see you top squad is prepping for duty.”

“You don’t like music?”

“I do, actually. I might, even when this is all over, go dancing.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Bucky added.

“The right partner,” Peggy replied, not taking her eyes off of Steve. “0800, Captain.” And then she just walked off, not even glancing at the Sergeant besides her.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be there,” Steve replied, loud enough so she could hear. Bucky watched her as she left, shocked.

“I’m invisible,” he announced. “I-I’m turning into you. This is a horrible dream.” The boys walked back to the bar and sat next to Y/N.

“Oh, that’s not true, Sarge. I still see you. You and your greasy hair,” Y/N joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“Yeah, don’t take it so hard, maybe she’s got a friend,” Steve added, placing a friendly pat on his back. ‘I’m gonna go hang with the other guys for a minute. I’ll be back.” Steve walked away into the other section of the bar, leaving Bucky and Y/N alone with each other. Bucky seemed disappointed in the situation and was staring at his near-empty beer bottle.

“Ya know,” Y/N started, noticing his sad demeanor, “I knew Peggy in high school.”

“Okay, and?” Bucky asked, not getting the hint.

“We were very close friends. She was always top of her class, and I was… well, not quite there. We always hung out after school. When she joined the military, we promised to keep in touch, which we have. It’s just different,” she explained. After a brief moment, she grabbed the beer bottle and drank some of it. Bucky looked at her wildly (a good wildly) and just grinned-- teeth and all.

“Damn, I didn’t know you drank,” Bucky remarked, staring at her eyes.

“Hmm, I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Barnes,” Y/N said, setting down the now empty bottle.

“Yeah, I guess not.” He positioned himself back in his chair to sit forward. He turned his head to look at her, processing the drink. She saw him staring at her in the corner of her eye and proceeded to turn to look at him.

“How long will y’all be gone?” she asked after shaking her head slightly.

“I’m not sure.”

“Hopefully not too long. I’ve missed you, James.”

“Really? You? Missing me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s true. Plus, you’ve left me with your sister, and she’s a very social person. I’m not,” she said, giggling.

“What do you mean? You love people.”

“Not when it’s the very few boys that didn’t get drafted or enlist,” she responded, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Oh,” Bucky said, realizing what she’d been doing the last couple of months. “You’ve been going on dates.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to, but your damn sister dragged me into it. Hey, can I have… whatever the hell this is?” Y/N asked the bartender, who just so happened to be walking by.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he said, going to grab another bottle.

“Lemme guess: you’ve taken to alcohol to cope with the dating?” Bucky asked, turning his body to face Y/N and placing his elbow on the counter-top to rest his head on his fist.

“Precisely,” she said. The bartender set down a beer for her after he opened it. She gladly accepted it, and took a small swig of it. It was small because Bucky took it out of her hands.

“Gimme that,” he said. He took a sip of it and set it down.

“Don’t tell me that I shouldn’t be drinking when you just drank my beer.”

“No. I was gonna say that you should slow down for a minute, OK?” He stared at her with this look in his eyes. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but would eventually figure it out.

“Trust me, Barnes, I’ve been taking it slow. This is slow,” she said, reaching for the bottle. Bucky quickly placed a light grip around her wrists, but it was tight enough so she couldn’t get out of his grip. “What the fuck, James?”

“I said no, Y/N.” His voice was stern. He was serious. However, Y/N being Y/N, she wanted to see how far she could take this. He slowly let go of her wrist and she moved her hand to the counter. She was eyeing the bottle. Bucky knew what was up. “Don’t do it, doll.” She didn’t listen. She grabbed the bottle as quick as she could, and actually got her hand on the bottle, but she wasn’t able to grab it.

Bucky had enough of it. He knew that she was messing around, but he was being serious. When she went for the beer, he stood up and grabbed her shoulders. He towered over her, trying to give himself more power over the situation. He was physically very close to Y/N. Bucky kept a lock of his gaze on her, staring straight into her. She looked up at him, startled by what he was doing, and saw the look he was giving her. Their eyes were stuck on each other’s for God knows how long. His eyes, as Y/N observed, went from stern to soft real fast. His pupils went huge.

“Bucky,” Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Hey,” he whispered back, keeping the stare on her. He released his grasp on her, but left his hands on her. They slowly went from her shoulders to her sides while saying, “I- uh… I don’t know-”

“It’s OK,” she reassured him, carefully placing one of her hands on his chest and the other ventured to the side of his face, resting on his left cheek. He wasn’t focused on her eye anymore, but her lips. Bucky’s eyes shot back and forth between the two. He was looking for a sign to go ahead with what he wanted to do-- something that he didn’t realize he wanted to do for a while now.

“Kiss me, James.” Y/N was straightforward, and she wanted this as much as he did. Shooting his eyes back and forth a few more times, he slowly closed the small space between, landing a magical kiss on her lips. Immediately, Y/N kissed him back, both of them steadily melting into it. On any other given day, Y/N is not the type for public displays of affection-- especially when it comes to kissing. However, right now in this moment, she felt as if the room was empty and it was only her and Bucky.

After quite a few seconds, Bucky reluctantly pulls away. He looked at Y/N with that look he gave her earlier, only now Y/N knew why. He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger on the side of her head.

“Y/N?” he quietly asked.

“Yeah, Buck?” He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out.

“Is James Buchanan Barnes finally at a loss for words?” Y/N teased, making the two of them chuckle, their smiles not fading from their faces when they were done laughing.

“Do you want to, um-”

“Hey, Sarge!” Gabe said, snapping Y/N and Bucky out of their trance. “Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. The Captain wanted you to know that we were heading out. You coming? You can bring your girl with you, if you want.”

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Y’all can go,” Bucky responded.

“OK. Goodnight, Barnes. Ma’am.” Gabe walked off, leaving the two alone once again.

“You didn’t deny it,” Y/N said, turning her attention back to Bucky.

“What do you mean?”

“He said, ''You can bring your girl,” she pointed out.

“I mean... he wasn’t wrong.”

“You could’ve gone with them. They are your team.”

“Yeah, well, I have other plans for tonight,” Bucky replied.

“Really? What’re your plans?” Bucky just smiled and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chair. He navigated her through the bar, trying to get to the exit. The bar was still packed, even though it was getting incredibly late. However, tomorrow would be Saturday, so getting wasted was the first thing that came to mind for most people. Eventually, Y/N and Bucky found their way out, and were now faced with the brisk air of Brooklyn.

“Bucky, what’re we doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky shifted themselves to where Bucky was behind Y/N, holding her tightly by her waist.

“I’m taking the pretty girl from the bar home,” he answered, delicately nipping at her neck. She deliberately let her head fall back onto Bucky’s shoulder, giving him more room. He tactfully dug his fingers into her sides, creating more and more tension between the two.

“Bucky…” She whispered his name once again, only this time she wasn’t pissed at him. This time, she wanted everything to do with him. “Take me home, James.” He stopped kissing her neck and repositioned his face to the side of hers-- his nose gently brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

“Anything you want, doll,” he entrancingly whispered in her ear. He got a hold of her hand once again and walked with her down the street, making sure she was by his side at all times. His apartment was a few blocks away, so the walk would’ve been a little over twelve minutes, but was fixated on getting home. As an effect, the walk was under nine minutes.

They soon arrived at the front door of Bucky’s apartment. It was a small complex, but the apartment itself was the perfect size for Bucky, since it was really just him. He dug around in his pocket looking for his keys. Y/N was leaning against the doorway, amused with watching him fumble with his pants pockets.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asked, lips upturning slightly.

“You’re looking in the wrong places, Sarge,” she implied. Bucky’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. In an attempt to show him what she meant, she stood up straight and walked in front of him, placing her hands on his chest. Her right hand moved up to a pocket on his shirt and grabbed a set of keys out of there.

“How did you-”

“I watched you move them from your back pocket to this pocket while we were walking,” she answered, pointing her finger to his chest. Bucky took the keys out of her hand and placed them into the lock, looking at Y/N with a smile. He opened the door and let Y/N walk in first. He followed behind her and shut the door, locking it.

“God, it’s been awhile since I’ve been in here,” she remarked, taking a nice glance around the room. She took her sweater off and neatly set it down on the back of the couch. Bucky set his keys in a bowl which was sitting on a half-wall divide at the entrance.

“You can take your shoes off, if you’d like to. I’m sure those heels are annoying,” Bucky said, pointing at her heels.

“Yeah, they are. Guess who got me wearing them?” she teased, knowing that Bucky got who she was talking about. She walked over to the front door where Bucky still was. (There was a mat by the door where Bucky kept his shoes when he walked in.) He watched as she walked over. She stopped right in front of him, fixed on his blue eyes. She bent over and picked her leg up to reach for her shoe. When she got that one off, she got the other shoe. They slipped off pretty easily. She set them down on the mat and turned her attention back to Bucky. He kicked off his shoes while she was, and he maintained a glance on her.

“I, uh… I wanna talk,” Bucky said. He took ahold of her hand and walked her over to the couch. He let her sit down first and he followed behind. They sat looking at each other. Bucky played with his fingers in nervousness.

“Y/N,” he started. “I-I really like you. I have for a while, actually.” He felt his heart beating out of his chest, and he was quiet when he spoke. “I just don’t want to mess anything up with us. I mean, we’ve been friends for a while now— good friends, at that. And I’m not the best at relationships-“

“James,” Y/N interrupted, placing her hand on his fidgety ones, “you’re not gonna mess anything up.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at her.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes shot to her lips, and he realized that she was doing the same thing with him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” she groaned, leaning in. Bucky started leaning in, too, but slowly-- and they,, once again, closed the space between them. This kiss was different from their first one. The first was sweet and soul-stirring. This second kiss was rougher and more heated. Bucky’s heart was beating like crazy. He was nervous but absolutely in love at the same time. He wasn’t necessarily sure where to put his hands, so he just put them on her waist again. Y/N’s hands fell on his shoulders, her right hand creeping up his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. She tilted her head to the side a bit, breaking the kiss for a split second to get a breath of air, and getting better access to Bucky's lips. Their breathing was getting heavier, they were both getting touchier, their bodies are the closest they’ve ever been. Everything was electric and anything they ever wondered was clicking.

Bucky tenderly pushed themselves down on the couch, leaving Bucky laying on Y/N. The kiss was gradually getting hotter and more intense as time went on. When Y/N started moving her hands to Bucky’s chest and played with the buttons on his shirt, he abruptly pulled away, leaving Y/N confused. Bucky had a hungry look on her, and they were both catching their breaths.

“Is everything OK, Buck?” Y/N asked, concerned that she might’ve done something wrong.

“Uh, yeah, I just…” he chuckled nervously, “have you ever, um…”

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“No,” he replied after a second. Their breathing was beginning to go back to normal. Y/N didn’t take her eyes off of the man-- Bucky didn’t either, but he felt as if he physically couldn’t take his eyes off of her beautiful eyes, or any other perfect feature on her face.

“Do you not want to? It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I mean, it’s me, of course I wanna. But, do you want to? That’s what I’m more concerned about.”

“I do,” she answered. And, with that, Bucky wasted no time. He swiftly picked her up and carried her to his room, kicking the door closed behind him. That night, Y/N and Bucky gave themselves up to each other. They went all night, and had never felt as good as they did at that moment. They— eventually— fell asleep, somehow getting enough sleep.

——

The following morning, they both woke up nestled in the bed and each other. Bucky had his left arm draped over Y/N’s body, never wanting to let go. Half-awake, Bucky moved his head into the crook of her neck and peppered a few light kisses there.

“Y/N,” he mumbled in her neck. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” She shifted a bit and managed to turn her head to look at Bucky, half-asleep.

“G’morning,” she said, her eyes barely open. Bucky moved and propped himself up on his fist, continuing to stare into Y/N’s eyes. He didn’t know how lost he could get in those eyes.

“Sleep well?” He asked.

“Yeah, a little sore, though. Did you?”

“I did,” Bucky chuckled. After a few moments, he asked, “Do you want food?” Y/N tiredly nodded, and Bucky threw the thin sheets off of them, completely exposing their bodies. A rush of cold air hit Y/N’s body, making her gasp slightly. Bucky noticed and quickly moved the sheet back on her, placing a kiss on her temple and whispering a small, “sorry,” in her ear. Bucky picked his clothes off of the floor and put most of it back on— he threw his underwear and socks into his hamper and dug for new ones in his drawer. He needed his uniform for work and didn’t have time to wash it last night. Y/N sat up, holding the sheets over herself, as Bucky was putting his clothes on. As he was putting on his belt, he turned back because he heard the rustling, and smiled. Y/N was running her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look decent, and then rubbed her hand on her face to try and wake herself up.

“Ya know, you’re a really pretty woman,” Bucky complimented, lifting his pants up to fit him better. Y/N smiled nervously.

“Thank you,” she replied, not really knowing what to say.

“Do you need a change of clothes? I think I got something you can wear,” he offered, opening up another drawer to look for something.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I can wear the skirt I was wearing, though.” Bucky rummaged through the drawer, looking for a t-shirt. He found a grey t-shirt and held it up to her.

“Could this work?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied. Bucky walked closer to the bed and reached over to hand it to Y/N. She took the shirt from his hands and looked over to her right. She saw all of her clothes just sitting right there. She was about to just hop out of the bed, but thankfully Bucky had finished getting dressed.

“OK, I’ll give you some privacy and I’ll cook up something,” he said, making his way to the door. He put his hand on the handle before turning around and asking, “Do you need anything else?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m good, thank you.” With one last glance and her figure, he walked out and closed the door softly behind him. She sighed in content before standing up, keeping the sheet close to her body, and putting on her clothes. Thankfully, the shirt Bucky pulled out worked well enough with the skirt she chose the night before— a grey shirt with a black skirt. There was a mirror leaning on the wall, so Y/N went over to look at her outfit before she walked out of the room. She guessed that Bucky had meant to hang up the mirror or get rid of it, but never got to it. She straightened out her outfit and turned around to head out of the bedroom. She slowly opened the door and saw Bucky in the kitchen. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, as if he wanted it to be perfect. She walked out of the doorway and into the living space, leading to Bucky looking up to see her. He smiled when he saw her in his clothes.

“You look good, doll,” he complimented. “Shirt looks good on you.”

“Right, I’m gonna have to give this back to you,” she said, making a mental note to herself.

“No need. You can keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.” Y/N smiled and nodded her slightly in understandment. She wasn’t going to say no to that. She scratched out the note in her head, and strolled over to the kitchen. Bucky was making eggs— which, by the way, made her day even better knowing that Bucky was so focused on making the eggs perfect. He was finished by then, and grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets, putting some eggs on it and handing it to Y/N with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you, Buck,” she said, taking her plate into her hand then opening a drawer to grab a fork for her and Bucky. She walked over to the kitchen table, and started eating the eggs. They were really good. Bucky soon joined Y/N at the table, both silently eating breakfast, not entirely sure of what to talk about.

“So,” Bucky started, awkwardly. “Should we talk about last night, or…?”

“I mean, I guess so. You said it last night— that you liked me. I like you, too. I don’t know what you wanna do with that.” Bucky looked up from his plate and into her glowing eyes. Her eyes seemed to sparkle more in the morning than he had noticed during any other time. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud knock at the door, scaring the absolute shit out of the two.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbled, getting up from his chair to answer the door. “Steve!” He exclaimed.

“Bucky! Good morning. I figured I’d give you a ride. Carter needs us this morning,” Steve said, eager to get back to work.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. Uh, yeah, just gimme a second. You can come in, there’s a couple eggs on the stove.” Bucky ran to his room for something, but Y/N didn’t know what. She was left dazed and confused. Steve walked in and glanced around, only to find one of his close friends just eating breakfast at his best friend’s house.

“Y/N?” He asked. Y/N’s head jerked up, just now realizing that Bucky invited Steve in— that idiot, she thought.

“Oh, hi, Steve… How are ya this morning?” She asked, trying to make the situation less awkward. Bucky ran back into the living space with a duffel bag full of stuff (probably his clothes).

“I’m ready to go… oh, right, Steve- er… Y/N stayed over last night,” Bucky stammered, trying to come up with some form of excuse without completely outing each other. Y/N smiled at the attempt.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“It’s just, ya know, we’re leaving tomorrow and all that. We would have invited you, but you were off with those loud-ass dogs that are supposed to defend our country,” he explained. He wasn’t necessarily lying. That technically was a legitimate reason why they hung out last night, they just so happened to do a little bit more, though.

“Dogs? Really? That’s all you got?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, just howling all night. Fuckin’ annoying if you ask me.”

“OK,” Y/N chimed in, standing up and walking over to the show mat. “I think you boys need to head to work. It’s almost eight.” Steve’s eyes went wide and he started freaking out.

“C’mon, Bucky! We’ve gotta go, I’ll be in the car. Bye, see you later, Y/N.” He speed-walked all the way to the car. Y/N grabbed her heels and sat back down, putting them on. Bucky slid his shoes on and strolled over to Y/N, kneeling in front of her. She picked up her head just a bit and was met with Bucky’s steel blue eyes. Their faces were impossibly close.

“I have to go,” he announced, though she already knew that.

“OK… promise me you’ll come back?”

“I promise, doll,” he grabbed her hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. She rested her forehead on his, their eyes closing.

“Yeah, you’ll come back and we will… be together. Right?”

“Anything you want. I’ll do you one better: I’m gonna marry you when I get back, darling.” Y/N smiled and a tear fell down her face. Bucky’s eyes were starting to water.

“I like the sound of that, Sergeant Barnes.” They both chuckled at the name. She moved her head to look at Bucky real good before pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, never wanting to let go. He took in how her hair felt, how she smelt— he didn’t want to leave a single detail out, he always wanted to remember everything about her so he could brag to his buddies about his girl. Y/N did the same, but mainly due to the fact that there was a huge chance that he wouldn’t even come back.

“You stay safe, you hear me, James?” She said, now looking him dead in the eyes. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears, and Bucky couldn’t stand the sight of that— breaking out in silent tears himself.

“There’s no need to worry about me, baby. I’ll be fine. You make sure no low-life tries to put his hands on you, alright. You’re my girl.” Y/N’s heart melted at the statement. She was James Barnes’ girl. That’s when the tears fell from her face.

In a moment like this, you wish for it to never end. But, moments like this can never last. Steve honked the horn of his car, making the couple chuckled once more.

“You better go before Peggy gets mad at you.” Without another word (but a whole lot of staring), Bucky stood up, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the door. He stopped in the doorway, looking at her beautiful eyes once more.

“I get it now. What you said about being Peggy’s friend last night at the bar. You were hitting on me, weren’t you?” Bucky asked. Y/N searched for the memory in her brain and remembered what he was talking about.

“Oh, right… yeah, I guess I was,” she said, smiling at the memory. That’s when Bucky knew he had to go or he’d never leave.

“Goodbye, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Adíos, Sargent James “Bucky” Barnes,” she replied, saluting him. He smiled and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Now, Y/N was left alone with just her thoughts and anxieties. She sobbed for what felt like an eternity before forcing herself to clean up his apartment just a bit before taking off.

For the next few months, she would be hanging out with Rebecca or some of her other girl friends. All of her friends had these serious relationships with their military boy. They never knew about Y/N’s hookup, though. She didn’t want to bring it up. No one had to know, it was their little secret. Well, she did end up telling Rebecca that they were together, just not in detail as to what actually happened. She was so excited. Her and Y/N would be sisters now. That’s all she needed to hear, really.

Y/N was left content. She frequently receives letters from Bucky, and a few from Steve. She even got photos of the guys, too. She wrote back, always happy to hear that they were doing just fine.

That was until she didn’t get a letter from either of the guys in weeks. It was an understatement to say that she was worried. She would re-read the previous letters to try and calm herself down—which worked sometimes.

Peggy Carter showed up at Y/N’s doorstep one day. When she opened the door she was happy to see her, until she read Peggy’s face. Something was off.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, but-“ was all she had to say. Y/N was shaking her head, tears were already forming in her eyes, her hand shot over her mouth. She was in disbelief, grief, denial, all of it.

No he couldn’t be dead, that’s impossible, he promised to come back. Turns out, there wasn’t even a body. Of course, no one told Y/N this, especially Peggy, she knew how she would react.

So, for the longest time, Y/N’s questions were left unanswered and didn’t get answered for years and years on end.

Who would’ve known: it would take the same people who killed Bucky for Y/N to learn everything she needed to know about James Buchanan Barnes… or should I say the Winter Soldier?

———————————————————————7/8/21