A/N: Hey! This was a fabulous request by isobellllxo, and I hope I've given her all that she wanted to see! I used prompt 5 for this one here and the protective 40's Bucky vibe :) Thank you so much for requesting! Let me know what you think :)

Lots of love, y'all!

Winnie

Words: 2.6K

You've got plans to meet James Buchanan Barnes in a dancing joint on a Saturday night in late September of 1941—only three months before the attack on Pearl Harbor and the day James will become Sargent Barnes, and seventy years before he's been brainwashed into the Winter Soldier.  But tonight none of that is known. All that's important now is this moment: standing on your tiptoes as you glance across the tops of heads in the room in search of the man you've come to recognize as your friend. He said he'd be here and promised he wouldn't be late. But now it's a quarter past eight and you're wondering if this man-friend of yours is standing you up. After all these weeks of knowing him you'd never imagined him to be the type to purposefully break your heart. It'd been on accident that you'd met: the happiest little accident that ever did occur in the wide, wide world. You'd rode your bike straight into his parked car, being too busy looking at the sunset to notice the vehicle stalled against the curb. Cursing from your lips drew a smile onto his: he'd yet to hear a dame with such a sour tongue before. Now, two months from that day, there's been little more to your relationship than cool conversation and heated glances. A few group dates have led nowhere really besides your growing attraction towards the tall, broad boy.

The music of the joint rings loud. The cymbal is almost as blaringly loud as the lead vocalist who sings one of your favorite Count Basie tune. Plucks of base vibrate the space between your ears while your hands wring nervously. Still searching the dance floor your eyes flutter disinterestedly along the faces of giggling, jesting pairs. A little sigh leaves you. Maybe it's possible that he's forgotten, you think. Or maybe he'd become unsure of your unfeminine sureness that leads many men running backwards at the sight of you.

Then, just as you're giving up hope, you spot Bucky standing there at the corner of the room. It's almost at the same time that his eyes lock upon you, as well. His trimmed chestnut hair is swept away from his structured cheekbones with a thick gel. There's something playful yet dangerous to that subtle eyebrow tweak that leaves you breathless beneath the low romantic lights. What starts as flirty stares across the floor leads to him sauntering towards you. Dressed in navy blue slacks Bucky straightens his coat ends and makes his way towards where you stand.

You stay rooted in place—awkwardly swaying from one foot to the next as your "date" approaches. His eyes never break contact with yours on his journey closer. Dancing duos threaten to block his path but he always expertly averts them with a suave, saucy little smirk and a nod of his handsome head. More than a few girls giggle as he passes. He's a sight for sore eyes, surely. There's no other man on this earth that you'd rather look upon than that of Bucky Barnes. When he'd first asked your name and kissed the back of your hand you'd thought you'd been in some sort of strange dreamland: for there was never a thing more bright blue than the hue of his eyes nor as chiseled as the shape of his delicious jaw. Oh, and those lips! You've yet to try them out with the shape of your own but you have a very strong inkling that they'd be a perfect fit.

Anxiously your heart hammers as he comes nearer. There's not a thing in this world on your mind now other than what he'll think to say to you when he finally arrives at your side. Will he take your hand? Kiss your cheek? Wrap his sweet, muscular arms around your waist for a hug? God only knows, and He knows you'll do nothing more than sit fidgeting impatiently as you wait to see what the answer'll be.

But God has other ideas. The realization of this dawns upon you the moment you feel a finger tapping against your shoulder. Turning, your chin tilts up to get a good enough view of the man who stands behind you. Familiar in his stature and scent you immediately stifle a gasp. Of all places for Robert—your overbearing former fiancé— to show up, your date with Bucky has to be at the top of the list?

"What do you want, Robert?" you heave out through fitted lips.

He chuckles dryly, "Nice to see you too, sugar."

"It's not nice to see you. In fact, I'd rather this encounter be over with." You cross your arms. Consequentially Robert's hazel eyes are drawn down your frame.

"That's a rather revealing dress, don't you think?" His condescending tone makes your teeth ache like too much sugar on a toddler's tongue.

Your own eyes dart down to what you've chosen to wear. It's a loose, flowy emerald green thing with short sleeves and flattering silk fabric. It shows off that tiny waist you've got and the long, lean legs.

"Your opinion on my dress has no effect on me anymore," you reply curtly.

Robert heckles. "As if it ever did! You never listened to anything I ever told you to do."

Before you can further prove his point by arguing, a hand moves to hold the small of your turned back. Bucky appears beside you with a soft smile placed upon his pink lips. "Hello," he hums. You melt into putty at the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his closeness. He's never held you so near nor so tight to his side before. It's apparent the reason when his ocean eyes move away from you up to the present nagging company. "Can I help you?"

"You can give me a minute with my fiancé," Robert responds.

Bucky's expression only changes in the form of a raised eyebrow. He looks to you to say more.

"Ex fiancé. Former. As in no longer together. As in, "I'm done with your bullshit, Robert"." You shake your head and scoff as your arms once again cross at your chest. Bucky chuckles quietly beside you.

The scowl upon Robert's face is unbecoming, to say the least. You oftentimes wonder why you'd fallen so in love with him all those years ago during your ninth grade high school year—pledging your love and life to the boy who'd berated you at every chance he'd get. Criticism ran from his mouth as rampant as lava from one of those volcanos they say take up the islands of Hawaii. It's been months since you last saw Robert: bucking up the courage to leave him despite the way your family and friends had all tried to convince you to stay. What would people say if you broke off the engagement, they wondered worriedly. You say who gives a rat's ass what these pretentious pretenders say. It's your life to live. And if you choose to live it pursuing Bucky Barnes, well, all the better.

"Oh, I think I remember hearing about you now." Bucky strokes his chin thoughtfully. "You must be the fellow with the bad temper and poor hygiene."

You smile over at Bucky cheekily. "Your memory serves you well, darling."

Robert blinks disbelievingly. "Darling? You've got to be kidding me, Y/N."

"I kid not, Robert. You know how strongly I despise a cruel jest."

Robert rolls his eyes. "Yet you insisted on saying you'd marry me only to call it off three weeks later."

"That was entirely your fault, not mine." Perhaps if the man hadn't been so cruel, demeaning, and divisive you'd have had real hopes of making a life with him. Alas, Robert's nothing but a rotten egg in the hen house of life. Bucky though: now, this man's a real golden goose. You've never met anything like him (or smelled— he smells divine!).

"You all done here?" Bucky asks.

Robert huffs, "Not in the slightest." His arms cross at his chest.

Bucky's arm, looped around your waist, tightens slightly. "I wasn't asking you, actually. I was asking my date here." Again Bucky looks to you expectantly but with patience. "Y/N?"

"I've been in this conversation far too long," you pause to take Bucky's hand in yours. "Let's dance, Barnes."

Appearing rather tickled by your response, Bucky starts to anxiously tug you towards the dancefloor. You giggle as you stumble after him on his hurried escape towards the intent of this meeting—not to see Robert—but to spend time alone, as the two of you.

But before Bucky can drag you any farther something holds you back. Physically Robert's grabbed a hold of you: slipping out of your mind but propelling himself back in it by snatching his hand onto your waist and tugging you back. The ground beneath your feet slides until you nearly fall, only righted by the firm hold Robert's got on your hip. Bucky's left hand fingers have slipped out of yours.

"Hey—!" your little shocked outburst is cut short as Robert starts to drag you now: not in the fun, playful way Bucky had been just a moment ago. He's got you on a short leash, much like he'd done when you'd been together, and uses his impressive strength against you on his journey towards the dance club door.

"Stop messing around, Y/N. I've been patient enough—waiting for you to get over this little spell of yours and come back. But this? Dancing with other men? Dressing like a prostitute? I'm beyond livid. This isn't going to be so easily forgiven." The tone he takes with you is that of a father, half drunk, takes out a paddle to use on his child's rear end.

Between meandering bodies you continue to try to pry yourself loose of Robert's hold. It's not until Bucky appears, jumping ahead of Robert and smacking his palms across ole Robbie's chest, that Robert's grip on you loosens slightly—giving you enough wiggle room to slip away. Bucky's got you by the arm and dragging him behind his back before you can even blink. The smell of his cologne is even stronger back here, for some reason. Or perhaps it's your heightened senses now that Robert and Bucky look ready to brawl at the center of this bustling, blissfully unaware joint that's got you sensing things you usually wouldn't: like the beating of your own heart within you skull and Bucky's heavy breathing. You can feel his stiffened muscles as your hand gently rests at the middle of his back. You stand on your toes to peer over his shoulder to where Robert faces against him. The two men reside only a few paces apart.

"Keep your hands to yourself and off of Y/N," Bucky coolly advises after having cleared his throat of any stiffness. His face, unlike his tone, is churlish and red.

"It's not your goddamn place to tell me where to keep my hands, boy," Robert spews. He gestures back to you and you glare. "That's my girl you've got back there, so why don't you be a good lad and step aside and let me take her home."

"You're not coming near her, and I'm sure as hell not letting you take her anywhere. Last I checked this wasn't the seventeenth century. She doesn't have to be with you or any other asshole that she doesn't wanna be."

Robert, yet again, scoffs. "She's going to be marked for the rest of her life. She's made a promise to me, and I fully intend her to see it through."

You can't help but growl out, "Oh for heaven's sake—shut your dirty rotten mouth."

Robert flushes vibrant pink. "What the hell did you just say to me, woman?"

With Bucky standing at your guard you're suddenly even gutsier than you'd usually be. "You heard me, Robert. I said shut your rotten mouth. I don't wanna hear another stupid word of what you've gotta say to me."

When Robert takes a hurried lunge closer you flinch—grasping the slack of Bucky's shirt and pulling your chest flush to his back. He stiffens and stands tall in front of you. His challenge is unspoken as he glares at Robert frigidly. Still, he seals the deal with the movement of his salmon colored pout. "You're a real piece of work, Robert. I'll have no problem draggin' you outside—spending the night in prison to get a good run at you, if that's what it's gonna take. So unless you wanna make a show here where I kick your ass flat and mess up that pretty little suit of yours, I'd say you'd best be heading the other way."

Robert seems to hesitate. For a split moment you're considering the consequences of what a brawl between Bucky and your former beau would look like. Surely blood would be shed on either side. It wouldn't end pretty.

"You wanna keep the shrew that bad? Be my guest." Robert takes a step back with raised hands. "She's not worth this much trouble." And with that he turns and leaves—exiting into the dancing, lively crowd in the way he came: unwelcomed.

Bucky takes two lunging steps after him—almost as if going to chase him down. You stop him first with a hand to the crook of his elbow and a stern stare.

"Easy, tiger. Let him go," you coolly calm Bucky down.

Bucky, huffing hot air out of his nostrils, gives his head a brisk shake. He takes one final glance back the way Robert just left before turning towards you completely. "I would break his thumbs right now if I could."

"His thumbs?" you laugh lightly. Something possesses you to stand up on your tiptoes now and brush that little piece of flyaway chestnut hair that's come to hang down in front of his face. The tight lines of his creased forehead smooth out and his lips are taken over with a dreamy smile as your fingertip gingerly ghosts across his warm skin.

"Yeah, his thumbs. Remind him not to ever touch you again," Bucky chuckles. "Or I'll break every damn bone in his body the next time around."

"So you're a fighter now? What happened to you being the one pulling Steve away from the brawls, huh?" You stand back far enough to rest your hands on your hips.

Bucky, feeling frisky with the way that you're staring at him now, rests his hands on your hips as well. You rather like the feeling of his warm palms spread atop yours—especially as his fingertips dig lightly into your hipbones. "Well, darlin', I'm not ashamed to admit that you've got me doing crazy things. I'd do just about anything for you."

"Anything?" you repeat. A raised eyebrow on your face has him chuckling.

"Yes, doll, anything." Quickly his tongue makes an appearance out of his mouth to quickly dampen his lips. "You look like you got somethin' tricky fixin' up in that pretty mind of yours now. Mind telling me what it is?"

"Right now all I want you to is ask me to dance," you coyly reply.

Bucky steps back—hand reaching out in a polite extension towards you. "Well, doll, you read my mind. Dance with me?"

"I'd be honored." You smile as you lay your hand atop his and watch the grin spread across his devilishly handsome face. A little shiver runs down your back as you remember what he's just done for you. "Thank you." And when he only nods, you add, "Thank you for standing up for me," in a much quieter tone.

Hand still in yours and a soft, tender smile set upon his face, Bucky brings your knuckles to his lips for a tender kiss and says, "Like I said, doll, I'll do anything for you. You got me in deep." He tugs you aside him and takes off towards the dancefloor in a stride. "Now, let's dance."