alwaysaglader

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch.12)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 12 - Looks Like a Cinnamon Roll, Is a Cinnamon Roll

A week after the carnival—after the Ferris wheel, and the words that had changed everything — Y/N decided it was her turn to give him something that would stay with him.

Bucky had given her a day she would never stop carrying with her. The orange lilies. The movie. The dinner. The way he made her feel seen, chosen.

Little did he know, she hadn’t forgotten what he told her—back in Wakanda, one of those late nights under the stars. After she’d shared her own dream date, he’d spoken quietly, like he was touching an old memory—of the evenings he used to love in the 1940s.

Science expos. Dancing. Stolen hours of joy in a life too often lived on borrowed time.

And though she'd never written it down—never needed to—she'd remembered every word.

So the next weekend, she gave him a new memory to lay beside the old ones.

It started with Tony, of course.

A few emails, a favour, and one light bribe later, she had two early-access passes to the Stark-FutureTech Science Exhibition — complete with quantum demos, live tech labs, and particle illusions. Basically, everything that would make a formerly frozen 106-year-old with a metal arm absolutely geek out.

And oh boy—he did.

Bucky Barnes trying to play it cool in front of a quantum phase simulator was easily her favourite thing about the entire exhibition.

"That's not how magnetic fields actually fold," he muttered, eyes narrowing at the holographic display as if sheer willpower could correct the physics.

"Bucky, you're growling at a hologram."

"It's wrong."

He looked like a kid in a candy store — crossed with a man entirely unaware of how brightly his eyes sparkled when he found something that fascinated him.

Y/N trailed behind him most of the afternoon — “Holy cow” and “I love this place” had already become the soundtrack in her ears.

When they reached the Particle Entanglement Kinetics exhibit — all flickering lights, floating atom models, and interactive panels — Bucky stopped dead in his tracks.

"You can build your own qubit array?" His voice was equal parts disbelief and glee, fingers already darting toward the controls.

Y/N bit back a laugh as she watched him work through the display with the focus of someone defusing a bomb — eyes sharp, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

"This is adorable," she whispered under her breath.

"I heard that," Bucky said without looking up, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You were meant to."

She let the smile linger before her gaze caught on a tucked-away alcove — a science merch shop, its shelves lined with quirky gadgets and trinkets gleaming under soft light.

Her heart tugged. 

She wanted him to have a little piece of this day. Something to hold onto — a quiet reminder he was still free to learn, to reach, to wonder.

"Be right back," she murmured, fingers brushing his arm as she slipped away.

Bucky hummed softly in response, leaning just slightly toward the touch, eyes still locked on the shifting holograms.

The shop was a small alcove of glass and metal. She moved through it quickly, looking for something just for him. 

One caught her eye — a retro robot keychain, its tiny metal body gleaming under the lights. A small tag hung beneath it, etched with a single line:

"Beep boop. You're my favourite human."

A smile curled at her lips. Perfect.

She paid quickly and slipped it into her hoodie pocket, heart light as she rounded the corner toward the exhibit where she'd left him — and stopped, caught mid-step.

Bucky stood at ease beside the display, shoulders relaxed, expression open enough to tug at her chest. A young scientist spoke animatedly beside him, words tumbling fast. 

And Bucky — God — was answering in that low, steady tone, a faint smile curving his mouth as he explained something with a slow motion of his hand, metal fingers glinting softly under the lights.

They moved in rhythm, both lost in the flow of shared curiosity, two minds meeting across the years between them. 

And Bucky looked... like a man in his element — curious, certain, alive.

Then, the moment broke.

A call drew the young scientist away — "Hey, come check this!" echoed across the floor like a bright interruption.

"Thanks, man — that was amazing," the younger man grinned, clapping Bucky lightly on the shoulder before hurrying off.

Bucky lingered a moment, gaze flicking back to the display. Then — head tilting, tongue peeking out again — he dove back into the controls, metal fingers poking at the buttons with a kind of boyish delight that made her heart catch.

Y/N smiled to herself. My little nerd.

She was about to move toward him — when a presence stopped her cold.

A figure drew in too close behind her, the shift of air, the subtle weight of it brushing against her awareness. Every sense flicked sharp.

"Fascinating man, your soldier friend," a voice murmured near her shoulder — smooth as silk, cold as glass.

She stilled.

"Quite the progress he's made," the voice went on, soft, measured. 

"Learning. Trusting. Even smiling, I hear."

Her jaw tightened, pulse even. But she didn't move, didn't give the voice the satisfaction of a flinch.

A beat of silence followed — deliberate. The knife turning.

"But you know... you can't turn a wolf into a puppy."

The words slid like ice across her skin, slicing clean through the warmth she'd been carrying.

But her gaze didn't waver.

She didn't move. Didn't take her eyes off the man before her — her man, bright and alive at the display.

When she spoke, her voice was soft — calm as still water. "That's alright," she said, each word deliberate, her breath even.

"I don't want a puppy."

The words landed quiet and sure — a blade she never doubted how to wield.

Across the floor, Bucky lingered at the console, metal fingers still dancing over the controls. But something in the air shifted — a subtle prickle down the back of his neck, the sharp edge of a voice that didn't belong.

Old habit, hard to shake.

His hearing caught it — the low, cold murmur, the words slicing through the warmth Y/N had wrapped around this day.

"You can't turn a wolf into a puppy."

And then — her voice, soft but unflinching.

"That's alright. I don't want a puppy."

His fingers stilled mid-press.

For a beat, he didn't move — chest tightening, breath caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief.

She'd said it like it was nothing. Like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like she saw him — all of him — and didn't flinch.

For as long as he could remember... he'd been trying to be smaller. Safer. Something people wouldn't fear.

Tamed.

But she didn't want that.

She wanted him.

That old tension he'd carried so long it felt like part of him, slipping free.

When he finally turned, the words still echoing in his head, she was already there — close, looking up at him with eyes soft and questioning.

"You okay?" she asked, voice low and gentle, unsure what had shifted in him.

And God — he couldn't speak. Could barely think through the weight lifting off his ribs.

So he did the only thing that made sense.

He reached for her — arms pulling her in, metal fingers flexing once at her back before settling. Held her close, closer, like he wasn't quite ready to let go.

And she came into it just as fully, arms circling him in return —steady and sure.

The first time they'd let something so quietly theirs exist in the open since that night on the Ferris wheel.

And when they drew apart at last, soft and slow, her eyes searching his, she smiled faintly, a little unsure, and lifted the small keychain toward him.

"I, um — got this for you."

His fingers brushed hers as he took it, careful, almost reverent.

His eyes dropped to the tiny robot in his palm — all chrome edges and awkward charm. The tag read, Beep boop. You're my favourite human.

It was small. Light. Easy to miss.

And yet — There was a time he didn’t think he could ever be anyone’s favourite. Not after everything.

But here she was. Saying it like it was obvious.

And somehow, that made it feel like the rarest thing he'd ever held.

His fingers closed around it, careful. Like it might slip through if he wasn't gentle.

"Thank you," he managed.

Then, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his bike keys and clipped the robot right onto the ring. 

He glanced at her, smile just a little crooked. "Guess he's riding with me now."

Y/N giggled, then leaned in and kissed his cheek — soft, but just enough to leave it pink.

Bucky blinked, just once. Then grinned. 

"I think I've soaked up all the quantum theory my brain can handle," he said, voice a little lower now. "Want to head out?"

Y/N smiled, already tugging his hand gently toward the exit.

"Sam mentioned there's a farmer's market a few blocks from here," she said. "Thought it'd be a good way to unwind after all that tech."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused — but she wasn't done.

"He said there's a vinyl stall," she added, eyes flicking to his. "With songs from... our time."

His smile deepened.

"You wanna check it out?" she asked. "Maybe we can find something to dance to tonight."

Bucky didn't answer right away. His thumb traced hers — a quiet yes before the words caught up.

"Yeah," he said, as they kept walking, hand in hand. "I'd like that."

And as they did, Bucky's mind began to piece it together.

The science convention. The vinyl store. The dancing.

None of it was random.

She remembered what he'd whispered into the night back in Wakanda — about science expos and swing music, about the small joys he thought he'd left behind in the 1940s.

She wasn't just giving him a day.

She was giving something back to the part of him that used to dream.

His grip on her hand tightened slightly — like anchoring himself to the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky didn't feel like a relic trying to keep up with the world.

He felt like a man who'd been remembered.

The farmer’s market buzzed with life — warm bread, citrus, and kettle corn in the air. Music drifted from a nearby stall, children weaving past with juice boxes, a guitar strumming under a tent.

They wandered the stalls until they found it — a narrow shop between a bookstall and a café. Y/N pushed open the wood-framed door, and a brass bell chimed overhead.

Just like the stores back then.

Inside, it smelled of dust and old paper. Vintage cameras, radios, postcards, and faded maps lined the shelves in cluttered harmony. One wall ticked with rows of slightly out-of-sync clocks.

Shelves stretched along every aisle, filled with relics — the kind that didn't just belong to history books but to memory.

"The vinyls'll probably be in the back," Y/N murmured, gently tugging his hand.

They walked through the narrow aisles, shoulders nearly brushing the shelves, surrounded by the weight and wonder of the past.

Dust clung to the air like memory.

Bucky slowed near a shelf stacked with thick parchment — creamy, slightly yellowed sheets bundled with twine.

He brushed the top page with a light touch. “This was it,” he murmured, voice low, almost distant. “Paper like this. We’d write letters on it… when they sent us away.”

Y/N turned toward him, her gaze soft. "To your family?"

He nodded once, fingers still ghosting the edge. "To Steve. To my ma. My sister."

A breath caught faintly in his throat — but he didn't stop. His voice, when it came again, was quieter. Almost reverent.

"One of my buddies... Carter. He wrote to his wife. Every letter. Every damn time — even when we didn't know if we'd make it to the next post."

His thumb smoothed the edge of the parchment, the memory anchoring him there.

"He'd always sign them: 'Always yours.'".

Bucky huffed a quiet breath — part laugh, part ache. "Carter said it wasn't about forever. No one could promise that. Not back then."

He looked at her now — eyes steady, voice rough but sure.

"It meant — even if the world tore us apart... part of him would still be hers. Something she could keep."

Y/N stood silent, dazed by the depth of what he'd shared.

She'd seen soldiers write letters like that — her boots in the same dust, her hands steadying theirs in field tents and foxholes. Notes folded with trembling fingers, words inked with hope that outlasted the war.

She'd watched too many of them go unanswered. Letters sent back to bodies that never made it home.

And yet... here he was, speaking of that kind of love — not forever in the grand sense, but always in the everyday. A love made by choosing it, even when tomorrow wasn't certain.

Without a word, she tucked herself beneath his arm, nestling gently into his side.

Bucky let go of the parchment and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer.

His lips found her forehead and stayed there, full of quiet devotion.

Because Carter's words weren't just a memory now.

They were a vow he understood.

Because he was now carrying that kind of love too. 

And it was hers.

And he meant every unspoken word of it.

They stood like that for a moment — steady, held, understood.

Then, slowly, Bucky lowered his hand from her shoulder, letting it slide down to lace gently with hers once more.

"Come on," he murmured, nodding toward the back. "Let's find those records."

She gave a small nod, her eyes lingering on his for a beat longer before they moved together through the narrow aisles, hand in hand.

The shelves thinned toward the rear of the shop, opening into a cozy nook lined with wooden crates.

Rows of vinyls waited — worn edges, glossy sleeves, the past stacked neatly and ready to be played.

Y/N smiled. "Looks like we found it."

They knelt beside one of the crates, fingers trailing over old sleeves — Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn Miller, The Ink Spots — laughter and memory tucked between familiar songs.

For a while, they stayed like that — reminiscing — until a warm, sugary scent drifted into the air, faint to most but sharp enough for their super soldier senses to catch.

Bucky's head lifted, nose twitching. "You smell that?"

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling. "Cinnamon rolls," she said with a grin — and right on cue, his stomach growled.

Her voice was all fondness. "Now that is the sound of someone who definitely needs a cinnamon roll."

He rubbed the back of his neck, half-sheepish. "You know... I never used to let myself get hungry for stuff like this."

"I know," she said softly. "But I'm proud you do now. I'll get us some."

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, warmth creeping into his expression.

"You keep feeding me like this, doll... I'm gonna put on a few pounds."

Y/N's smile deepened, eyes bright.

"More of you for me to love." 

And before he could even think to respond, she rose on her toes, pressed a slow kiss to his cheek, and whispered:

"Choose one for us. I'll be back".

Then she was gone — cinnamon rolls on her mind, no doubt — and he sat there, her kiss still warm on his skin.

"More of you for me to love."

God.

That simple. That sure. That safe.

He wasn't sure he'd survive her saying things like that — or maybe that was the point. Maybe surviving didn't involve having to stay sharp-edged anymore. 

Didn't mean lean muscle and cold precision like a blade. Didn't mean watching what he ate. Didn't mean fighting the instinct to want.

And hell — maybe he didn't have to look like a soldier anymore.

He could eat. He could be full. He could rest.

And if that meant there was more of him — more softness, more weight, more life — she'd still hold it. Still want it. Still love it.

And maybe that was enough — learning to hold himself the way she did: gently, without condition.

Maybe just being Bucky was enough.

And he was finally starting to see that.

He exhaled, slow — like letting something go — and turned back to the crates.

His fingers moved quieter now, dragging along old cardboard sleeves, until one made him pause.

The cover was worn, the edges soft with time. But something about it... stilled him.

He picked it up — held it there for a second, just looking.

Didn't smile. Didn't speak.

Just felt it.

Like the memory was already tucked inside.

This is it. 

When he brought it to the counter, the older man behind the till gave him a knowing smile.

"Already taken care of, son," the man said, sliding the record gently into a brown paper sleeve. "Your girl paid for it on her way out."  

Bucky blinked.

"She—" He stopped, huffed a breath that was half a laugh, half something tighter.

Of course she did. 

"Thanks," he said quietly, fingers lingering a second too long like he needed to feel it.

He stepped out into the bright market air — record tucked under one arm — drawn instantly by the warm, sweet pull of cinnamon on the breeze.

To the right — two stalls down — a small line had formed at the roll stand.

But no sign of her.

His brows drew together, gaze scanning the crowd — and then he saw her.

Two stalls over, just beyond the roll stand — her form familiar even in profile — standing at a flower stall.

Roses.

He caught the faintest glimpse of her reaching out — choosing them carefully, fingers gentle — before she turned, cinnamon rolls now bagged in one hand, the roses cradled in her arms.

And then she spotted him.

Stopped mid-step — smile blooming slow and shy across her face, as if she hadn't meant for him to see.

For a breath, he couldn’t move — couldn’t quite breathe. Just stood there. Watching her walk toward him, roses and rolls both in hand, looking for all the damn world like she was carrying half his heart back with her.

She stopped in front of him, smile a little sheepish, eyes bright.

"Thought you might like these too," she said softly, lifting the roses just a little.

For a moment — Bucky just stared.

At the roses. At her.

At the fact that she was standing here, in the middle of a market, in broad daylight — handing him flowers like it was the most natural thing in the damn world.

God.

He'd never— No one ever had.

His voice found the only question that made sense. "For me?" he murmured, blinking down at the roses like they were some fragile kind of miracle.

Y/N's smile softened, eyes crinkling. "For you."

When she kissed his cheek again — a little longer this time — he just stood there, heart too full to speak, the roses still resting between them.

And just like that, he was back in Wakanda — another flower, another day, by still water and soft earth.

A lotus in her hand. His, too broken to hold it. The sound of crushed petals. Guilt.

Her voice from that day echoed now, clear as the sun overhead.

"Maybe it's about reclaiming who you were before they got to you."

The words surfaced again — sharp and sudden — catching in his chest.

Because this was it, wasn't it?

This was the reclaiming.

Not redemption. Not repair. This.

A song chosen from a childhood he thought lost. A science fair, for God's sake — because she knew he'd love it. And now — roses. Given to him, for no reason but love.

It all gathered there — in his hands, in his chest.

But this time — his fingers didn't tremble. They opened.

And he took them — held them — whole.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice rough with too much unsaid. "I'll take good care of them." 

This time, he knew he could. 

Y/N's smile deepened — soft, a little shy — as if she didn't quite realise this was a gift he'd remember for the rest of his life. Then she reached for his hand, fingers slipping through his with familiar care.

In her other hand, the cinnamon rolls swung gently at her side. In his free one, the roses rested carefully. The record, tucked under his arm, pressed close to his heart.

And like that, they started walking again, wandering the market like two souls on a quiet quest for the perfect spot to share warm cinnamon rolls.

Y/N glanced at him, and just for a moment, she wondered — would he feel self-conscious?

Bucky Barnes. Metal-armed and broad-shouldered. Carrying a bright bouquet of red roses through a bustling market.

It wasn't exactly subtle.

When she looked up again, he was already watching her — a little smirk playing at his mouth.

"You're staring, doll," he said. Voice low, warm. Almost bashful — like her attention still caught him off guard sometimes.

She hesitated. "I wasn't sure if— if you didn't want to carry them, I could—"

But before she could finish, he cut in — firm, certain.

"No."

That stopped her.

She looked up, surprised — and he met her eyes with a soft smile, one corner of his mouth tugging higher.

Like he'd just been handed the damn moon.

"I'm carrying 'em," he said simply.

And just like that — she melted.

Because he wasn't embarrassed. He wasn't hiding.

He was proud.

As if being loved by her was something he'd never, ever be ashamed of.

"First time I've ever been given flowers," he added after a beat, glancing down at the bouquet in his arm.

Then, a little softer: "And it was you."

He looked back at her, eyes bright.

"Not giving that up to anyone else."

And with that, he adjusted the bouquet carefully in his arm, cradling it like something precious — walking beside her like he'd been waiting his whole damn life to do exactly this.

They lingered a little longer — cinnamon rolls shared on a sun-warmed bench, laughter soft between bites — before finally heading back.

The ride back passed in golden quiet, the kind that hums when everything feels right.

When they stepped into the compound, the stillness wrapped around them like a blanket.

Bucky glanced around, brow lifted. "It's unusually quiet."

Y/N shrugged, smile playing at her lips. "Everyone's away this weekend."

A beat. Then softer— "It's just us tonight."

Upstairs, they stopped in front of their rooms — side by side like always.

"There's one more thing I've got planned for tonight," she said, almost shy. "It's a little surprise".

Bucky looked at her, eyes soft with disbelief. "You're spoiling me, doll."

She smiled, brushing it off with a small shake of her head. "It might take a little while, so... why don't you change, get comfortable in the common room. I'll find you there."

Before he could answer, she added gently, "Also... can I borrow your bike?"

That earned her a low chuckle, and before she could even blink, his hand was at her waist, pulling her close, chest to chest.

"You really don't have to ask." His voice was low. "Everything I have is yours."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then let go just long enough to reach into his jacket. He placed the bike keys in her palm, his fingers curling gently over hers.

Y/N’s smile softened. She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She took a step back — but her hand was still in his.

And he didn't let go.

When she looked up again, he was still watching her — gaze warm, unwavering. "I love you," he said.

Her heart twisted — just a little. "I love you too, Buck," she murmured, eyes bright.

And just when he thought she might let go — might turn and walk off with that soft smile still on her face — she didn't.

She ran the single step back into his arms instead, half-laughing as she jumped up, wrapping herself around him like she couldn't bear the space after all.

He caught her easily — like always — arms closing around her like muscle memory.

And then, as always, he spun her.

Because ever since she'd told him — breathless and blushing — that being twirled like that made her feel like a princess, Bucky had made sure to do it every time.

Whether it was her running into his arms after a long mission, or him rushing straight to her the moment he stepped off the jet.

Or whenever she ran to him like this—full of joy, full of love.

He never missed the chance.

Her laugh spilled against his shoulder, soft and golden and full of something he wanted to keep forever.

For a long, still moment, they didn't move.

Then, finally, Bucky let her go — hands trailing just a second longer than they needed to. Like letting go still took a little convincing.

She watched him disappear into his room, bouquet and record still tucked in the crook of his arm. The door clicked shut behind him.

Y/N turned, heart light, and headed for the common room.

It didn't take long. She moved quickly, quietly, setting everything in place. Then she slipped out the side entrance of the compound.

The evening air was cool as she crossed the drive, making her way to the sleek black bike waiting just where he'd left it.

She slid on the helmet, straddled the seat, and eased the engine to life.

As she rolled down the quiet road, wind threading through her jacket, a smile tugged at her lips — the memory of the place she was heading to bloomed quietly in her mind.

The restaurant was a good hour from the compound. Not the kind of place you stumbled across twice — unless you meant to.

And tonight, she meant to.

When they were first adjusting to life in the city, the team had done their best — restaurants, food stalls, cafés tucked into side streets — all kinds of places meant to offer new experiences.

For Y/N, it was sometimes overwhelming but manageable. For Bucky — it was harder.

Some flavours hit too sharp. Some textures reminded him too much of rations, starvation, Hydra's food deprivation cycles.

And when that happened, it was always Y/N who noticed.

One evening, after he'd barely touched a plate, Y/N had nudged his shoulder gently.

"C'mon," she'd said simply. "We'll find you something else."

They'd been walking a while, drifting through unfamiliar streets — no plan, no destination, just following the hush of the night.

And then — Bucky stopped. Head tilted, drawn by something.

A scent in the air — warm, rich, achingly familiar.

Without a word, he followed it.

Down a narrow alleyway to a small brick-front restaurant.

He paused just outside, staring like he wasn't sure it was real.

"Places like this still exist?" he murmured, mostly to himself.

Y/N stepped up beside him, eyes on the weathered sign.

"Looks like it's a family-run place," she said quietly. "Maybe that's why."

Y/N followed him in, and for the first time since they'd arrived, Bucky sat down, studied the menu slowly — and chose something.

Not because he had to. Not to please anyone.

Because he wanted to.

That night, he ordered pot roast — thick slices over roasted carrots and potatoes, steam curling gently from the plate.

He ate in silence, steady and slow, savouring every mouthful.

And when it was done, he leaned back, one arm on the booth, and said just four words:

"My ma made this."

It wasn't exact. But it was close enough to stir something in him.

Y/N never forgot that moment - the first that had felt like an unbroken piece of his past.

His choice. His safety. His moment of reclaiming a simple joy.

And tonight, she wanted him to feel that again — Chosen. Safe. His.

Back at the compound, Bucky had showered, pulled on a soft shirt, a hoodie, and sweatpants, and padded into the common room — only to stop short.

His heart beat louder than the rain tapping against the windows.

The common room was dimly lit, warm — just right.

Their movie blanket lay draped over the couch, one of the soft pillows fluffed and placed exactly where he always leaned. His socks — the fuzzy ones — sat warm and folded, freshly out of the dryer.

She never forgot — that the nerve damage from all those years in cryo meant his feet still tingled and went cold, even in warm rooms.

On the coffee table, a steaming cup of tea. Next to it, a gift bag and a folded note in her handwriting.

Was the oldest copy I could find. Open it and start reading till I get back. Don't worry — I made sure Steve is safe and sound this time, so you can read in peace.

A smile tugged at his lips.

He picked up the bag, curiosity flickering.

Inside — The Hobbit. An old, worn copy. Softened at the edges, like it had passed through many hands and still survived the journey.

He sank into the couch, the blanket already pulled halfway over his lap like she'd tucked it around him without needing to be there.

The tea was exactly how he liked it. Of course it was.

And yet, for a long moment, Bucky just sat there — the book resting unopened in his hands.

Because it wasn't the tea. It wasn't the blanket. It wasn't even the book.

It was the fact that everything had been done before he walked in. Thought of. Prepared. Not because he earned it. Not because he asked.

But because she cared.

And that was the part that undid him.

Soldiers like him weren't used to this. You fought. You guarded. You stood at the front and braced for impact.

You didn't come home to tea waiting. You didn't find yourself wrapped in softness someone else had laid out for you.

He'd learned to live without it. Trained himself not to want it. Because needing it too much hurt worse than going without.

And yet here he was. Blanketed. Tea in hand. A book waiting to be read. And no war raging outside the door.

Waiting, not for it all to end, but for the woman he loved to come home to him.

For someone who'd spent decades strapped to a chair in Hydra's coldest rooms, head filled with pain, asking one question over and over:

What did I do to deserve this?

Here he was now.

Warm. Safe. Loved.

And for the first time, the same question returned — softer now.

What did I do to deserve this?

And for once, he didn't feel like running from the answer. So he stayed.

Minutes passed. Pages turned.

And then — faint at first, curling through the warm air — it hit him.

A scent. Rich. Warm. Unmistakable.

Pot roast.

He froze mid-page.

Then the door swung open.

Y/N stepped inside, utterly drenched — hair plastered to her face, rain dripping from her sleeves, a takeout bag clutched tightly in her arms.

Breathless. Half-laughing. Half-shivering.

"Told you—" she started, voice bright through the downpour. "—one more surprise."

But Bucky couldn't speak.

He sat frozen — book half-forgotten in his lap — staring at her.

She'd gone. In this weather. On the bike. An hour there and back.

For the meal he once called home.

Some part of him — small, stunned, disbelieving — couldn't quite make his body move.

Not until a sudden, sharp sneeze shattered the moment like glass.

His instincts kicked in hard and fast.

Book forgotten. Tea abandoned.

He was on his feet in two strides.

"Give me that," he said, gently tugging the bag from her shaking hands. "Sit down — you're soaked."

"I'm fine, Buck," she tried, voice still catching on breath. "Just got caught in—" Another sneeze.

"Sit," he repeated — softer this time, but not up for discussion, already pulling off his hoodie — still warm from his body — and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Buck—"

But before she could get another word out, he'd already scooped her up — bundled tight like a burrito — and was striding down the hall.

"Bucky—!"

"No arguments, doll. You did your part — now let me do mine."

She huffed, arms pinned, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her.

In her room, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and set her down gently on the bed — still bundled.

Without a word, he crossed to her closet, rummaging through until he found what he needed: a towel, a hoodie, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. The essentials.

He set them on the bed beside her, then sat down and gently began drying her hair with the towel.

When he finished, he stood.

"Just... change, yeah? You can argue with me after. I'll be right outside."

And with that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later — 

The door creaked open.

Bucky looked up instantly.

There she was — dressed in an oversized hoodie, sweatpants a little loose, socks pulled up over her ankles.

Cheeks pink, nose red, eyes watery from the cold — Still the most beautiful damn thing he'd ever seen.

She sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, voice stuffy. "This... is not how I wanted to look on our date."

He couldn't help it — a slow, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his mouth.

"What? Beautiful?" he said softly.

She blinked — caught in his gaze — then stepped into his arms.

And he wrapped her up without hesitation, drawing her in like the warmth was something only he could give.

"You just rode through a damn storm for me," he murmured into her hair.

Her arms tightened around him.

"And I'd do it again," she whispered.

And for a moment — the warmth, the rain, her voice — it all blurred.

He saw her again — bruised on the training mat in Wakanda. The moment she stepped over the line to face the trigger words with him.

His hand trembling in his lap. “I could’ve killed you. You shouldn’t have stepped in.”

Her voice, hoarse but unshaken: “You didn’t. And I’d do it again.”

Now — the same words. A different storm.

His voice was barely a breath against her hair. “I know.”

She didn’t let go for a while. And neither did he.

But eventually, with a few more sniffles and a soft laugh, she pulled back.

"Pot roast's getting cold," she mumbled, nose still pink.

He grinned, pressing one last kiss to her hair. "Can't let the world's most romantic dinner get cold, now can we?"

She rolled her eyes — but her smile was unmistakable.

Together, they wandered into the kitchen. Bucky ducked into the common room and came back a moment later, juggling the takeout like it was something precious.

He laid the containers carefully on the island — with the kind of care that made her heart ache a little.

They set it up together — a little clumsy, a lot cozy. Two plates. A candle from the shelf. Their matching teacups.

Then suddenly — Bucky paused.

Without a word, he turned and took off down the hall.

"Buck?" she called after him, confused — only to blink in surprise when he returned a moment later, holding a small glass vase.

In it — the roses she'd given him.

He placed them gently between their plates, then rubbed the back of his neck like he suddenly wasn't sure where to look.

"For ambience," he mumbled.

Y/N stared at him for a beat — then whispered, "It's perfect."

And just like that, they sat down for the softest date either of them had ever had.

They ate slowly, in no rush to let the moment end — smiling like they’d never been happier to exist across from someone.

When the last of the food was gone and she reached for their plates, he stopped her with a look.

“I’ve got the dishes,” he said, gently moving her hand aside as he started stacking the cutlery and plates.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest — and was promptly betrayed by her own nose.

A sudden sneeze ambushed the moment. She sniffled, nose starting to run.

Without a word, Bucky reached for a tissue, gently wiping her nose, then cupping her face with one hand.

“You need to stay dry and warm, pretty lady,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Then, with a faint smile, “How about you go grab the record player and the album for us?”

Her face lit up like he’d asked her to dance at prom. "Okay".

She stood, but just before turning to leave, she pointed at a glass bowl teetering at the edge of the counter — its sides streaked with a thick, reddish marinade.

“Careful with that,” she said, nodding at it. “It’s Sam’s. Some kind of pepper glaze he’s been fermenting for three days.”

Bucky squinted. “In a bowl?”

“He says it needs air.”

“Right.”

“Just don't touch it,” she said, chuckling lightly. “If it mysteriously disappears, he’s blaming you.”

Bucky raised a hand in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smirked, already heading for the hall. “Uh-huh. That’s what you said about his last almond milk carton too.”

“I was framed.”

“You were caught on camera,” she called back.

He just smiled to himself and went back to the dishes — humming quietly under his breath, like someone who had nothing to hide and everything to be grateful for.

A few minutes later, she returned — record player cradled in one arm, vinyl tucked under the other.

“Common room speaker’s still fried,” she said, plugging it in by the counter. “But Tony rigged the kitchen with surround sound — said Sam needed ‘culinary ambience.’”

She glanced around the open space with a small smile. “And lucky us... it’s spacious in here.”

Bucky had just finished the dishes, drying his hands as he walked over.

“You know Steve basically gifted this to me when I told him about the date plan,” she said, crouching to set it up.

That earned a small huff of amusement from Bucky. “Of course he did.”

“He even gave me a list of songs you like.”

His brow rose, lips twitching. “Of course he did,” he repeated, softer this time.

Once the setup was ready, she straightened and handed the vinyl over.

“Here,” she said. “You do the honours.”

Bucky took it from her, still wrapped in its sleeve. He paused — eyes lingering on the cover — before slowly peeling the wrapping away.

Y/N’s gaze caught the title. Her head tilted, voice soft. “That one’s not on Steve’s list.”

Bucky let out a quiet breath, still looking at the record. “It wouldn’t be.”

He slipped the vinyl free and traced the cover gently with his thumb, a faraway look tugging at his expression.

Then, quietly: “Used to watch my ma and pa dance to this,” he said, voice low. “Late nights, after my sister was asleep.” A pause. “They’d put it on... just for them. Like the whole world disappeared when they held each other.”

He let the record rest against his chest. “My pa… before he got sent off to war.”

He swallowed. “I think that’s the last time I ever saw him dance.”

Then he looked up.

And when his eyes met hers, the distance dropped away — like he’d brought himself fully back to her.

“Never really found the right partner to dance it with,” he said, voice softer now. Almost like a secret.

A beat passed — quiet, tender.

Then, steadier, warmer, he added, “Until now.”

He placed the record gently — that warm crackle rising as the needle dropped.

The first notes drifted through the room — low, slow, a melody older than either of them could place into words.

Bucky stood still for a moment — breath catching in his chest — eyes flicking once to the floor beneath them, like he could still see old scuffed shoes on worn boards. His father’s steady hands at his mother’s waist.

Then, without a word, he turned to her — and reached out.

Took her hand gently. Brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles — soft as a secret — then dipped his head in a small, old-fashioned bow.

Just like his father used to.

When he looked up again, his gaze was steady now — sure in a way it hadn’t been when they first met.

“If you’ll have this dance with me, darling.”

She barely remembered crossing the space between them — only that one breath later, they were close. Her free hand found his shoulder as he pulled her in.

His nose brushed her hair, the space between them gone like it was never meant to exist.

For a while, there was only the soft shuffle of feet and the low crackle of the vinyl.

Then — voice low against her temple, quieter than the music itself:

"I'm glad I waited to share this with you."

She didn’t speak — just tucked herself closer, her breath soft against his neck, arms curling around him like she couldn’t quite believe she got to be here.

His grip tightened gently at her waist — as if anchoring her there, as if holding something precious he'd waited too long to touch.

And beneath it all — the faintest ghost of a memory — a little boy's wide eyes watching from the shadows, hoping one day to find someone worth giving this song to.

Now, finally, he had.

The song faded, the last notes curling into silence — but neither of them moved. His hand rubbed slow, absent circles at her back. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulder.

Then, gently, Y/N lifted her head and rose onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Buck,” she whispered.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he murmured — and then leaned in, brushing his lips to hers.

Mid-kiss, Y/N mumbled against his mouth, a faint grin tugging at hers, “What are you smiling about?”

He pulled back a few inches, hands gently cupping her face, eyes bright.

“How’d you know I was smiling?”

She smiled back, nose almost touching his. “I could feel it on my lips.”

His grin widened — the kind that lit up his whole face. “Care to have one more dance?”

Y/N smiled. “I'd love to. I can grab a few albums from—”

“Oh no, honey,” he cut in, smirking as he stepped back. “I’ve got this one.”

He tapped the small panel beside the speaker. “FRIDAY, connect to my phone.”

A soft beep of confirmation.

He frowned at the screen, muttering under his breath. “Where’s the damn green circle...”

And then — the opening chords of Hungry Eyes kicked in.

Y/N’s brows lifted. He just gave her a wink and reached for her hand again.

“C’mon, pretty lady. Let’s make Sam regret those speakers.”

Hungry Eyes poured through the kitchen — low, warm, the bass humming underfoot.

And Bucky — God help her — was dancing.

Stripped of nerves. Loose. Confident. Smirking. Eyes on her like she was the only damn thing in the world.

A shoulder shimmy. Jazz hands. Hips swaying to the beat.

And a grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

Singing loud and carefree: "Hungry eyes... one look at you and I can't disguise..."

And then — God save her — he pulled her in.

Chest to chest. Breath to breath. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her hoodie, thumb brushing warm skin, teasing.

He leaned in, voice low, still catching his breath.

“Okay if I...?”

She only nodded — eyes bright — and he guided her gently backward.

No rough press — just slow, steady steps — until her thighs touched the edge of the counter.

And before she could even think — her lips met his halfway. Deep. Hungry. A kiss that left no question who they wanted.

She bit his lower lip, grinning against him, breathless.

“Someone’s got hungry eyes,” she whispered.

He grinned back — voice molten:

"Only for you."

And then — because the universe had timing — he shifted to press closer, one hand skimming the counter—

—straight into Sam’s pepper glaze.

The bowl tipped — comically slow — right onto his metal arm.

Both of them froze — still half tangled, lips parted, eyes wide.

Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Swear that dish had a vendetta.”

Y/N was laughing now — doubled over, breathless against his chest. “Well, darling,” she gasped between giggles, “looks like you’re going in the dishwasher.”

Bucky huffed, stalking over like a man betrayed. He yanked the dishwasher open and shoved his metal arm in with a muttered curse.

When he turned back, his cheeks were flushed — lips parted, jaw tight like he was trying to keep it together.

“I didn’t mean to kill the mood,” he mumbled, words tripping over each other. “I just—damn glaze—”

Y/N didn’t let him finish.

She grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him — deep and unbothered, like none of it mattered but him.

When she pulled back, her smile was breathless. “Still hot.”

That was all it took.

He stepped in close, free hand already finding her waist. With one easy motion, he lifted her onto the counter — then slid between her knees, lips finding hers again, hungry like he’d missed the taste.

She grinned into the kiss, voice low and teasing: “You gonna leave your arm in there all night?”

His answering groan rumbled against her mouth.

“Right now I don’t care.”

Somehow they made it to the couch — kisses deepening — until she was in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, hands braced against his chest.

And then it hit him.

One arm.

One goddamn arm.

His grip tightened, trying to steady her — but the balance faltered. She shifted, and he couldn’t hold her quite right.

Frustration rose sharp and fast — a burn behind his ribs.

His jaw clenched. Breath went ragged. She felt the change instantly.

Y/N pulled back, but caught his face in both hands before he could look away.

“Bucky,” she said softly. “Come back to me.”

His eyes met hers — a flicker of something breaking through the wall.

“I should be able to—”

“Hey.”

She leaned in, her forehead brushing his.

“We do this together. That’s what partners are for.”

Her smile stayed gentle, steady. “So let me help, okay?”

He gave a slow nod, breath still catching slightly, fingers twitching at her waist.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then gently shifted her weight to guide them back.

The couch welcomed them as they sank into it together, her body easing over his.

He laid back, hand resting at her hip, still anchoring himself in the feel of her.

She hovered just above him, forehead brushing his, her voice barely above a breath. “Like this?”

His eyes closed for a moment. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “Just like this.”

His eyes opened — slow, unhurried.

And then, as her gaze searched his, something flickered in his own.

Without quite thinking, he reached back — tugged the shirt up and over his head, casting it aside.

Not to impress her. Not to steel himself.

Because for once, vulnerability felt like safety.

He half-expected her gaze to drop — to skim the mess of scars across his chest, the jagged lines where metal met flesh.

But she didn't.

Her eyes stayed locked on his — steady, unflinching.

Then her hand rose — slow, deliberate — fingertips ghosting over the lines along his arm.

The ones that always burned the deepest. The ones he could still remember clawing at — nights when Hydra strapped him down and bolted their version of the arm in place.

He'd fought it then. Fought until skin split and blood ran slick down the cold steel.

And now —

Her fingers traced those same scars with a softness he couldn't have imagined.

Then, softly, as they lingered: "You’re beautiful".

His throat caught.

“All of you,” she whispered — the words brushing his lips — and kissed him.

Then her mouth left his, trailing lower. Lips brushing the curve of his shoulder, down the ridged line of metal and skin —

And then lower still.

Soft, reverent kisses pressed to each scar along the seam.

One. Two. Three.

And with each one — the phantom pain that usually lingered faded away.

Replaced by the warmth of her mouth. The weight of her touch. A new memory where the old one had ruled.

And it didn't hurt anymore.

As her lips lifted from the last scar, she looked up — and stilled.

His eyes — shining now. Not full tears. Not falling. But burning there — caught in the space between breath and break.

He was staring at her like she was the first ray of sunshine after a dark winter.

For a heartbeat — maybe two — neither moved. 

Then he reached — one arm curling gently around her waist, drawing her up until her head rested against his chest, just beneath his chin.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. And kept it there.

Eyes closing. 

And then—like film through a projector—every moment came rushing back.

Wakanda. Ice melting from his hair. Eyes wild. Chest heaving. “This is Y/N,” Steve had said. “She’s… like you.”

A lake. Petals crushed in his fist. “It’s okay to cry,” she said. “I did too.”

A mat. His grip on her.  Her voice, rasping but steady: “You are no longer the Winter Soldier. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. My friend.” And he let go.

Glass. Steel slamming into it. His breath fogging the surface. “Bucky. Look at me. You’re not lost.” And he stopped.

A room. Distance between them. Her voice even. “You asked me to trust you. So trust yourself.” And he stepped back.

His fists. Unclenching. Her voice, soft but certain: “You’re Bucky. Someone who chooses to fight for himself now.” And he did.

The hut. The final trigger fading. “Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.”

Rain. Tapping the roof. Scissors quiet in her hand. “All done,” she whispered.

The tarmac. Her shoulder bumping his. “Welcome to your new life, Barnes.”

The market. A plush wolf passed between them. “Saw it and thought of you.”

The wheel. Him hanging mid-air. “’Cause I love you too, Buck.”

And now — here. Her body warm against his. Her voice, low and sure: "You're beautiful. All of you."

Like waking up and remembering everything.

His arm tightened around her like an anchor.

And then — he felt it.

The soft shift of her fingers against his chest. Light. Absent. 

She was playing with his dog tags.

Her fingers moved without thinking, brushing over them. Light, rhythmic, like she was memorising them by touch.

He watched her — breath held, heart stilled.

Then slowly, he lifted his head. The motion made her glance up, confusion soft in her eyes.

He didn’t speak.

Just reached for one of the chains.

And before she could ask — before she could even think — he looped it over her head in one smooth motion, settling it gently against her skin.

Her hand rose instinctively, fingertips brushing the cool metal. She looked down—then back at him.

His eyes held hers, steady and impossibly blue. The bluest of oceans she’d drowned in. More times than he’d ever know.

And then — his voice, barely more than breath, whispered:

“Always yours.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away. Like hearing something she’d waited her whole life to believe.

With her heart full to the brim, she whispered back — voice fierce and soft all at once:

“Always yours.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and pulled her in again. This time, his lips found her temple, reverent and warm.

“Till the end of the line,” he murmured against her skin.

Not a vow to the past anymore. A vow to her.

--

Chapter 13 coming soon

Thanks for sticking with the story so far — I’d love to hear how the journey’s felt. (No pressure at all, just curious) 💫

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch.11)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 11 - If The Whole World Was Watching

The first thing Y/N saw when she stirred was the bouquet of lilies on her nightstand. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the petals.

For a moment, she simply stared at them—delicate and warm.

Then her eyes drifted to the black leather jacket draped over the back of her chair.

Bucky's jacket.

She smiled to herself, a hand gently brushing her shoulder, remembering how he'd slipped it over her at the theatre without a word. For a heartbeat, it felt like she was still there—still with him.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she allowed herself just a second more to smile—just to feel it.

Then—knock knock.

Y/N blinked and sat up, brushing the hair from her face. She padded over to the door and cracked it open.

There stood Natasha, already dressed, two coffees in hand, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Morning," Nat said sweetly, holding out a cup. "I come bearing caffeine... and a safe space to tell me everything."

Y/N groaned with a smile, pulling the door open wider. "You're relentless."

"I'm Russian," Natasha replied. "Relentless is our love language."

They talked for a while—soft laughter between sips of coffee, warmth lingering like a held breath.

As Y/N recounted the night—the tenderness woven into everything he did—she found herself holding onto the feeling. Not the details themselves, but what they left behind.

Like being cared for. Like being chosen. Like being loved.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"He's dangerous," she said.

Nat's gaze softened. "Why?"

Y/N smiled faintly, eyes lowered. "Because he makes me believe in the impossible."

Just next door, Bucky was fast asleep, one arm slung around Wolfie, the plushie nestled against his chest.

He didn't hear the door creak open. Didn't hear the footsteps approaching.

What he did wake up to was two fully grown men standing over his bed, arms crossed, frowning.

His eyes flew open—and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What the hell—?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You know," he said dryly, "I was really hoping to walk in and find you cuddling Y/N this morning... not Wolfie."

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You people are the worst."

Sam smirked down at him, spatula in one hand, the smell of pancakes still clinging to his apron. "Yeah, Cap even wore his quiet shoes just in case."

He let the joke hang for a second, then added with a grin, "You even kissed her goodnight, man. That's a big step."

Bucky sat up, squinting at both of them. "How do you even know that?!"

Steve shrugged. "We have eyes."

Sam smirked. "And Redwing."

Bucky stared at them, horrified. "You weaponised Redwing for this?!"

Sam grinned. "Surveillance is surveillance, man. Don't blame the bird."

Bucky grabbed a pillow and threw it at them. "Get out!"

The pillow hit Steve square in the chest. He didn't flinch.

"You smiled in your sleep, you know," Steve said on his way out. "You never smile in your sleep."

Sam gave Wolfie a little wave. "Sorry, bud. Looks like you're getting replaced soon."

Bucky collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, dragging the blanket over his head.

God help him.

The door clicked shut behind Steve and Sam.

"Privacy's officially extinct," he muttered, flopping onto his side—Wolfie still tucked under one arm.

He had exactly thirty seconds of peace.

Then—

Knock knock.

Bucky sat up, eyebrows pinching. "Oh my god," he muttered, storming toward the door. "If this is about the kiss again, I'm moving to Wakanda".

He yanked the door open, mid-grumble. "What now, Sam? I already—"

He stopped cold.

It wasn't Sam.

It wasn't Steve.

It was Y/N.

Still in her pyjamas. Hair in a messy bun. Holding his black leather jacket in both hands, her fingers curling into the sleeves like she hadn't been sure whether to fold it... or keep it.

She blinked up at him. "...Bad time?"

Bucky stood frozen in the doorway, brain short-circuiting.

All the noise from earlier—Steve's teasing, Sam's smirking—just evaporated.

His eyes softened immediately. "No. No, not at all," he said quickly, stepping back. "Come in."

She smiled, stepping inside, the hem of her sleep pants brushing the floor.

"I figured you might want this back," she said, holding out the jacket.

Bucky looked down at it, then back at her. "Honestly? It looked better on you."

Y/N chuckled, but didn't let go of the jacket right away. "Thanks."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "You can keep it, if you want."

Y/N tilted her head, smiling.

Then, after a beat, she looked down—lifting the jacket slightly, like she wanted to give it but part of her didn't. "Maybe I will... one day."

Bucky gently took the jacket, their fingers met for a breath—and somehow, sparks flew.

"Sam's making pancakes, by the way," Y/N added softly. "In case you wanna join."

Bucky nodded, resting the jacket over his arm. "Yeah. I'll be there in a minute."

Y/N gave him a soft smile, then turned and padded quietly down the hallway.

He stood there a little longer, holding the jacket like it still held the warmth she left behind.

By the time Y/N reached the kitchen, the scent of pancakes was already filling the air.

At the stove, Sam was deep in full pancake mode—wearing a white apron and flipping golden stacks with practiced flair, humming like he was hosting a cooking show only he could see.

He glanced over as she walked in, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"Ah, there she is," he said. "Perfect timing."

He handed her a plate stacked high with pancakes, still steaming.

Y/N smiled softly. "Smells incredible—thank you, Sam."

Sam gave a small shrug, a smile tugging at his lips. "Only the best for you."

Y/N smiled, murmured a quiet thanks again, and took a seat at the kitchen island with the plate in hand.

Sam turned back to the stove, pouring a perfect circle of batter like he'd done it a hundred times. Then, casually—

He smirked. "So... how's the lovely garden in your room?"

Y/N paused, caught mid-syrup pour. "Wait—how do you know about that?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly as the batter sizzled. "It's not every day you see a 100-year-old assassin tiptoeing through the compound at dawn... holding a bunch of flowers like he's sneaking past enemy lines."

Before Y/N could respond, footsteps approached.

Steve walked in, two to-go cups of cocoa from their usual spot in hand. He set one in front of Y/N, then gave Sam a fond shake of his head.

"Stop interrogating her, Sam."

Then, without missing a beat, he sat beside her—calm as ever. He took a sip of his cocoa like he wasn't about to stir trouble, then turned to Y/N with a gentle smile.

"Lovely day yesterday, huh?"

Y/N immediately stuffed her mouth with pancakes, cheeks turning bright pink as she nodded a little too quickly—clearly opting for syrup over conversation.

Sam let out a laugh from the stove. "You know, for someone who didn't say a word, that told us everything."

Y/N pointed at her full mouth like it was a legitimate legal defence.

Steve leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling. He gently tapped her cheek—just enough to draw attention to the blush spreading there. "So... is this for the flowers, or the guy who brought them?"

Y/N's blush deepened beyond possibility. She looked down so fast her hair fell into her face.

Her fork missed the pancake entirely. 

And then—

Bucky walked in, pausing mid-step when he saw the three of them. Y/N looking red as a rose. Steve sipping his cocoa like it was none of his business (it was). Sam grinning like it was exactly his business.

Bucky blinked. "...Did I miss a briefing or something?"

Steve didn't look up—but he heard it. The subtle spike in Bucky's heartbeat. The echo of Y/N's, fluttering faster.

He smiled behind his cup. "Nope. Just breakfast."

Then, with a grin he didn’t bother hiding, Steve stood and stretched.

"Sam, we've got that morning run, remember?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not remembering—but caught the cue. "Right. The run. Super important. Can't miss it."

With exaggerated speed, he began stacking dishes into the dishwasher—record time.

As he did, Steve leaned down toward Y/N one last time, his voice low and hushed by her ear.

"I know we're built for battle."

Y/N glanced up at him, eyes wide and uncertain.

Steve met her gaze with a soft smile. "But maybe it's time to choose something softer than armour."

Then he straightened, gave her shoulder a light squeeze, and walked toward the door.

As he passed Bucky, he clapped him on the shoulder without a word, the gesture quiet but solid.

Sam followed close behind, pausing just long enough to swat Bucky lightly on the back of the head with a casual smirk. "You're late for breakfast, Barnes."

He pressed a plate of steaming pancakes into Bucky’s hands. "But I'm feeling generous."

And with a quick grin, he was gone— Leaving Bucky standing there, blinking, holding pancakes and confusion in equal measure.

Bucky lingered for a second, then, slowly, he made his way to the kitchen counter.

He didn't say anything as he pulled out the chair beside Y/N and sat down, the plate of pancakes warm in his hands.

Y/N tucked her hair behind her ear, still staring at her half-eaten breakfast. Bucky set the plate down gently, fork clinking against ceramic.

"...You okay?" he asked, voice low.

She nodded, but didn't look at him right away.

Then— "You heard what Steve said?"

Bucky gave a small smile. "Hard not to."

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Our serum perks, remember?"

Then, without waiting, he reached out and gently pulled her chair closer to his.

"My little super soldier," he breathed, in that voice he only ever used with her.

Y/N let out the tiniest laugh under her breath, eyes flicking up to him—then back to her plate.

Bucky glanced over, noticed her pancake stack already soaking up the syrup she'd poured earlier—but not nearly drowned the way she liked it.

Without a word, he reached for the syrup bottle and tipped it over her plate, adding more with the kind of quiet familiarity that said he knew exactly how she liked it.

Then, still saying nothing, he picked up his fork and cut a neat piece from the soft center of her stack.

He held it out to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N didn't hesitate. She leaned in, met the fork halfway, and took the bite like she'd done it a hundred times before.

Like it was just... them.

And Bucky, already watching, didn't need to see the syrup at the corner of her mouth to know it would be there.

His hand came up to her cheek right after she bit down—gentle, warm, cradling her face like it was instinct. His thumb swept over the corner of her mouth with practiced ease, brushing the syrup away like he'd done it before, like he would again.

"For what it's worth..." he said softly, his thumb now brushing the spot on her cheek where he'd kissed her the night before, the same pink dust blooming there again.

She looked up, met his gaze.

He didn't move his hand.

"...I think he's right."

His voice settled over her like warmth, slipping into the places she’d thought were still closed.

For a breath, neither of them moved.

And then—

"Okay, are we feeding each other pancakes now? Is that where we are as a team?"

They both froze.

Tony stood in the doorway, coffee in hand, brow arched to the ceiling and smirk firmly in place.

Y/N leaned back first, cheeks warm. Bucky didn’t move, just huffed out a breath.

"Don't you knock?" he muttered.

"It's a kitchen, Barnes. Not a bedroom. Or is it both now?" Tony quipped, already heading for the espresso machine like he hadn't just walked into a Hallmark moment.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Y/N hid her smile behind her mug, still warm in the cheeks.

Tony poured his coffee with a dramatic sigh, glancing around like he was disappointed not to find more witnesses.

"Anyway, I was looking for signs of life to say we're leaving for the carnival at five."

Y/N glanced up from her cup. "Steve and Sam went for a run."

Tony took a sip, made a face. "Disgusting amount of exercise."

Another sip. "Meet at the parking lot. Be late, ride with Steve. He worships speed limits."

Bucky didn't look at him. "We'll be there."

"Fantastic," Tony said, already halfway to the door.

He paused, glanced over his shoulder, and smirked—eyes flicking briefly to Y/N.

"You're looking bright as a lily today." He gave a small shrug. "Can't imagine what that's about."

And with that, he strolled off like he hadn't just outed both of them.

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head.

Bucky stared after him for a beat, then muttered—mostly to himself, "...I thought I was being stealthy."

Y/N set her cup down, eyes warm as they flicked to him—catching a small smudge of syrup on his shirt.

Then, she reached for a napkin and gently dabbed at it.

Bucky frowned, glancing down. 

"Great," he muttered, tone just a little pouty. "The one shirt I actually like."

Y/N nudged his elbow with a playful grin. "Guess you’re joining me for laundry today, Barnes."

He gave her a sidelong look, mouth twitching. "Fine. But I’m not folding. I hate folding."

"Perfect," she said, setting the napkin aside. "I’m allergic to ironing."

Bucky tipped his head, eyes glinting. "You fold, I iron?" he said softly—like he meant it.

Y/N held out a pinky. "Deal."

Bucky hooked his around hers instantly—like it was the easiest promise in the world.

The rest of the day passed in quiet rhythm—everyone drifting off to run their errands or chip away at the chores they'd been putting off. Nothing urgent. Just the kind of everyday busyness that made the Compound feel more like a home.

By late evening, that peace shattered the moment they stepped into the parking lot.

"Shotgun!" Sam yelled, already halfway to one of the cars.

Clint raised an eyebrow as he followed him into the lot. "You can't just call it mid-sprint. There are protocols."

Tony, arms crossed, nodded toward his sleek Audi. "None of you are driving my car. I don't care if you're Avengers, archers, or lightning-obsessed princes."

Natasha didn't even look up. "Then why bring it, Stark?"

Thor stood beside a large van, frowning. "Why is no one choosing the chariot with the most seats?"

Steve rubbed his temples. "Can we just pick a car like adults?"

Bruce strolled up, calm as ever, holding a reusable coffee cup. "This is exactly why we can't have normal field trips."

Sam was now holding a door handle hostage. "I'm not moving. You can pry this seat from my cold, pancake-fed hands."

Clint was trying to climb in from the other side. "Steve! Tell him he's being unreasonable!"

"I'm not refereeing this!" Steve called out, standing a few feet away with the keys in hand, already tired and they hadn't even left yet.

Amid the chaos, Bucky quietly stepped up behind Y/N.

Before she could turn, his hand settled lightly at her waist, pulling her back against his chest—effortless, instinctive.

He leaned down, voice low against her ear.

"Wanna take the bike with me?"

Y/N smiled, her head tilting just enough to glance up at him.

"Only if I drive."

Bucky blinked.

Then a slow smirk crept across his face.

"Deal."

Just as Natasha opened her mouth to deliver what was surely going to be a scathing, effective takedown—

VROOOOM.

Everyone froze.

A sudden, clean rev of an engine cut through the chaos like thunder. All heads turned to the edge of the lot, where Bucky's bike now purred to life.

And on it sat Y/N, already in position on the driver's seat, helmet on, wind tugging at her sweater sleeves. Bucky sat behind her, one arm draped casually around her waist, smirking beneath his helmet.

Y/N looked over at the bickering group and called out, loud and clear—

"The last one to reach buys us all cotton candy!"

She revved the engine again—with a grin, pure mischief.

And they were off, tires squealing slightly as they peeled smoothly out of the car park.

There was a stunned silence for a beat.

Then—

"GO GO GO!" Sam yelled, clutching the front seat like his life depended on it, fuming as Steve slid into the driver's seat, calmly adjusting the mirrors before starting the engine.

"WHY DID WE LET THEM LEAVE FIRST?!" Tony shouted, jabbing at his keys like the car was to blame.

"To battle! And sugar!" Thor bellowed, charging toward the van as Bruce climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

Natasha jogged past the van, keys spinning on one finger. "Only way we're winning is if I drive. Clint, you in?"

Clint peeled off after her without hesitation. "Wasn't planning on losing."

Inside the car, Steve muttered as he started the engine, "Should've taken the bike when I had the chance." Then he pressed the gas and pulled out behind the others.

Out front, the world had narrowed to two people and one steady engine.

The city blurred around them—neon lights flickering against the curve of Y/N's helmet, wind rushing past like laughter in motion.

Bucky held her closer, arms wrapped securely around her waist, chin tucked near her shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut for just a moment, letting it all sink in.

This. This felt like peace.

By the time they reached the carnival parking lot, the world had slowed again.

They parked and leaned gently against the bike, helmets off, quiet smiles traded between easy words and softer glances—tucked inside the little bubble they'd made together.

And then—

Chaos arrived.

The first SUV screeched into the lot, jolting slightly as Clint and Natasha jumped out mid-roll like they were storming a base.

Tony pulled in right behind them, muttering something about "brake pads and betrayal" as he slammed the door and checked his hair in the reflection.

Then came the van.

Thor rolled into the lot with the energy of a man steering a warship through battle—making three unnecessary loops before parking diagonally across two spots.

Bruce didn't move at first. He sat in the passenger seat, wide-eyed, one hand still braced against the dash.

"I've never feared for my life in a minivan until today," he muttered, then stumbled out, gripping the door like the ground might still be swaying.

Thor leapt out right after, grinning like he'd just won a race. "Flawless landing."

Moments later, the final vehicle cruised into the lot— much slower.

Steve's car rolled to a halt with all the dramatic weight of a diplomatic convoy.

He stepped out first, hands already raised in surrender. "I know, I know. Cotton candy's on me."

From the passenger side, Sam launched out like a man personally wronged by fate. "He stopped. For a pigeon. You know they can fly, right?"

Bucky snorted, unable to hold back the laugh.

Sam turned toward him, fully exasperated. "Oh, shut the hell up, Barnes."

Steve didn't miss a beat. "Language."

That broke them.

The group dissolved into laughter—easy, unguarded, like something old and familiar. They began walking toward the carnival entrance together, civilian clothes blending them into the crowd.

The carnival burst around them in neon and noise—cotton candy spinning in stalls, lights blinking like confetti, and music from every corner clashing in the best possible way.

They moved together at first, then drifted naturally into the evening, drawn in different directions by games, lights, and the quiet thrill of freedom.

Bruce and Tony veered toward the game booths, already arguing about trajectory angles of the ring toss.

Clint vanished without a word the moment he saw the dunk tank. A second later, they heard: "Hey! That guy's arm's too good—he's not supposed to win!"

Thor, drawn to the flashing chaos of a ride called The Vortex, bellowed, "I wish to be spun!" before dragging a reluctant carnival worker behind him.

Natasha walked beside the group for another minute—then saw the bumper cars. She glanced at Steve, who raised a brow.

She just smirked. "I feel like hitting things." And veered off like she was born for it.

That left Sam, Steve, Bucky, and Y/N standing near a row of rides glowing under pink and gold bulbs.

A little quieter. A little slower.

And then Steve's eyes narrowed at something across the lot.

"Is Thor... trying to convince the operator to let him control The Vortex himself?

Sam turned to look. "Yup. And judging by the hand waving, he's quoting Odin."

Steve sighed, already walking. "I'll be back. I gotta take care of that before Thor rewrites carnival safety regulations."

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving the last three to wander — passing popcorn carts and glowing prize booths.

And then they saw it.

The Ferris wheel.

Lit up in soft gold and blue, its open carriages turned slow and steady against the evening sky—like something pulled out of a dream.

Sam jolted. "Oh, we're doing that. Come on."

He took off toward the line without looking back.

Y/N laughed, eyes brightening instantly. She took a step forward—hand still laced with Bucky's.

And then she stopped.

Just one step.

She felt the weight in his grip before she even turned around.

When she did, he was still standing there. His smile was trying its best to hold—but his eyes had slipped somewhere far away.

Somewhere snowy.

Somewhere falling.

And suddenly she understood.

The Ferris wheel. The height. The fear.

The train.

He didn't say anything. Didn't have to.

Y/N stepped back toward him and squeezed his hand gently.

"Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. We don't have to."

He looked at her—grateful and guilty all at once.

"You should go," he said, voice low. "I know it's on your list of new things to try. You and Sam—go. I'll be right here."

She hesitated.

"Buck..."

But he shook his head with the smallest smile.

"I'll be right here," he repeated. "Promise."

She bit her lip, torn. Her eyes flicked to the ride, then back to him.

He smiled again—really smiled, this time. Soft. Just for her.

"Do it for me."

She stared at him for a long second and gave a small nod.

Then—without thinking—she leaned in and pressed a quick, joyful kiss to his cheek.

Soft and warm. Certain.

And with that, she turned and ran after Sam, her laughter trailing behind her like wind.

Bucky stood there, one hand on his cheek, watching her go— heart thudding hard and uneven, but not because of the Ferris wheel anymore.

The moment held him still.

His eyes stayed on her.

She and Sam stood at the front of the line, laughing—Sam all wild gestures and exaggerated flair. Y/N tried (and failed) not to double over, her eyes bright beneath the lights, cheeks flushed with a joy that made Bucky's heart swell.

Childlike. Open. Light.

He watched them climb into one of the carriages. Sam peered around like he didn't trust the engineering. Y/N rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a shove. The carriage rocked slightly, then began to rise.

Bucky followed it with his eyes, slow and quiet, until it faded into a silhouette against the sky.

A familiar presence stepped up beside him.

"You're thinking too much," Steve said, voice low.

Bucky didn't turn—just kept his gaze on the sky. "Are you implying I should think less?"

Steve exhaled softly. "I'm implying you think too much when it comes to her."

Bucky frowned slightly but said nothing.

Steve continued, voice steady. "About how to protect her. Keep her safe. Shield her from everything."

He let the words settle in the quiet.

"But in doing that... you miss the point."

Bucky turned slightly, not defensive—just listening.

Steve's tone softened. "Y/N's not like everyone else who leaned on you without ever seeing how much you were holding."

He let that sit, giving Bucky space to absorb it.

"She never expected you to protect her the way the rest of the world does."

A beat.

"She's always facing it—with you."

He blinked slowly, a breath catching at the edge of his ribs.

"That's the part I don't know how to live in," he said softly.

Bucky's admission didn't echo—it just lingered, low and unguarded.

Steve's voice came gently through the quiet. "Maybe it's time you try."

The Ferris wheel creaked on in its rhythm as they stood in silence, watching it turn—its lights blinking against the sky like slow, steady stars.

Then Steve spoke again, more softly this time. "She looks happy."

Bucky's lips tugged at a soft smile—more breath than expression. "Yeah... she does."

Steve's gaze followed the rise and fall of each carriage, steady as a heartbeat.

"You know," he began, "ever since we found her in the wreckage... brought her back to the compound—I've watched her rewire herself."

He paused, quieter now.

"From trauma to survival."

Bucky didn't respond, but his jaw tightened.

Steve glanced over.

"But she never really surrendered to safety."

There was a pause.

"The way she is now," Steve said gently, "that's the softest I've seen her since the rescue."

He gave a small nod. "That was you."

Bucky looked at him, expression calm but intent.

Steve went on, his voice lower now.

"And the lightest I've seen you be since we were kids?" His expression softened. "That's her."

A quiet breath of a smile escaped him. "You meet each other in a way no one else ever could."

A pause.

Then—

"If anyone's going to make her believe in love," Steve said, "it's going to be you."

Bucky held his gaze, voice low. "Why?"

Steve didn't look away—there was no hesitation in his answer.

"Because she believed in you first," he said. "Even when the whole damn world—including you—didn't think you'd be standing here today."

A quiet moment passed.

Bucky's eyes returned to the Ferris wheel—returned to her.

Steve watched him for a second longer, noting the softness that had settled in his features—rare, but real.

Then his gaze drifted across the fairground. In the distance—just past the ride and glowing food stalls—he spotted a familiar cluster of chaos: Tony, Bruce, Nat, Clint, and Thor, all huddled near a towering cotton candy cart.

They were waving exaggeratedly at him, Nat pointing smugly while Tony mimed checking a nonexistent watch.

Steve groaned under his breath.

He sighed. "Of course they'd hold me to it."

Bucky smirked, following his gaze. "Y/N wants the pink one—the extra fluffy kind. And I'll take blue".

Steve shook his head, amused."Noted. Sam said if his doesn't look like a cloud, don't bother."

Bucky huffed a laugh.

Steve turned back to him, pausing for a beat.  "You'll be alright here?"

Bucky nodded, just once. "Yeah."

Steve clapped his shoulder lightly before stepping back.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

Without missing a beat, Bucky smirked faintly.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he jogged off toward the group.

Bucky turned back toward the glowing wheel, eyes finding the carriage near the top—hers.

She looked gentle, bathed in twilight and carnival light, her gaze drifting across the view below like she didn't want to miss a second of it.

His heart kicked against his ribs. Like it was seeing magic for the first time—and realising it had a name.

And then the distance hit him.

She was up there.

And he was still down here.

Still afraid.

Still waiting.

And suddenly—without thinking—he ran.

Toward the spinning Ferris wheel.

The ride operator barely blinked before Bucky had already climbed the barrier.

"Hey! Sir—you can't—!"

But he was already halfway up the metal bars, climbing like a man possessed. The wind whipped against his face, the metal cold against his hands—but he didn't stop.

He didn't look down.

He didn't need to.

He only needed to see her.

Meanwhile, in Carriage #7—currently suspended several stories above the fairgrounds—Sam Wilson was already in full crisis mode.

"WHY are you like this?" he groaned, gripping the edge of the carriage with both hands. "WHY did I get in this death bucket with you two?"

Y/N leaned slightly over the edge, squinting downward.

"Is that—oh my god, that's Bucky—"

"OF COURSE IT'S BUCKY," Sam hissed. "Because this ride wasn't dangerous enough, now we've got a man with a METAL ARM dangling from the side like Spider-Man's emotionally repressed cousin!"

Y/N blinked, heart stuttering as her eyes caught him—jaw tight, eyes steady, hair tousled in the wind like some ridiculous fairytale gone rogue.

"BUCKY!" she shouted, somewhere between stunned and breathless. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Sam groaned and thumped his head against the side of the carriage. "I swear to God, if he falls and I have to write the eulogy—"

"Y/N!" Bucky called, his voice sharp with urgency as he climbed higher—metal fingers gripping the frame, boots finding any hold they could.

And then—

With one last swing, he hoisted himself up, arms locking over the top bar—dangling right in front of her carriage. 

Steady. Stupidly, recklessly steady. Like some war-worn version of The Notebook—grit instead of poetry, but all heart just the same.

He met her eyes, breathless but grinning.

"Hi," he said, like he wasn't several stories off the ground, hanging like a lunatic in love.

Y/N just stared at him. One second. Two.

Then turned to Sam.

"Hold my purse."

"WHAT?!" Sam shrieked.

But she was already shoving the bag into his arms and leaning halfway out of the carriage, eyes locked on the man dangling outside it. 

"Hi?" she echoed, wide-eyed. "You climb a Ferris wheel mid-rotation, and that's what you go with?!"

Her voice rose, exasperation boiling over.

"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES, I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING IF YOU DO NOT GET YOUR ASS IN THIS CARRIAGE I WILL—"

"Not until you hear me out!" he yelled back, grinning like the completely feral man he was. 

Y/N looked one second away from combusting. "I AM NOT BARGAINING WITH YOU WHILE YOU'RE CLINGING TO A FAIRGROUND RIDE!"

"I—I'm sorry!" he said, breathless, laughing like someone who knew he was pushing his luck and doing it anyway. "I know this is insane and dangerous and you're probably going to kill me the second I climb in—but I need you to know!"

"KNOW WHAT, EXACTLY?!"

His grip tightened. His eyes softened.

"I love you."

Silence.

Just for a second.

Long enough for his voice to echo out into the lights and music and night air.

Y/N stared at him, mouth parted in shock. Eyes wide. Wind tangled in her hair.

He clung to the bar like a lunatic with nothing to lose and everything to say.

The world held its breath.

And then—soft, uncertain:

"Y-you... you do?"

Bucky's breath hitched—but his answer came without hesitation.

"I do," he said, nodding once. "God, I do. With every damn part of me."

He didn't give her time to look away.

"And if that beautiful mind of yours still thinks love's not meant for you..."

He gave the faintest smile. "Too late. You've already got mine."

His voice dropped, lower now—gentler.

"And if that fierce heart of yours is still beating like it doesn't deserve to be loved—"

He shook his head slowly. "Not again. Not when I'm right here, loving you anyway."

A beat passed. 

The wind rushed between them.

"And if you still believe no one could love you..."

His eyes never left hers. "Then watch me try. Every day. For the rest of my life."

The words hit like a tide—soft, steady, and already carving themselves into her.

Y/N blinked, breath trembling. 

For a moment, her mouth opened—but no words came. Her heart was too loud. Too full.

Then—soft, certain—her voice rose, smaller than she meant it to, but truer than anything she'd ever said.

"Only if... if you let me do the same."

The smallest smile broke through, like something inside her finally exhaled.

"Cause I love you too, Buck."

The world stilled again.

Bucky's heart thundered—so fast, so loud, he was honestly surprised it hadn't given out on the spot.

"What—what?" he breathed, like the air had been punched from his lungs.

He stared at her, stunned—like gravity had shifted and no one warned him.

The climb, the chaos, the confession? That he could handle. But this—her saying it back?

That wasn't something he ever really let himself believe.

He'd imagined it, sure. Late at night. Half-asleep. In moments he barely admitted to himself. But hearing it now, in her voice, in real time—

It hit home.

Y/N's smile trembled at the edges, soft and real, a hint of pink warming her cheeks.

"I said I love you," she repeated—soft as breath, like the words had been waiting their whole life to be heard by him.

Bucky's lips parted, but no words came out—just the smallest, stunned laugh as a smile tugged helplessly at his mouth.

He looked at her like she'd just handed him the entire universe in a ribbon-wrapped box.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, heart somewhere up in his throat. And still, somehow, that silly, lovesick smile stayed right there on his face.

Y/N bit her lip, her own smile blooming wide and pink-cheeked, eyes shining like she couldn't believe herself either.

Then—softly, almost bashfully—she said, "Can you... can you please come here to me now?"

Bucky's breath hitched—then he nodded, slow and shy, eyes never leaving hers.

"Yeah," he said, voice warm and edged with wonder.

A breath, a pause—then softer, like he was tasting the words for the first time:

"Yeah. I'm coming, my love."

Hands a little unsteady, heart even more so—he climbed in.

Stumbled a little. Almost slipped. She caught his wrist with both hands and dragged him in with more strength than she meant to.

"Don't fall," she whispered. "I've got you."

He landed with a soft thud, nearly in her lap.

And suddenly, they were face to face.

Rosy-cheeked. Dazed.

Spinning, slowly, at the top of the world.

The lights of the city below them blurred like stars falling in reverse.

Time softened its grip—just enough for them to breathe.

Sitting in stillness, they leaned in—foreheads pressed, breath to breath, eyes closed.

Smiles lingered on their lips—trembling, radiant, impossibly soft.

And in the hush between heartbeats, they glowed.

She tugged him closer, and he came easily, almost shy in how close he wanted to be.

A beat passed. 

Then—slowly—they opened their eyes, like neither wanted to be the first to break the spell.

Bucky's lips curved into a grin - all boyish charm and wonder he couldn't quite hide.

"So..." he whispered, voice low and warm, "Does this mean I'm officially your man now?"

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her eyes still shining.

"You climbed a Ferris wheel like a feral raccoon just to yell your feelings."

She cupped his cheek, thumb brushing slow and sure. "Yeah. I think that makes it official."

His grin only deepened—hopeless, smitten, entirely hers. "I'd climb it again."

"Please don't," Sam muttered from the corner, eyes closed like he was trying to manifest peace. "I just got my blood pressure under control."

Bucky looked over, startled. "Wait—you're still in here?"

"YEAH, I'M STILL IN HERE!" Sam exclaimed, eyes snapping open. "Trapped in your love story while I'm over here having a heart attack."

Y/N leaned over and patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You're doing amazing, sweetie."

Sam gave her a look—half glare, half barely-contained smile. "Y'all are insane. Absolutely unhinged."

Bucky just grinned—way too pleased with himself—then looped his arm around Y/N and tucked her in like she belonged there.

She leaned in like she'd never known a more perfect spot.

Then Bucky—ever the menace—stuck his tongue out at Sam.

Sam stared at them, deadpan. "I want off this ride."

He threw his arms up. "I want off this planet."

Down below, Steve stood frozen, cotton candies in hand, mouth agape.

He’d only just returned to find Bucky missing—only to look up and catch him hanging from the Ferris wheel’s bar like a barnacle, shouting “I love you” into the night.

And Y/N’s answer—soft but sure—had carried down clear enough for him to hear.

A grin spread wider than the moon as Steve watched their carriage descend.

Through the dusk-lit crowd, he easily caught sight of them—Bucky already guiding Y/N through the next swarm lining up for the ride with one arm around her, steering her toward a quieter corner.

Then—Steve saw it.

With a breathless laugh, Bucky swept her off her feet in a delighted spin. Her giggle rose above the fairground noise as she clung to him, arms tight around his neck. He set her down gently, but neither let go. Not even a little.

Steve stood there, lost in the moment—until a thundercloud in the form of Sam Wilson barrelled toward him.

"STEVE."

Steve blinked. "Sam."

"YOU LEFT HIM ALONE. IN PUBLIC."

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Your metal-armed trauma gremlin! He climbed the Ferris wheel."

"I saw," Steve replied mildly. "Was it romantic?"

Sam gaped. "Was it—STEVE. He could've DIED. Or short-circuited a power grid. Or accidentally launched himself into orbit. FOR LOVE!"

Steve nodded serenely. "At least he finally told her."

Sam sputtered. "YES. ON A FERRIS WHEEL. IN FRONT OF A CROWD. SHOUTED it like he was auditioning for a musical!"

Steve chuckled, utterly unfazed. "That’s my boy."

"NO. Your boy traumatised an entire Ferris wheel full of people. And turned ME into an unwilling therapist in a slowly rotating DEATH BUBBLE."

Steve’s eyes twinkled. "And Y/N finally said it back."

Sam threw up his hands. "Yes. Of course she did. Because apparently insane declarations of love work! And I'm the idiot who thought communication was supposed to be healthy and low-risk."

Steve gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. "You’re just mad you third-wheeled a cinematic love confession."

"I was trapped," Sam hissed. "While they were cuddling and nibbling like a pair of mice who finally found cheese."

Steve lost it—doubling over, wheezing with laughter.

Eventually, he wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Well... at least they're not running from it anymore."

Sam muttered under his breath, took his cotton candy, and begrudgingly started eating it.

"...It was kinda beautiful," he admitted a moment later. "In a deranged, Bucky-Barnes-should-come-with-a-warning-label kind of way."

Just then, they both spotted Bucky and Y/N approaching—hand in hand, faces flushed, eyes bright.

Steve stared at them in awe, smiling before he could help it, as the pair wove through the crowd and finally reached where they stood.

There was a glow about them—one that made the fairground lights seem pale in comparison.

Beside him, Sam shifted with a loud sigh.

"Oh, would you stop grinning and say something," he muttered around a mouthful of cotton candy.

Steve blinked out of his daze. "Right. So—" he lifted one of the cones with a soft smile. "Looks like I didn’t need to bring the extra-fluffy stuff. You two’ve got plenty of sweetness already."

Y/N laughed softly. "He climbed the Ferris wheel, Steve," she said, eyes wide.

Steve arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I saw." Then he turned to Bucky. "What did I tell you?"

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. "Don’t do anything stupid."

Steve tilted his head. "And?"

Bucky gave a sheepish grin. "You were taking too long."

Steve chuckled, handing him the blue cotton candy and passing the pink one to Y/N. Then he pulled them both into a warm, steady hug.

"I’m really happy for you both," he murmured.

Steve pulled back with a smile, and for a moment, they simply stood there—light in their eyes, as if they’d never known war.

Before the moment could settle, a voice broke through.

"So," Tony said, striding over, "I leave for ten minutes to bribe a ride operator into letting Thor onto the teacup ride, and I find Barnes starring in a one-man rom-com stunt reel."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "That ride’s on the other end of the fair. How’d you even see it?"

Tony smirked, pulling out his phone. "Pepper sent me a video. Some genius filmed the whole thing and posted it. Zoom’s trash, audio’s gold".

Bucky and Y/N's eyes widened in horror.

"Relax," Tony added, already scrolling through his gallery. "I had FRIDAY pull it all down. This one’s just for me. And, you know… future wedding slideshow content. You’re welcome."

Both Bucky and Y/N turned crimson.

"Oh, please," Tony added with a grin. "You confessed your love dangling from a Ferris wheel. That’s ending with an 'I do.' "

Before either could reply, a new voice cut in.

"Please tell me I didn’t hallucinate Barnes hanging from a Ferris wheel?" Clint asked, appearing with arms full of stuffed animals he’d clearly won at the arcade with sniper-level precision.

A beat later, Natasha strolled up beside him, a faint smirk playing at her lips—her own collection of plushies in hand. "You two really know how to put on a show."

Y/N buried her face in Bucky’s shoulder. He huffed a quiet laugh, his ears burning red.

"The three of us saw it from the other side of the wheel," Bruce chimed in gently, an amused smile tugging at his mouth.

"Thor almost summoned lightning in a teacup," Tony added dryly. "Note to self: don’t show him confession videos mid-spin."

"Where is Thor?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before anyone could answer—

"Ah! The lovebirds!" Thor’s voice boomed as he arrived, clapping Bucky hard on the back—nearly knocking him straight into Y/N’s arms (not that he minded).

"How fare thee two? Have you merged souls yet? Is there a binding ceremony I must attend?"

"Not yet, Thor," Y/N said sweetly, laughing. "...One day," she murmured, the thought catching her off guard even as it left her lips.

For a beat, Bucky could only look at her — eyes softer than she’d ever seen.

"Whenever you’re ready," he said quietly, the words slipping out like a promise.

Y/N blinked, heart stuttering, and tucked herself just a little closer to his side.

There was a brief pause — just long enough for a few knowing smiles to flicker across the group.

A beat later, Tony clapped his hands. "Alright! Group selfie. To commemorate the first time Barnes was the one causing chaos on a family outing."

"Ferris wheel backdrop," Clint said instantly, grinning. "Full circle."

Tony smirked. "Pretty sure it’s the new team landmark."

They made their way to the front of the Ferris wheel, laughing and jostling into place.

Tony handed his phone to Steve. "You're tall. Get everyone in."

Steve squinted at the screen. "How do I flip it to selfie mode again?"

Sam groaned. "Oh my God. Cap, it's the button with the little camera icon—no, the other one. You're taking a picture of the ground—STEVE—"

Clint tried to help from behind, Bruce huffed a quiet laugh, folding his arms, and Tony dramatically mimed throwing himself into the Ferris wheel.

Meanwhile, Natasha leaned over to Y/N and nudged her gently.

"Am I allowed to say I told you so now?"

Y/N chuckled. "Only if I'm allowed to say thank you... for never giving up on me."

Nat smiled softly, pulling her into a quick side hug before clapping Bucky on the shoulder. She narrowed her eyes playfully. "I’m watching you, Barnes. You better take care of my girl."

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky said instantly.

With a satisfied nod, Nat moved to Steve’s side. He wrapped an arm around her—plushies and all—and finally, finally, lifted the phone high above to frame the group.

Just as he was about to take the picture—

Tony, sipping from a fizzy drink, snorted so hard it sprayed. "Wait, hold up—SAM. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE IN THE CARRIAGE?!"

Snap.

The picture caught the exact moment: Tony mid-gasp, Sam mid-rant, Steve laughing with the phone held high, Clint and Bruce cracking up, Natasha knowing smile, Thor doing a dramatic pose, and Bucky and Y/N—leaning into each other, laughing like no one else existed.

There couldn't have been a happier photo in existence.

As the night wound down, the team ambled toward their cars—laughing, yawning, someone arguing about who had won the most plushies—while Y/N and Bucky quietly drifted toward the bike.

Y/N swung her leg over it, settling into the seat like she belonged there. Bucky came up beside her, wordlessly handing her the helmet.

She turned on the engine and gave it one teasing rev. "You sure you don’t want to drive?"

Bucky shook his head, tugging on his helmet. As he swung a leg over and settled in behind her, he murmured, "As long as you’re happy, I don’t mind following your lead."

A beat. Then, softer— "And you know I’m right here. If you ever don’t want to."

Her eyes softened, and for a second, he thought she might kiss him again right then and there.

Instead, she grinned and pulled her helmet on.

The ride back was quiet in the best way—wind in their ears, her shoulders pressed to his chest, the hum of the road beneath them.

By the time they pulled into the compound’s parking lot, night had fully settled in, headlights cutting through the dark as the team pulled in behind them.

Doors opened. Groans of contentment. Laughter lingered in the air. 

Someone—probably Clint—asked what was for dinner. Someone else—definitely Tony—declared they were ordering pizza.

That, naturally, sparked the great pineapple-on-pizza debate of the night, voices rising in playful argument as the group began making their way inside.

But Steve? Steve noticed what the others didn't.

He slowed his pace and turned just in time to see Bucky still seated on the bike, Y/N in front of him, both helmets still on.

Their heads were tilted toward each other, like they were suspended in a moment that didn't quite belong to anyone else. 

Steve smiled softly, then turned and followed the others inside, letting the moment be.

The low click of helmet clasps broke the stillness as Bucky and Y/N pulled theirs off. Y/N laughed softly and hooked both helmets onto the handlebar.

She made a move to swing her leg off the bike—

But his arms were suddenly around her waist again, holding her in place.

She stilled, her breath catching as she felt his lips brush the edge of her ear.

"Turn around, baby girl," he murmured, voice low, breath warm against her skin.

Her blush bloomed instantly, but she didn't hesitate.

Wordlessly, she slid her legs to one side, then swung one over again—until she was facing him now, knees bracketing his thighs.

Bucky’s metal hand came to rest lightly on her thigh, the other finding her waist, drawing her just a little closer.

In the hush between heartbeats, nothing else existed.

The wind brushed her hair against her cheek, and without thinking, Bucky lifted a hand to gently tuck it behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long. 

Y/N’s heart fluttered, her smile breaking through before she could stop it.

"I still can’t believe you actually did that," she whispered.

A soft laugh slipped from her. "You know they’re going to bring this up forever, right?" she added, nudging his knee gently with hers.

Bucky shrugged, eyes soft as they stayed fixed on hers. "I know," he said. "And I'd still do it again".

For a moment, neither of them moved.

And Bucky felt it—felt the glow of her beneath his touch, the quiet warmth of her presence sinking into him.

Something in him leaned toward it instinctively, drawn to the light she seemed to radiate without even trying.

His next words came softer, closer—woven with the faintest trace of melody, like a secret meant only for her.

"If the whole world was watching," Bucky murmured, voice following the familiar tune, "I’d still dance with you."

Y/N's lips parted in surprise, eyes wide with a soft kind of disbelief. "Bucky Barnes..." she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. "You know the lyrics to my favourite song?"

Bucky gave a quiet laugh, eyes still fixed on hers. "Every time I missed you when you were away on missions..."

He paused, just for a second—then added, voice even lower, "I'd hear your voice humming it. Just like you do when you're next to me."

Y/N blinked, her heart thudding a little harder.

"So one day," Bucky continued, almost shy now, "I looked it up—on that music app Peter set up for us. The one with the green circle."

He gave a small, sheepish shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Took me a while to get it working."

His voice softened. "But I listened to it. Then again. And again."

He looked down for a beat, then back at her—completely open.

"Until the ache of missing you stopped feeling like pain...and started sounding like you."

Y/N's voice was barely above a whisper, something tender breaking across her face. "So we were listening to the same song..."

She looked at him, eyes shining, smile soft and full. "...just on opposite sides of missing each other."

Bucky’s gaze held hers, steady. "I'm here now," he said softly, like a promise.

She gave a small nod. Paused—then added, quieter still:

"If you ever feel that ache again, Buck..."

Her hand rose and rested on his chest, right over his heart.

His pulse stuttered under her fingers.

"You don't have to carry it by yourself."

She drew in a soft breath. 

A heartbeat passed.

"Tell me."

And then, softer—like a promise wrapped in breath and melody—she whispered: 

"I’d drive highways and byways… to be there with you."

The tune threaded softly through her words, familiar, tender.

Bucky gave a small nod, a breath leaving him like he’d been holding it for far too long. 

Then—soft, careful— His forehead dipped forward, resting against hers.

He didn't close the space. Not all the way.

He waited.

For her.

Her hands slid to the open edges of his jacket, fingers curling gently against the fabric—not pulling, not yet. Just holding.

The words rose easy now, carried by her touch.

"Over and over..." he echoed softly—voice holding the faint rhythm of the song between them.  "The only truth."

Y/N’s smile softened, eyes shining.

Her next words came like the faintest hum, slipping into the tune between them:

"Everything comes back to you." 

Her nose brushed his, feather-light. Her lips parted just a little.

His hand lifted to cradle her face. His face tilting to the side.

Her eyes fluttered shut— Then he kissed her.

Slow. Steady.

Like every second that led to it mattered.

Because it did.

The kiss stretched through a lifetime stolen—slow, sacred, theirs to keep.

For Bucky, the tender press of her mouth undid him more than any battle ever had.

For Y/N, it was surrender, pure and complete—an undoing of every wall she'd ever built.

In the quiet that followed, only the hush of the moment remained between them.

And when they did finally pull apart, it was barely at all—their breath still mingling in the sliver of space between them.

Neither opened their eyes. 

Then he felt her—drawn to him, soft and trusting—and his heart almost broke for it.

She leaned into his hand—slow, shy—letting her cheek press deeper into his palm, as if releasing a breath she’d been holding her whole life.

For once, she let herself want it.

And in that breath, his smile came slow—soft, like he didn’t know a heart could feel this full.

They stayed like that—foreheads touching, breath shared, eyes closed.

Then Y/N nudged her nose against his—softly, playfully—barely a brush, light as a whisper.

And Bucky—

Bucky giggled.

It was quiet, airy, almost surprised—like the sound had slipped out before he could stop it.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, a smile blooming slow and soft.

And that smile—so unguarded, so meant just for him—made his chest ache in the best way.

And in that ache, he felt it—what they both had chosen at last.

Softness over armour. Even in a lifetime of war.

[alwaysaglader]

REWRITTEN – CHAPTER 9: Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

Gentle note: I was pretty sleep-deprived when I first posted Chapter 9 – Where Do Broken Hearts Go? – and it didn’t quite capture what I intended. I’ve since revised it to better reflect the story. If you’ve read it before, I hope you’ll give the updated version a peek 😇

Thanks for being here while this story grows🧡

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch.10)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 10 - Made For Love & Made To Love

The next three days were a blur of planning for Bucky, each moment spent making sure everything was perfect for Y/N. He’d thought of every detail—nothing could go wrong, and above all, it had to remain a surprise. 

He started by securing Friday off for Y/N. Walking into the lab, he approached Bruce and Tony, asking them to give her the day off without revealing why. To his surprise, they didn’t pry.

When he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Don’t you want to know what it’s for?” Tony and Bruce exchanged a knowing glance before answering in unison, “We respect your privacy.”

It was ironic, though, considering they’d both tried to sneak a peek at his journal just days ago—something he hadn’t found out about... yet.

Steve made sure that no missions were scheduled for either Bucky or Y/N on Friday. With a quick word the day was cleared. "You deserve some downtime," Steve said, smiling warmly at Y/N, who was staring at him with confusion while he tried to hide his excitement.

Y/N walked into the kitchen, still trying to wrap her mind around what Steve, Bruce, and Tony had told her in the past hour. “I was given my Friday off from work,” she said, glancing at Sam and Natasha, who were casually hanging around. “Apparently, I’ve been overworking.”

“I’m not really sure what to do with a random work-free day,” Y/N sighed, sitting next to Natasha at the counter.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s a classic sign of overworking, Y/N. I’m sure you can find something to do.”

Y/N frowned. “Well, I guess I have some errands to run out of the compound. You know, like grocery shopping.”

Both Sam and Natasha immediately chimed in, “NO,” in perfect unison, their voices oddly synchronised. 

Y/N blinked, more confused than ever. “Why? I was even going to get your almond milk, Sam. I noticed it’s almost over.”

Sam hesitated for a moment, shifting nervously on his feet. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll grab it later.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Last time you ran out of almond milk, you had a tantrum.”

Sam suddenly froze, trying to act casual. “I don’t tantrum—I express frustration in creative ways!”

Natasha snapped back to reality, her voice calm but firm. “Y/N, why don’t you relax inside? Take it easy.”

Sam, looking like he was on the verge of breaking into a sweat, added, his voice a little too high-pitched, “Yeah, I’m sure you can find someone to do—".

The words barely left his mouth before he immediately started frantically waving his hands, as if trying to recover. "SOMETHING..something to do". 

Just as Y/N was about to respond, Bucky walked in, casually glancing between Sam and Natasha, both looking unusually flustered. Sam was wiping sweat from his forehead, and Natasha had that "I'm trying not to laugh" expression on her face.

Sam, looking like he’d been caught in a scandal, quickly grabbed his coffee and shot Natasha a look. "Uh, you know what, Nat? I think I left something in the gym. You good here?"

Natasha nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah, definitely. I, uh, need to check in with Clint. You know how it is." She grabbed her own cup, giving Bucky a quick wave before both of them hurried out of the kitchen, trying to cover up their awkwardness with overly casual excuses.

Bucky watched them leave, raising an eyebrow as he turned to Y/N. "What was that about?"

Y/N shook her head with a smile. “I have no idea.”

Bucky leaned against the counter, trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed the slightest twinkle of amusement. “Well, now that they’re gone, what’s going on with you?”

Y/N paused for a moment, unsure whether to give in to her curiosity. "I have this Friday off, and I was just wondering what to do. Apparently, I need to not be working".

Bucky’s lips curled slightly, and he tried hard to suppress the smile threatening to break through. All the planning and preparation he’d done for this moment rushed to the forefront of his mind.

Keeping his voice casual, he shrugged as if the idea was no big deal. "Well, if you aren't busy... why don’t we have a day out?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered with surprise, and she considered it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure. That sounds good.”

Bucky’s smile grew, but he kept his cool. “Great. How about we meet at 3?”

Y/N smiled back, her curiosity piqued. “I'm in”

As Bucky turned to leave, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. It was finally happening, and despite keeping his calm, he couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up inside him.

Next, Bucky set off on a mission: to find the perfect flowers. After scouring every flower shop in the city, he finally found a store that had orange lilies in stock. The florist, a sweet old lady, agreed to pre-order one for him, and he promised to pick it up Friday morning. He couldn’t help the lovesick grin that spread across his face as he paid for the order, already imagining Y/N’s reaction.

As he paid, the old lady’s eyes twinkled. “For a special lady, I assume?”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed as he nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly.

She smiled knowingly, her gaze softening. “My husband smiled at me like that on our first date. Forty years later, I still get butterflies every time I see him.”

Bucky’s heart swelled with a warmth as he left the shop, clutching the receipt. The words from the old lady echoed in his mind, deepening the smile on his face.

With the flowers sorted, Bucky quickly moved on to the next step: securing a reservation at Y/N’s favourite restaurant.

He dialled the number for Nando's, feeling a bit nervous as he waited for someone to pick up. When the hostess answered, he cleared his throat, trying to sound confident. "Hi, I’d like to make a reservation for two, please. For this Friday evening... around 7?". 

He paused, then added, "Could we get a corner table? Somewhere quiet, if possible." As the hostess confirmed the reservation, Bucky’s heart gave a little leap. He could already picture Y/N adorably munching on her favourite peri-peri chicken. He hung up, a smile tugging at his lips.

Lastly, it was time for the movie tickets. Bucky had planned to book them the old-fashioned way, going to the theatre in person, but Sam had quickly informed him that online booking existed.

Sitting at the laptop, Bucky stared at the screen in confusion. “What’s this ‘select a seat’ business?” he muttered, clearly baffled by the whole process.

Sam, leaning over Bucky’s shoulder, chuckled. “It’s not that complicated, man. You just pick a seat.”

“I don’t get it. Why is there so much choice? Isn’t there a ‘just sit anywhere’ option?” Bucky grumbled.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “If you pick the wrong seat, you’re gonna end up next to some random person who’ll judge you for eating popcorn too loudly.”

Bucky blinked, clearly overwhelmed. “I’m just trying to make sure she’s comfortable, Sam.”

Sam smirked. “Well, you’ll have to master this whole ‘assigned seating’ thing first. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” He clicked a few buttons, bringing up the seating options and letting Bucky search for the perfect spot.

As Bucky squinted at the screen, Sam hovered behind him. “You know, most people do the movie after dinner,” Sam said casually, leaning over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “Y/N gets sleepy on a full tummy,” he said with a grin, his thoughts drifting to a memory of when they’d ordered in and watched a movie together at home.

Y/N had eaten her fill and, without even realising it, had fallen asleep in his arms in the middle of the movie. He remembered not moving from the couch, just staying there, holding her as she snored softly, mumbled in her sleep, and even drooled a little on his shirt. To Bucky, it was the most adorable sight—one he wished he could relive for the rest of his life.

“That’s how my nephews were,” Sam teased, smirking at Bucky. “When they were babies.”

Bucky didn’t even look up from the screen, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, she’s my little baby,” he said with a teasing grin, barely holding back a chuckle. “So shut up and book the tickets, alright?”

Sam threw his hands up in mock surrender, muttering, “You’re impossible,” as he clicked away at the screen.

Friday – The Date

Y/N woke up late in the afternoon, taking her time as she sipped her tea in her PJs. After a relaxing shower, she got dressed, completely unaware that today wasn’t just another casual outing with her friend. She pulled on her usual blue denim jeans, her favourite  sweater, and let her hair fall loosely around her shoulders. Finishing the look with her comfy sneakers, she felt ready for whatever the day would bring—never suspecting the surprise waiting for her.

On the other hand, Bucky had been up early. He’d gone to the flower shop to pick up the bouquet of lilies and then sat through one of Steve’s "you can do this" pep talks, which lasted longer than expected. Now, he stood in front of the mirror, fixing his hair and adjusting his jacket for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He wore Y/N’s favourite blue henley shirt—the one she’d commented on several times—and slipped his black leather jacket over it. Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath. You’ve got this, Barnes, he told himself.

After one last look at his reflection, Bucky walked over to the bed and gently picked up the bouquet of lilies resting next to his plushie—Wolfie. Smiling down at the soft toy, he gave Wolfie a gentle pat on the head. "Wish me luck, little guy," he whispered.

Grabbing his helmet, he took one final deep breath, his nerves a mix of excitement and uncertainty. He made his way to Y/N’s door, his heart pounding as it raced faster than his mind could keep up with.

Today was the day.

With one last glance at the hallway, he knocked on her door.

A moment later. 

Y/N opened the door, surprised to see Bucky standing there, holding a bouquet of lilies in his hands. For a moment, she just blinked, trying to process the sight.

Why is he standing here with flowers? she thought, her heart skipping a beat. She noticed how his hair was slightly tousled and the way he was holding the flowers—nervously, yet with a sweetness that made her heart flutter.

She couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected gesture, but her mind raced. What did this mean? Is this a random gift?

Bucky, too, stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of her in her usual comfortable clothes, looking effortlessly beautiful. She looks amazing, even in her jeans and sweater, he thought, his heart racing even faster than before. 

He swallowed hard, trying to calm his nerves, but he couldn’t stop the warmth spreading in his chest. This is it, Bucky. Don’t mess this up.

Finally, Y/N found her voice, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, Buck. What’s this for?”

Bucky took a deep breath, smiling shyly. “Hi. Uh, these are for you,” he said, offering her the bouquet.

Y/N’s curiosity piqued, she reached out to take the flowers, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. "They’re so beautiful," she said softly, glancing up at Bucky.

“You didn’t have to, Buck,” she added, trying to find the right words to express the surprise and warmth she felt.

“I, uh, thought they’d brighten up your day,” Bucky replied, his voice a little unsure, but his smile genuine.

Y/N smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you,” she whispered shyly, her gaze lingering on the flowers as she added quietly, almost to herself, "You always brighten my day."

After Y/N carefully placed the flowers in a vase and set it on her bedside table, she grabbed her helmet as they made their way outside. The sun hung low, casting a warm glow as the cool afternoon air hinted at an exciting evening ahead.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Y/N asked, pulling her helmet on as Bucky did the same.

"I’ve got a few surprises planned," Bucky replied with a grin, his voice holding a playful note.

"Surprises?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, her tone both amused and baffled.

Bucky chuckled softly, stepping closer to her and making sure the buckle on her helmet was secure. He didn’t doubt she could do it herself, but he never took the chance of leaving a door open for her to get hurt, even by accident. "Thought it might keep the day exciting," he said, his smile warm.

"I’m intrigued," Y/N said, her voice light as she climbed onto the bike behind him. As per their usual rides, she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers brushing the warmth of his jacket. She melted into him, like ice cream on a hot day, her presence wrapping around him in the most comforting way.

With a soft hum of the engine, Bucky started the bike, ready to take them on the adventures he had planned for today.

They arrived at the movie theatre first, and as they approached the entrance, Y/N’s eyes immediately landed on the poster for a film she had been eagerly waiting to watch.

Her excitement was immediate, her face lighting up as she read the title. She hadn’t realised it was already out, too caught up with work lately to notice.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her reaction, watching her enthusiasm with amusement. He pulled out his phone and showed her the movie tickets, the realisation dawning on her face.

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in surprise. "How did you know?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Because I know you," he said with a soft smile, showing the tickets to the guy at the entrance before leading her toward the snacks counter, the sound of the theatre buzzing around them.

Y/N felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks, her excitement suddenly giving way to a wave of embarrassment. She glanced down, avoiding his gaze. "I’ve been talking too much about it, haven’t I? I’m sorry," she murmured, feeling a little self-conscious.

Bucky stopped and turned to her, gently lifting her chin with two fingers to meet her eyes. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice full of warmth, "hearing you talk about a raccoon and a talking tree fighting aliens is one of my favourite things."

Y/N averted her eyes, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. "But I’m such a dork," she mumbled, still avoiding his gaze.

Bucky smiled, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "And that’s one of my favourite things about you. So don’t you ever apologise for it again."

He paused, his grin widening as he leaned in just a little closer. "Besides, who else would put up with my dorky side, huh?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. "You’re crazy."

"You make me crazy," Bucky replied with a wink.

"Hey! Don’t blame me for your psychosis," she teased, playfully nudging him.

Without missing a beat, Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her closer as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You are my psychosis," he whispered. 

Y/N's breath caught, her heart fluttering as she met his gaze, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "I think you might be mine too," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his smile widening in surprise, a spark of warmth flickering in his eyes. The admission caught him off guard.

The moment hung between them before Y/N’s grin returned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Plus, I’m pretty sure my level of dork can outmatch yours."

"Oh yeah?" Bucky challenged, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You sure you can handle this?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Try me."

Bucky’s grin grew wider. "I read The Hobbit in 1937 when it first came out."

Y/N blinked in surprise. "You did?"

"Yep," Bucky said with a nostalgic glint in his eye. "Stood in line for hours to get it, sat down at a bar to read it, and didn’t get past the first two pages before someone told me Steve was getting his ass beaten in an alley again." He chuckled at the memory.

Y/N laughed, her heart light and full. "Okay, okay. You win this round."

When they reached the snacks stand, they browsed the menu before settling on their usual—salted popcorn and extra-large fizzy drinks. 

Bucky, knowing Y/N always finished one bucket of popcorn during the previews, made sure to get her two. Y/N giggled as they tried to juggle all the snacks on their way to their seats.

The movie played on, the theatre dim and quiet, and without realising it, both Bucky and Y/N had slowly leaned closer to each other as the film unfolded.

At one point, Bucky noticed Y/N shiver, her shoulders slightly tense. Without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over her, the fabric settling gently around her.

Y/N looked up, surprised but touched, a soft smile crossing her lips as she adjusted the jacket. “Thanks,” she whispered, warmth spreading through her at the simple gesture.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes softening as he watched her, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, feeling a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the jacket.

For most of the movie, Bucky found himself watching Y/N more than the screen. Her reactions, the way her eyes lit up with excitement, the little frowns when she was deep in thought, the soft giggles that made his heart skip—he was completely mesmerised by every single moment.

Somewhere during the movie, Y/N noticed Bucky staring at her, his gaze soft and intense. She looked up, catching his eye, and he quickly looked away, trying to play it off as he casually reached for the popcorn. 

But just as he popped a piece into his mouth, he suddenly choked, his eyes widening in panic as he sputtered, struggling to clear his throat, but the popcorn stubbornly refused to go down.

Y/N shot up and instinctively reaches over, her hand patting his back in a frantic attempt to help. She’s half-laughing, half-panicking, her voice a mix of concern and amusement.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her hand still firmly on his back, trying to calm him.

Bucky, still gasping for air, tries to wave her off, his face turning redder than before. "I’m fine! Just... need to breathe," he muttered, trying to steady himself.

After a few moments, the popcorn finally made its escape, and he finally leaned forward, still catching his breath. Y/N's hand remained on his back, gently rubbing to help him relax. 

She placed her other hand on his chest, right where his heart was, her touch delicate but steady, and asked softly, "How are you feeling?"

Bucky’s breath hitched at the warmth of her hand against his chest. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, feeling as though it might leap right out of his chest into her touch.

He took a slow breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "Better," he murmured, his gaze soft yet intense. "A lot better."

They settled back into their seats, the movie continuing, but the world around them seemed to fade away. Bucky leaned in closer to Y/N, and without a second thought, she naturally placed her head on his shoulder. He tilted his head, resting it gently on top of hers, feeling the soft warmth of her hair against his cheek.

Y/N, content in the quiet comfort of the moment, entwined her fingers with his metal ones as he gently closed his hand around hers, still amazed at how she never treated his metal arm any differently. It always stirred a warmth in him he could never fully express.

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering just for a moment. He felt her smile against his shoulder sending a wave of affection through him. With a gentle sigh, he leaned his head back onto hers, the two of them perfectly in sync as they sat there, enjoying the movie in comfortable silence.

As the credits rolled, they stood up together, both reluctantly leaving the warmth of the theatre. Bucky grabbed her hand, a familiar spark igniting between them as they walked toward the exit.

"You hungry?" he asked, his voice light and playful.

Y/N smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Always," she replied. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nando's?" Bucky suggested, his tone casual, but with a hint of excitement.

Y/N chuckled. "You can never go wrong with a good peri-peri chicken."

"Great," Bucky said, a grin spreading across his face. "I already made reservations."

"Wait, what?" Y/N said, surprised. "You did not."

Bucky shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What can I say?"

He paused for a moment, giving her a teasing grin. "I listen when you talk about food. You’ve made it clear, Nando’s is your happy place."

They made their way back to the bike, the evening chill surrounding them. Bucky helped Y/N onto the bike before getting on himself, the engine humming to life. 

As he revved it up, he glanced over at her, a grin tugging at his lips. "Ready for some peri-peri?" he teased, and with a soft laugh, she nodded.

The night stretched ahead, the excitement of their evening still buzzing between them.

They pulled up at Nando's and walked in, the familiar scent of grilled spice greeting them. At the front, a waiter checked the reservation list. “Reservation under Mr. Barnes?” he asked, looking up.

Bucky nodded, and the waiter glanced back at the list before saying, "Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes."

Both of them froze, eyes wide in surprise. Y/N shot a quick glance at Bucky, her face flushed. Bucky, equally stunned, let out a nervous laugh, "Well, this escalated quickly" he joked, trying to brush it off, though his heart skipped a beat.

The waiter, clearly amused, led them through the restaurant, weaving between tables until they reached a quiet corner, just as Bucky had requested. After placing the menus on the table, he was quickly called away by a shout from the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Bucky, ever the gentleman, pulled out Y/N’s chair. She sat down with a smile, and he gently pushed her toward the table before taking his seat across from her.

As they looked through the menu, Bucky noticed Y/N hesitating between her favourite peri-peri fries and her beloved garlic pita bread. With a playful grin, he said, “You should get both.”

Y/N looked up at him from the menu, a hint of shyness in her eyes. “I’ll be in a food coma if I go overboard,” she said softly, half-smiling, her tone carrying a touch of self-consciousness.

Bucky leaned in slightly, his smile widening. "Well I'd be disappointed if you aren't gonna be so full and so filled with everything you want to eat tonight" he said with a grin.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, laughing. "So you want me to be fulfilled?"

Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "To the brim," he said, laughing along with her.

His gaze softened, and his tone turned reassuring. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home safe. No sleepyhead left behind.”

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes sparkling as she glanced at Bucky, her voice a little shy. "You're a keeper, Buck, you know that?".

Bucky’s cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping briefly as her words sank in. For someone who had spent so long feeling like a villain, a monster, the idea of someone wanting to keep him was beyond imagining.

And now, sitting in front of her, all he wanted was to be hers.

After a while, the waiter brought their food, and they dove into their Nando’s feast, laughing and talking like they hadn’t run out of things to say, even after spending all day, every day, together.

Bucky looked at Y/N, still wearing his jacket, oblivious to how adorable she looked. It was too big for her, yet she wore it so effortlessly, like it was made just for her. Her hair was a little messy from the helmet, a dab of sauce on her mouth, and her eyes sparkled with that playful, carefree energy that made him feel utterly lovesick.

As they chatted away, Bucky kept happily tossing fries from his plate into his mouth, savouring each bite. Y/N noticed how quickly he was finishing them, and before long, his plate was empty. He frowned slightly, looking at the empty space in front of him.

Y/N smiled softly, noticing the look on his face. Without saying a word, she pushed her side of fries toward him. “Here, take mine,” she offered, nudging the plate closer to him.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, hesitant. “But you love your peri-peri fries,” he said, glancing down at the plate she had so kindly offered.

Y/N shrugged, a teasing smile on her lips. “I do, but you’re my favourite just as much.” She picked up a fry, dipping it in sauce, and held it out toward him.

Instead of reaching for it with his hand, Bucky leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers as he gently munched the fry straight from her fingers. Y/N giggled, her heart fluttering at the closeness.

Bucky pulled back slightly, a mischievous grin on his face. “Just so you know,” he said softly, “you’re my favourite too.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Guess we’re even then, Mr. Barnes,” she teased, her cheeks tinged with a shy glow.

Bucky felt his own cheeks warm, the words "Mr. and Mrs. Barnes" still echoing in his mind. He shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the unexpected flutter in his chest.

As their plates cleared and the restaurant neared closing time, they realised how quickly the evening had passed. 

The waiter placed the bill in a check holder on the table, and Y/N reached for it, ready to pay.

Bucky’s hand gently rested over hers, stopping her. “I’ve got this, Y/N” he said, his tone firm but soft.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. “This is on me, Buck,” she insisted.

Bucky shook his head, his expression serious. “No, Y/N.”

She sighed, her eyes softening. “Buck, you’ve done so much for me today.”

He gently lifted her hand, leaning in to kiss it softly. “I’m not keeping count,” he whispered.

With that, he took the check holder from under her hand, flipping it open. Without missing a beat, he placed his card on the holder and handed it to the waiter. "For tonight, it's on me," he said, giving her a small, affectionate smile.

As they walked back outside, the cool night air greeted them. Bucky grabbed their helmets, handing one to Y/N. She let out a sleepy yawn, a soft tiredness in her eyes, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

With a soft chuckle, he set his own helmet aside and gently placed hers on her head. “I’ve got you, sleepyhead,” he murmured, carefully buckling it before putting on his own.

They climbed onto the bike, and Y/N settled herself behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist, fingers intertwining in front of his chest.

Bucky revved the engine, glancing over his shoulder before pulling out. The ride was peaceful, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. 

Halfway through the ride, Bucky felt her body shift slightly against his back. A soft sigh followed, and he realised she was falling asleep, her head gently resting against him.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he loosened his grip on the handlebar with one hand, reaching back to firmly hold her intertwined fingers at his chest. His other hand tightened slightly, steadying the bike beneath them.

He eased off the throttle, riding slower now—his protective instincts kicking in, making sure she was safe and comfortable, every mile of the way.

When they reached the compound, Bucky slowly pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The sudden silence made Y/N stir, her head lifting slightly from his back, still caught in a sleepy haze.

Bucky didn’t move right away, giving her time to fully wake up. His hand remained gently on hers, still intertwined against his chest, holding her close for a little while longer before they both got off the bike. 

He gently removed her helmet first, then his, carrying both in one hand. With his other hand, he reached for hers, and Y/N, smiling softly, interlaced her fingers with his at the same time. 

A subtle pinkness coloured their cheeks as they walked back inside the compound, hand in hand, the warmth between them glowing.

The compound was quiet, the only sound being the soft rhythm of their footsteps as they made their way down the hallway. 

When they reached Y/N’s door, they paused, still holding hands, their eyes locked in a silent exchange, neither of them willing to break the moment.

Y/N, feeling the weight of his gaze, shyly looked down, her cheeks warming as she glanced away. 

Seeing the delicate rose-tint stain her cheeks, Bucky’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t resist. Slowly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against her cheek in a tender kiss, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

He could feel the gentle warmth of her skin beneath his lips, soft and delicate, and the way her breath hitched as he stayed there, close enough to feel the tremble of her pulse. 

As he pulled away, their eyes met again, and already, he yearned for the warmth of her skin beneath his lips, a sensation too beautiful to release.

He could’ve said it then. Could’ve told her everything. 

But when he looked at her in that moment—so peaceful, so unguarded—her gaze soft, full of joy, completely at ease in the quiet of the night...

He couldn’t bring himself to put the weight of his heart in her hands and risk stealing the light from hers.

Not now. Tonight was hers.

Y/N noticed the way his hand twitched slightly at his side, still gripping the helmets, his fingers flexing as though he wanted to say something.

For the briefest of moments, a flicker of hope stirred in her heart, daring her to believe that what she secretly longed for might someday be true.

But he held back.

Instead, he simply smiled—shy and tender, his expression soft and quiet, as if holding onto something just beyond reach.

Y/N didn’t press him. 

She could tell, in that moment, that whatever he was processing, he wasn’t ready to voice it.

And that was okay. 

She could wait. 

Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his cheek—gentle, soft, barely there. A whisper of a touch, but it sent a warmth through him that lingered longer than the moment itself.

“Goodnight, Buck,” she whispered, her voice soft—her lips so close he could feel the warmth of her breath before she pulled away.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, holding her hand a moment longer before they gently parted.

As she disappeared into her room, he knew that when the time came, he’d find a way to say it all.

But tonight, he’d let her carry this memory—untouched, unburdened by anything heavy.

When the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against it, heart pounding, breath caught in the silence.

An ache bloomed in his chest—the kind that only comes from loving her so deeply it consumed him, from feeling everything he couldn’t yet say.

What he didn’t know was that on the other side of the door, Y/N was leaning too—feeling the same ache, the same love, echoing his own.

In that hushed moment, they were side by side.

Two hearts.

Made For Love.

Made to Love.

Once Wired For War.

--

I smiled so much writing this chapter, and I really hope it brought a smile to your faces too! 🥰

Chapter 11 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch.9)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 9 - Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

It had been a couple of months since Bucky and Y/N first stepped into the compound, both uncertain of what their future would hold. And in that time, more had changed than they had ever expected.

Slowly but surely, they had found their way back to something resembling a normal life.

Y/N split her time between the lab and the medical bay, assisting with research when she could, and stepping in on missions when the need arose. Her expertise in trauma and psychiatry proved invaluable, and her presence in the field became a reassuring anchor for the team.

Bucky, too, had gradually returned to work—on his own terms. No one pushed him. The decision to rejoin missions was his alone, made when he finally felt ready. At first, he was cautious, hesitant even. But with each mission, he gained a little more confidence, knowing he was not defined by his past but by the man he was becoming.

The compound had become their home—a place where Bucky and Y/N could be together, growing alongside the team while working toward a common purpose. 

The Avengers, too, had grown closer, stronger—as much a family as a force. They’d found a rhythm between duty and downtime, lifting each other through the hardest days and celebrating even the smallest victories along the way.

The team had even gone from movie nights inside the compound to making memories beyond it—trying to feel a little more like the world they were protecting.

And now, here they were, gathered around the kitchen counter—some lounging, some spirited—debating what their next end-of-week outing was going to be. 

The vote was in, and it was unanimous: a carnival.

Thor, of course, had been the main culprit behind the idea.

It started when Tony casually suggested they all vote on the "ordinary" activity —something that didn't involve aliens, explosions, or deep-rooted trauma. 

Thor, with the unfiltered joy of a child on Christmas morning, raised Mjolnir high and bellowed, “Earth merriment!”

Tony listed off a few options—hiking, bowling—but the second he mentioned the carnival at the pier, Thor's face lit up like a kid who'd just discovered candy.

"An Earth party!" he gasped. "I've always wanted to go on that big spinning thing and the fast ground-train that loops upside down!".

"You mean the Ferris wheel and a rollercoaster?" Sam asked, not even trying to hide his disbelief.

"Yes, Bird Man. Those are the words".

Thor was practically glowing, his grin so radiant it looked like he’d swallowed the light of a thousand suns.

That was the moment everyone collectively understood—resistance was futile. As if choreographed, they all nodded in agreement like a row of bobbleheads.

They were going to the carnival.

No saving the world. No debriefings. No missions. Just something normal. Something good.

As the others went about their morning, the quiet hum of the kitchen filled the air. Y/N lingered behind, carefully measuring loose tea leaves with practiced precision. Her workday was starting later than usual.

Bruce had all but ordered her to take it slow after she’d stayed far too late in the lab the night before. Meanwhile, Bucky—who’d gotten into the habit of waiting up for her—was still fast asleep, following Steve’s orders to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Apparently, Steve had figured Bucky was getting "extra broody" after being both sleep-deprived and Y/N-deprived, so a nap was essential to avoid a full-blown grumpy soldier-meltdown.

Getting Bucky to agree to a carnival outing—a setting that was, frankly, a bit too people-y for him—wasn’t going to be easy. Sam had taken it upon himself to fix that. His plan? Have Redwing follow Bucky around nonstop until he agrees.

Meanwhile, Natasha, ever perceptive, had noticed Y/N trying to hide her reluctance behind the sea of nodding bobbleheads. She knew Y/N well enough to see that a crowded carnival wasn’t exactly her idea of fun either.

And if Natasha's mission was to get Y/N on board, she wasn't backing down.

“You’re not seriously going to miss all the fun, are you?” Natasha asked, propping herself up on the counter. Her tone was light, but there was an unmistakable persistence beneath it.

“Come on, it’s part of the plan. We’re all going to the carnival, and you're going with us."

Y/N paused, her spoon stilled mid-stir. “I don’t know, Nat,” she said quietly, eyes following the soft swirl of steam rising from her cup. “Crowds... it's just too much sometimes."

Natasha’s gaze softened, but she didn't back down. 

“I get it. The noise, the people… it can be a lot. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? To do something normal. Something that has nothing to do with saving the world. Just... being human. For a change".

Y/N exhaled slowly, her hands curling around the warm mug. She stared into it for a long moment, as if the quiet might offer an answer.

“It’s not just the crowds,” she said, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "It's people. It's a lot being watched. And I don't do well when I feel like I have to perform."

A brief silence settled between them as Natasha watched her, letting the weight of Y/N’s words sink in.

Y/N wasn't antisocial. She was just... private. Quiet. Careful.  Natasha had seen it before—how she carefully chose when to let people in, when to show any vulnerability. But when she did—when she was comfortable—God, she was vibrant. Fierce in her own gentle way.

She loved fiercely too. That part was still a mission in progress—months of gentle nudging to get Y/N to admit that someone on this team meant more to her than she was willing to say aloud.

“Y/N,” Natasha said gently, her voice soft but sure, “you don’t have to perform. Not with us.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“We don’t care how you show up,” Natasha added with a small smile, hoping to ease the tension. “We’re just glad when you do.”

Her tone was light, but her eyes were warm—steady with understanding.

“It’s not the same without you.”

Y/N smiled softly—a small, shy curl at the corners of her lips—but it was the warmth in her eyes that gave her away. 

“All right,” she murmured, quiet but sincere. “But no rollercoasters for me.”

A flicker of pride rose in Natasha’s chest. With a satisfied nod and a chuckle, she returned to her coffee, the warmth of Y/N’sagreement settling comfortably in her chest.

But it didn’t take long for that playful glint to return. Natasha set her cup down, smirking.  "And hey, if a cute guy offers you cotton candy," she teased, "It might just turn into a meet-cute."

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her tea. “You’re ridiculous.”

Natasha grinned but didn’t let up. She hopped down from the counter, leaning against it with a casual air. “What? You think you can’t have a little adventure with a touch of romance? Everyone deserves a bit of sweetness, Y/N.”

Y/N shot her a glance but didn't reply immediately, letting the silence stretch. She was focused on the tea, her hands busy but tense. 

Nat took a step closer, sensing the shift.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, the teasing edge falling away. “You don’t have to shut yourself off like this. You know it's okay to let someone care about you, right?"

Y/N looked down at her mug, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic. “Nat… we’ve been over this,” she said softly, her voice threaded with hesitation. “You know how I feel about… the possibility of someone caring for me like that.”

Natasha studied her for a long moment, her gaze steady, but gentle. “I know we’ve talked about it,” she said quietly, “but I still don’t understand why you think it’s impossible.”

Her voice softened, full of quiet warmth. “Why do you believe you can’t be loved?”

“Because I’m not…” Y/N’s voice barely rose above a whisper before it faltered.

She didn’t finish.

The words felt too heavy—she wasn't ready to admit how much of that belief she still carried.

Natasha leaned beside her, resting casually against the counter. Her expression was soft, but her eyes held concern. “You’re not what, Y/N?” she asked gently. “Not lovable?”

Silence settled between them, thick with the weight of what hadn’t been said.

Natasha could see the conflict in her eyes—the resistance, the self-doubt that kept her from truly believing it.

With a soft sigh, Natasha shifted her stance, letting the moment breathe before speaking again.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice low, steady. “This isn’t just about being cared for as a friend.” She paused, not to hesitate—but to let the truth land gently.

“You're lovable in more ways than you know. And yes, romantically too. You don’t have to earn it. Or perform for it. You just… are.”

She let the silence stretch, not filling it with more than it needed. “Just because it feels complicated doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Y/N’s eyes welled slightly, but she didn’t let the tears fall. She stayed turned away, shoulders still, hands tight around the mug.

“I just don’t…” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I just don’t know how to believe that.”

Natasha watched her for a long moment, heart aching. “Why?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper—like she was giving Y/N the space to finally say what had gone unsaid for far too long.

Y/N hesitated. She’d known this conversation would circle back eventually, but never expected to say it out loud. 

She’d always kept these thoughts buried—too messy, too much.

But something in Natasha’s voice—soft, persistent—finally coaxed the truth out of her.

Y/N took a slow breath, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m a lot to handle, Nat… and I'm okay with that. But for someone else? I know I’d be too much. The idea of someone catching feelings for me sounds... absurd."

Her breath hitched, and she shifted, grounding herself. 

Vulnerability pressed down like weight across her chest.

She bit her lip, voice dropping to a whisper. “Let alone wanting to stay. To choose me again and again. To not wake up one day and realise it’d be easier to love someone else.”

Her voice dropped—softer now, but steady. “I know who I am. I love the version of me standing here right now. And I’ve accepted her.”

Y/N shook her head, the distance in her gaze growing. “But for someone else to love me the same way? That feels like a fairytale. And I don’t want to hope for something that could never be.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, the weight of Y/N’s words settling into the stillness between them. She stepped closer, her voice tender but unwavering.

“I know it hurts, Y/N,” she said, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. The touch was grounding—comfort without pressure. “Living with those thoughts… it drains you in ways no one sees.”

Y/N looked down, her fingers trembling slightly around the mug. Natasha’s words cracked something open—made her feel, all at once, the full weight of what she’d been carrying in silence.

"But you have to remember," Natasha continued, her voice steady and low, "your mind is not speaking the truth".

She gave Y/N’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You are lovable. In every way. You are—” a small smile tugged at her lips, “as Thor would say—‘magical.’”

Y/N smiled faintly, the corners of her lips twitching despite herself.

“The darkness inside your mind doesn’t erase the light you carry in your heart,” Natasha said, her voice steady, comforting. “And sometimes, hope—against all odds—is exactly what makes miracles happen.”

The words lingered in the air, and for a moment, they both sat with the weight of them. Quiet understanding stretched between them like an invisible thread.

After a beat, Natasha spoke again—still soft, but with a flicker of something brighter.

“One day, when someone who truly loves you says it… you’ll see that the love you deserve was never too much to ask for—not from the right person.”

Her eyes brightened just a little, like she was already imagining a certain brooding someone finally saying what the rest of them had known all along—even if Y/N couldn’t see it yet.

But then Y/N spoke—and the words broke her heart.

“I don’t know if I can believe that,” she whispered.

Natasha’s heart sank. “How come?” she asked gently, her voice laced with quiet worry.

Y/N finally looked up, and Natasha saw it—the kind of heartbreak that ran deeper than scars. Not the kind Hydra left behind. Not the kind you could see.

It was the kind that taught you were hard to love. And even harder to keep.

“Because I’ve been through too much,” Y/N said, her voice trembling. “To let myself believe that something so gentle could survive with me.”

The words settled like a heavy sigh in the stillness. She looked back down, gaze fixed on her tea, the steam curling upward like the parts of her she wasn’t ready to let go.

Natasha’s heart ached for her—but before she could respond, a flicker of movement in the doorway caught her eye.

And then she saw him.

Bucky stood just beyond the hallway, frozen.

Y/N hadn’t noticed—her back was to the door as she stood at the counter—but Natasha had a clear view of him.

He must've come in unnoticed—maybe to grab coffee, maybe to find Y/N—but instead, he'd overheard everything.

And the look on his face— It wasn’t horror. It wasn’t pity. It was pain.

Because the girl standing next to Natasha—the one who believed she was too much to love—was everything he had ever let himself hope for.

Natasha opened her mouth, a breath caught between thought and action—but before she could speak, Bucky turned.

He walked away, his footsteps quick and heavy, echoing down the hall.

Gone, before she could stop him. Before she could explain. Before anything could be made right.

The air felt heavier in his absence, thick with what hadn’t been said.

Natasha stood still, staring at the now-empty doorway, her chest tight. Her mind raced, trying to process the weight of what had just passed between them—what had almost been seen.

Y/N, sensing a shift in Natasha’s energy, turned to look at her, confusion flickering in her eyes.

She watched Natasha standing still, caught in thought, something unreadable in her expression.

Concern stirred in Y/N’s chest. Quietly, she stepped closer.

Noticing Y/N’s gaze, Natasha blinked—like she’d just been pulled back into the room.

Without a word, she reached out and gently pulled Y/N into an embrace.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Natasha’s warmth wrapped around her like a shield, and Y/N leaned in, letting the closeness settle some of the ache in her chest.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was grounding.

Finally, Natasha spoke—her voice steady, but low with quiet understanding. “I know that feeling, Y/N. I really do. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay locked away forever. You deserve more than to keep your heart hidden.”

Y/N’s arms tightened around her, the words sinking deeper than she expected. Vulnerability rose—but she pressed it down before it could reach the surface.

She exhaled, slow and shaky. Her voice came out barely above a whisper, laced with sorrow.

“It’s safer for me to keep that door closed,” she murmured. “It’s the only way I stop setting myself on fire just to feel warm.”

The weight of Y/N’s words lingered, the silence between them rich with unspoken emotion.

Natasha held her for a moment longer before gently pulling back, her arms loosening with care.

“I hear you,” she said softly, her eyes warm with understanding. She paused, gaze steady—like she was choosing her next words carefully.

“But there’s just one more thing I need to ask.”

Y/N nodded, eyes still lowered, a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. “Yeah?”

Natasha offered a small, knowing smile. Her tone softened, but her aim was precise. “When you closed that door… did you happen to lock Barnes inside your heart?”

Y/N froze. Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened as her face flushed scarlet. She nearly dropped her mug.

“What—no. No way! I—What… how?”

Natasha laughed gently, her grin widening. “Don’t even try to deny it. I’ve seen it for months.”

Y/N blinked, stunned. Then groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I thought I was being so subtle…”

“Oh, honey,” Natasha said, leaning back against the counter, eyes sparkling with amusement, “You’ve got the subtlety of a truck on a foggy day.”

Y/N peeked through her fingers, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. “So you’ve just been watching this emotional train wreck unfold from the sidelines?”

“Please,” Natasha scoffed, “front row seat—with popcorn.”

They shared a quiet laugh before Natasha’s smile softened again, her gaze turning earnest.

“But seriously, Y/N… if the only reason you haven’t told him is because you think he doesn’t feel the same way—then you’ve got it all wrong.”

She held Y/N’s gaze now, her voice dipping just slightly. “Because Barnes—”

“Does not feel the same,” Y/N cut in, her voice firm, though a flicker of vulnerability lingered beneath the surface.

She took a breath, steadying herself, her eyes drifting to the floor. “And that will hurt him. He’ll see it in my eyes—feel how much it guts me, no matter how hard I try to hide it—and he’ll carry that pain like it’s his fault.”

“It was never about the fear of rejection, Nat,” she added, quieter now, the weight of her words thick in the air. “That pain, I can handle. But not being the reason he hurts.”

Natasha’s expression softened. She stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N…” Her voice was quiet, full of understanding. “I get it. I do. But you can’t carry all of that alone.”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her posture marked by a quiet weariness. “I won’t do that to him. Not after everything he’s been through. I won’t be another weight on his back.”

“Y/N…” Natasha said again, firmer now, her voice laced with emotion. “You are not a weight. Not to anyone. Ever.”

She paused, letting that sink in. Her expression softened further as a smile tugged gently at her lips. “You’re the reason we have weights lifted off our shoulders.”

Her tone warmed. “You talked to Steve about the mental toll of waking up in a world that moved on—something no one ever asked him to unpack before.”

Her smile faded slightly, her voice growing more serious. “You helped Tony face the guilt he carried about his parents.”

Then her expression lifted again, a teasing glint in her eye. “And don’t even get me started on Bruce—he still calls you his emotional Yoda.”

Y/N chuckled softly, but Natasha’s expression didn’t change—if anything, it softened further. When she spoke again, the affection in her voice was unmistakable.

“You’re the reason half of us even believe in love,” she said, her tone full of quiet fondness. “You got me and Steve together. You helped Tony and Pepper talk about a future. You've done more for love than you realise.”

Her gaze grew more serious as she gave Y/N’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “I just wish you believed in love as much as you make everyone else feel it.”

Y/N sighed, her voice low, tinged with resignation.

“I believe it exists, Nat. I see it in you and Steve, in Tony and Pepper. I see it in every airport, every flower stand. It’s real. It’s beautiful.”

She paused, eyes drifting off as if searching for something just out of reach. “I just don’t believe it’s meant for me.”

Natasha studied her for a long moment, the silence between them filled with quiet understanding. Then she stepped closer, wrapping an arm gently around Y/N’s shoulders in a side hug—offering the kind of comfort that didn’t need words.

The kind only someone who truly understood could give.

“Y/N,” Natasha said softly, her voice steady and full of certainty, “You’re the kind of person who makes the world better just by being in it. That’s exactly why someone would love you.”

She paused, letting the truth settle before continuing.

"The kind of love you're meant to have? It’s not for people who have everything figured out—or who don't have scars. It's for people who make the world feel safer, warmer, and brighter just by showing up".

Y/N looked up, eyes a little damp, but something lighter flickered behind them—something softer, more open.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Natasha added, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “But don’t shut yourself off from the possibility. You deserve it, Y/N. And one day… you’ll see it too.”

For a long moment, Y/N didn’t speak.

But the way she met Natasha’s eyes—and the quiet softening in her expression—said more than words ever could.

-

A few days later.

Steve returned from his solo mission later than expected, the weight of it still clinging to him. He dropped his bag by the door, shoulders sagging with exhaustion as he peeled off his tactical gear.

He sighed, the quiet settling over him as he made his way to the kitchen, craving nothing more than a hot coffee and a moment of peace.

He perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around the warm mug, savouring the quiet—his calm before the inevitable storm.

Just as he raised the cup to his lips, the stillness broke.

"Well, well, well," Tony said as he strolled in, looking entirely too pleased. "You just missed Barnes walking into yet another door during the briefing."

Steve let out a tired chuckle, shaking his head. "Not again..."

Tony grinned wider, mischief lighting up his face. "He was too mesmerised by an adorably caffeine-deprived Y/N to care about a little thing like, you know, doors".

Before Steve could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Sam, Clint, and Bruce entered, each wearing the same expression: amused and absolutely ready to stir the pot.

"You missed it, Steve," Sam laughed, his voice dripping with amusement. He tossed his folder onto the counter and leaned against the fridge. "He saw Y/N inside the room through the glass panels as he was walking up."

"Totally distracted, just walked straight into the door," Clint added, grinning. "He didn't even flinch. Just got up like it was no big deal."

"Didn't even apologise this time," Bruce chimed in, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Just dusted himself off and walked right toward her, like nothing happened."

Steve chuckled under his breath, shaking his head with a smile. “He’s smitten.”

"Honestly, we need to get him to admit it already," Sam said with a sigh. "We've all been waiting for months. How much longer is this gonna go on?"

Clint raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Guy’s got the subtlety of a thunderstorm… and somehow still takes his sweet time."

Before Steve could answer, heavy footsteps approached.

Thor entered with a triumphant grin, holding a small black book high above his head.

"Is the Sergeant here?" he called out, voice booming. "I found this in the briefing room. Thought it best to return it after... his battle with the door."

As he waved the book, a piece of paper slipped free and drifted to the floor.

Clint was the first to spot it. He bent down, picked it up—and froze.

“Guys…” he said slowly, eyes wide.

Sam leaned over his shoulder. "No way."

The tension in the room shifted as Steve, Tony, Thor, and Bruce gathered around Clint and Sam, drawn in by the sudden curiosity.

Drawn in pencil—light but detailed—was a little bundle of flowers. 

Near it, a small scribble read, "Lilies – the orange kind that reminded her of the light in everyday moments."

Below that, in Bucky's blocky handwriting, was a single line:

Favourite restaurant: Yet to find out

And beneath that, just one word: Movie

Then, the final line—underneath everything—was written with such casual tenderness that it hit all of them like a soft wave: "A quiet walk home, hand in hand, and a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight."

The room went still.

“What even is this?” Sam whispered.

“It’s a date,” Bruce said, adjusting his glasses.

“No kidding, Doc,” Sam muttered. "But not just any date. This is a *Y/N-specific, made-for-her, emotionally-charged Bucky Barnes™ daydream date."

Steve took the paper from Clint, eyes scanning every detail. “This is dated from Wakanda,” he murmured, realisation dawning.

The mood shifted slightly, the group still absorbing the weight of the note.

Then Tony broke the silence, smirk returning. “Think he wrote a certain day and time for this date in his journal?"

Before Steve could react, Tony snatched the black book from his hand. “Got it!” he grinned, dancing back a step. “What, did you think I wouldn’t look?”

But before Tony could flip it open, Steve stepped forward, jaw set. “Tony. That’s private.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony said, still grinning. “It’s time we all find out what Barnes has been cooking… besides Y/N’s favourite mac and cheese, of course.”

Steve frowned, taking another step forward.

But Tony, ever the escape artist, sidestepped out of reach with a smug grin. “Rogers, at this rate, I’m gonna have to start installing super-soldier-proof doors around the compound.”

“Tony,” Steve said, exasperated now, “give it back.”

Without warning, Tony tossed the book to Clint, who caught it with a theatrical flourish.

“Captain,” Clint said, voice dry as dust, “if I had Cupid’s arrows, they’d be married already.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

As Steve moved toward him, Clint quickly passed the book to Sam, who backed up with it, holding it just out of reach.

"If I had a dollar for every time Bucky made heart eyes and Y/N missed it,” Sam said with a smirk, “I could retire.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing from the corner, added evenly, "Every time he looks at her, it's like he realised what love is".

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Bruce's words settling in the air.

Sam blinked, eyebrows raised, exchanging a look with Clint, who was doing a poor job hiding his grin.

“Okay, Bruce,” Sam said slowly, his voice laced with disbelief. “Since when did you become the poet of the group?”

Clint leaned in, clearly impressed. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Doc. That was almost… Shakespearean.”

Bruce gave a small shrug, his expression as deadpan as ever. “I’m just stating the obvious. It’s like watching a live experiment. The variables are clear. The outcome is just... taking its sweet time.”

Tony let out an exaggerated sigh. “This is the slowest love story ever told. Someone bring me a violin.”

Steve, finally losing his patience, reached for the book, but before he could grab it, Sam darted back, staying just out of reach.

“If Bucky doesn’t make a move soon,” Sam said with a wink, “we’ll all be grandparents before he admits anything.”

"Give it here, Sam," Steve said, half-laughing but still serious. "It's private."

Before he could get close again, Thor leaned in, towering over the group.

“I do not understand this human tradition of secrecy!” he declared. “If the Sergeant does not share this with us, I shall challenge him to a duel for the right to know!”

Everyone paused.

Then—laughter erupted.

"It's not a duel, Thor," Clint said, still chuckling. "It's more like an emotional train wreck. No swords involved."

Sam, still holding the book, grinned at Steve. “Alright, Cap. You can have it back… after we find a probable date and time.”

"We’re just trying to be good wingmen,” Clint added, eyebrows raised, clearly enjoying himself.

“To the two most oblivious lovebirds,” Tony chimed in, voice dripping with amusement as they all clustered around Steve, blocking his view of the book.

And then—

Bucky walked into the kitchen.

Everyone froze, like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

The tension snapped tight.

Then—absolute chaos.

Sam tossed the book across the room like it was radioactive. It hit Steve square in the chest—who caught it so fast it was like he’d expected it.

“Gotta go!” Clint shouted, dragging Sam with him.

“I regret nothing!” Sam added as they vanished.

Tony gave an exaggerated salute. “Not my soap opera, not my super soldier,” he muttered, already halfway out the door. “Good luck, Captain! You’re on your own now!”

Bruce, composed as ever, adjusted his glasses. “I’ll leave you both to it. I have… quantum mechanics to read.” He slipped away, avoiding everyone’s eyes like a pro.

Lastly, Thor—completely unbothered—wandered to the counter, picked up a lemon bar, took a thoughtful bite, and walked out like nothing had happened.

And then there was just Bucky.

He stood in the doorway, frozen. Confusion clouded his face as he tried to piece together the chaos he’d just walked into.

His eyes fell on Steve—standing there with the small black book in one hand, and a loose sheet of paper in the other.

Bucky’s heart skipped. His stomach dropped. He shifted on his feet, jaw tightening.

Steve held out the book, his tone gentle. “This was found in the briefing room. Don’t worry. No one read it.”

Bucky took it without a word, the familiar weight now heavier. He tucked it into his pocket without meeting Steve's eyes. His thoughts swirled—loud, chaotic, impossible to quiet.

Steve's hand lingered on the paper, his fingers nervously fumbling the edge. He hesitated, then spoke, voice quieter now. "Do you want to tell me about this?" 

He held up the paper—and for a moment, Steve saw it. That flash of pain in Bucky's eyes. The same one that had been there for days, but which he'd never fully understood.

Bucky's voice was defensive as he answered, his hand moving swiftly to take the paper from Steve's grasp. "It's nothing," he muttered.

Steve's gaze didn't waver, and this time, he refused to let it slide. "Buck..." he said, firm but kind, "I've asked you before. I'm asking again. What's going on with you?"

Bucky folded the paper, his fingers trembling just enough to betray him, and shoved it into his pocket.

Without meeting Steve’s eyes, he turned and walked to the fridge. “I’m fine,” he muttered, grabbing a bottle of water with practiced deflection.

Steve followed, a step behind. 

"You've been off since before I left for the mission," he said, voice softer now. "And I can still see it in your eyes."

Bucky didn't answer. Steve stepped in front of him, a gentle hand pressing against his chest to stop him.

"Buck, whatever it is," Steve said softly, "I'm here."

Bucky's breath hitched. "I know," he sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the unspoken. He stared at the floor, then finally looked up. "I just... don't know how to talk about it."

"Try."

Without another word, they sat side by side at the counter. Silence settled—not uncomfortable, just the kind Bucky needed to breathe.

Steve didn't rush him. He didn't push for answers. He simply sat there, patient, giving his best friend the time he needed to share whatever was locked inside.

"It's about Y/N," Bucky finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's expression softened, and worry tightened in his chest. "What happened, Buck?" he asked.

Steve, more than anyone, understood the depth of Bucky's feelings for Y/N.

Bucky wasn't just chasing the high of butterflies or the fleeting excitement of a new crush.

This was different.

This was a love that had grown slowly, rooted in trust and blooming in shared moments.

A love built on patience—knowing, deep down, that it was something that would take time.

A love that comes when you've seen each other at your worst and still choose to stay.

A love that meant being there for someone, day in and day out, even when things weren't perfect.

For a man who once thought love was meant to be burning red, he now knows—it's golden, like daylight.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands braced against the edge of the counter.

Steve studied him for a long moment before speaking, voice low and careful. "I've never seen you like this over anyone."

Bucky didn't look up. "Because I've never been in love before," he said softly. "I never knew what it felt like... or why it was worth fighting for."

Steve's expression shifted—gentle, understanding. The kind of understanding that only comes from a man who's loved and lost.

Bucky's words lingered, heavy in the quiet.

His voice deepened, more certain now, his gaze steady. "But every time I see her..."

He paused, as if the gravity of it was finally sinking in.

"I'm ready for war."

The words dropped between them like a loaded weapon—quiet, deliberate, unshakable.

Steve drew a slow breath, the meaning sinking deep. He placed a steady hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know, Buck. I saw it—long before you ever told me".

Bucky's eyes flickered, caught between vulnerability and comfort.

Steve held his gaze, his voice steady and sure. "The whole world could burn... and you'd never let a single flame touch her."

A pause stretched between them, and Steve's concern deepened. His voice softened.

"But something's still weighing on you," he said quietly, watching Bucky closely. "What is it?"

Bucky's eyes stayed on his hands, jaw tight, as if the words were too heavy to lift.

Steve waited, patient but concerned,his hand still resting on Bucky's shoulder, a quiet promise that he wasn't going anywhere.

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky drew a deep breath, his voice low and thick with emotion.

"When I first fell in love with Y/N, it wasn't by accident—it was a choice. One I make every single day," he said, his words weighted with truth.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "But I was scared," he admitted, voice unsteady. "Scared it would ruin everything we've built. Scared that telling her would make it all feel different".

His gaze softened, his tone gentler now. "But over time, I realised... she deserves to know. That she's loved. Not just as a teammate. Not just as a friend. But more."

He paused, gripping the edge of the counter, then turned to Steve. The silence stretched again, heavy with unspoken emotion, as Bucky tried to steady the storm inside him.

After a beat, he exhaled slowly, as if the next part of his confession was the hardest to say.

"I know she doesn't feel the same way," he said quietly, his voice laced with a sorrow he'd carried for far too long. "But that's okay."

His hand curled into a fist, as if clinging to the last thread of composure.

"I just want her to know, Steve—without expecting anything in return—that she's loved. In a world that's done everything to convince her otherwise."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like dust in the stillness.

Then, softly, Steve reached out—his own heart heavy.

"Buck... I get it," he said, his voice low and cautious, like he was trying to find the right place to land. "But you're not seeing things clearly. Y/N does feel the same way—"

"No." Bucky cut him off, voice low and edged with something final. He looked down, unable to meet Steve's eyes, the weight of his words hanging between them.

"Don't go there, Steve. She doesn't see me that way."

A silence followed, thick and unmoving. Then Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded paper. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened it, eyes lingering on the page.

"It was something she said. Back in Wakanda," he murmured, his tone softening, touched with quiet nostalgia. "One night, she was half-asleep. We were talking about nothing—books, food... silly movie tropes."

He paused, gaze fixed on the paper, as if the memory itself was written there. Like he could feel it all over again—the way it had quietly settled in him and never left.

"She said it was the kind of date she always wanted—something simple. Being picked up with flowers at her door, a quiet dinner. A movie after..."

Bucky's voice caught as he looked up, meeting Steve's eyes. The pause that followed stretched longer than it should have.

"...And a goodnight kiss," he added softly, his voice thick with something fragile. "Just a kiss on the cheek. That was all she wanted."

Steve remained silent, letting Bucky's words settle between them.

"She said it like it was a dream" Bucky continued, his gaze dropping to the page in his hands. "One she wished came true but didn't believe it would".

He ran his fingers gently across the paper, as if the memory lived in its fibres. "But the way she smiled when she said it..." He swallowed hard. "I wrote it down that night—because I didn't want to forget."

The stillness that followed was heavy, but it was the kind of quiet that gave Bucky room to keep going—to finally unravel the thoughts he'd kept locked away.

"I never thought I'd get the chance," he said, his voice steadier now, grounded in quiet hope. "But I wanted to give her that dream—to make it real."

He paused, brow furrowing.

Steve saw it all in his face—the weight of it, the quiet ache, the depth of how much this mattered to him.

"I just wanted her to experience the kind of love she's always dreamed of..." Bucky's voice faltered, thick with emotion

His expression shifted, as if the truth had suddenly grown too heavy to hold. "But now I'm worried I'll hurt her by trying to do so."

Steve's shoulders tensed, confusion creeping in. "What do you mean?" he asked gently, his voice threaded with concern.

Bucky looked down, fingers fidgeting. He drew a slow breath. "A few days ago... I, uh... I overheard something. Something I wasn't supposed to."

"Something Y/N said to Nat," Bucky continued, his tone low, tinged with quiet regret. "I didn't mean to listen. I just... froze. I couldn't move."

Steve's expression softened, heart sinking as he leaned in slightly, pulled by the weight of Bucky's words. "What did she say?"

Bucky swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "She said she's convinced love is something that isn't meant to happen for her." 

He paused, eyes dropping away, the heaviness of it all pressing down. "Because she thinks she's too much—for anyone to choose her, let alone stay."

Steve felt a sharp ache settle in his chest, his mind flashing to Y/N and the weight of her belief.

A pang of sorrow rose in him at the thought of someone so full of life—so deserving of love—doubting that it even existed for her.

His brow furrowed, sorrow and disbelief tightening his throat. No one should ever feel that way, he thought.

Bucky looked down, his hand trembling as he gripped the edge of the counter. "She never felt like too much to me, Steve. She's always felt... just right. Exactly as she is."

His voice was softer now, laced with an aching sincerity that cut deep.

The room stilled, his words hanging in the air—heavy, unshakable.

"When I heard her say she thinks she's too much... too messy, too complicated," Bucky went on, voice thick with frustration, "all I wanted was to kick the whole damn world's ass for ever making her feel that way."

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of Bucky's words sinking in. His heart ached—for Bucky, for Y/N. "She doesn't deserve that kind of doubt," he said quietly.

Bucky's fingers curled tightly around nothing, as if trying to hold onto the finality of her words. "She said it like it was a fact... like gravity."

He paused, his voice thickening, the depth of his fear finally settling in.

"And now, if I say it—if I say I love her—and she doesn't believe me...that could hurt worse than not saying it at all."

He let out a shaky breath.

"That's what terrifies me, Steve. Not rejection. Not the embarrassment. It's hurting her. Watching her search my face for truth and finding doubt instead."

His jaw tensed, frustration and helplessness rising in his chest.

"I know Y/N. If she doesn't believe me, she won't yell or push back. She'll just pull away. Quietly. Shut down. And I won't even know how to reach her again."

Bucky finally looked up, eyes clouded with sorrow.

"I don't want to be another reason she reinforces that wall she's already built. I don't want to hurt her."

A long pause followed—the kind of silence where even breathing felt heavy.

Bucky's voice dropped to a whisper, each word steeped in raw vulnerability. "I love her so much."

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself against the weight of it, then exhaled slowly. The air around them seemed to still under the gravity of his confession.

Steve watched him closely, feeling the depth of what Bucky carried. "Do you think she'd believe it from anyone?" he asked softly, his voice gentle but laced with concern, trying to understand the heart of Bucky's fear.

Bucky blinked, surprised by the question. "No," he admitted, voice rough with emotion. "And that's the point."

Steve leaned in, his gaze steady, full of understanding . He took a breath, then said, calm but unwavering: "Then make her believe it from you."

The words hit harder than Bucky expected. He swallowed, turning away for a moment, trying to steady himself.

Steve's words pressed into him, making everything feel real in a way it hadn't before.

"I know Y/N's holding onto the belief that love isn't in her future, Buck." Steve said gently, his voice full of quiet empathy. "But maybe... she just needs someone brave enough to prove her wrong."

Bucky stared at him, the weight of it sinking deep into his chest. "I don't know how to, Steve," he admitted. "I don't know how to change her mind."

Steve held his gaze, thoughtful and steady. "Maybe it's not about changing her mind," he said, voice calm and sure. "Maybe it's just about showing her."

Steve leaned back slightly, collecting his thoughts before meeting Bucky's eyes with quiet sincerity. "She needs to see that she's loved—despite everything she believes about herself."

Bucky's gaze flickered, his expression softening, as if the words stirred something deep within him.

"She needs to see that she's never too much for you," Steve continued gently. "She's always been just enough."

His voice grew quieter, more deliberate. "She needs to know this love stays. Not because it's easy—but because she's worth it."

Bucky let the words settle in his chest. He glanced down, fingers brushing the paper—anchored by the moment that had started it all.

"But what if she pulls away? What if I make it worse by pushing too hard?" His voice wavered, thick with doubt and fear.

Steve leaned in, his voice calm but steady, eyes full of concern. "Then you pull back, Buck. Give her the space she needs to see it for herself. But don't hide behind that fear".

He let the words hang for a beat, giving Bucky room to breathe.

Then, softer now—his certainty still steady—Steve continued, "She needs to know the truth—to see how much she means to you."

Bucky's gaze flickered, uncertain. Steve placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder again.

"If you say nothing," he said gently, "you're only proving her right."

Bucky's shoulders eased slightly, a flicker of realisation crossing his face. The silence stretched as both men sat with the weight of it all.

His eyes dropped to the paper, and Steve could see the shift—the quiet stirrings of resolve taking hold, the gravity of what Bucky was about to do settling in.

"The first step is saying it, Buck," Steve said gently, his voice firm but kind. "It's not about having everything figured out. It's about showing up. Telling her how you feel—just like you planned."

He tapped the paper in Bucky's hands, the small gesture serving as a reminder. "Whatever happens after that, you'll face together."

Bucky's eyes softened. Slowly, steadily, a quiet determination rose within him.

For once, his heart wasn't bracing for a fight. It was reaching for something worth holding on to.

He wasn't just going to let her story end in doubt.

Her heart deserved more than to beat with the pain of believing it wasn't the most precious thing in existence.

And if that was the story she told herself, Then he had one mission left:

To rewrite it.

--

Chapter 10 coming soon 

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 8)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 8 - They Don't Know About Us

They were getting better at life. Slowly. Awkwardly. But better. And that's when Steve decided it was time for the next level.

He insisted they "learn public transport."

He said it with the same tone he used when talking about survival strategies or CPR training.

"It's not glamorous," he told them, "but it's the city. You haven't really lived here until you've survived the subway."

Turns out, survival was the right word.

The train was packed—shoulder to shoulder, air heavy with perfume, coffee, and general existential exhaustion.

Y/N was wedged between Bucky and a teenager blasting TikToks at full volume. Bucky, stoic as ever, looked one playlist away from committing a mild crime.

Up ahead, Steve stood like a seasoned commuter, gripping the overhead rail with absolute peace.

Y/N struggled to stay upright every time the train lurched.

Suddenly, she felt the lightest tug on her hand.

Bucky.

He didn't grab it—just hooked his pinky around hers.

No words. Just that little tether to say, I've got you.

She didn't say anything. Just let it stay.

When they finally resurfaced onto the street, Steve led them through a winding trail near the edge of the city, far from crowds and noise. They reached a high overlook tucked above an old community garden. From here, the skyline stretched wide, glowing orange and gold in the late afternoon sun.

Steve sat down on a wide patch of grass and gestured beside him. "This is where I come to draw."

Y/N sat to his left. Bucky dropped beside her, hands braced behind him.

They sat in easy silence for a while.

Then the stories started.

Steve glanced sideways at Bucky, a half-smile forming. "You used to walk me the long way home just so I wouldn't have to pass by guys who'd mouth off."

Y/N looked over at Bucky. "That tracks."

Steve smiled. "Once, I tripped in the middle of the street and ripped a hole in my pants. He gave me his jacket. Spent the rest of the walk pretending he wasn't freezing."

Bucky shrugged. "You needed it more."

"It was snowing, Buck."

"And you were limping."

Y/N's expression softened. "You've always been like that, huh?"

Bucky glanced down at his hands. "Like what?"

"Showing up," she said simply.

Steve grinned. "Exactly."

Y/N glanced between them—between now and the memory Steve once shared on the flight to Wakanda.

How Bucky used to drag him out of alleys. How he always stepped in without hesitation. Back then, it had sounded like grief.

It was different, hearing it now. Not heavy. Not haunted. Just history, shared like a joke between brothers.

They sat for what felt like hours, laughing at dumb teenage decisions and stories of Brooklyn corners that didn't exist anymore.

Then Steve stood up suddenly. "Alright. Settle something."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Steve pointed between them. "Which one of us is the fastest?"

Y/N blinked. "You're really opening yourself up to defeat here, Rogers."

Steve grinned and nodded toward the far end of the park. "First one there wins."

"You're on, Rogers," Bucky said with a smirk, already rolling up his sleeves like it was game time.

"Winner gets ice cream," Y/N said, jogging backward toward a makeshift starting line.

"Deal," Steve said, falling into step beside her.

"I want chocolate chip cookie," Bucky added, already way too invested.

Steve raised a brow. "You haven't even won yet."

Bucky grinned. "Doesn't matter. I'm manifesting."

And then someone yelled, "Go!" (Nobody remembers who.)

It wasn't graceful.

It was chaos.

Shoes pounding, limbs flailing, breathless laughter echoing between trees as three super soldiers raced like over-caffeinated kids across an almost-empty park.

It was a weekday lull—too late for lunch breaks, too early for post-work strollers. The park, for once, felt like their own.

Bucky tripped over a rock and blamed the landscaping.

Steve ran into a squirrel and declared it sabotage.

Y/N won, somehow — not because she ran the fastest, but because Steve and Bucky got too busy trying to outpace each other to notice she'd already crossed the line. 

She turned around, hands on her hips, breathless and grinning. "You two done arguing?"

They didn't declare an official winner—Y/N just smiled like she already knew. The next thing anyone said was, "Ice cream sounds good," as they wandered toward the nearest cart.

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking back toward their original spot near the overlook, cones in hand and sun warm on their shoulders. The golden hour hit everything just right—turning edges to warmth, and making the world feel like it was pausing for a breath.

Y/N had mango. Bucky had chocolate chip cookie. Steve went with vanilla—classic, no fuss.

That kicked off a whole debate—half-serious, half-laughing—about which flavour reigned supreme. Bucky insisted chocolate chip cookie had texture and depth. Y/N said mango was refreshing and didn't "taste like freezer burn" which earned a full offended gasp from Bucky. 

Steve just rolled his eyes and kept eating.

And for a moment—

He didn't feel like Captain America. Or a man out of time. Or a symbol.

He felt like Steve.

The punk kid from Brooklyn who used to get into trouble and drag his best friend with him. Who now had two people beside him who made the world feel small enough to hold.

He watched Y/N flick a drop of melted mango onto Bucky's boot and Bucky dramatically mourn his "favourite sock," and something in Steve's chest eased.

They were laughing.

Not surviving. Not coping.

Laughing.

And he was too.

Steve smiled into his cone and let it melt just a little more in the sun. For the first time in a long time, everything felt... easy. The kind of moment you didn't realise you'd been waiting for until you were in it.

And then, somehow, it got even better.

Because Bucky got ice cream on his cheek.

Then his chin.

Then, impossibly, the tip of his nose.

Repeatedly.

Y/N caught it every time—soft wipes with the edge of her thumb, grinning like it was the highlight of her day. And Steve noticed how Bucky leaned just a little each time, eyes fluttering half-shut like a puppy getting his ears scratched.

Steve raised an eyebrow, watching him with amused suspicion.

He could swear Bucky was deliberately getting ice cream on his face—like some tactical operation to make Y/N laugh and reach for him again.

Steve bit back a grin. Smooth, Barnes. Real subtle.

But then, as he watched them, something else tugged at his chest.

Because he remembered the man Bucky used to be—the one who always had to have it together, who looked out for everyone, who carried things no one ever asked him to carry. Even before the war. Even before Hydra. Bucky had always been the one with the charming smile and the careful armour beneath it.

But this Bucky—ice cream-smeared and grinning like a dork under Y/N's soft gaze—wasn't performing. He wasn't holding the world up. He wasn't trying to fix anything.

He was just being.

Letting himself be cared for.

Letting himself want.

And Steve had never seen that before. Not even back then.

They'd wandered back to their usual spot—quiet, tucked away, familiar.

Steve continued sketching. Y/N lay in the grass, eyes closed. And Bucky—

Bucky had stretched out beside her, head resting on her stomach, gloves off, breath evening out. At some point, he'd drifted off completely.

Steve only noticed when a soft snore broke the silence.

He glanced over, half-smiling—then paused.

Y/N was awake. Barely moving. One hand threaded gently through Bucky's hair, fingers trailing slow, absent circles. She didn't say anything. Just smiled every time he made a tiny, contented sound in his sleep. Like it was her favourite thing.

With every quiet stroke of her fingers. With the way she softened to hold him, the way she watched him breathe like it mattered.

She cradled the moment like it might slip away.

And Bucky—he'd let himself fall asleep there.

On her.

Like it was the safest place in the world.

Steve looked down at his sketchpad but didn't draw for a moment. 

Just smiled.

A few minutes later, the soft crunch of small shoes on gravel broke the stillness—and all three of them snapped to alert.

Bucky stirred first, eyes blinking open as instinct kicked in. He sat up quickly, shoulders tense, scanning—until he saw the source.

A little boy—no older than five—stood a few feet away, ball cap slightly crooked, wide eyes fixed on Bucky's hand.

The Vibranium one.

He hadn't even realised it was still bare. The glove lay forgotten in the grass beside him.

They were tucked away in a quiet corner of the park. He hadn't expected anyone to notice.

Bucky went still. His hand twitched, the old urge rising fast—to cover it. Hide it.

But the kid took a step closer.

"I have one too," he said matter-of-factly, holding up a small prosthetic arm. Bright blue. Well-used.

Bucky blinked. "...Yeah?"

The kid nodded solemnly. "Yours is cooler."

That got a breath of surprise out of him. "Thanks."

The boy took another step, curious but not afraid. "Does it make noise?"

"Sometimes," Bucky said.

"Does it punch bad guys?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Bucky's lips. "Only the really bad ones."

The boy grinned—broad and proud—and for a second, nothing else moved.

Y/N stayed where she was, hands still resting in the grass, her heart full. 

Steve glanced sideways at her, then back at Bucky—a proud smile tugging at his lips.

It was such a simple thing.

But watching Bucky, who used to flinch from being seen, let himself be seen now—and seen like that—it meant something.

The boy's mother called from farther down the trail. The kid gave Bucky a small salute and a wide grin, then turned and ran off, his little prosthetic arm swinging freely by his side.

Bucky watched the boy go.

He sat there for a while after, his Vibranium hand resting lightly in his lap.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel the need to hide it.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't reach for the glove either.

And neither Steve nor Y/N said a word.

Because they understood what it meant.

And that was enough.

--

Life kept unfolding, one gentle moment at a time.

Two days later, Peter showed up at their door, clutching two boxes like it might explode. "Hi! Peter Parker. Official tech support, apparently," he grinned. "Mr. Stark said you guys needed phones that weren't from, like, the dinosaur era."

He handed Y/N a brand-new smartphone like he was gifting her a live grenade.

"Okay! So this is your phone. You tap here to unlock it, swipe this way to see your notifications, and if you press this for too long it calls Steve. Don't ask why. It just does." She blinked at the screen lighting up. "It glows. Why is it glowing?"

Peter beamed. "It's ready for you. It's like... a really smart friend who lives in your pocket. But with infinite knowledge and, like, zero boundaries."

Bucky stood beside her, arms folded, clearly skeptical. "What happens if you press the apple?"

Peter squinted. "Uh, that's just a sticker."

Bucky grunted. "Then why's it on there?"

Y/N turned the phone over carefully, holding it like it might detonate if she angled it wrong. "It's too shiny. This doesn't feel like something I should be allowed to use."

Peter softened a bit, his excitement quieting. "Hey... it's just a tool. You get to decide how you use it. Call people. Listen to music. Set a timer for cookies. Whatever feels normal." Then his grin came right back. "Also, I already installed Spotify, Duolingo, and a cat video app."

They spent the afternoon texting each other across the couch like they were plotting a world takeover. Bucky accidentally replied to a group chat with a thumbs-up emoji and got roasted by Sam for twenty minutes. Y/N found the camera feature and kept zooming in too close, resulting in a collection of unflattering forehead shots and one perfect picture of Bucky looking confused at a banana.

By evening, they were still sprawled on the couch—Y/N in the middle, flanked by Bucky and Peter like mismatched bookends, all clutching their new phones like mission equipment.

Peter was already swiping through screens like a man with a plan.

He suddenly sat up straighter, clapped his hands once, and grinned. "Alright. Next disaster to tackle: Instagram. The worst and best place on the internet."

Bucky held his phone like it might talk back. "What's the point of it?"

Peter grinned. "To make people jealous of your breakfast and fall in love with your dog. Also, memes."

Y/N had picked it up quickly, already following a trail of book recommendations, sneaker drops, and videos of food she wanted to try—noodles, pastries, and things that sizzled. Bucky, on the other hand, kept accidentally liking posts from 2018 and didn't understand filters.

 At some point, while Peter scrolled through his own feed, Bucky's thumb slipped. A little red LIVE icon appeared at the top of his screen. Neither he nor Y/N noticed.

She had curled sideways on the couch, giggling as she told him how she'd spilled smoothie all over her notes—and now half her grocery list smelled like strawberries. 

Her hair was soft and slightly tangled. Her socks didn't match. She looked like safety and sunlight.

And Bucky, without realising it, was staring at her like she'd hung the stars just right.

On the other side of the screen, a notification pinged for the rest of the team.

"BuckyBarnes is live 📹"

Tony: Why are we watching this like it's a documentary?

Natasha: Because this is better than cable.

Clint: Look at his face. He's so gone.

Steve, quietly from the gym: That look says everything.

Sam: Shut up. I'm screen recording this for the wedding slideshow.

Back on the couch, Y/N laughed at something she'd said. Bucky smiled without thinking, and only when Peter looked up and froze in horror did either of them realise.

"Dude," Peter whispered. "You're live. You've been live for, like... seven minutes."

Bucky's eyes widened. "WHAT?"

He fumbled with the phone like it had betrayed him, tapping every button at once. The stream ended with an accidental selfie of his panicked face and Y/N's confused one beside him.

Silence.

Then Y/N looked at him and grinned. "Congratulations. You've officially joined the internet."

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. "I'm never hearing the end of this."

She nudged him gently, her smile softening. "Could've been worse. You could've been shirtless."

"Don't help."

She just leaned her head on his shoulder, and he let her.

Peter, still holding the phone, whispered with mock reverence, "Should I tag it #SwipeSoldier?"

Bucky let out a warning growl. Y/N started giggling.

Peter dove off the couch with a yelp, arms over his head. "Okay, okay! I'm logging off!"

The room dissolved into chaotic laughter—and somehow, it felt like the most peaceful place in the world.

--

A few weeks later, Y/N and Bucky were standing by the elevator, waiting to head out for the day.

Bucky leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his usual calm demeanour seemingly a little more relaxed than usual. He'd been taking things slower lately, and Y/N was glad for it. Bucky had finally started choosing rest over keeping himself busy, something she knew he'd struggled with.

They stood in silence, waiting for the elevator, the quiet hum of the compound filling the space. Y/N glanced at Bucky, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips. She hadn't admitted it aloud, but she liked this—just being together like this, without the constant rush.

Before she could say anything, Bruce came hurrying around the corner, his usual fast-paced energy filling the hallway.

"Y/N!" he said, breathless as he approached. "Tony and I could really use your help in the lab—an urgent consultation. Can you come by?"

Y/N blinked, surprised, but then nodded. She had, over time, started to help out in the medical bay and the lab, even if she hadn't completely thrown herself into it yet. It had been her choice, taking it slow, easing herself back into the things she'd once done.

Bucky, however, hadn't quite found his own pace. He had been resting more, and that made Y/N happy. It was a quiet victory, seeing him choose his health and well-being first.

"Bruce was practically bouncing on his heels, eager to get going. "Y/N, we've got to move. Tony's one espresso shot away from turning the lab into chaos."

Y/N glanced at Bucky, offering an apologetic smile. He shot her a playful pout in return, though his expression softened with understanding.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," she reassured him, giving him a soft smile before following Bruce leaving Bucky standing alone by the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft 'ding,' and Thor stepped out, immediately spotting Bucky standing by the door, looking a little down.

Thor's smile faltered for a moment as he noticed Bucky's expression. He walked over and clapped Bucky on the shoulder with a friendly thud, his voice softer than usual. "What's this, my friend? No smile today?"

When Bucky didn't respond right away, Thor's expression shifted with concern, his gaze searching for Y/N. "Where is the Doctor?" he asked, his voice returning to its usual thunderous volume. "I have returned from Asgard and come bearing gifts!"

"Y/N got dragged off by Bruce for something with Tony," Bucky mumbled, a slight edge of sulking in his tone.

Thor blinked, processing the situation with the seriousness of a god. Then, a warm smile crept across his face as he looked at Bucky, still slouched by the elevator. His voice took on a mischievous tone.

"Well, my friend, it seems you are in dire need of distraction. I think I have just the solution."

Bucky tilted his head, his arms still crossed, but the curiosity tugging at him was clear. "What are you talking about?"

Thor leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper, though his grin was far from subtle. "There's a place. A legendary place. Where you can buy flat-packed furniture, strange food, and marvel at its wonders. A place called... IKEA."

Bucky blinked. "IKEA?"

"Yes!" Thor said with absolute certainty, clapping Bucky on the shoulder again. "You and I shall embark on a quest for meatballs, furniture, and strange Swedish inventions. You need not be alone in your sorrow, my friend. I, Thor, shall help you recover from the absence of Y/N."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, caught between confusion and the faintest hint of amusement. 'IKEA?' he repeated, as if weighing the absurdity of the idea. 'Well, guess I've done worse... Lead the way.'"

And so, just like that, Bucky and Thor—along with an unexpected mission—left the elevator, leaving behind the still-quiet compound for an afternoon of ridiculous adventures.

Thor entered IKEA like a storm on a sunny day, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt with an unreadable Asgardian slogan, and his signature boots. He looked entirely too grand for a furniture store. "Ah, the land of flat-packed wonders!" he exclaimed, arms wide as if welcoming the entire store.

Bucky, pushing the cart with a slightly annoyed expression, rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Thor grinned at him. "This, my friend, is the realm of endless possibilities! And today, you will find the key to comfort!"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "We're just here to get a few things, Thor. I didn't sign up for a 'comfort quest.'"

Thor clapped him on the back with a grin. "Every great journey begins with a step—and today, that step is in IKEA."

So there they were, walking down aisles of inexpensive furniture and oddly shaped storage units, when Thor began to give Bucky an impromptu tour of the store, offering tidbits about every section they passed. "This, my friend, is the land of cushions! These soft, squishy treasures are made for comfort and relaxation!"

Bucky just grunted. He wasn't in the mood for shopping, let alone listening to Thor wax poetic about home decor.

But as they wandered through the aisles, Bucky's gaze caught on a few simple items that seemed to offer a bit of comfort for Y/N's world, touches that could make her space feel more hers in the way she deserved.

Thor didn't seem to notice his shift in focus, continuing to regale Bucky with his IKEA wisdom. "And here we have the section for throws and cushions. Perfect for any battle-weary traveler who needs to rest their mighty limbs after a long day of heroics."

Bucky, though, had stopped listening. His mind was busy, thinking about the things Y/N could use—things that would make her smile, make her feel more at home. These weren't big gestures. But they were little things that might just brighten up her day, in the simplest way.

Things Y/N would love.

He started with a journal with a fluffy cover, soft and comforting, perfect for the quiet moments Y/N had when she wrote or reflected. Alongside it, he picked up a set of coloured pens, imagining Y/N filling the pages with her sketches or to-do lists, adding little splashes of colour as she went. 

Further down the aisle, he saw fairy lights—the soft, twinkling kind that would add a touch of magic to her room. Bucky thought they'd be perfect for her to hang up and brighten the space with her own quiet glow.

Then he found a cute teapot and tea set—simple and floral, just the right size for Y/N. He'd seen her make tea in mismatched mugs, but this would be a treat for her. She deserved to have something beautiful to drink out of, something that made her tea time feel just a little bit more special.

A few aisles over, Bucky found a soft robe and a pair of plush slippers, both perfect for Y/N to unwind after a long day—comforting and cozy, just a little indulgence for her to relax.

Walking down another aisle, he found a soft cushion for a chair, one that would make her workspace more comfortable. Y/N had never complained, but Bucky had noticed how she shifted uncomfortably after long hours, and this would give her some relief.

Finally, Bucky found a cozy throw blanket, plush and soft, just waiting for someone to curl up with it. Y/N always had a blanket that she loved, but this one would be a little extra warm, like a gentle hug. 

As Bucky loaded the items onto the conveyor belt at the checkout, Thor leaned over with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the cart. "Ah, I see what you've done. Such cozy items... for Y/N, huh?"

Bucky just gave him a flat look, pulling out his wallet. "I'm just getting stuff she might like. It's practical."

Thor chuckled, shaking his head. "Practical, indeed. A blanket, a teapot... Bucky, my friend, you've crafted a masterpiece of affection, and I must say, I approve."

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Just don't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

Thor gave him a wink as they paid. "I would never," he said, voice full of mischief.

"The fair maiden is lucky to have you," he added with a teasing grin.

Bucky shifted slightly, looking down at the items. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a small, almost shy smile pulling at his lips. "I'm trying" he muttered, his voice soft but genuine.

Thor's smile softened, the teasing replaced with something more understanding. "You're doing just fine, brother."

And just like that, Bucky felt a little lighter, like he was heading home with something more than just a few items from a furniture store. He was heading back with the idea of making Y/N's space feel a little more hers. A little more loved.

--

Y/N stepped into her room, weary from a long day of work. The hum of the city outside felt like a distant echo compared to the exhaustion settling into her bones. She closed the door behind her, the quiet of the room a welcome contrast to the busy chaos of the day.

But then, her eyes landed on something that immediately softened the tension in her shoulders.

On her desk, Y/N found a fluffy journal with colourful pens and a cushion on her chair. She smiled, her fingers brushing over the soft cover.

Then her gaze shifted to the bed, where a cozy throw blanket lay, inviting her to curl up. Beside it, a soft robe with a pair of plush slippers placed below on the floor.

She hadn't mentioned wanting any of it, yet there it was, waiting for her.

Her eyes widened. Who had done this?

Before she could think too much about it, a soft sound caught her attention. She turned around to see Bucky, kneeling on the floor near the corner of her room, tangled up in a mess of fairy lights. He was so focused on the lights that he didn't notice her walk in. She couldn't help but laugh quietly as she watched him untangle himself, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he finally looked up and noticed her, his face turned slightly pink.

"Oh—uh—hey," he said, his voice still a little breathless from his tangle with the lights.

"Trying to redecorate, huh?" Y/N teased, still smiling.

Bucky blinked at her, looking sheepish. "I thought it might make things more... cozy. I got a little carried away." He gestured to the mess of lights hanging awkwardly around the room.

Y/N chuckled softly, the warmth of the room, the thoughtful gesture, and the sight of Bucky so out of his element making her heart swell.

"How'd all this get here?" she asked, looking at Bucky with an amused expression.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, I may have... gone a little shopping with Thor. Grabbed a few things. Thought you might like them".

Y/N's smile softened as she glanced around, taking in the sweet touches. "A few things, huh?" She couldn't help but tease gently, her voice warm. "Well, it's... definitely cozy."

Bucky flushed, awkwardly clearing his throat. "I just... wanted to make things a little nicer for you."

He noticed the awe in her eyes as she stood there, taking in the scene. She walked over to him, still stunned, and softly said, "Thank you, Bucky."

Y/N smiled, her voice gentle. "For all of this... You didn't have to, but you did. It means a lot."

Bucky's chest tightened at her words, and he simply nodded. "I'm glad you like it."

Before she could say anything more, his expression softened further. "I made you dinner," he added, his tone quieter now. "I figured you might be tired after work. It should be done by now."

Y/N blinked. "You cooked?"

Bucky nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. C'mon. I'll show you."

As they walked toward the kitchen, Bucky's voice took on a playful note. "And, uh, I have one more surprise." He gestured to the counter, where the teapot was sitting, steam rising gently. Two matching teacups were placed side by side next to it. "Tea's already brewing."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she took in the sight of the tea set. She met his gaze, her thoughts momentarily lost.

"Go wash your hands," Bucky said with a grin, "I'll get dinner ready".

Y/N washed up quickly, then joined him at the counter. He was just pulling out the oven tray, and the smell of her favourite dish filled the room. It was a simple meal, but the effort he'd put into it made it feel like something special.

They ate, sharing little moments between bites. Bucky, still smiling, filled her in on his "adventure" with Thor—how they ended up with a cart full of inexplicable things, including an inflatable Viking helmet.

Y/N told him about her day at work, how it had been busy but fulfilling. She mentioned some of the cases she handled and how she was slowly finding her rhythm again. "I'm starting to feel like I'm really back," she said quietly, a small smile on her face.

Afterward, Y/N started to stand up, ready to clear the plates. But Bucky stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Sit," he said. "I've got this."

She blinked, confused, but didn't protest. Bucky loaded the plates into the dishwasher with surprising ease. Then, without a word, he set the kettle to boil again.

"I know you want your before-bed tea," he said casually, his back turned to her as he worked.

Y/N watched him, feeling a quiet kind of awe at how seamlessly he was slipping into these moments of care. How, despite everything, Bucky had created this small, peaceful space for her—one that felt like home.

And she couldn't help but smile, a gentle warmth settling in her heart. 

They were still sitting at the counter, long past the time they should've been tucked away in their beds. Their laughter and stories echoed through the compound, light and free, like music. By now, they were on their fifth round of tea, but neither of them seemed to mind.

The conversation flowed easily, everything feeling familiar as they poured tea into their cups, leaning into each other's space with the ease of old habits. 

The distance between them didn't feel like two people who had been assigned rooms next to each other—it felt like they didn't know how to be far apart anymore.

They laughed more than they spoke.

And they didn't notice the audience

Across the kitchen, the entire team was gathered in the doorway—trying (and failing) not to stare.

Tony leaned sideways to whisper to Steve: "Okay, tell me I'm not the only one who feels like we're intruding on a rom-com finale."

Steve had his arms crossed, one corner of his mouth pulled into a knowing smile.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, watching them like someone witnessing an unfamiliar species in their natural habitat.

Clint whispered, "They've synced up. They're finishing each other's sentences. They're drinking out of matching tea cups".

"The Soldier has excellent taste in tea sets," Thor commented, giving a approving nod.

Tony took a large sip of his coffee, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "This is better than soap operas. And I funded one."

"Are we spying?" Bruce asked, quietly curious.

"We're observing," Natasha corrected. "With scientific interest."

"I'm pretty sure this counts as staring," Steve said.

Just then, Bucky turned—eyes landing on the group.

He paused. Narrowed his eyes.

Then tossed a spoon at Sam's head with startling accuracy.

"What are you all staring at?"

Sam threw up both hands, eyes wide in mock disbelief as the spoon bounced off his forehead. 

"Really? The bionic staring machine is accusing us of staring?" he said, rubbing his head dramatically.

Y/N choked on her sip of tea, the unexpected comment catching her off guard. 

Bucky immediately turned back to her, his expression shifting to concern. He reached over, gently patting her back. "You okay?" he asked, his voice laced with care.

She nodded, breathless. "Yeah I'm fine. I just didn't expect spoon diplomacy."

Bucky chuckled softly, the playful tension melting away as he met Y/N's eyes again. "Guess I'm more diplomatic than I thought," he said with a wink, his voice lighter than before.

Just then, Thor stepped into the room, arms wide and a grin plastered across his face. "Your bond is beautiful. We were moved."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You were... just watching?"

Steve, standing just behind Thor, smiled faintly. "We were just... observing."

"Like creeps," Y/N added, squinting at them, a teasing edge to her voice.

Tony raised an eyebrow, then added, "We're just... appreciating the vibes. Let us have our moment."

They all hummed in agreement, some nodding, some chuckling.

Bucky, eyes narrowing playfully, pointed another spoon at them threateningly. "Get out of here before I start using my words instead of spoons."

Tony raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Domestic Winter Soldier is terrifying."

As they all started to shuffle off, still grinning and muttering to each other, Nat called over her shoulder: "You two are gross in a weirdly wholesome way. I kind of love it."

Bucky leaned on the counter beside Y/N, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

"I swear they have no boundaries," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile softening as she looked at him. "You're not wrong," she said, her voice teasing.

"Kind of crazy how we've adjusted to it all," she added, letting the thought settle between them.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. "I never imagined I could have this," he said quietly, a touch of surprise in his tone.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her expression light. "What? Friends who spy?" she teased, watching him pour the last cup of tea for the night.

Bucky laughed softly, the sound full of warmth and affection. 

He glanced at her—his hand brushing hers as he passed her the cup.

"No," he said, his voice lowering as he looked down at their hands, lingering for a second longer before meeting her eyes once more. "This."

And the rest of the world fell away.

--

Chapter 9 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 7)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 7 - One Plushie, One Plum, One Puppy

Inside the compound, things had gotten easier.

But the outside world? That was still... a lot.

Crowds. Sounds. Eyes. Choices.

They weren't used to those.

So, naturally, the Avengers decided to take matters into their own chaotic, well-meaning hands.

Clint and Nat didn’t plan the shopping trip.

They ambushed it.

Y/N and Bucky had been minding their business—locked in a cutthroat game of UNO in the lounge, both unusually intense about the rules—when Natasha strolled in wearing black jeans, a fitted tee, and oversized sunglasses, and a crossbody bag that made it clear she was here with purpose. 

Clint followed a beat later, holding two iced Starbucks drinks and grinning like a man about to throw a grenade into a very calm room.

“Field trip,” he declared. “Mall. Now.”

Bucky didn’t even look up. “I’m not going into the wild. Too many civilians. Too much noise. Fluorescent lights. Perfume clouds."

Y/N grimaced. “Is this mandatory?” She looked toward Natasha, tone cautiously pleading. “I’d rather stay inside.”

Natasha’s expression softened. She crossed her arms, but her voice was gentle. “I know,” she said. “But you can’t do that forever.”

“Pepper already taught us how to do online grocery shopping,” Bucky added, half-hopeful, half-defensive.

Clint squinted at him, sipping his drink like a disappointed parent. “You two have been hiding in the compound like gremlins. It’s time to join society.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue—then promptly shut it when Nat raised a single brow.

Ten minutes later, they were in the car.

The mall was loud.

At least, that’s how it felt to Bucky and Y/N.

The kind of loud that echoed off shiny tile floors and ricocheted around their skull like a ping pong ball made of anxiety. Pop music blared from every direction. People moved too fast. The lights were too bright. There were too many choices, and not enough escape routes.

Nat didn’t waste time.

“Clint, you’re on Bucky,” she said, already weaving through the crowd like a seasoned operative. “Y/N’s with me.”

“What are we looking for?” Y/N called after her, forced to power-walk to keep up.

“Essentials,” Nat replied. “Clothes that aren’t tactical, shoes that aren’t boots, and maybe—if you behave—milkshake and churros.”

Clint clapped Bucky on the back with all the subtlety of a brick. “Time to teach you what joggers are, man.”

Bucky scowled. “I have pants.”

“You have combat-grade leather that creaks when you sit. We’re getting you breathable cotton”.

An hour in, Y/N and Natasha had already hit four stores—each one somehow worse than the last.

Now, Y/N stood motionless between racks of pastel crop tops and jeans with too many rips, surrounded by mannequins in tiny dresses and girls walking by in coordinated two-piece sets that looked effortless and cool and so far from anything she'd ever been or wanted to be.

She wasn't a heels-and-mini-skirt kind of girl. But everything in the store seemed to scream "fit in or fade out."

She picked up a hanger with a tank top barely wide enough for her arm. Then dropped it again.

Her throat tightened.

She felt awkward. Loud in her own skin.

Quietly. Quickly. She slipped away, ducking into a quiet corner near the fitting rooms.

She sat on the small bench, staring at her reflection in the three-way mirror that somehow made her feel even more out of place in her own clothes.

She wasn't crying.

But she wasn't far from it, either.

Then— A soft thump. A paper shopping bag being set down beside her.

And Natasha sitting down next to her, legs crossed, holding a bottle of water and wearing an expression that didn't need words.

Y/N took the bottle but didn’t open it. She sniffed once. “I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear. Everything feels like it belongs to someone else. Like I’m playing dress-up in a world that already decided I don’t belong.”

Nat didn’t rush her. Just waited, then said gently, “It’s not about fitting in, Y/N. It’s about finding what fits you.”

Y/N looked up.

Natasha’s voice stayed soft, honest—stripped of armour.

“For a long time, everything I wore was for survival. Costumes. Uniforms. Personas. I could blend in, seduce, intimidate, disappear whatever they needed me to be."

Y/N angled toward her, listening more closely now.

“But none of it was me. Not really. I didn’t even know what my style was until I was finally free. And even then, it took me a while to believe I deserved to be comfortable—just being myself.”

“You always look so confident,” Y/N murmured.

Nat smiled—wry, and just a little sad.

"Confidence isn't about loving how you look. It's about refusing to let the world tell you you're not enough."

She glanced toward the open store. "You think everyone here's dressed because they love how they look? Most of them are scared. Trying to look like everyone else so they won't get judged".

She met Y/N’s eyes. "Don't give people that kind of power, Y/N."

She nudged her chin toward the fitting room racks.

"You want hoodies four sizes too big? Get them. Want tight clothes, or yoga pants or boots you can kick down a door in? Do that". 

Her voice stayed calm, grounded. "You don't owe the world an image, sweetheart. You owe yourself comfort. Choice. Safety."

Y/N's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "It's just hard. Feeling like... I take up too much space. Like my body doesn't match what people expect."

Nat's voice softened.

"The only expectation that matters is the one you set for yourself. And it should sound like this: 'I get to feel safe in my own skin. I get to take up space. I get to exist without apology.'"

Y/N's eyes welled just a little. Not from sadness. From the sudden relief of being understood.

Nat reached over, bumped their shoulders.

"You don't owe the world pretty. You don't owe it 'skinny' or 'cool' or whatever trend is shouting the loudest this week. You owe yourself comfort. Peace. Something you can put on and say—'this feels like me'."

Y/N laughed softly, wiping her cheek. "I don't think I'm ever wearing a crop top".

"Great," Nat said. "Then we'll start with hoodies. Maybe some cargo pants. Something that says, 'I've survived a war and still have snacks in my pocket".

Y/N chuckled and stood up. "Okay. Let's try again."

Nat rose with her, proud and patient. “That’s my girl.”

And together, they stepped back into the store—not to fit in.

But to find something that fit her.

Meanwhile…

Clint and Bucky were trapped in what could only be described as a hellscape of modern menswear.

Three stores in, and they still hadn’t bought a single thing.

Bucky had officially hit his limit.

“I don’t need a flannel,” he grumbled, eyeing the chequered shirt like it might jump off the hanger and force itself onto him.

Clint rolled his eyes. “You don’t own a single casual shirt. We’re starting from zero. That means yes, you do.”

They were mid-argument over the difference between black and slightly darker black t-shirts when Bucky suddenly stopped.

Something across the walkway had caught his eye.

A toy store.

Specifically, a window display.

A wall of plush animals.

And in the centre— A small, soft-looking, cinnamon-coloured teddy bear with a pink ribbon tied loosely around its neck. 

Something about it made his heart stop.

He imagined Y/N holding it. Sitting in her room, curled up in her favourite hoodie, arms wrapped around the little bear. Maybe falling asleep with it tucked under her chin. 

He had no idea why the thought hit him so hard.

But he walked in.

Clint caught up to him two minutes later and nearly ran into him.

"You disappeared into a toy store? Did you black out?"

Bucky ignored him. He was holding the bear now, turning it over in his  hand like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"She likes soft things," he said quietly. 

And with that, he walked straight to the cashier.

Clint didn’t say a word. Just watched him go—eyebrows raised, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t comment, didn’t tease. Not this time.

Five minutes later, bear safely tucked into a small paper bag, Clint had dragged him into yet another clothing store.

Bucky hovered just inside the entrance, expression guarded, shoulders tense like the walls might close in at any second. Music blared overhead. A mannequin in sunglasses was aggressively modelling cargo shorts.

“Why are the lights so bright?” Bucky muttered.

Clint didn’t respond right away. Instead, he rolled a nearby rack closer and nudged it toward Bucky. “Start here,” he said simply.

“Find something that looks like you,” he said, wandering off toward a wall lined with hoodies and graphic tees. “I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, Clint emerged to see Bucky in a black leather jacket that somehow fit like it was made for him. Crisp at the seams, heavy, tailored to his frame. Perfect.

Clint let out a low whistle.  “Okay, Barnes. Look at you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”

“Nah,” Clint said, stepping back and taking it in. “You look solid. Like someone who owns a Harley and knows how to keep it running.” 

He gave a nod, this time genuine. "We're definitely keeping it". 

Then, without missing a beat, Clint held up a pair of joggers he’d snagged from a nearby rack, lifting them like sacred relics. “Okay, time to try these. They’re comfortable. They have pockets. What’s not to like?”

“They don’t have a belt,” Bucky said suspiciously. “How do they stay on?”

“They have a drawstring, Bucky. Welcome to the 21st century.”

Bucky took them with two fingers, like they might bite. “They look like sleepwear.”

“Exactly,” Clint said. “You can fight evil and nap in the same outfit. It’s called balance.”

He tossed a hoodie at Bucky’s chest before he could protest. “Go. Try them on".

Bucky groaned but stalked off toward the fitting rooms.

Clint waited. And waited.

Five minutes later, the curtain shifted. “I’m not coming out.”

“C’mon,” Clint called. “I didn’t brave three teen sales associates and a cologne cloud for nothing.”

“Clint.”

“Bucky.”

A beat. Then—

“...It feels too soft.”

Clint blinked. “That’s the point.”

There was a long pause.

Then the curtain finally slid open.

Bucky stepped out stiffly in a black hoodie and dark grey joggers. The fit was perfect. Relaxed. Comfortable. 

Clint gave a slow nod. “Damn, Barnes. You almost look like a functioning adult.”

Bucky glanced at the mirror. He didn’t say anything, but his expression shifted—just slightly. Less guarded. Less ready to bolt.

Clint stepped forward, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to prove anything, man. Not here. Not anymore.”

Bucky’s jaw worked for a second before he muttered, “It’s just… weird. Wearing something that’s not built for combat.”

Clint gave a small shrug. “Yeah. But maybe now? You get to build a life that isn’t either.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away.

But he didn’t go back into the changing room either.

Bucky tugged once at the drawstring of the joggers, glancing at his reflection again. The hoodie was soft, the joggers moved easily, and—much to his frustration—it was all dangerously close to… comfortable. He gave a small, reluctant nod. 

“…Fine. I don’t hate it.”

Clint grinned, victorious, and handed him a navy Henley along with jeans in three slightly different shades of black—their earlier compromise.

“Time to bust out the spring colours,” he said, nodding toward the Henley. “Go wild.”

The fitting room curtain rustled as Bucky stepped out again, tugging lightly at the sleeves of the navy Henley. The jeans—black, simple, and free of tactical webbing or reinforced seams—fit comfortably.

No armour, no gear, no buckles.

Just clothes. His clothes.

He caught Clint’s approving nod, but before he could roll his eyes, something at the corner of his vision made him pause.

Y/N.

She and Natasha were just outside the store, mid-conversation and both carrying an armful of shopping bags, when Natasha caught sight of him and tilted her head toward the entrance. Y/N looked over—

And Bucky felt something in his chest shift.

She was wearing light blue jeans and an oversized burnt-orange hoodie with small white flowers scattered across the fabric, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her sneakers looked broken-in and perfectly hers.

He saw her.

Alive. Free. Smiling.

Something about the way she moved—the quiet confidence, the comfort in her own clothes—hit him harder than it should have. She wasn’t trying to be anyone. Just moving through the world on her own terms.

And she still looked… beautiful.

It did something strange to his heart.

Her gaze flicked over him as she walked up—head to toe—and when her eyes met his, her expression softened into something warm and sincere.

“I like your shirt,” she said, voice gentle. “It matches your eyes.”

Bucky blinked.

For a second, all he could do was stare—caught off guard not by the compliment, but by how genuine it sounded. 

A flush crept up his neck, then bloomed across his cheeks, full and unmistakable. It spread fast, turning the tips of his ears pink and settling across his face like he’d been hit with a heat lamp.

No words came out. He opened his mouth—then closed it again.

Clint’s eyes widened in delight.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed a red Henley off the rack beside him and tossed it at Bucky’s chest. “Now this one matches your face.”

Bucky caught it on reflex and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, turning even redder.

Y/N bit back a laugh.

Natasha just smirked. “Nice aim, Barton.”

Clint bowed. “Thank you. Years of training for this moment.”

Y/N hugged the sleeves of her hoodie, gave Bucky one more glance—and smiled. Small, shy, and just for him.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he’d remember that look for a long time.

A few minutes later, the food court buzzed with life—kids running around with sticky fingers, couples sharing oversized pretzels, and the scent of cinnamon sugar and fries thick in the air.

Bucky and Y/N weaved through the crowd behind Clint and Natasha, who were already heading toward the churro stand with an alarming sense of purpose.

“You two did good,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Didn’t bolt. Didn’t cause a scene. That means you get rewards.”

“Churros and milkshakes,” Nat added, voice dry but fond. “Because apparently, we’re bribing you like toddlers.”

“Mum and Dad energy is strong today,” Y/N murmured to Bucky.

“Clint’s definitely the embarrassing dad,” Bucky said under his breath. “Nat’s the scary mum who somehow always knows what you’re up to.”

Y/N grinned. “Guess that makes us the troublemakers they can’t leave unsupervised.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh at that, and they slipped into an empty booth near the edge of the food court—away from the chaos, but still close enough to see Clint trying to charm the churro vendor while Nat leaned on the counter, giving the churro vendor a look that said don’t mess this up.

They sat in companionable silence, the kind that always came easily between them.

Bucky shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat.

He reached under the table, a little stiff, a little unsure, and pulled out a small bag he’d been carrying since the checkout line. Without quite looking at her, he held it out.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

“Something I saw,” he said, voice low. "Thought you might like it".

He placed the bag in front of her, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder. As if watching her open it might be too much.

Y/N opened the bag carefully, peering inside—then froze.

She reached in and pulled out a small plush teddy bear. Soft. Cinnamon-brown. Its fur was gently curled, and a pink ribbon was tied neatly around its neck.

Her breath caught.

“You got me a teddy bear,” she said, her voice caught somewhere between awe and softness.

Bucky’s hand flexed slightly against his knee, the tips of his ears flushing red. “It reminded me of you,” he mumbled. 

She held it so carefully, like it meant more than she knew how to say. 

And now, watching her cradle it like it was the most precious thing in the world—like she didn’t quite know how to process it—his chest tightened in the best kind of way.

Y/N stared at the bear for a long moment, her fingers brushing over the ribbon, then the soft fur. Her expression was unreadable at first—surprise, wonder, something just on the edge of disbelief.

Then it shifted.

She smiled.

Slow and full, the kind of smile that unfolded like sunlight. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Thank you, Bucky.”

And there was something in her eyes when she said it—something real and unguarded. Like no one had ever done this for her before. Like receiving a gift just because was foreign, unexpected, overwhelming in the quietest way.

She tucked the bear gently into her lap, one hand resting protectively over its soft belly like she was afraid it might disappear.

Something twisted warm and slow in Bucky’s chest.

She looked... happy. Not the cautious kind. Not the polite kind.

The real kind.

And he’d done that.

He hadn't been sure about giving it to her. He'd told himself it was silly. But now, watching her like this, he knew he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Across the food court, Clint and Nat returned—arms full of churros and milkshakes, like proud parents returning from a successful mission.

Y/N looked up, still smiling, bear in her lap and her heart a little fuller than it had been ten minutes ago.

Bucky just looked down at the table, trying not to smile too obviously. Failing, just a little.

Today… they just felt like people, finding their way back to living.

--

A few days later, something new arrived. Of course, it was Tony. And of course, he didn’t invite them—he scheduled them.

It began with an email.

Y/N was half-slouched on the compound couch, scrolling on her laptop in the common room, when the notification pinged.

TONY STARK: Be ready at 7. Wear what's on your bed. Yes, it's fancy. No, it's not optional.

She rolled her eyes—until she stepped into her room and saw a dress laid out with surgical precision.

For a moment, all she could do was stare and think, This looks like something out of another life. One I never thought I’d touch.

She showered and put it on.

The dress was a deep wine red, unmistakably 1940s in style—fitted at the waist with a wrap-around bow that tied neatly at the side. The skirt flared just below the knees, full and flowing with every step. With short sleeves and a high neckline, it was classic, elegant, and quietly breathtaking.

She paired it with white sneakers—because heels weren’t her thing, and tonight was about being herself, not someone else’s idea of elegance.

Before stepping out, she caught her reflection one last time and thought, Comfort. Choice. Safety. Nat had been right. This felt like her.

She opened the door.

Bucky was already outside, adjusting the cuff of the suit Tony had sent him—a charcoal grey, classic 1940s cut. The kind of suit he might’ve worn to a dance before the war. The material was newer, cleaner, but the lines were the same. Familiar.

He’d paired it with his boots—the same ones he wore almost everywhere now. Because he wasn’t trying to be who he used to be. Just someone trying to stand still in his skin.

He looked up.

And froze for half a second when he saw her.

The dress—its cut, its colour, the way it moved—looked like it had stepped right out of his time. But it wasn’t the past staring back at him. It was her. Modern. Unapologetic. Entirely herself. And somehow, that made it even more beautiful.

Y/N’s breath caught when she saw him.

The suit was timeless—like something out of a photograph from a time she still remembered. 

But it wasn’t just the suit.

It was him in it.

He’d kept his boots on—rough and worn against polished fabric—because that’s who he was now. A little past, a little present.

And somehow, that made the whole look even more striking.

He didn’t look like he was trying to fit in.

He looked like he belonged. Right here. Right now. With her.

“You clean up nice,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky glanced down at himself, then at her. “You look... incredible.”

Their smiles matched—lopsided, warm—as they made their way to the front door.

The limo was already waiting outside, engine purring. The back door swung open before they reached it.

Tony leaned out, sunglasses on, grin wide.

“Well, don’t you two look like a vintage magazine cover,” he said. “Now get in before they give our table to someone with less style.”

They arrived at the rooftop restaurant in soft golden light—the kind of place with linen tablecloths, sweeping city views, and warm, flickering bulbs Tony insisted weren’t romantic, just “high-efficiency ambiance.”

The city buzzed below like distant music, and their own conversations had been surprisingly calm. Elegant, even.

Then came the menu.

Y/N tilted hers sideways. "Is this in a foreign language?"

"It's French," Tony said, already halfway through the wine list. "So yes".

Bucky squinted at his options like they were encoded. “What’s... bouillabaisse?”

“Fish stew,” Tony replied. “But make it twelve syllables and $40.”

They ended up ordering oysters for appetisers—because Tony said “trust the experience,” and Bucky said “fine.”

When the tray arrived, Bucky stared. 

“These are raw.”

“They’re a delicacy,” Tony gestured to the cutlery. "Just use the little fork—"

Bucky reached for one, trying to follow the instructions—

WHAP.

One rogue oyster slipped, launched off Bucky’s plate, and smacked Tony square in the forehead, before landing with an elegant plop in his wine glass.

Tony wiped the shellfish goo from his face. "Should've let you crack it open with your vibranium can opener. That's on me".

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She failed. Miserably.

Tony lifted his glass, oyster still bobbing in his wine. “To civilian life and and food that costs more than my first car".

They clinked glasses, and the dinner rolled on—dish after dish Tony insisted they "just had to try."

Y/N was seated between Bucky and Tony at the long table, her eyes lit from laughter and too many sips of sparkling lemonade. Bucky wasn’t exactly chatty, but he chimed in here and there—dry comments, well-timed smirks, the kind that made Y/N grin behind her glass and Tony look almost proud.

At one point, Tony leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink.

“You know,” he said, glancing between the two of them, “you’re both starting to look dangerously well-adjusted. It's making me nervous.”

Y/N smirked. “Coming from the guy who owns three suits of armour and a giant bunny suit?”

Tony pointed at her. “Hey, emotional growth comes in many forms. Some of them are metal. Some are plush.”

Bucky shook his head. “You need a new hobby.” Tony sipped his drink. “I had one. Then I met all of you.”

They all laughed—genuinely, easily.

Then Tony’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and stood. "Two seconds. That's Pepper's assistant, which means I'm either in trouble or about to get voluntold into something charitable."

He stepped away toward the balcony.

A waiter arrived, placing a plate in front of each of them. Molten lava cake.

Y/N's eyes widened.

"Oh my god," she whispered, visibly delighted. "It's tiny and fancy and filled with chocolate death. I'm ready."

Bucky chuckled as she lifted her fork.

She stabbed into the center a bit too excitedly—forgetting she was literally a super soldier.

The cake exploded.

A burst of chocolate launched from the middle, hitting her square in the chest, splattering across her collarbone, and smearing a line up her cheek.

She froze.

Bucky blinked, half in awe.

Y/N looked down at herself.

Then whispered, "No."

"Y/N—"

"No no no no no."

She wiped at her dress with her napkin, only making the mess worse. Her face fell—brows furrowing, shoulders stiffening.

"God, I'm such an idiot," she muttered, trying to rub the chocolate off her neckline. "I ruined everything—why did I even—"

"Hey," Bucky said gently.

She didn't stop.

"I can't even eat cake without turning it into a crime scene."

"Y/N."

"I mean, seriously, who breaks pastry?"

"Y/N." He said it again, quieter.

She finally looked at him.

There was chocolate on her cheek. Her lip was trembling in that way she always tried to hide—like being upset was a burden.

Bucky picked up a napkin and leaned in, slowly wiping the smear from her face with the same care he'd use bandaging a wound.

"There," he said, voice low. "Still you."

Her dress, though—chocolate still spread across the fabric. She looked down at it like it had personally betrayed her.

He could see it: the tension behind her eyes. She was holding it in. Pushing it down. For everyone else's sake.

So he shrugged off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

"You don't have to be perfect," he said. "Not with me."

She blinked fast, eyes a little too shiny. 

"I just wish I wasn't so clumsy".

"That's okay" he said. 

Then—without a word—he reached down, dipped his thumb into the chocolate mess on her plate, and casually smudged it right across his crisp white shirt.

Y/N gasped. "Bucky—!"

"I'm clumsy too," he said flatly. "Look at us. Couple of chocolate disasters."

"But that's your shirt!"

"And this—" he pushed his own plate of untouched chocolate lava cake toward her, "—is your second chance."

She opened her mouth to protest. He cut a piece before she could.

"Let me."

He lifted the fork to her lips and she let him, biting into it carefully.

Somehow, chocolate got on her cheek again. She started to reach for the napkin, but Bucky beat her to it, brushing it away gently with his thumb, fingers lingering just a second too long.

And that's when it hit him.

Not the amusement. Not the instinct to care.

But the want.

Not to kiss her.

But to love her.

To be the reason she didn't have to hold everything in anymore.

To be the one who made her laugh when lava cake betrayed her, and made her feel safe when her own mind turned against her.

-

Tony stood on the balcony, phone still against his ear.

"...Tony? Tony are you there?"

He didn't answer.

Just stared, eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped —watching it all unfold through the glass.

"Did you just... forget how to speak?" came Pepper's voice.

Still, no response.

Tony blinked slowly and muttered to no one in particular—

"...I'm gonna need to upgrade my emotional firewall."

--

The next wave of chaos arrived a few days later—wearing sunglasses and carrying tote bags.

Sam had shown up at their doors on a Sunday just after 10 a.m., radiating the energy of a cool uncle taking the kids out.

“We’re going to the farmer’s market,” he announced. “You two need sun, air, and overpriced organic produce. Let’s move.”

The market was bustling—vibrant stalls, live jazz, and at least three different people aggressively offering samples of fermented beet juice.

Sam had dragged them there for what he called “normal people fun,” which, somehow, had spiralled into a heated debate over plums.

He picked one up, held it to the light like he was appraising a gemstone, and nodded solemnly. “Now this is a plum. Perfect weight. Glossy skin. Slight give. You’re welcome.”

Bucky scoffed. “You just picked the first one you touched.”

“I selected it, Barnes. With instinct. With experience. I know plums.”

“You think you know plums,” Bucky said, reaching for another. “But that one’s overripe. It’s halfway to jam.”

“Oh, and you’re some kind of plum sommelier now?”

“I’ve eaten more plums than you’ve had hot dinners.”

Sam raised a brow. “That’s... sad. But also, false. I grew up around produce stands.”

Bucky held up his own selection. “This. This is the one.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a panic plum. The kind someone grabs at closing time. Amateur move.”

As their Very Serious Plum Debate intensified, Y/N had quietly wandered a few stalls over, lured by something soft and oddly... fluffy.

There, nestled between a basket of lavender sachets and some handmade soaps, was a round, grey-and-white wolf plushie—soft as a cloud, with tiny embroidered paws and the most judgmental sleepy eyes she'd ever seen.

She grinned.

Without hesitation, she bought it.

Meanwhile, five minutes later—

Bucky turned from the plums. "Where's Y/N?"

Sam glanced around. "She was just... huh."

Bucky's brows immediately drew together. "She wouldn't just leave."

"She probably got distracted by—"

"She never just walks off without saying something." There was an edge to his voice now. His eyes scanning the crowd, body tense.

Sam held up a hand, trying to keep things steady. “Hey—hey, we’ll find her. It’s a busy market, not a mission.” But he saw it then—the flicker of real fear in Bucky’s eyes, sharp and buried just beneath the surface. He softened his tone. “Alright. We’ll split up. I’ll head toward the food stalls—you check the side booths.”

Bucky was already walking off. Fast.

He found her two streets down.

Just walking. Calm. Hugging something comically large and grey and squishy to her chest.

He didn't think.

He just ran.

"Y/N!"

She turned—surprised—and barely had a moment to react before Bucky was there, arms wrapping tight around her like he was afraid she'd vanish again.

And then—"Wait—what is this giant squishy thing between us stopping me from hugging you properly?!"

Y/N laughed, cheeks pink. She held up the wolf plushie.

"This is what stopped your dramatic rescue hug."

Bucky blinked. "...Is that a... wolf?"

"Mmhmm." She pressed it into his arms. "Saw it and thought of you."

She gave a lopsided grin. "Because you're stronger than you think. And you don't need a pack to be brave. But you deserve one anyway."

He stared. At the plush. At her. Back at the plush.

"This is the softest thing I've ever touched in my life," he whispered.

Y/N smiled, gentler now. "Wolves are strong. Loyal. Protective. A little misunderstood. I figured... maybe it's time you had something soft too."

He didn't say anything. Just hugged it to his chest, completely and utterly gone.

Then quietly—"I love it."

His voice was almost small. Vulnerable.

Then— "I'm naming him... I don't know. Wolfie."

Y/N giggled. "Strong choice."

Sam finally caught up and immediately stopped in his tracks at the sight of Bucky—super soldier, 100-year-old ex-assassin—cradling a plushie like it was made of gold.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. "You're a walking Build-A-Bear commercial."

Bucky shot him a look. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying—'Winter Soldier and Son' has a nice ring to it."

"Say that again and Wolfie bites."

Sam snorted, but he was smiling too. "You're soft, Barnes. It's disgusting."

"Damn right I am."

And then—without thinking, without saying a word—Bucky reached out and took Y/N's hand in his free one.

Just casual. Just... natural.

Y/N blinked down at their joined hands.

Bucky didn't notice. Or pretended not to.

Sam noticed. Sam definitely noticed.

And as they strolled down the aisle of stalls together—one hand holding Wolfie, the other holding Y/N—Sam trailed behind with a grin, muttering, “You big softies.”

-

That night, the Compound was quiet.

Y/N was heading back to her room when she noticed the light spilling from under Bucky’s half-open door.

She paused.

She should've kept walking. Really. She meant to.

But then she heard it. A soft voice. His voice. Quiet. Gentle in a way she hadn't heard before.

So she peeked.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky was in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower. His room was dim, lamp casting a warm amber glow.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Holding Wolfie.

The ridiculously round, grey, floppy wolf plushie Y/N had given him earlier that day.

But he wasn't just holding it. He was...

tucking it into bed.

Like, genuinely pulling the blanket over the plush wolf's body, smoothing it out. Carefully. Gently. As if Wolfie was something fragile. Something important.

Then came the real kicker.

"Alright, bud," Bucky murmured, patting its tiny plush head with his metal hand. "You're in charge tonight. Keep the nightmares away, yeah?"

Y/N's hand clutched the doorframe. Her heart clenched in the softest ache.

He trusted it. Trusted her, really. Enough to let this part of himself exist.

She was smiling without realising it, warmth blooming in her chest like dawn.

Then—too late—his head lifted.

Their eyes met.

She froze.

He froze.

The tension lasted approximately three seconds before Bucky's face turned the colour of a ripe tomato.

"I—uh—he was cold," Bucky blurted.

Y/N stepped in, hands up in mock surrender, eyes sparkling. "Hey. No judgment. You're clearly an amazing father."

Bucky groaned, falling back into his pillow. "I'm never living this down."

She walked up to the bed, sat beside the plush wolf, and gave it a little high-five.

"You picked a good guardian."

Bucky peeked at her from under his arm. "You're not gonna tell the team?"

"Never," she said, reaching for the corner of the blanket to help smooth it over Wolfie's stubby leg. "This one's just for me."

He watched her, smile tugging at his lips. Something soft lingered between them. 

Then she stood up and headed for the door, pausing in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Bucky."

He held her gaze, something unspoken resting behind his eyes.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

--

The next day, Bruce started acting suspicious.

Too many soft smiles. Too many “don’t worry about it”s. The last time he looked that pleased with himself, Tony had accidentally invented a sentient espresso machine.

So when he led Y/N and Bucky out into the compound garden, hands behind his back, Y/N half-expected robots—or at least something that beeped.

What she got was better.

Puppies.

At least a dozen of them—bounding across the grass, tiny tails wagging, ears flopping, a chaos of soft fur and sharp little barks. Someone had set up shade tents and water bowls, and a volunteer stood nearby with a clipboard that read “Therapy Dog Socialisation – Please Cuddle Generously.”

Bruce smiled, sheepish. “I figured… you both could use a little emotional support. So I called in a favour from the program downtown.”

With a small nod and a softer smile, he turned and quietly headed back inside.

Y/N didn’t wait. She was already in the grass, giggling as two puppies climbed onto her stomach and one curled up under her arm. Her entire face glowed like it was the best day of her life.

Bucky, on the other hand, stayed back. He stood stiff at the edge of the garden, hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank—but his eyes never left her.

He was watching her. The way she laughed—completely unguarded—as one of the pups tried to climb her shoulder. The way she scooped up another and kissed its head like it was the most natural thing in the world. And something in his chest pulled tight.

She didn’t even know what she did to people. How the light caught in her hair, how her laugh made things feel safe. How she moved through the world carrying shadows she didn’t talk about—still choosing to smile anyway.

It mesmerised him. Every time.

The strength it took to fight through the dark and still smile in the light… He’d never seen anything like it.

And God, he wanted to protect it. Not just her. But that—that smile. That softness. That spark.

Because he knew what it cost her to hold onto it— and he wanted to be someone who gave softness back to the woman who gave it so freely to everyone but herself.

To make sure she never felt alone in a quiet room again. To be steady when her hands trembled. To keep her laughing. To love her in the quiet, careful way she’d always deserved.

And somewhere in all of it, he realised—he was already falling. Steady as breath. Just as vital.

He didn’t know how to say any of it. So he just stood there—watching her like she was everything.

And then, the world reminded him it was still moving.

Something bumped his boot.

He looked down.

A tiny golden retriever puppy was gnawing at his laces with all the determination of a creature who had never once failed in life.

Bucky blinked. 

“Are you... lost?” he asked the puppy, baffled.

The puppy let go of the lace, gave an enormous yawn, and sat down like it had just completed a great mission.

He bent down, carefully scooped the puppy up like it might detonate, and turned to walk toward Y/N.

But the puppy curled into his chest immediately—let out one sigh and conked out cold.

He froze. “It… fell asleep.”

Y/N beamed. “That’s because it trusts you.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

So she helped.

She gently placed another puppy on his shoulder. Then another. One climbed into the crook of his arm. A fourth settled near his boot.

Slowly—almost without realizing—he sank into the grass, back against the tree, arms full of fluffy chaos. His head tilted toward hers, like he still couldn’t believe this was allowed.

Y/N looked at him.

Really looked.

At his careful hands. The softness in his eyes. The way he kept absently rubbing slow circles over the back of the first puppy’s fur, like he’d forgotten how to stop being gentle.

There was something almost tender in the way he breathed. Like peace wasn’t something he reached for—just something that had finally found him.

She couldn’t stop watching.

It wasn’t just that he looked soft. It was that she knew how hard he’d fought to get here.

All the parts of him that didn’t rest easy. The shadows he never talked about. The way he sometimes flinched from comfort like it might break him.

And still—here he was. Letting go, just a little. Sitting in the grass, with these little bundles of joy, and letting it happen.

Her chest ached—not with fear or confusion, but with something blooming and inevitable. 

She didn’t just like the part of him that smiled. She liked the part that didn’t know how. The part that tried anyway.

And maybe, without even meaning to, she’d started falling in love with all of it.

Bucky glanced at her, then carefully shifted the one sleeping puppy in his lap—and reached for her.

Without a word, he pulled her gently into his lap, her back resting against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist. The other still held the tiny retriever, snuggled soundly against him.

The puppy Y/N had been holding stirred, lifted its head, and began licking Bucky’s cheek with sleepy enthusiasm.

He scrunched his nose. She burst into a quiet giggle.

And then they were laughing together, soft and breathless, eyes meeting in a moment so close it could have tipped into something more—if either of them had dared.

But for now, they just stayed there.

Wrapped in warmth. Covered in puppies. Hearts inching closer, unaware they were falling in perfect sync.

Just two old souls, falling in love—one plushie, one plum, and one puppy at a time.

--

Chapter 8 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 6)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 6 - We Can Build This Dream Together

The city wasn't the same.

Then again, neither were they.

Bucky hadn't been back in the city without a mission in decades. And Y/N had never been here without being defined by a file.

But now they stood at the window of the Quinjet—together—as Steve guided it down toward the landing pad at the Avengers Compound.

The ramp lowered slowly, sunlight spilling over the platform in lazy golden streaks. The Compound stretched out before them—low, sleek, and humming with quiet energy.

Y/N stood at the top of the ramp for a moment, just breathing—then she stepped forward.

Steve walked beside her, expression steady but soft—his version of relief.

Bucky stepped down behind her, one duffel over his shoulder, jaw tight but eyes alert.

It wasn't nerves.

It was awareness.

The last time he'd stood at a place like this, he hadn't been himself.

This time—he was.

Waiting at the bottom of the ramp were all of them.

Sam stood front and center, sunglasses perched on his head, grinning like he'd waited all morning just to say something.

Natasha stood beside him, arms crossed but her stance relaxed, an ease in her eyes that didn't come often.

Clint waved lazily. Thor stood back with his arms crossed and a grin too big to be casual. Bruce gave the softest nod.

And just behind them, Tony Stark strolled up—wearing a three-piece suit like it was casual wear, coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other.

No one said anything for a beat.

Then—

"Would one of you say something before Sam combusts?" Natasha muttered, glancing sideways at him.

Sam grinned and stepped forward. "Hey, man. Good to see you again. You clean up alright."

Bucky gave a faint huff that might've been a laugh. "You too".

Then, after a pause, Sam pointed toward Steve, "You should've heard this guy. Didn't shut up about you two the whole mission. Like a sad dad waiting for his kids to come home."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I wasn't that bad."

"You were," Sam and Natasha said in unison.

Tony stepped up, gaze flicking over them with practiced ease. 

"Barnes," he said smoothly, nodding once. "Still in one piece. That's... good. Let's keep it that way. We just got new couches."

Bucky held his gaze. "Not planning to break anything."

Tony gave the faintest smile. "That's all I needed to hear."

Tony turned to Y/N then, his expression shifting just slightly—softer, but still Tony. "Look who decided to come home. Finally".

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You missed me, Stark?"

He sniffed. "Pepper did."

A beat passed.

"So did I," he added, more quietly.

Y/N smiled, just a little. "Missed you too."

Bruce stepped in beside her, hands tucked in his pockets. "Glad you are back. Both of you".

Behind him, Clint offered her a quick salute. "Took you two long enough".

From the side, Natasha stepped closer to her. "It's good to see you again," she said, softer than before.

Y/N nodded. "It's good to be here again."

Natasha turned to Bucky then and offered a short, respectful nod. "Glad you're here, too."

Thor stepped forward, clapping Bucky on the back with enough force to move him half a step forward. "You are exactly as broody as they claimed. I find it comforting."

"I don't brood," Bucky said flatly.

Bruce, quietly from the side: "You really do."

Y/N watched him—stiff at first, posture tense, eyes flicking from person to person like he was trying to memorise exits.

But no one flinched.

No one stared like he was a bomb waiting to go off.

And slowly, he shifted his stance. Shoulders lowering. Grip on the strap loosening.

He was being seen. Not as a ghost or a threat.

Just as Bucky.

Pepper appeared at the compound door, arms folded and smiling. "There's food inside. And showers. And apparently Sam made a new chart about fridge etiquette."

"You touch my almond milk, I will press charges," Sam said.

"I have never touched almond milk," Bucky replied.

"You will now," Y/N said.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Does he eat?"

"I have witnessed it," Y/N said. "He also critiques the texture".

"I do not—"

"Doesn't like his vegetables," she added.

Thor, proudly: "A warrior must eat his greens."

Bucky sighed. "I'm going back to the jet."

But he didn't move.

And that was the thing.

He didn't run.

He stayed.

Y/N glanced sideways, catching the subtle crease between his brows. That flicker of disbelief.

"You okay?" she murmured.

"I think I am," he said. "Weird, right?"

She smiled. "No. Not weird."

She gently bumped her shoulder into his.

"Welcome to your new life, Barnes."

--

The doors of the compound slid shut behind them with a soft whoosh, sealing the warm sunlight outside. Inside, it was quieter—cooler—carrying the familiar hum of Stark tech woven into polished floors and wide glass corridors.

One by one, the other Avengers peeled off—heading back to their own routines, missions, or half-finished cups of coffee. Quiet nods were exchanged, casual waves thrown over shoulders. The welcome had been made. Life at the compound kept moving.

Steve led the way through the halls, flanked by Sam and Natasha. Y/N and Bucky followed, looking around.

They turned down a quieter hallway—familiar to Y/N. It was the residential wing, tucked away from the more open areas. The lighting was warm here. Softer.

Steve slowed as they reached three adjacent doors.

"Here we are," he said, then nodded to the one in the middle. "This one's yours, Buck."

He pointed to the door on the left. "I'm over here."

Then to the right. "And Y/N, you're next to him."

They stopped in front of the middle door.

Bucky's nameplate was new. Clean, simple: James B. Barnes.

He said nothing. Just stared at the door for a long beat.

Then he glanced at Y/N. She met his eyes and gave him the smallest nod. 

Steve let the silence hold. Then gently added, "Wanna see the inside?"

Bucky nodded once.

Steve gave a quiet pat to his back, then reached for the door.

They parted ways in the hallway, doors hissing open one by one—Steve walking in with Bucky, Natasha with Y/N, and Sam stepping back to give them space.

Bucky stepped inside cautiously, eyes scanning the room like it was second nature—habit, not choice.

The room was simple. A clean bed. Wide windows that looked out over the trees. A desk. A closet. The air carried a subtle scent—fresh, like new fabric and wood polish. A few books sat stacked neatly on the shelf—some fiction, some history.

He moved forward slowly, like the room might vanish if he wasn't careful.

No chains. No restraints. Just space. 

His space.

And on the bedside table, in a simple black frame, was a photo.

Bucky froze.

It was from the 1940s. He recognised the moment instantly—him and Steve, mid-laugh, uniforms slightly rumpled, leaning against a brick wall in Brooklyn.

It wasn't the kind of image that just existed on the internet.

Steve stood quietly behind him.

"I found it in the old SHIELD archives a while back," Steve said, voice quiet. "Thought maybe... it'd be nice to have something that felt like home."

Bucky didn't speak, but his fingers brushed the frame. Carefully. Almost reverently.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Steve gave a gentle pat to his shoulder and lingered just a second longer. "I'll be around. If you need anything, you know where to find me, Buck."

Then he quietly stepped out, closing the door behind him.

After Steve left, Bucky dropped the duffel bag onto the bed and stood there for a long moment, staring at it. Then down at the bed itself. The comforter was soft, pale blue. The sheets had that clean, linen scent—new, untouched.

He sat down carefully, like the mattress might disappear beneath him. It didn't. It held.

The last time he'd had a proper bed of his own, with sheets that didn't itch and walls that didn't echo with orders or screams, had been before he left for the war.

He ran a hand across the blanket, fingers slow, thoughtful. It wasn't much. But it was his.

He unzipped the duffel. Inside: a change of clothes, his filled-in journals, and a small velvet pouch with Wakandan embroidery across the drawstring.

He hesitated, then opened it.

Two dog tags.

Simple, solid. Cool to the touch.

Both stamped with the same name: JAMES B. BARNES

Nothing else.

His fingers closed around them instinctively. No serial number. No division. No symbol. Just his name.

His.

He swallowed thickly, thumb brushing over the letters again and again.

Shuri hadn't said anything when she gave him the pouch—just patted his arm with that spark of mischief in her eye and said, "For the journey."

He hadn't opened it until now.

He set the tags down gently on the nightstand next to the framed photo Steve had left.

Brooklyn. Laughter. A moment frozen in time.

The past didn't feel so heavy in this room.

For the first time in decades, Bucky Barnes had a name, a room, and a bed to lay it all down in.

And somehow, that felt revolutionary.

Next door, Y/N entered her own room. Her bag hit the chair with a soft thud.

But as she took it in, her breath caught.

It was her room.

Exactly as she left it.

Books still lined the wall-mounted shelves. A half-used notebook sat open on the desk, pen still tucked inside. A faded sticky note was still stuck to the side of her mirror—her own handwriting, barely legible now, something about a reminder she never got around to. Even the slightly tilted art print she'd meant to straighten and never did... still tilted. 

It wasn't frozen in time—it was preserved. Lived-in. Familiar.

Like she'd never left.

She turned slowly, blinking.

"I thought this would've been repurposed by now," she said.

Natasha leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, voice soft. "No one wanted to touch it."

Y/N blinked again, throat suddenly thick. "Why?"

"Because you matter," Nat said simply. "You always did. You still do".

Y/N blinked. She hadn't expected that. "I didn't think I'd made... that much of an impression."

"You did," Natasha said. Her voice didn't change, but her gaze held steady. "You were missed. By all of us."

Y/N didn't answer right away. She looked back at her room—her corner of the world—and tried to reconcile the quiet fear of being forgotten with the warmth she was being offered.

She hadn't thought they'd miss her. Not really. Not like this.

She rubbed at the corner of her eye and gave a small, shaky laugh. "You're gonna make me cry."

Natasha shrugged. "You can. We'll still let you sit at the cool kids' table."

Y/N smiled. Quiet, full. "Thanks, Nat."

Sam appeared behind her with a grin. "You need anything, you know where to find us. Well—unless Steve's cooking again. In which case, we're all hiding."

Y/N chuckled. "Guess some things haven't changed".

--

Later that night, the world beyond the Compound was quiet—just the soft rustle of trees in the breeze, the distant chirp of crickets, and the low hum of tech somewhere down the hall.

Y/N sat by the open window in her room, legs tucked up beneath her oversized hoodie, a steaming mug of tea cradled between her hands. The night air was cool against her skin, and the stars blinked overhead like the sky had stayed awake to keep her company.

She exhaled slowly, letting the quiet settle around her.

There was a knock on her door—soft, hesitant.

She glanced over her shoulder at the knock, voice gentle. "It's open."

The door creaked as it eased open.

Bucky stepped in, barefoot and dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants that were clearly too new to feel real. His hair was still slightly damp, and he looked vaguely bewildered in the kind of comfort that didn't come with a price to pay.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "This might sound weird but... the bed's too nice."

Y/N turned fully to face him now, eyebrows raised. "Too nice?"

"Yeah. I haven't slept in a bed that soft in decades," he muttered, stepping inside slowly. "Feels... weird."

She laughed softly."Yeah, I remember that feeling." Her smile lingered. "Give it a few nights. Then you'll never want anything else."

There, on the small table beside her, was a second mug of tea—still warm, waiting.

Bucky's gaze landed on it. He blinked, then looked at her.

"You made one for me?" he asked, voice low.

Y/N didn't look away as she cradled her own mug. "Had a feeling you'd come by."

He reached for the mug, and something in his chest tightened—not with panic, but with that strange, quiet recognition.

She just... knew. The way she always seemed to. Like back in Wakanda, when the nights stretched too long and neither of them said they couldn't sleep, but both found themselves in the same quiet corner with tea, trading stories until the dark felt less heavy.

He hadn't even realised he'd come to expect it—this small, steady ritual. The comfort of it. The familiarity. The fact that she remembered... made him feel more human than any mirror had in years.

He moved toward the chair across from her and sat down slowly, fingers curling around the warm ceramic. "You know," he murmured, "this tea's great."

She raised a brow, amused. "Yeah?"

He gave the faintest smile, eyes still on the mug. "Mostly because of the company."

She smiled into her cup but didn't answer. Just let the warmth of the moment do the talking.

They sat there in silence for a while—tea in hand, the night outside still and quiet, wrapped in the hush of distant trees and low-lit hallways. A kind of stillness that didn't demand anything from them. And that was enough. 

They hadn't come back to become who they were. They came to become who they could be.

Not weapons. Not subjects. Not ghosts.

Just two people who made it out—and finally chose to live.

Side by side.

And maybe... just maybe, they were getting used to it. Or at least, they were trying.

--

The first week, Bucky nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to toast bread directly on the stovetop.

Y/N watched it unfold, arms crossed, not stopping him—just curious to see how long it would take before Sam walked in and lost his mind.

Sam burst in exactly 45 seconds later, hands already in the air. "WHY is the metal chaos toaster trying to BURN TOAST WITH A COMBAT FLAME?"

Bucky didn't even blink. "It was working."

"It was not working." 

Y/N finally intervened when smoke started curling up toward the fire alarm and calmly unplugged everything.

Sam sighed like a man whose patience had already been tested by the day—and it was only 9 a.m. "Okay. Today, you learn how not to die by kitchen appliances".

Y/N gave a small chuckle. "We could use it".

Bucky stood beside her, arms folded, staring at a blender like it had wronged him in a past life.

Sam walked them through the basics, starting at the microwave."This heats food. Not metal," he said, eyeing Bucky. "Ever. Not even once."

He tapped the buttons. "Time. Power. Start. That's it."

Y/N leaned in slightly, nodding like she was memorising a survival protocol.

Bucky pressed a button. The microwave beeped angrily.

Sam sighed, stepped in like a man on a mission, and shoved him gently aside. "Alright. Toaster time. Both of you, eyes up."

He held up a slice of bread like it was a sacred artefact. "You put the bread in—here," he said, sliding it into the slot. "You push the lever down. And then—get this—it toasts itself. No open flames".

Y/N raised a brow. "Revolutionary."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the toaster like it had personally betrayed him. "I still think the stovetop was faster."

"And I think you're banned from carbs" Sam muttered. 

He pointed to the stove. "And this—this is a stove. You cook on it. Not just boil water for tea like a sad Victorian ghost."

Bucky frowned. "I like tea."

"Yeah? You ever tried scrambled eggs?"

Bucky blinked. "...No."

Sam gasped. "Wait. Never?"

"Eggs were a luxury," Bucky muttered, defensively.

Sam handed him a carton of eggs and pointed to a pan. "Today is the day."

He took over with the confidence of someone who'd fed squadrons and kids and tired Avengers after 48 hour missions, tying a dish towel around his neck like it was battle armour.   

"Alright, you two—grab a spatula. We're making breakfast. And if anyone sets off the smoke alarm, you're on dish duty for a week".

They made toast first. Easy. Satisfying. Then eggs. Then Bucky tried to flip a pancake and hit the ceiling.

Y/N dropped a spoon into the garbage disposal while it was running and screamed. Sam screamed louder. The dishwasher beeped like it was judging them all.

By the time they sat down with slightly burnt toast, lopsided scrambled eggs, they were all laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

Y/N took one bite and gave a small, satisfied hum. "Tastes... warm."

Sam grinned, full of big brother energy. "Yeah. That's the point."

Then came dishwasher loading.

"Plates go here, cups up top," Sam said, demonstrating like it was rocket science. "No, you can't just toss everything in and hope for the best."

Bucky squinted at the racks. "Can I put my arm in it? Just to clean the joints?".

Sam recoiled like he'd just been slapped with a wet sponge. "What—no! Absolutely not! It's for plates, not your bionic deep clean!".

Y/N shook her head, setting her tea down. "Yeah... he's definitely putting his arm in there eventually".

--

A little while later, they followed Steve to the laundry room.

Steve walked them through the space like it was a high-security operation.

"This is the detergent. This is the fabric softener. This—" he pointed at the high-tech control panel— "is... a problem."

Bucky squinted. "Why does a washer have a touchscreen?"

Y/N leaned closer. "Wait. Does that say 'Bluetooth pairing?'".

Steve sighed like a man who had already fought this battle.

They practiced separating colours, choosing wash cycles, and folding techniques so precise Y/N suspected Steve learned them in the army.

When they moved to ironing, Bucky stared at the board like it was a booby trap.

"Just... press and slide," Steve demonstrated.

"It hisses."

"It's steam."

"It hisses at me."

Y/N gave her own pile a side-eye. "Can we just wear wrinkles?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head with a grin. "Nice try, but wrinkles are for rookies. Time to learn the art of ironing".

He paused for a moment, his smile fading into something more reflective. "Feels strange teaching laundry when Bucky used to drag me out of alleys with my shirt ripped in half".

Bucky shrugged. “You were the one picking fights with guys twice your size.”

"You were the one stitching my sleeves back together after," Steve shot back, carefully ironing one of Bucky's shirts.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "And now you’re lecturing about not offending a touchscreen washer".

Bucky muttered, “The old one just had a knob.”

Steve gave a quiet chuckle, looking over at Y/N. “Guess we all have to adjust to the modern world sometime.”

--

The next morning, Bucky found a small box outside his door. It was marked "Roomba: Redux." A sticky note from Clint read:

"Try not to decapitate your new teammate. Its only crime is being helpful".

Bucky, of course, took it as a challenge.

He spent the afternoon following the robot vacuum around the common areas, arms crossed, watching it clean corners with suspicious precision.

"What's he naming it?" Clint whispered to Y/N.

"Sebastian," she whispered back. "He said it looked like a Sebastian."

By the end of the day, Bucky was giving the thing verbal commands, praising it when it made it under the couch, and glaring at anyone who bumped into it. When Sebastian got stuck under the dining table, Bucky dropped to his knees with the urgency of a war medic. "Hang in there, buddy. I got you".

--

That night, Tony brought them to the tech lab. "Alright, vintage duo. Time to join the 21st century."

Y/N and Bucky sat side-by-side in front of two sleek laptops, both eyeing the keyboards like they were puzzles.

He started with email, browser tabs, and online forms. Bucky furrowed his brow like the keys were judging him.

"Just log in with the StarkSecureHub-P2Protocol network and set your encryption key—"

"Tony." Y/N said.

He sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay. Click the blue button."

After a few minutes of progress (and FRIDAY patiently answering Bucky's voice commands like she was dealing with a very polite caveman), Tony handed them login credentials.

Bucky opened his.

Paused.

"...WinterBooBear?"

Tony didn't blink. "You're lucky I didn't go with 'CaptainStabbyPaws'".

Y/N leaned over slightly. "You should see mine."

FRIDAY chirped in helpfully: "Welcome, WinterBooBear. Your inbox is 97% spam—and one email from Dr. Banner titled 'Super Soldier First Aid: Optional But Strongly Advised".

--

The following morning, calm settled over the medical bay. 

Bruce flipped through a binder as the soft hum of machines filled with air. 

"Super soldier first aid," he said, adjusting his glasses. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the exam table, arms crossed and skeptical. "I don't need a lesson in pain management."

"It's not about pain," Bruce replied calmly. "It's about not bleeding all over the floor when it could've been avoided."

The door hissed open. Y/N stepped in, already in scrubs, a small nod of greeting before she spoke. "Bruce asked me to co-teach. Said you might actually listen if it's me."

Bucky raised a brow. "You bribed Y/N?"

"I offered logic," Bruce called over without looking up. "She's trained. You trust her. I'm not above using that."

He moved to the tray—sterile strips, stabilisers, bone foam—all neatly laid out, explaining each item’s purpose as he went along, his tone patient and gentle, making sure Bucky understood the importance of each piece.

Then he turned to Y/N, offering her a small pouch. "You already know field stabilisation, but these are worth keeping on you. Low-profile, high-output."

Her gaze softened a little. "Thanks."

Bucky quietly packed one of everything into a small med kit, his brow furrowed—not with confusion, but concentration. Like it mattered.

Bruce tapped the edge of the tray once. "You're not indestructible. And that's not a flaw."

Bucky looked up, eyes meeting his. "Right."

But he didn't scoff this time. Didn't argue.

He just nodded.

Bruce then turned to write something in the binder, saying casually, "Now let's try... suturing."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You're teaching me to sew people?"

"I'm teaching you to sew yourself," Bruce replied. "And I'm not saying you'll need it. But when you do, you'll be glad you know."

--

A few days later, the group gathered for a relaxed get-together.

Movie night at the compound had become a thing—low-pressure, always optional, but somehow no one ever opted out. 

That evening, they’d all eaten together, crowded around the kitchen island while Thor proudly ladled out steaming bowls of Asgardian stew, declaring it “crafted from the finest root vegetables of Alfheim and bone broth steeped in storm-forged kettles.”

He’d brought the ingredients back himself—“for the sergeant and the doctor,” he’d said solemnly, “to restore their mortal strength.”

Bucky, wary but respectful, ate in silence and cleared his bowl. Y/N ate with caution and curiosity, then promptly declared herself full the moment her vision got a little too sharp.

Thor beamed like he’d just won a war.

After dinner, Natasha appeared with two new ceramic mugs, setting them down in front of Bucky and Y/N. Her voice was casual, but her smile said everything.“Now you’re officially part of the chaos".

The mugs matched the rest of the team’s—each one distinct, but clearly from the same customised set.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “So I can stop stealing Steve’s now?”

“Wait—that was you?” Steve blinked, then sighed, chuckling softly. “Figures. I’ve been using Nat’s for two weeks.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “And I’ve been using Clint’s.”

Clint raised a hand. “Which is why I’ve been drinking out of Bruce’s.”

Bruce glanced up mildly from his seat. “And I’ve been using Thor’s.”

Thor blinked. “I thought mine shrank. I assumed it was part of the magic.”

Tony, narrowing his eyes, scanned the room. “Wait—where’s mine?”

All heads turned.

Y/N froze mid-sip. She looked down at the mug in her hands. It read: ‘Genius. Billionaire. Mug Collector.’

She blinked. “I thought it was ironic.”

Tony stared at her. Then waved a hand. "You know what? Keep it. Suits you anyway".

Y/N smiled, ducking her head as Bucky nudged her knee under the table. Around them, the group had already started migrating toward the living room—blankets in hand, socks sliding over polished floors, someone arguing over popcorn toppings.

Natasha had commandeered the remote and was wearing that face—the one that meant she was about to emotionally wreck everyone without blinking.

"We're watching The Notebook," she announced.

Y/N blinked, hugging a pillow to her chest. “I’ve never seen it.”

Five heads whipped around.

Sam clutched his chest. "Girl, brace yourself."

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow—then reached behind the couch, grabbed the nearest throw blanket, and without a word, draped it over both of them.

Tony muttered something about romantic propaganda and flopped into the armchair, while Clint whispered a preemptive "I hate this already" to no one in particular.

They hit play. The opening was quiet, soft, full of nostalgia. Something in Y/N's gaze softened. It was the kind of movie she would've rolled her eyes at before, back when emotions felt dangerous. But now, things had shifted. She was letting herself feel again.

And then came the scene.

The Ferris wheel. 

It started off funny, almost absurd. Noah hanging from the ride like a lunatic, shouting down to Allie with all the stubborn, unshakable confidence of a man who decided this was it—this was love, and he wasn’t letting go.

Literally.

Y/N, who had been quietly sipping her tea and barely reacting to anything up until now, let out a small, surprised gasp.

Then—before she could stop it—she giggled.

It was soft. Almost shy. The kind of laugh that caught her off guard and lit up her face for just a second too long.

And for a heartbeat, Bucky forgot the movie entirely.

Because she blushed.

Not fully—just the faintest sweep of pink across her cheeks as she quickly ducked her head, hiding behind the pillow in her lap like maybe no one noticed.

But he did.

It was the first time he saw something she didn’t let anyone see.

Something softer. 

A giggle and a blush that felt too delicate for the world she’d learned to survive

Like for a second, she forgot to be careful.

And she hadn’t even realised she let it slip.

Bucky kept watching her—not out of amusement, but awe. Like she’d just done something impossibly brave without knowing it. His expression softened, eyes tracing the way her smile lingered just a moment too long, the way she tucked her face away like the world wasn’t meant to see it.

Then, like she felt it—she looked up.

Met his gaze.

And blinked.

Her blush deepened instantly. “What?”

Bucky blinked, caught, but didn’t look away. Instead, his voice was low, almost surprised by its own honesty.

"I think that was the first time I’ve heard you laugh like that. You should know—it’s kind of... beautiful.”

The words were out before he realised he’d said them.

Bucky blinked, a beat too late, like his brain was just catching up with his mouth.

She stared at him for a beat—clearly flustered, clearly unsure what to do with that—and then promptly hid behind her pillow again.

Bucky turned back to the screen with the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, her quiet giggle still echoing somewhere in his head.

Then, without a word, he adjusted the blanket already draped around them—tucking it more gently around her shoulders. His arm curved behind her with quiet care, pulling her in just enough to let her rest against him.

Protective.

Like he was keeping the softness she’d let slip safe—where no one else could reach it.

Around them, the room reacted in chaotic harmony as the movie played on. Clint, eyes suspiciously glassy, grumbled, “Great. Now I have feelings. Thanks a lot.” Sam whisper-yelled, "That man built a WHOLE HOUSE!" like it was a crime. Tony wiped an invisible tear. “I’m fine. Shut up.” Bruce blinked behind his glasses and murmured, “That was... surprisingly effective.”

Thor, sitting cross-legged on a small mountain of crumpled tissues, sniffled loudly. “Such devotion. Such valour. Midgardian love is... truly mighty.”

Natasha, smug as hell, sipped her coffee. “And that, children, is how you emotionally devastate Earth’s mightiest messes.”

Sam glanced at Bucky, who hadn’t moved in several minutes. “You cryin’, man?”

Bucky blinked slowly. “No. You are.”

“Right,” Sam muttered. “Must be the rain. Inside. From the movie.”

They all sat through the credits in stunned silence.

Steve finally broke it with a soft, wet laugh. “Okay. That was unfairly emotional.”

Natasha raised her mug. “To emotional damage.”

“To emotional damage,” the room chorused, glasses, mugs, and soda cans raised.

And somewhere in the middle of the compound, Sebastian the Roomba quietly whirred in agreement.

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 5)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 5 - The Version We Take With Us

The rain fell in steady waves, not a storm, but full enough to hush the world outside. Loud enough to be felt, soft enough to soothe. Inside the hut, the light was dim, gold-tinged from the low lamps, casting long shadows across the walls.

Bucky sat on the low stool near the window, his hand resting lightly on his knees. Y/N stood behind Bucky, combing her fingers through his long, unruly hair with quiet focus. 

He didn't flinch. Not even when her fingers brushed the back of his neck.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Y/N asked, picking up the scissors. 

Bucky nodded once. "Yeah. It's time".

And he meant it.

She could feel the tension in his shoulders—not fear. Just the weight of what it meant.

He'd had this hair for years. Let it grow because there had never been a reason to cut it. Because letting go of anything felt like letting go of the last version of himself he vaguely recognised.

But now... now he'd asked her.

She gently gathered the first section of his hair between her fingers.

"If I mess this up, you're allowed one 'I told you so,'" she murmured.

"Only one?".

She gave him a small look. "Use it wisely."

A soft huff escaped him—barely a laugh, but something close.

"I trust you," he said softly. 

The first snip was quiet. So was the second.

She worked slowly. Carefully. His shoulders started to lower the longer she moved. He breathed deeper. Didn't notice his hand had unclenched.

"Have you remembered anything lately? From before it all changed?" she asked gently, not breaking her rhythm.

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Sometimes. Bits and pieces. Mostly feelings."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see it.

"I thought maybe cutting it off would make me feel more like him again," he added, almost to himself. "But I think... I just wanted to start new."

"I think that's a good reason," she said softly.

When she finished, she set the scissors down and ran her fingers through his shorter hair, smoothing it back with quiet concentration. Her touch lingered just long enough to be felt.

"All done," she whispered.

He didn't move at first. Just sat there, breathing slowly, like the air felt different now. Then he reached up slowly, fingertips brushing the sides of his head. Short. Light. Different.

Y/N stepped around him, her gaze landing on the small mirror propped against the wall. She paused, then picked it up and held it out.

He took it without a word.

When he looked at his reflection, his jaw didn't tighten. His shoulders didn't rise. He just... looked.

She stayed back, letting him have the moment.

It was the first time in years he saw his face and didn't immediately brace for what he might see.

He didn't look like the man from the files. Or the soldier in the shadows.

And slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted.

Not a smirk. Not a mask.

A smile.

--

The rain had slowed to a soft patter, drumming lightly against the roof of the hut.

Bucky stood at the doorway, one shoulder against the frame. Y/N sat nearby, her knees drawn up, both of them watching the world soften beneath the rain outside.

They weren't talking. Just letting the quiet settle around them like the mist outside.

Then Bucky spoke—his voice low, just enough to rise above the gentle rhythm of the rain.

"There's one more thing I need to do."

Y/N turned to him gently. "Yeah?"

He didn't answer right away. Just pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room to the table in the corner. There, untouched for weeks, was the black leather notebook. 

The one that had been used through endless decades. The one filled with words that had once shattered him.

Bucky ran a hand over it. His voice was steady, but low.

"I kept it... thinking maybe I had to. Like if I let it go, I was pretending it didn't happen. Or that I might forget how easy it was to lose myself."

He looked up at her then.

"But holding onto it—it doesn't keep me accountable. It keeps me trapped."

A pause. He took a breath.

"I want to burn it."

Y/N didn't ask questions. She just nodded.

Because she understood this wasn't about erasing the past.

It was about choosing what stayed.

--

Later that evening, after the rain had eased and the ground had dried, they built a small fire just beyond the huts, near the edge of the trees. It was small, controlled, surrounded by stones. The sky above them had turned to a pale navy, and the lake beside them reflected the faint gold flicker of flames.

Bucky stood with the book in hand, thumb brushing over the cover.

It felt heavier than it should've.

For a long time, this book had defined him. Not just the words, but the fear of them. The weight of being made into something he never chose. Every syllable in it was a scar.

And now—he could barely remember how it sounded in his head. That control, that cold obedience... it wasn't his anymore.

His.

That word still felt foreign.

Bucky drew in a breath and opened the cover.

Y/N stayed behind him, quiet.

He didn't read the words. Didn't need to. Just looked at the page, at the slanted handwriting that once rewired his entire being. Then slowly, he closed the book again.

He crouched near the fire, laid it in the flames, and stepped back.

The spine caught first — edges curling, ink darkening, then disappearing as smoke rose in slow, steady ribbons.

He stood beside Y/N as it burned, still and steady, eyes fixed on the flicker.

He didn't speak. Didn't cry. But something inside him eased.

Not because it was over.

But because he had ended it.

--

The fire crackled low between them, casting flickering light over the grass. The lake was still, dark and glassy as they sat together beneath the night sky.

Y/N leaned back against the tree. "So," she said quietly. "We're really going back."

Bucky didn't look at her. Just nodded. "Yeah."

She drew in a breath, then let it out slowly.

"I didn't think I was ready," she admitted. "But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like going backwards."

They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke. 

"I used to think I had to be fully healed before I could go back".

His voice was steady, but soft.

"Like I had to prove I wasn't broken anymore".

A pause. 

"But maybe it's not about that. Maybe showing up, even when you're still figuring it out... that's enough".

Y/N turned her head slightly, watching him now.

"It is" she said softly. "We don't have to be done healing to start living again".

Bucky glanced over at her, a little more open now.

Like her words had made space for something to settle.

They sat quietly, the fire popping gently between them.

"It's going to be different," she said after a beat. "Loud. A little chaotic."

He let out a soft huff. "Steve once told me the compound's fridge is basically a war zone."

She smiled. "Apparently Sam labels everything now. Passive-aggressively."

They shared a quiet laugh—small, but real. The kind that came easier these days.

Bucky's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, then dropped back to the fire. 

"I didn't think I'd ever be part of something again. Not like that."

He looked back toward the dark horizon. "I don't really know what I'm walking into."

"You're walking into a place that's trying to be better," she said gently. "And a team that'll be lucky to have you."

He didn't answer right away.

Then, quietly: "As me?"

She turned her head fully this time, their eyes meeting.

Her voice didn't waver. "As Bucky."

Something in his expression softened. His shoulders relaxed.

He let out a slow breath, like the idea was finally starting to feel real.

Then he nodded. "Yeah. I think I want that."

The moment settled around them quietly.

Not because there was nothing to say—because there was nothing left to doubt.

They had made the choice.

Not to escape.

Not to prove anything.

But to show up. Together.

To try again.

The stillness lingered—settling in like breath after a long run.

They both looked out toward the water, the fire between them now reduced to embers.

"Shuri said Steve's flying in two days," Y/N said casually.

Bucky blinked. "Already?"

"Shuri finally managed to get a hold of him a few days after we decided to go back. Secure line—he was mid-mission" she added, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Apparently, he went totally still and said, 'Both of them?' Then asked if she was messing with him."

Bucky huffed. "And she probably said yes just to mess with him anyway."

"She did."

They both chuckled under their breath.

Y/N leaned back a little, the grin still lingering. "She also said he got grumpy about not seeing either of us for two months. Started pacing. Muttering something like, 'This never-ending undercover op with scrambled comms... I should've just flown to Wakanda.'"

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "That sounds like him."

Y/N smiled. "He missed you."

Bucky didn't say anything right away, but the smirk that tugged at his mouth said enough.

"I'm betting on a dramatic speech," he said at last, eyes glinting. "Something about second chances, and 'this is what the shield was really for.'"

Y/N grinned. "And I guarantee he's been rehearsing the whole flight".

Bucky groaned. "I'll hold him down. You run."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Deal."

The laughter faded into an easy quiet. The kind only earned by time, trust, and long nights under unfamiliar stars. 

A breeze rolled in off the lake, brushing against them like a lullaby.

Y/N exhaled softly, resting her head back against the tree. "I'm gonna miss this".

"The lake?" Bucky asked.

"The peace. The stars. Your ridiculous questions."

He turned to look at her. "My questions?"

"You once asked if dragonflies have nightmares."

"You answered."

"I said probably. And you said, and I quote—'what would a bug even be afraid of?'"

"I still think about that sometimes."

She smiled. "I'll miss this version of us."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, then said, "I think it'll come with us."

She looked at him. "Even the tea?"

"That tea is sacred."

"You cried the first time you drank it."

"I coughed," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"You had tears."

"I was adjusting to the temperature."

She laughed, full and unfiltered and he let it happen. The sound of it didn't startle him anymore. It settled him.

They had made new memories here, ones only they shared—quiet ones, unremarkable to anyone else, but deeply stitched into them.

Like when she taught him how to build a campfire the slow way, just to see if he had the patience. He didn't. They both nearly gave up, laughing in the dark until Ayo walked by and lit it herself without stopping.

Or the endless nights they lay beneath a sky scattered with stars, sharing fragments of what they remembered and quietly confessing the things they wished they'd had and shyly admitting the things they still hoped waited for them in life. 

Or the afternoon they spent in the garden with the village kids and ended up with the most crooked herb bed Wakanda had ever seen. The kids giggled the whole time—especially when Bucky tried to name the plants and kept mixing them up. Y/N just smiled and leaned in close, murmuring, "You're doing great, farmer Barnes." He was. Not because he got it right, but because he was laughing. Really laughing.

And the first time he made her tea from the herbs she liked. Burnt it completely. She drank it anyway.

They had their own version of peace here. Their own rhythm. Their own language of small gestures and quiet moments.

"Remember when you crashed that Wakandan hover-bike into the side of the riverbank?" Y/N teased, nudging him again.

"I remember Shuri laughing so hard she forgot to record it."

"She didn't. I have it backed up."

"You're dangerous," he muttered, shaking his head.

She only smiled.

Then, almost without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out the small black leather journal—the one she carried almost everywhere. 

She opened it across her lap, flipping past pages. "I think I even wrote about it when it happened."

Bucky let out a sarcastic groan before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his own journal. The edges were worn now, the spine slightly cracked—well-used in the best way.

"You taught me this," he said, setting it beside her on the ground.

She looked over, quietly curious.

"Writing things down," he added. "Memories I could hold onto. Things I want to try. The future I didn't think I was allowed to imagine."

Her gaze softened. "You always were."

The look he gave her then was quieter than words—softer than anything else in the night around them.

He leaned in as she flipped through the pages in her journal, skimming the words. Some were lists of new things to try. Others were pieces of dreams, barely formed but still real. Then her fingers moved to turn another page—and he gently stopped her.

Y/N had written across it, in her unmistakable handwriting:

"I survived. They don't own me."

He stared at it. 

There was no hesitation in the way she'd written it. No softness, no question.

Just truth—plain and solid.

She had written her survival not as a wound—but as a foundation.

He stared at the words a moment longer. Then, quietly, he reached for his pen.

Y/N didn't interrupt. She just watched, her breath catching slightly as he lowered the pen to the paper and added his line beneath hers.

"I get to choose what happens next."

He capped the pen slowly. Let the silence settle around them.

When he finally looked up, she was already watching him.

She didn't speak.

She smiled, and it was the kind that didn't just lift her lips—it lit her eyes, warm and full and shining. Not with surprise, but with something deeper. Like awe. Like wonder at watching someone become exactly who they were meant to be. 

And in that quiet, radiant look, Bucky could've sworn he saw it—the dust of the stars above, mirrored in her eyes.

--

The next morning was hushed, the kind of stillness that came after rainfall. The ground was damp, the air sweet with the scent of wet earth and lotus blooms.

Y/N stepped out of her hut, arms wrapped loosely around herself, her gaze sweeping instinctively toward the lake.

And there he was.

Bucky knelt at the water's edge, his shoulders relaxed, posture quiet—not guarded or heavy, just present. At peace in a way he hadn't let himself be.

In his hand, resting delicately in his palm, was a lotus.

She paused in the doorway, breath catching softly.

The last time he had held a lotus, his hand had crushed it, trembling with ghosts and grief. But now... he was still. Steady. 

The petals stayed whole.

It didn't fall apart.

He gave a small breath—almost a smile—and stared at it for a quiet moment. His thumb brushed over the soft edges.

Cool droplets trailed down his wrist—but they didn't feel like blood anymore.

Just water. 

She watched as he lowered the flower gently back into the water, letting it drift free across the surface. The current carried it out slowly, petals catching the early sunlight.

And that was when he turned. He saw her a few feet away, framed by the soft morning light, eyes shining with a quiet happiness she didn't bother to hide.

For a beat, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.

Then she smiled, voice soft but full. "Didn't crush it this time."

Bucky's lips curved into something easy. "Didn't want to."

She stepped closer, eyes still on the water. "That's a good reason."

He nodded once. Then added, gently, "Ayo stopped by a little while ago. Said T'Challa's requested us at the main palace."

Y/N glanced at him, a flicker of something bittersweet in her eyes. "Feels real now."

"Yeah," he said, standing fully, brushing his palm on his pants. "It does."

They didn't rush. Just started walking—side by side, not speaking much, the rhythm of their steps easy and matched.

And behind them, the lotus floated out into the morning light—unbroken. Whole. Just like them.

--

They entered the heart of the Wakandan palace in quiet steps. The only sounds were the soft hum of Wakandan tech and the rustle of leaves in the morning breeze.

Inside, it was just Shuri, T'Challa, Ayo—and the early sunlight spilling gently through the trees.

T'Challa approached first, standing beside a slim case on the stone table. For a moment, he said nothing—just studied Bucky with a gaze that held no judgment, no pity. Only quiet pride.

"You have done more than free yourself, Sergeant Barnes," he said, his voice calm and steady. "You've chosen not to be defined by what they made you."

Bucky dipped his head slightly, jaw tight, but his voice didn't waver. "Still a work in progress."

T'Challa's smile was small but sure. "Then it is good work."

From the side, Shuri crossed her arms and grinned. "About time. I was running out of clever tech and patience."

Bucky turned to her with mock offense. "Admit it. You're impressed."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine. A little."

Then, softer, more sincere: "You found yourself, Barnes. Even under all that code."

Ayo stepped forward then, her voice low and steady. "You were dangerous once. Not because of who you are, but because of who controlled you."

She turned to Y/N. "And she is the only person I have ever seen walk toward that danger without armour."

Y/N didn't flinch. "He never needed protecting from me," she said. "He just needed space to come back."

A hush settled. The kind of stillness that falls when truth is spoken and no one dares to look away.

T'Challa glanced between them—Bucky, grounded and still; Y/N, quiet and unwavering beside him.

"You did not walk this path alone," he said. "But no one could have walked it for you."

Then he nodded once, toward Shuri. "We merely kept it safe for you."

Shuri stepped forward and opened the case.

Inside, the new arm rested—sleek and matte black, streaked with subtle silver and gold. Vibranium. Built not to replace what was lost, but to honour what had endured.

Bucky stared at it.

For a moment, he didn't move.

He thought about what it used to feel like—being given a weapon by people who only wanted to turn him into something that could be controlled. He thought about how many times metal had been forced onto him.

But this?

This wasn't forced.

This was offered.

He stepped forward slowly and reached out, letting his hand hover just above it. The air around it pulsed faintly with Wakandan energy. A hum that didn't sound like power.

It sounded like peace.

"You may put it on," Shuri said gently. "It's yours. No commands".

He looked at her, then at T'Challa, Ayo, and finally Y/N—who stood just beside him, watching with that same steady gaze she always wore whenever he forgot how far he'd come.

Bucky reached out—and for the first time in his life, he put the arm on himself.

Not because someone told him to.

Not because he had to.

Because he chose to.

And when it locked into place, he didn't flinch.

It didn't feel like a weapon.

It felt like part of him.

He looked down at the arm. Flexed the fingers slowly—testing the movement, the weight. It was light, precise, strong.

But most of all, it was his.

And the first thing he did—

—was reach for her.

Y/N, already watching him, met his eyes as his hand extended toward hers. 

Her expression softened—not from surprise, but in that quiet, familiar way she always did whenever he let another wall fall.

She placed her hand in his, her fingers slipping easily into the spaces between his.

And when his hand curled gently around hers, his grip wasn't firm or possessive. It was soft. Intentional.

Grateful.

He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her.

"I like this one better," he murmured.

And when she smiled at him, standing tall with something entirely his, her heart stilled—because this was the man she'd always seen beneath the wreckage, finally stepping into his own light.

Next Day

Steve arrived in Wakanda quietly, unannounced. 

It had been two months. Eight weeks since he'd last seen either of them—not that he'd been counting since week three.

Sixty days of secondhand updates through Shuri, of missed calls and half-loaded encrypted messages that never quite said enough. He'd heard Bucky was doing better.

But "better" meant something different when your best friend had been used as a weapon for decades.

The mission kept dragging. Comms kept scrambling. And every time he tried to make it back, someone would say it—"Just one more thing, Cap."

He'd lost count of how many times he'd heard that lately. And with each one, it felt like he was being pulled a little further from where he wanted to be.

He told himself it was fine. That they deserved space. That he trusted them to heal in their own way, in their own time.

And he did. 

But still—he'd missed them.

Shuri met him at the entrance with a faint smile—not the formal kind reserved for diplomats or kings, but something familiar. Easy. Like she knew exactly why he was here and didn't need him to say a word.

No guards. No fanfare. Just her, waiting.

"Come on," she said, turning. "They're at the lake."

Steve fell into step beside her, his boots quiet against the stone. For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Then—his voice low, unsure—"Is he... really okay?"

Shuri didn't answer right away. Just kept walking, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.

"He's different," she said finally. "But he's okay."

There was pride in her voice, tucked beneath the quiet. Not just for Bucky, but for everything it had taken to get him here. Everything they'd built so he could stand again.

Steve nodded once but didn't speak. He wasn't sure what he expected. He hadn't dared picture anything too clearly. Part of him was afraid to hope too hard.

They walked in silence as the path curved through the trees, the leaves whispering in the wind overhead.

And then, the trees opened into a clearing by the lake.

And Steve saw them.

Bucky sat beneath a wide, sun-drenched tree. His shirt sleeves were rolled, arms resting loosely on his knees—relaxed. Not alert. Not on edge.

He looked... soft. Grounded. 

Beside him, Y/N lay on the grass, head on his lap, eyes closed, not asleep but resting. 

Bucky's fingers absentmindedly traced small circles along her shoulder—gentle, patient, unthinking.

It wasn't passion on display. It was peace.

Steve hadn't seen that look on Bucky's face in a lifetime. Not even before the war. Not even back when they were just two kids from Brooklyn.

This—whatever this was—was deeper. Worn-in. Earned.

Bucky looked up, and their eyes met across the field. A beat passed. Then Bucky gave him a small nod—casual, calm, unshaken.

Steve let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, raising a hand in greeting.

Y/N opened her eyes at the shift in energy, blinking up at Bucky before following his gaze. When she saw Steve, her lips curved faintly. She didn't sit up, didn't startle. Just offered a soft, knowing smile.

Bucky gently tapped her shoulder, and she sat up slowly, brushing grass from her arm.

Steve was already walking toward them. There was warmth in his face, a flicker of quiet relief, like part of him hadn't fully believed it until now.

Bucky stood slowly, dusting off his hands. 

"Hey, punk," he said, voice warm, roughened by the sun but unmistakably his.

Steve's smile cracked wide, something old and bright blooming in his face. "Jerk."

A beat passed.

Steve's boots didn't move. Neither did Bucky's.

They stared at each other, just a few feet apart.

Two kids from Brooklyn. A thousand lifetimes later.

The air stretched between them—thick with everything they hadn't said in two months, and maybe longer.

Steve's fingers curled at his sides.

Bucky's jaw tightened—his eyes too shiny for the morning light.

"Are you two seriously doing this right now?" Y/N called out, clearly unimpressed.

From behind, Shuri groaned loudly. "Will you two please just hug it out already? You're embarrassing the entire country."

Ayo, passing by with a smirk, didn't stop walking. "Even the goats are judging you."

Steve finally cracked a laugh.

Bucky huffed. "Let's just get it over with, punk."

Steve stepped forward. "Jerk."

No tension. No holding back.

The hug was firm, familiar and it held. 

The kind of hug that said more than words could manage. A silent understanding passed between them, carried in the weight of arms that had fought beside each other, lost each other, and somehow found their way back.

It felt like something survived.

Just two friends who had been through hell—and finally made it home.

Then Steve turned to Y/N.

He didn't say anything at first. Just opened his arms.

And she walked into them.

"Thank you," he said quietly as he pulled away.

Not just to her. Not just to him. To both of them.

For surviving. For choosing life. For sticking with each other.

Bucky didn't need to say anything.

Because for the first time in forever, Steve didn't see the Winter Soldier.

He just saw Bucky.

--

Chapter 6 coming soon 

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 4)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 4 - His Mind & Mine

The soft crunch of gravel under their boots was the only sound as Bucky and Y/N followed the path leading away from the main compound.

No guards. No scientists. Just trees and open sky.

Two huts - one for each - stood nestled near the edge of a vast lake, where lotuses bloomed in soft pinks and whites, their petals swaying gently on the surface. The water was still, glass-like, reflecting the sky and the edges of the forest that hugged the shoreline.

"They really meant it when they said peace and quiet," Bucky muttered, half to himself, half in awe.

She looked up at him with a small smile.

For once, he didn't feel like he had to look away.

Later, as the sun dipped low, casting streaks of gold across the lake, Bucky lingered in the doorway of his for a while, staring out toward the water. Something in him refused to settle.

When he finally stepped outside, he saw her—Y/N—kneeling by the lake, boots off, toes in the water. She reached for a lotus, holding it gently, fingertips brushing the petals like it might fall apart if touched too hard.

Bucky stood frozen. He had never seen anyone touch anything with such care. Not him. Not his past. Nothing in his world had ever deserved that kind of gentleness.

She noticed him and looked up, eyes soft. "Evening, Sergeant"

He opened his mouth, paused, then said quietly, "Bucky."

She smiled faintly, repeating it with intention. "Bucky." Then, without breaking his gaze, she extended the lotus toward him.

He hesitated before reaching out. His hand—rough, scarred, trembling—closed around it carefully. The cool water droplets still clinging to the petals kissed his skin, and for a moment, he stilled. But then—something shifted.

The chill reminded him of blood. Of damp concrete and red staining steel. Of screams and silence that followed. His hand tensed. Shook.

And before he could stop himself, he crushed it.

The petals crumpled in his fist with a wet sound, delicate beauty turned to pulp. His breath caught as he stared at what he'd done. His hand opened slowly, trembling, and the ruined flower sat in his palm like a wound. A few silent tears slipped down his cheek before he even realised they were falling.

He turned his face away from her. Guilt and grief tangled in his chest, too much to hold in.

"It's okay to cry," Y/N said softly. "I did too."

He looked at her then. Her voice—kind and gentle—cut through the storm in his head.

She looked like she wanted to brush his tears away, but her hands stayed at her sides. She didn't want to push.

"I'm too broken," he said through clenched teeth. "It's not just pain—it's damage. And it doesn't go away".

She nodded, drawing in a quiet breath before reaching out—slowly, so he could see her hand coming. "I know," she said softly. "But when something's broken, I don't throw it away. I stay. And I fix it."

Her fingers brushed lightly over his, gathering the crushed petals from his open palm. They stuck to his skin, damp and torn, but she was gentle. Patient. Like she wasn't afraid of the mess.

Bucky didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched her.

Her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, then she let the pieces fall into the water beside them. "You didn't mean to hurt it," she said softly.

He swallowed hard. "Doesn't change that I did."

"No," she said. "But it means you care that you did."

His chest tightened, something caught between grief and relief.

Then Y/N spoke again, softer this time. "You keep thinking you need to redeem yourself, like you have to earn your right to heal. Maybe it’s not about that.”

He looked at her, brows drawn, guarded.

She met his gaze. "Maybe it's about reclaiming who you were before they got to you."

Something in him faltered. The words didn't just land—they settled. Like she had named something he hadn't known he was reaching for.

"You think there's something left to reclaim?" he asked, not like a challenge—just a question shaped by fear. Y/N didn't hesitate. "I know there is."

Her voice was steady, soft. "You're sitting here. You're still fighting it. That part of you never left, Bucky. It just got buried."

She looked at him—not through him, not past him. At him. "And I see it. Even when you don't."

He didn't answer. Didn't trust himself to.

Bucky stared at the water, at the broken petals drifting just beneath the surface. His hand was still open, as if the weight of them lingered even after she let them go.

He didn't understand how she could touch something so gently. How she looked at him like he wasn't dangerous. Like he wasn't a thing to be avoided.

He'd spent so long believing he wasn't worth saving. That whatever was left of him wasn't really him anymore. Just muscle and memory, wrapped around a list of things he couldn't undo.

But she hadn't flinched. Not when he broke. Not when he told her the truth.

When something is broken, I don't throw it away. I stay. I fix it.

The words echoed, low and steady.

It is about reclaiming who you were.

No one had ever said that to him before—not like that. 

Maybe he wasn't ready to believe them. Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to.

He looked at his hand—the one that had crushed the flower—and then at hers, still resting nearby. Close. Unafraid.

I want to be better, he thought.

And maybe that was enough to start.

--

Step 1: Feeling Safe

It started with distance.

Not emotional—physical. 

Y/N never stood too close. Never moved too fast. She always gave Bucky space—knocked before entering, never stood behind him, never closed a door without saying so first.

She didn’t stare. Didn’t force conversation. Just… existed nearby.

Most afternoons, she sat at the lake with a small black book, writing quietly under the same tree. Not watching him. Just being there.

When he finally sat on the opposite side of that tree—she didn’t look up or didn't say anything. She just turned a page and continued. 

He waited for that spike in tension he is used to receiving from people—the one that told him he needed to be alert, guarded. But it didn’t come.

That’s when it started to shift—something low in his chest uncoiled. Not trust. Not yet. But a question: What if this place didn’t need him to be ready for war?

No one here wanted to use him. No one needed him to be a soldier.

And she never looked at him like a risk. That unsettled him more than anything.

Why aren't you afraid of me?

But over time, the question faded. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel the need to brace for impact. He just… existed.

And that felt almost like safety.

Step 2: Facing The Guilt & Nightmares

He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t.

The dreams weren’t just images. They were voices too. Russian commands he didn’t understand anymore, but his body did. Screams he couldn’t forget. A nameless man’s eyes.

Y/N didn’t say anything when she found him outside her hut. Just crouched beside him in the mud and draped a blanket around him and waited. Night in and night out. 

Eventually, the words started to come—in fragments. Out of order. Not every night. Sometimes it was just two words—bloodied hands. Sometimes it was a name he hadn’t spoken in decades.

The first time, his voice was flat. “I remembered someone I killed. I don’t even know his name.”

She didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t list reasons or explain the programming. Instead, she said, “You can mourn him. You can hate what they made you do. But don’t hate yourself.”

He mumbled it aloud, barely a whisper. “He was a helpless victim. Right in front of my gun”.  

Her voice didn’t waver. “And so was the man forced to pull the trigger.”

He flinched. The words didn’t heal—but they landed. Sank in deep. 

Bucky stared ahead in silence, then glanced down at his hand. “I should’ve fought harder.”

“You were surviving,” she said. “That was your fight.”

He didn’t believe it. Not fully. 

But the weight in his chest loosened just enough to let him breathe.

In time, she taught him to ground.

But most of all, she taught him not to run.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” she said once. “You still have to carry it. But you’re not the only one holding it now.”

That night, for the first time in a long time, he slept inside.

Not perfectly. Not peacefully.

But enough.

And that was a start.

Step 3: Regaining Autonomy

They started with the basics. Simple stretches. Joint rotations. Breath awareness.

“Move because you want to,” she said. “Not because you were trained to.”

At first, it frustrated him. Every movement felt mechanical—practiced, automatic. His arm snapped into position before he could even think. His gait stiffened the moment a routine began.

“Again,” she’d say. Not harsh. Not commanding. Just patient.

“Close your eyes this time. Don’t follow instinct. Follow what you feel.”

So he did. Awkwardly. Badly. But slowly, his movements stopped being drills. His steps stopped being rehearsed.

She helped him rebuild muscle memory—from the ground up.

Sometimes she would ask him to draw a weapon and not strike. Just hold it. Feel the weight. Set it down again.

“You don’t have to use it,” she reminded him. “You have a choice now.”

He didn’t believe it at first. But one afternoon, he caught himself mid-motion—triggered by a sudden sound—and chose to stay still.

No voice told him to.

No command fought him.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

His body was finally his.

Step 4: Breaking The Triggers

She waited until he was ready.

Not just physically—but steady in his body, in his guilt, in the knowledge that he could choose now. The nightmares had dulled. His muscles no longer moved on autopilot. He'd begun to sit with stillness rather than brace against it.

And that’s when the trigger word testing began.

At first, Y/N read the words from behind the room’s bulletproof, vibranium-reinforced glass, with Shuri monitoring every biomarker.

Every word made him feel it—the pull, the switch inside him. 

Like a hand reaching for a gun already cocked. 

But he held the line. Until word five. Then six. 

The edge got thinner. The breathing heavier. 

Then the shutdowns came.

He could hear her voice, but it felt far away. Like it was echoing down a hallway he no longer stood in.

The Winter Soldier had taken over. And everything that made him Bucky faded into the background.

Then one day, Y/N didn’t stay behind the glass. 

She stepped into the testing room and closed the door.

She hadn’t told anyone beforehand—not even him. But she couldn’t stand watching anymore. Couldn’t stand the way he fought the Winter Soldier alone, surrounded by empty walls.

If he was going to face it—then so was she.

Bucky looked up from the mat, already tensing. “Do you have a death wish?”

Her voice was calm and steady as she walked and stood her ground firmly right next to him. “If it means healing you, then yes.”

Then, turning to the glass, she spoke with quiet authority: “Do not enter. No matter what happens.”

Shuri and Ayo stood motionless behind the bulletproof glass.

And then—the first trigger word left her mouth.

And he felt it. 

The programming didn’t pull—it activated.

By the sixth word, he was gone.

The Winter Soldier rose behind his eyes like a shadow reclaiming its host. Breath even. Eyes empty.

She didn’t run.

He slammed her into the mat. She didn’t fight back. Didn’t even try to block. Another hit. A boot against the floor. A twist of her wrist. Still, no retaliation.

And then—his hand around her throat.

She choked, breath shallow, pain blooming across her neck and chest.

But her eyes stayed open.

Her lips parted.

“You are no longer the Winter Soldier,” she rasped. “You are James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. My friend.”

He didn’t stop.

Not right away.

Then—

He saw it.

Tears. Not from fear. From him. Sliding down her face, her eyes still locked on his.

That cut deeper than any blow.

Something inside him cracked, split through the fog. Her voice. Her words. Her belief—despite the pain, despite the bruises.

His grip loosened.

Then dropped.

He stumbled back, blinking hard, lungs seizing like he’d just surfaced from drowning. The mat swayed beneath him.

She was still on the floor, breathing ragged. But conscious. Watching him.

“Y/N,” he rasped, voice breaking. Her lips curved faintly. “You came back.”

Bucky knelt a few feet away from her, the hand that had closed around her throat trembling uncontrollably in his lap.

Y/N sat against the wall, her breathing shallow, bruises already blooming across her collarbone. She noticed Shuri preparing to enter with a cold compress, but lifted a hand to wave her off—her eyes never leaving him.

“I could’ve killed you,” he said, voice low and raw.

She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, it wasn’t with comfort. “You didn’t.”

“That doesn’t change what I did.” His jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t have stepped in.”

“I did,” she said softly. “And I’d do it again.”

He looked at her then, finally. She was hurt. Because of him. And she still meant that.

“I don’t understand you,” he murmured.

“I don’t need you to,” she said. “I just need you to keep coming back.”

He didn’t sleep for days after that session.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Not afraid. Not fighting. Just there—voice breaking, throat bruised, calling him Bucky like it still meant something.

And that was what haunted him.

Not the fight. Not the programming.

The fact that he hurt someone who chose to believe in him.

So he chose something too.

Y/N.

Not as comfort.

As a promise.

He didn’t want to be the reason she got hurt again. He wanted to be the reason she never had to be afraid.

The next session, Bucky made a request - his first, by choice. 

“Y/N, I think… I need you to stay behind the glass this time.”

His voice didn’t tremble—but something in his eyes did.

Y/N didn’t ask why. Didn’t offer reassurances.

She just held his gaze and nodded once—not surprised, but quietly proud. Because it was the first thing he’d asked for—not as the soldier he’d been trained to be, but simply as Bucky.

It wasn’t rejection. It was safety. A boundary he set for his own peace.

She moved behind the glass with Shuri and Ayo, giving him the space he asked for.

The barrier let him focus. Let him feel safe—not from her, but from the version of himself he didn’t trust yet.

Even separated by walls, her voice still reached him.

Clear. Steady. Familiar. But the words still hit hard.

By the fifth trigger, his breath hitched. By the sixth, he was gone.

He surged forward—full force—shouting in Russian, his fist slamming into the reinforced glass.

Shuri’s hand hovered near the failsafe. But Y/N stepped forward, calm but firm, eyes locked on him.

“Bucky.” Her voice didn't rise. Just anchored. “Look at me. You’re not lost.”

He hit the glass again—once, twice—and then froze.

Her hand rested on the other side, palm flat.

“You told me to stay behind here. You did that. You chose it.”

“So choose again" she said.

His breath was ragged. Chest heaving. Fists trembling.

But he didn’t strike again.

He sank to his knees, back against the wall.

It took time to come back. But this time—he did.

Over time, as the grip of the programming weakened, so did Bucky’s fear.

It wasn’t gone. But it no longer ruled him.

One morning, just outside the training room, Bucky stood in front of Y/N, his hand flexing at his side, trying to keep his voice steady.

“If you’re okay with it… I want you in the room today.”

He met her eyes, hesitant but sincere.

“Not close. Just… at the far end of the room. Where I can see you.”

A beat.

“If I get too close—leave. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, waiting. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His jaw tightened. “Y/N—”

“That wasn’t you,” she said gently. “That was the Winter Soldier. And that's not who you are.”

He didn’t answer. But hearing it like that—as fact, not reassurance—shifted something inside him as they stepped inside the training room together and walked to their positions.

He took a breath. Then another. “I’m ready,” he said.

Y/N began.“Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace.”

His hand clenched, chest tightening.“Nine.” His muscles locked. “Benign.” His vision blurred, then sharpened—darkening around the edges.

He took a step forward. Then another. Toward her. “Bucky.”

Y/N didn’t move. Her hands stayed at her sides, calm. “This is your space now.”

But his fists curled again. His eyes started to haze—the Winter Soldier clawing up beneath the surface.

“Bucky,” she said again, firmer this time. “You told me to stand back. You asked me to trust you.”

Her voice dropped. “So trust yourself.”

His step faltered. His breath came ragged and short.

“You are no longer a weapon" she whispered. "You’re Bucky. You’re someone who chooses to fight for himself now".

He stopped. His fist uncurled. One shaky step back. Then another.

He dropped to his knees, breathing hard. Silent.

Not the breakthrough.

But closer than he’d ever been.

They kept at it—day after day, week after week. Some sessions were harder than others. But he kept showing up.

And then, a few weeks later, on a quiet evening, there was a soft, almost hesitant knock at the door of her hut.

Y/N looked up from her cup of tea just as Bucky’s head appeared in the doorway—hair tousled, eyes uncertain.

“Can I come in?” he asked. She nodded, already shifting to make space.

He stepped inside and sat across from her on the floor, legs folded, his hand resting in his lap. “Will you try them again?” he asked.

His voice was steady. “The trigger words. I want you to say them.”

Y/N didn’t ask why. She just set her tea aside, turned to face him fully, and said, “Okay.”

He closed his eyes. She began.

One word. Then two. Then the full sequence—calm, even, no tension in her voice.

And when it was over—nothing.

No twitch. No haze. No storm building in his mind.

Just breath. Stillness. Bucky.

He opened his eyes slowly.

"I'm still here," he whispered. Then again, softer—like it meant everything: "I'm still me. It doesn't work on me anymore".

She was already smiling, eyes soft but unshaken.

“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.”

And then it hit him.

The tears came fast—years of buried pain released all at once. Bucky didn’t try to hide his crying this time. He allowed it all out, his entire body trembling with raw emotion.

Y/N had longed to wipe those tears away back at the lake the first time, but she’d held back then, fearing he might retreat further into himself. 

Now, she leaned forward without hesitation and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. He didn’t pull away. 

His hand sought hers, nuzzling into her warm touch as he closed his eyes, letting her cupped hands cradle his face. 

A quiet, tender smile spread over her lips as her thumbs softly brushed away the final traces of his tears.

Then—he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

The kiss was gentle but full—like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into that one moment—grief, gratitude, peace.

His lips rested there, as if trying to imprint on her skin his newfound hope—bridging all the pain with the promise of being truly, vulnerably himself.

Then he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation in her response; she melted into the space without question, arms circling his waist, her chin resting gently against his shoulder. 

And they stayed like that—wrapped in each other’s warmth, no longer survivors clinging to the edge. 

They were simply Bucky and Y/N.  

Two hearts, finally quiet.

--

Chapter 5 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 3)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 3 - A Mind Like Mine

It had been almost a year since Y/N first arrived at the compound—a year of learning, healing, and, most importantly, reclaiming control. 

A week had passed since she realised the trigger phrases no longer held any sway over her. 

Now, she was sitting with Steve, completely free, enjoying their daily hot cocoa together. It had become their little routine.

Most mornings, they shared quiet moments together—comfortable, familiar. But today, there was something different in the stillness.

The sun was barely up. The compound was still quiet. Y/N sat at the table, a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, the warmth from the cup spreading through her fingers.

She noticed it then—the way Steve kept fidgeting with his dog tags. Rolling them between his fingers, eyes fixed on the horizon like he was somewhere else entirely.

Y/N waited.

It took longer than usual, but eventually, he spoke, his voice low. 

"There's someone I think you should know about."

She said nothing, just kept her focus steady on him, waiting for more.

"His name's James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky."

She frowned slightly. The name didn't ring a bell. But the way Steve said it—the careful weight in his voice—told her it mattered.

"He was my best friend," Steve continued. "We grew up together. Went to war together. I thought I lost him back in '45. But Hydra got to him."

Y/N felt a shift in her chest, but she didn't show it.

"They didn't just keep him alive," Steve said, his voice tight, "they broke him. Rebuilt him. Rewired him. And turned him into a weapon".

 He paused, letting the words settle.

"They called him the Winter Soldier".

The name hit Y/N like a phantom echo. Her fingers curled around her mug, a cold shiver running down her spine as something buried in her memory stirred.

"I heard them say that," she said quietly, after a beat. "Hydra scientists. They mentioned the Winter Soldier. Said he was already operational. That the work they were doing on me was supposed to solidify the process".

Steve's fingers tightened around his cup, his gaze never leaving hers, but he didn't respond.

"I didn't know what it meant" she continued, her voice low. "They never told me who he was...just that everything they learned from breaking my mind, they used to make sure his wouldn't fight back".

Steve's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes hardened. Not at her—never at her. But at what had been done to both of them. 

"When Hydra fell," Steve spoke again, his voice quieter now, "we found both of you. You were still unconscious. He wasn't. He woke up at the compound."

Y/N watched him, eyes steady, listening.

"He didn't remember anything, not at first. They wiped him after every mission. Years of it. Decades" Steve said. "But he remembered, eventually. Not all at once. But pieces. And it destroyed him. The people he was made to kill, the things they made him do... the blood on his hands—it was too much."

Steve rubbed a hand over his jaw, the guilt deep in his bones. "He hated himself for it. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't think. The triggers were everywhere. Said he didn't trust what was real and what wasn't. He told me he didn't want to hurt anyone else, ever again".

Her heart dropped. "Where is he now?".

"He asked to be put back in cryo" Steve paused, his voice soft but heavy. "Said it was the only way he felt safe". 

She watched him carefully. Steve didn't cry. He didn't need to. The ache in his voice was enough.

"So I took him to Wakanda," he went on, his voice quiet, almost distant now. "My friend—King T'Challa—offered him sanctuary until we could figure out how to help him... he was put back into cryo before you woke up".

Steve's eyes finally met hers—not with expectation, not asking for anything.

Just telling the truth.

Y/N nodded slowly, letting it settle into her chest, then looked down, already picturing the man behind the whispers, behind the legend, behind the silence in cryo.

A man who'd been turned into a weapon and buried himself to keep others safe.

Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but firm. "I want to meet him."

Steve blinked, clearly taken aback. "You don't have to—"

"I know," she said, cutting him off gently. "But I want to."

She met his eyes, her resolve clear. "And maybe… if he's willing to try again, I'll be there to help him".

Steve didn't speak immediately. He just stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, slowly. "I'll take you".

Her heartbeat picked up—not from fear, but something else. Purpose.

And Steve—who had carried the weight of Bucky's pain for so long—for the first time in a long time, looked hopeful.

--

The jet was quiet.

Y/N sat by the window, watching clouds slide past beneath them, white and endless. She'd never been this high before and aware of it. Hydra had moved her like cargo—always sedated, always blind to the route.

This time, she was awake. 

Steve sat in the pilot's seat, the steady hum of the Quinjet filling the space between them. He had been flying it steadily, and this was the first time Y/N had left the compound. She hadn't wanted to before—didn't want to leave without knowing for sure that she wouldn't hurt anyone along the way.

But now, here she was, watching the world unfold beneath her, the feeling of being in control of her own choices something she wasn't used to.

After a while, Steve spoke up, breaking the silence. "You nervous?".

"No," she said. Then added, "Not about seeing him."

He nodded, understanding. "You'll be alright."

Another pause. Then, casually, Steve said, “You know, before all this… Bucky was always the one looking out for me. He had this way of making sure I didn’t get myself into situations I couldn’t handle. We were pretty much inseparable—through thick and thin."

Y/N glanced at him, intrigued.

“I remember one time, I tried to stand up to a bigger kid at school,” Steve continued, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was trying to look tough".

“You definitely have the tough part down,” Y/N teased.

"Only after the serum," Steve smirked. "Before that? I was ninety pounds soaking wet, with chronic asthma and a mouth that got me punched more than once. Bucky used to drag me out of alleys at least once a week."

Y/N blinked, surprised, then let out a light laugh. “I can’t even picture that. You? Getting dragged out of alleys?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. Anyways, Bucky saw what was going down and immediately stepped in. He told the guy, ‘If you hurt him, I’ll make sure you regret it.’

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Did the guy back off?”

“Yeah, he backed off quick,” Steve said with a chuckle. “Bucky didn’t even have to raise a fist. Just his presence was enough. He always had that effect on people.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “That’s a little impressive.”

Steve’s eyes softened, the warmth in his gaze deepening. “He was always the one who protected the people he cared about. Never hesitated to step in, even when it wasn’t his fight. Even when it costs him.”

Y/N smiled, a little wistful. “You two were really close.”

Steve’s gaze drifted, his eyes distant as if he could see Bucky there beside him. “Yeah. We were. He was more than a best friend. He was family.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, her chest tightening at the thought. “I don’t think I ever had someone like that.”

Steve turned his head, surprised.

"I mean... I remember my work". She paused. "But birthdays? Family? Friends? Partners? Nothing."

Steve didn't interrupt.

"It’s like Hydra wiped all of that away—kept the ‘useful’ parts and left everything else behind.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, just let her words hang there.

“Maybe they thought it’d be easier to control someone who didn’t have anything to hold on to,” he said quietly.

“Probably,” she said with a sigh. “But… sometimes I think it’s better I don’t remember. If those people are gone, it's just more grief I can't do anything with."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and her voice softened. “It’s good that Bucky has you.”

Steve paused for a moment, his gaze steady on hers. “He’s not the only one.”

She blinked, and he added, simply, "I'm here for you too."

Y/N didn’t reply, but her chest tightened in a way that felt… safe.

Then Steve changed the subject, his voice gentle but thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about what you did—how you broke free from the triggers yourself.”

She raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"It's incredible," he said. "You reversed engineered your own programming. Alone. No labs. No fancy tech. Just... pure grit and willpower."

She shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the praise. "I had the training."

"Yeah, but training doesn't mean recovery", he countered. "What you did? Most people wouldn’t have survived it, let alone fought their way back.”

Y/N didn’t have a response for that, but for the first time, she held his gaze longer than she usually could.

After a while, the Quinjet descended, and Wakanda came into view. For Y/N, it felt like something out of a dream. She’d never stepped beyond the compound before—never seen anything like this.

The lush, vibrant landscape stretched before her, a stunning contrast to the sterile, controlled environment she had known for so long. The towering mountains, the sprawling forests, and the gleaming city that rose like a jewel from the heart of the land—everything about it felt surreal, almost too beautiful to be real. She watched in awe, her breath catching as the scenery unfolded before her eyes.

As they neared the landing platform, a group stood waiting - T'Challa at the center, regal and calm as ever, with Shuri practically bouncing beside him in excitement.

As they stepped off the quinjet, Steve motioned toward them. “That’s T'Challa, the king of Wakanda,” he said, his tone respectful. “And that’s Princess Shuri, his sister. She’s a genius with tech and one of the smartest people I know.”

Shuri flashed a bright smile and waved enthusiastically. “Hi, Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Her eyes lit up, practically sparkling with energy. “You’re the one who rewired yourself! I’ve read the reports! I have so many questions—so many!” Her voice had an excited, rapid pace to it, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Reports?”

T'Challa gave a small smile, his tone still calm but knowing. “Shuri and I have access to Steve’s communications,” he explained. “And he hasn’t stopped talking about you. Your work… your resilience. He’s been more than impressed.”

Y/N turned her head to glance at Steve, who seemed mildly embarrassed by the attention. He shifted slightly, clearing his throat.

“You deserve the credit,” Steve said quietly, his eyes sincere. “I’m just… I’m proud of you. You did what no one else could.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words, unsure of how to respond. She’d never been praised like this, not with such genuine care.

T'Challa chuckled softly, a warmth in his voice. “It’s clear he holds you in high regard, Y/N. But perhaps… we can let you decide that for yourself once we’ve had a chance to speak more.” He turned toward Shuri, who was already practically bouncing on her heels. "Shuri, let’s not overwhelm her right away."

Shuri flashed a sheepish grin, but she didn’t stop grinning. “Right. Later. But seriously, I need to hear about how you did it. I can’t believe you overcame it all on your own.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind still a little foggy from the rapid shift in her environment. “I... didn’t think anyone would be interested in how I did it.”

“Oh, we’re very interested,” Shuri said, practically vibrating with energy. “I have a thousand ideas already!”  

As they started walking toward the lab, Y/N couldn’t help but glance around. The entire place seemed so... alive. She had only ever known the compound—sterile, controlled, quiet—and here, everything felt so different. The air was warmer, the colours more vibrant, and the world outside stretched in every direction, almost too vast to comprehend.

Steve, noticing her reaction, smiled softly. “Wakanda has a way of making you feel small, doesn’t it?”

Y/N nodded, her heart racing. “It’s... overwhelming. Everything’s so big. And… beautiful.”

T'Challa, noticing the look on her face, gave a small, understanding nod. “It can be a lot to take in for the first time. But we’ll give you time. We’ll show you around once you’re ready.”

“I’d love that,” Y/N said quietly, though her words felt somewhat lost in the sea of her emotions.

“Perhaps Steve can be your guide,” T'Challa teased, a smile tugging at his lips. “Given how often he’s here checking on his friend,” he added with a knowing glance at Steve.

Steve laughed, running a hand through his hair, looking a little embarrassed. “I do come here a lot to check in on Bucky, and Wakanda is a beautiful place to see, truly. You’ll be amazed by everything here.”

Y/N gave a small smile. "Can’t wait,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a hint of excitement. The open sky, the people, the sense of freedom—it was almost too much to take in all at once.

Shuri, noticing the quieter moment, bounced over to Y/N. “Hey, don’t worry. We’ll take it slow. I promise, we’re not going to overwhelm you. But just wait until you see our lab—it's the best place in Wakanda. You’re going to love it!”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Shuri’s infectious energy. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Y/N's heart raced as they stepped into the lab. A strange mix of excitement and anxiety. The low hum of advanced technology filled the air as she looked around, taking in the sophisticated machinery, the glowing panels, and the quiet order of it all. It was worlds apart from the compound, and yet there was a strange comfort in its quiet intensity.

A medical specialist appeared, gesturing for them to follow.

"We've kept him stable," the doctor said. "Vitals are steady. The cryo unit has a failsafe interface—Shuri designed it herself."

Y/N’s heartbeat quickened as they descended a sleek, cold corridor. The further they walked, the colder it felt—not physically, but emotionally. It was as if the space itself was holding its breath, waiting. Every step brought them closer to something she hadn’t yet fully processed—Bucky.

They reached a glass chamber.

Inside, there he was.

Frozen. Still. Suspended in ice and silence.

Bucky’s hair floated around his face, the dark strands suspended in time. His features were softened, free from the harsh lines of tension and fear. There was no violence in his posture, no defensive hunch, no terror in his eyes—only stillness. The cold glass between them reflected his form, but it wasn’t the soldier, the weapon she had been told about. It was just... a man. A man who had been broken, and who had no choice but to endure.

Y/N stepped forward, her breath caught in her chest. She didn't speak. She didn't press her hand to the glass. She simply looked at him, her mind grappling with the sight of him—this man who had been reduced to a weapon by Hydra.

It struck her, seeing him like this: Not the Winter Soldier. Not Hydra’s weapon. Just… a man.

Her thoughts swirled, memories of her own time helping soldiers, trying to reach those buried beneath their trauma. There was a sharp pang in her chest. She’d once worked to heal those who had been broken in wars, who had been used and hurt by forces beyond their control. Before Hydra, before everything had been twisted into something unrecognisable, she had done what she could to help them heal, to guide them back to themselves.

Now, standing here, watching Bucky—so still, so distant—she felt that same pull. She wanted to help him, to show him that there was still a chance for him to find peace, just as she had fought to help those soldiers. It was a nostalgic feeling, like a part of her past she’d almost forgotten.

Steve stood behind her, his gaze fixed on Bucky through the glass. Seeing Bucky frozen like this hits him hard each time. The weight of what Hydra had done still painfully lingered in his mind, a constant reminder of the damage done to his best friend.

Steve felt the silent promise he’d made to Bucky—to help him find his way back. Watching Y/N pull herself from the wreckage gave him quiet hope that Bucky do the same. He wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he had to trust that, with time, Bucky would find his way out of the darkness.

Y/N took another breath, letting the truth of it all settle deep into her bones. She wasn’t just here for herself anymore. She was here to help him, too. To show Bucky that there was still hope for him—that even after everything, there was still a way back.

And she stood there, quietly letting that truth sink in, letting it solidify in her chest.

--

The soldier was being revived.

Y/N stood just outside the glass, arms folded, her breath steady as she watched. The cryo unit released in stages—first the hiss of pressure equalising, then the slow rise in temperature, the soft flicker of life returning to Bucky’s limbs. Each movement felt like the start of something, a slow awakening that echoed through the room.

As Bucky’s body began to stir, Y/N noticed his left hand—his fingers twitching, while his missing arm remained motionless. It was a subtle reminder of the life he had lost, of the cost he had paid.

Steve was beside her, tense but calm. His eyes stayed focused on the chamber, watching every movement closely, the weight of the moment sitting heavily on him. T'Challa and the medical team observed from a distance, standing by, ready to intervene if needed—but it wasn’t necessary.

Not this time.

The ice melted from Bucky’s hair. His chest expanded, sharp and sudden, like the first breath after drowning. It was like watching someone emerge from a deep, suffocating sleep—everything still hazy, the confusion in his body palpable.

Then, his eyes opened.

Wide. Wild. Searching.

Y/N didn’t move, her gaze fixed on him. Her chest tightened, feeling the weight of this moment more deeply than she expected. This was Bucky. Not the Winter Soldier. Not the weapon. Just a man who had been lost for too long.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto Steve, blinking hard, as if trying to focus. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve said softly, his voice carrying an unspoken reassurance. "You're safe."

But Bucky kept breathing like he didn’t believe it—like he was trying to hear past the noise in his own skull. He shifted on the bed, his muscles tense, his mind trying to catch up with the reality of where he was.

Then his eyes turned toward Y/N.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Bucky’s gaze was intense, uncertain, like he didn’t know if she was real or just another part of the nightmare he had been living. His eyes searched hers, filled with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to.

Y/N didn’t flinch under his stare. She simply stood there, calm, letting him take her in.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she said, her voice soft but steady. There was no fear in her words—just an offering of truth.

She took one step closer to the glass, not rushing, just allowing him the space to process. Her eyes didn’t leave his, showing him she was not a threat.

Something in his face shifted. Not trust, not yet. But not fear, either.

Steve stepped forward, moving slowly, his voice a gentle reassurance. “This is Y/N. She’s… like you.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from Steve to her, confusion flashing in his gaze. "Hydra?"

Y/N nodded once, her eyes steady. “Yeah. I was used too".

His jaw clenched at the admission. His hand curled into fists against the edge of the bed, as if the memory of what Hydra had done to him was too much to bear.

“I know what they did to you,” Y/N said quietly, her voice calm but filled with understanding. “Not all of it. But enough to know what it feels like to wake up and not know what parts of you are real.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but he was listening. His eyes softened, though only slightly.

“They used me to build the structure they’d use on you. I was the study. You were the weapon.” Y/N’s voice was gentle, almost apologetic, as she spoke these words. She didn’t want to burden him with her past, but she couldn’t hide it from him, not now.

Bucky looked down at his hand, his fingers flexing, his gaze distant.

"They say you asked to be frozen."

“I had to,” he said, his voice hoarse. "It was getting worse. I couldn’t tell what was mine and what was theirs. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood. I was afraid I’d hurt more people.”

Y/N nodded, understanding. “Yeah. I get that.”

Bucky looked back at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “And you? How are you still—” He stopped, then looked away, unsure how to finish the question. “How are you okay?”

"I'm not," she said simply, the words honest but gentle. "But I worked at it. I knew what they did to my mind. So I took it apart, piece by piece. And I rebuilt it."

Bucky stared at her, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. It was like she had spoken in a language he used to know but had forgotten over the years of trauma. Something familiar had flickered to life in him, but he wasn’t ready to grasp it fully.

The words hung in the air between them for a moment.

Bucky’s voice was hoarse when he spoke again. "How long was I under?".

“Over a year,” Steve said. His voice had softened with a mix of relief and concern. “We brought you here after Hydra fell. You asked for this. They kept you safe.”

Bucky’s breathing slowed, but the weight in his eyes didn’t lift. He was still processing, still uncertain.

Y/N took a small step forward, not too close, just enough to bridge the distance between them. She knelt down, bringing herself to his level, her gaze meeting his with quiet understanding. She knew he needed time to come to terms with everything.

"I'm not here to fix you," she said softly, her voice steady and kind. "But I know what it's like to live in the wreckage. So if you want someone who gets it… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you, however I can. That’s why I’m here."

Bucky didn’t respond right away. His eyes were distant, unsure, but there was a flicker of something in them—a small, cautious hope.

He shifted slightly, his posture still guarded, but his gaze never left Y/N. His voice was low when he spoke, almost like he was testing the waters. “Okay.”

Y/N gave him a moment, her presence calm, steady. She didn’t press him, didn’t rush the fragile silence between them.

And in that quiet, Y/N felt it—a shift.

Not just in him, but in herself, too.

The first step, taken together.

A beginning.

--

Chapter 4 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 2)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER + OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 2 - My Mind & Me

(Gentle Note: This chapter contains sensitive themes of trauma, conditioning, and emotional recovery)

At first, it was silence.

After Hydra fell, Y/N was pulled from the ruins of an underground lab — restrained, barely conscious, half-feral, her vitals fluctuating between superhuman and dangerously unstable. Even sedated, her body didn’t know whether to shut down or fight. 

She was brought to the Avengers Compound under heavy medical supervision. 

She was unconscious for the first two weeks.

When she finally woke, it was slow. Disoriented. Quiet.

Steve was the one who explained what had happened—gently, patiently—filling in the timeline she didn’t remember. He told her where she was, that Hydra had fallen, that she was safe now.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t speak. Didn’t resist when they moved her, but she flinched at certain sounds—boots on hard floors, the buzz of overhead lights, the mechanical hiss of an automatic door. Her eyes tracked movement, always alert, but never met anyone’s directly. 

But she was watching.

Even sedated, even weak, her mind was working. Calculating. Scanning. She noticed the rhythms of conversation, the patterns of their behaviour. She was cataloguing it all.

Because Hydra had trained her to recognise patterns—and she was using that training to get herself out.

AWARENESS

It started with body sensations.

The tremors before someone entered the room. Cold sweats when a certain tone played over the intercom. The instinct to dissociate when a male voice barked a command—even if it was just someone saying her name too loud.

Y/N noticed all of it.

She’d been trained in trauma before Hydra ever got their hands on her. As a psychiatrist, she knew how the brain protected itself. She knew how trauma loops worked. She knew what conditioning looked like. She had helped others through it.

Now, she was applying that knowledge to herself.

She wrote it all down. Simple phrases, repeated over and over:

“My name is Y/N”

“I am safe now.”

“The pain is a memory, not a command.”

She scribbled them on the backs of med charts, napkins, the margins of old files. Anything she could get her hands on. She hid them in drawers, taped them under her bed, stuffed them into her shoes.

So that when the dissociation crept in, she had something to find.

Something that told her: You’re not there anymore".

It didn’t stop the fear—but it gave her a thread to follow back to herself.

She began to recognise the physical cues—how her hands trembled at certain tones, how her pulse spiked at particular syllables. Hydra had wired her body to react before her brain even caught up. To freeze. To submit without choice.  

But she had studied this. She had trained for this. In another life, she had helped soldiers unlearn violence. Now she would help herself unlearn obedience.

REVERSAL 

She began to disarm the triggers.

Hydra had used repetition, sounds, scents, and scripts to break her down. And pain. Physical torture, layered into routine until her body learned to flinch before her mind even caught up.

But the hardest part was the words.

Trigger phrases, spoken in cold monotone, had been woven into her conditioning. They weren’t used to make her attack—but to make her obey. To still her voice. To freeze her body. To strip away her will without leaving a mark. Obedience on command.

She knew the method. Now she was flipping it.

Every night, she exposed herself to one of the cues that used to activate her—on her terms. She played tones similar to the ones Hydra used. Read fragments of the old command scripts —edited and controlled — just enough to face them without unraveling. Then stared at her reflection in the mirror, repeating aloud:"That was then. This is now. I am the one in control".

Some nights it worked. Some nights she collapsed into panic, shaking on the floor until her body came back to her. But every time she got back up, she reprogrammed her nervous system.

She didn’t avoid the physical triggers either.

The restraint pressure. The muscle memory. The phantom aches from old injuries. She recreated them, safely and in small increments—tight wraps around her wrists to mimic the cuffs, brief cold exposure, body-weight holds that once sent her spiralling. Then she grounded herself through it. Breathed through it. Interrupted the fear before it could loop.

And eventually, she recorded the trigger phrases.

Not the original voice. Not the same tone. She read them herself, clinically, like a case study. She listened in short bursts while tracking her breath, saying her name, keeping her hands still. Over and over. 

If repetition had been used to condition her, she would use it to reclaim herself.

She used her knowledge as a psychiatrist to reverse the damage: retraining the mind, memory integration, exposure therapy. If Hydra was a virus, she was the cure.

She started designing her own counter-conditioning.

The quiet weight of the warm mug in her hands—heat without threat, comfort without condition. The soft scent of jasmine from the sachet tucked in her pocket, chosen for calm, not control. And the gentle pull of the lanyard around her neck—her new ID badge, given to her the day she remembered her name. It wasn't for access. It was a reminder of who she used to be, back when she worked with trauma patients instead of being one.

She created a routine.

Wake up. Read the notes. Say her name out loud. Inhale the scent of jasmine. Feel the warmth of the mug in her hands. Acknowledge the weight of the badge. 

If her body learned fear through repetition, it could learn safety the same way.

OWNERSHIP

Eventually, she requested to be alone in a soundproof room. Bruce was hesitant, but she was clear: “I need to hear it and not break.” He agreed to trust her instincts. 

In the quiet, she played back old Hydra audio logs that had been recovered. She made herself listen. The original voice. The original tone. 

And when the trigger words came - those same syllables that had once activated her instantly — she didn’t move.

Her pulse jumped. Her hands shook. For a second, the world tilted.

But she grounded herself. Said her name out loud. Read from one of the notes she’d brought with her.

“This is a memory. Not a command.”

No blackout. No dissociation. No loss of time.

Just her. Awake. Aware.

That was the moment. The pivot point. She had broken the loop. The conditioning was a machine—and she had shut it down from the inside.

INTEGRATION 

The flashbacks didn’t stop. The nightmares didn’t magically go away.

Sleep wasn’t safe. Not for a long time. 

She’d wake up gasping, heart racing, fists clenched around sheets like restraints. Sometimes she couldn’t remember the dream—just the cold sweat and the instinct to fight. Other times, the scenes played out in vivid, unbearable detail.

There was no peace, even when her eyes were closed.

But she stopped running from it.

She began treating sleep like exposure—preparing for it like she did everything else. When the nightmares came, she started talking back to them. Repeating her grounding phrases even half-asleep, clinging to her name like a lifeline.

Some nights, she still woke up trembling.

But she didn’t avoid it. Didn’t push it away.

She talked to herself out loud when it got bad. Sat through the worst ones instead of shutting them down. Named what she was feeling. Brought it into language.

"This is fear. Not control." "This is memory. Not command."

One night, staring at her reflection, she said, “I remember the cold. I remember what they were turning me into. But I also remember who I was before.”

She wasn’t trying to forget anymore.

She was trying to include it. Make it part of her story, instead of the whole thing.

THEY WITNESSED IT. SHE DID IT. 

At first, they were cautious—unsure of how much she remembered, or what Hydra had buried in her. But they never looked at her like a threat. 

They gave her space but stayed close. 

From the moment she arrived—unconscious and barely stable—and in every day that followed, they treated her with quiet patience and steady respect. Like someone who hadn’t been written off.

Bruce took the lead—not just as a doctor, but as someone who knew what it meant to carry too much in your head. He checked her vitals like clockwork, monitored her progress, and always knocked before entering. He never hovered, but his quiet presence became something constant.

Whenever she asked to review her own brain scans, he handed them over without question. No lectures. No sugarcoating. Just data and trust—grounding her, not with sedation, but with science and calm.

He never treated her like a subject.

It was the first time she’d been in the hands of a scientist who didn’t hurt her, rush her, or tear her apart to understand her.

He offered the stillness she needed to untangle what Hydra tried to bury.

Natasha never pried, but she was always nearby. She showed up with sandwiches, and left quiet encouragement in unexpected places - a new notebook when the old one started filling up, noise-canceling headphones, a post-it on the mirror: “You’re doing better than you think.” 

As Y/N slowly settled into letting people close, Natasha got into the habit of braiding her hair - quick, practised fingers moving without fuss while talking about anything but the past.  It wasn't loud or emotional. It was steady. Protective. 

Sam didn’t push. He sat with her when it looked like she needed company - steady, present, never asking more than she was ready to give. He talked about flying, music, Steve’s terrible cooking—and eventually, about the soldiers he used to work with and the shared understanding of what people carried after combat. 

Bit by bit, Sam started catching her up on the world—new music, movies, weird internet trends, and the everyday chaos of a world that never slowed down.  No pressure. Just a steady, gentle stream of life, filtered through someone who made it feel safe to rejoin.

Clint taught her how to aim again - this time with intention, not instinct. He took her to the range late at night when the compound was quiet, when it felt less like a test and more like a reset.  

He walked her through it patiently, adjusting her stance, handing her different grips, letting her ask questions without judgment. “It’s not about hitting the target,” he told her. “It’s about proving you’re the one pulling the trigger now.”

He didn’t say much beyond that—but he kept showing up, always with a second set of earplugs and a quiet kind of watchfulness that made her feel like someone had her six.

Tony, in his own way, gave her access to control. He didn’t offer pep talks or check in the way the others did—he offered tech. “You don’t need permission to feel safe,” he told her. “You just need the right tools”.

He never asked what Hydra did to her. Never treated her like a problem to be solved. He just started fixing what he could reach. Every now and then, a random piece of tech would show up in her room: a portable white noise device, a motion-triggered nightlight labeled “Stark-grade” or she’d find a coded reminder on her screen added overnight that read: “You’re not a system. You’re a person”.

She never brought it up. He never admitted it. But for someone who acted like feelings were an inconvenience, Tony made sure she never had to fight for autonomy again.

Thor wasn’t around as often, but when he was, he made his presence known—in the gentlest way possible. He didn’t pretend to understand everything she’d been through, but he didn’t treat her like she was fragile either. “You are still here,” he said once, simply. “That means they did not win.”

He brought her Asgardian tea that tasted like starlight and citrus, told her wild stories of realms she couldn’t could picture. He didn’t ask questions, but he offered strength—sometimes through a ridiculous tale, sometimes through quiet, steady company.

One day, he handed her a small, rune-etched coin. “From my mother’s shrine,” he said. “She told me to carry it when I forgot who I was. Perhaps it will remind you—you are not lost. Only on your way back.”

He said it like it was obvious. Like healing was a journey he believed she would finish, without question.

And then there was Steve.

Steve never missed a day.

He showed up before every sunrise, with a hot cocoa in hand, knowing she found comfort in the warmth to start the day. She never told him that, but he noticed. He was observant like that.

The first time he handed it to her, he said, “Figured you’re more cocoa than caffeine,” then shrugged like it wasn’t the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for her in years.

He was the first one she let sit beside her without flinching.

It wasn’t a conscious choice, not at first. He just knew how to be still—how to sit in silence without making it feel heavy or expectant.

He never asked, “How are you feeling?”. Never made her explain herself. He just sat across from her while she scribbled grounding phrases into her notebook, ran breathing drills, or traced over the scars on her hands like she was mapping herself back together.

Sometimes they trained. Sometimes they walked laps around the compound, trading a few words. Sometimes they didn’t say anything at all. In the early days, she didn’t speak much. Just listened, nodded, kept pace. Steve never filled the silence unless she wanted him to—but he never left either. He showed up anyway. 

And when the words started coming—slowly, carefully—he never looked surprised. Just listened like he’d been waiting the whole time.

Every day she unlearned something. Every day she rewired another piece. Steve knew what that took. He knew it better than anyone.

They were both soldiers, just from different wars. But they understood the aftermath. The rewiring. The slow process of turning survival into living.

One early morning, they sat on the balcony watching the sun rise over the trees. She was quiet for a long time before saying, “I think the worst part wasn’t what they did. It was that they made me forget I used to help people.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. “You’re still helping. You just started with yourself this time.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Just sipped her cocoa and let the words settle. 

He looked at her—not like a mission, not like someone broken, but like he always did: like a soldier finding her footing again. Like someone who’d been through the fire and chose to walk out anyway.

The silence lingered, warm and quiet.

Then Steve let out a low breath, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know… for what it’s worth, the version of you sitting here drinks cocoa, kicked my ass in training, disarmed me in under a minute, and walked off with my shield like she owned it”.

Y/N raised an eyebrow over her mug. “You left yourself open.”

Steve shrugged, grinning. “Sure. That’s what we’re going with.”

She didn’t smile, exactly—but the corners of her mouth lifted just enough to count.

And the shield? She hadn’t given it back right away. Just stood there, holding it for a few extra seconds like it belonged in her hands. Neither of them said anything about it then.

They didn’t need to.

They were both soldiers, in different ways. That was enough.

THE TEST

An agent said one of her trigger phrases by accident.

They were reading from an old Hydra file—flat, procedural, unaware of what the words could still do.

It caught her off guard.

She heard it.

Her body froze—just for half a second. Muscles locked. Pulse jumped.

There was a flicker of static behind her eyes, like a memory trying to take control.

But then… nothing.

No blackout. No pull to obey. No override pressing down on her system.

She didn’t reach for the badge. Didn’t focus on jasmine or search for a grounding phrase.

She didn’t need to.

She just breathed.

And for the first time, she realised—she was the anchor now.

Then, steady as ever, she said the words:

“That doesn’t work on me anymore.”

She didn’t know it yet, but soon she’d be standing across from someone else Hydra had broken—and she’d be the one to help him say those same words.

--

Chapter 3 coming soon 

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 1)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 1 - Her Mind, His Chains

(Gentle Note: This chapter touches on themes like trauma and psychological manipulation - please read with care)

Before the serum, before the chains, Dr. Y/N was one of the youngest minds in neuropsychiatric warfare. Her research focused on how trauma rewires soldiers' minds—and how to help them  heal.

And her work wasn't just theoretical; she had been on the ground with soldiers, helping them unlearn violence, undo fear, and rewire the human mind toward healing.

Her research was praised - and envied. But brilliance comes with a cost. And brilliance in the wrong hands becomes a weapon.

Hydra noticed her long before she knew them. They had eyes in every agency, and she was the perfect subject—not just physically capable, but mentally unique.

Hydra didn't just want to test the serum's effects on strength or endurance. They needed someone whose mind was sharp enough to resist them—so they could learn how to break it.

She wasn't just a candidate. She was the blueprint.

They took her in the middle of a humanitarian mission—no witnesses, no trail. When she woke up, the world was gone. Hydra had erased it. They began the experiments slowly, injecting her with an early, unstable version of the super soldier serum. It worked—but with side effects. Her strength grew. So did her instincts. But her mind? That's what they really wanted to test.

They stripped her identity piece by piece—disorienting her, isolating her, rewriting her memories with twisted truths. When she fought back, they punished her. When she resisted conditioning, they changed their methods. Every reaction, every defiance, every psychological break—was data.

Her breakdowns became their breakthroughs.

They used her to build what bound him.

She was never meant to be deployed. She was never meant to be let go.

She was their control group - the long-term test subject they kept under lock and key, to refine every method of obedience, every psychological trigger, every piece of the puzzle that would one day become the Winter Soldier.

When James Buchanan Barnes was brought in, Hydra was ready for him - because of her.

Her resistance had shown them what didn't work. Her breakdowns taught them how far a mind could bend before it shattered. Her psychiatric expertise, twisted against her, allowed Hydra to craft systems of control so precise, so brutal, that Bucky Barnes never stood a chance.

And still—they kept her alive.

Even after the Winter Soldier was fully operational. Even after every mission succeeded. Hydra kept her locked away in one of their deepest black sites, continuing to test new trigger words, new sedation protocols, new forms of memory manipulation - using her as their failsafe.

When she became too unstable, when she knew too much, when her body started rejecting their latest experiments, they put her on ice. Not discarded. Not freed. Suspended.

Cryo-frozen like the Soldier himself, but not for missions—only for research. Decades passed, and she became a relic of Hydra's greatest project, thawed only when they needed new data, new methods, new insights into controlling the mind. She was their test subject across generations, proof that even the strongest will could be broken with enough time.

If the Soldier ever went rogue, they had her notes. Her reactions. Her history.

And if he ever broke free... she would be next.

She was the mind behind the monster and the ghost Hydra could never erase.

--

Part 2 coming soon

[alwaysaglader]

With you, even when I lose, I am winning (Charles Leclerc X Reader)

Y/N's P.O.V

An unexpected line of events happened on this lazy Sunday afternoon when my best friend, Charles, showed up at my door with his luggage in one hand and a bouquet of flowers on his other hand.

Taken by surprise and excitement at his early arrival only a few hours after the GP ended, I couldn't help but have a huge smile plastered onto my face as I leaped into his arms, making him chuckle and spin me around in his own excitement.

Still confused as to what he was doing here so early, I couldn't resist feeling my smile grow more as he explained that he booked an immediate flight right after the GP to come stay with me every minute he could during this 2 weeks break before the next GP.

Who knew that what started as a dull Sunday afternoon was to be twisted to an amazing evening now that Charles was here, already unpacking his luggage for the next 2 weeks!!

Charles being home for the break always insists on making me home cooked meals as much as he can, regardless of my complaints being that this week being his time to rest. All cause he knows all too well how much I dislike cooking hence my tendency to always order take out and never having a home cooked meal.

So Charles though he'd surprise me with a new recipe Carlos had taught him, which started off well by the looks of it, but ended up with smoke puffing out of my oven and a very roasted of something that I am not sure what cooling down on my counter top.

Right now, we were laughing on the kitchen floor, eating the ice cream Charles picked up on the way from the airport instead of Carlos's special recipe.

Eating between bouts of laughter had Charles struggling to get the spoon straight into either of our mouths, which resulted with both of us with ice cream all over our faces.

Next thing I know Charles had his phone pointed at me a chuckle escaping his lips and I heard the click sound before I could even react to his fast reflexes. "Ma belle, you look so adorable. Like a Cookie Monster".

"Charles I look gross" I whined in a failed attempt to grab the phone from his grip. "Look at me. I am sleep deprived and exhausted".

"I've even got raccoon eyes" I moved closer and widened my eyes at him which only made him let out a chuckle before leaning in closer and brushing his fingers along my cheeks.

"And you're still more beautiful than any sunrise I've ever seen" he whispered ever so softly.

"And I've seen sunrises all around the world ma cherie so you cannot argue with me" he said with a cheeky grin and rubbed my back while he continued to hold me close. I hummed and smiled, loving this moment. 

"So mon armor" he started softly after a moment of comfortable silence, but I could feel a hint of caution in his voice this time like he was trying to tread lightly on something. "Tell me what's been going on with you lately?".

His question caught me off guard as I raised my head from looking at the ice cream tub to capture his concerned eyes looking into mine, before looking back down quickly when I felt my heart hurt at his look of worry towards me.

"Ma bella what's going on in that beautiful mind?" he asked again, this time tilting my head back up gently with his two fingers under my chin.

"Nothing. I'm fine" I said quickly, looking back down and aimlessly stirring the melted ice cream in the tub.

"Y/N" I heard Charles say, before feeling the warmth of his big, tender hands being placed on mine. "Mon armor, you're lying. When you're upset don't lie to me when you can talk about it".

"No matter what it is, even if it's about me. I am here for you" he continued in a soft tone, gently rubbing circles on my skin with the tip of his thumbs, "and my goal is to make you happy and keep you there. Even if someone else gets you down it is my job to bring you back up".

Before I knew it tears started to stream down my face from the mere moment I looked up at him and met with his concerned eyes and gentle smile making me vulnerable in his presence. 

Hurriedly covering my face with my hands I tried to looked away, but the moment I felt the tears rolling down my face I felt Charles big hands being placed over mine removing them from my puffed up face.

"Y/N, no, don't you dare hide your tears from me" he said, peppering a few kisses over the trail of tears while his hands wiped away the tears dripping down my chin. "When you are crying you are beautiful too".

After a few moments of being in a bubble of silence, I felt Charles shuffle to wrap his arms around me and gently engulfing me in his warm embrace. "Y/N, what's going on?".

A silence fell on us again, when I was at a loss of words of how I could even begin to explain the chaos in my head lately without sounding crazy.

Charles sensed my struggle to express myself, something he's always known about me, and never forced me to. Instead he pressed a soothing kiss on my forehead, and continued to stroke my hair gently, calming my heat beat to the beat of his own.

After a few moments of being intertwined, his soft breathing almost lulling my chaotic head to sleep, did I felt his chest rumble as he hummed against my hair leaving a few kisses here and there.

"Y/N, are you ready to tell me what's going on in that beautiful mind, mon armour?" He asked softly, voice still laced with the same concern.

I let out a small sniffle to his shoulder before managing to put a sentence together. "It's my final year of med school Charles".

"I'm struggling to handle it" I felt my own voice sounded airy as I desperately tried to fight back my tears again. "It has been an overload of work since Year 5 started. Piles of assignments, presentations.. and my final exam is coming up in 2 weeks and 3 days and I am falling behind on studying... and I feel like I am on the verge of breaking down any day".

I felt Charles's arms tighten around me and pull me closer to him than possible. "Mon armour why have you been keeping this to yourself?" he asked gently, placing a few kisses to my shoulder to calm me down, "why didn't you tell me?".

"We tell each other everything" he said, sounding hurt, as I pulled my face away from being buried in the crook of his neck to look at his piercing blue eyes staring deeply into mine.

"I just felt like I am too much to handle Charles. Even for myself" I said truthfully, my own heart breaking at my own words. "I couldn't begin to imagine what a burden I must be on you"

"No no no mon armour. Don't you dare say that" he said, immediately smothering me with kisses and wiping my dripping tears again, "you are never too much for me Y/N. You are just enough".

The more I stared into his eyes as he dried my cheeks, the closer I grew to him.

"You know I am in awe of you right?" he murmured, while caressing my head gently with the palm of my hand. The caressing continued slowly.

"You are able to handle anything Y/N. You always have. You still do. You always will", he said with the gentlest movements, and pressed a kiss on my nose as soon as our eyes met. "It's just that you don't have to do it alone anymore. We take care of each other remember?".

"Honestly I feel happy when you share every small thing with me" he chuckled lightly, making me let out a chuckle too. "Me too Charles".

"That's better" he grinned, running his thumb along my lips, "I will fight anything that threatens to take that smile away from you".

"Even if it's a big pile of books". A giggle escaped my lips, as I buried my head in the crook of his neck again, unable to control the butterflies in my stomach with the level of Charles's cuteness.

A few seconds wrapped in his warm embrace made a small yawn leave my lips as I felt my eyes feel heavy. Charles must have felt me grow boneless in his arms cause I felt his embrace tighten, holding me closer to his chest for dear life.

"Let's get you to bed mon armour". His soft breath hit my ear tickling me a little, making me giggle and pull away to look at him, a gentle smile already settled on his lips.

"Tonight you need to sleep well. Tomorrow morning we will start studying ok?" he said, gently rocking us from side to side, like it was the most natural thing to do.

"We?" I tilted my head in confusion, to which he nodded at me with a toothy grin. "We".

"It is you and me against the world remember?" he smiled knowingly, his fingers interwinding with mine, before he bought them to his lips and placed a soft kiss on our locked digits.

I couldn't help but feel a smile spread across my face at hearing that promise. A promise we made to each other when we became friends years ago.

When Charles got in to F1 and I got into medical school - when we felt like we had the whole world to face - we made a promise to face the world together as one. Against anything the world throws at us.

5 years later, and never a day has gone by when we haven't kept that promise, even when it seemed like the darkest of days, we always found a way to be each other's light, if not we would sit in the dark together.

"You and me" I placed a kiss on his cheek tinting them red and I couldn't help but smile myself as I lost myself in his beautiful smile and twinkling eyes gazing at me, sparkling brightly.

--

Next morning, I woke up to the smell of pancakes travelling all around my room. Tracing the source of the scent to my kitchen I walked in on Charles in a red T-shirt and black shorts, and a bandana already on his head, scribbling on a stack of papers in his own world.

"Morning mon armour" I couldn't help but giggle at how cute he looked, as I entered the kitchen startling him out of his focused mood with my sudden entrance. "You are up early".

"Ma cherie. You scared me" he said with a hand over his chest, already standing and walking over to me with open arms, engulfing me in his warm embrace. "Good morning".

"You were fast asleep and I didn't have the heart to wake you" he said, his arm still holding me close to his chest while the other tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear, "so I ran to the store and got your favourite maple syrup and made your favourite pancakes".

"So you can start your day with a smile" he sent a cheeky wink my way. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I tore my gaze away from his to hide my blushing face and my biting my bottom lip to keep myself from smiling too wide.

"You spoil me too much you know" I shoved his arm playfully, pulling away from the embrace, to control these feelings erupting in me looking into his eyes. It was a failed effort cause he caught my arm and only pulled me closer. "Ma bella, you deserve every bit of it".

My heart missed a few pulses from his words as I could feel his big, tender hands creep up on the sides of my face, his fingers brushing my cheeks with gentle strokes, tingles beginning to spread through my body.

"Sooo what is going on here?" I asked, knocking myself out of this trance, and averting my eyes to the mess on my counter top, which I started to notice was stacked with my notes, textbooks and a bundle of coloured pens and highlighters.

"I know you highlight all definite exam points in your notes with orange so I started making flash cards on them to quiz you" he said with the proudest smile on his face, holding up the colourful flash cards he seem to have spent the whole morning making.

"I also went and got you the medical supplies on the list you had written so you can practice" he said with a smile, pulling out the list from his pocket, that I wrote and pinned to the fridge weeks ago. "And I am all yours to practice your examinations and procedures on".

"Charles" I gasped, cupping my hands over my mouth, unable to grasp the shock of all his actions and words. All the effort he's gone through. I couldn't even begin to embrace it.

"You did all this for me...I don't know how to... I have no words..." I babbled, my mind unable to comprehend his kind thoughts to help me, and little did I know this was just the least of how he was going to stick with me through this.

The next couple of days, Charles never left my side, he ran to the pharmacy to get me medical supplies I needed to practice with, every time I ran out or even forgot what I needed at times. He spent endless mornings and nights making me flash cards, and even reading my piles of notes and bulky textbooks with me for hours just so I won't get bored or frustrated with the pile of work. And he even spent hours listening to me explain to him what I studied cause he knows that helps me remember more.

No matter how many times I convinced him to go sleep and rest himself, never did he.

No matter how badly his eyes were on the verge of closing or how many yawns he tried to hide from me. "I wanna stay up with you" he mumbled groggily, "I don't want you to be alone".

With my face pressed against his, I noticed him talking with his eyes being closed in tiredness on one occasion last night. Smiling at him nuzzling himself onto me half asleep, growing boneless, I gently rolled us over so he could lay his head on my chest.

"Mon armour I am never alone when I am with you" I whispered softly, pressing a kiss on his forehead before picking up my book continuing to read laying down on the couch now with Charles laying on top of me with his arms lazily wrapped around but keeping me warm.

"I will always be here if you need me" I heard him murmur sleepily, nuzzling his head under my chin, "no matter how far in distance or time. I don't care if we are on different continents or if its five, fifty years in the future. You will always have me".

My heart missed a few beats at his words before he fell fast asleep.

This morning, I was sitting on my couch, my head buried in my thousand paged book while Charles was on the sitting on the floor at the coffee table in front of me writing more flash cards.

He was wearing his blue sweater with the black "Ferrari" print on the front along with his black shorts paired up with the bandana and a pair of glasses. His nose was scrunched up and lips pursed together tightly in sheer focus. His head would start bobbing along to a tune he would start humming at times, with a smile in my direction when I couldn't help but smile myself on hearing his soothing voice, but little did he know, it was just more than his gentle voice echoing in my ears that had me smiling about him.

Ever since I met Charles, my thoughts cannot move an inch without bumping into some piece of him.

And I cannot stop myself from constantly falling into him.

Charles is the one who waits back to tie my shoe for me. The one who shifts closer to me when I subconsciously move away while walking next to him cause I can never seem to walk in a straight line. The one who smiles widely as soon as I look at him. The one who seeks me out as soon as he gets good or bad news. The one who listens to me, hears me and understands me.

He is the one who answers the phone "Hey you". The one who knows when my voice is thick with worry or fear. The one who plays my favourite songs and sings with me in the car. The one who will huddle together under the umbrella with me and walk in the rain just cause he knows how I love to do that.

He is the one who recognises my handwriting. The one who says "Oh no we can't, you have class that day" when we are trying to make plans. He is the one who is there on my beck and call 24/7 and the one who says "Because I know you" when I ask "How did you know that?".

He is the one who knows my nervous habits. He is the one who knows how I will react. The one who gives me the intimacy of shared, comfortable silence.

He is the one who's warmth keeps me cosy on a cold day. He is the one who keeps the radio off when I fall asleep on a long car journey. The one who knows just how I like my tea.

He is the one who I share the intimacy of sharing one earbud with and tons of inside jokes. He is the one who I always want to try something new together with even when we have no idea what we are doing - the shared hesitancy.

He is the one who always tells me "Text me when you are home safe" no matter how short of a distance I travel to. He is the one who stays up to check if I reached home safe when I am getting too late, no matter the time difference.

He is the one who I feel comfortable falling asleep on or next to, no matter where we are. The one who I share my deepest and darkest secrets with cause I know he will keep them safe.

He is the one says "Shall we share it?" when we order food. The one who tells me "This made me think of you". The one who can sense my slightest shivers and gives me his jacket when I feel cold. He is the one who smiles at me first thing in the morning upon seeing my unfocused eyes and messy hair sprawled on the couch where we usually fall asleep together while cuddling and watching a movie.

He is the ending to all my days and the starting of all my dreams.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

That's all I want to say.

Charles's P.O.V

We spent the whole day in the living room, Y/N crouched up on the couch with her books and me sitting at the coffee table near the couch.

It was going really well, until all I could start thinking was lying in her arms again, cuddled up in her scent which was home to me and before I could control it a yawn I tried to swallow in escaped my lips and Y/N caught it immediately.

The next thing I knew was Y/N pulling me onto the couch and into her arms to sleep against my complaints.

The intimacy of being tired together is a feeling that cannot be explained. A head on a chest while falling asleep to the thump thump thump of your love's heart. There's nothing I want more than to drift off in the arms of the one I love.

I almost felt myself doze off the moment Y/N engulfed me in her warm embrace when the loud ring from my phone suddenly woke me up and startled Y/N.

Grumbling under my breath, I stretched my hand grabbing my phone from the coffee table and answering it. It was my trainer again. "I will be there next week" I said, probably for the hundredth time.

I've been postponing my training sessions for the upcoming GP cause I wanted to stay with Y/N every minute I could to help her as much as I can. I understand why my trainer is frustrated with me, but Y/N is my first priority to me.

"Charles what is going on?" she asked concern lacing her voice as soon as I ended the call. "Nothing to worry about mon armour" I said quickly, tossing my phone back on to the coffee table, "let's get back to work shall we?".

"Charles" she pressed, giving me a knowing look when she knew I was handling something on my own. Just as much as I knew her inside out, she did know every inch of me the same.

"It was my trainer" I mumbled quietly, not wanting to confess it all but at the same time I know Y/N can catch me when I am avoiding the truth so I tried to put it as lightly as possible. "I may have missed a few of my training sessions this week".

"I thought you were free during the first week of the two week break?" Y/N tilted her head in confusion, "I thought your training starts next week".

"Ummm" I chuckled nervously scratching my neck unable to answer her question in an instant which made her put the pieces together. "Oh my goodness!!" she gasped at my silence, eyes widening, "CHARLES MARC HERVE PERCEVEL LECLERC WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME YOU HAD TO TRAIN THIS WEEK???".

"C'mon get ready let's go" she said tossing her book aside, and trying to stand up in a hurry with my arms still wrapped around her while I had no intention of leaving my spot.

"Mon armour no no calm down" I chuckled, holding her hands in mine and sitting up next to her, pulling her along to sit with me so she won't run to get ready before I explained myself.

"Y/N" I smiled, "I told my trainer I wanted this week off to spend with you and help you study for your finals. You are my most important priority. I will catch up on my training next week"

"Charles if your trainer is asking you to come train now when he knows you are on break it must be important for the next GP in..." she halted for a moment before looking at me in pure horror.

"THE MONACO GRAND PRIX" she gasped a hand over her mouth, "how could I forget... you always start training 2 weeks prior for that..."

"I am so silly how could that slip my mind" she banged her fists against her knees in frustration, tears brimming in the corner of her eyes.

"I am so sorry Charles" she looked me this time with tears swelling in her beautiful orbs, breaking my heart at the sight of a single tear falling from those beautiful crystals which shows me the world. "I am always up to date on the races, this is the first time it slipped my mind--"

"Y/N" I captured her face between my hands and placed a long kiss to her forehead, knowing that calms her down. "Don't you ever apologise ma cherie. You keep up with everything in my life, you have all these years, without missing a single thing... please don't be upset over missing this one thing... you have done more for me than I can possibly count".

Smiling a little, she pulled away from my grasp and stood up, and then held out her hand for me to grab it with that smile of hers which lured me to her with no control of my own body.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused grabbing her small hand and standing up close to her. "We are going to the gym. And you are going to workout with your trainer like you are supposed to so you will be ready for your home race".

"Y/N--" I started to protest but she cut me off with the roll of my name from her lips. "Charles".

"I know you said you wanted to be with me while I study so I am coming with you" she smiled sweetly, "I will sit in a corner of the gym and study while you train".

"Y/N" I cooed at the thought of her heartfelt gesture, "but mon armour the gym is hot, humid and not to mention wreaks of sweat. You won't be comfortable studying there".

"Charles" my name rolled beautifully over those perfect lips again, my words unable to escape my own lips at the sound of that but her next words caught me at a complete loss for words.

"For you, I'd do anything Charles".

Dumbfounded, I gawked at her, our eyes caught in a craving stare before Y/N broke in to a small giggle, blush tinting her cheeks when she got too shy at me staring at her for too long.

Y/N dealt with me like this a lot. She knew I tend to daydream in front of her, but she never knew it was about her.

At times Y/N would catch me staring at her and smile and she always looks at me innocently and asks "What?" and I always reply "Nothing" but I wonder how she doesn't know yet that I am staring because her eyes are my favourite colour and her smile is my favourite smile and I am trying to keep my cool but I can't because I have been way too in love with her forever.

Y/N was the kind of girl who looks down when you stare at her for a little too long and turns away if you catch her looking. She's the girl whose hair gets a little knotted, and whose smile isn't always real. She's the girl who cries herself to sleep sometimes and cares a little too much about what you say.

She's the kind of girl who wishes for everyone what she wishes for herself. She's the kind of girl that prays you get the best. Her heart is full of love and she always cares for others before she cares for herself. She wants to see you smile even if inside she's crying. That's the kind of girl she is.

The same girl who laughs at all of your jokes - funny or not; the one who will love you with every inch of her. She's the girl who will watch the stars with you at night, and ask how your day was when you come home. She's the kind of girl who you'll find asleep with a book in her hand at 3 am or the kind who leaves your sweatshirts smelling sweeter than before.

The kind you want to love, the kind you want to be best friends with.

She is patient, she is kind, she doesn't realise her worth sometimes.

That's the kind of girl she is.

The kind I am in love with.

And a golden heart like that deserved to be chosen undoubtedly over and over again and treated nothing less than a queen.

And that is all I want to do for the rest of my life.

I want to show her what forever feels like.

Right now, it's been almost an hour of me working out in the gym with my trainer spotting me on the weights and getting a complaint or so every few minutes when I can't help myself but glance over to Y/N sitting across the room.

She was sitting cross legged on one of the benches with her back leant against the wall and her notes splattered along the bench and some piled up on her lap.

She was wearing her "I can't be bothered to get dolled up" outfit and I swear she took my breath away with how adorable she looked. She had a black pair of cargo pants and white t-shirt on with her white sneakers and my Monaco GP cap she grabbed from my suitcase on the way out of the house and just seeing her wearing my number made my heart miss a few pulses.

She had her cute reading glasses on, and her hair held up in a messy bun with a bandana around to to hold back a few strands of hair from falling onto her face.

Her face would scrunch up in confusion at times, and she would bite her lips in times of seriousness, all the while bobbing her head with her earphones on to the beat of the playlist I made for her to study.

In between sneaking glances at her, trying to avoid getting caught by my trainer, I would sometimes interlock my eyes with her looking at me too, and the she would show me her beautiful smile which made me loose my grip on my last pull up.

I can't help it.

Her smile manages to kiss my heart.

Timeskip

Monaco GP - Qualifying (Saturday)

When ever Y/N came to my races, it made it more special in a way I couldn't explain. Walking through the paddock to the garage with her hand in mine cause I know she gets nervous around crowds, seeing her sit in the garage with a Ferrari cap with my number on it, or having her whisper "Please be safe and come back to me" before I get into my car or seeing her run into my arms when I walk back to the paddock after the race, her beautiful smile spread across her face the moment she spots me.

It is not every race that Y/N gets to attend to due to her own busy schedule but she has put more effort than I can fathom in keeping up to date on everything about the races, listening to me whine and complain for hours about everything going on, and even trying to make it to every race whenever possible, regardless of how busy or exhausted she already was from her own life.

So whenever she did make it to a race, like this weekend, I wanted to make it more special than usual but so far things were taking a difficult turn here this weekend.

Qualifying was a disaster for the team this weekend. The car was no where up to being even close to the Red bull pace, along with a few reliability issues frustrating me beyond measure and being hit with a 3 place grid penalty was just another taste of bad luck this weekend held.

The moment the chequered flag was waved signifying the end of the Qualifying session, I stomped off to my driver's room right after getting out of my car. Pissed and saddened by the thoughts of not being able to make my country proud at my own home race. Shutting the door behind me, I banged my fists on to the bed in a mixture of frustrated emotions, unknowing of the door opening again and foot steps approaching me. "Charles?".

Taking a deep breath, I turned around to see Y/N standing next to me, her eyes flowing with worry and concern. My face softened at the sight of her and not wanting to scare her with my overwhelming emotions but Y/N knowing me too well, engulfed me in a tight hug before I could even get a word out and that was when I broke down in her arms sobbing out all my troubles.

"Everything is a mess". My sobs and my mouth pressed against her shoulder almost made my speech unclear, but she wouldn't mind anyway. Holding me close to her, she continued to run her small hands through my hair, calming me with every stroke while I cried out all of mishaps and frustrations to her.

We stood like that for a few minutes, just hugging. Her hands rubbing over my back soothed me completely, calming me down from my outburst. It was the best feeling to be in her arms, where I feel safe.

When I drew away from her, she gave me a small smile.

"I am such a mess Y/N" I whispered, while she wiped my tears ever so gently. "I am the one who is a lot to handle. I don't know how you put up with me" I almost started crying again as a feeling of absolute cold shot through me, making me shiver against her. Y/N stiffened.

Raising my head, I met with her watery, vibrant eyes falling on mine. "Charles, don't ever say that again mon armour".

"You are my mess" she carefully cupped my cheeks into her hand palms, as if I'd break any second and looked into my eyes with that intense look that squeezed the air out of my lungs, "and I can handle you all day".

"Ma cherie, I know you hit a rough patch today but that does not make you any less crazy talented than you are" she defended, making my heart swell, "and it definitely does not make it impossible for you to ace it tomorrow".

"No one deserves to be on that podium more than you mon armour so please don't give up. I'm right here with you no matter what happens" she whispered, and rested her head on top of mine. 

"I know how much this means to you. So let's try. Try. And try till we get it. No matter when. No matter how. Let's do this. Together" Y/N smiled softly with such pure eyes that it took me aback a little.

At that moment I felt the safest I had ever felt. There was something about the way she held me, about the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and kept me close to her heart.

No one else has been able to make me feel so strong and vulnerable while just as safe and as equally humble. No one could reassure me that although I may fail a thousand times more, someone might still be crazy enough to want to be with me just the same?

It is no one else but Y/N.

"You are my angel, Y/N" I whispered softly and my fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, making her even more beautiful than she already is. "With you, even when I lose, I'm winning". 

A smile that reached both her eyes was plastered on her face, looking peaceful and at ease with me. My own smile couldn't be held down and became visible as I pulled her closer to my body and brushed my hand through her hair.

Our eyes kept staring at each other, drowning in the colours of our irises, heartbeats changing until they were beating on the same rhythm. My heart fluttered in adoration.

"Charles, we have a meeting to work on the car and strategy for tomorrow" the loud voice with the banging on the door, startled both me and Y/N out of our trance. "Be there in 5".

Sighing loudly I stood up from the table still holding Y/N in my embrace. "Ready to go back out there?" she softly spoke and rubbed my back while she continued to hold me close. I hummed and smiled, loving this moment.

"Are you coming with me?" I pulled back and asked her softly, trailing the back of my fingers over her cheek to caress while keeping my eyes on hers.

"Always" she pressed a kiss on my nose and then nuzzled it with her own, making me grin, "it is you and me against the world remember?".

"Always ma cherie" I promised, feeling my heart pound louder for her. 

Monaco GP - Race day (Sunday)

Starting in P6 wasn't the best way to start the race on a track with limited overtaking space but I was determined to give it my all, to change my luck around, to lift this said Monaco curse.

Last night, I worked out the flaws in the car that was troubling me with the mechanics and the all outcomes of every strategy possible with the team. Every single member of our team spent the entire night back at the garage.

Including Y/N, who refused to go back home, regardless of my protests for her to go home and rest, knowing this will take us the entire night but she did not budge.

"Charles. I am staying here with you. End of story", she said already grabbing a chair and settling herself with her book in the garage, earning a few chuckles from the crew at me loosing an argument which I didn't think I was going to win anyways but I had to try.

Y/N had her finals coming up in 3 days from today and I knew she was stressed and was struggling to study here in the garage the last couple of days no matter how much she hid it from me but no matter how much I suggested for her to focus on her and not to worry about me, she refused.

Knowing I cannot convince her otherwise, I tried to make her as comfortable as I could here, and so did everyone else in the garage. They all loved having her around. "Charles's angel" was the term moving through the garage, probably started by Carlos, who spends every minute he is on a break with her, the two of them sharing embarrassing stories about me and as embarrassing as all the stories were, hearing her voice and laughter echo through the garage brightened up every dull moment.

"You got a keeper" Andreas laughed as I walked towards the car, after hugging Y/N in the garage before the race, her words of motivation imprinted in my head and my confidence burning bright.

We were ready for today.

I was ready.

The next thing I knew I was passing the chequered flag and the words "And Charles Leclerc wins the MonacoGrand Prix" was being chanted in my head like a prayer I've been dying to hear.

The garage erupted. The crowds erupted.

It was my first win of the season.

And it was my home grand prix.

This couldn't feel anymore special to me.

Getting out of the car, I ran over to the my crew engulfing many of them I could, thanking and praising them for everything they have done, my words getting drowned in them doing the same to me.

I couldn't have felt happier at this moment until I saw Y/N and my brother, Arthur, in the crowd waiting for me to reach them, which I immediately did, hugging them both as tightly as I could.

"I knew you could do it" I heard Y/N whisper in the midst of all the commotion, before a few tears started trickling down her cheek as I pulled back, which I wiped gently with my racing gloves not to hurt her with the rough material.

"I am so proud of you" Y/N says with a blissful sigh making me wrap my arms around her again and pulling her closer until there was no space left between our bodies.

"Charles you have to go. They are waiting" Y/N pulled back and giggled gesturing to the crew and media waiting for me to return to the post-race tactics, which snapped me out of my bubble and made me my cheeks burn under my helmet.

"Go stand on that podium mon armour" she grinned, her eyes sparkling brightly, showing me her happiness, "I will be right here cheering for you".

I was bouncing on my toes unable to keep the butterflies in about walking into the podium, as I watched George make his way to the podium and take third while Max took second. And then it was me.

I strolled out with the biggest smile on his face to see the proud and happy faces of all the fans, my team, my family and more than ever, my angel, Y/N.

As I lifted the trophy up into the air, the cheers erupted again, louder than ever. My own cheers and happiness couldn't be held down, as my eyes scoured the sea of red and landed on Y/N, clapping and cheering among them, which was the most adorable thing I've seen in my life.

The moment our eyes met, she gave me one of those smiles.

A smile that I fell for years ago.

And I still do. I still fall for her every single day.

That smile of hers has something to do with the rest of my life.

3 days later - Y/N's exam day

Right after the race I came back home with Y/N, regardless of her protests for me to stay for the post race celebrations. A series of passing words back and forth took place to make her understand that she is my first priority over anyone. I then came home back home with her to continue to help her prepare for her finals and the big day has now finally arrived.

Ever since she opened her eyes today morning, I haven’t left her side or let go of her hand. Cause I know every inch of how nervous Y/N is right now, and how she has been for the past few weeks.

If only I could make her believe in herself like I do in her. All the sleepless nights and hard work she has poured into her entire medical school life is beyond what I can ever imagine doing and I couldn't be more incredibly proud of her journey and the amazing doctor I know she will be. 

After walking her to the exam hall, I parked the car outside the building and stayed around the area cause I didn't want to leave her and go back home. I wanted to be here in case she needed something and I wanted to be here the moment she walks out that door to tell her how proud I am of her.

Almost 3 hours in towards the end of the exam I walked down the street to a flower shop to pick my order of Y/N’s favourite flowers - orange lilies - I wanted to surprise her with.

Little will she know I have a bigger surprise planned for her tonight.

Bouncing on my heels while standing in front of the exam hall with the bouquet of flowers in my hand I couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubble in me waiting for Y/N to walk out that door finally having completed 5 years of insane hard work. 

I waited patiently for Y/N to walk out that door and into my arms, readying myself either to jump with excitement with her over finishing her finals or either to comfort her if it was a difficult exam.

Nervous myself now, I started to pace up and down the entrance when a storm of students started coming out of the door. I moved to the side and looked for my favourite person and I spotted her the instant she walked out the door with her bag hung over her shoulders as usual. 

"Mon armour" I smiled walking towards her and handed her the flowers to which she instantly wrapped her arms around me as we stood there for a few moments just swaying from side to side.

"You are finally done Y/N" I smiled into the crook of her neck, "I am so incredibly proud of you".

I felt her lips curl into a smile against my skin before she pulled away a little to look at me. "Thank you" she pecked my cheek and my heart nearly exploded, "for everything Charles".

Her words consumed my thoughts and engulfed my heart in a hug. 

"You have nothing to thank me for Dr. Y/N". Her eyes, which had one of the most beautiful mixture of colours I had ever seen in my life, rolled playfully as we walked down the stairs to the car.

"The guys asked me to convey their congrats to you" I smiled before chuckling about what I was about to say next. "And a special message from Carlos, Pierre and Lando about being extra careless now that they have their very own doctor". 

"Oh goodness" she giggled, shaking her head. "I guess I know who'd be my first patients".

"Sounds like a handful already" I laughed. "Well that is the least of what I have ahead" she smiled tiredly, and I immediately pulled her to my chest and kissed her forehead. "And you are going to be amazing no matter what you do".

"And I am going to be here with you with every step you take ma cherie. You are not alone ok?Every single step". When I said this to her, I made sure to look deep into her eyes to make sure she understood every word I spoke.

With bright red cheeks this time, she nodded. "Let's get you home and tucked in for a good nap now." I said, helping her inside the car and fastening her seatbelt. 

"Cuddles?" she mumbled with her eyes half closed already and I felt my heart melt at the sight of her adorableness. "Always mon armour" I said before placing a quick peck on her cheeks and getting into the car myself.

Reaching home, I helped a very drowsy Y/N to the bathroom for a shower where I already had her favourite bath products lined up for her to relax with. Meanwhile, I changed into more homely clothes myself and waited on the bed for Y/N.

Walking out of the bathroom in her cute little pyjamas I couldn't help but feel a smile break free on my face at the sight.

When Y/N noticed me staring at her from the bed, her cheeks began to burn, leaving them to glow making her look even more gorgeous than she already looked to me. 

Feeling the blush creep into my own cheeks I felt my smile grow wider as she climbed onto the bed and shuffled closer to me.

Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her closer until there was no space left between our bodies as we laid down on the bed. Y/N melted into me, completely at ease.

With my face pressed against hers, I noticed her eyes being closed in tiredness. While holding her protectively against my chest, I switched off the light and pressed my lips against her forehead to rest them there for the rest of the time. 

Time skip of few hours 

I almost overslept through the time I allocated for planning the surprise for Y/N before she woke up from her nap.

Trying to stay calm after startling myself at the time I saw on the clock when I opened my eyes, I shuffled on the bed as lightly as possible to lay Y/N down back on the bed from where she was currently fast asleep which was on me. 

Her peaceful sleeping state with her cute baby bear snores was making it a very difficult task for me to want to leave the bed right now. It was a sight I wanted to wake up to for the rest of my life. 

Breaking my thoughts away from being trapped in this trance, I managed to move off the bed without waking up Y/N as I made my way as quietly as possible to the kitchen where my prep work was to begin.

It took about 2 hours to finish my preparations for tonight before I hopped into the shower to freshen up myself and get into some clean comfy clothes before Y/N woke up. 

Walking into the living room while putting on my hoodie I did a last minute check on the dinner laid out on the coffee table, the roses sitting pretty in vase in the middle and the candles lit up in every space around the room illuminating the whole place up just as I hoped Y/N's face would glow when she sees everything.

I fluffed the pillows one more time and adjusted the blanket on the couch when I heard shuffling of feet enter the living room.

"Charles?" I heard her sweet voice echo as I turned around to be greeted by Y/N leaning against the doorpost rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Hello mon armour" I smiled walking towards her and gently grabbing her small hands in mine. 

Kissing her knuckles, I smiled at the confused look on her face and her sleepy eyes wandering around the room to figure out what was happening. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her beautiful pair of eyes appear again to take in the room's changes. When she noticed the candles, they began to shine and sparkle.

"Charles, what is going on?" she giggled shyly, before burying her face in my chest to hide her tinted cheeks that I had already noticed. "This is the surprise ma cherie". 

Y/N pulled her face from my chest and looked at me with sparkling eyes, which seemed wide awake out of a sudden. Her irises shined so bright, so bright they almost blinded me. 

We both didn't say anything, but her eyes told me more than enough. And as soon as a smile spread all over her face, I knew enough. "Shall we sit?".

"I hope you like what I have planned for tonight" I said a bit nervously, guiding her to the couch and then seating myself close to her and wrapping the blanket around the both of us. 

Y/N instantly leaned towards me and placed her head on my chest like she always did when we cuddled on the couch and I wrapped my arms around holding her close to me as I could as I always did.

"Charles this is all so beautiful". Y/N looked like an angel sitting there, with this faint smile on her face as she looked up at me with her beautiful pair of eyes. "I love it". 

"I smell pasta" Y/N giggled adorably and grabbed a piece of my hair between two of her delicate fingers to play with it, "Is that--?".

"Carlos's recipe yes" I chuckled, "I finally made it. Well it was preceded by a 2 hour video call with Carlos teaching me to not burn it with many curse words in Spanish thrown my way in the process".  

"Mon armour" Y/N let out a laugh before cupping my face in her hands and placing a kiss on my forehead, "thank you for going through that just to feed me".

I nuzzled our noses together in response making her giggle. 

"So what are we watching?" Y/N asked as I handed over one of the plates to her before grabbing the TV remote and turning on the movie I had picked out tonight. The moment Y/N saw what it was she turned to me with a little squeal which made my heart swell in adoration. "The Little Mermaid film". 

"I know were dying to watch this but you didn't have the time so I thought we could watch it together tonight".  A full blown smile appeared on her face and I felt the same reflect in mine. "Ready?'.

Throughout half the movie we both ended up eating or more towards feeding each other the pasta with lots of smiles and giggles, which cheered me up, honestly. Y/N is always so happy when I am with her, and vice versa. The gesture just makes my heart warm and makes butterflies tickle the walls of my stomach.

Placing the empty plates on the table and cuddling back on the couch for the rest of the movie, Y/N stirred in my arms, and pressed herself tighter against me, nuzzling her face just underneath my chin. Smiling to the cuteness, I caressed her back.

Y/N had always been someone I couldn't stay away from; an hour is all it takes for me to miss her. And to have her into my arms right now, breathing slowly and maybe half asleep made me feel so happy and so goddamn lucky. Softly, my lips left a kiss on her forehead.

Enjoying being in our own bubble together, we continued to watch the movie in silence when Y/N's favourite scene came up next and I could already feel her lips curve into a smile on my chest. It was the scene with the song "Kiss the girl" which is a song Y/N had always found to be romantic for a fairytale moment she had always dreamt of having one day.

For some reason, the moment the song started playing, did I feel too shy to even look at her. 

I was so in awe of Y/N, I just couldn't make myself to look at her.

My heart was so completely filled by her that I no longer believe I can call it mine.

And the lyrics of the song were suddenly starting to capture my thoughts.

Yes, you want her.

Look at her, you know you do.

Possible she wants you too

There is one way to ask her

It don't take a word

Not a single word 

Go  on and kiss the girl 

Y/N must have felt my heart beat start to go crazy cause she gently lifted her head to look at me with a worried expression.  "Charles, are you ok?" she smiled, finally triggering to look into her beautiful pair of eyes. 

Once I looked at her and could feel the happiness blooming inside me, as if her eyes were the calm, beautiful morning after a night full of storm.

Y/N had never looked so beautiful to me. I felt light in my head, as if I was drunk. ''Yes'' I whispered, feeling my cheeks burning.

Feeling love fill me completely, I moved myself closer to her and stared into her eyes, taking in every little thing about her. 

Our eyes locked and I couldn't help but to bite my lip to the sight of hers, not being able to resist them.

Y/N continued to look at me in complete silence, as if we were talking with our eyes while our mouths were shut tight. I moved a little closer again.

When Y/N looked down while blushing, I couldn't hold myself anymore, I moved myself as close to her as I could and lifted up her head by lifting her chin up with two fingers.

When she looked back into my eyes, I pressed my lips gently on hers to kiss her, and let my own eyelids flutter closed. And as soon as I felt her lips against my own, I knew that those will be the last ones I'd ever kiss.

Kissing her felt like I was dreaming. It all felt so surreal - too good to be true. A lovesick feeling washed over me, numbing my senses and fluttering hard in my stomach. Warmth spread over my body, consuming me.

After a few minutes, slowly and very softly did I part from her, letting our lips disconnect.

Our eyes kept staring at each other, drowning in the colours of our irises, heartbeats changing until they were beating on the same rhythm. It felt like I couldn't breathe.

We sat like that for about 30 seconds, just staring at each other like we saw water burning in front of us. My thoughts were blank, clouded and unclear, as if the feeling of love fogged up my senses.

"I love you Y/N" I blurted and felt my cheeks go red in embarrassment. It shot out of my mouth before I could stop it. I looked down, feeling extremely venerable and embarrassed. 

It was stupid of me to think that she thought the same way about me, let alone feel like I did.

This screw-up destroyed our whole night of hanging out together and it probably destroyed even more. I destroyed our whole friendship, all because I couldn't control my feelings.

"I love you too Charles" Y/N suddenly whispered against my lips, causing my heart to do flips and jumps. With tears burning in my eyes I rotated, meeting her eyes again. "You do?".

"Yes I do. I always have" Y/N smiled softly with such pure eyes that it took me aback a little. 

"Oh mon armour" I cooed in delight to the touch of her soft lips against mine, kissing me so carefully. 

When our lips were locked, moving gently, I could feel my head spinning, my emotions encircling me like a tornado.

Her heartbeat was audible when I kissed her, causing my cheeks to glow even brighter. 

"I love you so much, Y/N" I whispered, and leaned my head on top of hers, resting and letting our accelerated heartbeats slow down to a normal pace. "No matter what happens to us from now until the end I want you to know that I am certain of you and you can be certain of that".

"It has always been you. It will always be you and only you" I told her truthfully. My fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, making her even more beautiful than she already is. 

Her eyes sparkled brightly, showing me her happiness what made her look even more pure and angelic than she normally looked to me. "Ma cherie, you are my forever".

Smiling, I trailed the back of my fingers over her cheek to caress while keeping my eyes on hers. "I can feel your heartbeat so loud" Y/N murmured softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Cause I am looking at you and my heart loves the view" I murmured, while caressing her head gently with the palm of my hand, "cause you mean everything to me".

Now blushing herself, Y/N placed her head back on my chest and pressed a kiss right on the place where my heart is located. "You are my end and my beginning Charles".

A wave of warmth consumed me.

Feeling my heart pound louder, I smiled and gently moved us so she could be comfortable as possible only to feel her falling back into my arms and asleep again. My fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear before she placed her head back against my chest.

Having her in my arms. Y/N was my lullaby.

She made me who I am and holding her in my arms was more natural to me than my own heart beat. 

Pictures of our future together slowly entered my mind causing my happiness to grow even more, as I felt myself drift off to sleep too.

I see it.

I see us getting married, moving in together, cuddling on the couch, waking up to good morning kisses, having arguments, making up after, cooking our favourite food, smiling for no reason, annoying each other when we're bored, having the cutest little babies, watching them grow up, never leaving each other's side.

I see us together.

Forever. 

[alwaysaglader]

Let’s face love together

Warnings: Mentions of abuse by past relationship.

Y/N's P.O.V

Flashback

I remembered being felt pushed back roughly, hands forcing to keep me in place on a hard surface, a strong hold aggressively gripping my skin as I tried to squirm free. "It hurts. Please stop" I begged, as I felt the pain branch through every nerve on my body, with every attempt he made to rage all of his tension out on me in the form of physical abuse.

I ran my hands over my scars on my thighs, a sick feeling washing over me, as I felt a tight nail-digging grip on my legs, pulling me to his dark abysmal grip again . "Please stop" my own voice rang through my ears, as I cried, screaming in silence to be free of the physical torment he was putting me through at every waking breath, "please stop it hurts".

--

I curled up to a ball at the end of my bed, tears streaming down my face, my heart shattering into pieces I know I will never be able to put together again.

His voice. His tone. His cold words, ringing through my ears like a broken record on repeat.

"Are you going to leave me for her?" I asked, tears streaming down my face, unable to hold myself together in front of his eyes that were filled with no signs of love towards me.

"It just makes me really uncomfortable when I see you with her all the time" I said, my voice barely able to string the words together under his mean stare, "you have barely ever spent any time with me...I just feel like something is going on..."

"You will just have to get over with your silly insecurities" he spatted coldly, barely glancing at my direction, "I don't want to carry the burden of your worries ruining my day".

---

I walked through the WCKD halls reaching the empty room marked 113 to drop some books given by one of the scientists, only to open the door and be horrified by the sight which will haunt me for the rest of my life.

His hands were on her, their lips connected, as they stood kissing in their own world.

I gasped at the sight, which bought their devilish attention to me, his eyes widening at the sight. "Y/N...".

I dropped the books running back to my room as fast as I could, tripping over my own feet in a hurry to escape the horror I just witnessed.

--

I sat shrivelled in a ball at the edge of my bed, tears gushing down my cheeks, my stomach twisted and churned into a knot, when I heard footsteps walk into my room and he stood there in front of me with an emotionless look.

"So I am not the one for you anymore?" I asked after a period of tensed silence, feeling my heart break into a million pieces at my own words leaving my lips.

"No. She is" he replied rather quickly, "with her it is different. We fit together perfectly".

"After everything we have been through..." my voice trailed off, as I felt my heart shatter more.

"Y/N, to be honest, this relationship with you has been nothing" he replied coldly, "it was just so useless and boring with you. You are so clingy. I don't even like to kiss you".

"She is perfect" he stated, which is all I heard since he met her - how perfect she was. His eyes twinkled with joy, with the biggest smile plastered on his face as he said those words about her. "I love her".

"I never loved you and I will never love you" were his last words that echoed in my head as he stomped out of the room which was the last I saw of him.

---

I choked on my tears and gasped for air, partly waking up only to find myself alone in my bed, sweating with fear out of every pore on my body.

The memory of the pain pierced through my body as I relived the terror of being abused till I was physically bruised and throwing up.

His touch still burned my skin, as if haunted by a ghost, terrorising every breath I take. "Y/N?" another voice rang through my ears, pulling me further from my nightmares, just enough to wake me up fully from the horrors of my past memories

My past memories - Of being abused, cheated and left by my ex-boyfriend.

The only bloody memories I remember before being sent to the maze.

"Was it him again?" the voice asked knowingly, as I tiredly opened my eyes adjusting to the reality that I wasn't drowning in his toxicity anymore. I nodded sitting up only to see the only person I wished I could see in my dreams - Newt.

"Newt I'm sorry I woke you" I immediately said, knowing my struggles in my sleep would have woken him up in the next room. It happened almost every night, by every night he was still here by my bed side at the slightest whimper I made.

"It's ok love" he said, immediately moving to stroke my head, his big calloused hands calming me with every gentle stroke. "You are safe. I'm here with you".

Newt's P.O.V

Humming, I gently stroked her head,  but she was barely responsive, blankly staring at me as my words reached her heart not making an impact. Cause she's heard these words so many times before, but without it carrying any weight of it's meaning.

Empty words repeatedly spoken to her heart which has made her numb to the truth of it.

Slowly, I got a bit closer, as I watched her big beautiful orbs follow my change of position, as I slowly sat close to her on the edge of the bed, not to scare her of any immediate physical contact due to the degree of pain that has been physically imprinted on her skin.

"Darling can I give you a hug? I promise I won't hurt you" I said softly, opening my arms, so she could slowly crawl into them in her own time, to which she did after looking at me for a few moments. "You are safe love" I said, cradling her gently in my arms, as my fingers gently encircled her scars to sooth the pain I know is intrigued every time she re-lives the moments of every stroke of abuse of how she got them.

Y/N cried for so long I thought her sounds of pain would kill me.

If only I could, I would absorb her pain and return it to her as love.

Only when the exhaustion overcame the tears did she finally go still, collapsing fully and completely into my arms. I've been holding her against my chest for an hour at least.

Every once in a while, it feels like a dream. Her face is pressed against my neck. She's clinging to me like she might never let go and it does something to me, something heady, to know that she could possibly want me - or need me - like this. It makes me want to protect her even if she doesn't need protecting. It makes me want to carry her away and lose track of time in our own little bubble.

Gently, I continue to stroke her hair and pressed my lips to her forehead.

She stirred, but only slightly. "Sun is coming up" Y/N yawned,  an arm reaching out to turn off her alarm clock about to wreck havoc, "we have to get ready Newt. The Runners must be waiting".

"Love, I can talk to Alby and get you today off" I started to say, to which she gave me a small tired smile accompanied by the 'no need' shake of her head as she untangled herself from my arms and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. "Then let me run with you today" I pleaded.

I watched her eyes water as she curled up to a ball at the corner of the bed again, hugging a pillow close to her chest. She looked at her wrists and thighs, which had some scars on them.

"It's alright Newt" she spoke softly continuing to look down, "you already spend so much time with me... I don't want you to get fed up of me".

"Y/N... I could never. I want you all the time love" I said immediately, almost starting to cry as a feeling of absolute cold shot through me, making me shiver at her words. Her heartfelt plea made my heart ache.

"Love, why would you say that?" I asked, tears brimming my eyes now at the thought of Y/N having such a thought in her mind, when all I want to do is spend every waking moment with her.

Y/N had always been someone I couldn't stay away from; a few mere seconds is all it takes for me to miss her.

I could sit in the silence with her for the rest of our lives and it would mean more than a thousand words with anyone else.

"He said I was too clingy of a person" Y/N's small voice then sounded, almost inaudible, but I still sensed her words.

I am always homesick for Y/N and to have her here, thinking in any other way broke my heart even more.

"Y/N, I wish I could carry you around in the pockets of my hoodie so I can spend every breath I take with you" I let out a sniffle I couldn't hold back, feeling my tears burn brightly in my eyes.

When she raised her head to look at me, she opened her arms to invite me for a cuddle, causing the tears to run down my cheeks.

"You are not too clingy Y/N. Even if you were, hell I would love it even more. Trust me". My sobs and my mouth pressed against her shoulder almost made my speech unclear, but she wouldn't mind anyway, "I want you with me all the time".

"Cling to me. I promise I will never let go" I whispered and pressed a kiss on her nose and then nuzzled it with my own, making her grin. "Good that?".

Minho's P.O.V

"Y/N?" I repeated for the third time nugging her shoulder making her finally look at me dazed out of reality. That look immediately stopped me on my tracks, stopping her too, knowing all too well that Y/N was battling the demons in her mind on her own again. Mapping the maze can wait a while.

"I'm fine" she immediately shrugged me off, knowing I was going to ask but that did not stop me from pursuing to find out what she is really running from.

"Y/N, you are clearly not" I said, crossing my hands over my chest. I saw a shadow fall on her face as she took a few steps and leaned on to the wall to catch her breath in between a few sniffles she was trying to hold back. "More memories?" I asked knowingly, to which she nodded.

"I've lost hope Minho" she mumbled with a broken voice and looked at me with blood red eyes, it took all of me not to punch my way out of this hell hole to get to that guy and break his neck for everything he's done to Y/N. But for now, all I could do was wrap my arms around her and be there for her when she needed it the most.  

"I've lost hope in the world. I've lost hope in love. Shuck, I'm too broken to even be loved" she mumbled and a tear trickled over her cheek, down to her jawline. I frowned, and wiped her tear away before I moved to wrap my arms around her small frame holding and protecting her as close as I could.

"That's not true" I said, feeling her bury herself deeper into my arms and hide her face, squeezing me a little. "Do you believe in it?" She then asked, pulling back a little.

"Y/N, there is only one reason as to why I believe in this shucking thing called love..." I started to say, choosing my words carefully as not to startle her, "...and that is because I've seen the way you and Newt love each other".

Her eyes immediately widened like the opening of the Maze doors. "Minho, don't be bloody ridiculous".

"N-N-N-Newt does not love me. I-I-I can't be loved. Look at me. I'm broken and messed up" she said, voice trembling a little from all the emotions. "That's perfect. So is Newt" I chuckled lightly. Lifting her chin I bought her gaze back to my eyes, "and to be honest Y/N so are all of us shanks, that's what makes us one big shucking family here".

Y/N continued to look at me in complete silence, as if we were talking with our eyes while our mouths were shut tight. I moved a little closer and pulled her to the floor for a seat next to me, leaning against the ivy covered walls to tell her a few lovesick Newt stories .

"Have you noticed that Newt never finished a cup of coffee or a cup of tea that you didn't make for him?" I asked, to which she shook her head lightly. "I asked about it once and his response was 'it just tastes better when she make it'. Always make me smile seeing an empty cup now".

"You know how Newt comes to cuddle with you sometimes, usually after you sleep" I continued, noticing a twinkle of happiness spark in her eyes again, a sight I haven't seen in so long. "He said he'd settle in bed and then you do what he calls the 'reach', where you start swatting around to find him and once a body part is located you attempt to crawl into his skin, all the while asleep. Most nights, he just lays there and smiles holding you in his arms".

"You know sometimes when you guys run the maze together you get separated and when you find each other again, he always says you smile when you see him" I said excited myself now, to tell her everything I've been dying to, for so long, "sometimes that shank wonders off just so you can bump into each other and he gets to see that smile".

"When you guys are holding hands, he says you have a squeezing contest almost every time and it makes him never want to let go. One time Thomas had to pull him off" I laughed. "The first time you hugged him when you woke up from a nightmare, he damn nearly cried knowing that you feel safe with him".

"Sometimes when you guys sit down at the kitchen or at the bonfire, he says you scoot close to him as possible, giving the biggest, cutest and sweetest smile he has ever seen in a person, and then you will lay your head on his shoulder for a minute" I said, mimicking the action making her let out a small giggle. "He will then hold your hand or put his arm around you. Its a small act but the fact that you want to be close to him means the world to him and it's one of his favourite things he thinks about very often".

Y/N smiled this time with slightly reddened cheeks and her eyes began to sparkle. Maybe I had finally broken through the wall that held this space.

"Y/N, the person who does something that inconveniences them, but does it anyway because it is important to you. The person that is always there for you at the end of the day. The person that can't wait to talk to you and listens to every word you say. The person who no matter the mistakes and choices you've made, still wants to be with you..." I explained, placing my hand over hers, making sure every word I spoke reached every inch of her heart and mind.

"The person who wipes away your tears and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The person who would throw everything away, who is there at your beck and call, the person who knows you and knows that you want without asking - that is the person. That's the person that loves you more than life itself. And that person for you is Newt" I panted, completely out of breath.

For months I've been watching Y/N cope with anxiety and depression, which she started suffering from since the nightmares about some traumatic things that happened in her life, before the maze.

When Newt caught her having crying fits and began to keep everything to herself, including her words and mood swings, he noticed something was seriously wrong with her. One night, he pulled her in for a cuddle and stroked her hair, telling her things were going to be alright.

Newt never forced her into talking, he would just hold her close to hush her from her outburst, saying that whenever she wanted to talk to him he would be there to listen.

Then and only then did she confess about the nightmares haunting her at every moment of the day and showed her scars imprinted on her skin of her thighs and wrists from the intensity of the abuse that was tormented on her in her past.

On one occasion, Y/N herself hurt her lips till they were bruised and bleeding, cause of the horrid past things she's been told about her kisses, which to Newt were beyond heavenly. He would die in her kiss and she deserved no one less than that.

For the rest of the time, we were silent, processing our entire conversation when a sudden though popped in my head making me turn to Y/N with a huge smile plastered on my face.

"You didn't deny that you love Newt" I grinned, finally coming to the closest I've been to a confession out of her.  "Oh-I-I" she faltered, getting flustered with a deep blush filling her cheeks.

"Y/N the truth. It's me. We share all sorts of crap" I said and booped the tip of her nose, what made the smile she was trying to hide break free. "Promise me not to hide yourself when you are in pain, it's not fair that we laugh together but you cry alone".

Y/N nodded before a fully blown, toothy grin appeared on her face, letting her eyes shine. "I do love him Minho. I love Newt so much".

"But I'm scared to try again. People tend to get tired of me and leave" she said, "they don't know that I am tired too but I choose to stay".

"Y/N, sometimes an ending can be a blessing in disguise, because it forces you to walk away from someone you never would have let go of, and to seek the love, care and effort that you've always been worthy of and she-bean you deserve nothing but the best" I told her truthfully.

"Girl you are the whole package. Just was at the wrong address" I let out a small chuckle. "Don't be afraid to start over again Y/N. This time you are not starting from scratch, you are starting from experience".

"And hey if that shuck face ex ever shows his face here, I'll make sure he is the Griever's first meal of the day. In Thomas's words I'll feed him myself" I laughed out loud, what made Y/N giggle too. "Though there is a chance there that Thomas will get eaten first".

"I'm serious though" I smiled at her direction, "he is Griever muck when I find him. No body hurts my she-bean and walks away, you may not be my blood but you are my sister Y/N".

"Right back at you Min" she shoved me playfully, making happiness bloom inside me at the sight of her smiling, a twinkle in her eyes I haven't seen in a very long time.

"I'm just afraid of history repeating itself Minho" Y/N spoke up after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "There's a million girls out there somewhere---" she continued but that sentence was completed by someone else.

"But I only want you Y/N" the voice sounded, making me and Y/N both shuffle to our feet next to the figure standing close enough to hear us, that we did not hear nor see coming, and it was none other than our person of interest - Newt, all sweaty and flushed from running the Maze.

"N-n-newt how much did you hear?" Y/N gasped, baffled and shocked, and so was I. "Heard enough love" he smiled warmly, stepping closer to her, making them both blush more with every inch of a step he took towards her.

"Minho could you give us a moment?". And that was my cue to leave the two lovebirds alone.

Newt's P.O.V

"I only want you" I repeated. "I love you Y/N".

"I love the way your hair curls at the ends and the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh. I love the way you sneeze and the way you dribble the toothpaste down your chin when you brush your teeth" I said, making her chuckle, "I love your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh line and your birth marks".

"I know your favourite book, food, colour and pair of shoes". Moving closer to her, I first made eye contact with her and then smiled at her, what caused a grin to appear on her face, too.

"I know why you're awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you lost a good friend and why you picked up the knife and how you managed to put it down before things went too far" I whispered at her and cupped her face into my hands to pull her closer to me gently.

"I know about your love of cookies, your need to quote any book you know all the way through, your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy and mixed emotions".

"I know your favourite thing to order from Frypan, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles". Her eyes, which had one of the most beautiful mixture of colours I had ever seen in my life, rolled playfully.

"I know your mannerisms like how you fiddle with anything that you can get hold of when you are anxious, and I know your stroppy pout, facial expressions and your laugh because it is my favourite song" I smiled, feeling happiness exploding in my stomach with every word I said.

"I know how you feel without you telling me love, that you need a wee from a look on your face and that you're crying without shedding tears". Y/N continued to look at me in complete silence, as I moved a little closer again, intertwining our fingers together, which fit so perfectly.

"I know that you have already picked out your wedding flowers, baby names and the colour of your bedroom wall for when you get out of here, which is what I became a Runner, so I can get you out and give you all the happiness in the world and more".

Softly, my lips left a kiss on her forehead. "I know everything that is to know about you, top to bottom, inside out and I love every single thing about you".

When Y/N looked down while blushing, I couldn't hold myself anymore. I moved myself as close to her as I could and lifted up her head by lifting her chin up with two fingers. "And I want to spend the rest of my life learning more and more about you till every bit of you is imprinted on me".

"I love you so much Y/N and I want to make you the happiest you can be... even if it is not me you want to share it with, keeping you happy will always be my goal in life" I told her, looking down at our hands intertwined, tears starting to swell at the corner of my eyes.

"Newt, there is no one else I'd want to share my future with other than you" her angelic voice sounded as she smiled, finally triggering to look up into her beautiful pair of eyes. Y/N had never looked so beautiful to me. I felt light in my head, as if I was drunk on Moonshine.

"But I haven't been the same person that came in the Box, and I am so sorry you have to put up with that, Newt. I don't want to burden you with all my troubles, I can take care of myself" Y/N's bottom lip trembled as she tried to keep herself from crying.

I nodded and opened my arms for her so she could crawl into them. "I know you can. You have. You still do. You always will. I've just joined in too. Now we take care of each other".

"And don't apologise darling. Never apologise to me. I want to be that shoulder you need to cry on." I tapped it, "go on use me all you want. Soak it in tears. Wipe your nose if you want to”.

Without saying something, but just with some tears, did she crawl towards me and nuzzle herself deep into my chest, in for a comforting cuddle. ''Do you think I do not love you anymore?'' I then asked. "I'm not the same" she whispered, and hung her head low.

''Y/N, you may have changed because of the trauma you endured, but darling do you honestly think people stay the same? We all change. You change, I change. And right now you're just going through a really hard time" I couldn't help but to release some tears too.

It hurts me so much to see her like this, mentally tangled with herself. "But that's alright, love, it's okay. Light is easy to love darling. I want you to show me your darkness".

''And if you think I'm going to leave you, you're wrong. You may not be as happy as you were years ago, but you're still the beautiful, goofy girl I fell in love many years ago" I said, trying my best to make her understand that I don't mean any harm and that I have no intentions to make her even more traumatised in life.

She has been broken enough, I do not have the heart to shatter those broken pieces, too.

"Just because you're down every now and then doesn't mean I do not love you anymore, darling. If I had the chance to do everything over, I would have fallen in love with you again" I kissed her bandaged wrists like a mother that kisses her children's wounds away. I wanted her to feel better, both emotionally and physically. She has been struggling so much.

"You didn't have to do anything to make me fall for you Y/N. I didn't fall for you because of what you could or couldn't do for me. I fell for you simply because you were unapologetically yourself" I murmured gently, while she stirred in my arms, and pressed herself tighter against me, nuzzling her face just underneath my chin.

Smiling to the cuteness, I caressed her back. "I fell for your beautiful soul and big heart. I love you for everything that you are and everything that you're not. You are so perfectly flawed, but also perfectly you, and that is why I love you".

"You are a wonder Y/N. You are made of magic that only I can see, and I believe in that every single day, not just on certain days". That reassurance made her calm down. Y/N looked up at me, her eyes showing a twinkle of happiness.

"You.Are.Safe" I stated, enunciating every word with aching slowness, as I trailed the pad of my fingers along her chin, "I'm not going to ask you to get over your past. I am going to help you get through your past but I want you to know that what happened to you in your past, it won't follow you to the future. I won't let anything bad happen to you anymore".

"And if you just tell me where else I need to keep you safe I'll do that too" I murmured, while caressing her head gently with the palm of my hand. The caressing continued slowly.

"You're too handsome to cry, silly" Y/N smiled, while she wiped my tears that had started falling. The compliment made my cheeks burn, and I shyly looked down before looking back into her eyes which showed me the world. "I love you too Newt. You and only you".

"But I'm scared" a soft mumble rolled over those lips I craved to kiss.

"I know darling, I'm scared too but let's face love together cause I only want to feel it with you".  When I said this to her, I made sure to look deep into her eyes to make sure she understood every word I spoke.

For once there was no wall between us, keeping me from getting close to her. It finally broke down just for me, and I could finally get close to her. I'm now sure no-one will hurt her anymore, because I'll protect her broken soul, and will do everything to heal her the best I can.

"Only with you" she whispered, as I leaned my head on top of hers, resting and letting our accelerated heartbeats slow down to a normal pace. "For the rest of my life".

Wrapping my arms around her tighter, I pulled her closer until there was no space left between our bodies. "For your eyes only, I'll show you my heart" she let out a happy sigh against my chest, completely at ease. My heart missed a few pulses from her words.

After a few minutes we pulled back and just stared at each other while resting intertwined, letting our heartbeats match. "Can I kiss you darling?" I asked, feeling my heart pound louder for her.

"Yes you can but I didn't think you'd want to. My lips are so bruised" Y/N whispered. To cheer her up a little, I pressed a kiss on her nose and then nuzzled it with my own.

"Bloodied or bruised, I'd kiss every inch of you" I grinned to which she smiled softly with such pure eyes that it took me aback a little. "Because there is not one part of you that does not deserve love".

"Then why don't you?" Y/N murmured with brightly coloured cheeks, shifting her beautiful pair of eyes from mine to my lips and back, growing closer and closer. "The problem is" I said as I leaned in slowly, my lips slightly parting already, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop".

My heart started beating louder and harder, thumping in my chest, when she leaned in more, her lips dangerously close to mine and whispered "then don't".

I didn't need to hear her say that twice as I immediately cupped her face in my hands and leaned to the side and pressed our lips together right on the spot for the kiss I've been yearning for all along. And as soon as I felt her lips on mine, I knew that those will be the last ones I'd ever kiss.

After a few minutes of kissing silently and lovingly, we pulled back and rested our foreheads together, standing intertwined, letting our heartbeats match. We were entirely in our own little world as we stood there in what seemed like ever lasting hug.

"There's a vision I've been holding in my mind" I said just above a whisper, while she drew imaginary patterns on me, caressing my skin as we stood there - rocking from side to side.

"We're 65 and you ask 'when did I first know?' and I say 'I always knew' ".

Y/N pulled her face from my chest and looked at me with sparkling eyes, which seemed wide awake out of a sudden. Her irises shined so bright, so bright they almost blinded me. We both didn't say anything, but her eyes told me more than enough. And as soon as a smile spread all over her face, I knew enough.

Love is difficult because so many have it backwards. They look at look as to what love can give them. As long as their list of needs are met, they will love in return. But that's not the way love works. Love always looks for what it can give more than what it can get.

Every relationship will get 'boring' after you've been together for years. Love isn't just a feeling, it's a commitment to love every day, physically and emotionally. It's difficult, it's not always laughs, smiles and fun. People tend to quit when it stops being fun, and they go look for someone else, because 'the spark is gone'.

No, that's not how it works. You want somebody to never give up on you, and love you unconditionally then do the same. Be the change. Love someone when you don't want to, when they aren't the easiest to deal with. When they're hard to love. That's the realest version of love there is.

For me, I'd choose Y/N undoubtedly over and over again, every single day.

I am not afraid of her scars. I know sometimes it's still hard for her to let me see her in all her cracked perfection, but I want her to know that whether it's the days she burns more brilliant than the sun or the nights she collapse into my lap her body broken into a thousand questions, that she will always be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I will love her when she is a still day. I will love her when she is a hurricane.

Y/N's P.O.V

As I held him in my arms, listening to his rhythmic breathing, I couldn't help but to love him more than I have ever done. Because he's trying so hard to give me the best he can offer me. And owning his heart of gold that beats just for me, made me realise that here in his arms is where I shall grow old.

I finally found the person who makes me the happiest, never leaves me alone, comforts me on my darkest days, heals my inner child and helps me become a stronger version of myself.

It made me realise that I was never asking for too much. I was simply asking the wrong person.

Life changes. You lose love. You lose friends. You lose pieces of yourself that you never imagined would be gone. And then, without you even realising it, these pieces come back. New love enters. Better friends come along. And a stronger, wiser you is staring back in the mirror.

We may love the wrong person, cry for the wrong person, but one thing is for sure, mistakes will help us find the right person some day.

The road to true love is the same road that will first show you what true love is not.

So keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you.

Cause somebody is gonna catch your vibe one day and love you unconditionally.

[alwaysaglader]

You caramel drizzled my heart (Tyler Galpin X Reader)

Y/N's P.O.V

Pushing open the glass door of the all too familiar Weathervane cafe, I walked in past the "Closed" sign, looking around confused as to why Tyler wanted to meet me here, after hours.

Noticing my favourite person in the cafe was nowhere to be seen, I continued to walk up to my usual booth in the corner, only to be greeted with a beautiful bunch of sunflowers in a glass vase set on the middle of the table alongside a note that read "Will be right with you darling".

Smiling to myself, I sat down on the red cushion, admiringly running my fingers along the bright yellow petals of the flowers, that Tyler knows makes me smile the brightest.

Being dazed by the sunflowers for a moment too long, I did not notice the book placed next to the vase at an initial glance with yet another note in the first page. "Start reading darling. I know you don't like to be idle. I'll be right there".

Feeling myself smile even more, I leaned back into the cushion before starting to read, though my mind was running around in circles as to what my boyfriend was up to, knowing he has many tactics up his sleeve to make me smile and blush bright red, "like a beautiful rose", he would say.

After a few minutes of trying to focus on reading the words imprinted on the crispy white pages, I heard a familiar voice and with a glance I noticed my favourite mop of caramel coloured hair standing in front of me with this charming toothy grin.

"Happy Valentine's Day darling!!" he said cheerily, placing a big cup of hot chocolate in front of me with a caramel drizzled heart in the middle of the light brown coloured drink, which made me feel all fuzzy and warm at the sight.

"Tyler!!" I gasped, already feeling the blush creep up to my cheeks, before squeezing myself out of  the booth and to his arms, which immediately wrapped around me tightly, pulling me closer to his chest where I could hear the gentle beat of his heart. "Happy Valentine's Day Tyler".

In complete silence, we stood there for a few moments - rocking from side to side for a little bit, just hugging before I pulled back a little nuzzling our noses together and peeking a glance at the table.

"I love the heart you caramel drizzled on my hot chocolate" I whispered and pressed a loving kiss on his forehead, lifting a few of his caramel coloured curls away from his eyes, "you aced a perfect heart Tyler".

Slowly, he leaned in with a chuckle and cupped one side of my jaw, trailing his fingertips over over my skin. "A perfect heart is what you have darling".

"Someone is being extra sweet" I chuckled shyly at his words, catching his big orbs looking lovingly at me. His fluffy strands of hair was sticking up in the most adorable way.

"That is more of a messy drizzle of a heart" he said sounding a bit disappointed, "I've been practicing for weeks to make it perfect but this is as close as I could get...".

"I could have drizzled the caramel better" he pouted nuzzling into my neck. To cheer him up a little, I pressed a kiss on his nose and then nuzzled it with my own again, making him grin.

"Tyler Galpin, you caramel drizzled every inch of my heart since the day I met you" I smiled softly up at him, his eyes fluttering shut when I placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

When he drew away from me, he gave me a small smile with a little twinkle in his eyes, "Now who's being too sweet".  Grinning, I couldn't help but give him a playful shove, "I can't help it".

"You caramelised my heart Tyler" I told him, and felt him radiate heat again, cheeks glowing brightly as his piercing green eyes began to sparkle.

A lovesick feeling washed over me, numbing my senses and fluttering hard in my stomach as he leaned in towards me and pressed his soft lips against mine, kissing me so carefully.

Now grinning myself, I placed my head back on the place where his heart is to listen to the familiar beating, as I felt him bury himself deeper into my arms, where I'm now sure no-one will hurt him anymore, because I'll protect his broken soul, and will do everything to heal him the best I can.

Tyler's P.O.V

I found myself unable to stop smiling as I watched Y/N look back up at me with her sweet eyes  while I pulled out my laptop from my bag, as we sat back down on the booth, turning on a movie which made her squeal excitedly & bump her forehead against mine. Her eyes sparkled brightly, showing me her happiness. "Hot chocolate, sunflowers and high school musical 3! Tyler this is the most perfect date ever!".

"I thought I put you through enough by having you watch High school musical 1 and 2 with me" she smiled shyly, which made me puller her closer than possible, peppering her face with a million kisses, which made her giggle more, making my heart flutter with every sweet sound she made.

"Darling, I enjoyed every second I got to cuddle you through both the movies while you sang out every song... and this time we get to sing together" I smiled, watching her eyes light up like the beautiful crystals they are as I felt myself get lost in her eyes, so mesmerised, falling deeper and deeper to an infinite pool of love. "We?".

"I learnt the lyrics for every song in High school musical 3 so we can sing together" I confessed shyly as I watched her smile grow with every passing moment what got my heart missing a pulse or two. Y/N did something to me I couldn't define, but it felt like some kind of force, something that I couldn't fight against.

She smiled brightly with rosy cheeks, her expression softening as her eyes looked at me up and down. Her face up close was even more beautiful than when I looked at her from a small distance. Y/N dealt with me like this a lot. She knew I tend to daydream in front of her, but she never knew it was about her.

Only when she carefully cupped my cheeks into her palms, as if I'd break any second, did she pull me out of my daydream about her. "Tyler shall we start?".

"Yes yes" I pulled back with slightly reddened cheeks to which she quickly pressed a kiss on my lips, what made me smile, my heart fluttering at her adorableness. "Let's start".

Being cuddly, I slowly pressed myself against her and wrapped my arms around her body to hold her, listening to the change of her breathing pattern. She'd stir for a second and then relaxed while being held in my embrace as close as possible as I let out a happy sigh in return.

There was nothing more I loved than to hold Y/N.

It was the best feeling to be in her arms, where I feel safe.

Halfway into the movie, the song I've been waiting for started playing, as Y/N gave me a puzzled look when I stood up extending my hand to take hers. "Darling, can I have this dance?"

With bright red cheeks this time, she nodded, as I took hold of her small hands, giving each a little kiss and placing them around my neck. Then I placed my hands on to her waist and pulled her closer as we started to sway back and forth gently to the beat of the music. We shared a small kiss, and smiled, feeling happy.

After a few moments, I swiftly twirled her around to which a small giggle escaped her lips as I caught her in a hug, and felt her growing boneless in my arms, relaxing to the warmth of my body and the steady beating of my heart.

"You are my person Y/N" I blurted, and felt my cheeks go red in embarrassment when my emotions suddenly poured out of me, as if I finally opened myself up to her, this time all the way.

When I drew away from her, she gave me a small smile, shyly looking down. "I am?".

My hand closed in on hers, fingers sliding between the gasps of her digits. With our hands intertwined, she finally dared to look up at me with her beautiful pair of eyes that still showed me the world. "Yes, you are".

"You are my 'I messed up, what do I do now' person" I said, pressing kisses on her hair. "You are my 'wanna grab a coffee together?'person" I placed a big, sloppy kiss on both her rosy cheeks, making her giggle sweetly. My heart fluttered in adoration.

"You are my 'for you, a thousand times over' person" I cradled her baby-soft cheeks between my palms & pressed a long kiss to her forehead to which Y/N smiled softly with such pure eyes that it took me aback a little.

"You are my 'let's go watch the sunset' person" I continued slowly but with lots of smiles and giggles, which cheered me up, honestly. Y/N is always so happy when I kiss her, and vice versa. The gesture just makes my heart warm and makes butterflies tickle the walls of my stomach. "You are my 'I am hungry, Let's go get something' person".

"You are my 'I have something to tell you' person", my fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, making her even more beautiful than she already is, as I trailed the back of my fingers over her cheek to caress while keeping my eyes on hers, "you are my 'what would I do without you?' person".

"You are my 'I can only talk to you about this' person" I whispered, resting my head on top of hers as we stood, enjoying our own little bubble.

"You are my person Y/N" I held her hands and placed them on my chest where she could feel every beat of my heart. Every beat which is present because of her.

"I know I am not close to even deserving you Y/N" I said, my eyes filling with tears "but god, I want to. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you".

Neither one of us said anything to each other for a while, we just looked deeply into the other's eyes. Y/N had that look which made my heart beat in my throat. It was the kind of look that said more than words, more than gestures. It was something that just spoke to me.

"There will never be another" I vowed. When I said this to her, I made sure to look deep into her eyes to make sure she understood every word I spoke, "I promise that I will love you for the rest of my life".

Y/N and I continued to look at each other for a little bit longer before I let my own eyes flutter shut and then leaned my head a little to the right to properly kiss her.

"I love you Tyler" Y/N suddenly whispered against my lips, causing my heart to do flips and jumps. It took so long before she first said those three words to me. And she doesn't say them without a reason.

"You are my person too Tyler" Y/N whispered back at me, and looked at me with her eyes clouded with love, which took me aback a little because I had never seen these emotions so intense.

Grinning, I brushed my hand over her hair, as my arms held her close to my chest, as if I wanted to protect her from the outside world and everyone else. "I love you too Y/N".

"You will always be my forever" Y/N murmured and shyly looked down with slightly reddened cheeks before looking back into my eyes. Once I looked at her I could feel the happiness blooming inside me, as if her eyes were the calm, beautiful morning after a night full of storm.

"If not you, then no one else" I smiled wetly as I grabbed her face in my hands and pulled her closer to my own, just to press my lips on top of hers in need for her love. Y/N froze in shock for just a second before she caught up with me and kissed back.

When our lips were locked, moving gently, I could feel my head spinning, my emotions encircling me like a tornado.

Her heartbeat was audible when I kissed her, causing my cheeks to glow even brighter. We were always so excited to be alone and to show each other love.

After a few minutes we pulled back and just stared at each other while resting intertwined, letting our heartbeats match.

A smile that reached both her eyes was plastered on her face, looking peaceful and at ease with me. My own smile couldn't be held down and became visible as I pulled her closer to my body and brushed my hand through her hair.

Our eyes kept staring at each other, drowning in the colours of our irises, heartbeats changing until they were beating on the same rhythm. It felt like I couldn't breathe.

We stood like that for about 30 seconds, just staring at each other like we saw water burning in front of us. My thoughts were blank, clouded and unclear, as if the feeling of love fogged up my senses.

"My heart is perfect because you are in it" I heard Y/N whisper in that angelical kind of voice that got me swooning over her as she pressed a kiss right on the place where my heart is located. A wave of warmth consumed me. It was something only she could make me feel like; it was something indescribable but so incredibly good. I could only define it as love. Pure love.

At that moment I felt the safest I had ever felt. There was something about the way she kissed me, about the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and kept me close. There was something about her that silenced the demons in my head and made me feel normal, like a normal person.

My armour, that I wear to get through every day, fell off.

Every time I see her smile my heart forgets it was broken.

Each of us is a story waiting for a devoted reader who will take us off the shelf and embrace all our plot twists and I don't know anything about the future of my story but I find myself sitting with her on the beautiful side of hope.

[alwaysaglader]

i dont know if you're still taking reqs or if ur still writing but u are mad talented! i need more newt imagines, love. they're so good and i keep wanting more from you!! i hope you're still writing xx

Hi. Thank you so much for your compliments❤️. It means the world to me to hear back about my writing🙈. I do still write but I am finding it difficult to find the time to write like I used to cause I have to balance it with my workload so it will be a while before I post another story🥺 but i will🥰