#ellora.writes

The snow had started falling thick over the castle by the time the Yule Ball was announced, and with it came the storm of rumors, nerves, and excitement that rolled through Hogwarts like a charm gone wrong.

Y/N had tried to play it cool. She really had. Every time Fred Weasley grinned at her in the Great Hall or threw a wadded-up piece of parchment at her during study hall, she told herself to stop overthinking. He was Fred Weasley. Mischievous. Charming. A menace in human form. But then he’d hold her gaze just a little too long, or walk her back to her dorm after practice, or make her laugh so hard her ribs ached — and how was she not supposed to fall for him?

So when talk of the Yule Ball started up, she assumed… no, she hoped… that he’d ask. It just made sense.

Until it didn’t.

Because one cold evening, she overheard Lee Jordan telling George, “So you and Fred are both sorted for the Ball, yeah? Angelina and Alicia — nice work, mates!”

Her stomach had dropped.

Angelina Johnson.

It was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

That night, she didn’t go down to the common room. She didn’t answer when Fred knocked on the door of the girls’ dormitory, calling her name through the crack. She pretended she was asleep.

And when she saw him the next morning, laughing beside Angelina in the Great Hall — his hand brushing hers on the table — Y/N’s chest went cold.

~

The night of the Yule Ball, she looked breathtaking. Her dress was soft blue, trimmed with silver, and her hair was pinned in loose curls that glowed in the candlelight. Every eye seemed to follow her when she entered the Great Hall.

Except the one she wanted.

Fred saw her — Merlin, did he see her — but his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He wanted to go to her, to explain that Angelina wasn’t— that it wasn’t what she thought— but she hadn’t looked at him in days. Not once.

“Mate, you’re staring,” George muttered, elbowing him. “Your date’s right there.”

Fred tore his eyes away, guilt simmering hot and low in his stomach. He’d panicked. He’d thought Y/N might already have a date, so he’d asked Angelina quickly, just to save himself the embarrassment. Angelina, kind as ever, had said yes. And now here he was, dancing with one of his best friends while the girl he actually wanted was out there, dancing with some Ravenclaw bloke who looked far too smug for Fred’s liking.

By the end of the night, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He found her outside the Great Hall, standing alone under the floating lanterns, arms crossed against the cold. Her partner had gone to get her a drink.

“Y/N,” he started softly.

She stiffened. “You shouldn’t be here, Fred.”

“I just— I need to explain.”

“Oh, do you?” She turned, her eyes glossy but fierce. “Because I think it’s pretty clear. You flirted with me for months, made me think I was special, and then—” she laughed bitterly— “you showed up with Angelina Johnson.”

Fred winced. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he blurted out. “Merlin, I’ve wanted to ask you since Dumbledore first mentioned the Ball. But every time I tried, I choked. And then I heard someone say you might be going with that Ravenclaw git, and I-I panicked.”

She crossed her arms tighter. “So you just went and asked someone else instead?”

“I asked Angelina because she’s my friend. She knew I fancied you. She said yes because she didn’t want me to be alone like an idiot. Which, apparently, I still am.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was scared.”

Something in her expression softened, just slightly. “Scared of what?”

“Of you saying no.”

Her laugh was quiet and shaky. “You’re Fred Weasley. You jump off towers for fun, but you’re scared of me?”

He smiled, crooked and boyish. “You terrify me, actually.”

She looked down at the snow between them, biting her lip. “You really are an idiot.”

“I know,” he said instantly. “The biggest one in all of Hogwarts.”

She hesitated for a long moment, then sighed. “You owe Angelina an apology.”

“I already gave her one,” he said, stepping closer. “She told me to stop being a prat and go find you.”

Y/N blinked, fighting a smile. “She would.”

“Can I—” he took another step, voice gentler now— “can I make it up to you? Maybe not with a dance tonight, but… I dunno, a Hogsmeade date next weekend?”

Her lips twitched, pretending to think it over. “You’ll have to grovel first.”

Fred grinned. “Grovel? You mean, like, on my knees?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

Without hesitation, he actually dropped to his knees in the snow, hands clasped dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, the love of my soon-to-be short life if you reject me, please let me take you out.”

She laughed, bright and warm, before pulling him up by the collar of his dress robes. “Fine,” she said, smiling for real this time. “But only because you look ridiculous.”

Fred’s grin turned soft. “Worth it.”

The news came quietly.

No fanfare. No planning. Just a missed period, a hidden test in their private quarters, and Y/N sitting on the edge of the clawfoot tub in the dim bathroom of the Slat, staring at the result as her hands trembled.

Tears pooled in her eyes—not out of fear, but out of sheer disbelief and awe. She’d never thought she'd have this with him. With Kaz. Not just the king of the Barrel, but the boy she'd known since childhood, the boy who’d built walls taller than any in Ketterdam—and slowly, painfully, let her through them.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant. With Kaz Brekker’s child.

He’d never touched anyone skin-to-skin. Not without pain. But he touched her. Her face, her arms, her hips. He held her at night with bare hands like he’d trained himself just for her. And now—

He was going to be a father.

She didn’t plan to cry, but when she stepped out of the bathroom, clutching the test, Kaz immediately looked up from his desk like he felt her shift in energy.

Kaz stared down at it, expression unreadable for a beat too long.

His brow furrowed. “Y/N?”

She didn’t speak. Just walked over, slowly, and handed him the test.

Then—softly, surprisingly gently—he looked up. “...You’re sure?”

She nodded, lip trembling. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, Kaz. I just—”

Before she could finish, his gloved hand reached out to grip hers, and the other—bare—found her cheek.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her. The ghost of something rare tugged at the corners of his mouth. “We keep it between us. For now,” he said, voice low. “Ketterdam doesn’t get this part of you. Of us. Not yet.”

She nodded, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

It was the only part of the Barrel where he ever felt safe.

~

A month later, her baby bump was still hidden beneath her fitted waistcoat and silk blouse, but Kaz’s eyes always found her figure in a crowd. Watching. Calculating. Guarding.

Y/N had been laughing at the Crow Club bar with Jesper and Inej, a rare easy moment in a world that never stopped spinning. Wylan was somewhere sketching, Nina was dancing with her drink, and for once, she felt like she could just breathe.

Until he came stumbling in.

Drunk. Loud. New to the city, judging by the way he looked at her like she was anyone but Kaz Brekker’s wife.

Jesper noticed it first. His shoulders stiffened. Inej’s hand inched toward a dagger.

The man swayed forward with a grin. “Heard about you,” he slurred, eyes raking over Y/N in a way that made her stomach churn. “The Queen of the Barrel, huh? Gotta say, not what I expected. You’re…softer.”

Y/N’s smile dropped. “Walk away. Now.”

But the man didn’t listen. Instead, he reached forward, slow and unsteady—his hand moving toward her stomach.

The entire room froze.

Because the sound of Kaz Brekker’s cane striking the floor echoed like a thunderclap.

Click. Tap. Click. Tap.

The crowd parted instantly, tension slicing through the club like a knife through silk.

Kaz moved with terrifying calm, his face unreadable, gloved hand tight around his cane. But the hand not holding it?

Bare.

Y/N swallowed as he reached her, that hand slipping around her waist, then possessively over her stomach. The drunk man paled.

Kaz’s voice was low, venomous. “You must be new.”

The drunk man stumbled back. “I—I didn’t know she was with you, I didn’t know—”

“You knew who she was,” Kaz said sharply. “You knew enough.”

With a sharp gesture of his cane, the Dregs guards were on the man in seconds. He was dragged out by his collar, yelling, screaming, until a punch to the gut shut him up for good. The sounds of his beating were muffled by the music restarting—but no one in the Crow Club dared look at Y/N the same after that.

Kaz kept his hand on her stomach. He didn’t speak to anyone. Just guided her to the booth in the corner like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

~

Y/N was asleep when Kaz left the room.

He stood at the door for a moment longer than usual, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. One of her hands rested over the soft swell of her stomach, and Kaz felt something stir in his chest he still didn’t quite have words for.

He stepped out quietly, closing the door with care, and made his way downstairs to the Slat’s common room. It was late, but the Crows kept odd hours—Jesper and Wylan were curled on the couch, Inej was at the table polishing her knives, and Nina was half-asleep in the chair near the fire.

The warmth in the room contrasted the cool weight of the words Kaz had come to share.

Jesper noticed him first. “You’re up. Everything alright?”

Kaz nodded once, slowly. He stepped into the center of the room, gloved hands relaxed at his sides. There was no cane slam, no dramatics. Just him, standing in the quiet.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, and every head in the room turned toward him.

He met their eyes one by one. “Y/N is pregnant.”

Jesper blinked. “Wait—what?”

Kaz didn’t waver. “She’s pregnant. We found out about a month ago. We decided to keep it between us for a while.”

Nina sat up straighter, her expression softening. “How is she?”

“Tired,” Kaz said. “A little overwhelmed. But… good.” His voice gentled even further. “She’s happy.”

Wylan smiled, warm and genuine. “And you?”

Kaz paused. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “I didn’t think I’d have something like this. Not with the way I am. But she’s changed what I thought I knew about myself. And now, she’s carrying something we never imagined we’d get to have.”

Inej looked at him with something close to quiet awe. “You trust her that deeply.”

“I always have,” Kaz said. “Even before I understood that’s what it was.”

Jesper looked between them all, then gave a soft laugh. “You’re going to be a dad.”

There was something different about hearing it said out loud. But Kaz didn’t flinch or brush it off. He let the words hang in the air.

“I am,” he said. “We both are. And it means everything to me.”

Silence lingered again—not out of shock, but out of the rare, beautiful quiet that only came when something sacred was being shared.

Wylan tilted his head. “Why now? Why tell us tonight?”

Kaz glanced toward the stairs. “Someone touched her today. Someone who didn’t know better—or didn’t care to. And for a moment, it reminded me that this city may respect her, but it doesn’t always protect her. I wanted you to know what she’s carrying. I know you already look out for her. But now…”

He trailed off, not needing to finish.

Nina stood and crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “We’ll be there for her. For both of you.”

Jesper grinned. “I’m already picking out tiny suits. No one can stop me.”

Kaz finally—finally—let a faint smile ghost across his face.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said. “Just… be who you already are. That’s more than enough.”

Inej’s voice was soft. “You’re going to be a good father, Kaz.”

He didn’t respond right away. But he looked toward the hallway, toward the place where she was resting, and said, more to himself than to them:

“I’ll try.”

And with that, he turned and walked back upstairs—quieter now, lighter in step.

Back to her.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Winter Soldier. Ex-Winter Soldier. Avenger. The-One-With-The-Metal-Arm.Uncle Bucky. Babe.

All are names Bucky answers to. Granted, the last one was the latest addition to the list. He met Y/N at a little backyard barbeque at the Willson’s, that Sarah had put together. Sam invited him and he was promptly introduced to Y/N—Sarah’s friend since middle school. Bucky hated to admit that Sam had finally found him a match but he couldn’t deny how quickly he fell for Y/N. 

She was a breath of fresh air in the storm that was his life. Cliche. He knows. 

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Bucky chuckled, “I’m the one closest to the door, Y/N/N.” He tugged his leather jacket on and grabbed his keys from the key hook by the door. “Plus, you know your family doesn’t start dinner at the time they say they would. We’ll still get there early.”

Y/N hopped on one shoe-clad foot as she slipped the other shoe on, clutching her canvas tote bag in her other hand. “Still.” She stood up straight in front of him with a bright, teasing smile and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Okay, let’s go, Super Soldier.”

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully and held the door open for her, followed her out, and locked it behind him. If anyone asked him just five years ago if he saw himself going to family dinners once a month he would have laughed in their face. Yet, here he was, helping his girl into his car to drive them to her monthly family dinner. 

Pulling into the large crowded driveway of Y/N’s family home, she reached across the center console and squeezed Bucky’s hand excitedly. Y/N’s older sister had texted her beforehand, letting her know that the kids would be joining them. Since Y/N’s nieces and nephews are in their early to mid-teen years, the kids seem to always have plans of their own on the weekend. The kids had grown incredibly fond of Bucky, already claiming him as their favorite. Y/N had tried to warn and prepare him for how overwhelming her nieces and nephews could be but Bucky surprised her the first time he met her family. 

Bucky didn’t realize how much he missed being in a family setting, having forgotten how his own mother and sister were. 

As soon as Bucky and Y/N stepped out of the car, the front door swung open hazardly. 

“Uncle Bucky!”

Bucky barely had time to register the title before a whirlwind of limbs tackled him. He allowed himself to stumble back playfully, wrapping his metal arm around Y/N’s youngest niece, Ava, who clung to him like a koala. 

“Hey, kid,” he chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Thought you had plans with your friends?”

Ava grinned. “Canceled. I had to be here. You promised to help me with my soccer drills.”

“Ah, right,” Bucky nodded while a smirk tugged at his lips. “You think you’re ready to take me on, huh?”

She crossed her arms, feigning confidence. “I’m faster than you.”

“Sure, kid,” he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm as he followed Y/N up the steps.

Inside, the house was alive with chatter, and the smell of something delicious and savory, simmered on the stove. Y/N’s mom greeted them first, pulling Bucky into a hug before she moved to kiss Y/N’s cheek. It had taken him a while to get used to the casual affection Y/N’s family showed him, but now? Now, it didn’t send him into fight mode. Now, he let himself melt into it.

“Bucky. Sweetie, you look too thin.” Y/N’s mom fussed, cupping his face. “Are you eating enough?”

“I–”

“He eats more than enough, Mom.” Y/N cut him off with a laugh. “Don’t let the super soldier metabolism fool you.”

Before Bucky could defend himself, Y/N’s two oldest nephews appeared, grinning as they exchanged knowing looks.

“You bringing the metal arm for football, or are you scared you’ll embarrass yourself?” Tyler, the eldest, challenged with a smirk.

Bucky raised a brow. “Kid, I fought aliens. You really think I’m scared of a game of backyard football?”

“Prove it then.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head as Bucky let himself be dragged out to the backyard by the boys. “You’d think they’d stop testing him by now.”

Her older sister, Marie, smirked, handing Y/N a drink. “Please. They love him. He’s the first guy you’ve brought home who actually keeps up with them.”

Y/N smiled, watching Bucky as he jogged across the backyard, already intercepting a pass with an ease that left her nephews gaping. He looked so… happy. Like he belonged.

Like family.

Marie nudged her side. “He’s the one, huh?”

Y/N glanced at her sister before looking back at Bucky, who had just scooped up Ava onto his shoulders as she cheered. 

The Dregs knew little about Y/N. And that was exactly how she liked it.

She had been living in Ketterdam for nearly a year now, tucked into the chaos and grime of the Barrel, cloaked not just in coats and scarves but in lies and reinvention. Her past — palaces and politics, gold-threaded gowns, the stifling title of “Princess of Ravka” — was something she’d shed like an old skin. Something she’d fled.

It had been her choice to disappear.

And Kaz Brekker, for all his sharp instincts and hunger for secrets, had respected that she had hers.

He never asked about the royal lilt in her voice when she got tired. Never questioned the flash of steel behind her eyes when she spoke of noblemen. Never pushed when she told him only that she “wanted to choose her own life.”

Maybe that’s why she had fallen in love with him.

Kaz, for all his cruelty and calculation, had given her the freedom she never had in a palace. And slowly — painfully, carefully — he let her in too. A touch of her fingers on his gloved hand, a rare smile just for her, the soft rasp of her name when they were alone. It was quiet and complicated and utterly theirs.

But nothing stays buried forever.

Not in Ketterdam.

~

The job was supposed to be routine. In and out, no unnecessary bloodshed. Sturmhond — that ridiculous Ravkan privateer — had asked for a meeting on neutral ground. Kaz didn’t trust him, of course, but he was offering good kruge for some stolen Zemeni schematics.

Kaz went, as always, with Y/N at his side.

The meeting was aboard The Volkvolny, docked at Slavers’ Pier, with sunlight glinting off its golden sails. The air smelled of sea salt and secrets. Y/N stepped aboard and froze.

Kaz felt her stiffen beside him.

Sturmhond turned from the helm, grinning. “Kaz Brekker,” he said. “Looking exactly as I imagined. And you—”

His words faltered when his eyes landed on Y/N. For a moment, the golden-haired man — so theatrical and impossible — looked nothing but stunned.

“...Moya sestra.”

Y/N blinked. “Nikolai?”

Kaz’s jaw clenched. Nikolai?

Sturmhond's smirk returned slowly, softened at the edges. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

She swallowed, glancing between the two men. “Kaz,” she said quietly. “This is… Nikolai Lantsov. My brother.”

A tense beat.

“You have a brother,” Kaz said flatly.

She gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “And apparently he’s still dramatic.”

Nikolai bowed low with a flourish. “Prince. Pirate. Brother extraordinaire.”

Kaz looked murderous.

~

Back at the Slat, it was silent between them. The others had gone, sensing the storm on Kaz’s face. Y/N sat on his bed, arms wrapped around her knees. She didn’t know what scared her more — that Kaz hadn’t said a word… or that he had felt betrayed.

She flinched when he finally spoke.

“So. The Ravkan Princess.”

“I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t lie,” Kaz interrupted sharply, pacing. “You omitted. You vanished from a palace and walked into the Barrel like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” she said, standing. “I left because it wasn’t a life. I wasn’t free. I wasn’t me. You think I came here to trick anyone?”

He didn’t answer.

Y/N stepped closer, heart aching. “Kaz, I never used my name, or title. I never asked you to trust me because of who I was. I wanted you to see me. Just me.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. And the cold in his gaze cracked.

“I did.”

She exhaled shakily, hope blooming in her chest.

Kaz turned away again, his voice quieter. “It just… it makes sense. The way you move. The way you speak. You carry yourself like someone used to ruling a court.”

Y/N stepped behind him, resting a hand — carefully — on his gloved one. “You’re the only court I care about now.”

That made him snort softly, just barely. “Saints save me.”

~

It took Kaz a few days to warm again, but he did. Eventually, she found a note in her coat pocket, scrawled in his familiar hand.

I don’t care if you’re a princess or a street rat. You’re mine. — K.

~

The next time Nikolai came to visit, it was less tense. He’d brought Ravkan chocolate and three letters from their mother. Kaz didn’t even growl when Nikolai referred to him as “brother-in-law pending.”

Later that night, Y/N curled beside Kaz on the worn couch of his office, reading a book while his hand rested over hers. He didn’t pull away.

“You know,” she said softly, “you’ll probably be in all the history books now. ‘The Bastard of the Barrel who stole the Ravkan Princess.’”

Kaz glanced at her, eyes glinting. “No. You stole me.”

She smiled. “Then I guess we’re even.”

And in the quiet that followed, filled only with the flicker of candlelight and the steady sound of their breathing, it was clear that neither of them planned to let go.

Not now. Not ever.

The job was supposed to be simple—get in, get out, and make it back to the Slat before sunrise. That was always how Kaz Brekker sold it. But somewhere between scaling the side of the Van Eck warehouse and cracking the vault’s third lock, Y/N’s head had begun to pulse in a way that made her vision blur and her heartbeat feel like it was echoing behind her eyes.

She’d had migraines before—she knew the signs—but this one was vicious. It was the kind that didn’t just hurt. It stole. Her balance, her focus, her sight.

“Fourth tumbler, Y/N,” Kaz said quietly from beside her, his voice steady and calm like always. The scrape of his crow’s head cane tapped against the floor. “You’re slowing down.”

“I know,” she murmured, blinking hard. The metal in her hands looked wrong—like there were two of them, slipping in and out of alignment. She forced her fingers to move anyway, but the pick scraped too harshly, a metallic screech that made her flinch.

Kaz frowned. “Stop.”

“I’ve got it,” she said quickly, trying to steady herself. “Just—give me a second.”

But when she reached for the next tumbler, her fingers missed completely. She bumped the edge of the safe and stumbled forward, catching herself against the cold iron.

Kaz’s voice dropped an octave. “Y/N.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just need a minute. My head—”

He was already beside her, hand hovering near her arm but not touching. “How bad?”

“I can’t—” She blinked again, but the world stayed bright, painfully white. She saw his shape, dark against the glare, but everything else had gone washed out and swimming. “Kaz, I can’t see properly.”

For a long beat, he said nothing. She could hear his breath, even, measured, but his gloved hand finally settled on her shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

“But the vault—”

“Isn’t worth you walking into a wall.” His tone left no room for argument.

“I can still help—”

“You can barely stand.” He angled himself so she could lean into his side without tripping, and for once, he didn’t flinch away from contact. The steady pressure of his arm guided her toward the exit. “Follow my steps. Slowly.”

She let him lead her through the narrow hallways, her vision pulsing white with every heartbeat. She hated it—the vulnerability, the dependence—but Kaz’s voice kept threading through the fog like a compass.

“Left here. Step up. Good.”

At one point she faltered, knees buckling, and he caught her by the elbow before she hit the floor.

“Sorry,” she whispered, breath shaking.

“Don’t apologize for being human.”

That, more than anything, made her blink through the haze and glance at him. His eyes were sharp, assessing, but softer than she expected. He didn’t look angry—he looked worried.

Once outside, the cold night air hit her skin, cooling the sweat on her neck. She sank to the cobblestones, head in her hands.

Kaz crouched a short distance away, cane balanced across his knees. “How long do these last?”

“An hour. Sometimes more.”

He nodded once, silent, calculating. Then, quietly: “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t think it’d hit tonight.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He looked away, jaw tight. “Next time, you tell me before we step foot in the field. I don’t care if it’s a headache or a missing limb.”

Her laugh came out weak, wobbly. “That’s… reassuring.”

He glanced back, eyes softening. “It’s protocol.”

But his voice didn’t sound like rules. It sounded like worry.

After a long silence, she said softly, “Thanks for getting me out.”

He stood, adjusting his gloves. “I don’t leave valuable assets behind.”

Y/N smiled faintly, despite the pain still pounding behind her eyes. “You mean valuable people.”

He didn’t answer—just offered a gloved hand, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Let’s get you home, before you mistake me for Jesper again.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she muttered, taking his hand anyway.

Kaz huffed out what might’ve been a laugh. “Debatable.”

Y/N let herself into the Harrington house the way she had a hundred times before, slipping the spare key out from under the welcome mat, brushing a little dirt off it, and fitting it into the lock like muscle memory.

The house was silent, of course. Steve’s parents were still away on one of their endless business trips, which meant the place felt too big, too empty… and way too dark for a birthday morning.

Balancing the cake she’d spent half the night baking and decorating — white frosting, uneven little blue stars, and a slightly crooked “Happy Birthday Steve!” — she crept up the stairs. The door to his room was cracked open, and inside she could hear soft, rhythmic groaning.

Not sleeping groaning.

Complaining groaning.

She smiled.

“Perfect.”

She slipped in, set the cake carefully on his desk, and padded over to the windows. With one dramatic sweep, she yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with morning light.

Steve let out a strangled noise and burrowed deeper under the covers.

“Oh my god, why would you do that? Who hates me this much on my birthday?”

Y/N crossed her arms. “It’s noon, Steve.”

“NOON IS STILL MORNING FOR SOME PEOPLE,” he shouted, muffled from beneath the blanket.

“Oh please.” She grabbed the duvet with both hands. “If you think I’m letting you spend your birthday unconscious, you’re insane.”

Before he could react, she ripped the covers right off him.

Steve yelped, curling into himself like a startled cat. “Y/N! I swear— give me that back!”

She beamed, ignoring his outstretched hands. “Happy birthday!”

He glared up at her with the grumpiest, sleepiest face she’d ever seen. Hair a disaster. One cheek squished from the pillow. Eyes barely open.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbled.

“And yet,” she sing-songed, “I baked you a cake.”

His expression froze. “…What?”

She pointed at the desk. “Go look.”

He blinked, then slowly rolled himself out of bed, feet dragging as he trudged to the desk. When he saw the cake, he stopped dead.

“You… you made this?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” she teased. “I’ve known your favorite cake since we were eight.”

Steve turned to her, face softening despite his dramatic sulking. “You even did the little stars.”

“They’re lopsided.”

“They’re perfect,” he said, and his voice was gentle in that way that always made her chest feel too full.

She shrugged, cheeks warming. “Well… someone had to make your day special.”

Steve moved closer, poking her cheek. “And you decided to wake me up by blinding me?”

“Yup.”

“Steal my blanket?”

“Correct.”

“And break into my house?”

“I used the spare key,” she defended. “Also, I’ve been doing that since we were ten.”

He laughed — a messy, sleepy laugh that made his eyes crinkle. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” she said again, smug, “you keep me around.”

Steve shook his head, still smiling. “Yeah, well… you make it pretty hard not to.”

She nudged him. “So. Birthday boy. Cake for breakfast?”

He grinned, already reaching for the knife. “If you’re sharing it with me? Absolutely.”

Bucky and Y/N’s friendship had been forged in the middle of chaos. She had joined the Avengers a couple of years ago—sharp, capable, with a heart too big for her own good. Unlike most people, she had never looked at him with fear or hesitation, never treated him like a walking weapon.

At first, Bucky had kept his distance. He was used to being on the outskirts, keeping people at arm’s length. But Y/N didn’t let that happen. She had a way of worming into people’s lives, into their hearts, without even trying.

She checked in on him without making a big deal about it—making sure he ate after long missions, dragging him into movie nights with the team, and bringing him coffee exactly the way he liked it. She talked to him like he was just Bucky, not the Winter Soldier, not Steve Rogers’ best friend from the 40s—just Bucky.

And somehow, without realizing it, she had become his best friend.

She was the one who could make him chuckle even on the worst days, the one he trusted with the pieces of himself he still didn’t fully understand. She was the one who saw him—not who he used to be, not who the world thought he was, but who he was actively trying to become.

And somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her.

He had tried to push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t ruin everything. She deserved better than him. Deserved someone who didn’t come with blood on his hands and ghosts in his head. So he stayed silent, stayed in his place as her friend, even when it hurt more than he’d ever admit.

Because having her in his life—no matter what—was worth everything.

~

The compound was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in after a mission, when exhaustion weighed too heavy on everyone’s bones to do anything but rest.

Bucky sat on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, muscles aching from the fight earlier. He should get up, take a shower, maybe even crash in his own bed for once. But Y/N had dozed off beside him, legs tucked under her in a way that was bound to cause her slight pain when she woke up, curled up under a blanket, and he hadn’t moved since.

She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, her breathing steady with her lips parted. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and Bucky had to resist the urge to brush it back. He clenched his metal hand into a fist instead.

He should leave. Should get up before he did something stupid—like say something he couldn’t take back.

But the weight of his feelings pressed against his ribs, suffocating in the silence.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “Maybe it was always there. I just refused to let myself see it.”

Y/N didn’t stir. Bucky exhaled, he rested his head on the back of the couch and tilted it so his eyes lingered on her peaceful form.

“You take care of everyone, you know that? Always checking in, always making sure I’m eating, sleeping, not losing myself in my own head.” He huffed a whisper of a laugh. “You probably don’t even realize how much you really mean to me.”

His fingers curled against his thigh. He’d faced enemies, and fought battles most people couldn’t even imagine, but this—this was terrifying.

“I care about you, Y/N. More than I should. More than I know how to handle.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. He finally brought his hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, his cold metal finger dragging across her soft, warm cheek. “But I don’t wanna mess this up. I’d rather have you as my friend than risk losing you completely. But I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. I’m–what did Parker call me?” he muttered to himself. “Down bad. I’m down bad, Y/N. I love you.”

He swallowed, his chest tightening.

“Guess it’s easier to say this when you’re asleep, huh?”

Silence.

Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head at himself. He should really get up, and put some space between them before—

“Bucky…”

His entire body went rigid.

Y/N’s voice was groggy, quiet, but there was something else in it too—something careful, something knowing. She lazily reached out and laced their fingers together, the metal bringing her comfort against her hand. She moved closer and softly laid her head on his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

She had heard everything.

Bucky froze, barely breathing, as Y/N's words settled into his chest.

She loved him too.

For a moment, all he could do was stare down at their intertwined fingers, at the way she had instinctively sought out his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had spent so long convincing himself that his feelings were one-sided, that loving her was something he had to keep buried. But here she was, curling closer, her heartbeat steady against his arm, as if loving him had never been a question.

A shaky breath left his lips.

“You—” He swallowed, shaking his head with a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You heard all of that?”

Y/N hummed against his shoulder, her voice laced with exhaustion but warm with amusement. “Mhm. Every word.”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. “Great. So you heard me say I was ‘down bad’ too.”

She chuckled, squeezing his fingers. “Oh, definitely. That was my favorite part.”

He glanced down at her, and for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like running from what he wanted. She was right here, looking up at him with tired, fond eyes, no hesitation, no second-guessing.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I really love you, Y/N.”

Her smile softened, and she shifted, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I really love you too.”

He exhaled and the tension in his chest unraveled, replaced with something lighter, something hopeful. Slowly, carefully, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of hers, letting himself savor the warmth of her skin against his lips as he closed his eyes in contentment.

Y/N sighed blissfully, her grip on him tightening as she settled against him once more. “Can we talk more about this in the morning? ‘Cause I really just wanna fall asleep right here.”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, holding her close. “Yeah, doll. We can talk in the morning.”