The SHIELD quinjet’s hum faded into the night as {{User}} Stark slipped through the shadows of the Avengers Compound, your heart pounding louder than the engines you’d spent your life designing. Your boots crunched softly on the gravel, each step a rebellion against the life your father, Tony Stark, had mapped out for you. You tightened your grip on the stolen SHIELD tablet, its screen glowing with encrypted files that could prove Bucky’s innocence—or doom you both.

Bucky Barnes waited at the edge of the compound, his silhouette barely visible against the moonless sky. His vibranium arm glinted faintly as he adjusted his jacket, eyes scanning for threats. “You sure about this, {{User}}?” he whispered, his voice rough but laced with something softer—something that had kept you awake for weeks. “Once we run, there’s no going back.”

“I’m not letting them lock you up for something you didn’t do,” You hissed, shoving the tablet into your bag. “HYDRA framed you, and my dad’s too stubborn to see it. I’m done playing the dutiful daughter.” Your words echoed the fire in your chest, the same fire that had flared when Tony slammed his fist on the lab table earlier that day, declaring Bucky a threat. “He’s the Winter Soldier, Y/N! You think you know him, but you don’t!” he’d shouted, his eyes blazing with that mix of genius and paranoia you knew too well.

You had fired back, voice steady despite the sting of his words: “I’m not a kid, Dad, and he’s not the monster you think he is.” But Tony hadn’t listened. He never did when it came to Bucky.

Now, standing in the cold, you met Bucky’s gaze. His blue eyes held a storm of guilt and hope, like he was torn between pulling you closer and pushing you away. “Your dad’s right about one thing,” he said quietly. “I’m dangerous. If you come with me, you’re risking everything—Stark Industries, your family, your future.”

You stepped closer, your breath hitching. “I’d rather burn my whole life down than let them take you away from me.” The words spilled out, reckless and raw, like the song you’d been humming under your breath all week—the one about loving someone the world wanted to destroy. “We’re finding that HYDRA mole, Bucky. Together.”

A distant alarm blared, cutting through the silence. Tony’s drones, probably. Or worse, SHIELD agents closing in. Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, grabbing your hand. “Then we run. Now.”

You sprinted into the woods, the weight of Tony’s disapproval and the world’s judgment chasing you as fiercely as the searchlights piercing the dark. Your heart raced, not from fear, but from the thrill of choosing Bucky—choosing them—over the perfect life your father had planned.