azriona

[azriona]

mē, tangō leviter Miētte cum latus pedīs meī: Miētta, dēmovēre ut nōn incurrere in tē

Miētte, cum oculōs ēius magnōs: tū CALITRĀS Miētte? tū calitrās corpus ēius sīcut follis? ēheu! ēheu! carcer prō Mātre! carcer prō Mātre prō Singula Mīlla Annōs!!!!

[azriona]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @paula-in-dreamland. Today's excerpt is from the Winterhawk soulmate fic, though this particular snippet isn't supper soulmatey. It's from just after the events of Age of Ultron, though Clint is more of a 616 iteration than MCU. (Laura & the kids exist in this world, but they belong to Barney, not Clint, who owns the building in Brooklyn and that's where he and Bucky/James are.)

The snow turns to slush turns to rain turns to snow again, and James is still there when Clint wakes in the gloom of mid-morning. He puts in his aids and hobbles down the stairs one at a time, taking in the scene below. Blankets and a pillow on the couch, where it looks like James probably spent the night. Coffee in the kitchen, the scent of sausage and toast filling the room. Music, too—something instrumental and old, Beethoven or something. “Could’ve slept in the bed,” Clint tells him. “You don’t want to know where I found that couch.” “Slept on worse,” says James, unconcerned. “How’d you find me here?” James just rolls his eyes and puts a plate of sausage and toast in front of Clint. “You ever hear of vegetables?” “Coffee’s a bean, right?” James sighs, sounding so much like Phil that Clint hunches his shoulders and focuses on the food in front of him. But there’s a mug of coffee in front of him a moment later, with two sugars and no milk, and Clint doesn’t think about how James probably ate already, knows how he likes his coffee, and doesn’t tell Clint to go back to bed or take any meds for the way his muscles ache. It’s nice, in a weird way. Coffee and toast and familiar background music, while James sits and reads the same book he was reading the day before.

Tagging @cecebeanie, @bastianfruit, @mrs-elsie-barnes, and whoever else wishes to be tagged.

[azriona]

Thanks for the reblog! ❤️❤️❤️

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss, Chapter 63

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Avenger!OFC (2nd person POV)

This Chapter word count: 1.7k ~ Total Story count: 157k ~ This chapter is rated Mature. Chapters will be posted every Tuesday and Friday until the story is complete.

Summary: When you and Bucky are both accidentally hit with sex pollen while on a mission, you're determined to keep your relationship status at friendship, even if you’d like it to be more. Even if you think he feels the same. Even if you accidentally end up pregnant. Even if it kills you.

(Spoiler Alert: it might actually kill you. Good luck with that.)

Trigger warnings include discussion of abortion, failed pregnancies, deaths of both mom & baby--not the MC! Full warnings on AO3. Happy ending is guaranteed, despite warnings. Please see AO3 for full A/N and tags.

Chapter Summary: In which Steve reluctantly lets you attend a briefing, and the author confirms just about everything commenters have been guessing. You guys are so smart. Gold stars all around!

The only reason Steve allows you to sit in on the rescue mission briefing session is because if he doesn’t, you’re going to crawl there in the air vents. “You’re nine months pregnant,” Steve says. “Not for another week. Blame Clint, he showed me how to access them.” “I can’t blame Clint,” snaps Steve. “Clint’s in Iowa on paternity leave.” “Oh,” you say, as wistful and pitiful as you can manage, which is a lot, “that is so sweet, that he’s able to be there for the birth of his baby—” Steve scowls. “Stop manipulating me.” You whimper. “Fine!” says Steve. “But you’re still not going on the rescue mission.” “Not arguing,” you say, skirting past him and into the conference room. “Should she be here?” asks Sam. “Yes, she should,” you say firmly, taking your seat. It’s a bit treacherous, honestly, given the size of your stomach and the wheels on the chair. Natasha stops it from rolling before you end up backing into the wall. It’d be funny if anything were funny, which it isn’t. “The good news is we figured out who the witch and her partner are,” says Maria, as the pictures appear on the holographic table. “Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, brother and sister from Sokovia...."

I know, we never saw Wanda coming! What a shock! Quelle surprise! Anyway, moving on! Now gosh, I wonder where Bucky and Helen are being held captive...???

[azriona]

Air Himbo

Water Himbo

Earth Himbo

Fire Himbo

[azriona]

If you notice me reblogging

a repost

stolen art

false information

etc.

please let me know, you’re not rude or annoying and I actually do give a fuck and I will correct my mistake, thank you

[azriona]

I’d like to live through a week that’s not a whole new verse of “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

[azriona]

"You can find my fic on AO3"

NOT IF YOU DON'T LINK TO IT.

[azriona]

Thanks for the reblog! ❤️❤️❤️

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss, Chapter 63

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Avenger!OFC (2nd person POV)

This Chapter word count: 1.7k ~ Total Story count: 157k ~ This chapter is rated Mature. Chapters will be posted every Tuesday and Friday until the story is complete.

Summary: When you and Bucky are both accidentally hit with sex pollen while on a mission, you're determined to keep your relationship status at friendship, even if you’d like it to be more. Even if you think he feels the same. Even if you accidentally end up pregnant. Even if it kills you.

(Spoiler Alert: it might actually kill you. Good luck with that.)

Trigger warnings include discussion of abortion, failed pregnancies, deaths of both mom & baby--not the MC! Full warnings on AO3. Happy ending is guaranteed, despite warnings. Please see AO3 for full A/N and tags.

Chapter Summary: In which Steve reluctantly lets you attend a briefing, and the author confirms just about everything commenters have been guessing. You guys are so smart. Gold stars all around!

The only reason Steve allows you to sit in on the rescue mission briefing session is because if he doesn’t, you’re going to crawl there in the air vents. “You’re nine months pregnant,” Steve says. “Not for another week. Blame Clint, he showed me how to access them.” “I can’t blame Clint,” snaps Steve. “Clint’s in Iowa on paternity leave.” “Oh,” you say, as wistful and pitiful as you can manage, which is a lot, “that is so sweet, that he’s able to be there for the birth of his baby—” Steve scowls. “Stop manipulating me.” You whimper. “Fine!” says Steve. “But you’re still not going on the rescue mission.” “Not arguing,” you say, skirting past him and into the conference room. “Should she be here?” asks Sam. “Yes, she should,” you say firmly, taking your seat. It’s a bit treacherous, honestly, given the size of your stomach and the wheels on the chair. Natasha stops it from rolling before you end up backing into the wall. It’d be funny if anything were funny, which it isn’t. “The good news is we figured out who the witch and her partner are,” says Maria, as the pictures appear on the holographic table. “Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, brother and sister from Sokovia...."

I know, we never saw Wanda coming! What a shock! Quelle surprise! Anyway, moving on! Now gosh, I wonder where Bucky and Helen are being held captive...???

[azriona]

Devoted - bucky barnes x f!reader

Husband! Bucky Barnes can’t take his eyes or his hands off of you. He has to make the biggest effort around the kids, and honestly, it’s all you’ve ever dreamed of.

A/N: Growing up with parents who you've never seen kissing, hugging, or saying "love you" to each other, yeah, it does something to you. I recommend you listen to like real people do while reading.

warnings: domestic fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, bucky being a dream husband, vulnerable talk, parental PDA and kids being grossed out (but funny), so so so wholesome.

masterlist faq

minors dni with this story or blog. you're responsible for what you do. do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed (and cried) writing this!

You grew up in a house where love was... quiet. If it was there at all, it never spoke. No kisses over coffee. No lingering glances. No hands held on road trips. “I love you” was said with the same flat tone as “dinner’s ready.” It taught you that love was restraint. Conditional. Measured.

No one yelled, but no one kissed. No one fought, but no one held hands. “I love you” was something you overheard in movies — not around the dinner table.

You grew up unsure if your parents loved each other, or just… merely existed beside one another. Tolerated each other. Did they love each other? You still don’t know. Maybe they didn’t, and maybe that’s what scared you the most.

Because it made you wonder if that was all love ever was.

And then you met Bucky Barnes.

And he rewrote everything.

When Bucky Barnes came into your life, it felt like getting hit with sunlight after decades in the dark.

He's unapologetically soft for you. Hands always reaching—brushing your hair back, pulling you close, squeezing your hip as he walks by. Your kids are so over it.

“Do you have to do that now?” your oldest groans as Bucky kisses your cheek in the middle of the grocery store. “Yes,” he answers simply. “Your mom’s hot.” You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm. Every single time.

It’s the little things Bucky does that undo you.

Like when you're driving the kids to school, and he insists on holding your hand — even when you're the one behind the wheel. His fingers slide between yours easily, resting on your thigh, warm and grounding. His thumb draws lazy circles against your skin as you maneuver turns, one hand on the wheel, one hand in his.

“You know this is wildly impractical,” you tease, eyes flicking over to him.

He grins, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, voice low and smug. “Don’t care. I gotta hold my girl.” “Can you not be in love for five minutes?” your son groans.

You and Bucky just laugh. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles like some old-timey gentleman who also happens to be a menace. And still doesn’t let go.

Bucky, who hugs you from behind while you’re cooking and whispers in your ear like a menace "Skip dinner, let’s order in and make out on the couch."

Your daughter and son groan loudly from the couch, “OH MY GOD.” “I’m gonna pour bleach in my eyes!” Bucky laughs, holding you tighter with his metal arm snug around your waist, “Love you too, buddy.”

He kisses you while you're folding laundry. He dances with you in the kitchen just because the song is good. Tells you he loves you like it’s as natural as breathing — because for him, it is.

And yeah, sometimes he says dumb things like,

"Bucky, why is the car so hot?" He throws you a wink. “Cause you got in it.” A chorus of “Daaaaaad!” erupts from the backseat.

“Oh my god.” Your son gags. “I’m gonna be ill.” Bucky glances at them through the mirror, unfazed. “Good. Builds immunity.”

But under all the dramatics, they smile when they think you’re not looking. They giggle when he slow dances with you in the kitchen, or calls you doll like it’s sacred. They see it. They know it’s real. They know it’s safe.

You didn’t grow up with love like this — but you’re raising them with it. And that matters.

That night, after the kids are asleep and the house is finally quiet, you curl up beside him on the bed, wearing one of his old shirts and nothing else. The air is warm and soft-lit, and you’re sunk so deep into the quiet you almost don’t want to break it.

But you do.

“Can I tell you something kind of dumb?” you murmur.

“Doll, you could talk nonsense for hours and I’d still nod along like it’s gospel.”

You laugh, but it fades. “Sometimes I still wait for it to stop.”

He tilts his head, confused. “Stop?”

You bite your lip. “I grew up thinking love didn't exist or wasn't meant to be shown. That it had to be quiet. Conditional. Measured. So sometimes I still catch myself waiting for the moment it… ends. That you leave. That it all disappears.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and touches your cheek like he’s holding something fragile and precious. Because he is.

“Doll… whoever taught you that love had to be small, they were so wrong. I need to love you like this. Big. Loud. Always. I need to hold your hand while we’re driving and kiss your neck while you're stirring the pasta.” He swallows hard. “I want to love you in a way you never have to question. Ever.”

Tears prick your eyes, and he pulls you into his lap, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, and your mouth.

You kiss him like you’re trying to press every word you haven’t said yet into his mouth. And he lets you—hands on your waist, grounding you, holding you like he’s scared you might vanish if he lets go.

When you finally pull back, just far enough to breathe, he’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the damn sky.

“I think about it a lot,” he says softly, voice rough, “how lucky I got.”

You blink, heart thudding. “Bucky…”

“No, listen.” He brushes your hair back, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “After everything I’ve seen—everything I’ve done—I didn’t think I’d get this. I thought my story ended in blood and silence. And then there you were. Warm, loud, bossy as hell—loving me without flinching.”

You shake your head, tears building. “You don’t have to thank me—”

“I do.” His voice breaks. “I have to thank you every damn day. For seeing me when I couldn’t. For staying when it was hard. For giving me this life. The kids. You. All of it.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just kiss him again, slow and deep, a promise pressed into skin.

And as his hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, you think— Yeah. You got lucky too.

You pull back eventually, breathless, heart full. And then you rise to your feet.

He looks up, dazed. “Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

You smirk, already halfway to the hallway. “Gotta make sure the door’s locked,” you call over your shoulder. “We don’t want to traumatize them.”

Bucky groans, laughing, throwing himself back against the pillows. “You’re killin’ me.”

“And I’ll bring you back to life, Barnes.” You wink, hovering over him, straddling his waist as his hands slide up, thumbs rubbing slow, hiking closer to the hem of your shirt.

You smirk, leaning over him, ready to take your place on top — but before you can, his hands slide around your waist. In one smooth motion, he flips you over, pinning you gently beneath him.

“Not so fast, doll,” he murmurs, grinning as he settles between your legs. “You always think you’re in charge.”

You arch a brow, breath hitching. “And you love it.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes dark and soft all at once. He leans down, brushing your hair back to kiss your neck — slow and deep, with a bite that makes you shiver.

“Let me take care of you tonight.”

You exhale a laugh, heart skipping. “You always wanna take care of me.”

He smiles against your skin, lips trailing lower, worship in every movement.

“Damn right I do.”

Because loving you isn’t a duty. It’s instinct. It’s devotion.

I am a mix of emotions! 🥹💕😫🤧 I really enjoyed writing husband! Bucky and I will definitely do it again!

I hope you enjoyed reading this, feel free to leave your opinion!

Reblogs, likes and comments are encouraged as they help this story grow! ✨✨✨

[azriona]

How to find me if Tumblr dies*

This stuff is in the header at the top of my Tumblr page, but because I know people don't regularly navigate there, here you are:

BlueSky

Dreamwidth

Pillowfort (I am very bad at pillowfort)

AO3

I am azriona just about everywhere. Check the spelling if you can't immediately find me. (I guarantee at least one person reading this will say, "Oh my gosh I've been reading your name wrong this entire time." And one person will sadly add, "I haven't been able to spell the name of the state correctly in years.")

*It's not going to die, it's too ornery. But you know, just in cases.

[azriona]

"if tumblr goes down find me a-" we have been making these posts for a decade now.. either i wake up one day and its gone and i take up cigaretts to fill the void or 40 years from now i post my 5G cancer xray results direct from my neuralink

[azriona]

my fav genre of fanfic is "ship i have not ever considered but the author is insane abt it in a way that intrigues me immensely"

[azriona]

i think certain fanfic authors can have a new WIP… as a treat…

the devil on my shoulder is sending me anons now

[azriona]

Apparently, my decision to be silly and make fanart of someone's writing (because I genuinely enjoy the story the person is writing and I was struck with inspiration upon reading a particular scene) has benevolent and wildly unforeseen consequences.

I apparently gained a bit of control of the canon because said writer really loved the art and decided what I drew/draw is canon.

2. Writer put said artwork into the document of his story right below the scene, so now it's IN the story where people who read the story will see it (with a link to me)

3. He sent the artwork to all his friends and people he knows because he was so excited

Wholesome interaction and I watched him do all that in real time, good stuff. However...there are two more consequences I was notified of today...nearly a full week after I gave the artwork.

Seeing the artwork caused his friends to become interested in reading and hearing about his story, which means more people are reading what he's writing and giving him critique on the story (which he actively asks for).

Apparently, upon seeing the art, his writer friends got a sudden second wind to pick back up writing they'd abandoned for a few months. Because, I quote, "seeing that someone enjoyed {his} writing enough to take the time to make art of it gave them the motivation that maybe THEY can write something that will inspire someone to also create something." I have accidentally caused a writing frenzy among his writer friends and my silly idea to make art for someone has had a butterfly effect for people who I don't even know.

Uhh...I'm pretty sure there's a moral here but I am tired and have a great deal of emotions about this.

[azriona]

FALLING — Part 9

Bucky Barnes x Reader [Set post TFATWS]

Word Count: 2k // Warnings: Tension, anxiety, canon-typical violence

Part 10 (Coming 4/12) // Masterlist

You woke up to the sound of birds chirping, despite the sky still being dark. For a moment, you forgot where you were. The bed was warm, the sheets were tangled around your legs, and a heavy arm was draped over your waist.

Bucky.

Your heart rate accelerated at the realization and your eyes shot open. His breathing was steady behind you. You felt the warmth of his body pressed against your back.

You shifted slightly, and Bucky stirred. His grip around you tightened instinctively.

“Hi,” He mumbled, his scruff brushing against your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you whispered back. He didn’t move. Neither did you. 

“Sleep okay?” he murmured.

“Much better than I thought I would,” You paused, then added, “You?”

“Best I’ve slept in weeks.”

That made your heart pound a little faster. You reached down and laced your fingers with his where they rested against your hip. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of your hand. You let the silence stretch, just the sound of birds outside the window and your breathing filling the room. 

From the very first moment you met Bucky - when you nearly fell off the boat - he had made your heart race. His sense of humor made you want to laugh at every joke that came from his lips. His blue eyes, even when they were staring through your soul, saw who you really were. But there was something about his quiet presence that made you feel safer than you had ever felt in your life. He was just there. Hands on your waist, a smirk on the edge of his lips, keeping you from falling. 

And somehow, none of those moments when he caught you compared to this. 

Ever since that second night on the dock, you knew that you not only trusted him, but that you could fall for him. You had felt more for Bucky in the last six weeks than you had for anyone in your entire life.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” he mumbled into your neck. The feeling of his breath against you made you shiver. You slowly turned over to face him, his eyes meeting yours. His hand remained on your hip, fingers tracing circles over your sweatpants.

“Sam’s going to kill you when he realizes we shared the bed,” you blurted out. The corners of his lip curled into a smirk as his hand trailed slowly from your hip up your side.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” You cringed as he spoke, a blush rising up your neck. “For someone who used to be a field agent, you aren’t a good liar,” He chuckled as you pressed your head into his chest, unable to keep the smile off of your face,

“We should probably get up,” you mumbled. His hand continued moving up your back until he reached your head, his fingers softly running through your hair. You sighed in contentment. 

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, wrapped in the steadiness of Bucky Barnes, but eventually, your stomach growled in betrayal. 

Bucky chuckled, the sound vibrating against you. “That sounded serious.” 

“I think my stomach just filed a formal complaint.” You reluctantly untangled yourself from the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed, raking a hand through your hair. Behind you, Bucky stretched, sitting up with a groan. You turned back towards him,

“You gonna survive?”

“Barely,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I pulled something just sitting up.” You snorted,

“Old man.”

“I’m literally a hundred.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response as you stood up.

And for a few fleeting moments, everything felt normal. Bucky took a shower while you started to make coffee.

As the coffee finally finished, Bucky’s arms slid around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You leaned into his embrace, and water droplets from his hair dripped onto your shirt.

“Morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck just enough to make your breath catch.

“Morning,” Joaquin echoed from the doorway with his laptop in hand, moving to sit at the table. “Well, well, well. Look who’s cozy.” You started to wiggle out of Bucky’s embrace, knowing Sam was coming next.

“Found anything yet?” You asked, peering at the screen (and hoping he might forget what he just saw). Before Joaquin could respond, Sam came into the room. 

“Good morning, sunshines,” he interrupted, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee before settling against the kitchen counter. You didn’t even glance up as your eyes were locked on the files Joaquin was opening on the computer screen. 

“Morning.”

“Sleep okay?” Sam asked casually, taking a sip.

“Fine,” Bucky said, coming to stand behind you and Joaquin to look at the laptop. His hand rested on the back of your chair, his fingers trailing lightly against your back.

“Yeah?” Sam tilted his head, eyebrows raised just slightly. “Couch not too lumpy?” You flicked your gaze up, catching the amused look on his face as he looked back at you. 

“We wouldn’t know,” you said before immediately regretting your choice of words.

Joaquin nearly choked on his coffee. “Oh my god—” Your face felt hot.

“We slept,” you scrambled, “Just… slept.” Sam took another long sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“In the same bed?” 

“Yes,” you cringed, breaking the eye contact and wishing you could disappear, knowing that Sam could see right through you (so there was no point in lying). His expression hardened as he turned to Bucky,

“You know she’s basically my sister, right? I swear to god, if I see so much as a hickey, I’m throwing you out a window.”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Noted. No visible hickeys.”

You gasped, turning to look at him, “Bucky!” The corners of his lips curled as he met your gaze, shooting you a wink. If your face wasn’t already burning red, it sure as hell was now. Butterflies erupted in your stomach anyways.

Joaquin wheezed, clutching his stomach, “Please, I just woke up—” Sam’s eyes narrowed,

“You think I’m playing, Barnes?”

“I think you care,” Bucky said, clearly enjoying himself.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, face burning. You knew he said it only to rile Sam up, but god, if it didn’t rile you up too. Hidden hickeys from Bucky? 

Before Sam could double down, Joaquin cleared his throat, tapping the screen. “Uh—sorry to interrupt, but I think I’ve got something.” 

Everyone sobered instantly. You turned back towards the laptop. Bucky’s hand rested on your shoulder as he peered closer at the screen. 

“This ping came from about forty miles north of here,” he explained, tapping on the screen. “Old transmission relay embedded in an outpost that was supposedly decommissioned five years ago.”

“Supposedly?” you asked, grabbing the tablet and flipping to the file index.

Joaquin shrugged. “Looks like someone tried to activate it. Minimal signal—short burst, encrypted, piggybacked on satellite traffic. I almost missed it.”

Sam leaned over your shoulder. “Whoever it was knew what they were doing.”

Your brows furrowed as the image on the screen refreshed—a forested region with winding backroads and far from any civilian infrastructure.

“If Mikhail’s pulling strings again,” you said finally, “this is exactly the kind of spot he’d use to re-establish contact with old assets. Off-grid. And hard to trace.”

Sam crossed his arms. “We going in quiet?”

“We go in smart,” you said. “That means daylight recon from a distance, then split up. I’ll go in first. He’s more likely to show himself to me.”

Bucky shook his head immediately. “You’re not going in alone.”

“We don’t even know if it’s him—”

“Exactly. Which is why you’re not going in alone,” he said firmly. You opened your mouth to argue, but Sam cut in,

“He’s right.” You looked between them. Sam’s expression was serious, and Bucky’s jaw was set in that stubborn way you were starting to recognize as a ‘non-negotiable.’

After a beat, you nodded. “Okay. But if it’s him, we adapt.”

“Copy that,” Sam said. “Everyone gear up. We roll out in twenty.”

—

The morning had given way to a gray overcast sky that pressed low against the treetops. The SUV rumbled steadily beneath you, Bucky driving while you rode shotgun, Sam and Joaquin in the back discussing the intel.

You glanced over at Bucky. His one-handed grip on the steering wheel was relaxed, but his eyes were scanning—watching everything.

“You good?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look over. “Yes.”

You tilted your head. “I feel like that's your lying voice.”

He exhaled through his nose, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Sam and Joaquin distracted by the laptop.

“Something about all of this just doesn't add up," He muttered, "I don't want you walking into this alone."

“I’m not alone.” That made him glance at you. You offered a faint smile, and he gave a short nod, returning his gaze to the road.

In the backseat, Sam was going over the satellite images with Joaquin.

“Three buildings. Main house, two smaller outposts. We send Red Wing in first, see if anyone’s moving inside. If it looks quiet, we split—me and Torres go to the main building, Barnes and Y/N take the outpost on the south side.”

The SUV slowed as the GPS pinged your target ahead. The tree line thickened and the dirt road narrowed. Bucky stopped the vehicle just off the shoulder.

“We go in on foot from here,” he said, cutting the engine.

Everyone moved automatically. Vests, sidearms, comms—gear checks and sharp eyes. You slid your pistol into its holster and looked up to see Bucky watching you again. He hesitated for a second before speaking,

“I’ve got your back,” His hand brushed yours briefly—just enough that your breath caught. You gave him a small smile,

“I know.”

Sam’s voice crackled in your comm. “Move in. Let’s figure out what we’re dealing with.”

You moved through the trees with careful steps, Bucky at your six. The woods were quiet—too quiet. Even the birds had gone still.

In your ear, Sam’s voice crackled again, “Main building’s cold. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been there for days.”

“Copy,” you whispered. “We’re circling around the southern outpost now.” Joaquin chimed in next,

“Red Wing's thermals aren’t picking up anything active. But I’m getting some weird static interference—like something’s jamming us. We’re heading to you now.”

You and Bucky shared a glance.

The building finally came into view—a cement structure, mostly buried into the ground with weeds creeping up its sides. The metal door hung slightly ajar.

Your instincts screamed. Too easy. Too quiet.

Bucky signaled for you to hang back, but you shook your head. You moved together silently, covering each other as you approached.

He reached the door first and paused, glancing at you. Then he pushed it open.

The air inside was stale. Equipment cases lay abandoned. Dust covered every surface You stepped inside, weapon drawn, scanning the dim interior. A few crates stacked in one corner. An old desk against the wall.

And on that desk…

A single photo.

Your feet froze before your brain caught up.

It was a photograph. A crisp, recent one—too recent.

You and Bucky. Sitting on the edge of the dock back in Louisiana. His hand on your back. Your head tilted toward him. The moment was quiet, private. No one else had been there.

Your breath caught in your thoroat. You didn’t move, just stared.

Bucky picked up the photo, his jaw locked tight.

Your heart was pounding now, nausea curling in your stomach. This wasn’t just surveillance. This was a message that Mikhail been watching you. Close enough to see the way Bucky touched you. 

A sharp beeping cut through the silence.

Your eyes snapped to the far corner—beneath one of the crates, something was blinking red. Bucky moved before you could.

“Get down!”

BOOM.

A blast suddenly ripped through the building, slamming you to the floor as dust and smoke swallowed everything.

——————————

Author's Note: SORRY!!!! For the cliffhanger!!! Next part coming on Saturday hopefully :) Not beta read, so sorry for any mistakes. <3 Thanks for reading.

Tag List: @starfly-nicole @cjand10 @paige0103 @harryandhishairclip @iamryxx @seven0714 @isitbiorisitlesbian @lilillit @urfavfakeblonde @winterslove1917 @just-dreaming-marvel-2 @buckybarnesfic @defn0tonyourleft @mizz-kraziii @evergreenlark @multiversefanfics @kurogxrix @notreallythatlost @scariusaquarius @lcolumbia1988 [To be added or removed from the tag list, please message me]