#the falcon and the winter soldier wallpapers

[m-cristiny]

Winter soldier wallpaper

[barnesnatts]

🫶🏻💛

[haridkrish]

Finally a Captain America art in my feed. Posting in wallpaper ratio!

Support me by buying prints. Thank you :)

[steevbuckk]

sambucky lockscreens ✨

[xvivinx]

[fictionaltrvlr]

I MISS THEM i need to rewatch

cutouts

[9moonlitmagicmystery70blog]

[peachy-ash]

lockscreens

captain america: the winter soldier

[piacarriveau1990blog]

[anxitea-shop]

I've tried to make a wallpaper with Sam and Bucky, because I miss them 😭

[isharaneith]

What about Bucky?

Like, reblog or comment if you save, please

[freespiritfusionblog]

[barnesnatts]

Sebastian at the cfda awars💗

[aiinspiredmasterpiecesblog]

[xvivinx]

[chaossmagic]

I need stucky au from post-endgame where Steve left Bucky. There is not enough angst from the scene. Bucky had been in love with Steve since they were very young, however, Steve was naïve to notice his best friend’s feelings. After Steve left, Bucky needed to go to therapy since he was under government supervision. I love the quote from that one scene “If he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.” We do not discuss enough the passage from Bucky in Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Maybe you can add a little plot between the lines? Basically a story about Bucky’s situation after Steve left

Bucky can count on one hand the times he's outright, deliberately lied to Steve.

Once, when he was fourteen and he told Steve he'd kissed Maria Gracewski behind the grocery store one day, when it was the middle of summer and all the kids they knew were stepping out with each other. He hadn't; in fact, they'd done nothing more than hold hands and pass a bottle of ice-cold soda between them, each taking in turns to sip from the straw to quench their thirst, each feeling too awkward to make an actual move.

He wasn't sure, at the time, why he'd bothered lying; it was only later he realized it was because he had been trying to make Steve jealous, thinking about Bucky kissing someone who wasn't him.

The second time was when his draft card came and he told everyone he enlisted instead. It was easy to pretend to be the dutiful son doing the brave thing, the right thing, going where he was needed to serve his country, a true honour to his family. That's what people told his parents on the street, in the store, in the bread queue that ran around the block twice at nine in the morning. That's what he told himself when he spent the entire journey from New York to Portsmouth, England cooped up in his cabin, nauseous not with seasickness, but fear, knowing it was impossible to admit he never wanted to go to war in the first place.

The third time was after Kreichsberg, after - that. He didn't really like to think about it. Tried to actively avoid it, in fact, would be more willing to open up about plenty of other things that had happened to him in the last seventy years except where it had all started. No way was his mind ever going back there, to the cold, dank cell and the sizzling of burning hair and flesh, syringes full of substances he had no idea what they were and - screams. The screams were the worst.

I'm fine, he'd kept telling the nurses who insisted on examining him. I'm fine, he'd told Steve, after he'd suggested for the fifth time that he lie down and get some real rest. Really, I'm fine, he'd said to Dum-Dum and Morita and Falsworth and everyone else who asked him when they saw the dark circles under his eyes and the way his bones stuck out from under his uniform a little too much. He was fine. Tired, hungry, and missing home just like every other soldier. Fine.

Then, a dingy and sparse apartment in Bucharest, where the fridge only worked half the time and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, but he paid his rent each week in cash and nobody bothered him if he helped fix a few lightbulbs or carry heavy pieces of broken furniture out to the sidewalk.

Steve, standing in the middle of his damn kitchen, a photograph of his own face in his hand and one of Bucky's notebooks in the other, head-to-toe Captain America monkeysuit on but eyes wide and pleading. Looking at Bucky and wanting answers Bucky himself had been too afraid to give.

You pulled me from the river. Why?

For a fraction of a second, the real answer had been on the tip of his tongue. If he could just say it, then maybe everything would be okay. Maybe Steve could save him. Maybe Steve could help him save himself, if let him. If he stopped being so fucking afraid all the time of being dragged right back to where he'd been for the last seventy-odd years. If he didn't feel constantly sick with nerves and fear, if his entire body wasn't one screaming hunk of bone-deep pains and muscle aches and joints that didn't work properly. If he could actually fend for himself instead of living off of chocolate bars and the few types of fresh produce he could actually eat with vomiting.

Because I didn't want you to die, he'd wanted to say. Because I love you. I remembered that I love you.

But once again, he'd been too scared to tell the truth. Chickened out at the last minute. Lied, again.

I don't know, is what had actually come out of his mouth, moments before the ceiling above them exploded in the thumping feet of the SWAT team, come to make sure he didn't do anything else terrible again by shutting him up permanently.

The last time had been right before Steve left to return the Infinity Stones. He'd wanted so badly to tell him not to go, to beg if he needed to, to tell him, Stay with me. Choose me. I'm the one who's always loved you more than anyone else, and I know you love me too, so why won't you fucking STAY?

But he hadn't done that. No pleading, no begging, no last-minute confessions of love despite almost a century of it burning beneath his ribs, right where his heart was, and where he knew, if only he'd asked, the same thumping beat pounded in Steve's own chest, crying out to him. Crying out for him. He'd feel it if he put his hand there, he knew, if he'd even dared to try instead of smiling and nodding in the right places and saying all the right things that Steve wanted to hear to justify his decision to himself.

Bucky was a lot of things. He'd been called a lot of things. Charmer. Casanova. A mother's biggest dream for a son-in-law.

Asset. Winter Soldier. The Fist of Hydra.

Killer. Murderer. Monster.

Sergeant. White Wolf. Buck.

Now, though? There was one thing left that people didn't really know. Opening and closing the fridge door for a fourth, fifth, sixth bottle of beer that did absolutely nothing for him intoxication-wise and only made him want to pee, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV while a football game played that he wasn't even watching -

Simultaneously wanting to scream, cry, or throw something -

Sergeant James Barnes was a war hero, museum display and all.

The Winter Soldier was the most dangerous assassin on the face of the planet for 50 years.

But Bucky, though? Just Bucky? Plain old scared-to-death-of-his-own-shadow, walks everywhere for miles because getting on the subway makes him want to pass out and throw up at the same time, even with noise-cancelling earbuds, Bucky?

That Bucky Barnes was a fucking coward. That was the real him. And he only had himself and his messed-up, broken brain to blame.