#tfaws

[yellenabelova]

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (2021) Thunderbolts* (2025)

[yenyenyen19]

More Bonk and Alpine

[spencessocks]

through the silence

summary: bucky struggles with his inner demons and fear of hurting you, keeping you at a distance with his whiskey and self-doubt.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: angsty sad bucky with a little bit of a drinking problem, happy ending

you fiddled with the lock, hands full with bags from the grocery store. the door swung open, he‘s sitting on the couch, seemingly zoning out before turning his head to you as he sees you walk inside, his gaze grumpy as usual.

"hi, buck." you said with a sigh.

after his pardon, you'd thought that it would all be a fresh start. he had been home for months, but the weight of the past never left him. his court-mandated therapy had maybe helped somewhat, but whiskey was what helped dull the edges, numbing the guilt and the nightmares.

the serum running through his veins made it hard for him to ever truly be drunk, but it wasn't for a lack of trying.

he nods silently as a greeting before taking another sip from his whiskey bottle, his eyes narrowing into a curious look as he gives you a once-over. he watches you from the couch for a moment, his eyes following you as you entered the kitchen. he couldn’t help but glance at the grocery bag you had set down.

“..whatcha got there?“

your eyes met his as you looked up at him.

"if you want more whiskey, you're out of luck." you quipped.

bucky let out a soft huff of annoyance at your blunt comment. he leaned back on the couch, his gaze shifting to the television instead.

“was just trying to make conversation, that's all.“

you let out a small 'mhm'. you couldn't help it. it seemed like every exchange you shared nowadays was some passive-aggressive back-and-forth, a dance between anger and frustration. you sighed, pulling out the groceries and setting them on the counter, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. it was getting harder to reach him, to find the man beneath the silence and whiskey haze.

it wasn't always like this, you remembered when he first came home—how he tried, at least for a little while. he went to therapy, tried to keep a routine, even let himself smile every now and then. but that didn’t last. the weight of it all was too much, and he started retreating, piece by piece, until all that was left was this—Bucky Barnes, slumped on the couch, a bottle in hand, eyes empty.

it all had happened gradually. you had, in some ways, gotten used to this life. some days were harder than others, but you had largely given up trying to get through to him.

you wanted to help him—you really did—but the truth was, you didn’t know how. you had tried everything: patience, encouragement, giving him space, then not giving him space. nothing worked. every time you reached out, it felt like grasping at smoke, like trying to hold onto someone who had already decided to let go.

and maybe that was the worst part—you didn’t know if he even wanted your help. if he wanted to get better. if he wanted you around at all.

you were struggling too, though you never said it out loud. the weight of it all—watching him disappear into himself, the nights spent lying awake, wishing for things to be different and yearning for the past. it was exhausting.

so you stopped saying much of anything.

every conversation led to nowhere. empty words, half-hearted replies, moments that used to mean something, now stretched thin with tension. you missed him—even if he was right there.

but you stayed despite it all. you pathetically clung on to the moments you shared that weren't drenched in silence or awkwardness. like the nights when, despite everything, he still pulled you close.

there were times, in the quiet of the dark, when he would reach for you, almost instinctively. his arm would wrap around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away. he never said much, but you felt it—the way his breathing evened out when you traced circles on his back, the way his body relaxed against yours, like you were the only thing grounding him.

every nightmare he had, you were right there by his side. it was just routine now. you knew the exact things to say and do to bring him the comfort he so badly needed.

some mornings, if you were lucky, you’d wake up with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin, his hold just a little tighter, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. and then there were the rare days when he’d find you in the kitchen, his arms sneaking around your waist, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder, mumbling something about how beautiful you were.

those moments kept you tethered to him, to the hope that maybe, somewhere beneath the weight he carried, the bucky you loved was still there.

bucky’s eyes were back to the television, but it was clear he wasn’t really watching it. the silence between you hung heavy, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. you turned around, packing away the groceries, and you could feel the weight of his stare on your back.

bucky let out a sigh, his voice low as he spoke again. “you know, it’s been a while since you’ve even tried to talk to me.”

you froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. you wanted to say something, to turn around and face him. but you couldn't. did he really think that things were fine?

you were worn down emotionally. it had been a while since you had tried to talk about things, and you felt pressure rising in your chest. you didn't know if you wanted to shout or cry. you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you could feel it building inside you, the way it twisted your insides, the frustration that threatened to spill over. you didn’t want to snap at him, didn’t want this to end in a round of hurt feelings, but you were so tired, so damn tired of pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

"i don’t know how, bucky," you said, your voice bearly above a whisper. "i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this."

you couldn't face him in this moment. you didn't want to see the look on his face. a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

a soft thud echoed through the room, the bottle of whiskey now on the coffee table. you heard footsteps approching the kitchen island.

"what are you saying?" he exclaimed, his voice cautious.

your heart felt heavy, weighed down by the truth you could no longer keep to yourself. you still couldn’t face him. you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes, afraid that if you did, the dam inside you would break. you weren’t sure if you were ready for that, or if you could even handle it. you weren't good at things like this.

“i don’t know, that i'm tired,” you whispered, your hands gripping the counter harder.

“i’m not just tired, bucky. i’m... i’m exhausted. mentally, emotionally... you can’t keep pushing me away like this and expect me to stay strong. i’m trying—i really am—but i don’t know how much longer i can keep pretending like i'm okay when i'm not."

your head hung low as you tried to maintain your composure. you slowly turned around to face him, your hands trembling slightly.

you could see his posture stiffen, the way his eyes shifted, guilty and conflicted. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words escaped him. you averted your gaze, unable to keep your eyes on his.

"i don’t want to leave. i don’t want to walk away from you, but i can’t keep losing myself in this—in us. i can’t keep putting on a brave face when every part of me feels like i'm drowning. i just don’t know how to keep going like this.” you had put it all out there, wiping a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen.

you wanted to feel like you weren’t alone in this, like he would hear you and see you, but you weren’t sure if he would. you weren’t sure if anything would ever change. and that was the most painful, terrifying part—the possibility that time wouldn't heal this.

you tried not to think about it. losing him. the love you felt for him, you knew that would never go away—you'd live the rest of your life wishing things had been different.

finally, his voice broke through the quiet, rough and hesitant. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this," he said, his words slow, almost unsure. "i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re... alone in this. i know I’ve been pushing you away.”

"but i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know how to be... the guy you need me to be, not when I can barely stand myself.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

your breath hitched in your throat, suprised at the vulnerability he was suddenly presenting you.

“i just—i'm scared, okay? scared that i'll make it worse, that i’ll drag you down with me.”

there was an ache in his words, a deep and raw honesty that you hadn’t heard in so long.

you stood still for a moment, letting his words settle in the space between you. his honesty hit you hard, more than you expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just angry or frustrated. you felt a sadness—because you knew he didn’t want to be like this. you just couldn’t seem to find a way out of the mess you both were tangled in.

you finally met his eyes. your heart twisted at the vulnerability there, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of it all. god, how did you get here?

“i…” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to break through. “i’m scared too.”

“i’m scared that i'm losing you. sometimes i feel like i already have. i tried so hard, and i couldn't reach you. and i don’t know how to keep going like this, with this distance between us.”

you wiped your hand across your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, despite some of them having already escaped. “i don’t know how to help you when you won’t let me in, when you push me away like i'm... like i’m just a part of the mess you’re trying to escape.” your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, you looked away—taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

“but I’m not going anywhere, bucky. i’m here, and i'm trying to understand, even when it feels impossible. i just… i need you to meet me halfway. i can’t fix this alone.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of blame and something deeper—something almost like relief. relief that even after everything, you still were extending him an olive branch.

he wandered around to the other side of the kitchen island seperating you, now at your side.

your hands were softly clutching the edge of the counter, searching for comfort.

bucky stood there for a moment, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, but far enough that the space between you still felt heavy. the quiet in the room stretched on, thick with unspoken words, as if he was gathering the courage to say something. then, without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether you would pull away.

you didn’t.

he sighed, an abysmal, worn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

“i'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to push you away. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough.” he paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the movement barely perceptible. “i’ve got these thoughts, these... memories that i can’t get rid of. they don’t stop. and sometimes, i’m afraid that one day, they’ll take over, and i’ll lose control. i know i was deprogrammed, i know he's gone, but the fear—it's still there. deep down, it’s still there."

he paused, swallowing hard, the weight of his admission sinking in. “i keep thinking that one day, i’m gonna snap, and i’ll hurt you. you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, i feel so undeserving of you. you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything good in this messed up world, and i... i don’t know how to be the man you deserve. i don’t know how to be the person you see when you look at me."

you breathed his name softly, "bucky..." your voice unsure, a mix of compassion and concern threading through each syllable.

he shook his head, running his free hand over his face as if trying to erase the doubts he couldn’t shake. "i’ve done horrible things. things i’ll never be able to make up for, no matter how hard I try. you know that. even now, i feel like i’m still that same broken soldier, still capable of hurting the people i love. you don’t deserve someone like me."

his words came out with such quiet devastation that it made your chest tighten even further. you could see how much he was struggling with the weight of his past, how it felt like a shadow he couldn’t escape, no matter how much time had passed.

"i look at you, and i see all the love and kindness you’ve given me, and i just—i feel like I’m not enough, like i’ll never be enough."

you felt an overwhelming mix of empathy and frustration swirling inside you. you loved him so much, more than he could ever know, and yet here he was, convinced that he wasn’t worthy of you. it hurt, but what hurt even more was that he couldn’t see it—that you had chosen him, not just once, but every single day. through every struggle, every painful argument, you had stayed.

"you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me, like my feelings don’t matter. i love you, bucky. i chose you. not because you’re perfect, not because i expect you to be someone you’re not, but because i see you. you. and i want you, just as you are."

you turned your body towards him, your eyes now staring up at him intently.

"you keep saying you’re scared of hurting me, but don’t you see? this—pushing me away, shutting me out like i'm not capable of helping you carry your burdens—that hurts more than anything else ever could." you exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to let me in."

you gripped his hand tightly in yours. bucky’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his adam’s apple bobbing with the force of the emotions he was trying to hold back. his fingers twitched in your grip, and for a second, you thought he might pull away.

his chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, his blue eyes flickering back and forth into your intense stare. he was searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for proof that you really meant every word. “i don’t know what to do.” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes leaving yours as he stared off into the kitchen.

"let me in. that's your only choice if you want me to stay." you said, practically a demand.

bucky swallowed hard before his gaze finally met yours again. there was hesitation there, fear still lingering in the depths of his tired eyes, but there was something else, too—something softer, something that looked a little like hope.

he exhaled, shaky and uncertain, but then he gave a small nod. “okay,” he murmured. “i'll try.”

relief flooded through you, and you reached for his hand again, giving it a firm squeeze. “that’s all I need,” you said gently. “just try.”

bucky looked down at your joined hands for a moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin before he let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “guess that means i should probably start by putting down the damn bottle, huh?”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the heavy conversation. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

without another word, bucky turned, walking back toward the couch where his nearly empty whiskey bottle sat on the coffee table. he hesitated only briefly before reaching for it, lifting it just enough to stare at the amber liquid inside. then, with a deep breath, he stood up straighter and walked toward the kitchen sink.

you watched as he uncapped it, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle before tilting it over the drain. the scent of whiskey filled the air as the liquid splashed against the metal, swirling away until nothing was left.

bucky set the empty bottle down with a quiet clink, then looked back at you. his expression was unreadable for a moment before he nodded, hands on his hips, as if trying to convince himself of his own decision. “there. that’s a start, right?”

you stepped closer, pressing your forehead softly against his shoulder, your fingers curling gently around his waist. “yeah,” you whispered. “that’s a start.”

he lifted his arms and wrapped them around you, pulling you into his chest. it wasn’t desperate or suffocating—it was sweet, careful. you melted into him.

he buried his face against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “thank you, doll.” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it.

you squeezed him a little tighter, your fingers pressing into his back. “always.”

[male-22-fan]

I remember when in 2021 the fans said that John abused his wife and it makes me laugh because every time John remembers that he yelled at Olivia he is like this:

"And if I unsubscribe from life...?"

[loonaversalstudios]

all I think about are Bucky and John and it’s like ….Bucky trying to explain to Sam and he’s like… couldn’t you have brought us home a Normal pet. Like another cat. And Bucky’s like, no babe trust me he’s kinda like a cat

[mikeymagee]

Sam Wilson: Double Consciousness

One thing I love about Black superheroes is that they all (in their own ways) celebrate different aspects of the Black experience.

T'challa, in the first Black Panther film represented Afro-futurism and Pan-Africanism.

Shuri, in Wakanda Forever, represented Black grief and the pain of loss.

Luke Cage represented African American pride and resilience

Tyrone from Cloak and Dagger represented the fear of living as a Black person in a white dominated space.

Miles Morales in Into the Spider-Verse, represented the creation of an individual identity (he even uses his graffiti skills to paint his own Spiderman suit). Each hero represented a specific aspect of the Black experience.

But Sam Wilson has always occupied a specific space that (until this moment) had yet to be filled. Sam Wilson, as an African American man, and as an African American Captain America, represents double consciousness.

(Potential Spoilers after the cut)

Double Consciousness, in this context, is a term that was coined by WEB Du Bois in his book The Souls of Black Folk in which he states that:

"It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife – this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merging he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost. He does not wish to Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa. He wouldn't bleach his Negro blood in a flood of white Americanism, for he knows that Negro blood has a message for the world. He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without having the doors of opportunity closed roughly in his face"

In essence, to be a Black American is to be a creature of two warring worlds, and it also means that the Black American must be ever aware at the fact that every move we make is not only going to be used to judge our character, but also the character of every other Black American. And Sam Wilson is aware of that fact.

In both The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam brings up the fact that he knows the world is watching him and hating him simply for being a Black man who represents the United States. When Sam is juxtaposed against Isaiah Bradley, another Black Captain America who the country abandoned, Sam is reminded of how this country has always treated Black men and women.

And, sadly enough, Sam could also be looking at his own future. During Brave New World, Sam is ever honorable, ever compassionate and ever empathetic to everyone around him (even when their actions do not warrant Sam's kindness). Because, once again, Sam is aware that his actions (whether negative or positive) will have a greater impact on more than just himself. And that kind of pressure can lead to bitterness. It can wear a body down.

Sam states:

"Because if I’m not on point, I feel like I’ve let down everyone who is fighting for a seat at that table.”

Isaiah Bradley has always had a rocky relationship with the US, just like all African Americans have, So it makes sense to me that Sam Wilson may also be thinking about Isaiah each time he picks up the shield. When African Americans create something (be it a movie, or a tv show, or a play) that centers on the Black experience, there is an added pressure to overperform to prove the validity of the project and the validity of Black narratives. When The Wiz, a film that was originally going to be seen as "The First Black Classic" bombed in 1978, many Hollywood producers and film historians credited that film's failure as the reason why Black-led franchises are/were seen as box office poison for so long. Even with the success of 2018's Black Panther film, there are still people who're gun shy about centering Black narratives in the mainstream. So, if Sam Wilson were to fail as being Captain America, or if Sam Wilson were to represent himself in a way that is less admirable, it would have an effect on Isaiah's legacy, it would have an effect on Joaquin, it would have an effect on (potentially) Isaiah's grandson.

And even still, during the prison scenes in BNW, when Isaiah is locked away and Sam comes to visit him, Isaiah states:

"The last thing I want is for any of this ugliness to touch you."

Within the MCU Isaiah and Sam's stories are linked. Not just through the fact that Sam brought Isaiah's story out into the light, but also because they are both Black men who have held the mantel of Captain America, and whether they like it or not, their destinies with that legacy are intertwined. One will affect the other. They are each other's keeper.

Sam Wilson, rather through happenstance or fate, is the embodiment of Double Consciousness. Luke Cage, in both his comic book series and his Netflix show, was free to exist as a person outside of the white gaze. He could be angry, sad, fearful, etc, and not have to worry about how his actions would affect the larger community outside of Harlem. Sam Wilson does not have the luxury. So, when Sam is faced with a microaggression (such as being called "Son" by Ross), he is forced to hold his tongue. Sam Wilson is expected to react with kindness and decorum in the midst danger or disrespect, not because he can't fight back, but because he knows how the weight of his actions will affect those who look like him.

And Sam Wilson, a Black man without the soldier serum, is still expected to do everything that Steve Rogers (and to a lesser extent John Walker) do. Sam Wilson must do twice as much work with half as many resources. And if that's not the embodiment of the African American experience, I'm not sure what is. Many African American genres of music were created out of necessity and transferring what knowledge we could salvage onto new instruments. In short, African Americans had to improvise with the tools they were already given and create something new. Jazz and Blues was created because Black slaves were not allowed to use drums, so those rhythmic patterns were transposed onto guitars and horns.

Sam is expected to carry a large amount of physical labor (simply fighting as a human being without the serum clearly takes a toll). But he's also expected to do a lot of emotional labor as well. Through BNW Sam acts more as an ambassador for the US than a soldier. It is canon that in the MCU Sam speaks English, Spanish, Arabic and Japanese and he uses those skills to extend diplomacy to other nations and other people. In BNW, it was Sam who was responsible for deescalating international tensions with Japan, and it was Sam who managed to avoid a war through peaceful negotiation rather than war mongering (as Ross wanted to do). Even during the fight with Red Hulk, Sam had to resort to other means to achieve results (something that Steve or John Walker would've just brute forced their way through). Even while Sam was being shot at in the air, he never lost his cool because (like many African Americans) he is not afforded that privilege. John Walker, in TFATWS is allowed to murder and stain the shield with blood, but no one would ever say that white men like Walker are the problem with America. Yet Sam (and Isaiah) are far too familiar with the fact that a Black man screwing up will result in the judgement of everything that is associated with Blackness and Black people. So, they must find solutions without the use of violence. Sam must be diplomatic when the easier solution would be violence. Sam must be able to communicate with others on their own turf or in their own language during tense situations (like when he spoke Japanese to the fighter pilots).

Sam Wilson does not have the serum, but he does have wings. So, he adapted. Sam Wilson does not have the super strength needed to work the shield the same way Steve does, so Sam adapted and improvised. Just like Jazz music, Sam Wilson turned a perceived fault into a creative strength. He had to use his linguistic skills, his counseling skills, his flight capabilities, psychology and his boundless optimism to do the impossible.

A very hurting thing for Black Americans - to feel that we can't love our enemies. People forget what a great tradition we have as African-Americans in the practice of forgiveness and compassion. And if we neglect that tradition, we suffer.

-Bell Hooks

The fact of the matter remains, Sam Wilson embodies so many aspects of the African American experience, even when he doesn't mean to. Compassion. Improvisation. And the constant idea that this country can choose its better angels. In a way, Sam Wilson occupies a space that Luke Cage, T'challa, Shuri, and even Erik Killmonger cannot. It is a piece of the African American experience that takes a slug in the face and still gets right back up. The Black American tradition of making the impossible a reality through nothing but sheer force of will. Steve Rogers might have been the one to say the words "I can do this all day," but Sam Wilson lives them.

And he comes from a centuries old tradition of people who have been living them.

[lilmarshie]

secret relationship! Bucky Barnes x Reader | pre thunderbolts! era

*takes place after a long mission with Bucky and Sam*

Sam: *nonchalantly* “You know that Bucky is in love with you, right?”

Y/N: *shakes head in disbelief* “He can’t be…we’re just friends and teammates.”

Sam: “You’ve seen the way he looks at you, y/n! Plus, that hug after the mission? Friends don’t just hug each other like that.”

*Bucky walks in and doesn’t notice Sam in the room*

Bucky: “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling after that mission? Are you doing alright?” *walks over to you and gives you a hug*

Y/N: *tries to subtly glance over to Sam in the corner but fails* “I’m doing good, Buck. How are you doing?”

Bucky: *notices Sam finally* “Sam? What are you doing here? I thought you went out to run some errands?”

Sam: *stammering and doesn’t want to give anything away* “I was just heading out. I saw y/n here and I was just catching up before I left.”

Bucky: *looks over to you* “Uh huh…well I’m going to go and take a nap. I’ll see you guys later.” *looks at you expectantly (almost as if wanting you to follow him) before walking away*

Y/N: *sighs once Bucky is out of earshot* “Well…I guess the truth is out.”

Sam: *laughs* “You couldn’t keep a straight face even if you tried! Your face was beet red as soon as he called you sweetheart. You can’t keep a secret from me.”

Y/N: *lightly punches Sam on the shoulder* “I’m going to go and take a nap.” *heads out of the room*

Sam: *laughs again* “Have fun!”

Y/N: *rolls your eyes as you make your way to Bucky’s room to join him for a nap* “They’re all going to be the death of me.”

[dailymarvelstudios]

The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, 2021

[hoult-nicholas]

Bucky Barnes + nightmares

[buckys3rdnip]

Pulling at Heartstrings

"You listen to music while you shoot people?"

"You dont?"

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader (F) 18+ (mdni)

Warnings/Tags: Ambiguous timeline, Classic tower fic, Music lover/dependent reader, a little bit of Sexual tension if you squint, Sniper!Reader, One-shot/Drabble maybe eventually a fic, Fluff, Age-Gap, Possessive Bucky, Mutual-pining, Insecure Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You hate silence. Every hour of the day, there was either a speaker or earphones feeding you the sweet melodies of hyperspecific playlists and songs that were just right—anything to fill the silence. After a while of being an Avenger, you began to grow feelings for the former Winter Soldier, becoming good friends and work partners. Suddenly, the 40s were sounding pretty good in your ears.

Author’s Note: My first fic on here! I’ve been listening to too much 40s and 50s music and wanted to write something that was tooth-rottingly fluffy. I highly recommend listening to the song attached or maybe reading the lyrics to enjoy the full extent of the story but its not totally necessary! :)

———————————————————————————

Everyone has quirks and unique habits that might be considered irrelevant to some, while others rely on these little nuances to better understand those around them.

Bucky was the latter.

Despite being a couple of decades behind, about 10, it didn't go unnoticed to Bucky how whenever there was music playing, it was usually by you, and if anyone cared enough to pay close attention (which he did), it gave pretty good insight into how you were feeling throughout the day. Some songs meant good days, others meant not-so-good days, and then there were the ones that had made him curious. He took note of how recently, in between your usual rotations of 90's rock and grungey new-wave taste you had, there'd be an occasional song or two he could surprisingly recognize coming from your room, only because it'd be something between the 1930s or 40's. Especially on the days you’d spend together, either training, working, or sometimes after just being around one another long enough.

It was the morning after your most recent mission with Bucky. Normally, the mornings weren’t really your thing, meanwhile Bucky’s already on his run just before the sun came up. You wake up at about 8:00am, thankfully, you had no missions today, which meant you could enjoy a Saturday for the first time in weeks. Regardless of the day, you never changed your morning routine. At this point, it was a ritual, so to speak. After waking up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t skip a beat as you hurry to rummage through your shelf full of mixtapes, CDs, records, etc. Oh, sure, you had Bluetooth speakers in your room, the compound surrounded you in the latest tech, inaccessible to civilians probably for the next 30 to 50 years- it was like living in the future, confined to just this tower alone. But you also had an appreciation for tangible, real things. Old things. Your civies were comprised of vintage band shirts and ripped jean shorts, all covered in a mix of your perfume and the scent of gunpowder. Maybe in another life, you’d be a video vixen for the newest up-and-coming rock band of the century, instead of being perched on rooftops, taking people out in broad daylight or under the cover of shadows.

You pop a tape into the stereo that’s set up by your dresser, the floor-to-ceiling window flooding in the warm sunlight rising over New York as you hit play and wake yourself up for the day ahead. You’ve always had a broad taste with some select favorites, your usual choices on the more alternative side, but you enjoyed the occasional ballet or 80s hit, to switch things up. However, lately your song choices have been a bit different. As the song began to play, you hummed along. This morning, you were listening to a song from the 50s by a female group that seemed to perfectly capture the inner turmoil you were silently facing.

It didn’t matter how well you shot, how high your mission success rate was, or how proficient your training and performance were. Bucky was stubborn, and had a tendency to doubt. It wasn’t anything against you or your skills, but rather his distrust towards the world and its merciless inhabitants. After growing closer over time, you and Bucky naturally learned each other’s characteristics, you quickly discovered how…protective Bucky was. Overbearing was really the word you were looking for. He had a habit of hovering, almost helicoptering at times, on missions and at home. If you were hanging around someone else for too long or if one of the guys made you laugh a bit too hard, the tension in Bucky’s jaw and shoulders seemed to tighten with irritation. Of course, this usually went unnoticed by you; after all, his grumpy exterior wasn’t exactly out of character for him. One thing he did that got under your skin a bit was remind you of the fact that you’re younger. Not by much (according to your opinion), even if he was about 100 years old, it’s not like he was really that ancient, and you weren’t a child. Being a young woman in your 20s, you didn’t take kindly to being referred to as anything but a grown adult. But it seemed like you couldn’t escape the offhanded use of ‘kid’ he or some of the others threw around while talking to or scolding you. You honestly couldn’t care less if it came from anyone else. But the fact that it was him bothered you to no end. The stories you’d hear from Steve of Bucky being quite the charmer with women and hearing about the type of women he had gone for before the war left you feeling unsettled, maybe at times anxious, and a little bit insecure. You couldn’t deny that at times, when under stress, you had the habit of acting like a raging teenager who was angry at anything- everything. This only strengthened your self-consciousness. As you mumbled the words and hummed along to the tune, you peeled off the sleep shirt you wore to bed, changing into some black shorts and a t-shirt with the neckline cut across so it would hang off your shoulders, revealing the black bra straps hugging your triceps. You make sure to shut off the stereo before heading to the kitchen and common area to fix yourself something up. A smile twitches at the corners of your lips as you see Bucky, white tank top and basketball shorts, post-run run sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, reading a newspaper.

“Y’know most people watch the news nowadays.” You say, walking over to the coffee maker against the kitchen backsplash. He doesn’t look up, but the chuckle in his throat makes your heart skip a small beat.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in hearing a news anchor shout at me this early, so words and pictures are doing just fine for now.” He speaks through another soft chuckle, his lips curling into the most heartthrobbed smile, and he wasn’t even looking in your direction, yet it was enough for you to make the mistake of overpouring your coffee. “Oh shit-” You winced and put down your mug, whispering a small string of curses under your breathing, verbally berating the hot liquid as you quickly wiped away at the small spill on the counter. Bucky's eyes shot up from the paper, following you as you scrambled, quickly cleaning your mess despite the lack of actual urgency to do so. He found your erratic nature…endearing. “You okay?” His tone was toeing the line between genuine concern and slight amusement in seeing you flustered over spilled coffee. “Yeah, I got it..” You reluctantly grumbled as you wiped down the side of your mug.

A few minutes pass, you finish making your coffee with no more casualties to the counters and floor, taking a seat beside Bucky, with your elbows propped up as you sip on the warm beverage. A couple more seconds of quiet continue to fill the room before Bucky thankfully breaks it. His next words, however, nearly make you choke as he casually speaks. “So, The Poni-Tails, huh? I prefer the stuff made in the 40s, but maybe the 50s is acceptable, not sure how great those were.” You realize halfway through his sentence that he’s looking at you again. “…I knew my stuff was loud, but I didn’t think it was that loud.” You reply in a bit of a nervous laugh. “That’s a lie. You know exactly how loud you can be.” Bucky’s still smiling, you had to pretend you weren’t absolutely reeling at the sight of it, not to mention his words making your brain make associations that probably weren’t appropriate for this conversation. “I gotta admit, I don’t think I’ve heard you play that one before. That one's new.” He added on, leaning in a little in a slightly playful manner. The fact that he could pick up on the correlation between you and your music selections made your brain short-circuit a little from the disbelief that anyone on this planet would even pay the smallest bit of attention to that kind of detail about you. You could’ve sworn you forgot how to speak for a second. You don’t even notice his empty cup as he stood up from his seat to go put it in the dishwasher, your gaze following him as you struggled to find anything to say, but that was okay because he wasn’t done.

“If I wasn’t busy being such a hardass, I would’ve picked up on it sooner.” He began, setting the cup down before walking over to you as you shifted in your seat a bit, your eyes soft and full like a doe in the forest as you looked up at Bucky. His hands reaching down to grip the sides of your stool, you felt his thumbs graze the outer part of your thighs as his fingers curled around the edges of your seat, his gaze boring into you. “Do you really think I don’t…feel things for you?” His voice was soft, the gravel at his throat rumbling in his words as he spoke in a gentle, almost vulnerable tone, searching your eyes for how you truly felt. Your lips were slightly parted as you stared up at him in surprise, taken aback by his forwardness.

“No, I-” You cleared your throat a bit as you felt embarrassment creep up on your cheeks as they grew warmer. “…I didn’t.” You managed to finish. Bucky hung his head for a moment with a soft sigh, he seemed disappointed…but in himself? He shook his head disapprovingly before lifting it back up to meet your nervous eyes. His thumb gently rubbed small circles on the side of your thigh beside your knee. “I didn’t know you were having a hard time. I never meant to make you feel this way, like you couldn’t be enough for me. It’s the complete opposite…” He trailed off. Bucky chewed at his bottom lip for a moment to stifle a curse as he brought up his hand to cup your cheek. The flesh of his palm was warm as it met your face, his touch gentle. “...The fact is, I need you, I rely on you to keep me from losing my mind in all this noise...Even if it makes me selfish I don't care, I can’t stand the thought of having to share you with anyone...” He breathed, hanging his head again with a small sigh.

"You're more than what I deserve and all I desire."

Your heart is beating so fast you feel it in your head and at the tips of your fingers as his words sink in. You had spent hours, even full nights, consumed with dread, telling yourself that you were the wrong girl from the wrong time, doubting yourself and your chances with someone as extraordinary as the man before you. But here he was, snuffing your doubts and proving your demons wrong. Not only was your love for him requited, but he was looking at you like you were his salvation, and as far as Bucky was concerned; you were.

"Stop looking at me like that before I kiss you..." You say, your breath shaky as your worries from before had subsided, now your only concern being whether or not you can practice the little sense of self restraint you had left when it came to Bucky.

He doesn't even hesiate, not sparing another second being away from you as he leans forward. Your lips locking and drowning into one another, as if you had been stranded in the desert and this was your oasis. It was perfect, he was perfect and so were you- Bucky didn't care what he had to do to make sure you knew that. He'd spend every day of the rest of his life convincing you if he had to. You both pull away, your lips ghosting each other, brushing against the skin as even your breaths seemed to synchronize from the small heat of passion.

"Can..we do that again?" You softly panted.

Bucky couldn't hold back a toothy grin, chuckling softly. "We'll be doing that and a whole lot more."

END.

[yellenabelova]

Bucky Barnes + Knives

[shilohhill]

TFAWS!Bucky relationship head cannons. SFW

⋆.˚ ★— took him months to even acknowledge how he felt towards you. Raynor noticed something was up almost immediately but he wouldn’t talk about it for the longest time. He was in denial for quite a long time, especially as he’s now working through his trauma.

⋆.˚ ★— tries to remember how he did it in the 40’s. How did he confess to dot back in the day? Flowers, took her for a nice meal, asked her out on her doorstep once he walked her home. It came so easy to him back then, he’s almost jealous of his previous self.

⋆.˚ ★— after building up the courage for MONTHS he does finally do it. He turns up at your door, flowers in hand, tries his old lines from the 40’s. They don’t come out like they used to. You have to do the talking for him as he’s cringing internally. He tells Sam about it and Sam laughs in his face, to which Bucky grumbles and dies inside.

⋆.˚ ★— early days he’s still very uncertain. What if this isn’t right? Is he worthy of being loved after all he did? He won’t ever make it known to you though. He keeps up his unbothered personality. He isn’t shy, you just can’t see his inner turmoil. Tries to push you away, he’s used to grief, pain and suffering. Raynor chews him out for it, he’s never seen her so angry. It was a huge wake up call for him.

“You mess this up and I will never forgive you. There are not many people in this world who will stick around like they do.”

⋆.˚ ★— horrified by the modern way of dating. Looks at you like you’re crazy when you ask if he wants to split the bill.

⋆.˚ ★— he lets you lead at the start of the relationship. He’s still adjusting to modern life and relearning how to be a normal personal again. But once he’s comfortable? He becomes a completely different person.

⋆.˚ ★— He very quickly learns that you aren’t scared of his metal arm. He learns that you aren’t afraid of him after all he’s done. Once he realises it, things really begin to get moving for you.

⋆.˚ ★— ACTS OF SERVICE. especially before he learns that physical touch isn’t actually a luxury, he’ll always make sure the coffee pot is warm, fix something that breaks in your apartment and do the errands you don’t like doing.

⋆.˚ ★— LOVES physical touch. Once he realises how much he likes it, he’ll constantly hold onto you. Is a very big fan of pinky holding, particularly as he’s readjusting to life again. It’s subtle, but it means so much to him. Loves to compare hand sizes. It makes him feel human again after being forced into being an obedient machine for years and years.

⋆.˚ ★— dating Bucky comes with rough patches. He’s relearning how to communicate, how to act in this modern world. He will disappear for a few days and not tell you. The first few times you yell at him and he just takes it. Eventually you learn it’s his way of regulating himself and you learn not to shout, you welcome him home and ask him to talk about it with you later.

⋆.˚ ★— Very domestic. Likes routine after being subjected to 70 years of pure hell. He’ll try his best to make you dinner, for you to usually come home and find him cleaning up another food disaster.

⋆.˚ ★— Raynor notices a big change in him. He actually began talking to her without needing to be prompted for half an hour. She’s very proud of him, and very thankful he met you. He gets out the house more, he actually keeps in contact with someone. She notices the change in his physical appearance, how he looks healthier, his skin is a bit less dull, he doesn’t look so tired all the time. He’s found a purpose.

⋆.˚ ★— his short term memory is a bit fried at first because of the constant brainwashing he was subject to, but he makes every last effort to remember everything about you. Even if he has to write it down or even get Raynor or Sam to remind him, he makes every effort to remember how you like your coffee, what your Number (license) plate is, even down to the brand of kefir you like (very specific but gets the point across) . When his memory improves, he doesn’t need the reminders anymore, but he made Sam swear to never let him forget again.

[avengerscompound]

Emily VanCamp as Sharon Carter The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

[1luna1lovegood1]

Sam and Steve both made a great captain America because the only requirement is being in love with Bucky Barnes

That why John was shit

[johnwalkerrrrr]

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

The Hunter

Reader uses the alias the Hunter here, but Bucky also gives them the pet name 'doll' so...to be honest I didn't ascribe a gender to the reader here. Interpret it however you want.

Warning: angst ahead

Summary: Getting Zemo's help in finding the source of the Super Soldier Serum results in your past rearing its head once more, threatening to tear you and Bucky apart.

Zemo's plan is…

You're not sure how to describe it. You can see Bucky's jaw tighten, Sam's muscles tensing up, and there's this hurricane of emotions swirling inside your chest. The three of you know that this is the best shot you'll have at finding the source of the Super Soldier serum, but none of you quite like the plan.

Letting out a deep breath, you meet Zemo's gaze. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll be his Handler, but only if he consents."

Bucky looks up sharply, concern written all over his face and you nod. He pauses, eyebrows furrowed before also giving a nod. "We'll go with the plan then."

Sam frowns but keeps quiet. If the two people who will be most affected by the plan are willing to go through with it, he's fine with the plan too. Zemo looks smug, but you brush it off. It's not like you haven't been to Madripoor before, you know your way around…kind of. Knowing Madripoor, it should have changed quite a bit since the last time you paid it a visit.

When the plane lands, you glance at Bucky, gently brushing your hand against his.

"I'll be fine, doll," he murmurs in response to your wordless question. You don't quite believe it, but the plan has been set in motion, there's no going back. The most you can do is ensure he doesn't do anything that goes beyond the boundaries he's been trying to keep to.

"You don't need to kill anyone, alright?" You whisper, not wanting Zemo to overhear it. You trust the baron only as far as a baby can throw him, and you're pretty sure he wants nothing more than to prove that Bucky will always be the Winter Soldier. You'll help Bucky prove otherwise, even if it means dirtying your own hands once again.

His gaze softens at your words and he gives you a small smile, accompanied by a nod. You squeeze his hand, taking one last look at the man you love before slipping into your Handler mode, eyes hard. He looks away, ice blue eyes turning empty as he lets himself slide into the Winter Soldier's mind. You despise that empty look, but for the sake of the mission you cannot avert your gaze from it. You are the Asset's Handler now, and the Handler does not look away from their weapon.

It's easy with Zemo's help, entering the bar where the contact resides. It's even easier, spotting the hidden guns and the tense shoulders. This is your element, the place where you shine best as much as you hate to admit it, and you feel your old self rise to the surface once more. Each move is cold and calculated, from the way you hold your glass to the way you sit, it's all to keep tabs on everyone and be ready to strike at any opportunity. Zemo struts about, easily fulfilling his role and then the target lays a hand on him.

Now.

"Soldat, ready to comply?" The Russian flows from your lips, having been etched into your memory years ago.

"Ready to comply." Bucky — no, the Winter Soldier — replies just as coldly in the same language.

"Attack." You take a sip from your glass, watching as the Winter Soldier slams the man's face into the counter right next to you. Efficient as always. You sigh, sliding off the bar stool as another lackey tries landing a sneak attack and throw the dagger in your hand. The metal slides into flesh, blood bubbling from his lips and he collapses onto the floor, unmoving. You spin around, throwing yet another dagger which finds its mark and slam a fist into the face of the nearest enemy before thrusting a knife into his heart.

The Winter Soldier easily throws the lackey who tries to tackle him, sending him crashing at your feet and you repeat your motion, ending his life before he can regain any sense of where he is. Each punch the Winter Soldier lands is accompanied by a stab from your knife and before you know it, only one lackey is left standing.

"See how they complement each other? They weren't called the best for nothing." Zemo places a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Even after some time 'retired', they slip back into their roles so easily."

Blood splatters streak across your face and your arms are covered in the same crimson liquid, painting quite the figure. You see a flash of fear in Sam's eyes and smugness in Zemo's, but Bucky's gaze remains as empty as ever. He stalks over to the last lackey who is more than ready to piss his pants but you call the Asset back.

"Stop." The Winter Soldier freezes in his tracks immediately. "Leave him to me."

Zemo raises an eyebrow at your words, a smile of amusement flicking across his face but you can't be bothered. You know this place, this bar. You've been here once before, and the last time you were here, you'd left the same way — covered in blood that's not your own.

"Bring us to Selby, and you might just live to see another day." You dig the heel of your boot into his ribs, grinding it harshly. He whimpers, nodding frantically and you take a step back.

"Lead on," you smile, watching as he scurries towards the hidden door you know is there and opens it, shakily gesturing inside. You stride in confidently, slicking your hair backwards and sheathe your retrieved knives while the others follow behind you. Sam's gait is filled with nervousness, Zemo's is relaxed and Bucky…he walks like a ghost, silent, just as he was taught to.

"Selby! Good to see that you've recovered since the last time I saw you! Wouldn't be much fun if you didn't, would it?" You grin, waving as though you were greeting an old friend.

"Y — you!" The woman on the couch jumps to her feet, backing away as quickly as she can. "I thought you were —"

"Dead? Retired? Come on now, you know better than to believe rumours. You're a smart one, took me forever to track you down the last time. Your taste hasn't changed much, it's still a bar with terrible decorations." You casually walk over, taking a seat on the arm rest of the couch Selby is occupying. "Now, I want to know a couple of things. Simply answer them truthfully and we can both go our separate ways, capice?"

Zemo opens his mouth, about to say something when you fix him with a glare. You're not about to fake selling the Winter Soldier when there's an alternative plan right here, a plan that doesn't involve Bucky needing to continue being who he's left behind. All that's needed is your former alias, and you'd rather sacrifice your soul than Bucky's.

Selby swallows hard, fingers twitching but to her credit, she remains steadfast in the face of fear. "What will you give me in return?"

"Your life. And the life of the bartender back there. He serves pretty good drinks, would be a waste to kill him, don't you agree? I suppose whatever remains of your empire too." You shrug. "Pretty fair deal, in my opinion."

"And what do you want to know?"

"I want to know who's supplying Super Soldier serums, from where, and how long. Should be easy enough for the likes of you, no?" You smile, playing with the knife that has miraculously appeared in your hand. She eyes it uneasily, throat bobbing and you can't help but smile wider. This is the power you once wielded, striking fear into everyone who knew your face and you inhale deeply, feeling the familiar sensation surging within you. It's been years since you last felt this way, and the feeling is addicting. You feel yourself toeing the line between the Hunter and Y/N L/N, dangerously tipping towards the Hunter.

Selby moves her hand before you can blink and the bartender lunges at you but a solid wall of muscle block his way, a metal hand wrapping itself around his wrist, crushing it. The bartender screams in pain and you groan, giving Selby a poke on the cheek with the tip of your knife.

"Why'd you have to sacrifice your bartender like that? I'm sure you know who that is, don't you? The one with the metal arm. Now your poor bartender will never make drinks again." You lazily flick your wrist, lodging the knife in the bartender's throat. Bucky drops the body and it crashes onto the floor, spilling blood everywhere. "Try not to make me do that again, Selby. I much prefer it when you're a good little girl and give me the information I so politely asked for."

"Politely? You massacred everyone in my bar just to get my attention and you call that polite?" She snaps, furiously whipping out her gun but you remain unfazed. Bucky automatically moves to shield you but you quickly order him to stop and he complies. You see the fear in his eyes, but also the anger at how easily you can control him. A small part of you regrets giving him an order in Russian but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"I could have done so much worse, and you know it. I'm still waiting on the answer to my previous question, by the way." You place a hand on Selby's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Don't keep me waiting too long."

The gun's muzzle is still pressed against your chest but her finger moves off the trigger. "You destroyed my empire once, and now you wipe out its stronghold. Promise me you will never interfere with my business again?"

"Promise."

Letting out a shaky breath, she puts the gun aside. "You will want to look for Wilfred Nagel. He's the one who's been making the serum. For how long, I'm not sure, and as to where, I —"

A phone rings. Selby smiles, "someone has a call to pick up."

"Indeed, they do." You twirl a knife and slam it into her heart. Her eyes widen before glazing over, blood pouring from her open mouth. Her men move immediately but you stand up, and they all falter. Your gaze flicks over them, taking note of their weapons and builds before dismissing them with a wave. They fall in line, disappearing into the shadows and Zemo lets out a cough, breaking the silence.

"You might want to answer that call, Sam." You say calmly. "I don't think she's going to stop calling until you answer it. Besides, it's safe to do so now. After all, these men are never going to see the light of day."

Sam eyes you warily but presses the answer button anyways. You turn to Zemo, who's simply smiling at you.

"Welcome back, Hunter." He claps, unafraid even as you close the distance between the both of you. "I knew you always had it in you."

"And yet you chose to help let it out. You're either brave or foolish." You growl.

He chuckles, "I simply wanted to help you three accomplish your mission. Whether the Hunter was let out or not didn't matter. It just so happens you chose to sacrifice yourself rather than your precious James."

"Then you better —"

"Y/N?" Bucky softly asks. You jerk back, struggling to push the Hunter away but it bares its fangs, refusing to go back now that it has tasted the first freedom its seen in years.

"Buck." The word feels thick in your mouth. "I…"

You don't have any excuses to defend yourself with. The evidence is right there, laid bare in the blood-stained bar. You've killed so many despite the promises you've made to the man you love above all else and the guilt is starting to eat you alive.

"You…" You can see the conflict in his eyes. He loves you, but hates what you became during that moment. He shifts from one leg to another, unsure of what to say when gun shots ring out.

"We need to go, now." Sam's voice cuts through the tension. His gaze is narrowed. "Selby's death just set off this side of Madripoor."

"Anywhere in mind?" Zemo asks, still looking mildly amused.

"Anywhere but here." You answer for him, heading for the exit. "My presence should be enough to make anyone who wants to shoot at us think twice but that's all the time it will buy. Move fast if you want to live."

With that, you kick down the door and run, the other three following behind you. The wind whips at your face as your legs carry you over the ground, bullets whizzing past you and you can't help but laugh. This is what you've been missing since you retired your alias, the burn in your lungs, the wind in your face, the thrill of the chase. You feel alive again, and the Hunter inside you craves more.

Turns out Sharon Carter was in the area too, and saved all four of you. She agrees to help track down Nagel, but something nags at you. There's something off about her, an itch you can't quite scratch. Still, you attend her art gallery gala, keeping your suspicions to yourself. If she is who you think she is, confronting her about it now would be a terrible idea.

During the gala, you stick to the shadows like you always do, sipping at your glass of champagne.

"Doll." Bucky moves to stand next to you.

"Buck." You refuse to meet his gaze.

"About what happened at Selby's bar, I —"

"Can we not talk about that now?"

"No. I need to know. I need to hear it from you, please doll," he pleads. "I have to."

You swirl the golden liquid in your glass, staring at the bubbles. "I know what I promised, and that I broke it, but I did it so that you wouldn't have to stain your hands. I'd rather it be me doing the dirty work than you."

"I know that, Y/N, but you went further than you had to. You didn't have to massacre the entire bar, or kill the bartender, or kill Selby, and yet you did." His voice is quiet, unsure. "Are you the Hunter or Y/N right now?"

"I don't know." The words come out as a whisper. "I really don't know."

He lowers his gaze to the floor, "I believed in you, I really did, but now…now I don't know. You looked like you were enjoying yourself when you killed everyone, and it scared me. I was afraid that I'd lost you to your past, especially when you killed the bartender. I was afraid of you, terrified of how easily you slipped back into being my Handler."

"You slipped back into being the Winter Soldier just as easily." You wish you can take your words back right there and then but it's too late. His expression falters, fingers curled into a fist and stiffens.

"At least I didn't kill them all. The Winter Soldier would have."

"You didn't need to because I killed them all."

"You didn't need to kill them all. Knocking them out would have done the same thing." His voice is strained, but there's an edge to his words.

"They would be coming after us right now if I hadn't. That adds more guns to the ones we're already facing." The glass cracks under your grip.

"You promised me. You promised that you were done with being the Hunter, and I allowed you to go back on it for the sake of the mission, but you took it too far!" You've never heard Bucky raise his voice like that at you, and it's enough to make you drop your glass, champagne spilling all over the floor. "You took it too far, Y/N."

"So we're done?" Ice floods your veins, freezing your heart. "If so, I'd like to take my leave."

"Then leave. We're done. I don't want to see you again." His jaw tightens.

"As you wish." You step over the spillage, heading back towards the gala without a second glance back.

If you'd looked behind, you would've seen the tears that streamed down his face.