Chris Evans (with Hayley Atwell and Sebastian Stan) filming pre-serum Steve Rogers’ scenes in Captain America: The First Avenger

Sebastian had to stand on an apple crate to look taller than Chris.

#tbt to my amazing trip in new york. This was the gorgeous Saint Michael the archangel statue outside St. John ‘the unfinished’ church

#tbt to my amazing trip in new york. This was the gorgeous Saint Michael the archangel statue outside St. John ‘the unfinished’ church

posted 9 hours ago with 3 notes

Steve/Bucky - different treatment

Erskine: Whatever happens  t o m o r r o w, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man.

Pierce: T o m o r r o w  morning we’re gonna give it a push. But if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.

//Together with x

you’re my  friend  mission.

The power of a smile goes a long way. My mom taught me that.

posted 1 day ago with 1,245 notes (via / source)
#hmm #darren criss
romanoffbarnes asked:


OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. now you’re done it. 

imagine this. bucky doesn’t want to be in the avengers tower because it’s nothing like home (and he can’t even fully remember what home is, save a lingering feeling of toes pressing together under a thin blanket and laughter muffled into his neck, the whispered, “that tickles, buck.”) tony gives bucky his own floor and gives steve the floor below it because “hey, icecap. i didn’t sign up for round the clock babysitting. besides, if he freaks out, you’re the only one he probably wouldn’t punch through a wall.” 

so bucky goes into his room and steve goes into his. and steve can’t sleep, barely even tries to. all he’s aware of is the ceiling above his head, the light creaks that means bucky’s tucking in for the night. steve’s throat aches and when he blinks, his eyes fill with tears, because is bucky really back?

somehow, after tossing and turning for what seems like forever, steve drifts off, only to be woken up by the sound of someone sliding into bed beside him. steve tenses up and immediately relaxes when the light catches the star on bucky’s metal arm. nat would call him stupid for relaxing around an ex-assassin but all steve can see is his best friend.

so, instead of putting some distance between the two of them, steve curls inward toward bucky and offers up a sleepy smile. in the darkness, bucky stares back at him, face cloaked by his long hair. then, with a frown, bucky reaches up and brushes the remnants of tears from steve’s eyelashes. he stares at his wet fingers for a moment before placing the same hand hesitantly on steve’s shoulder. 

"couldn’t sleep," steve mumbles around the lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from bucky’s face.

"me either," bucky mutters back. 

and this is just like how they used to be, back before the war. some nights there would be too much noise, either outside the house or inside their heads, and they’d curl up together in bed and whisper inconsequential things back and forth just to hear the comfort of the other’s voice. 

the memory makes steve’s face crumple and before he can stop himself, he’s launching himself into bucky’s arms and pressing his face into bucky’s neck as he clings to his best friend. after a pause, bucky wraps his arms around steve and hugs the other man close. a sudden sense of safety fills bucky’s chest, makes him feel lighter than he has in years, and he tucks himself closer in search of more. 

so this is what home feels like, bucky thinks. 


Imagine Bucky craving touch like oxygen. He’s always been a very physical person, showing his affection through pats on the back and grabbing and nudging and rough one-armed hugs that used to jar Steve’s fragile ribs. Now, after decades of being handled like a live grenade and touched only to restrain or hurt, his hands-on approach to friendship has been all but burned out of him. He’s twitchy and jumpy, all too aware of the brute strength in his own hands and the implicit danger in other people’s. He does not touch. He positions himself at a cautious distance from everyone around him, and when close quarters are required he shrinks in on himself like all his limbs are dangerous weapons that might lash out unexpectedly if he doesn’t keep them locked against his body.

And the others all assume that the distance is what he wants, until the day Steve finds him slumped against the bathroom cabinet after an incident Bucky has made it clear he doesn’t want to talk about, trying to strap his bruised and battered right hand with a bandage held taut between his teeth. “Let me,” Steve says, and Bucky cedes the task without a word of protest; Steve wraps his hand as gently as he can, aware that it’s probably sore as hell, and when he’s done Bucky doesn’t pull away. Just sits there, staring with a kind of wistful fixation at Steve’s hands cradling his.

So Steve tests the waters. Slowly, respectfully, mindful of the many reasons Bucky has to be wary of intrusions on his personal space. But everywhere he touches, all Bucky’s careful boundaries seem to melt like ice beneath his fingers: he rests his hand on Bucky’s forearm when they talk, and Bucky actually sways in closer, until the standing distance between them just barely rides the edge of social comfort. He sits right next to Bucky on the couch and lets his arm go numb from the weight of Bucky leaning in against him, cushioning his head on Steve’s shoulder with a comfortable sigh. He rests a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and rubs the tense knots of muscle he finds there, and Bucky - there’s no other word for it - purrs, mouth slack and eyes wide with possibly the most disproportionate gratitude Steve has ever seen from him.

And it doesn’t cap out. The more Steve offers, the more Bucky drinks it all in. Steve commits every detail and every preference to memory: the arch of Bucky’s spine when Steve knuckles the knot between his shoulder blades; the quiet, radiating contentment when he sits beside Bucky on the couch and laces their fingers together; the shaky little exhalation when Steve combs his hands through his hair and scrapes his scalp with blunted nails.

Later, he will learn more again: the way Bucky melts into Steve’s kisses, eyes wide open like he doesn’t quite trust the experience to last if he closes them. The way they do scrunch closed when Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist; the tiny shivers as Steve mouths his way down the curve of Bucky’s throat. He maps every inch of Bucky’s body with his hands and mouth until Bucky is squirming beneath him, eyes glassy and unfocused, breath coming in shaky gasps.

(When it’s over, Bucky does not let go of him for a very long time. Steve, unsurprisingly, doesn’t mind.)

posted 1 day ago with 848 notes (via)
#:)! #fic: stucky



steve/bucky tag names