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In Bloom

Apr. 17th, 2016 10:26 pm
starmaki: Winter Soldier 2 (what)
In Bloom (1015 words) by themirrordarkly
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers
Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War, POV Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Depression, Fluff, Some Humor, Spring, Festivals, Slice of Life, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Memories, Reminiscing, Light Angst, Flash Fic, Community: mcuflashmeme
Series: Part 6 of New Beginnings
Summary:

The pink explosions of color so different to the fiery ones two years ago at this very place. Soft petals gently rained down, not burning soot and twisted metal.

"He pulled me out, you know." Steve said, without looking at Sam.

Sam pulled up and walked over to Steve. "Of course, he did."

***
Sam finds Steve reminiscing about what happened two years ago.




Uploaded fic to ao3.
^_^

In Bloom

Apr. 16th, 2016 05:43 pm
starmaki: Barnes (barnes)
Week 15: A story set at a concert or festival.

Story with Sam and Steve. Sam pov, G rated, after catws but before cacw. Setting Washington D.C. during the cherry blossom festival. This is my first attempt at writing from Sam's pov. I like Sam lots, but he is difficult to write for me so I thought I'd challenge myself. I think I found his voice here. ^_^

***
In Bloom

It was the beginning of April and Sam was diverting from his normal jogging run. The cherry blossoms trees on both sides of the path were in full bloom. Pink delicate puffs telling him spring was here. A chill still settled in the early morning air, but he took care of that by working up a sweat. His steady pounding feet took him down the path heading for East Potomac Park. He knew who he would find there. Steve.

Steve was sitting under one of the many cherry blossom trees, peering out over the pallid water. The pink explosions of color so different to the fiery ones two years ago at this very place. Soft petals gently rained down, not burning soot and twisted metal.

"He pulled me out, you know." Steve said, without looking at Sam. His eyes fixating on what was in front of him or maybe what he was remembering.

Sam pulled up and walked over to Steve. "Of course, he did."

"You believe me?" Steve looked up at Sam, an eyebrow raised. He was so ready to defend what he believed, but Sam side-stepped the question by agreeing.

"It really isn't a matter of believing or not, " Sam said, as he stopped at Steve's right side. He was a little of breath, placing both hands on his hips, nodding toward the shoreline. "There were boot prints near you coming out of the water. They took off that way." Sam pointed near the treeline at the path the rescuer took. "Disappeared once off the soft soil into the trees."

"You were there." Steve squinted up at him, shading his hand to his eyes to block the morning's bright sun. It had all the making of being a perfect spring day including the sun and near cloudless sky.

"Who do you think gave you medical attention? I couldn't let all that PJ training go to waste. The government spent good money on it." Sam never thought he needed to tell him, it just was, what it was. He didn't feel the need go into something that was so automatic, his training, like breathing. It was just something he use to do, in the past.

"Thanks." He was staring at Sam, dropping his hand down to his knee, drawing it up.

"For what?" Sam grinned, as he squatted down to be more eye level with Steve.

Steve didn't answer for a moment, before he broke eye contact and shrugged. "Don't know."

"Yeah, you do." Sam called him on it, his smile disappearing as he added. "You'll find him, you know."

"I don't think he wants to be found." Steve said, lips turning down as his eyes looked downward at his sneakers.

"Maybe, maybe that's true, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Steve turned his head, nodding out at the Potomac. "It's all so different now. It's like the helicarriers didn't fall right out there, two years ago."

"Mother nature is funny like that." Sam broke out in a grin. He looked around at the flowering trees showing off like damn peacocks. All proud and bold, daring the cold winter of the past to keep at bay. "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Are you up to a challenge?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at Steve.

"What type?" And Sam could see a subtle change in Steve's posture, shoulders squaring. The sparkle in his eyes, the determine set of his jaw.

"You'll see. Come on." Sam stood up, offering his hand to Steve to help him up even though he didn't need it, but the simple act of offering was enough. Steve clasped his hand.

***

"Kites?" Steve was looking at the table filled with kite building supplies. A rainbow of colored paper and plastic, tape, glue, string and thin wooden strips were spread out like a crazy banquet. Kids at the far end were busy making their own masterpieces of sticks and plastic.

The annual 'Blossom Kite Festival' was taking place at the grounds around the Washington Monument. The second reason Sam changed his jogging route this morning; Steve was the first. He knew Steve might be going back to visit the Potomac because it was coming up on that anniversary.

Steve pulled his baseball cap down, adjusting his glasses, hunching his shoulders a bit to look smaller. Sam inwardly rolled his eyes. Steve just wasn't going to hide that tall, muscular frame.

"Sure." Sam gave an easy shrug as he picked up a sheet of bright red plastic. "Or do you think I'll show you up?"

"Oh no, you don't," Steve said, grabbing up a sheet of blue plastic.

"I don't know. I'm a pretty mean kite maker since I was ten." Sam said, gloating a little. He glance over at Steve rising both eyebrows in a silent dare.

"Five." Steve smirked. "I was five when I made my first kite."

"Okay, so you think you can beat me?" Sam pointed to himself. "Or are your skills still at five year old level?"

"I know I can." Steve stood tall before reaching for a ball of string.

"You keep talking, but I see no action." Sam palmed some tape. They both faced each other as if getting ready for battle.

"Just you wait." And the challenge was on.

***

The finished kites sailed into the cloudless sky with all the other dozens of flying bright and cheerful pieces of plastic and paper. The red, blue, white, yellow, orange, all mixing, darting, soaring like swooping birds in the blue, blue sky.

"Told you, I'd beat you." Steve's arced his blue kite, with the trailing white tail, in a loop.

"Excuse me?" Sam glared at him in amused annoyance.

"It was fair. The kids voted which one they liked better."

"So that's how it is?" Sam shook his head hiding a smile. He dipped his red kite with the orange tail and let the string ride out so it would go higher.

"Yep." Steve was all cocky grins as their kites did battle in the sky.

Sam just smiled.
starmaki: Metal Arm (bang)
Notes:

Week 13- A story that takes place entirely inside a vehicle. mcuflashmeme

I really don't know what this is! I don't know what came over me to write it or post it, but here it is. NSFW, kind of. Characters Bucky, Steve & Sam. Steve/Bucky. Pov Bucky. Sexting. Dick pic. Sexual tension. Humor. Public sexual content, kind of. On the subway. This came to me because of the Russell Wilson and Macklemore commerical. I plead insanity.
Notes at end.


Summary:

Bucky Barnes was a little shit. Just ask him, he'd tell you.

~~~
Steve: You did not just take that!!

Bucky could see the top of Steve's ears turning red even from here. He stifled a snicker, but he couldn't help the smile.

~~~
Total texting abuse by super soldiers

••••••
Title: Who's that bad man getting his smoothie on


Bucky Barnes was a little shit. Just ask him, he'd tell you. Riding the L line to Manhattan, he settled in for the ride. Putting on his Bose headphones and listening to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis' 'Downtown', he got down to business in texting a certain good-looking blond with a baseball cap that was sitting with Sam Wilson two rows away. This good-looking man wasn't sitting with Bucky because, well as he said he was a shit, and it was more interesting this way. And that certain someone knew the plan, or he hoped.

Me: Who's that bad man in the tight tshirt?

Steve: Bucky?

Me: no you, punk, now say it

Steve: Steve

Me: right

Me: now, whose dick is this?

Steve: You did not just take that!!

Bucky could see the top of Steve's ears turning red even from here. He stifled a snicker, but he couldn't help the smile.

Me: No

Me: I don't want to get arrested for whipping it out on public trans, I had it on file

Steve: You what?

Me: Just for you sweetheart

Steve: I'd hope so! Jesus Christ! Buck!

Me: you didnt answer the question

Steve: I don't remember.

Me: Sure you do, whose is it?

Steve: Yours

Me: Steve, play along

Steve: oh…

Steve: Bucky's

Me: Right

Me: And who's gonna see it later?

Steve: Barnes!!! You do NOT send dick pics to captain america when he's incognito!

Me: So how about when he's doing a press tour?

Steve: Not cool bro

Steve: And you know Macklemore sounds like a dying cow, I can hear him from here

Steve: I thought you had better taste than that?

Me: stfu Wilson and give Steve back his phone

Bucky slumped down, drawing up his knees so his feet were on the seat. He frowned down at his phone.

Me: You're no fun

Steve: Thanks, that's what I am, the no fun zone

His head lulled back to look out the window, the endless grey stone and steel, the lyrics chanting in his ears.

With a balance that could keep us safe

Bucky peered down at the new message.

Steve: For what it's worth, I want to see it ASAP when we get off.

Bucky heart skipped an unsteady beat. Steve. The little punk. He wanted to kiss him stupid right now for being him and saying that. His lips twitched up into a smile as he replied.

Me: you want me to start now?

Steve: Yes, please.

Bucky bit at his lower lip. That 'please' got to Bucky every time. He'd do anything for that stupid punk when he added on that 'please'.

Me: How do you want me to start?

Steve: Your left hand, please?

The little kinky fucker. Bucky huffed out a laugh. Raising up his gloved, metal hand, he wiggled the fingers at Steve. He knew Steve could see him out of the corner of his eye. Bucky could see his shoulders moving closer to his ears as he hunched over.

Me: Sure thing, babydoll

And he gave a light caress to his already semi-hard dick through his jeans.

Me: dont want to go off here

Steve: Why not?

Bucky chuckled as he stealthly stroked his erection so the other passengers wouldn't know what was going on. But then he was getting turned on doing it here with Steve just seats away. His pulse was speeding up as his dick started to press more into the teeth of his zipper.

Me: dont want you to miss the show

Steve: I won't miss it.

Me: fuck

Me: steve as soon as we get there

Steve: No here, please. :)

Bucky looked up at Steve and he could see that his head was turned slightly his way. His sunglasses obscuring his eyes, but he knew he was looking at him. Bucky didn't blush often, in fact, he wondered if he could at all anymore, but right now he felt a heat rising up his neck and his face getting hot. His hand paused on his crotch.

Me: srly?

Steve: You crazy ass white boys are going to be the death of me!!

Steve: And Macklemore still sucks!

Steve got the phone away from Wilson, by just putting his palm out. He could see Wilson shaking his head, and he bet he was rolling his eyes too.

Steve: Later, please. I want to taste you.

Steve's text came out like a plead, and it just made Bucky harder. Now Bucky was just gently moving his fingers over the solid swell of his dick to ease the pain, so he wouldn't go off like a rocket in his jeans.

Me: bathroom at micky ds, ditch wilson

Steve: I'm on it.

Bucky couldn't get off the subway fast enough. The buildings and concrete tunnel out the windows, a generic blur, as all he could think of was Steve. And Steve's pretty lips on his cock. However, he knew the McDonald's was at the end of the line, but it damn well was going to be worth it.

•••••
Notes:

Commerical that inspired fic (want to do something longer with this, but will see) Music Deserves Bose featuring Russell Wilson and Macklemore https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1He5-czKE90

(Just want people to know I'm not a Macklemore hater, Bucky likes him)

Song Bucky is listening to: Downtown by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (the lyrics are printed abit wrong in the video) https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GqOeyfcOp9o
starmaki: Winter Soldier 2 (annoyed)
By the Silvery Moon (2142 words) by themirrordarkly
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes
Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War, Angst, Spooning, Bucky Barnes Remembers, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Touching, Kissing, Full Moon, Memories, Flash Fic, Community: mcuflashmeme
Series: Part 5 of New Beginnings
Summary:

"You." The familiar voice is a low rumble, and it vibrates to his very bones.


Steve remains quiet, holding his breath, shoulders tense. He does not want break the spell, the moment. He has searched for months, and now he is here in his room. And he is not prepared. Every practiced word, turns to dust in his mouth.


***
Bucky finds Steve



This is the edited and reworked version of "Moonlight"

Moonlight

Mar. 19th, 2016 08:53 pm
starmaki: Buck (cacw)
Working title: 'Moonlight' (which is subject to change when I think of a better title) This is my second idea because the werewolf AU was not going to be finshed by Friday. Yeah, seriously I'm writing one, thanks to this prompt. Lol!

Prompt: Story set at a full moon.

Anyway, this story takes place after CATWS but before CACW. The full moon is present. Warnings: Steve/Bucky, General rating, Steve pov and oh angst, cause this is Steve and Bucky. Not betaed and still needs a tiny bit of editing before cross posting to ao3. Present tense (which is the first time I attempted a fic in this tense, it wasn't as easy, but I wanted to try it) Cross posted [community profile] mcuflashmeme . Okay, let's get to it!

******

"Moonlight"

Steve wakes with a start. There is a presence in his bedroom, an intangible disturbance of particles, settled yet unsettled. A push of air, sketchbook pages fluttering, pencil rolling off his night-stand, bouncing on the hardwood floor. The noise like knuckles cracking--pop, pop. Steve drowsy senses coming on line sharp--sight, hearing, smell, and he sits up.

The window is open, damp night air invading. A bath of moonlight washes over floor boards, walls, furniture. Shadows stark, as if ink splashes across the room. It is a full moon. And he is being watched. The hair at the back of his neck prickles, palms sweat, as he peers around the room. Nothing, nothing and yet.

A shadow peels away from the wall, and moves closer to the pale light. He can make out the height and breadth. The solid mass. A glint of metal, but not a knife. Steve is almost certain. Or hopeful--fool's hope.

"You." The familiar voice is a low rumble and it vibrates to his very bones.

Steve remains quiet, holding his breath, shoulders tense. He does not want break the spell, the moment. He has searched for months and now he is here in his room. And he is not prepared. Every practiced word, turns to dust in his mouth.

"Why?" The question pointed, but not hostile.

"Buck?" Steve asks, because he has to. His fingers dig into the sheets, the mattress, as if to hold on because the world is spinning too fast.

"Why are you?" And Bucky walks into the light, dressed all in black--black cargo pants, black hoodie. His dark hair, half obscuring his face, eyes--stormy blue. He is unshaven, dark circles under his eyes, and smells of stale sweat. But he doesn't look any less dangerous, doesn't look any less than Bucky.

He comes closer, the brief shine of metal, his finger tips and thumb, made from the motorcycle gloves he wears. Shining like five bright diamonds--like points of a star.

Bucky gets to the edge of the bed, boots never making a sound on the wooden floor, then stops.

"I remember."

"Remember, what?" Steve asks carefully. His heart is pounding hard against his ribs.

"The fire escape, a cold spring, someone sick, dying," Bucky says, his tone flat, metal fingers flexing.

Steve breath lodges in his throat, because he knows where this is going. He knows who was sick. Bucky rests his knee on the bed, weight sinking in. Steve scoots over to make room, blood rushing in his ears, pulse pounding, as he watches him. Bucky's face gives nothing away what he is thinking. His eyes look down at the bed, than back at Steve. Time falls away, and Steve wonders what Bucky will do now.

"Go to sleep," Bucky says.

"I'm not tried."

"Yes, you are."

The words stretch over the years and boomerang back at Steve, knocking the breath from his lungs. Replaying something only they knew, and no one else.

Bucky lies down on the bed, on the duvet, boots still on, and just stares at him, unblinking like a cat. Eyes dark, unreadable, but he isn't expressionless. His brows furrow together, lips pulling into a frown. One minute passes, two, and Steve loses track, because he can't believe Bucky is here. And the quiet, all but the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest, so he knows this is all real. And not a dream. He isn't sure how much time passes when Bucky breaks the silence.

"Turn around," Bucky says and finally blinks.

And Steve's pulse speeds up, stomach knotting, palms prickle in sweat as he curls them into loose fists. He tries to will himself to relax, to not spook Bucky, but he knows he is failing. He swallows, calming himself, and turns his back to Bucky to face the window. To watch the curtain drift in a breeze, the paper of his sketchbook flipping, flipping as if by invisible fingers, the moon--a perfect glowing disc in the cloudless night sky. He catalogs all this as if these small things are worth remembering. And they are if these are the last things he sees when he is with Bucky.

Steve stills, he turned his back Bucky, so much a stranger now. One that tried to kill him (but one that saved him too). He doesn't know which Bucky is now lying in his bed. The killer or the savior. Or maybe both. And he doesn't know what to expect--a knife between his shoulder blades, cold fingers circling his neck or maybe...just maybe...

There is hesitation as Bucky's right hand touches his hip, feather light. It rests there a few seconds before easing around, sliding across Steve's chest to rest there, palm flat, pressed to his heart. The gap between them narrows as Bucky slides closer; the firm press of his body to Steve's back. He feels the power pulsing in Bucky's still body--a force of nature, contained, for now. And Steve is sixteen again--small, thin and cold, so cold; and Bucky, a solid, comforting, warm weight behind him. Then and now. He smells of fish brine, sweat and grime. And the smell isn't too unfamiliar to Steve.

Bucky's nose finds a soft spot just behind Steve's ear and breathes in deep.

"Stevie." He breathes out in a whisper, tightening his grip, curling more into Steve.

And, oh God! Steve is nearly undone when Bucky says his name, his eyes mist up and he bites at his lower lip. He misses this and he didn't even know until now. Because who is there to do this for him? Someone to hold him, comfort him, when he damn well would never ask, couldn't ask. Bucky's breath tickles his neck, his long hair falling over his collar bone, teasing his skin. It shoots shivers straight down his spine.

"Sleep." It comes out more like a command, Bucky's voice rough yet soft. As if he didn't speak often. But that just meant to Steve each word is important, like gold. Steve wants to protest, but that is what he would have done before with Bucky. In the past. But this is now so the words dried in his throat, and he just nods.

"Alright, Buck."

And Steve's heart does stop when Bucky's dry lips brush over his neck. He bites back a tiny whimper as a light kiss presses to the base of his neck.

"Why are you here?" Bucky asks. Steve feels each word on his skin.

"What do you mean?" Steve doesn't understand the question.

"You are dead." Bucky's breath hitches, then evens out. "They told me you were dead."

"I'm here." Steve risks placing his hand over Bucky's, both over his heart. Bucky hand doesn't move and it feels strong, scarred, secure. "I'm alive." And Steve wanted to pound his fists into the ones that hurt Bucky, lied to him. He read that damn file! He wanted to dig up and burn their bones and spit on their ashes. Steve heart ached with sudden rage, which Bucky neatly dampen with three simple words.

"Yes, you are." Bucky's breath moist and warm on his neck, as he nuzzled his nose more to that tender spot behind his ear. "You smell the same."

Steve closes his eyes, allowing his lips to curve into a small smile. "So do you."

A huff of air, between a cough and a sigh stirs Steve's hair. "I smell like shit."

"So?" The brief exchange between them is natural to Steve. So much said in so few words, as if time froze and they are the last two people on this earth. And Steve is okay with that. More than okay.

"Humph..." Is all Bucky says, as he rests his chin on Steve's shoulder, the hush slide of metal plates adjusting in his left arm as he slips it under the pillow.

They lie there together, long minutes pass. Breathes and heartbeats adjust to one rhythm, one tune. A missing harmony that fills Steve's soul when it was so empty before.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, after he watches the moon rise. The shadows growing darker, as less light pours in, until the moon drifts behind the upper windowsill.

"Shhh...You need to rest. Your mind's workin' so hard, steams coming outta your ears." Bucky says, his Brooklyn accent slipping in and out.

And Steve wonders if Bucky is here or somewhere else, reliving the past; and he doesn't want to intrude on that, even though he has a thousand things he wants to say, to ask. "It can wait until morning."

"Punk..." Bucky's quiet voice trails off to nothing as he gently rubs his lips into Steve's hair, before settling again to his shoulder. His lips mimic a kiss there, or maybe it is one. Dry, chapped lips pressing quick to his skin then away. And it burns, in that tiny spot. Burns.

"Yeah, morning," Bucky says, his breathing picking up a choppy rhythm, while his hand clenches more to Steve's chest, fingers grasping, twisting into his undershirt, five points branding, bruising into his skin, but Steve doesn't flinch at Bucky's tight hold. He swallows back a moan instead.

"Goodnight, jerk," Steve finally says, low, a little sarcastic, but it is real, and it is Steve, the real Steve. The one that only Bucky sees.

Bucky doesn't answer, but Steve feels his breath even out, slow, steady; and Steve finds despite himself drifting off, under the strong protective embrace of his oldest friend, best friend, and maybe he will be again one day. Because he feels safe, safe, and to hell with everyone else, because nothing could take this away from him, from them. He wants to be selfish. And hold this close to his heart, forever.

Morning arrives. The sheets tangled, duvet half on the floor, half still clinging to the bed. Dust motes dance in the morning light. Steve glances over to the window. It's shut. He rolls over--and Bucky is gone. But the impression is still there, dirt from his boots flaked and grounded into the duvet. And he fights the urge to gather the duvet to his chest, to bury his nose in it to capture Bucky's scent. He runs his palm over the bed where Bucky was. It's cool, no body heat left.

And it is the same--same as that night when he was sixteen. In the morning, Bucky was gone--out the window, down the fire escape--and they never mention that night. He held him all night long when he was gravely ill, that they gave him last rites. And now it is replaying itself. And Steve's insides knotted, his chest hollow, heart scooped out, and he gasps from the loss, fighting back tears, tearing his fingers into the bed-sheets. So close, so close.

Steve notices the sketchbook, the pencil not on the floor, but stuck in between the pages. Sitting up, he grabs it, hands shaking as he opens the sketchbook to the bookmarked pages. There...there, he stares at Bucky's neat script. The same careful penmanship the sisters rapped rulers on knuckles over. Words, some crossed out as he wrote it, but it is clear and the words shear into his mind.

Stevie,
I can't stay. Don't look I can't be the person you want me to be. I am not who you think I am. I'm not a good man. The terrible things I've done. I remember so many things. Mostly bad, but It gets confusing in my head. I see you and remember not all my memories are bad. Some are good, pure. I didn't want to ruin it. I'm not ready. I won't

So Stevie, take your medicine and I'll see you in school Brooklyn on that bridge I couldn't sell.

--B.


Steve's lips tremble when he reaches the end of the note. Brushes at his eyes, to remove sleep, not tears from his eyes. Dammit, he is fooling no one, especially himself, when he looks down at his wet fingertips.

They will meet in Brooklyn again. Steve knows this, swears this to the bottom of his soul. He will not stop searching. And when they finally are together again, they will be home.

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