ohnofeelings | Entries tagged with bucky barnes

Midterms were approaching, which was only slightly less stressful than finals. Although he was an art major, Steve still had a lot to get done. He had to finish his portfolios for three different classes, techniques to master and be able to explain the significance of, as well as being able to write in-depth analyses on the symbolism of various pieces. He still had a long way to go, but he would at least be finished with the portfolio part shortly. All he had to do was finish a few more drawings using different mediums.

Bucky, on the other hand, had a lot more to study and memorise if he wanted to do well. That hadn't escaped Steve at all. He glanced over at him a few times, then stretched his legs out, intentionally nudging Bucky with one.

"Hey, why don't you crack open a book or something? Your not studying is distracting me."

couldntreach

Content Warning: Semi-graphic suicide attempt behind the cut

( The man you saw wasn't me and now there's blood upon the bathroom floor )

couldntreach

In his dreams, Bucky was still at war. Sleep, when it came, was never a peaceful reprieve. It always started out fine. Things were quiet, darkness crept in around the edges, the tension in his muscles finally began to ease and loosen enough for him to breathe like an ordinary human being. Then came the dreams. The deafening clash and bang of not distant enough warfare. The flash of gunpowder and explosions. The clatter of shells on the ground and the smell of singed flesh, snow, copper and iron.

It wasn't the same as being back in the war. Somehow it was worse. Inescapable and inevitable. No matter how much the phantom flashes of pain or the terror of relived nightmares chilled his heart and froze the marrow in his bones, it never ended. Death would be a respite from this hellish torment. Not that Bucky had become suicidal, but he knew he would not die here in his dreams. He knew, and still each time he woke, drenched and gasping for air. His chest too tight, his skin too cold and his head too full of war.

He had seen men shot in front of him, blown to pieces by the terror of a rolling war machine, experienced torture at the hands of the enemy before a freak explosion allowed him and a handful of men to escape, battered and bloody, but the real damage wasn't on the outside of their skin.

This particular night, his nightmares needed no images. Darkness and the frigid cold of a solid table beneath his back. The screams in his head were not of his fellow soldiers. They were his. Horrible and desperate sounds of a dying animal who knows its time has come but still fights it with every last shred of its will.

His throat closed up in his sleep, his heart pounding so fast it hurt. Bucky groaned in his sleep, nonsense words half-mumbled and half spoken tumbling from his lips. Rank. Name. Unit. Rank. Name. Unit. Rank. Name. Unit. He tossed and squirmed, a protest from his lips, half strangled by his own panic attack, woke him with a start. He jolted to a seated position, lungs straining as he gasped for air, hands white with the force of his grip on the blanket that had been covering him. Deep, heaving breaths left his shoulders shaking, eyes wide and darting around the darkness of the room. Braced for pain, for interrogation and even the death he knew would cruelly evade him.

He had no concept of where he was, not even seeing the room with his eyes as wide as they were. Not seeing anything at all, but lost in his mind's terror. His hair, longer now since coming home from the war, stuck to his head, damp with sweat. Adrenaline flooded his system and left him hard wired even in the heavy exhaustion that hung over him, a dead weight he couldn't shake.

They might have taken Bucky out of the war, but no one could take the war out of Bucky.

neverdanced

Several things were always consistent in Steve Roger's life: he would always get into fights, his best friend would always have his back, and said best friend would never know how Steve felt about him. He couldn't. Ever. Steve accepted that and never expected anything less. As a kid, he remembered reading in the newspaper about a man getting beaten to death over something extremely similar. Ever since, it served as a reminder of what would happen if anyone ever found out.

It was bad enough that two single twenty-somethings lived in a small flat together. In theory, at least. Bucky was so into women that none of the neighbours batted an eye. They likely just thought Steve was to shy and scrawny to bother courting women. Maybe that's what Bucky thought too. In any case, Steve didn't mind those assumptions. Better that than having people assume he was Bucky's twelve-year-old kid brother or something.

It wasn't just that he was shy around women. He didn't know how to interact with them, sure. What it mostly came down to was blatant disinterest. For Bucky's sake, he honestly tried to be interested. Steve simply insisted that he was waiting for the right girl, and it worked out well that none of them were ever interested in him. What Bucky didn't know was that the right partner was someone that Steve could never wait for.

He knew that if he was ever going to end up with someone, he'd have to go for second best. After all, Steve wanted to keep Bucky in his life forever. He couldn't tell Bucky that he'd been in love with him since they were fourteen. That would end their friendship entirely- not that Steve could blame Bucky if he wanted to do that.

Steve hadn't seen him in six weeks, not since Bucky went off to Basic Training. He'd only heard from him through letters, and he'd kept every single one, but it wasn't the same. That made things simultaneously easier and more difficult. He missed Bucky, and with him being gone, the apartment felt painfully empty. It was the longest stretch of time that he'd been without Bucky, with the exception of the years prior to knowing him at all.

The only part of this that was actually made easier was that with him gone, he didn't have to hear about or see Bucky go off with dames. Good for him and all, but Steve didn't like seeing it. He didn't like thinking about it, either. There was a twinge of jealousy there, Steve knew that, but he didn't have any right to be.

Of course, that was completely overshadowed by the part where Bucky was going off to war. Something that Steve had tried so hard to do as well, but he hadn't been successful. Each of his attempts resulted in getting rejected, but that didn't mean he'd given up. He just had to find another way.

That way technically didn't include getting his ass handed to him in a back alley, but that was life for you. Steve couldn't just sit back while some jerk was being disrespectful. It didn't really surprise him that Bucky showed up out of nowhere to save the day. Not that it needed saving. Steve could handle himself, and would insist so forever. But he did appreciate it, even if he never said so.

Steve was mostly just glad to see him. Once he got to his feet and the other guy'd run off, he just took a moment to appreciate him. Bucky looked handsome in his uniform--he looked handsome in anything. He reminded himself not to stare too much, even if he'd missed him a lot. Steve tried to brush that aside and act normal.

"You get your orders?"

couldntreach

It was the quiet thrashing of restless sleep that woke Bucky from his dreams to look over to Steve's bed. They had only moved out of the orphanage a month ago, and they had been able to fit a small couch and a twin mattress into the apartment, shoved in one corner to make up their beds. Steve was taking art classes, Bucky had enrolled in one, but he wasn't there anymore, working a factory job some pretty crazy hours.

They made do, and they were surviving on their own, with their own routines, so wrapped around one another that Bucky could hold out a coffee cup without looking just as Steve walked by. They only had two. One was chipped and had to be re-glued after every other wash. The other was swiped from an office Bucky had had an interview at once. Johnson's and Sons, it said. Steve tried to get him to return it once but Bucky had made a convincing argument about the cons of one coffee cup between the pair of them. It was bad enough they only had the one spoon left.

Bucky insisted Steve take the mattress when they got them. They had an arrangement where they were supposed to swap, but Bucky made sure to complain for four days straight that the mattress hurt his back. It was better for Steve than the couch, and further from the window and the dust that got kicked up there. Steve had always tried to hide the way it made his asthma kick up.

Bucky was never fooled.

"Hey, Stev-o, wake up."

His voice was soft as he slid off the couch, his hand going to Steve's shoulder for a gentle shake. It left him kneeling over Steve to avoid accidentally shoving a knee into his ribs.

neverdanced

We should take a walk someday & dream about what we could've been.

couldntreach

Creepshow was still playing in the background. Bucky didn't have to look to know what was going on. He had seen it enough times on late night television. He had slipped off the couch when he caught Steve giving him looks. Quick fingers worked the other man's pants open and glanced up just long enough to see if he was looking at him, or the tv.

"Eyes on the show, Steve."

His tongue brushed the tip as soon as he stopped talking.

couldntreach

It's nine pm on a friday and Bucky is sitting at their kitchen table watching a tiny vampire girl make a mess of blood and plastic on the floor with something between amusement and complete bafflement. He had found Mavis sitting outside in the alley behind the bar when he got there and he had turned and come right back home with her. He hadn't even known she was a vampire- well.. half vampire? At least not until she sank her fangs into his finger.

He should have called Steve, and he wanted to, but Steve was working on a big case and the distraction could wait until it was over. He had his chin on his hand, ignoring the mess she was making and just watching her. What was he supposed to do with a tiny vampire girl?

"Steve, when the hell are you getting home?"

neverdanced

For a young vampire who was still learning the ropes, eight weeks without an incident was quite an accomplishment. Steve thought he was in the clear. That actually should've been the biggest indicator that he wasn't. He'd done well in decent sized crowds, yes, but that was when Bucky was there. When he wasn't feeling particularly hungry. When he was alone and feeling ravenous- well, that was something else entirely.

Even in those cases, he'd managed. His spirit and stubbornness worked well in his favour in these circumstances. He was determined not to hurt anyone, and that meant that he couldn't leave the apartment without Bucky. When he kept himself occupied, this was an easy task, even when he felt dreadfully bored and twitchy.

It never occurred to him that this would ever change. But of course, like any time anyone ever felt a strong sense of certainty about something, fate had to come along and shake things up to prove otherwise.

For Steve, this fateful night started like any other. Bucky went into work, Steve did pushups to occupy himself. That turned to crunches, to jumping jacks, to sitting on the edge of the couch while watching some primetime drama that just happened to be airing.

It changed when the woman downstairs sliced her hand open in some sort of mishap while trying to get a can of peaches open. These were details that Steve was unaware of. What caught his attention was the distinct scent of blood wafting up through the ventilation system. That alone made his mouth water. It was intoxicating, but something that Steve tried so hard to ignore.

His solution was simple: he opened the window to air out the apartment and got a blood bag thinking that would help sate everything. The joke was on him, because the combination of knowing how bad this in comparison to getting it from a fresh source and hearing all the activity outside much more clearly made it even worse.

That was the last thing Steve remembered. There were three hours that he couldn't account for, but he wasn't daft. He could've put the pieces together even if all the horrifying evidence wasn't directly in front of him.

At some point, he must've left the apartment. Considering he was in the middle of New York City, he was sure he hadn't gone after the first person he saw. He likely wouldn't have made it this far. Yet somehow he was seven blocks from home, in some dark back alley in an area that never was a good idea to venture into alone. Beside him was the lifeless body of some man, completely drained of blood.

If that wasn't evidence enough of what he'd done, there was that particular sensation that came from being full of fresh warm blood. Full of life. As Steve sat there, it all began to sank in. The high began to fade and was quickly replaced with rising panic. He'd taken a life. Someone who was likely innocent, who hadn't deserved this at all.

He didn't know what to do.

He'd never been in a situation like this, nor had he imagined he would've been ever. If Bucky ever told him what he was supposed to do, he couldn't remember it. Steve didn't consider himself helpless by any means, but it wasn't like he killed someone every day.

After an eternity of trying to calm down- in reality it was five or eight minutes- he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. As much as it was engrained in his moral code to call the authorities to report this, he called Bucky instead.

Whether the vampire answered his phone or let it go to voicemail, Steve would initially only say one thing: Help me.

neverdanced

It'd only been a month, but it felt a lot longer than that. More like centuries. That was what happened when Steve got stir-crazy. He didn't come and go as he wanted, not without Bucky. Not yet. He still didn't trust himself alone. He was still learning, and he considered it far too risky. He still hadn't hurt anyone, and he wanted to keep it that way.

What it meant was for hours on end, he was bored. During the daytime, it didn't bother him as much as at night. He couldn't go anywhere during the day, even if he still did want to participate in all the activities he missed out on. It was nighttime that he got twitchy. Specifically, it was any amount of time that he was alone.

That, of course, was any night Bucky had to go to work and it occurred way more often than Steve liked. It was necessary, and he understood that, but there were only so many things he could do to keep himself occupied while he waited.

This night was spent like many others. Steve read one of the fifty or so books he lugged across the hall to Bucky's. He surfed the internet. He watched baseball games during live airings. This was nice and all, but it was hardly stimulating.

He eyed the clock as it neared the time when he expected Bucky to be back. It wasn't an exact science, but sitting perfectly still and watching each second tick by was. The anticipation rose when he could hear the footsteps down the hall and knew he was coming. Even more so when he could tell that Bucky'd fed prior to coming back. He could smell it.

The other man might have been his only companion and his mentor, but he was also Steve's only food source, and something he frequently felt lately was hunger. When the doorknob turned, Steve was on his feet and right there waiting as soon as Bucky was inside.

Yes, he was kind of like a puppy. You know, one that wanted to chew on Bucky some.

couldntreach

Steve was a mess. Bucky could tell because Steve had been too light. Too easy to get over here and he hadn't complained nearly enough about Bucky treating him like one of those story book princesses needing rescued from a tower. He had half carried Steve all the way back to his apartment. Bucky's, not Steve's. It was only the second time Steve had ever been in there, simply because Steve's apartment was warm, it was alive with the smells and warmth of a living person staying there. Bucky's room was cold. It held an air of being unlived in, despite the fact that he had been living there for a year. The thick curtains on the windows didn't help with the way they locked out all light from the outside world. They were firmly stuck in place.

He had laid Steve down in his bed and left him against his better judgement to go and break his way into a blood bank. It didn't take long and Steve was still a new vampire. The sun had been on its way up which meant both that Steve would be out cold for at least eight hours and that Bucky had had to hurry or enter a new category of 'hot'.

Somehow he made it back to the apartments in time, barely making it back inside before the hallway was lit up from the window at the end. It was only thanks to the tall buildings all over the city he made it here at all.

When it got closer to sunset he had warmed up the blood with a grimace. Blood bag blood had too much in it and 'reheated' blood was not the most appetizing but he knew what would happen if he brought Steve a person. That would have gone shit and had Steve out his door. He brought the mug into his room and sat on the bed, clearing his throat.

"Steve? Wake-up."

billionairephilanthropist

The case was over and Tony was feeling back to his usual untouchable self. Sure, having all that attention on him had been a risk, but it worked out in the end. The hot young lawyer fighting for his side of the case had done a good job, and while Tony probably could have swayed the Jury if given a chance, it was risky to do it with that many people so publicly. It was just a good thing everything had ended up working out. Now he was waiting outside the firm where Steve worked. He did need to thank the helpful lawyer after all.

That and he wanted to play. He got bored too easily. Being rich and powerful both were blessings, no disguise necessary, but since he joined the ranks of the undead he was always having to be so much more careful.

It was a drag, really.

"Hey, McDeere. Hold up."

Tony was dressed up in a nice expensive suit and a pair of bright red shades, a grin above his well-trimmed beard as he caught up beside Steve on his way out.

"I need to buy you a drink."

It had been a couple weeks since the case ended. Tony had legal strings to tie up and loose ends to cut off before he had time to go looking for the lawyer, but now that he had tracked him back down he was all charming smiles and deceptively warm voice. He didn't believe in denying himself things he wanted, and Steve had been added to that list. Why shouldn't he have the things he wanted?

couldntreach

"Hey, Steve-o."

Bucky was outside his neighbours door for the third time that week. He wasn't, strictly speaking, helping Steve with the case. Not as far as Steve knew at least. All he had done was 'refer' a valuable witness who was just so compelled to tell the truth he couldn't hold it in anymore. The vampire was confident that that would be the turning point for the case. The hung jury wouldn't be able to ignore the blatant truth being told to them so earnestly. They had to be tired of it dragging on by now, too. Which could also work in Steve's favor. They would jump like sharks to blood on that little morsel he presented to them with a neatly wrapped bow.

Bucky had been spending a lot of time around Steve between his working on the case. Idle chitchat at night and more conversations in the hall than he had ever had with a human outside of work. In his opinion, Steve needed to relax, and if he could get Steve drunk enough he might finally be able to wet his lips a little of this growing obsession of his. There were many reasons Bucky didn't go around making human friends. For one thing, they tended to notice the lack of aging thing and were peskily persistent with trying to hunt him down if he vanished. For another, they were terribly tempting. Humans didn't usually go around making friends with their food. There were some crazy farmer exceptions, but most of the population knew what a bad idea it was.

It was the same for vampires. The more time he spent around Steve, the more he picked up on the smell of his blood, the way it changed with his different emotions. He could smell Steve enter the hall these days. Sometimes he could smell him from his apartment. If he listened hard enough he could follow his pulse.

Now he had 8 bottles of alcohol tucked in his arms, and he knocked on the door with the toe of his shoe. It was nearing eleven and Steve should be back by now, and whether he won or lost the case, alcohol was the perfect solution. They would either celebrate or drown Steve's sorrows. Bucky was betting on celebrating.

neverdanced

There was nothing out of the ordinary. Steve was just home from the office, but he wasn't done with work. A pile of folders were strewn haphazardly across the kitchen table while he started a pot of coffee. Technically, he wasn't supposed to bring work home, but this was a special case that required it. The city wasn't small by any means, but it wasn't often that he was involved in highly publicised court proceedings.

Then again, he didn't work on solo cases that often either. For all intents and purposes, Steve Rogers was still quite green. He'd only passed the bar exam a few years before and he was far from having his own law firm. When he'd been given this client, no one had any idea how much of a shitstorm would come from it. If this case turned out successful on his client's end, it would mean spectacular things for his career. There wasn't any room for him to mess up by accidentally overlooking something.

When there was a knock on his door, he assumed it was his extra greasy extra everything pizza. It took but a moment for him to realise he was mistaken. It was some sort of delivery, and being exhausted as he was, Steve didn't even notice that it wasn't his address marked on the label. He just signed off for it and kicked the door closed behind him. Imagine his puzzlement when he sliced through the tape with a box cutter and found a small cooler of blood bags.

What the hell? Steve dragged a hand down his face and stared. Obviously this was for someone else, but it left him wondering what he should do with it. After all, what kind of person had blood delivered to their home?

decemberincident

[TJ'll humour him and not contradict Bucky's statement. He doesn't really have much room to talk, either. He's had less to drink, but only a little, and definitely much more than any responsible bartender should have.]

It's not that far.

[He nodded his head as an indication for them to head out. Once they've left Plaid, TJ shoves his fists in his pockets, taking the most direct route to the apartment building. He doesn't speak much though, for the moment having not much to say for once.]