#i think my favorite part is the insignia tattooed onto his shoulder

[blueribbs]

finally got around to doing my goldlewis redesign. shit was tough ! goldlewis really got the most perfect design already, but i'm really happy with how it turned out :D

[wkemeup]

Fireworks

summary: Bucky Barnes doesn’t do crowds. He certainly doesn’t do fireworks. But he’d follow you just about anywhere. 

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: PTSD symptoms, panic attack, a very sweet bucky 

author’s note: So I had no intentions of writing anything for today until I woke up at 6am and had this idea and couldn’t fall back asleep. This fic is shorter than my usual and didnt go through the pretty long drafting/editing period as my other fics, but I hope you like it just the same! ❣️

“Bucky you have to come with us,” you urged light-heartedly, tugging on his sleeve as he kept himself planted on the couch; nose deep in To Kill a Mockingbird, the lasted book on the line of a long list you had written up for him. A smile pulled at his lips, though he made every effort to suppress it.

He allowed his eyes to glance up to you over the top of his book to find you dressed in a red and white striped blouse that tied at your waist, revealing just an ounce of skin above your jean skirt, a red bandana in your hair tied up away from your face, and press on tattoos of Steve’s shield and the American flag on your cheeks. Bucky did his best to hide how endearing he found you.

“It’s Steve’s birthday, too, you know,” you drawled out, pulling out your last resort with a slight whine in your voice as you purse your lips into a frown. Puppy dog eyes and all, even Bucky had a hard time holding his ground.

“I’m not good at this kind of stuff, doll,” Bucky finally admits, setting the book down on his lap. He sent you an apologetic smile, mouth pressed out into a thin line. “You have fun for me, won’t you?”

You eventually nod, though your heart breaks a little every time Bucky shoots you down politely, keeping himself isolated and alone at every opportunity. He hid under the disguise of soft smiles, of wanting to finish his latest read, or the certain knowledge he carried that his presence would only end up being unwanted. He was wrong, and you told him so every time, but Bucky Barnes was a stubborn man.

“Ok Buck. You know where we’ll be if you change your mind,” you reply, careful to hide the hurt in your voice though Bucky picked up on it rather quickly. You brush your hand over his hair, the only person he ever let do that, and retreated over to the elevator to meet the rest of the team.

Bucky watched as you disappeared, swallowing back the guilt in his chest every time he had to say no to you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to spent time with you, because he did. He latched onto every moment he could get with you. But there was something about large crowds and the Fourth of July particularly that didn’t sit well with him.

He knew you’d stand next to him the entire time, keep yourself at just the right distance away in case he needed an escape or something to ground himself to. You’d done it for him in the few times he had allowed himself to venture out to these public events Stark put together, but it never ended well for him.

He’d either end up having a panic attack in closet by himself after he ran from you in the brief moment your back was turned or he’d have to struggle simply to endure the whispers of Tony’s guests mumbling about whether he deserved to join the avengers after all he’d done and if he was even still human at all. Sometimes he wondered that himself.

Bucky let out a heavy breath. The tower was always so quiet when you were gone. He used to enjoy the quiet. Somewhere, along the line since he met you, that had begun to change.

He missed your laugh as it echoed down the hall, the sweet sound of your voice as you teasing argued with Sam over the last bowl of cereal, the soft patter of your footsteps upon the hardwood floors in the early hours of the morning to make the first pot of coffee.

Bucky tried to concentrate on his book instead of the image of you in the back of his mind, but found he could hardly get past the next page. He chewed on his lower lip, willing himself to at least finish the chapter. You had so many books on his list for him to read and he wanted every excuse to make you smile, and nothing did that quite like when he finished one of your favorite novels and you could finally talk about it with him. The excitement in your face, the passion behind your words; it was enough to make his heart sore.

His concentration was shot.

Bucky groaned, setting the book down on the coffee table, and found himself glancing back towards the elevator.

“No, don’t be an idiot,” he grumbled to himself, getting up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Even as he poured the water to his glass, brought it to his lips, and drank it dry, he still couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from where you had left.

“Shit,” he cursed, the weight of the realization that he’d follow you just about anywhere heavy on his chest, even if it was to some glorified propaganda style event with a crap-ton of people that were guaranteed to set him on edge.

Bucky set the glass in the sink and stalked off over to his room. A quick glance through his closet and he didn’t seem to have much along the times of America themed attire. His red henley, the only bit of color in a sea of black clothing, sat at the bottom of his laundry basket. Couldn’t be easy for him, could it?

So, he found himself in Steve’s closet. He rummaged through the motorcycle jackets, the white button down dress shirts, the series of navy skin tight t-shirts, until he found the shirt he was looking for. It was a loose fitting, heather blue t-shirt with the Captain America insignia at the center. You had bought it for Steve jokingly after he found out about his merch line.

Bucky pulled the shirt over his head and adjusted the bottom as it sat on the edge of his jeans. He caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror and grimaced at how silly he felt. Grabbing his navy bomber and shrugging it over his shoulders to hide the reflection of his left arm, he did his best to exhale away the nerves in his stomach. He shook his head, not giving himself another chance to back out, and made his way to the elevator.

The streets of New York were always busy, but it seemed that everyone was out tonight. Back before the war, Bucky had loved the Fourth of July; the picnics in the park, the celebration of the country he had loved, the hot dogs and hamburgers, the fireworks.

These days, crowds weren’t his friend and the fireworks presented a problem all their own, though he did his best to push that to the back burner for now.

Bucky twisted his way through the upstream of pedestrians, keeping his head down and hands tucked into his pockets to avoid recognition. He wasn’t too far away. He’d only have to spend another few minutes on his own before you’d find a way to help calm him down. He tried to focus on the smile upon your face when you realized he came. The thought alone was enough to make the corners of his lips twitch up.

By the time Bucky found himself in yet another elevator, this time on his way up to the rooftop where he’d be sure to find the rest of the team, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. The doors parted to an influx of Bruce Springsteen playing over the speakers, the loud chatter of the guests, and the sizzling of the grill to his left.

Bucky stepped out into the crowd, hands clenching in his pockets as he searched for you amongst the sea of faces. He kept himself still, just waiting for the moment you’d come into view, when suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder. It nearly set off his defenses enough to rip the arm off whoever laid a hand on him when he turned around to find Steve staring at him.

“Wow, Buck, I didn’t think you’d make it,” Steve grinned, looking him over and his eyes narrowed on his shirt. He lifted an eyebrow quizzically. “Is that my shirt?”

“It’s all I could find,” Bucky grumbled, offering Steve an apologetic glance though he brushed it off rather quickly as he swung an arm around Bucky’s back. Bucky sighed, trying to let himself relax. “Is everyone here?”

“Everyone but Sam,” Steve replied. “He usually gets a cabin out in the woods on the Fourth. You know, to get away from the fireworks and stuff.”

“Right,” Bucky nodded, exchanging a kind of knowing look with Steve.

“Y/n should be over by the bar,” Steve said after a moment, a smirk upon his face letting Bucky know he was fully aware of the reason why he was at this party and it wasn’t for him. He didn’t seem to mind much at all. “Try to have a good time, Buck.”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line, the best he could do for right now, as Steve disappeared back into the crowd towards Natasha who was waiting for him by a table with a series of cups standing in the shape of a pyramid and waving a ping pong ball in her hand.

Clenching at his jaw, Bucky turned back to the crowd. It took a moment longer, but then he spotted you standing by the edge of the roof, leaning against the barrier as you sipped from your drink. Bucky found himself smiling, his heart rate already coming back down, before he could realize it. He carefully weaved his way through the crowd until he stood just behind you.

“The city’s real pretty from up here,” he said casually, watching as your shoulders froze at the sound of his voice. You set the glass down on the wall and turned ever so slowly to face him, as if you were worried your ears were playing tricks on you.

The smile that curved up on your lips, the light in your eye, was enough to make Bucky’s knees weak. You shouted his name, half-laughing as you swung your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you as you squeezed him. He chuckled, letting his arms drape over your waist as he caught the scent of your shampoo in your hair.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed giddily, pulling back enough to see his face. He nodded, trying to act more nonchalant than he felt. You ran your hand over his shoulder, somehow still able to sense the tenseness in his muscles even under layers of clothes. “I’m proud of you, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, it was about time I got out of that tower, huh?”

“I’m really glad you did. This’ll be so much more fun now that you’re here!” you replied, grabbing a hold of his hand to drag him over to the table where Steve and Natasha were throwing ping pong balls into plastic cups full of beer. He tried to ignore the jolt in his heart at the feeling of your hand in his. “Come on, Buck! We’re going to destroy Steve and Nat in beer pong.”

An hour later, and you were right. Bucky never missed a shot. Nat had complained that he was a sniper and that put her and Steve at a disadvantage, to which you argued back that Steve was a super solider and Nat was a world class assassin. It all seemed to even out alright when Nat brought up the fact that you were trained by Clint before you were even a Shield agent.

It was coming up on ten o’clock, when the crowd began to gather over by the edge of the roof. Bucky narrowed his eyes, watching as everyone seemed to know what was happening before he did.

“What’s going on?” he asked you as you began to drag him over to the edge of the crowd, standing just enough away that he could still be a part of it with standing too close to the strangers. He appreciated you more than he could ever say aloud.

“Fireworks,” you replied with an excited grin as bright as your eyes.

Bucky swallowed, forcing out a smile, and turned away from you to face the night sky before you could see the panic in his features.

He’d dealt with fireworks before, heard them in the distance on unexpected nights in the tower. They never triggered him into the winter soldier but they did find a way to bring his heart up to a rate that felt like it could pump right out of his chest and onto the floor at his feet, make his breathing so tight he could hardly get air in, and brings thick line of sweat to his brow.

Tonight though, he’d find a way through it, he decided. For you.

When the first one shot into the sky, he had to admit it was beautiful; red and gold sparkled amongst the dark blue of the sky, peppering amongst the stars. He only flinched a little.

The second one was bigger, completely gold in color and it seemed to last for eternity as the colors brushed upon the darkness like tinsel. He tried to focus on the beauty of it, on the ‘ooo’s and ‘aww’s of the crowd, but found that the booming sound settled too deep in his chest. He hadn’t even noticed your hand slip into his.

After a few minutes, he couldn’t even look at the fireworks anymore, unable to find the beauty in the sparkling colors when he was wincing at every thunderous explosion.

A flash of the trenches in France, to the roar of the train, to the bombs that took out his friends in Germany; dozens of images clouded his mind, bringing him far away from the rooftop garden. His chest was aching, heart pounding painfully through his veins, and he found himself stepping back, retreating away from the crowd. He couldn’t hear your worried voice call his name, not with the pounding in his ears.

Bucky couldn’t quite focus on where he was going, breaths catching in his lungs and unable to find air despite the rapid intake of his breathing. He stumbled through the sliding glass doors, searching desperately for a dark space, somewhere isolated, somewhere he could get a grip before someone noticed.

That’s when he felt a gentle tugging on his hand. He couldn’t quite make out what it was, his vision blurring, as his feet led him through the loft. Then, he was ushered into a back room and helped to the bed where his aching legs gave out. The door to the room was closed and the explosions were muffled.

Hands brushed along his thighs, then up the sides of his arms to cup at his face. He was breathing too fast, becoming light-headed in the effort, but somehow he could still catch sight of you standing cautiously over him, worry etched in your features as your thumbs brushed against his cheekbones.

“Bucky, I need you to breathe,” you said calmly, offering him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. He nodded, doing his best to follow your request. Your hand swept over his hair, pushing it behind his ears. “You can do this, sweetheart. Here, try and breathe with me.”

Bucky watched as you took in an exaggerated breath, letting your chest raise as you inhaled, held it for a moment, and exhaled with your whole body. You nodded for him to try and he reached out to grab onto the fabric of your shirt by your waist, bunching it into his hands just to find something to hold onto.

He took in a breath, though it was shallow, it was more than he had a second ago, and he let it go.

“Good. You’re doing so well, Bucky,” you praised, nodding encouragingly for him to try again. You took in a deep breath yourself and Bucky followed, focusing on the gentle hue of your eyes, how you watched him struggle to breath without an ounce of pity, with only a sea of adoration and sincerity.

Slowly, he began to find his breath again. Though his lips felt numb and his head was a little dizzy, his heart came back to a normal pace and you let out a sigh of relief. He barely registered you leaning forward to kiss his forehead before you sat next to him on the bed.

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky said after a long moment of silence. He winced it his own voice as it came out, breathy and rough around the edges.

“Oh, no, please don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, turning to face him. “I should have never pressured you to come. I should have realized the fireworks would affect you like this. We could have gone somewhere like Sam does...”

“You’d do that for me?” Bucky asked, genuinely shocked.

“Of course,” you said, as if it were obvious, as if it didn’t make Bucky’s heart skip a whole beat. “Maybe next year? I think we’re safe before the next round in an hour. If we head out now, I can have FRIDAY can soundproof your room and we can catch up on the next show on your list. What was it again?”

“Parks and Recreation,” Bucky replied, a smile upon his face.

He couldn’t seem to fathom how you had stumbled into his life and took on his burdens so willingly. It was a constant effort to remind himself that he was allowed to enjoy the small things, like reading with you on the couch and watching tv through the early hours of the morning, that maybe he deserved to find happiness.

“Oh right! That’ll be a good one,” you giggled, tugging on his hands to help him back to his feet. “I’ll text Steve so he knows we’re heading out. He’ll understand if we don’t say goodbye. No need to get back out into that chaos huh?”

You really thought of everything.

Bucky could only nod, too caught up in how much his heart had begun to swell. A blush in his cheeks as you took his hand in yours, so casually, like it didn’t mean the entire world to him, and led him back to the elevator. You didn’t let go the entire walk back to the tower.

Even as you helped weave him through the sea of people bumping into his shoulders that would have normally set him off, your cautious glanced back to him and the gentle squeeze in his hand was enough to keep him grounded. He found that he didn’t much mind the crowds, didn’t mind much of anything at all.

Not when he was with you.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[kamauea]

      ————    𝕁  𝕒  𝕩  𝕠  𝕟 ’ 𝕤    𝕋  𝕒  𝕥  𝕥  𝕠  𝕠  𝕤    ————

If you were to ask Jaxon why he had so many tattoos, he’d simply answer it with this: “For a long time, my body was scarred and marked without my permission. I’ve made peace with that. Tattoos are my way of taking back control of the stories my skin tells.” Well… that, and MMA fighting culture and USMC soldier culture are fairly encouraging of tattoos.

Tattoos, locations, and reasoning are as follows.

Right Shoulder (½ sleeve). Designed with Jaxon’s hometown in mind, the bayou scene honors the home he can never return to and the memories he’ll always miss, with his favorite trees and his favorite time of day, sunrise. Additionally, the flower is a magnolia for his mother, Magnolia.

Left Shoulder. (Stops at ¾ slevee, halfway down his forearm). The dove in the piece symbolizes hope, devotion, and purification. This was one of the earlier pieces he got, once he fell in love with tattoos. A good friend of his was the artist, and all Jax requested was a dove in it, and his friend designed the rest, keeping in my Jaxon’s religious nature in the theme of the piece.

The crumbling Fleur-de-lis (underneath left arm) is his own symbol of honoring the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, something he felt very deeply and spent half the summer of his senior year aiding the victims with his mother and family.

Feather: Underneath right arm. The feather is in tribute to his mother, a special thing they shared. As a child, when his mother was sad, Jaxon would collect feathers to give to her. He’d make up stories and tales of all the places the birds had been, had seen, and where they are going. In return, Momma Sawyer would tell Jaxon that feathers were a symbolism for freedom, for ascension, for dreams, and for hope. She’d tell him of all the places he could go, all the things he could achieve. She’d tell him of all the faith she had in him.

— Fraternitas, or brotherhood in latin,  (along the ridge of his left shoulder, back) is representative of the brotherhood jaxon found in the military. having been an only child, he was always seeking that bond. as a marine, he found it in spades, and cherishes those bonds he made with the men and women he served with. the stars beneath the word are markings of memorial for each of the brothers, sisters, and members of his team that he has lost.

The Cross: Between shoulders, high on his back. His first tattoo, least likely to get him in trouble, the cross is a simple testament to his faith. Faith has always been important to Jaxon since his youth, and continues to be a big part of his life and his family. (He still did get in trouble.)

USMC Rank: Right chest. His USMC rank, Staff Sergeant, is an accomplishment that he’s very proud of, since he reached it about a year before most do. The outline of which is overlaid the USMC insignia.

Anchor/compass, right pectoral, near the sternum, two inches below his collarbone. this small tattoo was originally given to him as a simple anchor, stick & poke on a long recon mission during his military service by his best friend & blood brother Jake Jensen ( @g0petunias ). after their service, jensen got a tattoo artist to add a compass onto the anchor. in his words,  “wherever you wanna go, i’ll guide you. but i won’t let you get too off-course, neither.” 

Tulip, half an inch below the anchor/compass — (see below)

Lavender, beside the tulip. Jaxon’s younger cousins, (Annabelle and Lilliana)  who are more like his nieces, are massively important to him. they are the tiny lights of life. and once he got back from deployment, they were concerned he was going to leave again. jaxon got their favorite flowers tattooed, right near his heart, a permanent symbol of his devotion for them, and that they’ll never really be apart. 

The Bear: Left chest, covers the entire pectoral muscle. The bear symbolizes strength, and mainly protection. All his life he’d been called a “bear”, and now he embraces this, taking on the role of a protector. (Additionally, his nieces almost exclusively call him ‘Teddy’. it’s also a tribute to them.)

Meat tag: right rib cage. A tattoo he eventually got covered up, this tattoo was a necessity when he served on the front lines in the Marines. Fondly nicknamed, this ‘meat tag’ acted as his bodily dog tags, just in case. ⤵ ⤵ ⤵ Knot Cover Up: — the meat tag he’d gotten before he first deployed was grim, yet practical. since discharging, it only served to remind him how much (gruesome) danger he’d really been in. for a long time, he’d been wanting to get it covered up, but couldn’t figure out a meaningful enough tattoo. it was inspired by a conversation with his military best friend. (Jake Jensen or Trey Bishop at @thedipshits, verse dependent) The square knot (or hercules knot) is intended to commemorate the friendship / brotherhood bonds that jaxon formed with the men and women he served with, and the strength, stability, and permanent nature of those bonds. it is a symbol of the positive memories he gained from serving, covering up the negative one the ‘meat tag’ carries. but every time he sees the tattoo, he only thinks of the bond he and his brother share.  

“May today be the day...” quote. left rib cage. The quote are words his mother often signed her letters to him with while he was deployed. It is something he has struggled with, and continues to struggle with every day. he got it tattooed to remind himself.

“Attente tourmente” quote. Right hip bone. Scrawled just above his belt line on the right side, the french proverb translates into: “Who lives by hope will die by hunger.”

Outline of Louisiana: Left hip bone. An outline of Louisiana, his birthplace and his home until the age of 14, when his mother and him left to get away from his abusive father. The second tattoo he’d gotten, Jaxon’s love of Louisiana and his longing for the place is written all over his body. If it wasn’t for his father, Jaxon would have moved back to Louisiana as soon as he could’ve.

Watercolor flowers: on the outside of his right thigh, 8 inches long. Other than being beautiful and jaxon liking pretty things, jaxon got the pink flowers tattooed to remind himself of the soft and feminine parts of himself, and to remind himself that it is okay and good to be those things.

“Well, move on.” : right foot, on top, along the outside. the quote is from a song by one of his favorite musicians, Dermot Kennedy. it is a reminder to himself to not dwell on things he can’t change. life moves on, and he should too.

Red Balloon: Left ankle. There’s no real reason for this. He was really fucking drunk, and his tattoo artist buddy was too. This was the result. It came out surprisingly well. when people ask, he makes up some shit about Winnie the Pooh and his red balloon.