#bucky with tattoos

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that��s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

[navybrat817]

And Everything Nice

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You visit the tattoo parlor when an uninvited guest shows up at the bakery. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Bad ex, mild (h)arassment, protectiveness, brief moments of insecurity, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics . Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from our Sin on Skin AU. ❤️ Thank you to @rookthorne for listening to me ramble about this part! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

I am going to ask Bucky Barnes out.

After going through the closing checklist, Tess gave you another quick pep talk and said the only thing that would hurt if he turned you down was your pride. Deep down you knew it would hurt more than your pride if he said no, but you didn't say it out loud. She must have sensed it since she added she was certain he'd jump at the chance to date you.

"You got this," she said, giving you a quick hug. "Sorry to run, but-"

"Like I said, I got this," you said, waving her on. Normally you walked out together when you both closed the bakery, but she had somewhere to be. "Have fun!" you added as she rushed out.

Once you finished up a few minutes later, you strode to the door with your keys in hand and a smile on your face. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. You could feel it. And you would look Bucky in the eye with a smile as you asked him-

"Closing all by yourself?"

You weren't sure how you managed to not drop your keys, or not throw a punch, when you spun around and saw your ex in your personal space. You wanted to wipe the smirk off his face when you took a deep breath. "Thanks for sneaking up on me, Richard. Mind backing up a little?"

"Aww, did I scare you?" he asked as you quickly locked the door. "Not even a 'hello'?"

"We haven't talked since we broke up," you reminded him. "But hi and bye."

Richard charmed you in the beginning when you met him, like he did with so many others. Beyond his good looks, he was a confident man. It didn't take long to see that beneath the surface was a spoiled man child who was used to getting what he wanted, or thought he could buy everything. You included.

Breaking up with him was one of the best decisions you made, even if your mom disagreed.

"Where are you going in such a hurry? You should get a drink with me."

"I have plans," you lied, wondering what the hell he was even doing there.

"So? Break them. I want to talk."

The suggestion sounded more like an order and you weren't in the mood.

"I said I have plans. I'm sorry."

"Then why are you still in your work clothes?" he asked, gesturing to your outfit. "And who do you have plans with? Some new guy?"

"Because I'm changing later," you said, staring across the street as a smile spread on your face. "And not that it's any of your business, but yes. He's a tattoo artist."

You weren't sure why you said that. Maybe because you hoped Bucky really would be your guy. And because the thought of him also made you feel safe.

You half expected Richard to laugh as you walked around him, but he put his hand on your arm instead as his face twisted into a scowl. "You're not hanging out with him. You're getting a drink with me."

You wrenched your arm away before he could tighten his grip. "We aren't together anymore. So you don't get to show up out of nowhere and order me around," you said as you went to the curb.

"Don't act like a fucking brat when I'm trying to give you another chance."

I'm the brat?

"Not interested. Have a good night!" you said before you looked both ways and dashed across the street to Bucky's shop.

The entrance was cozier and more open than you expected, the sound of the needles bringing you a strange sense of comfort as you adjusted your bag on your arm. Pictures of various tattoos in different styles lined the red walls above the front desk and leather couches. You wished you had the time to pick out which works belonged to Bucky.

Another day.

"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" the man behind the desk cheerfully greeted you as he typed on the keyboard. Even sitting down, you could tell the man was built, his muscular arms covered in a variety of tattoos. He may have been intimidating if not for the glasses and warm smile. "Do you have an appointment?"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw your ex making his way across the street. "Sorry, I don't. Is Bucky here? I really need to talk to him."

"Oh, yeah. Just over there. If you want to take a seat, I can-"

"Thank you. I'll be quick," you smiled, hoping Bucky wasn't in the middle of an appointment.

You glanced around at some of the other artists as you walked over to the chairs and noted how exceedingly gorgeous they were. There was one with short dark hair and a beard that looked like he could kill someone with his tattoo gun if they stared for too long. The girl sitting at his station and the man behind him with shocking pink hair and bright smile both brought a ray of warmth to his almost dark aura.

Is it a prerequisite to work in the shop that you have to be good looking? And either look intimidating as hell or incredibly alluring?

You gripped your bag to keep your hand from shaking as you saw Bucky engaged in a quiet conversation with Steve, recognizing him from earlier. You were almost afraid to interrupt. "Hi?"

Both men turned toward you with smiles on their faces as Bucky pushed himself up from his stool. “Hey, Sugar. Couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see me?”

"Something like that," you said.

"Wait. That's Sugar?" the man with the pink hair asked. "No wonder you keep going to the bakery."

"Don't hit on her, Hal," Bucky warned, earning a chuckle from the other man. "Go bother Andy."

"He already is," a deep voice replied.

You would ask later just how much he spoke about you to the other artists. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting. My ex was waiting for me outside of my shop and I kind of panicked and said I was meeting you and I rushed over here."

"Your ex?" Bucky asked, immediately moving forward to rub your arms in a soothing gesture. "Are you okay?"

"Hi! Welcome to Sin on Skin!" you heard the guy at the desk call out before you could answer.

Instead, you burrowed yourself against Bucky when you heard Richard shout your name. Rock solid and sturdy, his hold kept your nerves from bubbling to the surface. You had nothing to be afraid of.

So why am I shaking?

“You’re kidding me, right? This fucking asshole?” Richard scoffed as you looked over your shoulder at him. He didn't walk any closer, but his voice carried throughout the entire shop. "Like putting a bumper sticker on a piece of shit car, isn't it?"

“Richard, just leave.”

"Does your mom know you're spreading your legs for some tatted up lowlife? Still a disappointment, aren’t you?”

The jab cut deep as much as you wanted to ignore it. He knew that your mom judged every part of you. No matter what you did, it was never good enough.

You wouldn’t focus on that for the time being. "

You do not come into his shop and insult him. Bucky, I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize for this asshole, Sugar. His opinion of me means less than nothing, trust me," he assured you before he faced your ex. "You, however, are banned from my shop. You can get out now or Jake will call the cops for trespassing. After you apologize to my girl for upsetting her. Your choice, Dick."

Your heart fluttered as you leaned into Bucky more.

His girl. It sounds right.

"Please. I can buy the shop tomorrow just to bulldoze it to the ground," he sneered before he jabbed a finger at you. "And you know what? Keep her. I tried to give her another chance, but she's not worth it. She's a lousy lay anyway."

The insult washed away the momentary good feeling and was the tipping point that brought tears to your eyes. It was humiliating enough that you were the root cause of a scene in Bucky's shop, but the jab in front of his employees and customers brought it to another level. Why did you think hiding in there was a good idea?

Does Bucky think I'm a total loser now?

It was only when you sniffled did you notice the entire shop had gone silent, a dangerous tension in the air when Bucky tightened his arms around you as Steve and Andy slowly got to their feet.

"Hey, why don't you and I go in the back?" the friendly girl at Andy's station suggested. "I think there's some snacks back there, right?"

Andy nodded and gave her the go ahead.

"Bucky," you whispered as you dared to look at him. A tear slid from your eye when you saw the murderous gaze on his handsome face. "I'm-"

Before you could register what was happening, he pulled your face toward his and kissed you. Fierce, yet gentle as he brushed the tear away with his thumb, you let him take the lead. A slow simmer of warmth crept into your cheeks as he parted your lips with his tongue and coaxed yours into his mouth. Your fingers twisted in his shirt as he deepened the kiss and shifted so you were pressed almost completely against him.

If this is how he kisses, he might actually kill me if we ever go further than that.

He breathed into your mouth as he stole the very oxygen from your lungs when he pulled away.

"Go in the back," he told you, his gaze dropping to your lips. Did he want to kiss you again or was it wishful thinking on your part? "I just need to take out the trash, finish up here, and I'll take you home, okay? I won't be long."

It was a feat that you didn't shed more years with how gently he spoke to you.

"Thank you," you whispered, unable to say much more.

"Let's check out that snack collection back there," you heard before you were pulled from Bucky's grasp.

You didn't look back at Richard when the girl tugged you away, but you heard a slight waver in his voice as yelled after you.

That's right. You should be afraid.

"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes with your hand.

"No need to thank me. One of my good friends just got out of a bad relationship and I'm still a bit in my protective streak," she explained. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You tried to remember how Richard acted around other guys when the two of you dated. Had he been the jealous type and you just ignored it? Or did he only cause a scene because you showed him you wanted to move on?

Tess is going to flip when she hears about this.

"Well, whether they just throw him out on his ass or worse, he deserves it for what he said to you," she added before she told you her name. "Everyone calls me Sunny."

"He does," you agreed, introducing yourself as she handed you some water. "Bucky calls me Sugar."

"And you work in the bakery across the street?" she guessed.

"Co-owner," you said, the small talk calming you. "Do you work here or are you a client?" you asked, noticing that she didn't have any tattoos.

"New client. I work in an animal shelter," she smiled. "Grumpy out there is going to give me a sun tattoo."

"That's nice," you smiled back. It seemed fitting with her warm and bright presence. "I really do appreciate you bringing me back here."

It was somehow just as warm and inviting as the entrance, the couch worn and comfortable. You wondered how often Bucky came back here to relax and hang out in-between his appointments. Would he ever bring you back here if you stopped in to see him?

"I figured the amount of testosterone out there could be a bit overwhelming, but are you sure you're okay?"

"Other than being incredibly embarrassed, yeah."

Even though Richard was no longer your boyfriend, he just had to barrel back into your life and leave a mess in his wake.

"He's the one who should be embarrassed," Sunny said, wiggling her eyebrows. "Especially after seeing that kiss."

Your face warmed as you replayed it in your mind. The silver lining for showing up tonight was receiving such a passionate kiss from Bucky. It was difficult not to get swept up in the moment though and you told yourself it was likely just for show. A way for him to stick it to a guy who upset you.

Right?

"It was a really good kiss," you smiled.

"Oh, we all felt the heat. Trust me."

Both of you giggled until there was a soft knock on the door frame.

"Hey, Sugar. Trash is out on the curb," Bucky winked. "You ready to go home?"

Your heart fluttered as you smiled back. "Yeah, I'm ready."

You didn't live far away, but Bucky still insisted on taking you home. He even took you out the back way so you didn't have to see anyone. While he didn't specify exactly what happened with Richard, he assured you he wouldn't poke around either of your shops again. It made the drive home more pleasant knowing he looked out for you.

So much that you almost took his hand when he stopped outside of your place.

Almost.

"Thank you for everything," you said. "I'm really sorry about tonight."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Not the first time we've dealt with assholes in the shop. Steve and I don't like bullies."

"I still feel bad," you said, wishing the feeling would go away.

"Please, don't," he whispered.

Your fingers twisted in your lap before you took a deep breath. "When you came into the bakery earlier today, I was going to ask you out," you told him, but refused to look at him. "But after that, it's probably a dumb idea. You shouldn't have to deal with that kind of trouble."

Maybe there's a better girl out there for you.

"You think one asshole ex is trouble?" he asked, leaning over to grasp your chin so you'd face him, goosebumps rising on your arms from his touch. "I can handle that."

"But what he said in your shop-"

"He did that to bring you down because he's an asshole. Guys like that don't want to see girls thrive without them."

You scoffed and mumbled, "I wonder what you'd think of my mom.

"I'm not afraid to stand up to anyone who tries to hurt you," he said, keeping a hold of your chin with a tender grip as your chest tightened. "You said you were gonna me ask out. Don't change your mind because of them."

"So, you really want to go on a date with me?" you asked.

"If I say 'yes', do I get to kiss you again?" he replied, running his thumb along your lower lip.

You were torn between sucking his thumb into your mouth or sinking into your seat. "Maybe we should get an actual date under our belts first. You only kissed me to prove a point or something."

Even if it felt like heaven.

"Or maybe I've been wanting to kiss you since I walked into your bakery and I want to kiss you again," he said, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck with ease. "Proving a point was an added bonus."

You looked at him wide eyed and subconsciously touched your lips. "Wait, you want to kiss me just because I asked you on a date?"

"I can give you a whole list of reasons," he said, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. "And I'd love to go out with you. Friday night, Sugar?"

"It's a date, Hottie," you smiled when he leaned in.

But he didn't kiss your lips.

He brushed a kiss to your forehead, which somehow seemed more intimate.

"You had a rough evening. The next time I kiss you, I want it to because it's the right moment, just for the two of us," he explained when you furrowed your brows. "My girl deserves that."

A soft smile played at your lips as something warm welled up in your chest. He could have easily taken advantage of how vulnerable you felt by stealing another kiss, but he didn't. Even though you were into each other.

Going to see Bucky tonight was the right choice.

And you couldn't wait for your date.

Love them. Love the whole gang. Except Richard. Fuck that guy. And where are they going on that date? Check out What Dreams Are Made Of to see how Bucky is feeling. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙈𝙖𝙮

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Buchanan by @barnesmurdock

baby, it’s bad out there by @intrepidacious

set me free by @/intrepidacious (40s!bucky x nymph!reader)

When I’m With You by @phantomspiderr

You’re Worth It All by @/phantomspiderr

Scotty Doesn’t Know by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

cherry blossoms must be magic by @witchywithwhiskey

aisle 4 by @buckyhoney

Grump : The Musical by @itsapeterthing

Trough Sickness… Except Bucky’s by @teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number by @/teamcap4bucky

Alcohol You Later by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Possible-Future-Girlfriend by @jurassicbarnes

Vegas, Baby! by @bxcketbarnes

Love in the Workplace by @bxcketbarnes

Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds

almond milk by @buckysblanket

After Words by @justsomebucky (Modern AU)

Once Upon A Dream by @abovethesmokestacks

cut my hair by @buckybarnesdiaries

Mind Reader by @espinosaurusrexex

Chain Around my Neck by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Sweet and Strong by @navybrat817 (tattoo artist!bucky x baker!reader)

Charmed by @rookthorne (mechanic!bucky)

Rule Number One by @sidepartskinnyjeans

A Solid Foundation by @writing-for-marvel (fiancé!bucky)

It’s Not My Cup Of Tea by @malum-forev

The Weather by @saltsicklover

Silent Nights and Sorry Mornings by @veelacurse

In The Name Of Love by @moonbeambucky

Fallin’ For You by @/moonbeambucky

I’m Gunnin’ For You by @rookthorne (drifter!bucky)

Morning Workout by @sparklefics

ANGST

Call Me When You Get This by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

I’ll Wear Your Ring by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

After by @wkemeup

Spiral by @buckyalpine

Until We Meet Again by @bucksangel

Try Anything Once by @/malum-forev (doctor!reader)

A Place by @/malum-forev

SMUT

Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams by @buckets-and-trees

Ring Ring by @adrinktostopyourthirst (roommate!bucky)

Convince Me by @teamcap4buciy

Roadside Assistance by @urvenicebtch (mechanic!bucky)

That’s The Way Love Goes by @dirtytomatoedwrites

Surrender by @barnesmurdock

i was made for lovin’ you by @buckycuddlebuddy (rockstar!bucky x bassist!reader)

On My Tongue by @angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Sweeter Than Sugar by @/angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Destined to be Yours by @buckyalpine

sinner by @writingsbychlo (demon!bucky x angel!reader)

[sergeantxrogers]

in the red dark

His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader is drunk (i apologise if that's not your thing), swearing, perhaps some sexual tension, mentions of pain, needles, tattoos, lots of love-at-first-prick energy, mentions of smoking/cigarettes

Author's note: You guys it's literally embarrassing how badly i've fallen off... LMAO i missed writing sooo so much but life has really got me by the balls these past few months. I hope y'all enjoy this and let me know if you'd be interested in a part two. Love u <3

__________

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You didn't know if it was your heartbeat pulsing in your head, or the heavy beat of the music washing over your senses and travelling through your veins. You couldn't tell, but you truly didn't really care. Right now, your hazy, gin-and-tonic drunken eyes focused only on Wanda, her red hair reflecting the neon club lights, your gaze zeroing in on her lips mouthing the words to a song you couldn't even hear at this point.

You saw her smile, and, as if in reply, your lips tugged into a grin of their own. A wave of heat rolled over you as you danced with Natasha, and you brought up your hand that wasn't holding a glass of something that had begun to taste like water to fan yourself.

You felt, more than heard, Natasha yell into your ear, and you furrowed your brows, turning your eyes from Wanda to meet her gaze.

"What?" you yelled back, confusion marring your features. You saw Nat's shoulders rise and fall with the enormous sigh she took in, and you kept in your giggles.

She tugged on your arm, then pointed to the crowd behind you. More specifically, the exit that was on the other side of the club, blocked by hundreds of hot, sweaty, drunk bodies in their own little worlds - much like you were now. It clicked; you had been in the club drinking your asses off the past three hours, you were hot, your heels were killing you, and, quite frankly, you were running out of money for the night.

You nodded deeply and seriously, eyes screwed shut as Nat tugged Wanda's arm with one hand and yours with the other. Quickly, you downed the rest of the contents of your glass, leaving behind only a thin slice of lemon and a lipstick stain on the rim and snatched your bag off the table before the three of you decided to brave the large crowd that only seemed to grow bigger by the minute.

Holding hands and forming a sort of train, you made it through the suffocating crowd step by step, breath by breath, until, finally, you felt the cool late summer air caress your flushed face, the thumping bass of the club now seeming like a whole different dimension as the heavy door shut behind you with a click.

Wanda, perpetually happy, you've come to understand over the years, let out a raspy laugh.

"This place is fucking insane, guys! Holy shit!" she exclaimed, pointing a manicured finger at the door the three of you had just come through.

You hummed in agreement. "Yeah, why haven't we ever gone here before?"

Natasha, almost always the least drunk out of you three, let out a trademark sigh. She gave you a look you could only translate to 'seriously?'.

"What? I'm being for real," you frowned.

Nat rolled her eyes, then winced as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know you are, it's just that we've never come here before because this was opening night. You know, the whole reason we even came in the first place? Jesus Christ, you two need some water."

All it took was for you and Wanda to share a look before you both burst out laughing. You leaned on her arm for support as your giggles died down, and you let out a big, happy sigh.

"Come on, we'll never grab a cab here - there's way too many people. Let's walk a couple blocks down," Nat said, stepping between the two of you and throwing her arms around your shoulders. "Can't believe I always get babysitting duty."

You and Wanda smiled coyly, seeing the playfulness glimmering in Natasha's eyes, letting you know she wasn't actually upset.

The three of you started your trek, slightly stumbling but keeping in a straight line for the most part. You had only walked about 150 feet when Wanda let out a gasp. You and Natasha both turned your heads to see what she was pointing so happily at, and when you saw what had made her gasp, you cocked your head in amusement.

Red neon light flooded your hazy vision, one word flickering and buzzing above your head in the dark - tattoo.

"It says they're open 24/7. Isn't that weird? Do you guys think we should all get matching tattoos? What should we get? Wait, do you think we even have enough money to get matching tattoos?"

Disappointment flooded Wanda's rambling, and you opened your mouth to reply, but Nat beat you to it.

"Wanda, we are not getting matching tattoos, especially not while drunk."

Staring at the sign above you, the red neon washing over the world, the soft buzz of electricity coming from it drowned out Wanda's complaining and Natasha's replies. They became background noise as you let the waves of alcohol make the decision for you, surprising even yourself when the words came out of your mouth.

"I want one."

Your two friends stopped their bickering and both stared at you, Nat with an incredulous look on her face, and Wanda with something a little more akin to amusement.

"Really?" they said at the same time, their tones matching their faces.

You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I feel like never do anything fun. Besides, what's the harm in it? It won't kill me," you said with a shrug.

Natasha's weary eyes gave you a once over, and she took a step toward you, putting a hand up to your forehead.

"Are you sure you don't have alcohol poisoning or something?"

You slapped her hand away with a roll of your eyes. "I'm fine, Nat, I just really wanna get a tattoo now. I already know what I want to get."

Even Wanda, whose idea it was in the first place, gave you a suspicious hum. "Nat's only asking because this really doesn't seem like you, Y/N."

The frustration bubbled in your chest before you could stop it, and you quickly shoved it down. They were right, after all - you were the type of person to never make any decision, big or small, without planning for it in advance and double, and then triple, checking you were absolutely certain. Everybody knew this, which was why your friends were doubtful.

Everyone knew this, yet no one knew how draining it was to always be on top of things. Nobody knew how exhausting to always plan everything out in advance to minimize the risk of anything going wrong as much as you could. School, college, dating, the things you ate, the places you went, the clothes you wore - everything was planned ahead, and, quite frankly, you were growing sick of it. Sick of yourself, almost.

With a huff, and a roll of your shoulders, you tugged your jeans up and lifted your chin. Then, without a word or warning, you turned on your high heel and pushed open the heavy glass door of the tattoo parlor, the bell over your head chiming softly as you walked through.

There's no going back now, a voice called in your head. You blocked it out. Good.

___________

Leg crossed over the other, you fidgeted with the rips in your jeans as you sat in the black, plastic chair in the front of the shop. After speaking to a girl who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but at work, she told the three of you to have a seat and wait a couple minutes while they got everything set up. She popped her gum as she left, and only in the sudden silence, surrounded by dark walls and miscellaneous photographs adorning them, the nervous flutter in your stomach awoke, sending a cold sweat to your palms.

So, here you were, almost two in the morning sitting between your two best friends, mentally preparing yourself to get a tattoo you didn't even know you wanted a couple of hours ago. Yet, no matter how nervous you were, there was still a bigger part of you, a louder voice in your head encouraging you that this was exactly what you wanted and needed. The seconds ticking by on the clock above you only further reassured you.

A warm palm on your ankle startled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see Nat, holding your gaze.

"Could you please stop jiggling your foot. You're making me nervous and I'm not even getting anything done."

You gave her a slight nod. "Yeah - yeah, sorry."

You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but it was a nervous tick of yours, a habit that you were never going to break. You turned your head to your other side, and Wanda's mischievous glint in her eyes made you shoot her a smile, growing your confidence by a little.

The soft chime of beads being separated made the three of you turn your focus to the doorway set in the left wall, the same unamused girl from before stepping through before gesturing for you to stand up.

"He's ready for you now."

"He? You're not gonna be the one tattooing me?" you asked nervously, your steps faltering slightly across the black-and-white tiled floor, and you hoped it wasn't too noticeable.

The girl shook her head. "Nope, I'm only here on an apprenticeship. I mainly just work the front desk and do other assistant-like bullshit for Barnes."

"Oh." You didn't know who Barnes was, but you could only assume he was the artist waiting for you behind the beaded curtain.

"Also, your girlfriends have to stay here. It's salon policy, sorry."

You turned back just in time to see Nat and Wanda lower themselves back in their seats, the three of you exchanging a look that showed you didn't believe she was sorry in the least.

"Okay. So, I just... walk through here?" you asked, pointing at the doorway.

The girl nodded, bored out of her mind already. "Yeah, there are two rooms. Go for the left one."

And that was apparently all you were getting out of her, because she turned around and walked away, taking a seat behind the large reception desk with a heavy sigh.

Taking one last look at your friends' reassuring smiles, Wanda sending you an enthusiastic thumbs up, you walked through the curtain with a deep breath. The beads drifted over your shoulders and thighs, then quietly fell back into place behind you as you stepped into the small dark hallway. Go for the left one, she said, so you did, forcing your feet to move forward, heels softly clicking against the tiles.

Oddly enough, the doorway on the left was bare, no door on the hinges and no beaded curtain hanging down, so you knocked on the frame and hesitantly stepped through. You were surprised to find the interior design completely different to the front of the salon - even the small hallway you left behind was dark and depressing, while this part of the shop had rich, shiny hardwood floors, a floor lamp standing in every corner washing the room in an orange hue.

You noticed the walls had less pictures than the ones in the front, but the ones that were hanging were big, framed, and beautiful.

"My buddy Steve painted those," a smooth voice called out, startling you, and you ripped your eyes from the paintings on the walls, not realizing how rude you were being just standing there without saying a word.

Your gaze quickly scanned the room until you found the source of the voice standing at the back of the room, leaning back against a table with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever words you were planning on saying died in your throat as you took him in. Dark hair, cropped shorter on the sides. Blue eyes underneath heavy-set brows, the bridge of his nose leading down to pink lips that were currently morphing into an amused smile. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw moved as he clenched his teeth, and you weren't sure if it was the alcohol in your veins speaking its mind, but you were pretty certain this had to be the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

"He - he's good," you managed to reply, and he lifted a brow.

"Your friend, I mean - seems like a great painter," you elaborated, gesturing weakly to the wall of canvases. He nodded in agreement, then pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, taking a few steps forward.

"You can lay down now if you want. It might be more comfortable than just standing there while we talk about what we're doing tonight," he said, nodding toward the black massage chair in the center of the room.

You nodded back, willing your ankles to keep steady in your now frustratingly high shoes, along with the gin still pulsing steadily in your head. You may have been even more nervous than you were now if it hadn't been for all the glasses you drank one after another earlier in the night. Right now, you were actually thankful you weren't completely sober for this, because you didn't know how else you would be able to handle the man's sea-blue stare that tracked your every movement as you lied down with such an intensity it made your cheeks burn.

Evidently, he must have noticed your jitters, because he pulled out a small leather stool on wheels and took a seat next to you. He softened his gaze and crossed his arms again. You couldn't help but noticed how peculiar they were - for no reason other than the fact that the short, tight sleeves allowed you to see they were completely bare, not one tattoo in sight on his perfect skin. Weird. Maybe he had tattoos in places you couldn't see, but before you could think too deeply on that and risk blushing again, you ripped your eyes back up to his.

"I'm Bucky," was all he said, voice now quieter and more laid-back, probably trying to help ease your nerves even more.

"I'm Y/N," you replied, then cleared your throat.

"I'm assuming this is your first ever tattoo?" he asked, and you winced a bit.

"It's that obvious?"

He - Bucky - gave you a small smile. "Kind of. But you also don't seem like the type of person to get a drunk tattoo at-" he checked the watch on his wrist "-1:52 a.m."

Check and mate. You gave a small shrug. "I guess people can be surprising."

He said nothing to that, only regarded you with a faint amusement in his narrowed eyes, before clearing his throat.

"And what did you have in mind? Kate up front told me you wanted a butterfly, but I need to know if you had something specific in mind?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to leave the details up to you... I just know I want a butterfly, that's all.

"So, you're putting your trust in me completely, I see."

You felt your heartbeat trip over itself and you cleared your throat, nodding meakly.

"You know," he began as he stood and walked over to the table he was leaning on earlier, "butterflies symbolize transformation, and hope. Metamorphosis. Some also say they symbolize resurrection - triumph of soul over body."

Bucky spoke as he walked back, carrying a few papers and a box of gloves with him. He set the box down on the small table beside your chair, then handed you the papers.

"These are just a few sketches I did when Kate told me what you wanted, but I wasn't sure how big or small you wanted it to be, or where you wanted it to go, so there's a few options you could choose from."

You flipped through the pages, sketch after sketch filling your eyesight, and your breath stilled in your chest. These drawings were absolutely beautiful. Apparently, his buddy Steve wasn't the only one who was insanely talented. Your gaze snagged on one of the last sketches, a small monarch butterfly about the size of a silver dollar, gorgeous patterns covering its spread wings.

Bucky noticed you go still, and tilted his head.

"This one?" he asked. You simply nodded.

"Alright," he said softly. "Let me just prep the stencil and we'll be all set."

Focusing on keeping your breathing steady, in and out, you watched him get up and walk back towards the table. You took the time to admire the strong build of his back, shoulder blades visible under the tight material, triceps slightly flexing as he moved his arms, doing what ever he needed to do. The drinks in your system were doing little to help. In fact, they were just making it worse, sending flashes of heat flooding through your stomach and warming your body as you stared at him.

Sooner rather than later, he turned back around and you quickly tore your eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring, and instead focused your gaze on your painted toenails in your black heels. You clicked your shoes together a couple times, maybe out of nerves, maybe just for something to do, and Bucky sat back down on his stool.

"Alright, doll. Where's this bad boy going?"

You tried not to be so obvious with the way the name affected you, but the way it slipped off his tongue so easily, like it belonged there, had your hands sweating and breath quickening. You swallowed.

"M-my hip. I was thinking my hip."

Bucky cocked a dark brow. "Your hip."

The way he said it, not a question, but rather a statement, voice an octave lower than it was a moment ago, had you reminding yourself to keep breathing.

You nodded. His eyes flickered down to the aforementioned body part, then slowly made their way up, over your stomach and across your chest covered in a lacy top, across your neck, then finally met yours. This time, he was the one who swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he reciprocated your nod.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. That's a cool spot," he said, and then cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna need you to - to unbutton your jeans. So I can, you know, place the stencil and - and ink you, and stuff."

Your lips quirked up, finding it amusing how flustered he seemed to get now, instead of the other way around. A rush of confidence overtook you, whether it was from his stammered words, or the way his eyes had travelled your torso, or maybe it was simply your inebriation. It could have been all three. Whatever it was, it had you staring into his eyes as your hands found the button of your jeans, undoing it and pulling the zipper down, then pulling one side of them down, folding it over itself so your underwear was on display.

Bucky's eyes tracked the movements, darkening when he lifted them back up to yours, and his jaw visibly clenched. You let out a loose breath through your nose and bit your tongue.

The silence between you two felt stretched taught and thin, palpable and ready to shatter at any moment as you stared at each other. He cleared his throat again.

"Would you mind if I smoke?" he asked, voice rough and resigned. You shook your head.

Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter from his pocket, you watched, slightly fascinated, as he pulled a cigarette out from the pack, brought it to his pink lips, struck the lighter and lit it, inhaling deeply. The smoke he blew from his mouth surrounded you, filling the air with a new, hazy tension. He kept eye contact as he threw his cigarettes and the lighter onto the small table, and pulled his stool closer.

He leaned down over your hip, then hesitated. Flicking his eyes up to yours, brows raised in question, you nodded.

Bucky's fingers softly, slowly, grabbed the hem of your underwear and pulled it down a couple of inches, and when his fingertips brushed the delicate skin there, you felt a rush of fire burst through you, starting from the place of contact and going straight to your head. You tried focusing on breathing evenly, but that was difficult to do as you watched him reach behind and pull two black, latex gloves from the box he had brought earlier, pulling them on while studying the small expanse of skin he had exposed.

Your head swam, vision going in and out as you watched him carefully place the stencil he had made against your skin, adjusting it with one hand, pulling your underwear and jeans down with the other so they would stay out of the way. The cigarette dangled from his plump lips, and he pulled it out of his mouth, let smoke leave through his nose as he turned and set it against an ash tray.

He nodded toward the stencil. "Is this placement okay?"

You glanced down, seeing the fine, purple outline of the butterfly you chose on your hipbone, and you nodded. You couldn't help the small smile that reached your lips - it looked amazing already.

"Alright, doll," Bucky said, then carefully peeled the paper back, leaving just the drawing and goosebumps on your skin.

He stared at it for a moment, then frowned.

"What's wrong?" you asked, immediately worried.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly, I just don't think I can ink you in this position. The angle is awkward and the skin isn't tight enough so it might not end up the way you want it to."

"Oh," you said, the frowned yourself. "Well, what would work better?"

He gave a short shrug. "It would be best if you were standing, honestly."

Your mouth parted, but no breath escaped, and you nodded slightly. "Yeah. Okay."

The words came out quiet and breathy, and you hoped he couldn't notice the slight tremble in your arms as you lifted yourself out of the chair and to your feet beside him. Your underwear and jeans rode back up as you did, and you frowned, wondering if you chose a place that was too impractical.

Bucky, either noticing your frown, or noticing where your attention was, rolled his stool closer to you. Looking up at you, his hands reached up with slow, deliberate movements, a question in his eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, and turned to face him completely, standing between his legs, thighs enclosing your own.

You held your breath as his fingers pulled the front of your jeans down, exposing both hips and the front of your panties, and he paused, holding your gaze. You gave him no sign to stop, so he reached for the hem of your underwear again, pulling it down even more this time, exposing not only your hip, but your upper pubic area as well.

His eyes flickered to the skin there, quickly, then back up to yours, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. The cigarette was burning out in the ash tray, long forgotten but filling the air with wisps of smoke and the smell of ash.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but feel like the way you were exposed in front of him, lips inches from a place you'd like him to be, the way he was staring into your eyes, pupils dilated and intoxicating - it may have all been just a touch unprofessional. You shooed the thought away when his gloved fingers traced the stenciled out butterfly, and goosebumps rose on your skin again, stomach clenching involuntarily at the touch.

His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Bucky gave you a sly smile, and shook his head, almost to himself, sucking in a deep breath before rolling back to grab the tattoo gun from the table. He moved the machine slightly closer so it had better reach, and you shifted on your feet nervously. At this point, you were more focused on the incoming pain than the pain already killing your heels and toes in your shoes.

"This is an area that usually doesn't hurt as much as others, but you'll still feel some discomfort," he told you as he fiddled with the machine and the gun, flicking it to life. The quiet buzzing filled the air, and you sucked in a sharp breath even though you nodded at his words.

He lifted his head to look at you, reaching a hand up to grab your other hip steady. "It'll feel like a buzz under your skin, or a slight stinging. If it gets too much for you, just squeeze my hand and I'll stop. I promise."

You made yourself look deep into his eyes and you noted the reassurance in them, so you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and nodded, screwing your eyes shut.

His grip on you tightened, and it was a mild comfort as he pressed the needle into your skin, inking the first few drops into your hip. The pain wasn't excruciating, nor was it unbearable, but it was surprising, and like nothing you had ever felt before. You let out a soft gasp as he worked, trying to keep still so as not to disturb him, but you couldn't help your hand that shot out to grab his wrist - the one on your hip. He paused and turned his focus up to you, tender worry in his blue eyes.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw and nodded. "Just keep going, it's not that bad."

After a few more minutes, you seemed to get used to the stinging sensation, and now the area just felt numb. You had asked Bucky about it, but he smiled and reassured you that it was perfectly normal.

Your senses blurred together and you closed your eyes against all the stimulants - the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the numbness in your hip, Bucky's firm hold on you and the strength of his wrist flexing beneath the palm of your hand.

You kept reminding yourself to breath, to focus on something else - anything other than the needle currently piercing your skin.

Bucky's fingers gave you a light squeeze, and you nearly trembled.

"Just a little more, doll, that's it. You're doing so good for me, you know that?" Bucky muttered softly, his breath warm against your bare skin, and you nodded even though he couldn't see.

"Just a few more seconds and we'll be all done, sweetheart, I promise."

"Okay," you whispered breathily and turned your gaze up towards the paneled ceiling.

"All done, doll," Bucky said, voice bringing your focus back to him. He switched the gun off and rolled back in his chair slightly to put it back where it belonged. He plucked a bottle of something off the table and grabbed a paper towel.

"This is just some antibacterial soap I'm gonna use to clean the ink residue off you, okay?"

It was all you could do to nod in response, and you watched him move as he cleaned the tattoo, then wiped it down carefully. You winced, and he frowned.

Bucky put the soap back and grabbed another similar-looking bottle.

"This is just lotion - it'll help soothe any lingering pain."

You stared in mute fascination as he spread the lotion across your hip, rubbing it in gently, then running his thumb across the fresh design. Your breath stuttered, and he tore his eyes away from the butterfly, clearing his throat. Once again, he turned back, putting the lotion in its place, then pulled out a box of large bandages from the lower part of the table, picking one up and peeling it open.

He pressed it softly against your tattoo, then made sure it was stuck on right, giving the area a soft stroke with his thumb again, and then he ripped his gloves off, throwing them in the trash beneath the table.

Bucky's attention finally, finally turned back to you, and he rolled himself into his initial position. His hands skimmed the sides of your thighs softly before they reached your panties, pulling them up and over the fresh tattoo. You held your breath when his knuckles brushed your lower stomach, and you could've sworn you heard him inhale sharply. A muscle in his jaw fluttered and he pulled your jeans back up too, zipping and buttoning them slowly.

He kept his stare straight, eyes on the button right in front of him, an you let out a slow, deep breath when his hands lowered from your hips, to the backs of your thighs, caressing them gently, even giving them a short squeeze.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, voice a raspy whisper.

You shook your head, eyes trained on him. "No."

He looked up then, and you felt your pulse pick up pace. You didn't know what to focus on - his eyes burning holes into yours, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, or the fact that his face was inches away from your abdomen, breath heating it with every exhale.

"Good," he said simply. Quietly. "It'll heal in about two to three weeks, but you should avoid getting it wet and change the bandage as often as you can."

"M-maybe you could - give me your number," you stammered, and Bucky lifted his brows. "You know, so I can call if I notice something off, or - or if I need help with something."

He smiled, and this smile wasn't like any of the previous smiles. This one was a full-on grin, perfect teeth and dimples on display, making him look younger. You couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll give you my number, but I want to be updated every day. It is your first tat, after all."

You grinned and nodded. "Alright. Deal."

"You're gonna walk out and pay Kate up front, and then I'll follow, as soon as I clean up here. 'Kay?"

You nodded.

"Good girl," he said, shooting a wave of heat through your body, and he gave your thighs a light slap before he rolled away.

The lack of his presence in your personal space felt jarring, like you had just been ripped away from the world and thrown into another, and you blinked the feeling away, sucking in a deep breath.

"Okay," you said, more to yourself than to him, and he smiled at you.

"Go. I promise I'll be out in a minute."

__________

Kate handed you your card back, and you were still trying to shake the shock of hearing the price off when the beaded curtain shuffled and Bucky came through in all his marvelous glory. Out here, in the open space of the front of the shop, he looked even taller, even wider, and you suppressed the urge to reach out a hand and touch him.

"Hey doll. Can't believe you didn't run away," he said with a half-smile, and you blew some air through your nose.

"Of course I didn't," you replied softly, then cleared your throat.

He held his hand out expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize what he was waiting for. "Oh! Right, sorry."

You tugged your phone out of your purse, unlocking it and handing it to him. You admired the way the screen lit up his face as his fingers flew across it, and before you knew it, he was handing the phone back to you with a smile.

He took a step forward, and you inhaled sharply.

"Remember, daily," he muttered, low enough only for you to hear, inches away from your face, and you could only nod.

"I promise," you whispered, and his smile grew.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, and that made you tear your eyes away from Bucky's. Nat and Wanda were both standing by the exit, hands on their hips, staring between you and Bucky expectantly.

"Right, we'll just be going now," you said, trying to hide the surprising disappointment in your voice as you gestured with your head to the door. "Thank you for everything. I love it."

Bucky slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave you a genuine smile. "The pleasure was all mine, sweetheart."

You held his eyes even as Nat grabbed your arm and dragged you through the door, the bell chiming and tinkling above you, and Wanda called out a goodbye over her shoulder as the three of you left.

The cool night air enveloped you completely, and at this point, you were sober enough to feel a chill trickle through your bones. You shuddered.

"Jeez, what time is it, anyways," you mumbled, rubbing your arms to gather some warmth. You paused your movements when you noticed the looks on your friends' faces.

"What? What happened?"

Nat scoffed. "What happened? What happened with you? In there! With that beefcake of a man!"

Wanda chimed in excitedly. "The way he was looking at you? Phew, it was growing way too hot in there, to be honest."

You blushed, rolling your eyes, and began walking. "C'mon, guys, don't be childish-"

"Are you gonna go out with him?" Nat interrupted, linking an arm through yours.

"He hasn't asked me," you said blankly.

"Well, he definitely will," Wanda said with a matter-of-fact shrug. "I could see it in his eyes."

"Who would've thought - Y/N getting her groove on with the tattoo artist-"

"Ew, groove? Seriously, Natasha, who says things like that-"

"Stop trying to act like we're not totally right here."

You sighed and shook your head, but couldn't help the smile that rose to the surface. "Yeah, he is pretty hot."

The three of you burst into a fit of giggles as you walked, trying to find a taxi to hail before you froze your asses off.

"So... can we see the tat?"

[onceuponastory]

closer - tattooartist!bucky barnes x female!reader

Plot: Y/N's feelings towards her tattoo artist intensify the closer he gets to her. Pairing: TattooArtist!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: A few mentions of needles - specifically tattoo needles - and the sensation and pain of getting tattooed (specifically when it goes over a bone). If that sort of thing gives you the squick, I wouldn't read. Notes: Welcome to... whatever this is. I just missed tattoo!artist Bucky and I hc him as a flirt and a slight pain in the ass so here we are!

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

“Alright.” Bucky grins, loading up his tattoo needle with ink. “You ready to start?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky reassures. “Besides, it’s not like it’s going to be any different from the other ones I’ve done for you.” He chuckles.

He’s right, of course. This is not her first tattoo by Bucky Barnes. In fact, by this point, Bucky’s done most of Y/N’s growing collection of tattoos, and claims to be the very reason she was ‘bit by the tattoo bug’. And he’s right. Since she got her first tattoo from him, Y/N’s been itching to get more. She doesn’t see skin on her arms anymore, she sees empty space, a canvas for Bucky to fill with his art. And if she could, she’d have him cover her entire body with it.

Of course, the fact that her favourite tattoo artist (his words, not hers... although she agrees with him) is the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen is also why she keeps rushing back whenever she can. And he's also a massive flirt. Yet although it’ll never amount to anything, it never does… that doesn’t mean she can’t spend their sessions hoping for it. That one day he’ll notice her, really notice her, and tell her he’s just as much in love with her as she is with him.

As Bucky gets to work, Y/N turns her head, watching him. Of course, a lot of her sessions are also spent oogling her tattoo artist. Multicoloured tattoos of various designs and sizes cover Bucky's arms, piquing her curiosity. She's always wanted to ask him about them, to tell her the stories behind them, what was going on in his life back then to make him choose that design.

The familiar warm feeling of love begins to pool in her gut again, and Y/N sighs.

There's a lot of things she wants to know about Bucky.

"I can see you staring, you know."

"Just checking you're doing a good job." She lies. Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Oh, please." He looks down at her, trademark smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You use that excuse all the time. You just can't resist me."

Asshole.

Thankfully, Bucky soon drops it, going back to working on her tattoo. Today, he’s doing a piece that snakes up her arm and onto her shoulder, meaning he’s frequently getting up close and personal, more so than she’s used to. However, she doesn’t mind that at all. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Bucky works, Y/N occasionally glances over at him, still watching him curiously. Both because she actually enjoys seeing Bucky at work, and because again, he’s gorgeous. Thankfully, Bucky doesn't seem to have noticed this time. Or if he does, he doesn't call her out on it.

Some of Bucky’s brunette strands escape his man bun, framing his face. Y/N has to stop herself from reaching up and tucking it behind his ear. Despite how close she and Bucky are, that gesture is too intimate, too close for them… even as he moves further up her arm and onto her shoulders.

At one point, she glances over again, not realising he’s a lot closer than expected. So much so that her skin almost brushes against Bucky’s hair. For a split second, a flash of pink crosses Bucky's cheeks, and she frowns. Was he...blushing? Because of her?

“Oh, sorry.” She murmurs, her cheeks burning. How does he even look hotter up close? “Just tell me to move back if you want… or just move me out of the way.” She jokes awkwardly, only adding to her embarrassment. Hopefully, this session will be over before she makes even more of a fool of herself in front of Bucky.

“It’s okay.” Bucky smirks, running a hand through his few strands of hair, a sight that makes Y/N glad she’s laying down to witness. “You’re perfect, actually.” He chuckles. “Don’t tell the others I said this… but you’re my favourite client.” He winks.

She swears this man will be the death of her some day.

As Bucky continues the tattoo, he suddenly goes over a tender area, and she winces in pain. “You okay? You’re doing great, but let me know if you wanna stop, alright?” Bucky says. Gritting her teeth, Y/N nods.

“I’m good.” She gasps. "I just forgot how much that hurts."

It’ll all be worth it. It always is.

At least, getting to see Bucky makes it worth it, anyway.

“Good girl." Bucky smirks. 

Fucker.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The remainder of the session passes in silence, and Y/N’s head swirls. If she told him the truth, laid her heart out on the line… would it be so bad? 

She braces herself, opening her mouth to speak. But Bucky gets there first.

“You know Y/N, we’ve known each other for long enough that I feel like we’re friends. So the trust between us is solid enough.” He chuckles, refilling his ink. 

In actuality, she and Bucky have known each other for almost three years. Not that she’s been counting or anything. And despite Bucky doing most of her tattoos, she’s been at the shop infrequently enough that she wouldn’t consider themselves ‘friends’. But the thought that Bucky considers them friends makes her heart do that funny thing it always does whenever she sees Bucky - when it somehow beats too fast and almost stops. 

God, she wants him so badly.

“Yeah, that’s true. And besides, you’ve been up close and personal with me a lot.” She chuckles, another batch of heat spreading across her cheeks. Bucky laughs brightly, and Y/N grins just as wide.

“You’re right, I have.” He nods. “To be honest, by this point I’m convinced I could say or do anything, and you’d say ‘yeah!’, tattoos or otherwise.”

“Yeah!” she giggles.

“Okay.” Bucky muses, looking up at her with a smirk. “Go on a date with me then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[georgiapeach30513]

Your Mark On Me, Part 11

Summary: can Steve be honest with himself, with you, and with his best friend?

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, mentions of markings, mentions of biting, bruises, unprotected sex, PIV sex, degradation, manhandling, creampie, cockwarming in public, voyeurism, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.9K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

*tattoo edit by @randomagnes0210

Steve smiles as he looks over your sleeping body. A warm comfort fills his entire insides up. You look more beautiful now, in this state of sprawled out mess than he has ever seen you. Perfect. No one could ever compare to you. And seeing you like this he takes the time to think about all that had happened between the two of you. Of how he’s never spent the time on anyone that he has on you. You’ve surpassed his every fantasy he’s had.

Picking up his phone, he scrolls through his messages. Having to scroll down further than he ever has for this contact before clicking it. His hand hovers over the keyboard a moment. Fingers tapping over the glass, before he erases everything he had just typed. He didn’t know what to say.

Laying his phone down he stares at you. Chuckling to himself because even asleep, you knew what you were doing. Turned on your side, and giving him the sweetest sneaky peek of your cunt. Your lips swollen and puffy from the pounding he had been giving you. Glistening in the early morning light, and ready to take him again. You really are his little slut.

Bruises and marks splattered over various parts of your skin. If you didn’t show that you did in fact like it, he would hate himself. He’s amazed at himself for how many different places his mouth had left their mark on your body. Reddened bruises and even teeth marks. Having to bit you for the amount of pleasure that overwhelmed his body.

He wants to hate himself for causing you any bit of pain or discomfort, and then you sigh in your sleep. Your body stretches out even more, and pushes the blankets down your body. You are a work of art. That little grin that pulls up your mouth. You’re, for now, satiated. You had proven to be just as much of a fend as him.

If you were awake, you were filled with him. So now he sits quietly, and hopes you can actually rest. You hadn’t gotten used to his size. And he coos at you with every wince when he stretches you open. It’s adorable, and he can tell you hate how he goes a bit softer as he’s entering you. Steve is a bit of a contradictory roller coaster, but especially during sex.

Steve hears a little tap on his bedroom door, and he pulls the covers back over you. He got the alert that Sam was driving up here, so it wasn’t a surprise. “Come in,” Steve whispers, and presses his hand on your bum when you stir. He wants you to sleep for a few hours this time. No more naps.

Sam waits in the doorway, watching the two of you. Noting how Steve can’t turn away. He rolls his eyes as he leans against the doorframe, “You get it now?”

“Get what?”

Steve still never stops to look at Sam. In the few days you have been holed up in the cabin, Sam sees a real change in Steve. There isn’t that hardness that’s usually present. “You finally understand caring for someone more than yourself,” Steve looks up at his friend, and responds by nodding his head.

”Dove looks exhausted.”

”I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to. She is worse than me,” you weren’t quite there. But it wouldn’t take much. You were experimental with sex. Willing to try whatever Steve wanted to.

”I’m doubtful of that,” Steve huffs out a laugh, and turns to look back at you. You are too soft for him, and yet there’s this devil that lurks under your top layer of sweetness. “You need to call Bucky.”

”Why?”

“Because, you get why he was angry. Why he needed to leave. Why he knew you needed to protect Dove. Bucky knew before you did that you had found your person, and he didn’t want you to scare her away. And then you insulted his fiance,” feeling a bit of shame makes Steve unable to look up at Sam. But his eyes flick towards his phone. he’s tried a few times to text Bucky since you two hadn’t left this cabin. Barely even ate.

“Imagine someone calling Dove a basket case,” his heart feels like someone is squeezing it, and he has to watch you sleep to center himself. “Bucky and Shy deserve your respect. The things Bucky has done for Dove were for you. Call him. I think Shy would do Dove some good. Maybe she can soften your darkened Dove. I can’t believe she was this sweet little innocent girl. And now…”

“Sam, I’m going to marry her, and make her the mother of my children.”

“Then call Bucky. My wife sent me with a basket of food. Feed her.”

Steve didn’t have to tell Sam that he had been thinking of calling, well texting, Bucky. Sam had this ability to just know. It’s why he completed their friendship. He is the steady one. The one that helps keep them in line. And the one that isn’t afraid to call either of them out. And if he was letting it be known that Steve needed to talk to Bucky it was time.

But first, he was going to enjoy you again. But going back into the real world was looming ever closer. He couldn’t keep you here, even if he wanted to. Make you just take him whenever he feels like it. Work had to be done. He had an empire. And he needed his other part to join back in with the business.

”Mmm,” you whine, looking over your shoulder at him. “Captain, why isn’t your cock deep in my cunt, and fucking me awake?”

“And why is my pretty little bird saying fuck when I’m not inside her?”

“What is my captain going to do about it?” He gives you an evil grin, before ripping your legs apart. Positioning you more on your knees, lifting you up to get the perfect angle. He spits into his hand, and you mewl. Turning your head back to look at him as his thick hand runs through your folds.

“You’re drenched.”

“Because I need you to fuck me,” he draws his hand back, and quickly slaps over your bare center. “Fucking destroy me. Just…mmm,” moaning when he gets to his knees and his monstrous cock springs up to life. Dripping in precum as he presses hard in between your shoulder blades, and pushing you into the mattress. “You gonna fuck me, Captain.”

“Nope,” he chuckles as he lines himself up, he roams his silky steel rod between your lips. Coating Clarence in your juices, while you whimper into the sheets. “I’m going to murder your pussy,” he says, and with the next breath his hips push him through your sensitive cunt.

It stings, and you’re tender, but the fact you can hear Steve groan in pleasure behind you sets your soul soaring. His hands grope hard over your hips as he pistons deep inside of you. Becoming one with him again, and you start to sink into the bed with his force.

Stabbing into you with no remorse, until you’re flat on the bed, and still he jams himself deeper. “Is that what it takes to keep my little bird happy? Dovey, you need me to treat you like my little slut that bad?”

“Uh huh. Mmm,” your knuckles change color with how tight you cling to the sheets, and still you want more. Would be completely satisfied with Steve's entire weight pushing himself into you. The pleasure is just too much as you feel your body go into a different place. This was heaven. And Steve reminded you of this beautiful place multiple times a day.

He wants himself to be your religion. Needs you to desire nothing more than him. Like all you needed to survive was Steve Rogers. Your body acts on its own accord, and keeps your ass pointed up, so he can get extra deep. Could feel him all the way in your throat as he rearranges your insides. Accommodating him in a way no one ever has. Letting him use you as his little sex doll.

Manhandling you into whatever position he wanted. You couldn’t make up your mind on what feels the best because you just need him inside of you. Need to feel the way his piercing drags onto your skin as he pulls himself out, and then stabs right back into you. You were no longer human. Or yourself. You are just his.

“Steve!” You scream, muttering out gibberish. Speaking in tongues as you soar high with pleasured pain.

”You’re so fucking dumb for my cock, aren’t ya, Dovey? Sweet little Dove getting herself turned inside out for Steve Rogers’ cock. And she looks so pretty taking every bit of me. Doesn’t matter that it hurts a bit. We make it fit, huh?”

“Yeah. Yes! Steve, I’m coming. I’m coming!”

“My god, yes, you are. Got me in a fucking vice grip. Fuck, Dovey. You feel how deep I am?” You feel me flowing through your veins?” He reset everything in your body. You were the worst addict. You need a hit of him constantly. You would let this man treat you like a fucking rag doll, thanking him, and begging him to do it again.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck! So fucking tight. So fucking warm. Dovey, you got me coated in your pretty cum. Are you ready to feel me? Ready for me to paint the insides of you?”

“Please, Captain. Want you inside of me all day.”

”You fucking whore. You sweet fucking slut of mine! Ahh!” He screams as his load shoots into your belly. Your brows raise in satisfaction as your walls milk every bit of his warmth. Swallowing his essence to keep inside of you for the times he couldn’t be. “You like that, baby?”

“It feels so good,” you sigh. Ready to cry as he starts to pull out of you. “But I hate when you do that.”

”I know, sweet Dovey,” leaning forward he leaves the sweetest kisses down your slit. Finishing on your clit, before righting himself, and staring at his handy work. “I love seeing you wide open because of me. Your cunt swollen, and would you look at that. Mmmm,” he moans as his cum starts to seep out. “Never miss a drop, hmm? You my sweet cum slut?”

”I’m whatever you want me to be.”

”And I want you filled, and leaking of my cum today. We got to go into the real world.”

”But Steve,” you start to protest, but he pushes three fingers into your gaping hole. Stopping all your thoughts because he just feels that damn good.

”You are only quiet when you’re stuffed. Shh, I’m talking, you listen. As much as I would love to fuck you like the little slut you are, we have to be adults. We have a life. I have a business. We can’t…Dove, you’ve got that look on your face. What do you want?”

“Can…no one has to know, but can I keep you warm today? We both get what we want,” he promised to make you sit and take him while he conducted business. And now you want to collect on that promise. You didn’t know who knew that you were full of Steve. It was your silent way of claiming him for everyone to see. He belonged to you.

”You’re killing me.”

”And I feel empty. You don’t want me to feel empty, do you? Steve? Captain? Please, can I keep your cock warm? I’ll sleep,” honestly, sleeping with him inside of you sounded peaceful. You knew that you could rest as long as he was there.

You are a menace to him. You broke down most of his walls, and made him want to do nothing more but to spoil you and give you whatever you want. “You better actually sleep,” just your smile, and the wiggle of your ass is enough for him to know that he made the right decision. You are his, and everyone needs to understand that they will respect you. Only he can degrade you. And he will. Later.

He never tires of watching you. Even now with his cock nestled inside of you, and your eyes gently closed, a soft snore of exhaustion hums off your lips, you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t care when everyone walks into the meeting room to see you sitting atop his lap, with your legs lazily dangling beside him.

Sure they could know that he is stretching you out. They can see you snuggled up against his disgusting burn mark. Able to watch your lips pucker out and kiss his mark. Your little sleepy sigh is the loudest noise in the otherwise silent meeting room.

This room is supposed to be his safe space. Everyone here should respect not only you, but will be willing to protect you at all cost. It’s an understood thing. Nobody here should take stock of how even when Steve speaks, his voice is softer. Whispering so he doesn’t wake you.

While everyone is listening to Steve, Sam’s eyes roam around the room. He can multitask. He isn’t quite as trusting as Steve. He thinks showing Steve’s weakness and vulnerability is a risky move. Sam doesn’t care that you’re here. It’s the intimacy of your position, and how he is just letting you be.

Steve has fucked many a woman in front of people. Humiliated them, and treated them as nothing more than a way to get his dick wet. But this is care. Steve couldn’t say the word, but it was love. Pulling down your skirt so no one could see any part of your exposed skin.

And then without thinking Steve kisses your cheek. Giving a nod to everyone at the table, and letting them know what their territories are. Sending them on their way, while Sam taps a finger on the table.

“What, Samuel?”

“You’re getting sloppy in love, Steven,” his blue eyes turn up to look at Sam, shaking his head. “Your vulnerability is putting the biggest target on her.”

”I’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt her.”

”Some people don’t just try. Some will do anything to destroy you, and you’ve allowed everyone to see what will kill you. Losing her.”

”Ready a car,” Steve says as he looks up at Sam. “I’m going to take her to see Bucky and Shy,” he looks back at you when you giggle. Swishing your body around when you peek to look at him. “You rotten brat.”

”I like Bucky, Captain,” trying to move again, he holds tightly to your hips, holding you steady.

Sam nods his head, and goes to make sure a car is ready for the two of you. “Thank you, Steve,” you whisper as your hands smooth up his chest.

”For what, Dovey? What could you possibly have to thank me for?”

“For letting me go see Bucky. But I’m not the only one that misses him, am I?” Steve rarely admits when he’s wrong. This time he does, but just barely he gives a single nod. “I knew it. You need him. He’s a part of you. Just like me, huh?”

“You are definitely a part of me, my sweet Dove. You mean more to me than you’ll ever realize. And yes, just like Bucky and Sam.”

”Then it’s time for you to accept that they have a special someone. Just. Like. You,” you’re so rotten with your little grin. Tapping on his chest to emphasize every word.

”Yes, darling. You are so smart when it comes to my feelings. I’ll let you handle those from now on,” with a sweet laugh, you lean up to give him a chaste kiss. Getting a bit of a growl from him. “Dovey, you have been keeping me warm for awhile, and to finally feel some friction is making me want to fuck you so hard on this table.”

”Do it then,” rolling his eyes he stands up, letting you drop onto the table with a bit more force than you were expecting, and he pulls himself out of the depths of your body. Hands behind your knees, he lifts your legs, pinning them on the table.

Cocking up an eyebrow, he lets a string of saliva drip down to your entrance, “You really are a slutty brat, did you know?”

“Maybe you need to make me behave. Cap—tain,” you screech as he enters back into you. Slamming your hands above your head, he sets a feral pace. They two of you needy for this. An hour of feeling him was a slight torture, and now he needs you in an animalistic way.

“Dove, I…” he growls, shaking his head. “I fucking love feeling you.”

”And I love feeling you,” he’s such an ass sometimes. Let him have his fun shoving himself into you balls deep. Let him hear the squelching sounds echoing in the room, and the table legs scratching across the floor with every thrust.

“Steve, it’s enough for now,” tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you stare up at him. You’d break him. He is getting there, even if it is slowly. You could feel it from him. And it was enough for now.

Leaning forward he captures your lips with his own. You love feeling his weight on you. Able to feel every bit of him on every inch of your body. He truly is the perfect fit. The two of you soak each other up. Never even pulling apart when euphoria spreads through both of your bodies. Sharing your pleasure as he spurts his cum into you.

Kisses continue, and you’re too wrapped up in each other to notice cold blue eyes stare at the two of you. Steve truly is a fool.

“Stop fidgeting,” Steve says softly, while your eyes stare at the ever passing trees. You couldn’t stop. It had been so long since you saw Bucky. And the last time Steve did, it wasn’t under the best circumstances. “Dove. Dovey! Little bird,” he coos over to you.

You finally look at him, your eyes shining with confusion. “Tell me what’s wrong,” this isn’t a question. It is a command, and you feel overly compelled to tell him everything. All that you have been thinking about during this drive.

“What if she doesn’t like me? What if she hates me? What if Bucky doesn’t want to see me? What if…?”

“What if you just breathe, sweetheart? Bucky likes you, and I don’t think that will change. From my understanding his Shy girl is a bit backwards. She observes more than she reacts. So she might not say much. And if she does, that is just her opinion. What about mine? And I love…spending time with you,” you narrow your eyes at him, and look back out the front windshield. He could be so infuriating at times. You’re hoping that he would just make a mistake, and say it. It seems to be right on the tip of his tongue.

“I want her to like me though. Because Bucky loves her. Even asked her to marry him. Isn’t that something?”

“Yes, so romantic to finally propose after years of being together.”

“Don’t put a timeline on people’s relationship, Steve.”

“Then don’t put one on ours,” his hand moves to your thigh. Giving your soft skin a bit of a squeeze. “Just live in the moment, honey. Ahh, there’s their home.”

“Is it a necessary thing to have your homes be out in the middle of nowhere?” You bite at your lip, looking up at their home. It was bigger than you had expected. Much too big for two people. Even bigger than Steve’s cabin which was nothing to scoff at.

“Shy doesn’t like people. She’s a bit of a recluse. And they built this home together. Designed it for what they wanted out of life, and she has no intentions of leaving. This is their forever home, the cabin is not my forever home. Let’s go, little bird. Stand up straight and smile when the door opens. Don’t make me have to get onto you. Be a brat when it’s the two of us. Do you understand?”

You do. With a sweet smile, you reach for the door, but Steve clears his throat, opening his, and your hands fall to your lap. Watching as he jogs to your side of the door. You can’t help but to beam up at him when he opens your door, extending his arm down for you to take.

He keeps a firm grip on your waist as he walks up to the house. Knocking on the door, his hand goes to your chin, and he lifts your face to look up. Despising when you don’t exude confidence. And then the door opens to the cutest woman, and your eyes fall to her stomach.

“Oh my god! You’re having a baby!” Steve looks over at you confused, and your hands reach forward before retreating. “Can I?” She giggles, but nods her head yes, and you press your hands against her belly. “How far along are you? Steve! I felt the baby.”

“We’re twenty-seven weeks. Bucky and Alpine are spoiling me rotten.”

“Alpine?” Shy points down to her leg, and you see the fluffy cat circling her body. Squatting down you hold a hand out to her, and she leans into you without hesitation. “Are you protecting your mama and baby during this time? Making biscuits on your baby’s home? I bet you are the best kitty in the entire world, huh, pretty girl?”

“Steve, you’re drooling,” Bucky whispers to his friend. “You look different, buddy. Must be…well, Dove is making a good man out of you. Grab her up, let’s come inside, or we can go to the backyard. Shy has almost got it perfect. She’s got her an English garden look out there. Something she’s always wanted since she was a kid. The Secret Garden is her favorite.”

Steve pulls at your arm, and you stand up. Giving a big smile to your former guard. “Come on, Dove, Shy won’t bite if you give me a hug. I’d be more worried about your idiot boyfriend,” giggling, you jump into his arms. Squeezing around his neck so tight, you worry he can’t breathe.

“I missed you, too, ya heathen. Come on, I think all four of us need to talk,” and you did. Lots of talk. So much time was missed. And you knew that there was a part of this relationship that would never be the same. Bucky had three things right here that meant more to him than his own life. He wasn’t risking his life to save yours and Steve’s anymore. The only risks he would be taking would be to keep him alive to see his family one more day.

While you might not ever be Shy’s favorite, you can see her curiosity towards you is real. She keeps her eyes on you, but smiles since her cat is so familiar with you. Alpine bounces between walking in front of you to walking in front of her. Ultimately choosing her family. It’s as it should be. Bucky is doing the same. And with a look up at Steve, you understood. You understood all too well.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @theinheriteddutchess @annaallicce @feyfantome @jesevans @tittittoee @bananapiedreams @onclouds999 @darkserenity24 @abbatoirablaze @ashychangeling @identity2212 @mrsevans90 @weirdothatwritess @floralwsloski @thestralwriting @ambearsstuff @lyndys @kandis-mom @hoodiesandicedcoffee @awhoreformoree @nyxbellabarnes @buckybarnesisdaddy @honeyhoneylovelylove

[avonne-writes]

Tattoo artist Gale when?

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Tattoo Artist Bucky being all gruff about something?

"How can I help you?" Bucky asked, watching you make your tentative way into the shop.

Tattoo virgin? Great. He could already feel the headache starting. A basic boring design AND a ton of squirming. Joy.

"I was hoping I could talk to someone about a cover up- I- it's a long story but. I just want it gone."

Bucky nodded, feeling himself soften a little. "Well. Let's see what we can do. I'll take a look. What's your name, honey?"

"Y/N."

"Bucky," he said offering you his hand, making sure to give you his best smile when you took it. Not the one Natasha said looked like he was chewing glass.

"Nice to meet you, Bucky."

"Likewise," he said nodding towards a doorway. "First things first, what am I covering?" he asked.

You take a deep, shaking breath and ease the pants leg up on your jeans- the right leg. Scratcher work if he's ever seen it. Heavy dark lines. Shaky, scratchy. Ugly. Ugly on purpose. Not something that belonged on the leg of a beautiful woman.

He whistled softly, "Someone fucked you up bad, huh?"

"Ex boyfriend," you murmur, not able to look at him.

"Well." Bucky exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, kneeling down to get a closer look. Rough healing. But your skin was good. And maybe he could lose things if he created some movement and played with the shadow. "I can see why you want it covered. Let's chat. What do you like?"

[jtargaryen18]

It's a good day! 🔥💕😱

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 3 The Knight

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 3195

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly.

Wait! I haven't read part 1, part 2!

“Nnn, pl-please…”

Her gasp is hardly audible this time, she’s so out of breath.

Panting from the way the second orgasm’s just ripped through her. And she’s crying still, but only just. Not like before. Because now the pleasure’s overtaken most of the anger, all of the fear, and even some of the humiliation. Bucky pulls his hands from her and delicately eases her panties back into place, smooths her little slip of a dress out for her. He looks up from his spot on the floor.

Her chest heaves with her breathing, the underside of her breasts—beautiful and natural under the silk—on full display for Bucky from this angle. And, Christ, her nipples are pebbled up, just begging for attention. Bucky sees Steve refixing his hold on her waist to support her because she’s gone so slack. She’s shaking against him, his body practically the only thing keeping her vertical at this point.

Inside his pants, Bucky is … uncomfortable. He slowly pushes up from where he’s been kneeling in front of her, coming back to stand at his full height and crowd in close again. He cages her between his body and Steve’s, hands landing on her waist right alongside Steve’s own. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, mockingly tender. “Don’t you want to say thank you for your orgasm?” He leans in so that the words are whispered against the side of her head. He’s staring at Steve as he says it, and when Lena’s mortified, overwhelmed little whimper comes in response, he doesn’t miss how Steve’s mouth twitches at the corner. Steve likes to play the white knight—and maybe he sort of is, compared to Bucky, but even still, he’s no sweetheart. And he’s enjoying the heck out of this. “Are you hard?” Bucky whispers, and he feels his sweet puppy’s body stiffen between them as she figures out who he’s talking to.

“You have to ask?” Steve answers, the rumble of his voice no doubt felt against Polina’s back. She makes another little outraged cry when Steve presses forward, driving his erection against her backside and pushing her more tightly up against Bucky.

Bucky, who helpfully slots his thigh back between her legs. She shivers as her sex is pressed up against him, going stock still to avoid any stimulation. Bucky coos down at her. He lets go of her waist and cups her face with one hand, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. “Aw, princess,” he murmurs. “You sensitive now? Hm?”

She sniffles and nods her head. She’s been much more forthcoming ever since the suppository and the pill worked their way into her system. Behind the glossy sheen of her tears, her pupils are even wider and darker than Steve’s. It’s hardly taken any work at all to get her to come twice for him, she’s so keyed up.

Bucky tuts lovingly and brings the still buzzing vibrator up in front of her face. He twists the base, turning it off. Lena’s whole body slumps between them with relief, and Bucky chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. This might not be over for you.”

“W-what …” she swallows dryly. “What do you mean?”

“You still have a choice to make.” Bucky taps the little bullet vibrator against her lips. “Open.” She clamps her mouth shut stubbornly, so Bucky shrugs and rubs it over her instead, smearing her own release onto her lips. He leans in and slots his mouth over hers, licking the taste of her right back. “Mmm,” he hums. “Somebody’s been drinking their pineapple juice.”

She’s glowering at him when he pulls back. Bucky licks his lips like he’s savoring the last taste of a fatty meal. He can tell from the look on her face that he’s actually right: she has been drinking it. He feels a rush of fondness mixed with anger come at that—Fond, because it’s proof that she takes even his smallest teachings to heart.

“No, seriously. That’s why I have a glass each morning. It makes cum taste sweeter. … Pussy, too.”

Anger, because it’s not him she’s been drinking it for.

He forces the latter emotion away with a deep breath and a long exhale. He doesn’t have to be angry, because nobody but him is ever going to taste that pussy again. … Well, almost nobody but him. “Okay, little one,” he sighs. “Time to make a choice.” He reaches around her and tucks the vibe back into Steve’s pocket. Then he looks down and meets her gaze.

Her pretty blue eyes are wide but dazed, high from the drugs coursing through her system. Bucky smiles and cups her face with both hands. She’s so fucking beautiful, with her round little face and plush lips, her pretty blue eyes. They’re near arctic in color—closer to Steve’s cornflower blue than Bucky’s own muddled blue-grey. Sharp and clear, like ice underwater, and positively gorgeous when they’re crying.

Lena sniffles and Bucky’s heart twinges with affection. He leans in and kisses her cheeks, cleaning up her tears. “You need to listen to me now, Polina,” he murmurs, feeling her shudder underneath his touch. “Are you listening?”

She whines a little, not able to give up completely on her stubbornness, even now. Bucky loves her so goddamn much. She tries to squirm in their hold again, but as soon as her over sensitized clit bumps Bucky’s thigh, she’s calming back down. “What?” she asks quietly, sniffling and trying to put on a stiff upper lip. It’s cute.

“It’s up to you, how this goes,” Bucky tells her. He looks over to his right and catches the eye of one of the widows. It’s Belova. He jerks his head for her to go and get the supplies that are waiting in the wings. She disappears and reappears with a rolling tray table of tattoo supplies. “This,” he says to Lena, “is what’s happening.”

She squints in confusion at it for a second or two—the tray of gauze and ointment, inks and gloves and gun—before her eyes register the stencil and read it … and go wide in realization. She jerks in their hold, thrashing, tossing her head back against Steve’s chest in another vain attempt to hurt him. “No!” she huffs, the sound breaking into a pitiful whimper at the end, despite her bravery. “No, you can’t!”

Bucky waits her out, and sure enough, her little tantrum dies down. She cries, and he wipes those tears away, too. “Shh,” he soothes. “It’s not so bad.”

“It is!” she cries. “I hate you. I hate you!”

“You’re a smart girl, Lena. You can’t tell me you didn’t always know you’d wind up here.” He tilts her chin up when she refuses to look at him. Her tearful, angry eyes meet his, and he offers her a tender smile. He gives her another kiss, just a peck on the lips, this time. “I always get what I want, sora mica,” he murmurs, right against her lips.

Little sister.

She shudders underneath his touch but doesn’t shirk away, and Bucky preens because he knows the war that’s going on in her head right now, even if she’ll never admit to it. Revulsion, mixed with lust, and darkness, and something too close for comfort to love. It’s what he used to feel, back before he decided to give up on conventional morality altogether. Poor little Lena, though, he thinks sadly. She hasn’t gotten there yet. Oh well, she’s young, she’ll learn.

“Now,” he tells her, thumbing over the familial cleft in her chin. “You have two choices, sweet pea. You ready to listen to ‘em?”

She grits her teeth and purses her lips in an angry little moue, stubborn thing, though she capitulates when Bucky tightens his grip on her chin. “Yes,” she whispers tightly.

Bucky smiles. “Okay. Now, two things are happening, no matter what,” he says, raising a warning eyebrow at her. “You’re getting this tattooed on your body … and Gleb back there is going for a long swim in the Hudson.” He waits her out while she throws another hissy fit over that, tears leaking and eyes burning up at him. Bucky sighs and looks off to the side until it’s over. Then, when she’s slumped back against Steve again, all tuckered out, he continues, “If you hold still like a good girl, I won’t take your dress off in front of all these people, won’t force any more orgasms outta you down here where everyone can see. And Gleb’ll get wheeled off to his morphine and an easy death. No torture, just the widow’s bite—lickety-split, no fuss-no muss.”

He watches as her eyes flare and her face crumples with suppressed emotion. She composes herself faster this time, though, and he continues softly, drawing her lip down with his thumb. “But, if you make things difficult? I’ll have you squirting all over this floor before I knock you out and ink you while you’re unconscious. And Gleb will have …” he looks off to the side, as if trying to parse out his words, “... mmm, he’ll have a very stressful weekend.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, squeezing her chin sternly enough that it smooshes her cheeks the barest bit. “Are you gonna be good?”

She looks torn for a second or two, but then her eyes slip closed in defeat. In Bucky’s hand, she gives the tiniest of nods.

Bucky’s pleased, but he wants more from her. “Tell me,” he commands. “You’re gonna hold nice and still?”

She sniffles and nods again. “Yes,” she breathes. “I’ll hold s-still. I’ll … I’ll be good.”

Her meek response satisfies him. Feeling a sudden wash of tenderness towards her, he leans down and presses their foreheads together and whispers, “Thank you, little one. You know how I hate to see you struggle.”

She shivers against him but doesn’t throw out any bratty quip. She keeps her eyes down, avoidant. Sighing, Bucky pulls back and steps aside to have a word with Belova. He tells her his plans for Gleb, and she gives a sharp nod and heads off to handle it. Bucky knows then that he can put the idiot man from his mind for good. The widows will more than take care of him.

Bucky returns to Steve and Lena, ready to get to work. Really, he’d prefer Natasha to be the one doing this. Bucky’s no amateur with the gun, but he’s not as good as she is. Oh well. He has a steady hand, and the design is extremely simple. Just that one phrase, in cyrillic:

собственность дракона.

Translated roughly, it means: Property of the Dragon.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Sit with her on the bench. It’ll help keep her calm.”

Along with the cart of tattoo supplies, a rolling stool, a bench, and a padded armrest have been brought over from the Red Room. Steve all but lifts Lena and brings her over there, straddling the bench first before pulling her to straddle it in front of him. Bucky goes about setting up, snapping on a pair of black vinyl gloves while Steve wraps his arms around Lena’s waist and murmurs quietly into her ear. Bucky smiles at the pair of them. Steve cares about Polina, too, has known her for almost a decade, and he’s always had a knack for calming her down. A good thing, since Bucky’s so naturally gifted at riling her up.

He sits on the stool and scoots over to them. Lena watches him warily. Steve’s used both his and Bucky’s discarded ties to bind her arm down at the wrist and at the bend of her elbow, in case she gets second thoughts about her promise of good behavior. Bucky’s mouth quirks at the ingenuity, and his dick twitches at the optics. He’ll have to take a picture, one he’s got the ink in. A shot of her arm; reddened and bleeding with his mark, and his and Steve’s neckties framing it. Fuck, he might jerk off to it sometime.

He spends a minute getting the ink prepared, and then he carefully cleans her inner forearm and applies the stencil. It’s small but long, stretching almost the full length between the ties. It’ll take a good hour or more in its entirety, but Bucky isn’t a sadist: His little one has been through a lot, and they’ve got a long night ahead of them once they take her upstairs. Bucky wants that time to be spent mostly in pleasure, not pain. They’ll just do the outline, for now.

Lena whimpers when the paper peels back from her skin, revealing the design left behind. “Bucky,” she pleads, though one look up at him and her begging stalls. Bucky gives her a grim, apologetic look, and she knows. She knows she’s not getting out of this. She whines lowly and turns her face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, his big arms wrapped tightly around her waist, comforting and restraining all at once. “You’ll be fine, hon. This is how it has to be.”

Bucky settles himself and the gun, then turns it on. Soon, the buzzing fills the small space between the three of them. In the background there��s still the noise of the club: music, chatter, bodies moving around. But in their little corner in the back, it almost feels private now that they’re centered around what Bucky’s about to do to her. “Okay, malyshka,” he murmurs, waiting until he’s got her full attention. “Watch the gun. Don’t want you jerking around in surprise.”

He’s a little taken aback by the emotions that hit, as he brings the needle down and starts inking her for the first time. He’s marking her permanently, branding her as his in a way that will never wash off, and from which she can never escape. And despite her tears and the ties binding her arm down, she is sitting there for him, allowing it. That goes straight to Bucky’s cock as sure as anything else he’s ever done to her, and he spends the rest of the session focusing on each line and curve, putting the red ink underneath her skin and trying to work out what it is that’s twisting up in his gut so bad. There’s lust and possessiveness, that much he expected, but there’s also a certain amount of … melancholy? Maybe. Whatever it is, it’s there too. A feeling of resolution, of an era coming to an end. Arousing and yet oddly bittersweet.

Lena’s fist is already clenched when he starts, but he can see her body stiffening further as the burn of the needle really sets in. Her arm flexes and her fingers curl harder into her palm, the veins popping against the strained lock of her inner elbow. Steve keeps up a gentle litany of praise and reassurance in her ear, half of which Bucky hears and half of which he misses due to his own focus on the gun. He’d love to take Steve’s place, be the one to hold her and comfort her through this, but that’s just not possible because he simply doesn’t trust anyone else to do the work.

He’s even glad that Natasha refused to do it, at this point. Because this isn’t just any tattoo. It’s personal and intimate. A promise as good as any wedding ring. Probably better-than, in the fidelity it’ll enforce. Not on Lena’s part, poor thing, but on the part of any man who might dare to entertain the idea of an affair with her. One look at her arm, and that idea would go straight up in smoke. These red words are branding her for life, in more ways than one. It’s only right that Bucky be the one to do it.

“Almost done,” he murmurs when he’s finishing up at her wrist. It’s the most painful area, and he regrets saving it for last. But his girl does beautifully and keeps relatively still, sometimes hissing or whining in pain but never asking for a break, and never twitching enough to throw Bucky off course. He finishes the outline and sits back, setting the gun aide on the cart and reaching for the salve. He smiles at his little one, who by now has stopped crying. “Good job, sweet pea,” he praises softly.

Her defenses are down from having all of her focus on something other than him for so long. She only blushes a little when he uses the nickname, and says nothing snarky back. Bucky’s heart pulls with it. In Steve’s lap, she watches as Bucky uses a tongue depressor to apply the salve in long, smooth strokes over the raw areas. She blinks at her arm like she’s fully waking from a dream. “... That’s it?” she asks, sounding surprised, maybe even disappointed—though that’s probably just Bucky’s wishful thinking.

“For now,” he tells her, bringing out the non-stick pads and adhesive wrap. He’s giving her all the aftercare that he’s neglected on himself—already the back of his neck and shoulders feels tight and unpleasant, and he doesn’t want the same for her. Steve pulls the ties loose to release her arm, and Bucky explains, “You have delicate skin, sweetheart. We’ll let this heal, fill it in another time. Add some other design elements, if you want.” He catches her look of surprise and smiles, then looks away before her expression can shutter on him. He gently applies the pads along her skin, wrapping her up in an opera glove’s length worth of neon pink animal print bandaging, nice and tight. “There you go.”

“Cheetah print, really?”

“Just special for you, my little hellcat. Don’t worry, you can take it off tomorrow.” He rolls out on the stool and goes around to stand just in front of the bench. Briefly, he meets Steve’s eyes, and they have a short, non-verbal conversation, at the end of which Steve nods smally in agreement. “Okay,” Bucky says, reaching out to palm Lena’s face.

She automatically goes to shirk away from it, but Steve whispers something in her ear—Bucky doesn’t hear what—and it makes her settle. She bites her lip and peeks up at Bucky through her lashes and ruined makeup. “I was good,” she whispers, like she’s half-sure Bucky’s going to revoke his end of the deal.

He tries not to let it show on his face, how that hurts him. “Yeah, sweetheart. You were very good.” He bends over to kiss the top of her head, then turns and searches out Belova. She’s standing next to Maximoff now, over at the bar. Bucky goes over and holds out his hand. Pietro shakes first, Yelena second. “Thank you,” he tells them. “For bringing her back safely.”

“Again,” Yelena says with a smirk and a semi-suppressed eyeroll.

“You should get a leash,” Pietro jokes.

“Or a homing beacon.”

Bucky waves them off (though the homing beacon idea has occurred before), telling them to go back to their drinks and enjoy their evening. He doesn’t bother asking if the Gleb issue’s been dealt with—he knows from the look on Belova’s face that it has.

Part four

Masterlist

If you like what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

Commissions: contact via Tumblr messenger or here

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling

(Part 2)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader

Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.

Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.

Part one ⬇️:

A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3

———————

Bold is reader’s thoughts.

Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.

The size of the tattoo is in inches.

———————

Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?

Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.

The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.

The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.

“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.

“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.

“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.

“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.

Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.

Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.

“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Why’s that?”

Fuucckkkk.

“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.

Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.

“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.

Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.

“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.

Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.

To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.

“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”

“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.

“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.

“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.

“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.

“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“

“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.

“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.

“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.

“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”

You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.

He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.

“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.

“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.

“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”

“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.

“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.

“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.

“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.

“I’m good I swear, now go!”

“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.

Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.

James:

Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?

Send me the address to the shop

Now… please

Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.

You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.

James:

See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.

Little shit.

————

You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.

Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.

Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.

Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.

“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.

Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.

“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.

“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”

“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.

“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.

“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”

His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.

“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.

“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.

“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.

“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”

“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.

“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.

“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.

“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.

“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”

“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.

Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.

“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.

“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”

Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.

Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.

The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.

If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.

He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.

You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.

He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.

“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.

“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”

Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.

“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.

“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

Christ alive.

“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.

“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.

“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.

“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”

Like I could regret you.

You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.

“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.

You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.

“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.

“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.

I like him. He says okie dokie.

“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.

You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.

“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.

“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”

“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.

“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.

“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.

“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.

————

You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.

“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.

“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.

“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.

God he’s pretty.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.

“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.

“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.

“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”

“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.

————

The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.

“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”

“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.

He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.

You sat in silence as he started to speak.

“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.

The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”

Silence.

“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”

A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-

“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.

“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.

This should not be turning me on, shit.

“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”

His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?

“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”

Oh Clint sounds fun.

“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”

He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.

“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.

“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.

“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.

“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.

“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.

Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.

Ok right back to it. Got it boss.

“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.

“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.

Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.

“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.

He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”

“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.

“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.

“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”

“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.

“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.

Shit.

“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.

“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.

“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.

He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.

“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.

“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

That’s a new one.

“Uh, say $180?” You respond.

“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.

He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”

You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.

They were hundreds.

“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.

“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.

You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”

“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.

“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”

“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.

“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”

There it is.

“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.

“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.

“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.

Fuck me running.

“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.

He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.

“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.

“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.

You say nothing.

He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.

“Would you?” He asks softly.

“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.

“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.

“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.

He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.

Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.

His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.

“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.

He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.

————

A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘

I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.

Tags:

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

[petite-madame]

A small change - (2023)

"What exactly do you mean by 'I brought some small changes to my arm' ? Bucky...? BUCK? Send me a pic immediately!"

[navybrat817]

Sundresses and Leather

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: Your first date with Bucky doesn't go as planned, but that makes it all the more special. Word Count: Over 4.7k Warnings: First date, tension, flirting, brief moments of insecurity, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. Previous Part of AU: Sweet and Strong A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from our Sin on Skin AU. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Tonight was the night. You were going out with Bucky Barnes. Excited for the date was a bit of an understatement. You may have told a few customers you had a date when they wished you a good day.

Thank God they were mostly regulars and seemed happy on my behalf.

"Maybe a sundress isn't nice enough," you told Tess, regretting the words the moment they left your mouth. She didn’t need to deal with you and your overthinking. Again.

"It's plenty nice. You’re going to look amazing,” she argued, going to check on the next batch of cookies. “And he can lift the skirt and bury his-"

"I thought you said I didn't have to get laid on my first date with him," you cut her off.

"You don't have to, but the visual alone will give him something for his spank bank later."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," you smiled, but it quickly faltered.

You weren’t sure why a cloud drifted over your sunny disposition. Bucky was a good guy, a far cry from Richard. Gorgeous, kind, hardworking, the whole package. There was chemistry between the two of you that went beyond mere attraction. Maybe it was the fact that you were falling hard and fast for him that suddenly made you so nervous. You didn’t want to scare him away.

But he said he couldn’t stop thinking about me and he wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.

Tess gave you a pointed look. “Stop overthinking. I’m begging you.”

“I’m not trying to,” you sighed, your nerves almost tempting you to grab a treat from the case. “What if I fall on my face?”

“Like Bucky would let you hit the ground. Even if you do stumble, that’s life. It isn’t going to change the fact that he likes you,” she said as you helped her with the cookies. You still had work to do. “The guy said he can’t get you off his mind and to text him whenever you want. He does not strike me as the type to just say those things and I know he doesn’t strike you as that type either.”

It took a moment, but your smile came back. She was right. Life wasn’t perfect and you were far from it, but Bucky liked you just as you are. Tonight would be unforgettable no matter what.

“I appreciate the pep talk,” you said, thankful that she told you what you needed to hear. “I’ll even tell you the dirty details if anything happens.”

“Hell yeah, you will. Remember, at this point, I’m living vicariously through you until I find my own hunk,” she winked. “But I mean it. Have fun tonight and get your man.”

I will.

After your shift, you rushed to change for your date. You somehow managed to arrive a few minutes early outside of Bucky's shop and took a deep breath to get yourself under control. Catching your reflection in the window, you smiled before you turned away. Since Bucky hadn’t given you any hint for what you were doing, you chose your nicest sundress and kept your makeup minimal. You looked and felt beautiful, though you wished you would’ve brought a jacket with you.

Maybe Bucky will let me borrow his if he has one.

“Holy shit.”

You spun around when you heard Bucky’s voice behind you, your heart fluttering as he met you on the sidewalk. Instead of the jeans you usually saw him in, he wore khakis, a button up shirt, and a blue blazer that matched his eyes. He had his hair down, perfectly parted on the right side. You were so busy staring at the broad, handsome man that it took you a moment to realize he was trying to hand you something.

Flowers.

“Sorry. You just… wow,” he said as you took the small bouquet, sweeping his gaze over you as your cheeks grew warm. “You look so beautiful.”

You giggled and quickly covered your mouth with your hand, butterflies in your stomach when he gently smiled. “Don’t apologize,” you smiled back, taking a moment to smell the flowers. “You look pretty ‘holy shit’ yourself.”

His nose scrunched as he laughed and offered you his hand. “So, you’re telling me I clean up well. Steve insisted on the blazer when I said I wanted to bring my leather jacket.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Though I wouldn’t have minded the leather jacket,” you said. He would’ve looked gorgeous, as always. “And thank you for suggesting we meet here. We had a last minute order and I was scrambling."

"It's no problem. One of my clients was running a few minutes late and I almost had to take you out in jeans."

"I wouldn't have minded," you said. You both worked hard and understood that things would come up from time to time. "So, where are we headed?"

He cleared his throat as he led you to his car. “Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Your stomach dropped a little. “Mmm. Bad news first,” you said after a moment. “Always better to end on a high note.”

“Bad news was I had planned to take you out on my motorcycle so we could have a picnic in the park. There was going to be live music and I would’ve asked you to dance,” he explained, looking up at the sky. “But…”

“The weather called for a storm tonight, didn’t it?” you mused, a wistful smile on your face when he nodded. The image of being in his arms under the stars as music drifted through the air made your heart skip a beat. It sounded like the perfect evening.

“Yeah. The band is rescheduling,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ear as he looked at the ground. “Then I thought I could take you to this art gallery nearby. They normally have these stunning paintings of landscapes and various statues, but the current exhibit is on human sexuality and reproduction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but maybe it was too much for a first date.”

“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have been that bad,” you argued as he stopped and took out his phone.

“No?” he asked, tapping his screen before he showed you what you assumed was the page for the gallery.

“…That’s a giant dick,” you said before you could stop yourself, tilting your head as you stared at the phone. “And does that say BALLS?”

An older woman crossing in the opposite direction gave you an amused stare before you and Bucky burst into a fit of laughter. You had to hold on his arm to keep from collapsing on the ground. It was the funniest thing you had seen since you could remember and to think you almost saw it in person.

This date is off to a great start.

“Maybe I wanted to see a giant dick and balls,” you said once you caught your breath, pointing at him when he opened his mouth. “And don’t say ‘all I have to do is pull down my pants’ or something like that.”

But I know he has a big dick. I know.

He smirked as he started walking again. “Only if you ask me nicely, Sugar.”

He’s going to kill my ovaries.

“I’ll ask you very nicely, Hottie,” you teased, wondering exactly where you were going then. “If that was the bad news, what’s the good news?”

“I managed to get us a reservation at one of the nicest restaurants in town,” he said, standing a bit taller.

He’s trying to impress me.

“That's really nice. And I’m sure dinner will be amazing,” you assured him, hoping he didn’t beat himself up over having to change his plans. It wasn’t his fault it was going to rain. He could’ve taken you to a fast food place and it would’ve been fine because you were with him.

“Speaking of, I better get us there so we aren’t late,” he said, opening the door for you to get in. “Maybe if you agree to a second date, I can take you out on my bike and have that picnic.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled, carefully putting the flowers in your lap and trying not to appear too eager that he was already thinking of a second date. You glanced around the car when he got in and drove off, noticing it was cleaner than when he took you home days prior.

Did he clean it for me?

You grinned as he hummed along to the radio, watching as he drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “You could’ve made it as a musician if you weren’t a tattoo artist.”

“Now you’re just flattering me, Sugar,” he said. “Believe it or not, if I wasn’t a tattoo artist, I would’ve liked to be a science teacher. I loved science and everything space related growing up.”

“Really?” you asked. He would’ve been a wonderful teacher, no matter what age group he taught. “Okay. That’s another date night.”

“What? Playing teacher?” he joked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to wink at you.

“No,” you giggled, carefully shoving his arm since he was driving. “We’re going to a science museum. That's our third date. I’m going to watch you happily geek out over everything.”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing at you after he parked the car. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I would. I think it would be a blast.”

I just want to spend time with you.

A soft expression took over his features when he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips lightly brushed your skin, heat pooling in your gut as he made eye contact with you. The look alone made you want to skip dinner and go right to dessert. Why not throw caution to the wind?

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised before he got out.

You exhaled slowly and mentally told your libido to calm down. At the very least, you had to get through dinner. He went through the trouble of getting a reservation at a nice place and you weren’t about to take that away from him.

“Oh, wow. I haven’t been here before,” you said once you got a look at the name. Richard used to brag about the place, but never actually took you. From what you remember, he said the food was supposed to be expensive. You didn’t want Bucky to splurge on you.

“I haven’t either,” Bucky admitted. A fancy place didn’t seem like his style. “But it looked romantic.”

You bit your lip as he opened the door, the flickering candlelight in the entryway alone providing an intimate ambience. The date may not have been what he planned, but he clearly did his research and put thought into doing something nice for you. When was the last time someone tried to do something nice for you? When did anyone go out of their way to make you feel special?

“Hello,” Bucky said as the hostess greeted you. “Reservation for two under James.”

James?

The hostess scanned her screen before she looked up. “I’m sorry. That name isn’t coming up.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned pink when you glanced at him. “It should be under James, miss. James Barnes. Reservation for two for 7pm. I spoke with Charles. He confirmed it.”

You moved closer to Bucky when the hostess searched through her screen again. As calm as he sounded, you sensed he was anything but inside. You hoped he wasn’t embarrassed. Maybe she skipped over his name. A simple mistake.

“Charles did make a reservation for you, but he entered it for 7pm next Friday,” she said as she looked between the two of you. “We’re fully booked tonight. I'm sorry, James.”

Oh, no.

There was a tick in Bucky’s jaw before he shook his head and you wanted nothing more than to hug him. “No, that’s… It’s for tonight.”

“I’m so sorry. I can see if we can squeeze a table in for you, but it’ll be at least an hour,” she said, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. She probably expected one or both of you to make a scene. "I can get my manager?"

Bucky swallowed when he looked at you, his cheeks still pink. The candlelight danced in his eyes, but all you saw was sadness. No. You wouldn't allow that. This was your first date and it was going to be amazing.

You put a hand on his arm, his muscles relaxing under your touch. "It's okay. I know this amazing place that’s right around the corner."

"Are you sure?" he asked, the hostess visibly relaxing when you nodded.

"You have a good evening," you said to the hostess and tugged Bucky back toward the door. "I'm sure. Trust me. We may even beat the rain if we walk now."

“Okay,” he said, avoiding your gaze as you left. “Fuck. This is the worst first date, isn’t it?”

Your heart broke for him. All he wanted was to give you a nice evening and everything he tried fell through. “Not even close. And you have nothing to apologize for. Charles messed up the reservation, Hottie, not you.”

“Yeah, he did,” he said, his lip tugging like he wanted to smile. “I just really wanted tonight to be special and since I couldn’t give you the date I planned, I wanted to at least give you something nice. I couldn't even do that.”

Hearing that made you stop, even when you felt the first raindrop. "Tonight is special because you're spending time with me. That's all I wanted," you promised, squeezing his hand for good measure.

"That's really all?" he asked as he squeezed your hand in return.

"Well, not completely," you teased as another raindrop landed on your shoulder. "Maybe a kiss at the end of our date."

A wide smile formed on his face as he leaned in, not quite kissing you. "Whatever you want, Sugar."

As romantic as it was to stand on the sidewalk with him, the rain began to come down harder and had you rushing with him around the corner. “If you're still disappointed, you’ll feel much better when we eat. Antonia’s has the best food,” you said, holding out your hand in a grand gesture as you arrived. “Tada!”

Antonia's was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. Not extraordinary on the outside, but lively and bright on the inside. The food and service were top notch. It was one of your favorite places.

“Wait, Antonia's?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “This is where you’re taking me?”

“Yeah,” you replied, suddenly nervous as you faced him. Did he not like it? “Is this okay?”

“This is one of my new favorite restaurants,” he said.

No way.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I designed one of Antonia's tattoos. And I decided to check out the place."

He's full of surprises.

"Then you know you're in for a treat," you winked.

The hearty aroma of the restaurant filled the air as you went inside and wiped some of the rain off your dress. Antonia was speaking with the hostess as you went up to the stand. The owner was involved in virtually every part of her restaurant.

"Welcome to…" Antonia began as she looked at you, then at Bucky, then back at you. "Oh! You two… it's a date!"

Antonia looks so happy.

"Hi. And yes. We're on a date," you giggled when Bucky sheepishly smiled. It was sweet. "You wouldn't happen to have a table for two available, would you?"

Antonia put her hand over her heart and flagged down a waiter with the other. "Lover's special for these two. Go."

You exchanged a look with Bucky, who appeared just as confused as you were. "Lover's special?"

"Yes, yes. Come with me," she said, patting Bucky's cheek before she took you through the restaurant. You expected her to seat you at one of the few empty tables, but she passed them to take you to a door in the back. "Tonight is special and that means a special dinner."

Your eyes widened at the sight before you once she opened the door. There was a lone table in the middle of the room, flowers similar to the bouquet Bucky gave you sat in the center. Unlike the bright main room, the dimmed lights gave the room a romantic glow.

Perfect.

"Peter will serve you. And if you need anything, just ask, okay?" Antonia asked, putting her hand over her heart again. Were there tears in her eyes? "Two of my favorite customers. Together! Enjoy!"

You had to pause and swallow the lump in your throat once she left you alone. A restaurant owner showed more enthusiasm for your date than your mom did for anything that involved you. She likely never would.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, pulling out your chair.

"I'm fine," you replied, refusing to let the thought of your mom damper the evening. "A little chilly. I should've brought a sweater with me."

Bucky removed his blazer and put it around you, tenderness in his blue eyes as he rubbed your arms. "I can't wait to see you in my leather jacket," he said, helping you take your seat before he took his.

Oh, he's going to give me his jacket? Am I going to only wear his jacket? Fuck.

"Thank you," you said, inhaling as he rolled up one of his sleeves beneath the elbow and then the other. You reached across the table to lightly trace one of the tattoos on his right arm. "It was nice of Antonia to put us back here."

"Then why did you look so sad when she left?"

He caught that?

"She just looked so happy to see us together and I didn't expect that. It's nice that someone is rooting for us," you said, tracing your finger along his wrist before you stopped. "I'm sorry. I should've asked before I started touching."

"Don't apologize. I like your touch," he said in a low voice.

You lifted your gaze, seeing fire in his eyes that had nothing to do with the dim lighting. When he turned his hand over to hold yours, you made no move to pull away. You wished you could put your hands all over him.

"Hi! I'm Peter!" The waiter greeted as he brought water to the table. Bucky didn't let go of your hand. "I'll be taking care of you tonight."

"Only one taking care of my girl tonight is me," Bucky said. As much as you loved hearing that, you were glad he gave poor Peter a tiny smile so he could relax. "I'm kidding. It's good to see you, Peter."

"Y-You, too, Mr. Barnes. And you, Miss. You have the best cupcakes in town."

"Thanks," you smiled, quickly putting in your order before you gazed at Bucky. "So, James. Tell me more about you. How long have you been friends with Steve?"

"James is my first name. Everyone calls me Bucky," he chuckled before he shook his head. "And that punk."

You smiled softly as you listened to Bucky, not at all surprised by how easily the conversation went. Steve was his best friend since childhood and they served together before they went into business together. It was evident that he took pride in his shop and respected everyone who worked there. He carried the same affection in his tone when he spoke about his sister, Rebecca. He liked to frequent art galleries with Steve, but also enjoyed riding his bike, reading, and everything science in his spare time.

I could listen to him talk for hours.

"You know, you haven't said much about yourself," he pointed out as he set his napkin on his empty plate.

"I haven't?" You asked.

"No, you haven't and I don't want to monopolize the conversation," he said, leaning forward to give you his full attention. "I want to know more about you."

You tightened the blazer around you, unsure of what to say. "My life isn't exactly exciting," you said, wishing you could think of something clever or fun to discuss.

"Doesn't have to be exciting. I just want to know you," he said before Peter showed back up.

"Would you like to look at the desert menu?" he asked as he took your plates away.

"I think you can bring the check. We're going to skip dessert," you answered, giving Bucky an assuring smile when he frowned. "Let's go to my shop instead."

If Bucky wanted to really know you, you had to tell him more of your story. Your bakery was the only place to do it. And it would be the perfect way to end the evening.

After you left the restaurant, with Antonia asking you to come back again, Bucky drove as safely as he could to the bakery. The rain didn't let up at all. You shrieked as you struggled to get the keys out of your purse, Bucky's blazer now soaked the longer you stood there. "Why didn't I get these out when I was still in your car?!" You shouted over the downpour.

"Why didn't I bring an umbrella?!" He yelled back, putting his hands over your head as if they would protect you.

The two of you practically fell through the door once you unlocked it and shut off the alarm. "We made it," you laughed, careful not to slip on the floor. He had his arm around you just in case. Tess was right, He wouldn't let you fall. "I'll get us some towels and you have your pick of any dessert I have in the fridge."

"You have any cupcakes?" He asked.

Your breath caught in your throat when you stepped back and caught the outline of multiple tattoos through his soaked shirt. "Yeah."

"See something you like?" he smirked, running a hand through his wet hair.

Fuck me.

"I do," you said, glancing down at yourself. "But I'm freezing and I owe you dessert."

Tess might also have words if I let Bucky ravage me by the front door.

You took Bucky to the kitchen and grabbed a few towels. It wouldn't dry you off completely, but it would help. You also put on some soft music. Not to set the mood necessarily, but just in case.

"So, this is where the magic happens," Bucky said, running the towel along his exposed skin.

"It is," you said, placing your hand on the counter. "You said you wanted to know me. It starts here."

"In the kitchen?"

"In the kitchen," you repeated, going to the fridge to take a container of cupcakes out. "I used to visit my grandparents every weekend when I was growing up. My dad wasn't around and my mom said it was for family quality time, but she never stuck around. The reality was that I cramped her style and she passed me off to them because she knew they wouldn't say no."

Bucky's jaw clenched as you let him take a cupcake. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," you said, gripping the lid tightly before you closed the container. "I remember crying because I wanted to take dance classes and try and make friends. My mom said I would be a terrible dancer and that it would be a waste of time and money. A great thing for a kid to hear, right?"

"Jesus," he whispered.

It wasn't exactly the happiest conversation to have, but you wanted to show Bucky a part of you that you didn't show to most people. "My grandma wiped my tears away and brought me into her kitchen. Said she had the perfect cure for the blues. Baking. And that's what we did every weekend until I got old enough to look after myself."

"Your grandma sounds amazing," he said, carefully examining the cupcake in his hand. "And baking became your passion."

"It did. She taught me to pour love into every creation I make. And that's what Tess and I do for others. If someone is having a bad day, at least they can have a treat and feel a little better," you said, pride in your eyes as you looked around. "My grandma supported my dream, but my mom almost disowned me for wanting to run this place. It isn't good enough in her eyes."

I'm not good enough.

Bucky's nostrils flared as he set the dessert down. "Your business isn't good enough for her? What the hell? It's flourishing. I can barely find a lull to come in to get some undivided attention. And your customers love you. She should be proud of you."

His defense of you was heartwarming. "Doesn't matter how successful my business is. She wanted me to marry rich, probably so she could get money from me, but I didn't. She berated me when I broke up with Richard. No matter what I do, I'm never going to be good enough in her eyes," you told him, patting the counter with your hand. "But this makes me happy and that's enough."

"That's why you were sad that Antonia was so happy about our date, wasn't it? Because your mom either doesn't or wouldn't support it," he guessed, reaching for you and pulling you into his arms. "She'll probably hate me. I'm not rich. Covered in tattoos."

"I don't care what she thinks of you. I don't need a rich guy or fancy dates. I just want someone who can provide companionship and support. Someone who respects and cares for me," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "A good, hard-working guy like you deserves the same."

It was too soon to voice it, but Bucky was the kind of man you needed in your life. Someone you could share parts of yourself with and know he wouldn't judge. A man who made your heart race beyond lust.

A partnership.

He stared deeply into your eyes and you had no idea what was going through his head, but his gaze told you so much. How could a pair of eyes be so expressive? "You're perfect, Sugar, and more than enough. You hear me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes before you blinked them away. He sounded sincere and unashamed at his declaration. You hadn't done anything to deserve such praise. "No, I'm not," you whispered.

"You are to me. You took a chance and asked me out. Soothed me when tonight didn't go the way I thought it would," he said, gripping your chin to recapture your gaze. "And you trusted me enough to share something vulnerable with me when you didn't have to. It means everything."

"I feel like I can open up to you," you said as the two of you slowly swayed to the beat. You couldn't remember why you were nervous about your date to begin with.

"And I'll take care of you. I mean it."

I hope he knows I'll take care of him, too.

"You know," you began with a soft smile. "Our first kiss was in your shop."

"It was," he smiled.

"So I think it's only fair that we have our second kiss in my shop," you said.

"You did say you wanted a kiss to end our date," he said, bringing a hand to the back of your neck, but giving you a chance to stop him.

You didn't.

Even though you expected it, you still gasped when he molded his mouth against yours. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, making you both eager and pliant as he licked his way across your lips. When he brushed his tongue against yours and took possession of your mouth, you mewled. Desire nearly blinded you from the taste of him.

I want more.

"I don't want our date to end," you breathed, clutching his arms to steady yourself.

"It doesn't have to," he said, resting a hand on your hip. His eyes were dark and full of want. To have him look at you that way, how could you possibly end the evening with one kiss? Why deny yourself what you both wanted?

"No, it doesn't," you agreed with a coy smile. "So. My place or yours?"

So. How do we think the evening will go? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[buckrecs]

I was looking through your masterlist and I don’t think you’ve done this au….

Bartender bucky or tattoo artist bucky, honestly idc which one you choose to provide recommendations for(if you do)!:)<3

Tattoo Artist!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

I did tattoo artist!bucky this time, but if you send another req I am very willing to do bartender!bucky too😉😏

ONESHOT

Jacks and Sunshine by @rookthorne

You were the warmth and light to Bucky’s shadows and brooding nature – a match made in heaven, and it was a miracle that a certain someone realised as much.

Soft by @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant.

fingers by @buckycuddlebuddy

you couldn’t take your eyes off of his hands. 

Sting by @adrinktostopyourthirst

TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session.

tattoo parlor by @alisonsfics

the beautiful artwork and craftsmanship wasn’t the only thing that kept you coming back to bucky’s tattoo shop.

american tattoo by @seventven

steve and bucky run a tattoo shop together in brooklyn. y/n, a friend of steve’s, decides to get inked. only bucky is present at the shop and he’s about to close it for the night.

inked by @buckys-black-dress

A Little Cover-up by @butwhyduh

You get a tattoo.

make it count by @serpienten

It’s cold and rainy when Bucky sees her for the first time. Within three minutes, he’s under her spell.

Starstruck Beginnings by @rookthorne

Shopping in your favourite art store with Bucky brings back the memory of your first encounter, and after so much time has passed, it was with fondness that you looked back on just how starstruck you were in his presence.

SERIES

A Touch of Ink by @deamstellarus

After a breakup with your ex, you decided to move to the small town where your long-time friend Sam lives, hoping for a change of pace and starting a new chapter in your life. You were prepared for a slower paced lifestyle, quaint diners, and a change of scenery. However, you didn't expect to be swept off your feet by two stunning pairs of blue-grey eyes.

Paws and Pins by @matchamunson

In which Bucky runs into the owner of the animal shelter across the street from his shop. (Social Media AU)

Fight For You by @revengingbarnes

Brooklyn, New York. At the annual local boxing championship, Y/N is the leading medical specialist on call. It’s a whole new environment, and despite the drastic change, she loves it. Bucky Barnes is the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. Virtually undefeated, this tattoo artist by day, boxer by night is someone that is now fighting his way into Y/N’s head. And she’s helpless in front of his winning streak.

Skin on Skin by @navybrat817

Hottie and Sugar

[fictionismyreality3]

Hold Still

Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Tags: Tattoo Artist!Bucky, innocent!reader if you squint, sorta mutual pining, comfort, fluff

Warnings: tattoos and everything that comes with them

Word Count: 3k

Notes: EEEEEE this is my first oneshot on this blog 🥳 as always not really proofread im not sorry 🤓 I wanted to add like grumpy x sunshine underlines and BARK BARk tattoo artist Bucky 😩🙏🏻 Peace out my homies ✌🏻

The sound of your shoe tapping against the checkered linoleum floor tile filled the waiting room of "Brooklyn's Best Tattoos". It was raining outside and the streets were quiet aside from the occasional horn of an angry driver or a street seller trying to get their final deals for the day. Your bright yellow umbrella stood out against the walls of chipped black paint and a smokey atmosphere.

You kept your gaze flitting about the room, landing on the magazines on a coffee table and stickers placed haphazardly across various furniture. The few people sitting across from you reflected the vibe of the tattoo shop perfectly. Darkly eccentric clothes, skin painted with ink, and a tired look to their eyes.

When you had booked this tattoo appointment you didn't know what to expect. And now, sitting with an awkward stiffness in the hardbacked waiting room chair, you began to question your decision. How embarrassing would it be if you just got up and left? Surely you could get a refund?

It had been 3 months since your Grandpa Henry had passed away, and you didn't want his existence to be some fleeting memory, you had to get something permanent for him. You had been planning on getting some art commission to hang up in your apartment, but that fantasy was quickly dashed by your rather thin wallet.

Even though it was a leap in your confidence, you settled on getting a tattoo. For the past few weeks, the nerves have been building up as you spent your free time researching tattoo shops and what a tattoo would even feel like.

The idea of having your skin permanently marked by something that could end up horrible to look at was more than a bit troubling. That's why you settled on something small and somewhere inconsequential. Sorry Grandpa, but you're going to have to be content out of the spotlight.

Calling the shop was the easy part. It was effortless to talk to the nice lady on the phone about your ideas and listen to her babble on about the latest news. But, now that you were sitting in the waiting room, anticipating the pain of the needles that were soon to be in your skin, you couldn't help but squirm in your seat.

You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts as a woman with tawny skin and bright, neon-pink hair came into the waiting room and called over another young woman to follow her. They walked into the back, or wherever they kept the tattoo rooms, and you noticed with a sigh the ease at which the young woman walked towards inevitable pain.

"Are you the 6 o'clock?" A familiar voice broke through your haze of thoughts. You vaguely placed it as the woman you spoke to on the phone when you booked you an appointment.

Scanning her over, you took in her friendly smile and ostentatious (and probably fake) jewelry, putting a face to the voice. "Yeah, that's me." You answered after a second.

She smiled brightly. She had an almost motherly look to her and a warm and comforting demeanour. Looking around at the peeling linoleum floor, the sticker-covered walls, and the various riff-raff who were inking memories and stories onto their skin, you had a passing thought that she was like the empress of the little tattoo parlour. Her beads and glued-on rhinestones would make a marvellous crown.

You had a quick discussion about price and confirmed what you were getting and then she led you down a short hallway and into a room. As you broke the threshold your ears were filled with 40s music and the soft, low sound of a man humming along. Your eyes drifted over to the source of the voice, who soon spun his stool around to reveal an alarmingly handsome face. Bright blue eyes met yours and your heart did a little somersault in your chest.

"Don't you worry, baby. This is Bucky, he'll take real good care of you." She patted your back and drifted back out of the room, her ebony skin disappearing down the hallway and out of view. As you stood awkwardly near the door, your gaze took in the rest of the room. It was dark and moody, and you figured that each artist must get to decorate their studio to their liking. The cart holding the ink, needles and other supplies stood next to one of those lay-down chairs that the person getting tattooed sits in. The man, Bucky, was already looking at you when you met his gaze again.

"Nervous, huh?" He chuckled lowly.

Your cheeks lit up in a hot blush as you were suddenly aware of how long you had been spacing out. "This is my first tattoo. Why? Was it that obvious?" You asked.

"Pretty obvious, yeah. S'okay. Why don't you sit down for me?" He grinned.

Ignoring the way his voice was like butter, you hopped up on the chair in the middle of the room. The leather was soft against your skin and you traced the tiny cracks in the fabric with your fingers, thinking about how many people had sat there before you. Rolling his stool over to the side of your chair, he grabbed a sketchbook from the cart next to you.

"So, what are you thinking of?" He asked casually as his eyes focused on you.

"I wanted to get an anchor for my grandpa." As you spoke, you got out your phone, pulling out the inspirational photos you had been endlessly looking over, tilting the screen so he could see. You watched as he scrutinized the photos, his brow furrowed in focus as if he was translating the pixels to ink in his mind.

After a second, he looked back up at you with a lazy grin. "Yeah, I can do that no problem."

He was already reaching over for his pens to start sketching the drawing onto transfer paper, and your eyes followed the careful movements, tracing the ink that covered his arms. There was barely an inch of uncovered skin.

The whole drawing took less than fifteen minutes, and the silence was comfortably filled with Bucky rambling about when he got his first tattoo. His low, slightly raspy voice covered you like a blanket, settling over you and calming your nerves. By the time he was finished with the sketch, you had already begun to warm up to him, making small talk that was somehow not awkward.

As he showed you the final version of the sketch, your nerves were calmed even more. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. You talked placement and sizing until the time finally came for the sketch to be transferred onto your skin.

"Alright, so.. on your thigh?" He said warmly.

"I read that it was one of the less painful areas." You said as you ran your fingers over your skin which was soon to be filled with ink. You had worn a skirt so that you didn't have to change or lose any modesty. The last thing you wanted was to flash your tattoo artist, especially now that you got one who was incredibly hot.

"Smart girl." He muttered in passing as he prepped the transfer paper.

You were sure it was just a casual expression, but you couldn't fight the way your cheeks flushed at the compliment. No sooner than you had that thought, Bucky had rolled his stool back over to the chair and had the transfer in his hand.

"Can I?" He asked expectantly.

You looked at him confused for a second before you caught up and inched your skirt up so he could transfer the tattoo onto your thigh.

"Right. Sorry." You watched the way he chuckled to himself as he pressed the sketch into your skin. His hands were warm even through the black latex gloves.

He started getting his needles and ink prepared and you fell back into easy conversation. "Why the anchor? Is your 'pops navy or something?" He asked curiously.

"He was, yeah." You said softly.

You didn't miss the way his hands, which were going through the motions of prepping the tattoo gun as if they had done so a million times before, stilled for just a second. His jaw ticked and he cleared his throat and resumed his preparations.

"Sorry for your loss. My family is army." He said quietly after a moment. You took the distraction of his past eagerly, wanting to think of something other than your Grandpa.

"Are you?" You asked carefully.

"I was, yeah. Now I do this." He said and gestured around the room. "You ready?"

Your awareness was suddenly brought back to the impending pain you were about to feel as your eyes locked on the tattoo gun hovering closer and closer to your skin. Your heart rate spiked as a pang of anxiety ran through your chest and your thoughts began to spiral. How long would it take? How much would it hurt? What if it got infected? As if he could sense your suddenly fearful thoughts, Bucky lowered the tattoo gun.

"Hey, it'll be fine. I've been doing this for years and you chose a really small design. It'll be over before you know it." He spoke reassuringly.

With a nod from you, he raised the tattoo gun, one hand on your thigh to steady himself, and made the first line. The pricking pain hit you instantly. It was sharp and stung like you were getting a vaccination or blood drawn. You always had a low pain tolerance, and don't know why that piece of knowledge decided to hide in your brain until now. If you knew it would have hurt this much, maybe you would have changed your mind. A whimper bubbled past your lips embarrassingly. Bucky's eyes darted up to yours, his brows furrowed with a little too much concern for someone you just met.

"Hey, hey, hey.. deep breath. You're okay. That's it…" He cooed soothingly.

You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands and tried to mimic the way Bucky was breathing. Even though he was actively tattooing you, he kept his hand on your skin, watching your expression carefully. It was big enough to cover the entire width of your thigh. The latex of his glove suddenly felt far too thin. When he was satisfied you reached somewhat of a calmer state, he resumed his work, the needles pricking your skin once more.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's get this done." He muttered, almost to himself.

You closed your eyes to distract yourself, but it only made you more focused on the pain of the tattoo gun. But then the pain was paired with the calming touch of Bucky stroking the skin of your thigh with his steadying hand. Your eyes peeked open to the sight of him focusing, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. Well, that's certainly distracting. You were all too aware of the way your skirt was pushed up. Even though it was for the sake of the tattoo, it was beginning to feel far too hot. As if he could feel your eyes on him, Bucky's gaze snapped up to yours and you quickly looked away.

The silence was filled with the quiet buzzing of the tattoo gun and Bucky humming along to the music playing on the radio. You were doing okay. You were gritting your teeth and bearing through it, not wanting to embarrass yourself further in front of your stupidly attractive tattoo artist. But it was late and you were getting tired. The pain was steadily growing from a dull ache into an overwhelming sting. You didn't even realize you were whining until the needles were no longer pricking your skin and Bucky was putting the tattoo gun down.

"Shh, it's okay, princess. We can take a break, yeah?" He said gently.

His hands were on your thighs as he rubbed your skin comfortingly, and you couldn't help but want to whine for a different reason.

"How much longer?" You asked with a wavering voice. Bucky's eyes softened, and he glanced at the half-finished anchor on your thigh and back up to you.

"We're almost done. You ready to get going again?" He asked as he picked up the tattoo gun.

Not trusting your voice, you elected simply to nod. As the pain returned, your nails dug into the leather of the chair, and you wondered if that's where the cracks you saw earlier came from. You knew you were beginning to get shaky, and even though you read about it during your anxious preparation, it was still upsetting. You looked around the room, trying to take your mind off the literal needles that were stabbing into you hundreds of times per second. Maybe you could distract yourself from figuring out the darkly gorgeous man tattooing you.

He kept the lights of the room low, probably to keep people calm, and the posters on the walls were at least nice to look at. There was a pair of dog tags hanging off a lamp on the desk in the corner, and you chalked that up to his army past. There were some plants, but the only one still alive was the cactus on the windowsill. But, you couldn't preoccupy yourself for long. Every time you thought you were getting used to the pain, a new wave of discomfort would hit you, leaving you whimpering in the chair. Your breath was getting a little shallow, and your other leg started bouncing to release some pent-up energy.

Bucky's hand which was comfortingly rubbing the thigh that he was tattooing shot out and grabbed your other leg, his fingers gripping your skin so firmly, the sudden sensation distracted you enough that your squirming stilled.

"Fuck, you gotta hold still, dolly." He rasped. "How 'bout you tell me about your 'pops?"

His voice was strained and you bit your lip to stifle a whimper. Your skirt was pulled up enough that his hand on your non-tattooed leg was high enough to be considered intimate. At least, it certainly felt that way to you. He squeezed your thigh, focusing your attention back on him, before he put it back on the leg he was tattooing.

"Talk, princess. You're almost done." He commanded softly.

The pain was still at the forefront of your mind, but now it was fighting with the heat in your core that was slowly growing.

"Um.. he was a sailor. He.. his name was Henry." You began to recall fond memories of your Grandpa, and the pain of the tattoo slowly faded into a manageable ache.

"That's a good girl. Keep talking, sweetheart." He muttered quietly.

The praise made your breath hitch and the sound that fell from your lips wasn't from pain anymore. The only sign that he noticed your breathy whine was the little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"And… all done." He announced.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased and Bucky had already put it down, as if the tattoo never even happened. The only evidence of what you'd struggled through for the last hour was the perfectly executed anchor on your skin and the dull ache of your thigh. Bucky had already moved back over to you and was starting to clean and wrap your leg. His hands brushed the skin of your inner thigh, causing you to suck in a sharp breath, his eyes flickering over to you for a moment. There was that smirk again.

"That's it?" You asked breathlessly.

"That's it. You did so well, princess." He said as he finished wrapping your thigh. After putting his supplies back onto the cart, he pulled your skirt back down almost protectively, his hands lingering a little too long to be professional.

"Here. You even get a lollipop for being such a good girl." He grinned as helped you off the chair, his hand brushing yours as he handed you the candy.

He said the praise so casually, but it still sent your head spinning and your cheeks burning with a dusting of pink.

"Thanks…" You mumbled.

"You can pay at the front. Call us if you have any questions. Be safe, princess." He said as his eyes drifted down to your thigh.

Your heart sank as you kicked yourself for thinking there was even a sliver of attraction that he felt for you. Obviously, the hot tattoo artist must get girls fawning over him all the time, you weren't anything special. Biting back a frown, you nodded and thanked him one more time before heading back up to the front of the store to pay. The friendly babbling of the same dark-skinned woman who had taken you to Bucky's tattoo room went in one ear and out the other. Your head was way too messy to pay attention.

After thanking the staff one more time, you grabbed your umbrella and coat and headed back out into the rainy Brooklyn streets. As you walked back to your apartment, your thoughts endlessly drifting back to Bucky, you pulled the lollipop out of where you'd put it in your pocket. If you couldn't have him, at least you had candy. Just as you were about to mindlessly crumple up the wrapper, you noticed something scrawled in pen on the plastic. It was an address and a phone number.

'Dinner this weekend. Don't be shy, doll.' It read.

You stopped in your tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the dirty looks of the pedestrians who nearly walked into you, smiling like an idiot. It wasn't even written as a question and you could hear his low, slightly raspy voice saying the words in your head. The ache in your thigh, the ache in your heart, and even the now permanent marking on your body were all worth it. You had the passing thought that maybe your Grandpa was setting you up from wherever he was.

"Thanks, Grandpa.." You whispered to yourself and walked home with a spring in your step.

[howdoyousleep3]

Imagine a tatted up silver fox daddy Steve petting Bucky’s cheek and going ”sweetheart, I’ve got tattoos that are older than you”

Yup yup

This would be my Daddy, I fear. 😵‍💫🤪🤤🥴

Take 3DWD and smush him into a Baby Bucky form, let him just be chomping at the bit to find a Daddy to be sweet for, and that would be this Bucky. Someone who is confident and wild and rambunctious who needs a Daddy to balance him out, someone who never raises his voice, someone who grounds him.

It would be one of those relationships that begins the moment they lock eyes. They’d never be apart from then on, getting kicked out of the bar and hopping from one place to the next until they land in one of their beds. 😵‍💫😫