bucky/steve + 25 ps u smell also ily
this is why I don’twrite fic anymore because I start off at 1 am “hey I’ll write some witty banter and it’ll be over super quick” and then I just ramble on and on about feelings FOR THREE AND A HALF THOUSAND WORDS and it doesn’t make any sense plus idk if I even know how to write an okay voice for Bucky???Also he still has two arms
also idk anythingabout tattooing or tattooing over scars so I’m going off vague rememberings about when a friend in high school got her tattoo and some half-assed research I did wanting to know if I could get a tattoo on my wrist where there’s a scar just shhh and love me okay?
Bucky stares down at the table in front of him.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this."
"A bet’s a bet, Buck. Stop moaning about it already.”
Bucky rolls his eyes but obeys, lying face down on the padded table. It had been a stupid wager on a sure win game. But the windmill on the 17th hole ruined Bucky’s practically perfect score. Steve, the cheater, had two less points at the end of it all and claimed victory.
The air in the tattoo shop where Steve works is almost too cool. He knows that it’s because the pain of the process generally makes people heat up, but goose bumps are breaking out all over his arms and he wishes it were warmer. Or that he was wearing a shirt. He shivers at the cool touch of the shaving gel and razor as Steve preps the area.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Bucky asks.
“I finished my apprenticeship a year ago,” Steve says. Bucky listens to the squeak of latex as he pulls on gloves.
“Doesn’t mean anything. You coulda just charmed them with your baby blues, works every time.”
“It’s never worked. Not now, not when we were in third grade and got detention for a month or when you said it would work against Mrs. Jameson when we broke that window-”
“That’s just because you’re a shit liar.” Bucky says.
The reply he gets is the buzz of the tattoo gun right up next to his ear. He flinches and Steve lets out a whoop of laughter.
“Nobody likes you, you’re such a punk,” Bucky grumbles
“Takes one to know one, jerk. Now stop squirming or do I have to hold you down?” Steve asks.
Bucky’s mouth goes dry. He can’t answer. Taking the silence as a go ahead, Steve puts the needle of the gun to Bucky’s skin and went to work. Bucky just pushes his face into the padding of the table and prays for God to save him from Steve Rogers.