—summary: there is a thin line between pain and pleasure. that line is real and palpable, except for the times when you sit in bucky barnes’ table and feel his hands holding your skin.
his job demands him to hurt you, but the only problem is that you enjoy it. a lot.
—word count: 5.2k (i might have gotten excited.. heh.)
—warning(s): the thirst is real and so is are the explicit thoughts. pg-17.
—a/n: my new tattoo artist is the hottest thing ever so i needed this to let my mind breathe lol. feedback/reblogs/comments are highly encouraged and much appreciated. there might be some mistakes in here, feel free to let me know if you find them.
the first thing you ever noticed about bucky was his metal arm.
it was an incredible and most likely very expensive piece of stark industries technology in collaboration with the scientist shuri and it shone beautifully under the sunlight.
the second thing was his eyes—your friend nat says, “and this is bucky,” with a pointed smile and you see it, wicked arm, wow and oh—nice eyes.
the third and most dangerous are the tattoos. bucky’s right arm is covered in them.
he smiles politely at you — good fucking gods, the smile on this man — reaches out his hand (the real one) and says, “hi. nice to meet you.”
as if the blush you felt on your face needed company, your nervous stutter decides to pop by when you answer. apparently, he doesn’t mind. he goes on, “nat here tells me you liked my pieces? feel free to drop by shield at any time for a consultation.”
and that’s when it hits you.
this is bucky barnes. the white wolf. one of new york’s rising and most intriguing tattoo artists.
and right there on moment one is when you know—if you ever were to get inked by him, you would be utterly and completely fucked.
