A quick little minific, pure fluff, around 700 words. Inspired by adorable art from @giadin-a!

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“Ouch. Ow ow ow!”

“Do you want to
stop?”

“No. Just hold my
hand, okay?”

Bucky takes your
hand in his, holding it tight. “I won’t let go.”

The tattoo artist
didn’t seem to mind you cringing one bit. He continued drawing the outline of
your flamingo. He still had to color it in, too; maybe getting a tattoo on your
ankle wasn’t the best idea.

You squeeze
Bucky’s hand tighter as the needles pass over your bone; you fought to hold
back your tears, but it was hard not to feel strong in Bucky’s presence. After
all he’d been through, here he was, happy to be running errands with you all
day. You’d gone to the library and had lunch when he spotted this sketchy
little tattoo shop off the beaten path and insisted you go inside. Twenty
minutes later, he had you convinced to get the tattoo you’ve always talked
about.

“Are you crying?”
he asked.

“No! Shut up,
owwww!” you winced as he started to laugh; a soft, carefree giggle that would
have made you swoon under any other circumstances. “You think you’re so tough,
why don’t you get one?”

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you. Who
else am I talking to?”

He looks around
the tattoo shop. There were hundreds of 4×6 photos pinned to the walls of
various body parts with their new art work. He was looking for inspiration. Although
he’d never really thought about it before, it seemed like a perfect way to take
back his control over his body. A symbolic middle finger to HYDRA.

“Fine. But I’m
getting your name on my ass.”

“You will not!”
Your head jerked in his direction, leading the artist to scold you. He did have
a needle gun in his hand, after all. You apologized, forcing your voice to
sound calm before you spoke again. “You will do no such thing, Mister Barnes.”

“You can just
watch me, baby.” He strutted over to another artist, but he spoke too softly
for you to hear. A minute later, he was in her chair, his pants baring his athletic
ass. The second tattoo gun buzzed to life, Bucky’s face contorting as it met his
skin. “Oooh, it tickles.”

“James Barnes,
you are in so much trouble!” you warned. You looked down at your ankle and
realized he’d been distracting you; your own tattoo was finally done. The
artist cleaned you up and bandaged your ankle, leaving you free to go see what
Bucky was really up to.

He couldn’t help
but burst into laughter when he saw your face. His tattoo artist was trying to
hide the fact that she was about to do the same.

“Y-o-u-r 
n-a-m-e? REALLY? I don’t know which is more offensive. My name actually
being on your ass, or this.” Your face broke into a bigger and bigger smile the
longer you heard Bucky’s boisterous laugh.

“Don’t you like
it?” he said with a wink. His tattoo was done in a flash; the artist handed him
a mirror so he could check it out before she bandaged him up. You tried not to
stare as he pulled his snug jeans back on and paid the parlor.

“Oh, I love it.
Can’t wait to hear you use it on all the girls at the gym,” you said
sarcastically.

“The only girl
getting any of my lines is you. Maybe I’m not as good at this as I used to be,”
he said, giving you a playful peck on the cheek. He’s asked you out a couple
times, but you can never be sure how much of his flirting is really for you, and
how much is just his coquettish personality. If he says it’s all for you, maybe
it’s worth a try.

“Well, you do
have my name tattooed on your ass. Maybe you can take me on that date sometime,”
you said as he opened the door for you. The two of you stepped back outside,
into the sunlight of the late summer day.

“It’ll be our
little secret, just like my tattoo,” he said.

“Sure. I’ll just
slap you on the ass and make everyone wonder why you’re wincing.”