buckynat + one of them getting their First Tattoo
The buzzing sound of the tattoo machine startles Bucky a little bit, but he’s covert enough that no one but Natasha—who gives him a sympathetic look—seems to notice. It reminds him too much of sounds and the ensuing pain from his old life that he’d rather forget.
The tattoo artist busies himself with preparing the area about to be marked, shaving it, applying the stencil, rubbing on the Vaseline, hooking up the right needles to the proper gun, pouring out the ink he’s chosen to work with. Natasha sits very still, wary to move even before the procedure has started, but her eyes do dart to Bucky every few seconds.
He`s not too fond of the idea of tattoos, her guy. He thinks they can look beautiful if well done, and conceptually understands that it’s a way for people to display ownership over their bodies and express, well, whatever they want to, but his experience with body modification has been traumatizing to say the least. He just prefers to leave that to other people.
Nat, on the other hand, loves the idea. To her, being free enough to make a choice like that about her own body is exhilarating, and she wants to experience that feeling.
Bucky jokingly asked her if she’d be able to handle the pain, as the ribs are notorious for being one of the worst places to get tattooed, but he knew better. This is a woman who withstood surgery without anesthesia, who’s sewn herself up one-handed, who’s been beaten and broken more times than he’d like to count. She just laughed and tried to kick him off the bed, which turned into a wrestle, into kisses, into staying up half the night.
She checks the placement of the design a million times in the mirror to make sure she likes it, and that it’s easy to cover up with her bra, should the occasion ever arise that she’d need to undress in front of people who shouldn’t be recognizing her.
“Alright, here we go,” The tattoo artist announces, and Natasha lies down on the reclining tattoo chair and focuses her eyes on Bucky’s hair gently moving from the fan-breeze. His metal hand is softly playing with her fingers, as Natasha leaves both arms stretched out in front of her to get them out of the artist’s way.
Only fifteen minutes pass until the whole thing is finished, and they’re both sent on their way with orders to moisturize the area for the next four days, not to pick at the scabs that will form, keep it out of the sun and seawater for at least two weeks and always put on sunscreen to avoid premature fading.
When they get home Natasha strips off her shirt and bra, and lets Bucky tend to the area, removing the temporary plastic covering it and very carefully washing the blood off with cold water and baby soap.
“Do you mind telling me the story behind this, ‘Tasha?” Bucky asks earnestly as he dries her skin with a soft towel, as Natasha hadn’t disclosed the actual meaning behind the image of two weeping eyes she’d chosen.
“It comes from an old Russian fairy tale,” She starts. “It’s the story of Царевна Несмеяна, a princess who never smiled or laughed, no matter what anyone tried. She spent many years alone and unhappy until one day a good, honest man who had gotten the chance to be free from his unkind master, tripped and fell into a puddle of mud. The sight was so silly that the princess laughed, and they got married at the end, finally able to be happy.”
Bucky had the sneaking suspicion that he’d heard this story before, as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart
