Characters: reader, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Sam.
Summary: Reader is in her 20s and an Avenger with a bit of a wild streak. Her relationship with Steve is strictly professional until she makes a surprising discovery on a mission. Events occur about a year after CA:TWS.
Warnings: tattoos, mentions of death, blood, mild violence, sexy fluff. :)
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The Quinjet was making its descent as you stood and steadied your self against the cool metal walls, weapons secure on your back. Steve stepped up next to you, slipping on his helmet and securing the strap under his chin.
"Could you hand me my shield, Y/N?"
"Sure, Cap," you replied, grabbing the red, white, and blue shield that was leaning against the seats to your left and passed it to the man on your right.
"Thanks. You ready?"
"I was born ready," you said confidently.
He smirked, "Yeah, well, let's not get cocky."
You pulled your face into a serious expression. "Sir, yes sir!" you mocked with a salute.
He gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. As he turned his attention to Sam on his other side, you took advantage of his distraction as you gave him a good once-over. Man, he really was extremely attractive. That chiseled jaw below piercing blue eyes, broader shoulders than any man should be allowed to have that then narrowed down his torso to an impossibly narrow waist. Impressive thighs, though. You were a sucker for good thighs. Under that kevlar uniform you knew there were also some exquisite abs and pecs to die for, thanks to the outdoor pool at Avengers Tower where the team hung out regularly. Bless Tony Stark for giving you the opportunity to see Steve Rogers shirtless. Hallelujah!
However, with all his good qualities, he was just a little too vanilla for you. Straight-laced goody-two-shoes Steve Rogers didn't quite fit into your type when it came to men, which was namely trouble makers and heart breakers. Not great for you in the long run, but it sure was fun when things were good. Your last disaster of a relationship had ended 4 months ago when your winner of a boyfriend skipped town unexpectedly, followed by a lame text saying something about not being good at goodbyes. Coward.
Now you had a brand new reminder to keep things in perspective, willing yourself not to itch the bandaged flesh on the outside of your left thigh that was now covered by your combat suit. Your newest tattoo was still healing a week later, now reaching the if-I-can't-scratch-it-I'm-gonna-die stage. But you didn't. You knew the process well, what with this fresh ink being your sixth piece of body art.
You had received mixed responses from the Team when they first found out about them. Sam and Natasha thought they were cool, Clint and Bruce really had no opinion but figured it was your body, and Tony was a little too fatherly, often reminding you "those are permanent, you know that, right? What if you change your mind?". Eye roll. Steve actually never said a word about them, but you figured he wouldn't approve of a woman permanently "scarring" herself or something old-fashioned. Jerk.
Shaking off the judgement and the need to scratch, you turned your attention to the mission as the Quinjet made a quiet landing at the edge of a lush, green forest. This branch of HYDRA apparently had gone tropical, realizing that the Avengers had cleaned out most of Easter Europe of the scum. Somewhere in Argentina, you stepped out onto the mossy forest floor, fingering the blades peaking just above your shoulders. Steve stepped out in front of the group and started giving orders when suddenly shots rang out in the clearing. They knew you were coming.
"Sam and Nat, go now! Clint, cover them. Y/N and I will hold down the fort here," he yelled.
Sam flew off with Natasha while Clint sprinted through the trees in the direction of the compound. Grasping twin Butterfly Swords in each hand you unsheathed them with a clean dual schink. You positioned yourself back to back with Cap, using the wide blades to deflect oncoming bullets. As HYDRA goons came out of the cover of the trees, you slashed them down with swift movements, flipping and turning without hesitation. Years of martial arts training had taught you how to be the most effective with the least amount of energy expended.
"You alright back there, Cap?"
"Yeah, I'm good. I think we're about done here," he grunted, whacking a thug with his shield.
We're headed back with the intel. Charges are set to go off in 5, said Sam through his ear piece.
Clint then burst through the trees and sprinted for the jet.
"Be ready for takeoff," Steve relayed to the Team.
Just then a HYDRA agent almost slipped past you, headed for Steve's exposed back. You whirled in his direction and sliced downwards with a squirt of blood before the intended knife could enter the Star-Spangled man. With that final blow, it seemed the fight had died down. Steve turned toward you, realizing how close his attempted assassin had been.
"Whew. Thanks for that, Y/N. Although I think you cut it a little too close with that blade. You almost got me."
"What?!? Let me see!"
"It's fine, you only got the uniform."
Looking down you could see a slash in the blue fabric covering the outside of his right thigh midway down, but as the fabric gaped open, you almost thought you saw something else.
"Oh my— is that...?" you exclaimed in shock, eyes wide.
"No," Steve tried to convince you as he covered the torn area with his gloved hand. "I'm fine. Let's get on the jet."
Sam and Nat landed softly and boarded, the Quinjet in the air within 30 seconds. The next few hours Steve busied himself checking the Team for injuries (except you, oddly enough) and going over the information Natasha had acquired before blowing up the compound. Basically he was avoiding you. It hadn't escaped your notice that he had wrapped a bandage around his thigh, though. Either he was lying about not being injured or hiding something.
Once the jet landed in the hanger at the Tower, Steve was the first off, practically sprinting to his room. You casually gathered your gear and weapons and dropped them off in the storage area before heading to your own room for a hot shower. An hour later, you stood outside Steve's door. You could hear the news airing on his tv, so when there was silence after your knock, you weren't fooled.
"Come on, Steve, I know you're in there," you spoke through the door.
He finally opened it, revealing a sheepish smile.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"No way, my good Captain."
He sighed in resignation, allowing you to enter before closing the door and locking it.
Spinning to face him, you raised your eyebrows in expectation.
"Well? Let's see it."
"Oh, come on, Y/N...." he protested.
You plopped yourself on the bed and crossed your arms over your chest.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Blushing, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and then rested a hand on his belt buckle.
"Fine. But no one else knows. NO ONE," he demanded, finger pointed in your direction.
You made the gesture of crossing your heart, "I swear."
Steve unbuckled his belt and then zipped down before dropping his pants. The shock of viewing Captain America in only his dark blue boxer-briefs quickly wore off as you realized what you were seeing on the skin beneath them. On each of his muscular thighs were beautiful, intricate trails of black ink curling and intertwining.
Almost speechless, you finally breathed out a "wow".
"How high up do they go?"
Shaking his head in disbelief, he hiked up each side of his briefs until they bunched where his legs met his hips. From about 2 inches above the knee to what looked like the hip joint, his entire thigh skin was scrawled with words and names. He gave a slow turn showing you all sides of the artwork before he waddled to sit down on the bed beside you, pants still around his ankles.
"How long ago did you get them done?"
"Started about a year after I came out of the ice. I began spending time with fellow veterans and hearing their stories, many of them had tattoos of their platoon name, the insignia for their branch of the military, and sometimes names of fallen comrades. I thought more and more about the Howling Commandos and wanted to honor them somehow. I wanted some way to carry them with me but...also a way to ease the burden off my shoulders. Does that make sense?"
You nodded, reaching out a finger to trace the lines of Dum Dum Dugan's name and death date.
"I found someone who was willing to do it but I knew with my Captain America persona it would throw people off. Captain America doesn't have tattoos. He's clean-cut and responsible. All-American Golden Boy. But I found a way around that."
He grinned, gesturing to the one area of his body that would never be seen by the general public. Looking back, you now realized the least amount of clothing you had ever seen on him was board shorts while swimming. Clever boy.
"Does the ink respond the same way to your skin? I mean, with the serum?"
"No, actually. It lightens a lot faster, so I get them retouched about twice a year. It's a good reminder and...its kind of cathartic. The manifestation of the physical pain eases the emotional pain somehow. I don't know," he shrugged.
"No one else knows?" you asked.
"Just myself and a very discreet tattoo artist in Hell's Kitchen. And now you."
You smiled, suddenly realizing you were still caressing and tracing the black lines on his skin.
"Sorry," you apologized, removing your hand.
"It's fine," he smirked.
You stood, walked a few steps, and then sat down on the other side of him, focusing on his right side.
You read out loud, " 'James Buchanan Barnes. 1917 to 1944. Til the End of the Line.' Well, I guess that's a typo now, huh?"
He smiled sadly, thinking of his elusive best friend on the run. Clearing his throat, he turned to focus on you.
"Well, now that you've seen mine, I think I should get to see yours."
"What? You've already seen mine! Most of them. Except for the newest addition."
"I've only seen them from a distance. I need a better look."
Groaning, you stood up, "Fine."
You pulled your sweatshirt over your head revealing a black camisole underneath. Turning your back to him, he could see the bright yellows, oranges, and reds of the Phoenix rising from the ashes between your shoulder blades. You turned and then raised your foot, resting it on his knee displaying the gray paw prints on the top of your left foot to symbolize the memory of your beloved St. Bernard, Chester, whom you'd lost in high school. Pulling your camisole down slightly, the initials of your best friend were stenciled above your left breast over your heart.
You lifted the right side of your cami to show the words "this is but a small moment" written in cursive over your ribs. Tugging down the left side of your pants and underwear, on your hip was a songbird breaking free from its cage. You met his eyes as you hesitated, then bravely you pulled your leggings from your waist down to your knees before carefully pulling off the bandage on your left thigh. Your newest tattoo was black and gray shaded stars surrounding the words 'a certain darkness is needed to see the stars'.
"There. Are you happy?" you asked, replacing the bandage.
He stood then, waddling toward you. It was pretty ridiculous with both of you having your pants around your ankles, but the fiery intensity in his eyes sobered the moment. He brushed his fingers over the phoenix on your back, making you shiver. Raising the side of your shirt, the pad of his thumb caressed the inked skin over your ribs. His knuckles grazed the songbird on your hip, now exposed above the line of your underwear.
Focusing his piercing blue eyes on yours, he whispered, "Beautiful."
His face inches from yours, you glanced down at his soft pink lips before you grabbed his shirt to pull his down to meet yours. Surprised for a moment, the blond soldier then responded, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other hand cradled the back of your head. He shifted your body and shuffled the two of you toward the bed before he lowered you onto it.
Shoes kicked off and both of you finally free of ridiculous pairs of pants, he stood again to remove his shirt. You reached forward with both hands, caressing his now even more impressive decorated thighs. You then took advantage of your own seated position to lift your cami over your head, his hungry eyes burning with lust.
As he settle above you, he trailed kisses from your jawbone down to the initials on your chest, you whispered, "I guess you're not as vanilla as I though you were."
"Surprise, doll," he murmured, pulling back to give you a smirk.
You both spent all the time in the world appreciating every inch of skin, inked or not, getting lost and found in each other's arms.