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interbad · 2 years ago

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THIS HIT DIFFERENT AFTER WATCHING SEASON 3

THIS WAS SO GOOD LAWD HAVE MUCRY

all our heroes are dead

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Soldier Boy Wordcount: 3.3+K Warnings: smut. gore. threesome. rough sex. anal. drugs. mentions of hair. ptsd. dp. a very soft/scared soldier boy. mcu canon divergence bc whatever. Summary: Just a couple of soldiers. A/N: reader’s super hero name is Black Magnolia (i know im a hack!), but i legit wrote this under the wire and my brain couldn't form other thoughts. read the first part if you want. the title was totally inspired by the stunning New Yorker article - the real heroes are dead

When Steve goes rogue, Ben follows.

She’s surprised, or maybe not too surprised. After all, Ben had always admired Steve. Steven Grant Rogers was good. He was a real American hero.

Ben was Soldier Boy. He was the movie star. He was commercialized beef with an addiction problem.

No matter how many films he shot. No matter how many times Louis B. Mayer called him the symbol of the God damn stars and stripes, Ben never believed him.

“The man you’re talking about, Mayer? That man went into the sea somewhere up north.”

***

“Shit,” she hisses as she digs her fingers into Steve’s thick shoulders. He’s perched on the edge of this shitty motel bed. It scratches his bare ass. She’s going to leave bruises on him, a fact he likes. There’s no one who can mark him like she can. She can do her damage and he feels it the next day. He buries his face into her pretty throat before gently rolling his hips upward. “Oh fuck,” she sighs as Ben’s hand slides across her stomach.

Steve can feel Ben between his knees. He can feel him slowly nudging into her ass.

“That’s my girl,” the brunette coaxes. His other hand clamps down on her hip as he keeps inching his cock forward. Steve can tell exactly when he breaches her, she goes totally stiff and Ben has to chill her out with soft mouth sounds.

“Distract her, Cap,” The order is locked in his throat, husky and strained. “I’m barely in there.”

“You’re too big,” she whines.

“Shit, honey,” Steve can hear the grin in Ben's voice. “That’s the nicest damn thing you’ve said to me.”

She inhales sharply when he tries to move further. “Steve,” Ben snaps. “Help her out.”

Steve jumps. He’s drunk on her pussy - balls fucking deep. She keeps getting tighter and he’s out of his mind.

“Shh, baby,” Steve coaxes as he nips her jaw apologetically. "It's just so good." He tugs her down, rubs their cheeks together. He strokes her skin, squeezes her arms. “Hold onto me. Let me know how it feels.”

“Full,” she mumbles.

“Christ,” Ben rasps.

There’s the drip of cold lube and the warm slick of Mag’s own pussy, creating a contradiction of sensation around Steve’s cock.

To his surprise, Ben is careful with her. He’s cautious. Soldier Boy peppers kisses along her shoulder and scents her hair. There’s a moment Steve feels possessive before he tries to shove it down.

Steve never told her that he watched all their old films. While working for SHIELD, he spent hours flicking through archived footage of Black Magnolia and Soldier Boy. He even ran through the YouTube fan videos of the two.

Soldier Boy and Black Magnolia Were Destined!

Did Magnolia cheat on Steve Rogers with Soldier Boy?

Conspiracy! Evidence that Proves Black Magnolia and Soldier Boy killed Captain America!

Yeah. Never again.

When Ben finally sinks to the hilt, it’s a bit jarring. The three of them glued together as a single, undulating entity of limbs, breasts, and hair. Their bodies upgraded to withstand gunshots and bombs and dole out Hell. There’s Ben’s cock thick inside her, hot against the thin wall of tissue separating them.

Steve grips her chin and drags her down for a dirtier kiss than he intended. Nah - he did intend it. His beard rasps over her skin, and his tongue plunges straight between her lips. She’s riding him, thrusting back against Ben. Steve’s hand is between her legs as he trails his mouth from her throat to her tits. He sucks on the peaks of her nipples; he snaps up a little harder.

“C’mon, honey; you can take us.” He grunts, teeth clenched as he catches Ben’s eye over their girl’s shoulder. The muscle in Ben’s jaw flexes as he nods. Find a rhythm. They do. They’re fast learners. Steve plants his feet and jerks up while Ben slams forward. They impale her at once, and she chokes, nearly collapsing into Steve.

They ease back and draw out before sheathing themselves again. They repeat this. The bedframe squeals as their pace quickens. Short, blunt strokes. A hand collars the nape of her neck. Steve rubs the bud of her clit with the pad of his thumb. She makes these delicious mewls that she can’t seem to control. Her lashes flutter, her lids droopy with pleasure, and her cunt contracts around his cock. It’s twitching, spasming as he throbs inside her, and he doesn’t think he can get any harder than he already is.

“Stay with us,” Ben growls as he cracks his hand across her ass. She startles, bucking against him, her back arching into something lovely. It seems that Ben’s caution has fled. The two of them are stretching her to her limit. Steve’s sweat is collecting at the base of his spine, ruining the sheets. He wonders if they can be heard through the paper-thin walls.

Of course. Of course.

There are the wet noises of them entering her. The audible slap of skin. There are her muffled cries against Steve’s mouth or his scalp as she fists his hair. She bites his ear at one point. Low, feral sounds spout from the middle of his chest. Ben is no better.

“Fuck yeah, baby doll,” he rumbles. “I dreamt of this.”

He takes her in another round of long, hard pumps. With every spear of his cock, his dirty words are enunciated. “Wanted. Back. In. This. Perfect. Fucking. Ass.” There's a snarl under his tongue, barely contained hunger.

Steve keeps her anchored, holding her up to accept what Ben is giving her. They have a safe word. He's not worried, but he observes every tell that blossoms across her beautiful face.

This is about her pleasure. At least it is for him. She might want this to be about Ben. Ben might want it to be about her.

This could just be a crisscross of give and take and they've become a single organism functioning with veins and a pumping heart.

Keep it alive.

Steve lifts his head, holds her fucked-out gaze for what feels like forever.

Her thighs are trembling. Steve pets at her cunt that is wrapped around him. His stamina is unnatural, but he’s nearing his end. This whole dance has gotten him hanging perilously off the edge. He’s not sure what it is. Maybe, it’s seeing another man fuck his girl. Maybe, it’s because she’s still staring at him like he hangs the damn moon. She responds beautifully, and leans into his palm when he cradles her cheeks. “Kiss me, sweetheart,” he begs under his breath because he wants to be sure.

She lowers her face and gifts him her lips. “I love you,” she presses into the valley of his mouth. “Steve.”

***

“You don’t have to come,” she tells Ben as they leave an airport burning in Berlin. “This isn’t your fight.”

Ben sucks down another drag of his thinly-rolled blunt. His eyes soften. “Are you going?”

“Yes.”

“You believe in Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s good enough for me, Mags.”

He doesn’t point out that he has nowhere else to go. Vought has proven an untrustworthy ally. All of his friends are either old or dead. He orbits around her like an errant moon or circlet of stars. He plays second fiddle to Steve Fucking Rogers. They’re going underground to take out bad guys on their own terms. No government. No rules.

There is a piece of Ben that wants to adapt like she has. He wants to do some good.

***

They find a decent hideout in another distant country. The land here is coated in a frost of snow. It’s been a rough few months taking out terrorist cells and Hydra operatives and buried enemies. Barnes sniffs them out - recalling nearly every one of the Winter Soldier’s haunts that dot Eastern Europe.

He has more in common with Barnes than either of them want to admit. A lot of Russia. A lot of frigid tanks and brain scrambling and torture. They regard each other with silent respect, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Bucky never liked him back in the forties, and he certainly doesn’t like Ben chasing after Mags since she’s Steve’s. Bucky is a loyal friend through and through and Ben can admire that.

Perhaps, they just don’t like facing each other because it’s a startling mirror image. They lash out. They have red-black nightmares that force them awake. It’s like having to stare at a constant reminder of yourself. There’s Bucky etched in his grief and his guilt. There’s Ben, who can’t control going nuclear whenever he hears a particular Russian song.

He’s certain that Bucky, Nat, Sam, and Wanda know what’s going on between Cap, Mags, and himself. It’s not like they hide it. They try to muffle their grunts and whines, but it’s not foolproof. Sometimes the fucking gets so out of control that they forget people are even in the house.

It’s also not like Ben even cares.

The whole thing flows together incredibly easily. There should be a catch. There should be a hitch and there isn’t. At least, Rogers hasn’t punched him out yet.

Maybe it’s because they’re on the run. Their lives are completely chaotic and the sex de stress them. Maybe, it’s because Steve isn’t making her choose.

***

Ben wakes from a nightmare. It’s painful. It hangs onto him, burrowing its claws into the meat of his back. He drops his face into his hands and presses down until tiny black stars burst. He looks for her in her room but she's not there. It’s three in the morning, and, for a moment, his stomach flips over. That’s odd. He darts down the hallway, the wooden floors creaking beneath his bare feet. With his enhanced hearing, he catches the heartbeats between the walls. The soft, relaxed breathing of the faceless others. These are ghosts in his head, and he doesn’t know how to remove them.

He slips into Steve’s room, where he can hear the pelting rain of the shower. The door is cracked open, and the light filters out, revealing the empty bed and rumpled sheets. There’s steam building, but he can see through the glass.

She’s backed against the tile, her hand between her legs, fingers pushing inside her as she flashes Steve a mischievous grin. Steve’s is against her side, his chest at her shoulder with his arm braced over her head. He grasps his cock that juts against her thigh. They’re speaking in low voices, obviously teasing each other. Steve flicks one of her nipples, and she squeals, batting his arm away.

It’s an intimate scene and one that has probably happened many times. Selfishly, Ben tries to think of what they shared the years they were together. He’s had those moments with her though they were often blurred out by a haze of drugs or alcohol. Their fights were legendary because they’d always break some piece of furniture or an entire house when they made up.

He imagines how Steve and Mags lived before he came back and before they went on the run due to Stark and all the Accords nonsense. Did they cook together? Did they go on missions and fuck in storage closets? Did they think of having kids?

So caught up in his own pity, he doesn’t realize she’s looking at him until he lifts his gaze back to the shower. He freezes, unsure what to do. Now, he seems like a damn pervert. She curls her finger, beckoning him forward. Immediately he goes, shrugging his t-shirt off, working down his sweats. Steve doesn’t seem that pissed, his brow is simply raised in surprise.

“Nightmare?” she asks as he steps into the steam and is enveloped by the bright smell of Eucalyptus shampoo she favors.

“Yeah,” he replies tightly. Of course, she could read him. She senses his terror. She knew without him telling her.

Without a word, she drops to her knees. Her right hand on Ben’s thigh and her left on Steve’s. She tips her head back as the water sheets down her body, between her breast until it swirls in the foam beneath her. “Let me take care of you,” she smiles before glancing at Steve. “Both of you.”

Ben clears his throat. Steve reaches down to smooth his thumb over her cheek. “Good girl,” the blonde murmurs, and her lips quirk. She leans into Ben first and takes him into her mouth smoothly. She swallows him to the base, and Ben’s legs nearly give out.

He’d forgotten. The delightful, molten-hot suction of her throat. The decades she’d used to perfect her talents.

“I love you,” he blurts out, and it’s said in his most sincere voice, almost high-pitched. He means it. He is in love with her and not just because her blow job skills are heaven-sent. The second it’s out of him, she chokes and sputters, pulling herself off his dick before she starts laughing. “Really Ben? Of all the times to say that.”

Steve rubs the back of his head as he tries not to smile. “Honestly, it sounded pretty genuine to me.”

Ben smacks Steve’s shoulder and crows. “Thank you!” His gaze falls back on her face. “See - Cap’s on my side.”

His chest unfurls. He feels something light between his ribs. There’s an intimacy here - between them. Secrets shared. He inhales audibly as she wraps her lips around his cock again, nails skating down the flat of his stomach.

***

The sun burns on the crown of Steve’s skull as he waits for her outside the Hydra facility. A shiver drags through him. It’s been too long. The coms quit three minutes ago, but going after her wouldn’t be smart. It might screw a delicate situation. He trusts Nat, who told him to wait.

Still - he’s nervous.

Ben is no better. He shifts from foot to foot. He lights another cigarette as he begins striding from one tree to the next. He wears down the soil and the snow beneath the heavy tread of his boots. Steve can see each puff of breath as Soldier Boy exhales.

“I can’t lose her,” Ben mumbles. Steve shoots forward, grabbing the man behind the arm.

“You won’t.” Is that what he’s been whispering about this whole damn time?

Steve doesn’t like it because it only makes Steve begin to worry.

Ben’s eyes widen as he glances down at Steve’s hand on him. His nostrils flare before he rips himself away. “You don’t know shit.”

Steve lets him go off to sulk. There’s a part of him that feels sorry for him. His empathy hits just right, and he blames it partially on the fact that Ben reminds him of Bucky. The two men circle each other in the safe house, keeping their distance despite knowing what it’s like to be held down and tortured for decades.

It’s not just that.

There’s also the fact that Ben and Steve were shaped from similar cloth. They were both flung into a war with suped-up bodies. They were paraded around like dancing monkeys. They fell in love with the same girl, and when Ben returned from the dead, he submitted. He didn’t barge right in and take her from Steve. That was something worth respecting.

I understand, man. I understand what it’s like to love her. It’s obvious she’s good with you. I get it. I’m not trying to rain on your parade or whatever.

Steve’s helmet itches, his shield a weight on his back. “She’s fine,” he declares under his breath.

Twenty minutes later, she stumbles out with Nat. The place is rigged to explode within minutes, and he rushes toward them. They’re moving too slow.

Ben’s already there, his arms around Mags as he tries to force her away from the concrete facility. It’s just an aged red door in a mass of woods. It reminds him of a fairytale.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Ben urges - panicked. “Why are you lagging?”

She grunts, and it’s a pained one. Steve knows every sound she makes. He knows exactly what flavor those noises will take on when she laughs or cries, when she’s hurt, or when she comes. He stops then, his attention raking over her body. He smells blood, and then he sees it on the icy snow beneath their feet. It’s the color of rust.

“You’re injured,” Ben announces before he can. He sniffs as he presses himself closer. He drops low to the ground, one of his knives appearing out of nowhere. The silver glints in the raw morning light. He tears the tight fabric over her thigh, and blood pours out.

It’s her femoral artery.

“Fuck,” Natasha gasps. “I didn’t - you didn’t say -”

Mags blinks, her lips curling downward as she sways. “I didn’t feel it.” She trails off as sweat collects along her hairline. She mumbled something Steve can’t parse.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses.

She’s out, and Steve barely catches her before she hits the ground.

***

“There are very few things that can break that skin,” Ben shouts as Bucky wraps her leg.

“They had these new guns,” Nat explains. “Shiny. Too big. We didn’t think anything of it, but maybe they’re built for supes.”

Ben rounds on her. “You didn’t notice she got shot?”

Natasha is cool as ever, her gaze even and flat as she stares back at him. “She didn’t say anything. Her pain tolerance is crazy. I’m sure she got hit, and it felt like a scratch.”

Natasha would die for her teammates. The question is insulting.

Steve looks down at her as she lies on the kitchen table. She’s half in and out, her fingers loosely curled around Steve’s wrist. He murmurs her name - her real one. Not Black Magnolia, but the one she gave him when they met.

He says it twice.

She stirs but doesn’t respond.

“Cap,” Sam whispers from behind him. “Maybe take Ben outside before he freaks out.”

Steve’s head whips around to find Ben faintly glowing. There’s sweat beading along his hairline. His chest is hitching as he worries his lower lip with his teeth. His pupils are dilating.

“Shit,” Steve stands up, marches toward Ben, and wordlessly hauls him outside.

***

Admittedly, Ben is grateful that Steve forced him into clean air. He was drowning. He was burning up. He couldn’t see straight.

He staggers down the porch until he drops onto the wooden bench. He fiddles in his bag for his medicine, and Steve silently follows. He sits beside him, his eye trained on the dark green woods that guard the edge of the land. There’s no one for miles. Wanda has set up an illusion so no one can find their spot. They’re just blank - just nothing in the forest.

Ben lights up, inhaling a few heavy lungfuls of the blunt before passing it to Steve, who takes it without hesitation. The man was full of surprises, but Ben should have understood this. Rogers had never been the Andy Hardy adjacent good ole boy he was set up to be in the war movies.

He relaxes after a few minutes. He rolls his muscles out and stretches his arms above his head. He studies the way the sun reflects off the Quinjet in the middle of the yard. It sparkles. Ben counts the darts of light - the fragmented shades of a rainbow. He counts backward. He counts forwards. He tries to bury his fears. She’s good.

“That was close,” he finally says.

Steve nods, his expression is stoic.

“She wouldn’t leave us,” he states. It is to convince himself. These new terrors are ugly things. He used to be a warrior. He used to be okay with what he’d been given. He used to be untouchable. A God. In Russia, he’d been grounded. He’d been plucked. He’d been skinned down to just his meat.

He watches Steve out of the corner of his eyes and thinks - yeah, you’re right here with me. Everything that made us ended up being a fucking lie. Betrayed us. There are no more good guys to lift us up and make us idols.

“She wouldn’t,” Steve reassures him. “She’s like Teflon.”

“Way hotter.”

Steve’s lips twitch. “Yeah - she is.”

He begins to see that this is how Rogers deals with his fear. Ben saw it in his face back at that facility. Steve had been scared. He’d second-guessed himself. He’d hesitated. Now - he’s pulling himself back together. It’s churning just below the surface of his steely features. He compartmentalizes. He goes inward. Ben wasn’t too different once upon a time.

Now - Ben is a damn open book. Now - he’s got shell shock. Now - when he has a nightmare, he crawls into their room like a child. What happened to him?

“You know, I was pissed,” Ben finally admits. He takes another drag. He wonders if he has more pills upstairs.

Steve turns toward him.

“About?”

“Russia,” he replies like it can all be summed up in that single word. His grief and trauma - those broken pieces all defined by Russia. “You and I are supposed to go down fighting. We are supposed to go out as heroes. You went down in that plane. I thought about that a lot…when they tested things on me. Captain America died saving the world, and I was just used. I thought my life would remain in this cyclical stasis…a fucking lab experirment…a pin cushion.”

Steve blinks at him. There’s a snag in his brooding expression. A flicker in those blue-blue eyes. Pity? Understanding?

“Were you scared?” Ben asks him.

Steve swallows, but he doesn’t pause. “Shitless.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against the wall. “Thing is, I came back and realized nothing had changed. How many wars were fought after me? When did Hydra and Vought and SHIELD all accumulate into one power-hungry entity? I worked for them, fought for them, and they’d been the enemy all along.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. How many wars had Ben fought after World War II? Communist-backed insurgencies. Bay of Pigs. Vietnam. Korea.

“It got old,” Steve continues before he jerks his thumb toward the window. “Those people in there are why I do anything anymore. No glory. No enlightened purpose. Just them.”

“Her,” Ben says.

“Her,” Steve confirms, his expression softening to something warm and faraway. Ben wonders if he’s strayed into a memory. He wants to join it. He wants the years he lost even though Rogers lost more.

He combs gloved finds through his hair. The leather is still coated in Mag’s blood. It makes him sick.

There is still the question that’s been plaguing him for weeks. He needs to get it off his chest. As they share these intimacies at dusk, he realizes the moment is ripe for it.

“You’re cool with it?” Ben implored, and Steve gives him a sidelong glance. His hair is dark gold, and his beard even more so. He’s a good-looking son of a bitch, and, quite frankly, Ben might go there if Steve wants.

“Cool with?”

“Me barging into your thing with Mags.”

“Thing?” he chuckles because it sounds so insignificant.

“Shit,” Ben says. “You know what I meant.”

Steve shrugs as he appraises Ben with a thoughtful gaze. “She loves you. She loves me. Why make her choose? It seems to work for now, and she’s happy.” He scrapes a hand down his face, smoothing his beard. For the first time since Ben has known him, he looks tired. “I want her to be happy. I’ve dragged her all over the world, and she’s never fucking wavered. She brought me back when I woke up. She was patient and kind, and it’s been that way since Erskine.”

Ben nods, grateful. He offers his hand to Steve, who accepts it. Their palms match up, a few similar scars. They’re just a couple of soldiers on a porch in the middle of the world. No longer heroes.

He thinks that’s fine.

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