Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Soldier Boy
Wordcount: 3.7+K
Warnings: smut. gore. threesome. rough sex. anal. drugs. mentions of hair. Loss of virginity. Choking.
Summary: “Don’t tell me that walking talking apple fucking pie makes you come like I could?”A/N: woo i wrote this shit in an hour and then had a dinner so if you guys enjoy and want the sequel let a b know
The universe either hates her or loves her.
She gains Ben after Steve.
She loses Steve. She loses Ben.
She gets Steve back and it’s all museum visits and at ease, soldier and tender kisses in the snow. Then - Ben turns up alive and the fissures begin to branch and tangle.
“Don’t tell me that walking talking apple fucking pie makes you come like I could?”
“You’d be surprised.”
***
In 1943, she meets Rogers before Erskine has pumped him full of serum. She’s another lab rat - her body able to withstand the intensity of the drug. She’s powered-up. She’s indestructible.
But, she’s also a woman and they can’t have her on the front lines or even in the movies.
You’re Bergman! You’re Claudette Colbert! You’re Hepburn! You’re the love interest or the maiden. You're a soft, sweet dessert.
She doesn’t think Hepburn would stand for such discrimination, but she doesn’t know how to defend herself.
You're Black Magnolia. You're the girl that all women want to be and all men want.
It's a weird name. It's not necessarily symbolic. Flowers were pretty and she was meant to be pretty. Petal-soft even when her blood ran scorching hot through her veins.
She wants to fight. She wants to kill because that serum has boiled her blood until she’s one tight ball of adrenaline.
Steve agrees with her. He tells her that he’ll vouch for her when he gets out (if it works). He goes into that big metal machine with his eyes boring straight into hers because “we’re in this together, right?” She had begrudgingly agreed. She doesn’t tell him that she’s nervous for him. She’s uncertain about how his tiny bird-bone body can handle the serum.
He goes in and returns a fucking God. His cheeks are rosy and his skin is dewy with sweat. His golden hair is dark and still beautifully combed. She studies the quiver of his pillowy lower lip that’s red as plum flesh. He’s panting and he stumbles toward her. “Did it work?”
“Like a charm,” she mumbles, slightly breathless. She admires every inch of him and Steve, bless him, doesn’t seem to notice.
***
Erskine dies and with him goes the serum’s recipe. A company called Vought asks for some of her blood and she gives it freely. They’re a US company, after all, and she has always followed orders.
Still, she doesn’t tell Steve.
Before Europe, they tour the states and make sad, cheap movies. She takes Steve’s virginity after a show. He’s all pent-up and frustrated that he’s been forced into a job for a dancing bear.
“Shh,” she hushes him, gripping his face. “We’ll fight…we’ll find a way, yeah? They can’t kill us so they can’t stop us.”
“Yeah,” he breathes as his watercolor eyes dart to her lips and hold the line for an eternity. “Okay, sweetheart.”
He kisses her first. He hauls her to him and his mouth collides with hers in a sloppy, untrained kiss. But - oh he learns fast - and when she unbuckles his suit, he doesn’t protest. She strokes him before straddling his lap. With his hands on her waist, she slides down slowly. He makes a strangled groan - a quiet, broken sound, and then he grips her ass, plants his feet and thrusts up into her.
He is thick and too-big, but she manages to stretch around him. She touches herself to ease his passage and it’s good. Her pain tolerance is sky-high.
“Shit,” he rasps before he’s flipping her onto her back. He sinks into her again - he forces his arms under her knees to open her up. The bed squeaks and rattles. His hips roll forward. His pace is both hard and slow - inexorable strokes like he may last forever. The serum has given him endurance like no other.
Afterward, he feels between her legs, petting the aching heart of her cunt. When he pulls his hand away there’s a tiny bit of blood, his eyes widen as he glances at her. “Really?”
She shrugs. “Guess I was waiting for you.”
It’s such a tender, cheesy thing to say, but it seems to knock him flat. His gaze softens as he moves over her before dropping his head to steal a kiss. “You and me, yeah?”
“If you insist,” she teases and he growls.
***
Steve isn’t sweet. He’s nice, but he also is stubborn as a mule. He’s annoyingly sincere about his beliefs and America and all he wants to do is save people. When he starts up the Howling Commandos, he picks her first. He pushes her to the front of the line and demands that Colonel Phillips let her join.
He agrees because he’s not going to piss off Steve Rogers after he’s saved hundred plus men. But then he says: “We have another soldier being flown in.”
He offers them a weary look and Steve shoots her a sidelong glance. “A soldier?” he echoes slowly, confused.
Phillips massages the wrinkle between his brows. “Someone like you two.”
Steve’s eyebrows hit the top of his forehead.
“Shouldn’t that be impossible? Erskine is dead.”
Oh.
Oh!
She remembers the blood she had handed over to the men in white coats. They made someone new.
She steps away from the group, mumbling something about needing a very long nap.
***
They’re all taking refuge in the remnants of an old tavern in the middle of France. The walls are black and the air is plagued with smoke and ash, but it doesn’t matter. There’s booze.
When she finds a cabinet of bottles, Soldier Boy hoots with joy.
“You’re a fucking doll,” he grins as he lifts her up and spins her. She smacks him hard over the head and he puts her back on her feet. He’s still beaming like an idiot. She glares up at him before snatching her whiskey from his hands.
“He’s a menace,” she growls as she brushes past Steve and the others. Steve doesn’t care for him, but he also doesn’t hate the guy like she does. Bucky is the only other one who finds him inauthentic.
Ben has been nothing, but bravado. He’s a dick. He’s on her ass all the time. He can crush a man’s skull between his hands, but he's a pervert - a lech.
He’s also gorgeous, but she tries to ignore that fact.
***
There’s ash in her mouth. Her stomach is on fire. She tastes blood and Ben is hovering over her, his shield above them as rocks and debris shatter against it. His eyes are wide as they search her face. When the world settles, he cradles her cheek, his thumb brushing her mouth.
“Are you okay? Jesus! That was bad.”
She blinks at him, her vision turning purple and full of shadows and she doesn’t want to go to the shadows. She doesn’t want that. She tries to focus on the stars above his head where the shield had been. She coughs and pennies fill her mouth. Ben’s gaze falls on her stomach and he blanches.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fucking fuck.”
She doesn’t want to look. She doesn’t. The Howling Commandos are far away - on the Eastern side of the mountain handling a weapon-filled train. This was supposed to be a pinch.
“Am I dying?” she slurs.
“No,” he replies in a dark voice. “Absolutely not. I’m getting you out of here.”
He wraps his arms around her and lifts her carefully. The pain is excruciating. She screams. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says frantically as he begins to move. “Just-just don’t look down.”
She doesn’t listen and when she sees pink and red and tube-like things, she faints.
***
Ben carries her through the woods. He carries her for miles and miles and she just doesn’t die. It’s the serum flowing through her. She’s so out of it that she finds herself stroking his cheek. “You know you’re me, right?”
He grunts.
“We’re the same.”
He drops his chin and stares down at her, his expression exhausted and shaky. The road is uneven and every step jostles her in the wrong direction. She bites down on a screech. “How are we the same?” he finally asks, his brows knitted together.
“They used my blood to make you,” she smiles. “We’re related.”
He doesn’t skip a beat, but she swears she can feel his heart pick up unless that’s all the blood in her ears.
His lips quirk. “For all the things I want to do to you, Mags, I really fucking hope not.”
***
It’s different after that. Bucky dies. Steve loses it and then loses it again when Ben turns up at the camp with her nearly split in two. She heals up right quick because Vought flies in their own doctors and gives her some of the new and improved formula that Ben is pumped with.
“I called them,” Ben explains. “I called them for you.”
Ben starts using Mags as her nickname, which is endearing even if he's a jack ass. She allows it. She allows a lot of things when he begins to snake his way into her good graces. He rescued her. She feels as if she owes him.
He sits by her bedside and holds her hand while Steve fights.
Captain America is on a mission. He wants vengeance. Once she’s a safe distance from death’s door, he can focus on the Nazis. “I’ll be back,” Rogers tells her as he kisses her forehead. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
He flies into the Arctic and she doesn’t seem him again.
***
Post-War America is a fucking party. It’s a surplus. It’s picket-white fences and the nuclear family and they return as conquering heroes. They’re shoved into commercials and movies. Her face is plastered on billboards for Coca Cola and Virginia Slims and TV Dinners and Stark Industry Television Sets.
Ben is there with her.
She falls in love with him because no matter how fucking terrible Soldier Boy can be, she still sees him as the man who carried her for three days to the camp. He saved her life. He sat with her.
I called them for you.
He fucks her like he’s trying to kill her. His hands circle her throat, his cock hits the deepest part of her cunt. He debases her and praises her and shoves her face into the shag carpet while he eats her ass. He tangles their fingers together as he pins her to the floor. They’re at some director’s house during a dinner party and he’s got her in the coat closet.
“Take it, baby,” he croons as his hips snap against her ass. Her velvet dress is rucked up over her waist, his fingers biting into her skin hard enough to hurt. “Take my cock like a good little girl.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” she moans and then he eases out of her, spits on her pussy and slams into her again.
“All that talk still makes you come like a fountain, wifey.”
They aren’t married, but he likes to pretend.
Afterward, they do a bunch of coke and get in a fight and then make-up again. Their lives are like this. Circular. A pattern of constants. She thinks of Steve a lot and it’s not like Ben even hates the guy. He admires him.
“He was real,” he tells her during a slightly drunken, LSD-fueled trip where she believes his hair is pink and he has a tail. “He was a true American hero.”
“You’ve got mushrooms growing on your nose.”
“How many tabs did you take, honey?”
Ben isn’t jealous of him because he’s dead. Rogers isn’t a problem. Captain America isn’t coming back.
***
Ben dies in Nicaragua and she isn’t there. She’s stuck hosting the Oscars and when the team informs her, she locks herself in the green room and howls.
***
The Soldier Boy years aren’t exactly her best. She grows up. She gets serious. In the nineties, she meets with Nick Fury and Agent Coulson and helps them start SHIELD. Vought even transfers a few of their higher-ups to their board. She’s still considered Vought property after they’d saved her during the war. Nick doesn’t like them, but she finds herself unable to choose.
In 2011, Fury brings her to what looks like a sound-stage. The walls are egg-shell, the floor linoleum and all the nurses are dressed like they stepped out of 1940.
“Is this some weird porno fantasy of yours, Fury?”
“Funny,” he replies, utterly unphased. “But, no, I need your help. He's been a little off since we woke him up.”
“Huh?”
She steps into a room and Steve Rogers jolts out of a bed that’s much too small for him. His golden hair is brushed back away from his face, his cheeks are flushed. His shirt is so tight, she can see every muscle.
She thinks about screaming, but she swallows her tongue. She launches herself at him, burying her face into his neck. He smells like antiseptic and sweat and cotton and Steve returns her touch tentatively - as if she isn’t real.
***
“Tell me what you enjoy,” Steve asks as he lowers his face to her spread cunt, glancing up at her with those giant baby blues that had been slapped on lunchboxes and McDonald’s cups and posters for war bonds.
That was the difference.
Ben took. Steve gave.
Both were equally pleasurable.
The world is different. She saves people for real. She fights with Steve. They’re fine - they’re smooth fucking sailing. He knows about Soldier Boy and it’s not like he can blame her.
“You were alone,” he reminds her, pressing his lips to her cheek, hauling her to his chest. “You were alone, sweetheart.”
She does not tell him about the drugs and the drinking and the orgies. She doesn’t tell him about Ben’s sloppiness or their knock down, drag outs that made the earth shake.
She becomes addicted to the heft of Steve’s body on hers. She falls in love with him again and again. He is so beautiful and kind and forthright. He stands for something. He is a solid foundation for her to grow from. She wants him to water her and seed her and birth her into something new.
Steve is also still that cussing, wild kid from Brooklyn. He’s stubborn and lethal and he starts bending her over tables more once they get comfortable again.
“Do you like it like this?” he snarls with a hand wrapped around her throat. He forces her back so that his chest is against the crown of her head. His cock is splitting her in two as he fucks her from behind so roughly the table splinters and rocks. The legs squeak on the hard wood.
“Yeah,” she pants. “Fuck - yes - give it to me harder.”
Sometimes he spanks her or screws her ass because he’s all jacked-up on serum. He’s still made different and he can ruin her without leaving a mark.
***
Vought turns out to be Hydra, which is - like - the least surprising.
The world keeps changing and Steve seals himself to her. He breaks himself against her when he’s furious or exhausted. She lets him. He falls on his knees and buries his face in her belly, his huge arms wrapped around her waist as she strokes his head. She becomes his constant. His North Star. She’s some weird fucked-up symbol of what he had wanted back in the forties.
“I thought everything I had done meant something,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Now - I’m not so sure.”
“Then we do it by our rules,” she returns. She sinks down to meet him, dropping her chin over his shoulder, massaging his sides where there’s barely a stitch of fat. “Let’s go be heroes.”
It’s literally the lamest line ever. But, it’s just like when she said she’d been waiting for Steve after he popped her cherry.
Rogers still loves it. He’s such a cheese-ball.
Steve gifts her a tender smile, he fists a hand into her hair and drags her into a deep, penetrating kiss that makes her want to fuck him for days.
***
They harden. They become diamond-bright and sharp and unyielding as every new battle pressures them into something unbreakable.
When Ben shows up, she starts laughing. Tears spring to her eyes and she looks between Steve’s disbelieving face and Ben’s haunted one and shudders into more giggles.
“Jesus,” she gasps. “Fate is a dick.”
***
Ben joins them like it’s World War Two all over again. Sam hates him. Bucky hates him. Nat doesn’t care, but Steve accepts his presence. He’s even stronger than Bucky. He can help and they’re short on reinforcements.
Ben is her drug. He’s her piece of heartbreak and heroin and she wants to inject him right into her veins. He just seems so sad. He’s so quiet and troubled and it unnerves her because it’s so unlike him.
One night, he sits by her in the cabin the team is using as a hideout. “So,” he says. “You and the golden retriever are back at it?”
She nods, chewing her lip.
“It’s okay, Mags,” he shrugs. “I figured. I mean it’s a fucking surprise he’s back at all, but I guess we don’t die easily.”
“No,” she replies. “We don’t.”
He regards her with those big eyes and she’s suddenly reminded of him saving her. The French Woods. His hands under her. We don’t die easy.
She kisses him and he returns it.
***
“So you want to do this?” Steve asks.
“C’mon, Star-Spangled Sunshine,” Ben teases, slapping Steve hard across the shoulder. “You can handle a threesome. You’ve got that whole beard thing going on now.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say no. He touches her hips, hauls her to him. He stares up at her with those long black lashes and worship.
“I’ll do it if you want to,” He strokes the bare skin beneath her t-shirt. “I’ll do it for you.”
But - there’s something curious and hungry locked in his wholesome features. Her Golden God. She scrapes her hand across his jaw and digs her thumb into his lower lip. Ben starts pulling at his uniform, his belt.
“It’s you and me,” she says as his hands tighten on her thighs, her gaze darts to Ben. “It’s us.”
***
A/N: comment if you want a sequel! I ran out of time Lolol.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn. It was barely midday, but the pain had forced you back to bed. Guilt made you get up that morning, guilt and responsibilities, but the struggle was too hard, the pain spreading down your back and through every nerve was too much to take.
The doctor had shrugged and tossed another bottle of useless meds in your face. Some horrible pill that made your head foggy and your feet basically useless. It was bad enough that the numbness made you drop things, rending your fingers inert, but to barely be able to balance, to walk properly? It was too horrible.
Life was flying past you and there was nothing you could do to grab hold of it and participate. Every move was agony, every time out was a guilt trip.
Your pillow was a comfort but even laying atop the soft mattress was painful. The hurt was intense and tears sprang to your eyes as you tried to shift into a comfortable position.
“Son of a fucking whore!”
Your cry drew him into the room. The door creaked open and the stream of light from the hallway hit your face. You cringed and lifted a hand to block it.
“Baby? You OK?”
Sniffling, you cleared your throat. “Yeah. Fine. I’m fine.”
Green eyes took in the scene and a frown curled plump lips downwards. He crossed his arms, spread his bowed legs, settled in. “Don’t look too fine to me. It’s eleven in the morning and you’re in bed.”
The hard drop of tone and familiar inflection made you smile and reach out a hand.
“Hey, Dean?”
He smiled down at you and slid his palm gently against yours. “Yeah?”
“Hold me? Please?”
“Of course…”
Carefully, he crawled onto the bed, conscious not to jolt you around or knee you in the back as he laid behind you. His arms were warm and heavy, draping perfectly around your waist, fitting into the dip like you’d been matching puzzle pieces lost at birth.
He pressed his chest into your back, fit his chin upon your shoulder, holding you tight. His breath was hot and comforting, scented with peanut butter. You breathed deep and for the first time all day felt the pain ease just a bit. The edge was blurring under his touch and you wished that you could stay there just like that, forever.
Dean lifted his lips to your ear and whispered, “Better?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Good.” He nuzzled in, dropping sweet kisses along your jaw and neck. Always tender, always careful not to push to hard or hold you too tight.
“It’s gonna be OK, Y/N/N,” he said, all the faith of heaven and hell and beyond in his husky voice. “I promise.”
Relaxation washed over you and the worst of the pain vanished. You flexed your right hand and the pins and needles slowly subsided.
“Where you been all my life, Dean Winchester?” you asked, slowly spinning around to face him.
He was smiling so beautifully, eyes so full of love that you nearly wept. He was perfect. He was home.
Dean laughed gently. “Well… been busy killin’ monsters and getting impaled on a fucking peice of rebar.” Jensen rolled his eyes. “That fucking rebar…”
It hurt to laugh, but you had too. Jensen was never, ever going to let that go.
“You should get that tattooed on your forehead. ‘Dean Deserved Better’.”
“Yeah.” He sighed and licked his lips, hugging you close. “What about you? You really OK? Do we need to call Dr. What’sHisName?”
Quickly, you shook your head. “No. There’s nothing he can do. I just have to ride it out, I guess.”
Jensen’s face fell, his eyes welled. “I just wish there was something I could do. I hate seeing you like this. It’s frustrating and I’m… fucking useless.”
“Hey.” You scowled at him. “Stop that. You’re not useless. You just gave me Dean cuddles. What girl wouldn’t want that?”
A small smile returned. “I guess. Just- I wish there was more I could do.”
Thinking for a moment, you chewed on your lip and then grinned. “You could always have Soldier Boy come and punch my lights out so I can nap…”
A quiet but full laugh shook his body and Jensen smacked his lips. “You don’t want that, trust me.”
“I don’t know,” you argued with a laugh, “Ben’s got them big strong arms, super powers… Probably wouldn’t take to much to knock me out.”
Jensen took a deep breath and squared his jaw. His brows creased, he lifted his chin just enough so that she could see her superhero.
“I’m not gonna knock you out, doll, but nice try.”
A shiver trekked down your spine and you pushed in close, kissing him deeply.
Jensen moaned against you and pulled back an inch, his big hand cradling your cheek. “Whatever I can do, I will. You know that, right?” He kissed you softly. “You’re going to be OK. I promise. You just gotta hold on ‘till then.”
“How ‘bout I hold on to you?” you whispered, fingers bunching in his shirt.
He smiled and brushed a tear free from your eye. “Even better.”
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