☽✧ witchywithwhiskey's fics ✧☾

The auctioneer welcomes you out onto the stage, and you tentatively step out into the spotlight. All told, you’re nothing necessarily special. You’re wearing a relatively simple sundress, which, even though it only comes down to mid-thigh, is much more modest than the more scantily dressed women being auctioned off. 

There’s an innocence about you even as you straighten your spine and stand tall, refusing to be cowed by the men hooting and hollering in the crowd, calling for you to take your dress off. You don’t do any such thing, raising your chin higher and looking down on the club like a queen overlooking her court.

And big, bad Steve Rogers, the leader of Brooklyn’s most feared mafia organization, is struck dumb. He’s unable to respond when Bucky makes some comment about you causing a riot because the mafia boss has been rendered speechless. It would’ve been funny, if it had happened to anyone else but him.

Steve only snaps back to reality when it’s announced that you’re selling your freedom for a whole year, and the mafia boss knows he has to have you. He’s already thinking about the ways he can put your body to good use, fucking you in that pretty little sundress in the filthy back alley behind his club. He knows, deep in his bones, that you’re going to be so fucking pretty when you cum on his cock. 

It strikes Steve that even a whole year with you might not be enough. But that’s a problem for future Steve. For now, he needs to focus on winning you, buying your freedom, and then he can worry later about keeping you beyond the year. 

Thankfully, Steve regains enough of his senses not to jump in too early in the bidding. His life is one long power play, and he knows how to win an auction. Compared to negotiating peace with Tony Stark’s Manhattan organization, this should be like child’s play. 

So Steve feigns disinterest, sipping on his whiskey and watching as the price of your freedom racks up. He ignores Bucky’s low whistles and mocking scoffs, his best friend eventually realizing what’s going on and that the mafia boss is going to make a play for you. Steve doesn’t need to say that you’re worth every penny, Bucky figures it out.

When the bidding slows down at $1.5 million, Steve knows it’s time to strike.

“Two million dollars,” he calls across the club, the sheer authority in his voice ringing through the space. He watches with a sense of predatory satisfaction when your attention turns to him, your eyes widening almost imperceptibly as you take him in. It takes everything in Steve not to puff up like some peacock. 

The other men who’ve been bidding on you look around uneasily, still trying to discern where the offer came from. Deciding to reveal himself, Steve rises from his seat, taking one last drink from his glass before he shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and begins prowling up toward the stage.

Recognition ripples through the room, uneasy whispers circling the tables of the gentlemen’s club. A few obstinate men look like they’re gathering the courage to try to outbid the mafia boss, but before they can open their mouths, the auctioneer saves them from making the mistake of trying to cross Steve Rogers.

“Sold! To the proprietor of the club,” the auctioneer crows, ushering Steve up onto the stage, even though it’s clear to anyone watching that the imposing mafia boss is going to do as he pleases anyway. “Happy birthday, sir,” the other man simpers.

Steve stalks across the stage while the auctioneer leads the club in a motley rendition of “Happy Birthday,” but the intimidating mafia boss ignores the crowd. He only has eyes for you, the birthday present he’s gifting to himself.

You try to swallow past the lump in your throat, your eyes wide as you stare up at the tall, blond man, using all your strength to keep the steel in your spine and not wilt beneath the intensity in his bright, blue eyes. 

He exudes an aura of danger and violence that has nothing to do with the way his broad shoulders and thick biceps fill out the suit he wears. Instead, it has everything to do with who he is. 

You may not know much about the underworld of New York City, but you know enough to recognize—and be intimidated by—the Brooklyn mafia boss, Steve Rogers. 

It had never been your intention to catch the attention of someone so notorious, so infamous for bloodshed, and now not only are you in his sights, you’ve officially sold your freedom to him for an entire year. 

If that’s not bad enough, you can already read the mafia boss’s depraved intentions all over his face. It’s clear in the way he’s staring at you like a starving predator whose set his sights on his prey—and that prey is you. 

The truth solidifies in your gut, Steve Rogers is going to eat you alive.

Tears prick at the back of your eyes, but you blink them quickly away, cursing yourself for being so stupidly naive. You’d just wanted to help your boyfriend. He’d gotten himself deep into some gambling debts, and you hadn’t even known he’d borrowed money from some seriously scary people until it was almost too late.

He’d been the one to suggest the auction at the gentlemen’s club. The two of you had concocted a plan for you to sell your freedom for a year, both so that you’d earn enough money to clear your boyfriend’s debts, and because the length of time might mean someone would buy you to be a glorified house maid. 

Now that it’s done, though, you can’t help but realize you’d deluded yourself. The look in Steve Rogers’ eyes, filled with hunger and promise, makes it clear that the mafia boss has plans for you—and those plans include using your body in every filthy depraved way he can think of. For a whole year. 

However, when you expect to feel fear at that realization, you feel only…a tentative thrill. A thrumming kind of…excitement. You tell yourself you’ll do anything the mafia boss asks of you so that you can help your boyfriend, but a not-so-small part of you is intrigued about what exactly he’ll do with you…

Only a few seconds have passed since Steve came to a stop in front of you, the echoing refrain of “Happy Birthday” only just tapering off in the club. As you watch him, Steve holds out his big hand to you, and for a moment all you can do is stare at it. 

You know the hand he’s presented to you has been stained with blood on more than one occasion, but it’s also a lifeline. It’s an escape from the mess your boyfriend created, the one that could’ve easily led to you being kidnapped and hurt in order to make him pay back his debts. 

When you continue to hesitate, Steve speaks, and his tone is so soft, so gentle, that it wraps around your heart and soul like a blanket. 

“My diamond,” he says, his voice low like the rumbling purr of a lion. “I believe you’re mine now.”

There’s a question in his words, so subtle you barely notice it, but it’s there. He’s giving you a chance to back out, to rebuff his offer of $2 million and try your luck elsewhere. But your only other options are less money or leaving your fate in the hands of the men your boyfriend owes money to.

Even with the depraved promise in Steve’s eyes, you know he’s your best option. So you slip your hand into his. You’re instantly struck by the warmth of his palm, and the electric sparks that have your body lighting up for him even before his calloused fingers close around your hand.

“Yes, sir, I belong to you,” you murmur, almost forgetting to tack on, “For one year.”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s handsome face, sharp as the edge of a knife, and far more dangerous if the way your heart flutters is any indication. Quick as a shot, Steve bends over your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, the promise of depravity in the ostensibly modest gesture.

“Right, for one year,” he repeats, and there’s a dark kind of humor sparkling in his eyes before he blinks it away, like he finds something about that statement funny. He draws you in closer, securing you against his side and leading you off the stage. 

When you enter the VIP section on the arm of the mafia boss, a man with brown, messy hair and a scowl on his pouty mouth greets Steve with a question of, “What the fuck, boss?”

Steve smirks, unruffled by the rude question, and squeezes your hip possessively. You only realize he’s not going to explain himself to this man when the mafia boss lowers himself onto one of the leather couches, sprawling out like a king on his throne.

You don’t move until Steve grabs your hand and guides you to sit on his lap, your body leaning against his broad chest while he snags a fresh glass of whiskey off a server’s tray. He asks what you’d like to drink, and you’re grateful for the consideration, asking for something strong, which makes him chuckle, the sound vibrating through your body to settle heavily between your thighs. 

Relaxing into Steve’s big body, you’re distracted by the thick muscle of his leg beneath your ass, and the weight and warmth of his hand where it’s settled on your hip. His thumb rubs maddening circles into your skin through your sundress, the gesture both teasing and comforting. 

You don’t know how you’re going to deal with Steve’s closeness for a whole year—especially when you know he has every intention of stripping you bare and having his way with you. But you’re brought back into the moment when the mafia boss speaks to his friend. 

“It’s my birthday, Buck,” Steve is saying to the other man, hiding a smug smile behind his glass as he takes a sip. “I deserve to get myself something nice—like a little diamond doll.”

Steve turns his smile on you, stealing the breath from your lungs with how handsome he is. It’s ridiculous how good it feels to have him look at you like you’re something precious to him, and you can already tell you’re greedy for more of his attention.

It strikes you all over again that you’re in way over your head. If you’re not careful, you’ll enjoy being Steve Rogers’ diamond doll a little too much and forget the entire reason you sold your freedom in the first place. But would that be so bad?

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You were proud of yourself for getting the words out without stumbling, but the feeling was quickly extinguished when Steve stalked toward you like the predator he was.

On instinct, you backed up until your ass hit his desk, but he kept coming, planting his hands on either side of your thighs. He was caging you in between his strong arms and broad body, ducking his head so close, you could practically taste the whiskey on his breath.

“Tell me, angel,” Steve purred, his voice silky and smooth. “What did you do that was so bad Stark would throw you to the wolves?” 

Your gaze flicked up, finding the anger had melted from Steve’s handsome face, and he was staring at you with naked curiosity in his eyes.

“M-my father,” you stammered, unsure why Steve was so interested in a nobody like you. “He owes Mr. Stark a lot of money.” You paused, blinking back tears as you thought of your father bruised and bloodied by Stark’s men. “M-Mr. Stark said if I did this, he’d cut my father’s debts in half.”

“Half!?” 

Steve’s outburst was so sudden, you flinched, burying your face in your shoulder as you braced for a blow. 

But it never came. Instead, you felt fingers gently brush your chin and tip your face up. 

You blinked your eyes open to find Steve Rogers standing above you, looking like a vengeful god limned in moonlight. The roiling rage and fury in his eyes should’ve scared you, but his hand was impossibly gentle as he slowly cupped your face, thumb brushing sweetly over the apple of your cheek.

“Let me give you a better offer, angel,” Steve rumbled, his eyes darting back and forth between yours, like he was trying to read your thoughts—your very soul—through your gaze. “Be mine, and I’ll settle your father’s debts. All of them.”

“You would do that? For me?” you asked skeptically, not daring to hope for kindness from one of the most ruthless men in all of New York City.

But if you’d had any delusions that Steve Rogers was making his offer out of the kindness of his heart, he dispelled them then. The corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk, and the hand not holding your face settled possessively on your waist, squeezing you firmly.

“Make no mistake, angel, I’m a demanding man.” Steve’s voice was back to a silky purr, and it did things to your body—a shiver skating down your spine that had little to do with fear and much more to do with the warmth blooming between your thighs. “If you’re mine, then your body belongs to me, and the things I’ll do to you…”

Steve trailed off, his hand skimmed down over your waist, grabbing a fistfull of your ass and dragging your body flush against his. All your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his muscles—including the thick ridge of his cock. 

You gasped, more heat building between your thighs, and you pressed your hands against Steve’s chest to brace yourself. Blinking up at the mafia boss, your lips fell open at the unrestrained lust in his eyes. 

“Wh-what will you do to me?” you asked, your voice soft and breathy. Even you could hear the hint of eagerness in your words.

Steve grinned wolfishly, rocking his hips and rubbing his cock against you until you were squirming in his arms. Only then did he answer your question.

“I’ll do whatever I want, wife.” 

The mafia boss punctuated his final word by lifting your thigh over his hip and pressing the hard length of his cock against the soft slit of your pussy. Pleasure burst through your body, and your head fell back as you moaned loudly.

Steve chuckled, the sound pure masculine satisfaction. “So, do we have a deal, angel?” he purred into the corner of your mouth, so close you could feel the smug smirk curving his lips.

You knew what he was doing, using your body to coerce you, but you didn’t need much convincing. Even in your short time with him, you could tell Steve was a better man than your boss, and the thought of giving yourself to him body and soul was becoming more appealing by the moment. 

So you accepted his offer.

“Yes,” you cried softly, staring up into Steve’s darkened eyes and rocking your hips to meet his rocking thrusts. “I’m yours—I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” Steve growled seconds before capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, sealing the deal. He devoured your mouth, grinding his cock against your clit until you unraveled beneath him. 

Once you’d recovered, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal style to the sofa in his office. There, you gave yourself fully to the most feared man in Brooklyn, taking the better offer and consummating your future marriage to Steve Rogers.

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Steve has to bite back a snicker when he notices the bit of drool at the corner of your mouth, but the sound dies in his throat when he notices that your arms are wrapped around a pillow—one you’ve covered with one of his shirts. 

When he realizes that you’re clinging so tightly to something of his, even in your sleep, Steve’s heart thumps hard in his chest and he knows he can’t keep himself away from you for even a moment longer. He’s been gone too long, and he misses you too badly. 

In just a few quick strides, Steve crosses the room to the bed and slips beneath the blankets behind you. 

You always keep the air conditioner on high in the summer, needing the weight of your blankets to sleep, so Steve doesn’t notice that you’re completely naked until he bundles you up in his arms. He pulls your back into his front, slotting you in perfectly against his body.

Suddenly, there’s so much warm, bare skin pressing against Steve’s chest, his arms, his legs, that for an entire minute, his mind completely blanks out. He knows, deep down, that you did this for him. Normally, you wear one of his shirts to bed, so the fact that you’re naked means you were waiting for him—that you’re ready for him.

While Steve’s short-circuiting behind you, you rouse from sleep, giving a sleepy mumble of his name.

“Steve?”

That snaps him out of it, and he squeezes you a little tighter in his arms. “It’s me, angel,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, reveling in the way you shiver at the rasp of his beard. “Had to see my best girl on my birthday.”

“Mmm,” you hum in agreement. Wiggling your ass, you rub sleepily against Steve’s hardening cock, the tantalizing warmth of your pussy teasing him and making him groan softly against your cheek. “Want you, Steve. Inside. Please.”

The soft, broken sound of your voice begging for his cock is too much for Steve. All he can do is give you exactly what you asked for. It takes him very little time to shove his briefs down and line up the tip of his cock with your warm, welcoming entrance. 

Steve works himself inside you slowly, one of his hands slipping around your hip and dipping between your thighs to stroke your clit sweetly, teasing you open. Helpless moans fall from your lips and you bury your face in the pillow wrapped in Steve’s shirt, letting the soft cotton muffle your sounds of pleasure. 

It feels endless, the stretch and ache of taking the super-soldier’s thick cock after so long, and by the time Steve hilts himself in your pussy, you’re both breathing hard. He sucks a hickey into your shoulder, making you whine and clench around his fat dick. 

“Baby, baby, ‘m not gonna last long,” Steve rumbles, trailing kisses up your neck to nip at the edge of your jaw. “You feel too good and it’s been too long.”

You’re nodding your head before he’s finished speaking, biting back a sob of pleasure even as you roll your hips impatiently. “Too long,” you echo, and the subtle thread of sadness in your voice nearly breaks Steve’s heart.

He captures your chin in one hand, turning your head enough so his mouth can find yours. He kisses you hard, fierce, as he begins to fuck you, hard and deep. “I miss you so fucking much when I’m gone, angel,” he rumbles against your mouth, lifting up enough so that he can look into your pretty eyes, see your face as pleasure surges through your body.

You stare up at Steve like he’s your everything, one hand cupping his jaw, fingers sinking possessively into his beard and yanking him down for another kiss. “I miss you, too, Steve,” you confess against his mouth before kissing him again harder, pouring all your love for him into it as tears spill down your cheeks. 

The hard things go unsaid. Steve’s birthday isn’t the time to talk about how you wish he didn’t have to leave again, even though you know he’ll have to. And you’re grateful he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep about when he’ll be able to come home for good. For the day, the two of you will just enjoy each other. 

Steve’s hand slips back between your thighs, rubbing your clit, determined to make you cum first. He uses everything he knows about your body to ratchet your pleasure higher, getting you to the edge before he lets himself cum. Still, it’s a near thing. But he manages to find the spot inside you that drives you wild, and he pounds into it until you’re quaking in his arms. 

You pull away from Steve’s mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure in his beard, just beneath his jaw, the vibrations of you coming apart shooting down his spine and straight to his dick. He twitches inside you, your cunt clenching hard around him, and then he’s coming inside you. 

Steve ducks his head, searching for your mouth. He kisses you breathless before you both sag back into the pillows on the bed, relaxing into the post-sex haze.

The two of you fall asleep like that, you curled up in the super-soldier’s arms, his cock still buried in your body, plugging you full of his cum. You keep him warm while he sleeps, and he keeps you safe—and when you wake up, it’s to spend the day with your man, Steve Rogers, celebrating his birthday.

At least, until he has to leave again.

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But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

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You’ve spent the day in the kitchen, putting together a little birthday surprise for Captain America, but it takes longer than you expect. So by the time you’ve cleaned up and put on your pretty party dress, you’re later than you wanted to be. It takes some searching before you find Steve drinking alone in a dark corner of the bar. 

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Maybe Steve wants to be left alone on his birthday and that’s why he didn’t tell anyone. The only reason you know about it is because you’ve studied the files of all the Avengers—and, let’s be honest, paid far more attention to Steve’s than any other.

But then those soulful blue eyes raise and meet yours, and you see a sadness so deep, it nearly cracks your heart in two. You’re so overcome with sympathy for the man out of time that it takes you a moment before you realize he’s seen you, and that means there’s no way you can back out of your plan now. 

So you walk forward, your hands tucked behind your back, keeping your surprise a secret.

“Hi, cap,” you greet him cheerily, watching as he gives you a friendly enough nod. It’s not the warm welcome you’d hoped for, but you can’t begrudge him much.

“Hey, happy fourth,” he says before taking another sip of his beer, the hard Asgardian stuff Thor brought from his home realm. When it doesn’t seem like Steve’s going to say anything more, you take a fortifying breath and pull your hands from behind your back.

“Happy birthday!” you say, holding up an extra large cupcake with frosting and an unlit candle sticking out of it. You didn’t know what flavor Steve liked, so you went with chocolate, vanilla frosting and red, white and blue sprinkles. 

For a moment, Steve just stares at the cupcake in your hands and you wonder again if you’ve made a mistake. The silence drags on, and you have to move so the awkwardness doesn’t swallow you whole. Setting the cupcake on the bar, you pull a lighter from the pocket of your dress.

“I know everyone’s busy celebrating the fourth, but I didn’t want you to think we all forgot about you,” you babble, lighting the candle in the cupcake. “Well, Tony may have, but I didn’t.” You raise your gaze to the super-soldier’s face, giving him a hesitant smile. “I hope you like chocolate.”

Steve stares at you for a long, long moment—so long, it takes all your SHIELD training to stop from squirming under the intensity in his blue eyes. Then the bottle of beer he’d been holding thunks down on the bar and Steve’s arms are wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest while he buries his face in your neck. 

Your arms wind around his broad shoulders on instinct, your fingers sliding against the muscles that are tense beneath the soft cotton of his blue button-up shirt. You knead softly against his bunched-up muscles until he lets out a shuddering exhale and begins to relax into the hug.

The super-soldier’s big body is hunched over yours, and he’s crushing you slightly against his chest, but you hug Steve right back, knowing somehow that he needs this little bit of physical connection. You tuck your face into Steve’s neck, murmuring soft sounds of comfort as you squeeze him tight. 

Steve holds you for so long that your hands grow bolder, your fingers sinking into the soft blond hair at the back of his head. You card your fingers through his hair, raking your nails lightly against his skin until he’s shuddering in your arms and holding onto you even tighter, like you’re the lifeline he desperately needs.

It’s a long time before the big man pulls away, and you’re almost sorry he does, missing the strong bands of his arms around your back, and the steady thrum of his heart against your chest. You swallow down the emotions forming a lump in your throat and watch as the super-soldier mumbles an apology for grabbing you like that.

At first, Steve won’t meet your eye, but when he does, you give him a lopsided smile. “Everyone gets a birthday hug,” you tell him, hoping the nonsensical words will make him feel better. Thankfully, they seem to, and Steve’s shoulders lower from where they’d bunched up around his ears.

The two of you stare at each other for a beat longer than normal, and your smile hitches higher when you see his expression looks lighter than it did when you’d approached. You both look away at the same moment, your eyes finding the cupcake still sitting on the bar. 

The candle has nearly burned down to the frosting and Steve pauses a moment before quickly blowing it out. You clap your hands, the sound almost drowned out by the party still going on in Avengers Tower.

“I hope you made a good wish,” you say, just to fill the muted silence between you two, and rush to continue. “But don’t tell me what it is, or else it won’t come true.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth flickers in a smile. “I think this one will,” he says, his hand finding yours and twining your fingers together. You glance down at your joined hands before his blue eyes capture your attention and his mouth curves into a bigger smile. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Anytime,” you try to say blithely, but your voice is a little too breathless for you to sound as casual as you want. Tension snaps and crackles in the space between you and Steve. Instinctively, you lean closer to him, spontaneously deciding to press a kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, cap,” you murmur, lingering close to him, breathing in the masculine scent of him.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get out of here,” Steve rumbles, grabbing the cupcake off the bar and towing you away from the party by your clasped hands. 

The two of you ride the elevator down to the kitchen, where you find some forks and share the extra-large cupcake together. Steve looks happier than he did at the party as the two of you talk and get to know each other better, his smiles coming more easily as you become more comfortable together. 

You have no way of knowning that you’re making Steve’s birthday wish come true, just by becoming his friend. And you also have no way of knowing that the two of you will become much more than friends. But what you do know is that you’ll never forget Steve Rogers’ birthday, and you’ll do everything you can to make it special every year you’re together.

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Steve has to work hard to keep himself under control as you spread out a soft blanket on the roof, refusing to think about laying you down on it and having his way with you. What would a pretty young thing like you want with an old man like him? He’s got more gray hairs than the years of your life you’ve lived, so he’s determined to keep his hands to himself.

While you settle onto the blanket, Steve looks around the roof and wonders why no one else from the building is up there to watch the fireworks. He’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse to be all alone with you in the darkness of the July night, and as he sits down, he’s careful, making sure not to touch you, unsure if he’ll be able to stop himself if he starts.

But when the fireworks start, you scoot closer to Steve and lean against his side, and it feels all too natural to put his arm around your shoulders. It nearly does him in when you look up at him and smile, like nothing in the world would ever make you feel safer than being with him. He tries to remind himself why he needs to stay away from you, but his resolve is crumbling as he stares down at you.

It’s your eyes, bright and sparkling as you look at him, and your mouth—so pretty and enticing, especially when it’s curved into a smile that’s just for him—that make Steve forget all the reasons he shouldn’t want you. He does want you, and he’s tired of running from it. He’s spent too many years trapped, and now that he’s free, he’s not going to take his second chance at life for granted.

So Steve kisses you. Soft at first, giving you a chance to pull away, slap him, run from him the way he expects you to. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, one of your hands pressing gently against his chest, right over the place where his heart is thumping against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

Steve knows, somewhere deep in his bones, that if he were to put his heart in your hands, you’d be gentle with it. You’d take care of it—you’d take care of him the same way he wants to take care of you. Wholly, unreservedly, for the rest of your lives.

You’re the one to deepen the kiss, dragging Steve back from his overly romantic thoughts and into the moment. The fireworks are still going off in the sky above the Brooklyn apartment building where the two of you live, but Steve only cares about you—and kissing you. 

Steve kisses you slowly, methodically, learning every dip and curve of your lips before he ventures into your mouth, exploring the wet heat and discovering the teasing menace that is your tongue. You kiss him hungrily, so voracious that Steve can practically feel your desire thrumming beneath your skin as he skims his hands up your arms and down your sides.

It takes all of Steve’s hard-won control not to give in to the lust churning in his gut, making his cock strain almost painfully against the fly of his jeans. He’s determined to take things as slow as you’ll let him, but then you’re laying back on the blanket and pulling him down on top of you, spreading your soft thighs to give him somewhere perfect to land.

He can feel the sinful heat of your cunt through his jeans and your thin dress, and when his hips roll, pressing the bulge of his cock into your soft center, you let out a throaty moan that has him leaking in his pants. Steve’s mouth, which had been busy licking and sucking down the line of your neck, returns to your mouth, swallowing your sounds of pleasure while his hips rock between your thighs.

Your breathy whimpers and thready moans are the most beautiful music to Steve’s ears, and he has the errant thought that if only he could hear you make those sounds every day for the rest of his life, every shitty day that had come before would have been worth it. A shiver races down his spine at the thought, not yet daring to hope you’ll want him for more than the night, and he kisses you harder, wanting to taste your pleasure straight from your lips.

All too soon, Steve realizes he’s at the brink of his release, his cock throbbing in his jeans, his balls drawing up against his body, ready to spill. He refuses to cum before you do, though, so he wraps one of his big hands around your soft thigh, spreading you open even wider so he can grind deeper into your clothed cunt.

Your moans turn into high-pitched, keening whines, breathless pleas for more falling unbidden from your kiss-bitten lips. You’re so fucking pretty, Steve thinks to himself, the glimmer of fireworks lighting your skin in shades of pink, blue and white. His heart beats heavy in his chest and he knows he’s done for—in more ways than one.

Steve’s hips jerk, thrusting against your heated pussy harder than before, and he watches you come apart for him, your face twisting up in pleasure before you let out a low moan of his name. And it’s that, the sweet way you say his name in your pleasure-drunk voice, that sends him over the edge.

A low, feral growl tears from Steve’s lips, and his hips hump erratically against your pussy while his cock erupts in his jeans. He’s sure to stain the denim with his hot seed, but he doesn’t care because you’re pulling him closer and burying your face in his beard, little sounds of pleasure muffled against his throat. 

When he’s spent, Steve wraps his arms around your body and rolls onto his side, tucking you into his chest, marveling at the way you fit perfectly against him. You murmur a sleepy apology about making him cum in his pants and Steve can only chuckle and tell you the honest truth, that it was the hardest he’s ever cum in his life, and he’s just glad he could get you off before he made a fool of himself.

You giggle softly, snuggling deeper into his chest and promising to make it up to him. Steve shushes you gently and presses a kiss to your head, watching the finale of the fireworks while thanking the universe for giving him the best birthday present an ex-con like him could’ve asked for—you.

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Steve knows, somewhere deep in his bones, that if he were to put his heart in your hands, you’d be gentle with it. You’d take care of it—you’d take care of him the same way he wants to take care of you. Wholly, unreservedly, for the rest of your lives.

Crying on the rooftop 😭😭😭 Please get married and live happily ever after 😤

Sweet lord, the dry humping to completion 😶‍🌫️ That was so fucking hot. The desperation of it 😮‍💨🤌🏻

I’m so glad Steve got exactly what he wanted for his birthday 🥹

Raymond’s office was also dark, but less glamorous and more old fashioned with the oak wood, deep green suede of the armchairs, and rusty gold ornaments.

He didn’t expect Simon to change anything while he was gone, but it surprised him how not a single note of his trusted stand-in and friend’s persona could be felt in the office. 

Simon was sitting behind the desk when Raymond entered. As usual, in all black: black t-shirt with sleeves stretched around his bulging biceps (which gave many submissives wet dreams), black cargo pants, heavy boots. And the skull-printed balaclava mask.

Simon might have been officially out of the military, but Raymond knew his team worked black ops still. It gave him much needed secrecy, while also adding to his brutal aura in the club. 

“The place wasn’t blown up and Dicky Ricky’s body isn’t crucified at the gates,” Raymond gave a short round of slow claps. “Seems you weren’t as bad at minding the club as you threatened when I asked you to do it.”

“It was no fun. Everyone was scared and behaved themselves.” Simon shrugged, standing up.

Though Raymond didn’t ask him to, he moved out of the boss’ chair and took a seat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. 

“Which is also ridiculous-” he stretched his legs out, hooking one ankle over the other- “You’re more dangerous than I am.”

“Our appearances serve the both of us, just in different capacities.” Raymond said, taking his place. It felt almost as good as sinking into his favorite wing chair at home.

Spending the last four months abroad, dealing with sensitive business and securing particular alliances, wasn’t all that bad. Food in some places was divine; Americans really knew how to properly make a steak. The thrill of balancing threats and diplomacy rejuvenated his bones. And some conversations were truly pleasant to have.

Like meeting with an old friend and former co-owner of the Black Diamond, Ari Levinson.

“Not that you ever needed additional oil to your fuckin’ Greek god glow, but what creamy subby sucked you this mornin’ that you’re relaxed like a trooper post a first fuck after years in the trenches?” Raymond snorted, glancing at Ari over the rim of his glass. 

Ari laughed, that easy, booming laughter of his that dropped panties and somehow made other men feel like grinning for no damn reason. 

“My sub.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, very pleased with himself for that revelation.

Raymond paused before taking another sip of whiskey. He studied Levinson for a second then shook his head. 

“Levinson settled down with some good girl, huh?” Raymond smiled knowingly.

Ari wasn’t against relationships. He was far from a cynic who didn’t believe in love. But his charming, playful demeanor veiled a deep intensity of a merciless Dominant. Not many submissives could handle that beyond two consecutive scenes. 

“Who said she’s a good girl?” Ari grinned, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Raymond burst out laughing at that.

“You got yourself a brat!” 

“The brattiest of them all,” Ari’s smile didn’t cease, instead turning into unveiled smugness. 

Figures that the submissive, who not only could survive Ari’s type of fun and punishments, but also provoked him to go hard on her, would be the one to catch his interest permanently. 

Raymond himself didn’t allow bratting in scenes with him. He dealt with brats in the club, if it was needed, catering to their need of being tamed. However, he himself held harsh discipline. Without violence, too. There were elegant methods to teach a submissive to follow rules and scrape their throat from begging for mercy.

“Any issues?” Raymond’s gaze slid from Simon’s covered face to the single file on the desk, then back to the man again. 

“No issues. No problems. A riddle.” Simon put his hands behind his head and lounged.

“A riddle?” Raymond arched a single brow, not impressed by his friend’s apparently happy mood now that he could push whatever dire situation on him. 

Simon recited a name. Your name. 

“A newbie submissive. You approved of her membership right before leaving.” He explained. “A good girl. Quite shy and not much confident at first, but bravely participated in anything I directed her to do. It’s clear she approaches every game at the club with fear, but she doesn’t back out. She’s determined.”

“What’s the riddle then?” Raymond opened the file and flipped through the first few pages with basic data and contracts you signed. 

“Lack of response from the Doms.”

At Simon’s words, Raymond’s gaze flew up in surprise. 

Usually, anyone fresh caused ripples through the club. Like a new, shiny toy the others could play with. Of course, it all depended on the person and their energy. Not every dominant had to be interested in a new submissive. Just like a submissive wouldn’t be interested in all the Doms. 

“She doesn’t draw interest. When she approaches a Dom herself, which we’ve been practicing a few times, she gets politely declined. Or, on occasions, politely welcomed, but the scene lacks what she needs.”

“And she’s fucking smart.” Simon continued, his tone sharpening with offence on your behalf.” Smart enough to know that when I order her into a scene with someone, it’s because I organized it, not because someone asked for her. Her pride hurts, but she agrees anyway.”

“She’s not a brat.” Raymond tapped a page with the list of your kinks. “Why don’t they want her?”

Simon sighed and changed his position. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling Raymond with a look.

“One, I think quite a few of our Doms need to be put in BDSM summer school to be reminded that a scene works for both parties, not just to get their own kicks. Two, she’s physically responsive, but her emotional walls need scaling. None of the fuckers put any effort in that. Not even to break her shell with a proper spanking, so she could get some emotional release.” 

“So she’s a little icy and instead of melting her, they crush her to refill their own glass.” Raymond’s jaw tightened, the blue of his eyes turning colder. 

His gaze scanned your lists - kinks, soft limits, hard limits. Without taking his eyes off the files, he grunted at Simon:

“Be a good lad and share with the class what’s been bouncing in that skull of yours when it comes to solving this riddle.”

“Well-” Simon’s face was mostly covered, but even without seeing it, Raymond knew the fucker was smirking.

But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Using the case of beer and the bag of ice he brought to hide his growing bulge, Steve adjusts himself, forcing his eyes away from you and that skimpy, sinful bikini. He greets your dad and helps add the ice and beer to a cooler, catching up with his friend while diligently refusing to look in your direction.

However, as soon as your dad is gone, leaving Steve with a group of men their age, he can’t help but let his eyes find you in the small crowd milling about in the backyard. Your eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses so he can’t see your full expression, but he’s certain the impertinent smirk on your face is for him. 

Steve drags his attention back to the conversation he’s in the middle of, but when your high-pitched shriek rings out, he nearly gets whiplash turning and looking for you to see what’s wrong. By the time his eyes find you, you’re already giggling, the glistening wetness of a spilled drink dripping on your skin, trailing between your tits and down to your navel. 

As he watches, you turn and jump into the pool to clean off, the rest of the girls and some guys your age joining in. Steve is unabashedly watching your every movement, grunting every once in a while to the people around him, thankful for the sunglasses he’s wearing so none of the men will know he’s staring at their host’s daughter.

He can feel himself growing hard again as he watches you splash about and laugh in the pool, playing some kind of game with the others. Steve’s control is beginning to weaken, and he’s just about to excuse himself to go into the house and cool off when a guy from the neighborhood—a guy Steve knows for a fact has asked you out before—swims up behind you and grabs your hips, lifting you up and tossing you into the water.

Red-hot rage and bitter jealousy swirls in Steve’s gut and before he can stop himself, he’s storming off, his bare feet pounding on the deck before he bursts through the sliding door to the kitchen. The door makes a satisfying thunk as he slams it behind him, and he sucks in a deep breath, trying to let the silence of the empty kitchen calm him. 

He tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycling beneath the sink and grips the counter hard enough he’s worried he’ll dent it or hurt his fingers. He can’t think straight, he can’t see straight. All he can see is another man’s hands on your body when it should be his hands on you. It should only ever be him touching you.

The quiet whoosh of the sliding door opening and closing brings Steve back to the moment, but he still clings to the counter. It’s the only thing stopping him from flying off the handle and doing something reckless—like hauling you into his arms and kissing you senseless in front of your parents and the entire neighborhood. 

His back is to the door, so he doesn’t notice you until you’re beside him, your hand skimming down his taut forearm until you can slip your fingers into his palm, pulling his grip away from the counter. He softens his grip so he doesn’t hurt you and turns to look at you.

Your eyes are sparkling with mischief, a self-satisfied smirk on your gorgeous mouth as you begin to tug him in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second story. “C’mon,” you murmur, your eyes darting to the door to make sure no one’s there. “Before someone sees us.”

Steve’s fury abates at the eagerness in your sweet voice, and the lust in your pretty face. Words stick in his throat. He wants to talk about the jealousy that had driven him inside, but his cock is urging him to give in to you. The desire to claim you is too strong, so he follows you upstairs and into a bedroom at one end of the hall. 

It only takes a single glance for Steve to realize it’s your childhood bedroom, with evidence of your life scattered everywhere, a few stuffed animals mixed in with posters and memorabilia of the music and movies you’d loved as a teenager. It should make him feel shameful, like a dirty old man trespassing in your room, but you haven’t lived here in a long time, so he’s only exasperated as he turns back to you.

“What’re we doing, sweetheart—” Steve’s question is cut off as you launch yourself at him. He easily catches you, your mouths sliding messily against each other in a sloppy, greedy kiss. 

Tumbling you down onto the bed, Steve covers your smaller body with his broad form and kisses you hard, pouring out all the frustration he’s felt this afternoon into you. His lips and teeth and tongue are punishing, hungrily devouring you until you’re moaning wantonly against his mouth. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls, his hands roaming your body, pushing your bikini top aside and groping your tits roughly, your skin cold and damp from the pool. He can feel your nipples harden beneath his palms, your back arching to push your tits into his big hands, and that just brings back his fury. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Is this why you let that guy put his hands on you, to make me jealous and furious and fucking ravenous for you?”

You don’t even have the good grace to look repentant. A smirk curves your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth as you stare up at Steve. “Did it work?” you ask, raising a brow in challenge, reigniting the anger in Steve’s gut.

His only answer is a vicious growl, his hands yanking on the ties of your bikini bottoms until they come free. He tears the minuscule scrap of fabric away from your body like it’s offended him before doing the same with your top. 

Your hands are already fumbling with the front of his swim trunks, undoing the tie and shoving them down until his dick springs free. It slaps against your thigh softly, his precum leaking onto your skin, and Steve makes another possessive rumbling sound in his chest, liking the idea of marking you with his seed.

Steve makes quick work of yanking his shirt off, and then the two of you are naked. He suddenly remembers where you are, looking around at all the evidence of your early life, and he realizes again he should feel like a dirty old perv, but he can’t seem to bring himself to. 

Instead, he focuses back on you, fisting his cock and rubbing the tip up and down your dripping slit as a depraved grin spreads across his face. 

“Am I the first person to fuck you in your childhood bedroom, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice equal parts condescending and entreating. “Or were you sneaking boys up here when you were in high school, going all the way while your parents were just down the hall?”

You roll your eyes and make an impatient sound at the back of your throat, bucking your hips to try to take Steve’s cock inside your pussy, but he pulls it away. Using his grip on the base, he smacks the heavy head of his dick against your clit, making you twitch and moan beneath him. 

“Be honest,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, pushing the tip of his cock into your tight cunt before pulling back and leaving you empty. “Be honest with me, sweetheart.” 

“No,” you cry, your eyes blinking away tears of frustration to meet his gaze. You’re petulant and pouty, but finally answer his questions. “You’re the only one I’ve ever snuck up here, Steve.”

Steve stares at you for a moment, trying to discern if you’re telling him the truth or just trying to appease the jealous beast inside him so he’ll fuck you. When he decides you’re being honest, Steve lets loose his most charming grin, notching his cock at the entrance of your pussy and thrusting inside until he’s buried balls deep in the tight, perfect sheath of you cunt.

“DADDY!” you scream, so loud it nearly gives Steve a heart attack. 

He slaps a hand over your mouth, growling reproachfully in your ear, “Baby.” His breath is sawing in and out of him, and he’s barely keeping it together, because your wet, warm pussy is gripping his bare cock tight. All he wants to do is fuck you into next week, but he knows he has to be the responsible one. “Be careful,” he warns. “We can’t get caught.”

You’re nodding, fat tears spilling down your cheeks, and when he’s sure you won’t scream again, Steve relents and pulls his hand from your mouth. “I’m sorry, daddy,” you blubber, sounding truly repentant.

Steve sighs, gently kissing the tears from your cheeks. “I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs soothingly. “You just love my cock that much, don’t you?” His tone turns teasing and before he knows it you’re giggling and nodding, agreeing with him, a happy smile on your pretty face. “You can be quiet for daddy, can’t you?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Yes, daddy,” you chirp sweetly, and Steve has to wonder why you can’t be this agreeable all the time. It would make his life easier.

But, Steve realizes, then he might not love you as much. Because, to him, you’re perfect exactly the way you are. Overcome by emotion, Steve ducks his head and captures your mouth, pouring his feelings into the kiss as he begins to fuck you.

Steve knows the two of you have already been gone from the party for too long, and every stolen moment you both risk someone coming to look for you, so he doesn’t bother to take his time. He fucks you hard and fast, pounding into your cunt raw, and it’s the thought of having nothing between you that sends him careening quickly toward his release, words spilling unbidden from his lips.

“Gonna fill you up, baby—gonna pump you full of so much cum, you’re gonna be leaking daddy’s seed for the rest of the day,” he groans, loving the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him so perfectly.

“Oh god, please, daddy,” you squeal, your voice thin as you try to stay quiet like Steve asked. “Fill me, claim me—I’m yours, daddy.”

“You are, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Steve asks, the question rhetorical. Then suddenly, a need strikes him and he can’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to try. “Mine to breed.”

A cry bursts from your lips, you pussy clenching hard around Steve’s cock, and he knows you like the sound of that just as much as he does. So he goes on, pure filth spilling from his lips and straight into your ears.

“Want daddy to put a baby in you, sweetheart?” Steve growls, his voice half mocking, half serious. “Want me to knock you up in your childhood bedroom? There’ll be no hiding that you belong to me anymore if I do—I’ll have to put a ring on your finger and tell everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, Steve, oh my god, yes,” you cry, your thighs clenching tight around his hips, your legs winding around his waist and holding him tight against your body, until he can only rut into you with short, deep strokes. “Knock me up, daddy. Wanna give you a baby—please, please, please, I want it.”

“Gonna give you a baby for my birthday,” Steve growls, his mind half gone from the sheer pleasure of your tight warm cunt gripping his bare cock. He fucks you harder, grinding deep between your thighs to rub against your clit. “Gonna make you all mine, baby—forever.”

Steve watches you unravel from his words and his cock, pleasure stealing the breath from your lungs so you can only let out a silent scream. You clench tight around his cock, and he’s lost. He cums deep in your cunt, spilling his seed right against your cervix while your pussy milks him dry, hoping like hell it’ll take root in your womb.

He’s barely caught his breath before you’re kissing him sweetly, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him tight. His arms dig beneath your back, clutching you just as close. 

“Can we tell my parents about us now?” you ask, your voice deceptively innocent. 

Steve has to laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder as he chuckles against your skin, still damp and cool from your dip in the pool. He presses a kiss against your clavicle, making peace with the fact that he’s completely in love with a sweet, manipulative menace. Then he lifts his head and gives you a stern look.

“Did you do all of this to convince me it’s time we tell them about our relationship?” he asks, even though he already knows you did. It’s taking all his energy not to let loose the grin that’s tugging on his lips while you continue to play innocent.

You give him a too casual shrug and Steve has his answer before you even open you’re mouth. “Well, we should probably tell them before you knock me up,” you say, raising a brow in a sardonic expression. “I think it might make them way more mad if we don’t tell them until after you’ve gotten me pregnant.”

Steve knows you’re right, and he’ll admit that to you later, but for the moment he can only kiss you and be grateful you hadn’t given up on him for dragging his feet and keeping your relationship a secret for so long. 

He’ll give you what you want by telling your parents about the two of you, and then he’s going to knock you up and put a ring on your finger—maybe not in that order, although he’s not sure if he can help himself.

Still, in that moment, with his cock still buried deep in your body, his seed seeping out of your well-fucked cunt, he makes a vow to himself. Steve Rogers is determined to put a baby in you before his next birthday, and if that means telling your parents about your relationship as soon as possible, then so be it.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Using the case of beer and the bag of ice he brought to hide his growing bulge, Steve adjusts himself, forcing his eyes away from you and that skimpy, sinful bikini. He greets your dad and helps add the ice and beer to a cooler, catching up with his friend while diligently refusing to look in your direction.

However, as soon as your dad is gone, leaving Steve with a group of men their age, he can’t help but let his eyes find you in the small crowd milling about in the backyard. Your eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses so he can’t see your full expression, but he’s certain the impertinent smirk on your face is for him. 

Steve drags his attention back to the conversation he’s in the middle of, but when your high-pitched shriek rings out, he nearly gets whiplash turning and looking for you to see what’s wrong. By the time his eyes find you, you’re already giggling, the glistening wetness of a spilled drink dripping on your skin, trailing between your tits and down to your navel. 

As he watches, you turn and jump into the pool to clean off, the rest of the girls and some guys your age joining in. Steve is unabashedly watching your every movement, grunting every once in a while to the people around him, thankful for the sunglasses he’s wearing so none of the men will know he’s staring at their host’s daughter.

He can feel himself growing hard again as he watches you splash about and laugh in the pool, playing some kind of game with the others. Steve’s control is beginning to weaken, and he’s just about to excuse himself to go into the house and cool off when a guy from the neighborhood—a guy Steve knows for a fact has asked you out before—swims up behind you and grabs your hips, lifting you up and tossing you into the water.

Red-hot rage and bitter jealousy swirls in Steve’s gut and before he can stop himself, he’s storming off, his bare feet pounding on the deck before he bursts through the sliding door to the kitchen. The door makes a satisfying thunk as he slams it behind him, and he sucks in a deep breath, trying to let the silence of the empty kitchen calm him. 

He tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycling beneath the sink and grips the counter hard enough he’s worried he’ll dent it or hurt his fingers. He can’t think straight, he can’t see straight. All he can see is another man’s hands on your body when it should be his hands on you. It should only ever be him touching you.

The quiet whoosh of the sliding door opening and closing brings Steve back to the moment, but he still clings to the counter. It’s the only thing stopping him from flying off the handle and doing something reckless—like hauling you into his arms and kissing you senseless in front of your parents and the entire neighborhood. 

His back is to the door, so he doesn’t notice you until you’re beside him, your hand skimming down his taut forearm until you can slip your fingers into his palm, pulling his grip away from the counter. He softens his grip so he doesn’t hurt you and turns to look at you.

Your eyes are sparkling with mischief, a self-satisfied smirk on your gorgeous mouth as you begin to tug him in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second story. “C’mon,” you murmur, your eyes darting to the door to make sure no one’s there. “Before someone sees us.”

Steve’s fury abates at the eagerness in your sweet voice, and the lust in your pretty face. Words stick in his throat. He wants to talk about the jealousy that had driven him inside, but his cock is urging him to give in to you. The desire to claim you is too strong, so he follows you upstairs and into a bedroom at one end of the hall. 

It only takes a single glance for Steve to realize it’s your childhood bedroom, with evidence of your life scattered everywhere, a few stuffed animals mixed in with posters and memorabilia of the music and movies you’d loved as a teenager. It should make him feel shameful, like a dirty old man trespassing in your room, but you haven’t lived here in a long time, so he’s only exasperated as he turns back to you.

“What’re we doing, sweetheart—” Steve’s question is cut off as you launch yourself at him. He easily catches you, your mouths sliding messily against each other in a sloppy, greedy kiss. 

Tumbling you down onto the bed, Steve covers your smaller body with his broad form and kisses you hard, pouring out all the frustration he’s felt this afternoon into you. His lips and teeth and tongue are punishing, hungrily devouring you until you’re moaning wantonly against his mouth. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls, his hands roaming your body, pushing your bikini top aside and groping your tits roughly, your skin cold and damp from the pool. He can feel your nipples harden beneath his palms, your back arching to push your tits into his big hands, and that just brings back his fury. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Is this why you let that guy put his hands on you, to make me jealous and furious and fucking ravenous for you?”

You don’t even have the good grace to look repentant. A smirk curves your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth as you stare up at Steve. “Did it work?” you ask, raising a brow in challenge, reigniting the anger in Steve’s gut.

His only answer is a vicious growl, his hands yanking on the ties of your bikini bottoms until they come free. He tears the minuscule scrap of fabric away from your body like it’s offended him before doing the same with your top. 

Your hands are already fumbling with the front of his swim trunks, undoing the tie and shoving them down until his dick springs free. It slaps against your thigh softly, his precum leaking onto your skin, and Steve makes another possessive rumbling sound in his chest, liking the idea of marking you with his seed.

Steve makes quick work of yanking his shirt off, and then the two of you are naked. He suddenly remembers where you are, looking around at all the evidence of your early life, and he realizes again he should feel like a dirty old perv, but he can’t seem to bring himself to. 

Instead, he focuses back on you, fisting his cock and rubbing the tip up and down your dripping slit as a depraved grin spreads across his face. 

“Am I the first person to fuck you in your childhood bedroom, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice equal parts condescending and entreating. “Or were you sneaking boys up here when you were in high school, going all the way while your parents were just down the hall?”

You roll your eyes and make an impatient sound at the back of your throat, bucking your hips to try to take Steve’s cock inside your pussy, but he pulls it away. Using his grip on the base, he smacks the heavy head of his dick against your clit, making you twitch and moan beneath him. 

“Be honest,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, pushing the tip of his cock into your tight cunt before pulling back and leaving you empty. “Be honest with me, sweetheart.” 

“No,” you cry, your eyes blinking away tears of frustration to meet his gaze. You’re petulant and pouty, but finally answer his questions. “You’re the only one I’ve ever snuck up here, Steve.”

Steve stares at you for a moment, trying to discern if you’re telling him the truth or just trying to appease the jealous beast inside him so he’ll fuck you. When he decides you’re being honest, Steve lets loose his most charming grin, notching his cock at the entrance of your pussy and thrusting inside until he’s buried balls deep in the tight, perfect sheath of you cunt.

“DADDY!” you scream, so loud it nearly gives Steve a heart attack. 

He slaps a hand over your mouth, growling reproachfully in your ear, “Baby.” His breath is sawing in and out of him, and he’s barely keeping it together, because your wet, warm pussy is gripping his bare cock tight. All he wants to do is fuck you into next week, but he knows he has to be the responsible one. “Be careful,” he warns. “We can’t get caught.”

You’re nodding, fat tears spilling down your cheeks, and when he’s sure you won’t scream again, Steve relents and pulls his hand from your mouth. “I’m sorry, daddy,” you blubber, sounding truly repentant.

Steve sighs, gently kissing the tears from your cheeks. “I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs soothingly. “You just love my cock that much, don’t you?” His tone turns teasing and before he knows it you’re giggling and nodding, agreeing with him, a happy smile on your pretty face. “You can be quiet for daddy, can’t you?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Yes, daddy,” you chirp sweetly, and Steve has to wonder why you can’t be this agreeable all the time. It would make his life easier.

But, Steve realizes, then he might not love you as much. Because, to him, you’re perfect exactly the way you are. Overcome by emotion, Steve ducks his head and captures your mouth, pouring his feelings into the kiss as he begins to fuck you.

Steve knows the two of you have already been gone from the party for too long, and every stolen moment you both risk someone coming to look for you, so he doesn’t bother to take his time. He fucks you hard and fast, pounding into your cunt raw, and it’s the thought of having nothing between you that sends him careening quickly toward his release, words spilling unbidden from his lips.

“Gonna fill you up, baby—gonna pump you full of so much cum, you’re gonna be leaking daddy’s seed for the rest of the day,” he groans, loving the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him so perfectly.

“Oh god, please, daddy,” you squeal, your voice thin as you try to stay quiet like Steve asked. “Fill me, claim me—I’m yours, daddy.”

“You are, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Steve asks, the question rhetorical. Then suddenly, a need strikes him and he can’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to try. “Mine to breed.”

A cry bursts from your lips, you pussy clenching hard around Steve’s cock, and he knows you like the sound of that just as much as he does. So he goes on, pure filth spilling from his lips and straight into your ears.

“Want daddy to put a baby in you, sweetheart?” Steve growls, his voice half mocking, half serious. “Want me to knock you up in your childhood bedroom? There’ll be no hiding that you belong to me anymore if I do—I’ll have to put a ring on your finger and tell everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, Steve, oh my god, yes,” you cry, your thighs clenching tight around his hips, your legs winding around his waist and holding him tight against your body, until he can only rut into you with short, deep strokes. “Knock me up, daddy. Wanna give you a baby—please, please, please, I want it.”

“Gonna give you a baby for my birthday,” Steve growls, his mind half gone from the sheer pleasure of your tight warm cunt gripping his bare cock. He fucks you harder, grinding deep between your thighs to rub against your clit. “Gonna make you all mine, baby—forever.”

Steve watches you unravel from his words and his cock, pleasure stealing the breath from your lungs so you can only let out a silent scream. You clench tight around his cock, and he’s lost. He cums deep in your cunt, spilling his seed right against your cervix while your pussy milks him dry, hoping like hell it’ll take root in your womb.

He’s barely caught his breath before you’re kissing him sweetly, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him tight. His arms dig beneath your back, clutching you just as close. 

“Can we tell my parents about us now?” you ask, your voice deceptively innocent. 

Steve has to laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder as he chuckles against your skin, still damp and cool from your dip in the pool. He presses a kiss against your clavicle, making peace with the fact that he’s completely in love with a sweet, manipulative menace. Then he lifts his head and gives you a stern look.

“Did you do all of this to convince me it’s time we tell them about our relationship?” he asks, even though he already knows you did. It’s taking all his energy not to let loose the grin that’s tugging on his lips while you continue to play innocent.

You give him a too casual shrug and Steve has his answer before you even open you’re mouth. “Well, we should probably tell them before you knock me up,” you say, raising a brow in a sardonic expression. “I think it might make them way more mad if we don’t tell them until after you’ve gotten me pregnant.”

Steve knows you’re right, and he’ll admit that to you later, but for the moment he can only kiss you and be grateful you hadn’t given up on him for dragging his feet and keeping your relationship a secret for so long. 

He’ll give you what you want by telling your parents about the two of you, and then he’s going to knock you up and put a ring on your finger—maybe not in that order, although he’s not sure if he can help himself.

Still, in that moment, with his cock still buried deep in your body, his seed seeping out of your well-fucked cunt, he makes a vow to himself. Steve Rogers is determined to put a baby in you before his next birthday, and if that means telling your parents about your relationship as soon as possible, then so be it.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Steve has to work hard to keep himself under control as you spread out a soft blanket on the roof, refusing to think about laying you down on it and having his way with you. What would a pretty young thing like you want with an old man like him? He’s got more gray hairs than the years of your life you’ve lived, so he’s determined to keep his hands to himself.

While you settle onto the blanket, Steve looks around the roof and wonders why no one else from the building is up there to watch the fireworks. He’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse to be all alone with you in the darkness of the July night, and as he sits down, he’s careful, making sure not to touch you, unsure if he’ll be able to stop himself if he starts.

But when the fireworks start, you scoot closer to Steve and lean against his side, and it feels all too natural to put his arm around your shoulders. It nearly does him in when you look up at him and smile, like nothing in the world would ever make you feel safer than being with him. He tries to remind himself why he needs to stay away from you, but his resolve is crumbling as he stares down at you.

It’s your eyes, bright and sparkling as you look at him, and your mouth—so pretty and enticing, especially when it’s curved into a smile that’s just for him—that make Steve forget all the reasons he shouldn’t want you. He does want you, and he’s tired of running from it. He’s spent too many years trapped, and now that he’s free, he’s not going to take his second chance at life for granted.

So Steve kisses you. Soft at first, giving you a chance to pull away, slap him, run from him the way he expects you to. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, one of your hands pressing gently against his chest, right over the place where his heart is thumping against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

Steve knows, somewhere deep in his bones, that if he were to put his heart in your hands, you’d be gentle with it. You’d take care of it—you’d take care of him the same way he wants to take care of you. Wholly, unreservedly, for the rest of your lives.

You’re the one to deepen the kiss, dragging Steve back from his overly romantic thoughts and into the moment. The fireworks are still going off in the sky above the Brooklyn apartment building where the two of you live, but Steve only cares about you—and kissing you. 

Steve kisses you slowly, methodically, learning every dip and curve of your lips before he ventures into your mouth, exploring the wet heat and discovering the teasing menace that is your tongue. You kiss him hungrily, so voracious that Steve can practically feel your desire thrumming beneath your skin as he skims his hands up your arms and down your sides.

It takes all of Steve’s hard-won control not to give in to the lust churning in his gut, making his cock strain almost painfully against the fly of his jeans. He’s determined to take things as slow as you’ll let him, but then you’re laying back on the blanket and pulling him down on top of you, spreading your soft thighs to give him somewhere perfect to land.

He can feel the sinful heat of your cunt through his jeans and your thin dress, and when his hips roll, pressing the bulge of his cock into your soft center, you let out a throaty moan that has him leaking in his pants. Steve’s mouth, which had been busy licking and sucking down the line of your neck, returns to your mouth, swallowing your sounds of pleasure while his hips rock between your thighs.

Your breathy whimpers and thready moans are the most beautiful music to Steve’s ears, and he has the errant thought that if only he could hear you make those sounds every day for the rest of his life, every shitty day that had come before would have been worth it. A shiver races down his spine at the thought, not yet daring to hope you’ll want him for more than the night, and he kisses you harder, wanting to taste your pleasure straight from your lips.

All too soon, Steve realizes he’s at the brink of his release, his cock throbbing in his jeans, his balls drawing up against his body, ready to spill. He refuses to cum before you do, though, so he wraps one of his big hands around your soft thigh, spreading you open even wider so he can grind deeper into your clothed cunt.

Your moans turn into high-pitched, keening whines, breathless pleas for more falling unbidden from your kiss-bitten lips. You’re so fucking pretty, Steve thinks to himself, the glimmer of fireworks lighting your skin in shades of pink, blue and white. His heart beats heavy in his chest and he knows he’s done for—in more ways than one.

Steve’s hips jerk, thrusting against your heated pussy harder than before, and he watches you come apart for him, your face twisting up in pleasure before you let out a low moan of his name. And it’s that, the sweet way you say his name in your pleasure-drunk voice, that sends him over the edge.

A low, feral growl tears from Steve’s lips, and his hips hump erratically against your pussy while his cock erupts in his jeans. He’s sure to stain the denim with his hot seed, but he doesn’t care because you’re pulling him closer and burying your face in his beard, little sounds of pleasure muffled against his throat. 

When he’s spent, Steve wraps his arms around your body and rolls onto his side, tucking you into his chest, marveling at the way you fit perfectly against him. You murmur a sleepy apology about making him cum in his pants and Steve can only chuckle and tell you the honest truth, that it was the hardest he’s ever cum in his life, and he’s just glad he could get you off before he made a fool of himself.

You giggle softly, snuggling deeper into his chest and promising to make it up to him. Steve shushes you gently and presses a kiss to your head, watching the finale of the fireworks while thanking the universe for giving him the best birthday present an ex-con like him could’ve asked for—you.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡