#with a coworker you feel upwards of lukewarm about

[fanfiction-inc]

“The Stroke”

Verse: Stranger Things

Characters/Pairings: Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove/ Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), creampie, hand jobs, driving while fucking (please don’t do this), PWP, hardcore eye fucking, Billy being Billy. 

Word Count: 6946

Summary: When the weather outside is too damn hot and your shitty car won’t start, Billy offers to drive you home. 

Notes: As requested by the lovely @coldmuffinpartycloud​ and the wonderful @sleep-yv, here is part 2 to the former headcanon asking “Can I get a HC about Billy pretending to drown while his coworker jumps in to save him and its all a ploy to get her to kiss him?" 

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40656261 Link to previous HC: [Link]

Another hot summer day, the heat index claiming to be a measly 90ºF but feeling like a sweltering 100ºF. You could already feel the heat wave rolling through the area taking its effect on your body despite the big umbrella covering over the lifeguard stand. You reach for your water, having already refilled it twice today and taking a generous sip, wetting your palette but sighing at the lukewarm nature it had taken on from being in the ambient heat. This was a downside of working the pool, having to deal with whatever temperature Mother Nature decided to throw your way. The other downside was the influx of people taking advantage of the open-to-the-public pool. More people meant more attention was needed, meaning you having to blow your whistle and yell more than you usually had to. Adjusting on the stand, you try to free the swimsuit clinging to your skin from the mixture of sweat and sunscreen that made it feel like a glove that was far too tight.

This was dreadful, but it was about to get so much worse when you see a familiar face come into the pool area.

The very fool who would not leave you alone for the past couple of weeks since the incident as you called it. Always with the same smug grin and aviators, letting them tip so you caught a glimpse of those baby blues that could practically see into your soul each time they came in contact with your gaze. Always with those bright red shorts that clung to his hips and ass oh so nicely. That was at least one thing you could agree with the female population at Hawkins High on, he did have a nice rump. Pretty face too if you allowed yourself to admit such, but instead you push such thoughts back in exchange for looking away from him before he has any attempt at getting your attention more than he has already. The bastard seemed to thrive off of it, knowing you were looking back, and you tried to never afford him the opportunity to know but sometimes it was a struggle. On some days, he’d catch you and give that little lip lick, or allow the intensity of his gaze alone to make you squirm. On others, he’d simply stare back, daring you to keep the contact going or be the first to turn away, which usually was what happened. Though there was that one-day Mrs. Cunningham intruded on his sexually charged staring contest and he had to look away, though he dreaded it. That day you rode on the high of knowing he broke the contact first, even if it was due to interference.

“Pretty hot out today, Sweetheart. You must be meltin’.” His voice, it had that tone that made your heart flutter just a bit faster, and fingers grip tighter on the arm rest of the elevated seat. Without missing a beat, or sparing him a glance, you respond. “Well, it’s certainly not cold now is it, Hargrove?” The sarcasm leaking from each syllable was enough to earn a chuckle from him, the lad leaning against the stand and admiring your form openly. Up close, he could make out more of you, raking over your form from the tips of your toes and moving upward over the expanses of your legs. Then your hips, your belly, your chest, before coming up to look at that cute little face of yours hidden behind dark sunglasses and over casted by a shade of red from the canopy above the lifeguard seat. He watches how you adjusted in the seat, fingers snatching the whistle that hung oh so delicately between your breast and blowing into the metal piece. A shrill whistle comes to the air, and Billy watched as you took a breath before calling out in your best authoritative voice to the children running near the pool, telling them to slow down or get out.

It's adorable when you try to be in charge.

But to that same note, it was infuriating to Billy. Ever since the day he felt your lips on his, and just the smallest smidge of you actually enjoying it before you went and landed a hard smack on his cheek, storming off not too long after, it’s all he’s been thinking of. You have been all he can think of. From the little day to day things like working on his car or chasing after the next piece of tail to sate his needs, all he has in his mind is you. He imagined you riding shotgun, his hand on your thigh as you both drove around this hellhole of a town, basking in the AC the car provides. Would you get squirmy and squeal when he hits the gas and you both take off like a bullet releasing from a gun? Would you beg him to stop, but secretly get the thrill of going so fast? Of living? On the same token, you were all he could imagine as he fucked the next girl who threw herself at him. Your legs spread for him, needy for him, begging him to just take you already. How needy you’d be for his touch, his cock, but in reality beyond his desires, you simply sat stoic in the face of his many advances. It just made him want you even more, playing hard to get with him.

“What are you doing after your shift today?” He questioned after a moment, hearing the faint chuckle leaving your lips.

“Going home and praying the AC is working.” You muse, finally sparing the man a glance and fuck, you shouldn’t have done that because the way he was looking up at you was absolutely sinful. The looks pastors warn young followers about when they supposedly look in the face of the devil and are lured in. Those blue eyes look over the aviator frames, casted up to you and twinkling with something akin to burning lust. That’s all you could chop it up to as, lust. The playboy was practically eye fucking you, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips made something in you clench at the view. You will your body as best as you can to stop the shiver threatening to travel up your spine, an odd sight in such heat. You couldn’t dare allow him to know the true effect he had over you. “My car’s got AC. I could drive you back, or maybe just take ya on a nice long ride, hm?” His fingertips trailed dangerously close to your leg as he gripped the lifeguard stand bars, as if testing the waters before allowing his digits to come in contact with your heated flesh.

Hot, his skin was way too hot against your leg, but it burned oh so deliciously as he trailed the length of your calf, up to your knee before trailing back down. You jerk your leg away when you see your boss round the corner, waving hello before turning your gaze back to the lad standing below and sending a glare. “As much as I feel others have taken your offer, I think I’m gonna pass.” Heat be damned, you were not giving in to that boy. He simply smiled, a smile that sent your mind to blank for ever a subtle moment, before coming back to reality when he speaks. “Just keep it in mind, yeah?” He pulls away from the stand, humming his acknowledgement to your shared boss as he passes back. “See ya later, sweetheart.” And with that he goes to the pool, slipping into the lukewarm depths. Oh, how you wished you could join him- Of course not for the reason of being around him! Never for that reason! But rather for some relief from the heat that surrounded you.

Your shift ticks by slowly, hand fanning at your heated flesh and breathing just a touch more labored than you would prefer. This heat was insufferable, and you knew surely you’d be melting the moment you leave the covering to start getting things ready for the end of your shift, closing up the pool and all that. “Fuck, I wish someone would just drown so I can get in that water.” You mumble to yourself. Of course, you’d never want to see anyone get hurt, but any excuse to get in the water would be glorious. Just a little dip and it’d all be worth it, would it not? But alas, you were stuck in your place, mentally pleading the universe to send a raincloud your way, even if just for a single moment. Was that too much to ask for? Perhaps it was, but no matter, you’ll struggle through. Jumping down from the lifeguard shack and adjusting your suit from having sat so long, you begin making your rounds around the pool, carefully observing everyone there. All in all, despite the heat, you haven’t had much trouble from the children today. No one was really rough housing or horse playing, just the occasional runner or splashing at those sunbathing on the sidelines. Though you found them crazy for doing such, knowing surely these housewives and girls around your age would be burned within the hour. Bye-bye perfect tans, hello red hot, inflamed skin. In a way you envied how they could stand the heat, but in the same note you pitied them for not heeding the advice given by the weatherman to avoid the direct sunlight for long exposures during this day. Collecting the final pool noodles and tubes that laid on the sidelines, unused by the stragglers milking the last few minutes of the pool remaining open before they have to leave into the heat once more, stashing them behind the rental stand.

The sun, blaring and hot, loomed aggressively as you called out that the pool was closing, watching those who remained scurry away to find shelter from the heat waves. Good, they were in a hurry to get out of here, which meant less people you’d have to deal with as you packed things away. Watching the last person slip out from the gate, you move to lock it up and sigh in newfound relief. Finally, you can hurry up here, then get to your car and bask in the cold air it’d provide for you. Oh, that relief sounded divine, but the relief blinded you from the fact you had lost track of the blonde who had previously been staring you down as you did your little task in that little suit that just oh so nicely fit you. Peculiar, it truly was because when the thought catches up to you, you look around and don’t spot the cocky playboy who had been eye-fucking you the entirety of his stay. Maybe the heat was too much, even for him. Maybe he snuck away after a piece of tail that enticed him for the moment. You wave the possibilities and “what if’s” away from your scattered mind, exchanging for the spreadsheet before you that accounted for everything that was being stored away, checking off each item as you go. Next was cleaning up any trash from the pool and surrounding area. And finally, it was time to lock up and get ready to leave, your favorite part of this excruciating day. Placing the keys back in their respective place, you wave good night to the owner and make your way to the parking lot, a smile lingering on your lips at the prospect of heading home until you spot a familiar sight and hear the sweet purr of its engine. The 79’ Chevrolet Camaro sat idle, the blue in the paint shining brightly under the evening sun, almost blinding and causing you to squint your gaze. Oh, that’s where he went. A sigh falls from your lips, bright orbs rolling at the fact he’s still here and hand plucking your keys from your pocket as you skedaddle over to the beaten up (and frankly on its last legs) 72’ Ford Pinto. The car was a mess, having so many problems you had to fork money up for. It was no wonder you had to take double shifts at the pool just to pay for it AND try to have enough for whatever life throws at you next.

You climb into the sweltering car, throwing the door back open in need of some relief from the hot interior. The black leather pressed against your skin was excruciating, making you teether on the edge of the seat as you insert the key and try to crank the old hunk of junk. The engine sputters but doesn’t turn over the first try. “Come on baby, work with me.” The words fall out in almost a whine beneath your breath as you try once more, groaning softly when it doesn’t start up yet again. Again, and again, and again until you finally fall back against the hot leather with a noise of defeat. Great, just fucking great. You were royally screwed by this damn car, and it just had to be on the hottest day of summer. Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out another noise, peeling yourself from the hot seats and slamming the door to the car shut in frustration. The faint music playing within the confines of the Camaro grows louder, drawing your attention as you watch the blonde lean over the passenger seat, that grin resting on his lips making your tummy flutter with something akin to nerves. “Car troubles, sweetheart?” “No, I just willingly am standing here sweating my ass off while I have a ‘perfectly good’ ride here.” You reply with snark, but your tone sounded tired, like the fight was leaving it with each ticking second you stood in the direct sunlight. The playboy lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, peering over them with those familiar baby blues that could make anyone who stared back swoon. A laugh brushes past perfectly delicious looking lips, tongue tracing over them briefly as he watched you. “Really now? Well, it seems to me that your ‘perfectly good’ ride isn’t doing so hot.” He pats the door; the soft sound of metal being hit making your head throb temporarily. “I couldn’t in good conscience just leave little ole you out here to melt, now could I?” Carefully he rakes his gaze over you before leaning back from the seat. “Get in, I’ll take you home.”

In any other situation with anyone else you knew, you would have been throwing yourself into that seat and allowing your body to bask in the chilled air that flooded the cabin of the car, but alas you hesitate, even if just for a second, because of who was inviting you in. It made you nervous, thinking about being in such a confined space with Billy Hargrove, but your body screamed for relief and moved upon its own accord as you pull the door handle open and take a cautious seat on the leather seat. The moment the door closes, and you feel the air hit your heated skin, you all but sink into the seat, humming out in approval. Fuck it, you knew if you even attempted to walk in this heat home, you’d die of heat stroke or something worse. Billy gives you a final glance before pulling out of the parking lot like a bat out of Hell. Your hand shoots to the edge of the seat, clutching the chilled material between your digits, and the sounding laugh leaving his lips at your reaction makes heat rise to your already warm skin. “When’s the last time you lived a little?” He questioned suddenly, his fingers resting lazily over the stick shift while his others tap on the steering wheel. “Felt that adrenaline rush? Or has the sweet princess never had a taste of the wild side her daddy warned her about so much?”

“I’ve experienced enough as is, Hargrove. Maybe not like your Camaro but I know what speed is like.” You shake your head at him, seeing his lips shift into an ever-subtle smirk in the side profile you capture. “In that little Pinto of yours? Oh, you speed demon you. Real rule breaker going forty-five in a forty, huh?” A laugh leaves your lips despite attempting to hold it back, and you send him a look that challenged him. “Alright then, Hargrove, I’ll bite. Show me a taste of this wild side of yours since you’re so insistent in corrupting the youth of Hawkins.” A scoff brushes past his lips at the word “corrupting”. Corruption? All because some girls go a bit dick crazy over him? It’s laughable, how you assume he’s corrupting them when in reality they just want a difference within this sleepy little shit town. He’s just the new element in their boring lives. His foot presses down on the gas and he shifts into gear, the engine roaring in a beautiful show of dominance over the terrain, the car speeding off like a bullet on the long stretch of road. Your grip tightens on the leather, heart hammering in your chest, all while you watch elements pass by in a blur outside the front windshield and see the way his features contort in way that shined a different light over him. Maybe it was the heat that had whittled away at your mind, your control, but as he sped through the sleepy town like some sort of demon screaming through the streets like it was clawing its way out of Hell, he seemed more at ease. He was within his element, control of the road, control of the beat you were seated in, and control of your attention. It was a silent victory to him, knowing he had you captivated by the show he was putting on. Another laugh bubbles up from your chest and past your lips, watching how he sped around a curve, hearing a car blare their horn at him and seeing the cocky little wave he sent before he shifted gear and sped around them, making you tense at the possibility that maybe this would be it, what kills you. Speeding away in Billy Hargrove’s 79’ Camaro and dying from the heart attack he gives you with each move he makes on the road.

You hadn’t noticed when his hand had slipped to your thigh, only realizing as he slows the heat of the digits subtly rubbing at your bare skin. In a way, you cursed having to opt for shorts in this heat, but at the same time with your heart screaming at you for relief, it brought you back to the present. “Why have you been like this?” The question is sudden, startling even, and a squeeze to your thigh is given as his lips move to respond. “What ya mean, sweetheart?”

“I mean, why have you been the way that you’ve been at the pool, in the last couple of weeks? I mean,” you gesture to the hand on your thigh, and vaguely to yourself within his car, “this. Why this?”

“You gotta be a little more clear, (Last name).” He spares you a glance before gluing his eyes back to the asphalt ahead, watching the street signs pass by. A sigh of frustration leaves you and you turn towards him in the seat, his hand shifting with the move of your body before pulling back to the shift stick and resting there. Perhaps the advance was too much on his part. “What the fuck has been all this eye contact and flirting about?” Blunt, you got straight to the point now. “I mean you have been after me since I started working at the pool! Especially after the people from our school started showing up. I mean what is up with that, Billy?”

“Nothin’.” He mumbles the word, his grin falling the ever-slightest bit. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Y’know what I mean, Billy. You’re basically being territorial with me.” You huff the words out. “It’s like the moment Steve and the other boys have been talkin’ to me…” You trail off for a moment, gaze settling on the glovebox before you as you process your own words. This all started when Steve was there, Billy barking at him to let you work. And then the flirting, and the eye contact, and the ever so subtle touches… It was like Billy just couldn’t stand to see another guy talking to you, much less Harrington. “So that’s why you’ve been so froward with me,”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re fucking jealous, aren’t you, Hargrove?” The realization slips from your lips, gaze damn near twinkling with the fact that you uncovered what it’s all about. But this hardheaded fucker wasn’t going to admit such, never to you. Especially when it came to seeing Steve with you. His grip on the wheel and gear stick tightens, and for a split second you catch the faintest dusting of color on his cheeks rising, his head tilting out of view as best as it can. Billy Hargrove was blushing. Fucking blushing, and it’s all because of you. Oh, you savored this moment, a grin slipping onto your lips as you watch his reaction. “It’s true! You’re jealous!” He bites at his lip, and you can see the white-knuckled vice he has adopted as he fights back in silence. It just wasn’t satisfying, not hearing him say the words. Every girl has begged for Billy, begged him to touch them, to speak to them, much less cast his gaze in their general direction, but here he is an embarrassed version of what he usually presents, and you want to milk it for all its worth.

Maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Your digits reach to the knob for the radio, turning the station up when The Stroke by Billy Squire plays, the song appropriate in your mind as you steady yourself in the seat, face moving in towards his ear and planting a delicate kiss. He swears for a moment his heart stops at the action, and it takes everything within him not to jerk the wheel when you repeat the motion, inching downward along the column of his neck after brushing aside the curled blonde locks that were in your way. Your lips, they felt like pure fire against his skin, burning a path that made him squirm and hips jump at the jolt they leave behind. “Is it true, Hargrove?” The way you whisper- no, purr- the words, his cock jumps and he sinks his teeth into the plump flash of his lip, feeling his body buzz with each subtle brush of your lips across his skin. “Scared of ‘King Steve’ staking himself on your claim that you were too scared to approach before he made his move?”

Now everybody, have you heard, if you're in the game

Then the stroke's the word

Don't take no rhythm,

Don't take no style

Gotta thirst for killin',

Grab your vial uh

“Scared?” His voice held the subtle shakiness akin to that of a virgin being with their first, those beautiful lashes of his fluttering behind the aviators that shaded him from the sun that began to set in the distance, casting the earth in shades of orange and fiery red. “Of Harrington?” He scoffs, though the noise is cut off by a low growl that goes straight to your core as you drag your chilled digits down the expanses of his sculpted chest, feeling the way his chest rises and falls just a touch quicker. They trail, brushing past his stomach before hesitating, just for a single second at the tip of his tightened jeans. His breaths in a sudden breath, licking at his lips in anticipation before another soft, subtle noise falls from his lips as you breach the layers surrounding him and reach for the hot flesh straining for release. You clutch his cock, his hips jumping up in response, and a self-satisfied hum of approval escapes your lips. “The big bad Billy Hargrove, reduced to silence all because his dick is being grabbed. This isn’t how it usually goes for you, is it?” Another hot peck is given to his ear before you drag the tip of your tongue along the shell of it, hearing how his breath grows louder, free in the air over the lyrics pouring from the song blasting on the radio.

Put your right hand out, give a firm handshake

Talk to me about that one big break

Spread your ear pollution, both far and wide

Keep your contributions by your side and

The softest of moans leave Billy’s lips as you pump his length, chewing at your lip as you watch each subtle gesture he gives away. The way his jaw twitches from how tightly its set, the soft part of his lips as he takes in a soft breath, coaxed by each brush of your thumb over his weeping tip. The way his eyes flutter, even behind the tinted shades, how each noise leaving him is strangled, held back, and the soft curse that spills from them suddenly when you grip the base of him, grabbing as much of his attention that can be dedicated away from the road towards you. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He chokes out the words, his grip damn near breaking the wheel and stick shift if he had the strength to do such. “Tell me, Billy, are you jealous because you thought Steve would finally get to fuck me before you could? Maybe that he'd do it better than you?” Another noise spills from his parted lips, and it draws out the moment you suckle a lingering mark along his throat. “Is that it, Billy? You think you could fuck me better?”

“K-Know I can.” He huffs the words out, and you can’t help the elated smirk coming to your lips. “Is that so?” You pull your hand away from his cock, spitting into your palm before returning and setting a steady rhythm. He wavers on the road for a split second, steadying himself as best as he can except for the way his hips twitch and push upward into your grasp. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t getting off on this, the power trip you were riding on enough to be dizzying to him but made his body scream in desire for your attention, maybe even your affections. In any other circumstance, it’d be his hand down your pants, his fingers buried inside of you and working you up just as you were doing to him. Up, up, up, working him up until he’s sitting right there on that edge before grasping him at the base and stopping. “Fucking hell, sweetheart.” He hisses the words, teeth clenched from the abrupt stop. “Do you want to cum, hot shot?” He glances over at you, met by the cocky smirk that had extended over your features and for a moment you’re a different girl than what he had expected you to be. He knew you were stubborn and resisting his advances, knew you were smart, and funny, and had a smile to kill for that for once he just wished was for him and him alone. That body alone spoke for itself, but what he never had expected was you fighting him for dominance, for calling him on his bullshit over Steve and the little dick fighting competition they had going on since he moved here. Never had he thought you’d play with him like this, but he knew what you wanted to hear from him. You wanted an admission of being right, that he was fighting for claim over you. He just wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Stroke me, stroke me

Could be a winner boy you move mighty well

Stroke me, stroke me (stroke)

Stroke me, stroke me

You got your number down

Stroke me, stroke me

Say you're a winner but babe, you're just a sinner now

Silence, you were met with silence in the face of your question and a roll of your eyes followed. “No? You don’t want to cum? I thought you liked it so much with other girls that you’d do anything to do it now.” A laugh leaves your lips, and you brush your thumb over the vein running up his length, feeling his hips jump at the contact. “Guess I was wrong, but at least I’ll admit it.” Casually, slowly, you start back on a lazy rhythm, feeling him flex and try not to thrust up into your pumping fist as he drives along the road. By now it’s just a drive, no destination in sight. He’s forgotten about asking for your address, or even traveling in the direction of his own home, and by this rate you’ll be bound for another state. But none of that mattered, not right now when you were touching him and the absolute filth pouring from your lips had him balancing on the thinnest tightrope imaginable. It was like all the stamina he had developed over the years was shot out the window the moment you started touching on him, and he couldn’t possibly explain it.

“I’ll even go as far as to admit that these little interactions we’ve been having at the pool have stuck with me. Thinkin’ about you and all.” Your words fall as a whisper, breath hitting his ear in a way that sends a shiver straight up and down his spine. It was purely erotic, the tone your voice took on, and it was better than anything he could have imagined hearing. “Yeah? What- Fuck- What have you been thinkin’ about, pretty girl?” The pet name, it was something that made your heart skip and pussy clench around the intrusion of nothingness, breaking your confidence for a split second because oh, the power of his words and what they could make you do to yourself once you’re alone was wonderous. Carefully you collect yourself, lips opening to speak but tensing when you hear the breathiness that your tone takes on. “I’ve been thinking about you in the pool, giving me one of those famous lessons you cluck on about to those little housewives that swoon over you. Backstroke…Breaststroke…Whatever you would be willing to teach me.” A huff leaves him at the visualization of such, recalling a similar thought he had about you in that very same pool, only the lesson wasn’t quite what he would offer those, as you called them, little housewives. His teeth damn near break the skin of his lip at this rate, and his gaze lands on you as your rhythm increased right back to where it had been when he was about to cum. He pulsed in your grasp, twitching, and signaling how close his release was getting just from your words alone. “I can only imagine what your hands would feel like on my body, what you could make it do if I let you.” He sucks in a breath, sharp and sudden, then a noise only recognizable over the sound of the radio that can be identified as simply a whine leaves him when you remove your hand from his jeans altogether, leaving him aching and needy for you.

“(First name)- “

“Yes Billy?” That condescending tone, fuck it got to him. You wanted him just as he wanted you. Begging. Needy. He battles with himself and the raging boner sitting tented in the tight denim around his lower half, scolding himself for the words about to spill from his lips. “(First name) …please.” Oh, that word alone would never do anything to you but hearing it come from him, hearing him say it was all the stimulation you needed in the world to open the flood gates. By now you were dripping and blanking for a stagnant moment because holy shit, he said it. Swallowing thickly, your fingers trace over the zipper of his pants, playing with the metal bit and toying with it between your fingers. “Please what, Billy?” He huffed out a breath, and you finally get a full glimpse of the color that adorned his skin, the blush from before returning tenfold and making you feel damn near feral at the sight. “Please just... Fuck it, please let me cum.”

Who were you to deny such a request?

Put your left foot out, keep it all in place

Work your way right into my face

First you try to bet me, you make my backbone slide

When you find you've bled me, slip on by, and

Pulling the zipper down before grabbing at the waistband of his jeans, you yank to your best effort on the denim material, requiring him to lift his hips momentarily before letting the fabric bunch midway on his thighs. And there it was in all its glory, the thing that drove the women of Hawkins mad and made them dick crazy for the California boy again and again. He was impressive, the rumors you come to realize being true about how well endowed the lad is. Thick, long, and absolutely throbbing for you and you alone. Pride swelled in your chest at the angry red color it had taken on at the tip, on a hair trigger for eruption and weeping pre-cum from the edging it has endured. With a second of deliberation, you reach for your shorts, working them off your hips and down the length of your legs, Billy stealing a glance every chance he can away from the road to watch you drop them to the floorboard of his car. Your panties follow, the material cast aside so quickly that he can’t even register the style of them, much less the color. A noise of surprise leaves his lips when you climb over into the driver’s side of the car, his head on instinct whipping around to keep an eye on the road, as he feels your legs surround him on the leather seat.

“Whoa sweetheart, let me pull over first-”

“I thought you liked the thrill of danger, Billy.” You feel his tip brush your slick folds, shivering gently at the contact. He felt his heart hammer and adrenaline spike at what you’re insinuating, liking this side of you. “No, keep driving.” His hand briefly pulls from the shift stick, pulling your body flush against his chest so he can rest his chin on your shoulder, watching the road as you carefully grind your slickened core against his hardened cock. His tip brushes your clit, and an airy moan falls from your lips when you repeat the action. It was only when he grew impatient do you both finally join, wasting no time sinking down his length and gripping at the thick shaft spreading your walls. “Fuck!“

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take it.” The words growl near your ear, rumbling between the contact of your pressed chest and making you clench around him in response.

Stroke me, stroke me

Give me the reason this is all night long

Stroke me, stroke me

(Stroke)

Stroke me, stroke me

Get yourself together boy

Stroke me, stroke me

Say you're a winner but man you're just a sinner now

(Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke)

“Goddamn, you’re so wet.” A chuckle brushes past your ear, choking off when your hips raise and you sink back down onto his length, setting a pace that leaves you both moaning out. His hips twitch and thrust upward to meet each downward motion, your clit grinding against his pelvic bone each time and sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. With this angle, his cock was brushing all the sweet spots deep within you that was maddening and mind numbing all in the same. Words were failing you as you rode him, clinging to his body with each push along his length and a sweetened noise spilling from your lips at each intrusion. “Billy, J-Jesus…Fucking shit…”

“Already cock drunk?” He huffs the question out suddenly, cocky in nature but edged with a hint of need that can only be contributed to the high he’s getting from rising closer and closer to his release. It’s mutual, feeling that edge get closer to where you’re about ready to fall off. It’s quicker than most, but the thrill of the situation was making the pleasure and the experience itself come tenfold. Plus, it was an added bonus just who you were doing this with, the playboy knowing how to toy with your body just with his words alone.

You’d hate to see what it’d be like if he could actually touch you properly right now.

Better listen now

Said it ain't no joke

Don't let your conscience fail ya'

Just do the stroke

Don't ya' take no chances

Keep your eye on top

Do your fancy dances

You can't stop you just

Stroke me, stroke me

The car comes to a stop suddenly, a question lingering on your lips about it until you feel him pressing you against the steering wheel, the horn going off suddenly and making your heartbeat quicken. He fumbles for the seat adjuster after putting it in park, sending the seat backwards and leaving more room within the Camaro than would be imaginable. He man spreads now, smirking up to you from his reclined position in the seat and all you can do is grasp at him before he takes hold of your hips in a vice grip and sends his cock into you like a feral animal. You gasp at the sudden pace change, tears blossoming at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over at the onslaught of his cock hitting that sweet spot within you. His thumb moves down, rubbing quick, harsh circles in time with his thrust, and you’re done for. Your walls clamp around him and a shrill cry leaves your throat as your orgasm hits like a brick wall. Tears stream down your cheeks and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you through it, seeking his own end and clinging to every noise and sloppy spill of his name that cries out from your lips. Your face buries against his neck, nails dig in through the fabric of his shirt, but it’s not what does him in. Not yet.

“You were right, pretty girl, I was laying claim.” Your walls clamp tightly amidst the pulse of your orgasm, the rhythm that matches your heartbeat thrown off, and sending him to buck his hips up with a low growl and fill you. Body trembling, numb and tired, you collapse against his chest and try to breath in as much air as the space of the car will allow. It’s hot despite the AC, clammy and sticky, but it’s something you never thought you’d love as much as you do now. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine actually getting to do this with him. Of course, you fantasized what it’d be like to fuck, but never like this, never while he was driving or with the risk of a cop seeing. Never in his car like this. But it’s what made you smile, even when all you can do is lay there and bask in the afterglow. Carefully his hand comes up to your hair, brushing a strand away from your eyes before his lips connect with yours, swallowing the soft moan that follows. It’s nothing like the kiss when he tricked you that day by the pool, nothing like the incident as you had been calling it. It was hot, heavy, and everything that complimented the sex you just had with the California boy. Teeth clashing, tongues playing, and fighting for that dominance that was shared between you two during this whole experience.

“I didn’t think I was ever going to get this chance with how hard to get you were playin’.” He finally mumbled when you pull away, a soft laugh and attempt at a slap to his chest making him grin. “Thought Harrington would get to ya first.”

“I guess you should have asked about Harrington before going through all that trouble to get with me.” You mumble in turn, shaky digits trailing across his sweat-slickened neck before taking a curl and twirling it around your finger. “He’s not my type.”

“Is that so?” He questioned with a growing grin. “Then what is your type?” You pretend to deliberate, giving a soft hmm in false contemplation before you meet those baby blues, still shielded by the tinted aviators. “Flirty jackasses who pretend to drown just to kiss me.”

“Wow, that’s very specific, isn’t it?” He jokes, giving your rear a smack and making you squeak as you will your body to pull away from his. He falls out from your core, the drip of his spend following and gathering between your thighs as you move to fall back on his legs, seated there. He watches your chest heave beneath the material of your shirt, humming softly to himself as his hand traces over your covered breast. “Next time I’m getting all of you on view.”

“Oh, there’s going to be a next time?” You question with a grin, watching that devilish tongue traces his lips, a silent nod sent in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m laying claim, remember?”

Say you're a winner but man you're just a sinner now

#Billy Hargrove #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #Stranger Things #NS/FW #Billy Hargrove Part 2 #Stranger Things 4 #ao3 crosspost

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

as a science party fan, gargoyles and gravel and expiration date forever live in my brain rent fucking free

#spend your halloween night by helping your buddy put the guy who was trying to mug him into a pumpkin??? #spending your (supposed) last 3 days on earth doing experiments together and finding out you're not actually going to die????????? #like even from a platonic perspective!! uh!!!! what!!!!!!!!!! #what the fuck is that!!!!!!!!!!!! the CHEMISTRY.......... #like WHY is science party not even just a LITTLE more popular #they Obviously are at the very least good friends #like ok even without me being a gay fool i Firmly believe they consider each other best friends. i really do #look my straight into the eyes and tell me there's no place you rather be than doing experimenting on bread #with a coworker you feel upwards of lukewarm about #you can't. that's my point #like THAT'S what these two idiots wanted to do in their dying moments. experiment together and see if they can make anymore breakthroughs #before they die. is it any wonder status quo is one of my favorite fics on ao3?? #c mumbles for a while #tf2 #tf2 science party #only 2 main tags on this bc it's mostly me being a bastard but. h #consdiering the length of my rant they probably won't even register in the tags actually #anyways. i need sleep. i was just thinking about this a lot lately

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

Like a Moth to a Flame- Pt. 2

It’s been way too long since I’ve been motivated to work on this piece. But at last… at long last… part two is ready for takeoff! Once again I thank/blame @miscellaneous-bnha for inspiring this piece of monster fuckery (even though there’s no fuckery in this story… yet).

Enjoy!

Part 1

•••••

You become more distracted and nervous than usual over the next week or so. The slightest sound nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you keep making careless mistakes at work. Even your boss checks in with you to make sure you aren’t sick or losing your grip on reality. You assure him everything is fine and blame your poor performance and skittish nature on a made-up relative’s failing health. In truth, you can’t go for more than a few minutes without thinking about the blonde beast, his beautiful yet terrifying presence seeming to loom over you wherever you go. But you don’t dare tell any of your friends or coworkers about what you saw.

Who would believe you? At best, they’d think you were telling a bad joke and at worst they’d try to cart you off to the nearest mental hospital. So you keep your thoughts private, suffering in silence and staying up late to research who or what you saw that night.

And it's during one of your late-night Internet searches that you stumble across a forum dedicated to winged, humanoid creatures known as “mothmen.” 

While the stories mainly originate from the Eastern United States, there have also been purported sightings as far as Japan. And though details may have varied slightly, the key features of the monsters always remain the same: massive height, glowing eyes, and of course the moth-like wings. You’d spent hours poring over your laptop that night, reading the information and accounts posted by other “mothman survivors.” Some stories were rather nice. One woman claimed the mothman she encountered was gentle, bordering on intelligent. She wrote about the gifts and trinkets it brought from time to time and it’s attempts at communication. But the majority were horrifying, with several people posting tales of the beasts attacking without provocation, leaving them injured and afraid. Someone even posted a picture of the deeply scarred claw marks on his chest and arms, claiming them to be the work of a particularly savage mothman. Regardless of their validity, one thing was for sure: the mothmen were unpredictable.

By the end of the second week, you’ve grown so desperate to stop the near constant waking nightmares that you decide to take a proactive approach to the matter. It’s a simple plan: set a trap, wait for the monster to reappear, and collect photo evidence. Even if it’s only to soothe your own self-doubts, you need to have definitive proof of its– of his existence.

On Friday night, you come home late from work, so late the sun has just barely set over the horizon. After a hot shower and a quick meal of instant noodles, you grab a shallow bowl from the cupboard and fill it with lukewarm water. One of the contributors to the website claimed that mothmen like sugar water, much like the insects they resemble. Another had proposed they might even enjoy the taste of cloth or fiber, but you weren’t about to sacrifice one of your favorite sweaters on a wild hunch.

You spoon in a generous amount of sugar into the bowl, mixing well to create a saccharine slurry before heading for the farthest living room window. Unlike the one you’d spotted the mothman from, this one is partially obscured by a rickety fire escape, the metal encrusted with decades worth of rust and snaking up the side of the building. Opening the window and leaning out of it, you place the dish of bait on one of the steps before hauling yourself back inside. You shut the window and settle yourself on the couch, a blanket and book in your lap and your phone’s camera at the ready. Hours tick by, the waning moon slowly creeping by in the night sky as you hold your silent vigil. As you wait in suffocating silence, you start to feel foolish and begin to think your “mothman” might have been nothing more than a product of an overactive imagination and one too many late nights in the office. Even with all your research, all you had to go by was a few wild stories posted by Internet strangers and a missing frying pan. You finally nod off around two in the morning, unable to keep your heavy eyelids open.

•••

WHAM!

A noise from outside jolts you awake from your spot on the couch, followed by the sound of creaking, groaning metal. The whole apartment seems to shake and an unearthly screech accompanies the final creak as you hear the fire escape give way before clattering into the alleyway. Other tenants on all floors start opening their windows and doors, shouting and swearing about the noise and the landlord “not keeping this shithole up to code.” It’s utter chaos for a few minutes and then silence falls once more, your neighbors still grumbling as they retreat back into their homes. You scramble off the couch and to the window, gazing into the alley for any sign of life. The moon isn’t as bright as last time, but you can just barely make out the mangled remains of the fire escape and the faintest glimpse of gold. Throwing caution to the wind, you grab a well-worn hoodie, your phone, and the kitchen knife. You make your way down the three flights of stairs to the alley door, opening it cautiously should you encounter an angry cryptid on the other side. But there’s no one there, so you take a deep breath and head out into the apocalyptic looking alley. Metal is strewn everywhere, with part of the railing still clinging to the side of the building like a deranged centipede. Snapped metal bars jut out at odd angles, creating a maze of twisted, rusty spikes and sharp edges. You slowly pick your way over and around the wreckage, using your phone’s flashlight as a guide so you don’t end up tripping and accidentally impaling yourself.

“Hello?” You call into the darkness, “Mothman? A-are you there?”

Your call is rewarded with a shuddering groan and the sounds of scraping metal. You shine your light on the biggest tangle of steel, watching as something large moves underneath it. The pile of metal shifts upwards and falls away, while a large, dark figure rises from the shadows. They’re silhouetted against the dim moonlight but just as intimidating as before, hunching over as the appendages on their back shake and rustle. You turn the flashlight on and find yourself looking into a familiar pair of glassy, blue eyes. The mothman stares back at you, folding his wings against his back and cocking his handsome head from side to side.

“You- you’re real.” You breathe, feeling your heart jump into your throat as you surreptitiously pull up your phone’s camera. The monster chitters in response as he sniffs at the air, stepping over a piece of rusted debris to get closer to you. You quickly snap and picture... and the alley is suddenly lit up with blinding light.

You’d forgotten to turn off the flash!

The mothman blinks in response and lets out a groan, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. You drop your phone and crouch down, knife forgotten as you cover your head with your hands and prepare for him to lash out. But no claws come to tear at your flesh nor are there any angry roars or shrieks. Instead the beast starts to emit low, rumbling noise, like a growl but far less sinister. You hear metal being dragged across the concrete followed by the sound of heavy footfalls. You cautiously open one eye to see a pair of clawed feet and muscular calves, only to squeak in alarm when his face abruptly appears in your field of vision. You fall backwards in surprise, landing heavily on your rump while the mothman squats mere inches from you. His eyes are fixed on the ground, gently running his nails over the now cracked screen of your upturned phone. Even in the dim lighting you can see his curious, wide-eyed expression and it suddenly dawns on you what that noise he’s making is: he’s purring. Or near enough to it.

“W-What do you want?”

The monster looks up when you speak, cocking his head slightly before turning back to paw at the phone once more. He’s more insistent this time, his swipes becoming bolder as the phone scratches across the concrete. He gives the device a few well-placed taps before making eye contact once more, his brow furrowed as he briefly switches from purring to a chittering cry. With a gulp, you gingerly set down the blade, reach across your body and flip the phone over, the still lit flashlight illuminating the alley once more. The beast’s eye’s blow even wider, enchanted by the light shining upwards into the starry sky. You sit in silence for a few seconds, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and the guttural purrs coming from the mesmerized mothman. As your heart rate slows, you begin to notice more intimate details about the creature before you.

For one, his wings are covered in the same fur that rings his neck and, though it’s shorter and more fine, they look just as soft.

Second, he’s incredibly warm. A steady heat rolls off his body in waves that seem a stark contrast to what one might expect from a bug-centric cryptid.

But most noticeable of all is his smell.

It’s not a bad smell by any means; in fact, it’s downright pleasant. The odor is a cross between lemonade and petrichor, a soothing blend of sweet citrus and earthy musk. You find yourself unconsciously breathing more through your nose, feeling lightheaded as his scent floods your senses and making you relax into the cold pavement. As your eyes lazily drift over his naked form you see he’s holding something in his other hand, protectively clutching it against his chest. You tilt your head to get a better view, the subtle movement getting the monster’s attention and causing him to drag his eyes away from the light and focus on you again.

“What’s that?” You ask softly, almost dreamily, and point to his chest. The mothman’s eyes follow your finger down to his right hand, pulling it away to reveal your (still remarkably intact) bowl. It’s largely empty of its contents, but some of the sugar water has stuck to his fur and cooled into sweet, matted clumps. He squeaks at the sight of it, almost like he’d forgotten about the bait and dives into it to eagerly lap at the ceramic bottom. When it fails to yield anything substantial he huffs and turns his attention to his dirtied mane. He dips his head as a long, pink tongue slithers out of his mouth and curls around the largest tangle, laving over the sugar-crusted mat before quickly retreating. He chitters in satisfaction at the taste, barely glancing up at you before diving back down for more.

“So you do like sugar.” You mutter under your breath, a small chuckle bubbling up in your chest on the exhale. The mothman pays you no mind, too engrossed in his work to notice how you shift your body into a more comfortable sitting position to watch. After a few minutes, the creature stops licking at himself and looks back up at you, eyes still wide and expression almost curious as he cocks his head to the side once more. Tentatively shifting his weight forward, he extends the empty bowl to you.

“I don’t have any more.” You whisper softly, confused yet intrigued by his gentle actions. The mothman grunts and takes another shuffling step, hand still outstretched and his brow softly furrowing. He seems insistent, almost annoyed that you won’t accept his generous offer. Not wanting to anger him, you gingerly extend your own right hand, pinching the rim of the bowl between thumb and forefinger before carefully pulling it from his grip. Holding the bowl against your own chest, you take a stab at what he wants from you and raise the ceramic dish to your lips to give a noisy, pretend slurp. You feel like an adult humoring a child in a game of “tea party,” offering him a cheesy smile and an “mmm” of satisfaction as you pull the empty bowl away from your face. The creature’s own face splits in a too-wide grin, wings flapping excitedly and chittering happily at your display. A quiet gasp is ripped from you throat as you finally get a good look at his teeth.

They’re practically perfect; two rows of pearly white, blunted incisors frames by sharpened, too-long canines on either end. And the smile he’s giving you is nothing short of exuberant, beaming like a drop of sunshine made incarnate. You find yourself returning his smile with a genuine one of your own, amazingly unafraid in the face of this otherwise inhuman beast. But your relief is short-lived as the monster suddenly shifts onto his knees and bounds towards you on all fours.

“Woah, woah, woah!” You squeak, scrabbling backwards and nearly skewering yourself on a jagged piece of wreckage in an attempt to get away. “Take it easy! Down, boy!”

The mothman stops with his face mere inches from yours, clawed hands planted on either side of your hips and still grinning from ear to ear. Carefully, he lowers his golden head to rest against your left shoulder, nuzzling into the sensitive flesh and purring softly in your ear. It’s an act of unbelievable tenderness, of affection, and it stirs something deep within your jackhammering heart. Moving slowly so as to not startle him, you relinquish your hold on the empty bowl and raise your right hand to his head, gently placing it against his temple. At the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the creature freezes for a second and you suck in a quick breath, prepared to pay the price for your boldness. But simply leans further into your touch, closing his eyes contentedly and pushing against your palm like an obedient pet as his purring reaches a fever pitch.

“Good… good boy.” You exhale slowly, thumb brushing across the apple of his surprisingly warm cheek. “That’s a good boy.”

You stay locked together for what feels like ages, the only sounds your own heavy breathing and the monster’s soft purrs of pleasure as you stroke him. Finally you finds your voice again and you softly stammer out, “Do you– do you have a name?”

His eyes open slightly at your question, briefly raising his head with a small chirp. Removing your hand from his face, you splay your palm across your chest and give it two quick pats.

“Y/N.” You say slowly, enunciating each syllable, “I’m Y/N.”

The creature cocks his head for a second and pulls away from you to get into a kneeling position. You pat your chest and repeat yourself once more. The mothman then takes one of his own massive paws and places it on his own chest, mirroring your movements.

“M-Mir…” He chokes out, voice raspy but surprisingly human, like he hasn’t used it in a long time. “Mir… io. Mirio.”

“Mirio?”

Hearing his name fall from your lips elicits another bright smile from the mothman, wings giving a single flap as he curls his hand into a fist atop his sternum.

“Mirio!” He says more boldly, giving his chest two hearty thumps for emphasis.

“Mirio.” You repeat softly, “That’s a nice name.”

His eyes soften at your words, almost as if he understood the compliment. He opens his mouth once more, but before he can speak, a new voice cuts through the night air.

“Hey! What’s going on over there?”

You whip your head towards the source of the noise, moments before you feel a rush of cold air accompanied by a sharp hiss. Someone is picking their way through the wreckage to your location, their own flashlight sweeping over the heaps of rusted metal until it lands on your startled face. Squinting into the light, you can barely make out the silhouette of a man and you feel a bolt of panic shoot through you. You turn back to face Mirio only to find him gone.

“Mirio?” You speak into the darkness, as if uttering the word might make him reappear. But there’s only empty space and silence, punctuated by the heavy footfalls of the stranger coming ever closer to you. It’s only when he’s within a few feet that you can make out the telltale flash of gold on his chest: an officer’s badge.

“Are you alright?” The man asks of you, still shining the flashlight directly into your face. “Are you hurt?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes. I’m fine, sir.”

“Are you sure?” The officer asks quizzically, extending a hand for you to take. You graciously accept his offer, retrieving the forgotten bowl and phone from the concrete with your free hand before hauling yourself back onto your feet.

“Y-yes I’m sure.” You stammer out, “I just, uh… I heard a noise outside my apartment and came to investigate.”

“Awfully late to be investigating strange noises in an alley.” He says incredulously, cocking one eyebrow and shining his light over the ruined fire escape at his feet for emphasis. “Especially in this part of town.”

His light catches on something glinting at your feet and your eyes follow it to land on the forgotten kitchen knife on the ground. His own eyes snap back to you and narrow suspiciously, free hand slowly moving towards the holster resting against his hip.

“Are you alone out here?”

“Yes, sir!” You squeak back automatically, “I swear it’s just me. I live in this apartment complex.”

You gesture to the brick-fronted side of the building to your right as proof of your innocence, praying to all the powers that be that he buys your story. The officer narrows his eyes at you, muttering a quiet, “Huh. Could’ve sworn I saw someone…” before clearing his throat and straightening his posture.

“Well in any case, you should probably head inside now, miss. There have been reports of criminal activity in the area as of late and I wouldn’t want you getting hurt. What with all this rusty metal lying around.”

“Yeah, no use getting a tetanus shot over nothing!” You say jokingly, giving a nervous chuckle as the officer nods solemnly. You don’t dare go to pick up the knife, deciding it’s better to lose another kitchen utensil than land yourself in any more hot water. With a few more parting words, and a declined offer to let him walk you back home, you quickly skirt around the remains of the fire escape and into the safety of the stairwell door. Your mind and heart are racing as you plod up the stairs to the third floor, buzzing with questions without answers as you finally enter and lock the door to your one-bedroom sanctuary. Exhaling a breath you don’t know you were holding, you walk silent over to the living room windows and cast a final glance into the alleyway below. You can see the officer’s flashlight bobbing along as he makes his way around the scattered remains of the fire escape, only to switch off once he reaches the end of the alleyway and resumes his patrol of the neighborhood. But you still wait by the window for a few more minutes, wondering (and perhaps hoping) if you’d catch a final glimpse of flaxen hair or hear the steady beat of wings.

Silence reigns above all, the soft glow of the moon your only companion now.

With a heavy sigh, you peel your eyes away from the wreckage and plod off to your bedroom, stripping off your hoodie and sweatpants as you go. Curling up under the covers, you grab the pillow closest to you and hug it to your chest. If you close your eyes, you can almost believe you can still feel the warmth of his face on your neck, or smell the aroma of him lingering on your skin.

“I hope you’re alright… Mirio.”

#bnha mothman au #mothmanmirio #mothrio #togata mirio x reader #mirio x reader #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #like a moth to a flame

[shedobewritingalittle]

Happy Birthday (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve finds himself at his teammate’s themed birthday party and he can’t help but notice how she is dressed for the event.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Unprotected sex. Steve isn’t super innocent. Oral sex, fingering. Penetration. Some choking

A/N: I literally wrote this as a birthday present to myself because I have 0 shame.

Steve didn't understated why he couldn't stop looking at Y/N. Well that was a lie. He knew why he was staring at her, but he didn't know why he liked what she was wearing. It was her birthday and Tony had decided to throw a costume party. Steve usually would have tried any excuse to get out of an event like this, but since it was Y/N's birthday, he knew he had to come. Natasha had told him what to wear-Hell she practically dressed him. Told him that she had dressed him like "a greaser", whatever the hell that means. Everyone around him was in various costumes, but his eyes were focused on the birthday girl.

He has seen Y/N in everything. Steve's seen her dressed up to nines for some gala they were forced to, covered head to toe in brands that were unreasonably expensive. He's seen her in her suit during missions, covered in blood, grime, and so much more. He has seen her in t-shirts that she stole from her teammates as she sat in the kitchen, yelling at Sam and Bucky for annoying her. No matter what she is wearing, Steve always thinks Y/N is the prettiest woman in the entire world.

His teammate was currently dancing with Natasha and Wanda. She was dressed in shortest plaid skirt (if you could even call it that) that was riding up more and more with every move she made, showing off a hint of red that was hiding underneath. The white button up shirt what she had on was completely unbutton and tied right under her chest, but it did nothing to cover the bright red lacy bra. Steve's eyes dropped down to the white thigh high socks and the black heels she was wearing. Her Y/H/C hair was pulled into two ponytails, each tied with a bright red ribbon. She always looks gorgeous, but right now? Y/N was going to be the death of him.

"You keep staring at her, she's going to notice." Sam speaks up beside him Steve turns his head to look at his friend and his ridiculous costume-if you'd even call it that. He was wearing a cowboy hat, a fake suede vest over his bare chest, and a pair of jeans. Steve shook his head, taking a sip of lukewarm beer that was never going to get him drunk. The blonde wished he had some of Thor's Asgardian mead so he wouldn't feel like the babysitter at this party.

"Howdy to you too." Steve retorts and Sam chuckles. They both watched as Y/N laughed with Wanda and Natasha, her head tossed back and a smile stretched across her face. Steve felt his heart skip a beat when she looked towards him and Sam. Wanda leaned forward, whispering something in Y/N's ear which made her laugh again. Steve's cheeks burn as he starts to worry that they're talking about him.

"Why don't you just talk to her, Steve? She obviously likes you." Sam tells him, like he does every time he catches Steve staring at Y/N. Steve sighs, wiping a hand over his face before looking back at Sam.

"I don't know, Sam. I just don't want screw up what we have right now." The super soldier tries to explain and Sam just shakes his head in response. He's about to open his mouth to speak when someone clears their throat. Someone is standing on the other side of Sam.

"Hey boys. Sammy, do you mind...?" Y/N asks, leaning forward slightly so she can look at both men. Her E/C eyes focus on Steve as she bites her red painted lips. Fuck.

"No I do not, pretty lady. Happy birthday by the way." Sam responds, smiling at the two of them. Y/N nods, smiling at him. He pats Steve on the back, winking at his friend before walking away. Y/N and Steve watch as he walks up to a group of women, calling out "Hey ladies! You wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy?"

"I bet you five dollars he's going to go back to his room alone tonight." Y/N murmurs to Steve, leaning in so he can hear her over the music. Steve chuckles and can't stop his eyes from glancing further south. Steve swallows hard, looking back at her face.

"You think so? Is he trying too hard?" Steve questions, easily starting a conversation with his teammate even though his heart is pounding his chest. Y/N laughs, taking the beer from his hands. It's something she always does, taking his food or drink rather than to get his own. The man usually thinks it's cute and doesn't mind, but this time it's a little different. Steve's mouth goes dry as he watches her red lips wrap around the amber colored bottle. He focuses on how she tilts the bottle upwards, her chin lifting slightly. It's like Steve's looking at her neck for the first time in his whole life. A dozen different thoughts appear in his mind and each one was surely going to send him to hell.

"Way too hard." She answers, licking her lips. Steve watches her movements, thinking that she has to know what she's doing to him. Y/N looks up at him and adds, "Stevie, do you realize that this beer is warm? Like gross warm?"

"No one told you to drink it, doll." Steve retorts as he takes back the beer, momentarily snapping out of his impurethoughts. God, he loved how she said that little nickname she had for him, loved how it rolls off her tongue. Y/N rolls her eyes, leaning against the bar he was also leaning on. Steve was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, watching as she looks out to the rest of the party. Her party.

"Did I catch your attention tonight, Captain Rogers?" She all but purred, keeping her attention forward. Steve blushes, suddenly unable to speak. Captain Rogers. Jesus fucking Christ. He was fucked.

"I-I-am so sorry. I shouldn't have. That's incredibly ina-" Steve rambles but Y/N quickly cuts him off. She's smirking at him.

"It was a gamble, this costume. I didn't know what would catch your eye more. I decided that a schoolgirl outfit never seems to fail. So many men want to fuck something so innocent and pure." Y/N explains, moving to stand in front of him, forcing Steve to look at her. Y/N is far from innocent, they both know that. She's looking up at him through her lashes, "And I think I did a good job. What do you stay, Cap? You like it?"

"I-I like it. You look....pretty." Steve carefully chooses his words, trying to keep his eyes on her face. However, he's human and his eyes keep slipping. Steve wonders if today is actually his birthday and Christmas rolled into one. Y/N smiles at him and his mouth turns into Death Valley. Steve gulps down his beer, almost forgetting that her mouth had been wrapped around the glass last. He looks down at her and feels brave as he asks, "You wore this for me, doll?"

"Just for you, Steve." She replies, her eyes not leaving his. With this sudden, new-found courage, Steve reaches up to wipe a droplet of beer Y/N missed with his thumb. Instead of pulling his thumb away, Steve instead swipes it across her cherry red lips. He doesn't breath as Y/N wraps her lips around his thumb, her eyes on Steve's. Blood rushes to a different part of his body as her tongue swirls around his thumb before she realizes it with a soft 'pop'.

Steve was going to hell.

He presses his lips against hers, pulling her against his body. His large hands rest on her practically bare hip and on the small of her back. One of Y/N's hands immediately flies to his face as she kisses him back, the other resting on his white t-shirt covered chest, taking a fistful of the fabric. It's something they have both been waiting for, mostly likely since they've met each other. Y/N pulls away from his lips, looking up at him. His heart is racing, seemingly pounding against his rib cage. Steve's glad that they're slightly hidden from the party because it seems like it's him and her.

"Steve, why don't we go to your room? Don't think you want to be doing all of this in front of our coworkers." She murmurs to him, smirking up at him.

"Can you leave? I mean it's your party." Steve questions as he looks to the comically large cake in the corner of the room that's situated next to a table overfilling with presents.

"Exactly. It's my party, so I can leave whenever I want." She replies as he looks back at her, "So are we going to go to your room or are you going to make stay here?"

Steve couldn't trust what would coming out of his mouth, so he just nodded. Y/N took his hand and led them both towards the elevator. He watched her swaying hips, the little skirt seemingly riding up with every step. A million thoughts raced through Steve's head as they stepped into the elevator. He felt like he was dreaming. Never in a billion years did Steve ever think that this would happen.

"You know that I just don't want you for..." Steve starts, not being able to fully finish his sentence. He was scared, worried that she wouldn't return his feelings. He didn't want to ruin their friendship, make things awkward and between them, but he needed to make his intentions clear. The doors slid shut in front of them and they were greeted by their distorted reflections. Y/N leaned forward, hitting the button for his floor. She looks up at him, leaning against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

"I know, Steve. Then I should let you know that I'm also not here to simply have an one night stand." Y/N replies as she walks over to him. He can feel his cheeks getting hot and his heart starts to race again. Steve wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. The two of them smiled as they look at each other.

They were smart enough to know not to continue while inside the elevator, because they both knew that little camera in the corner was always rolling. Y/N worked on the pulling the rubber bands and ribbons out of her hair, letting it down as Steve kept his eyes forward. The elevator came to a stop, the soft dinging sounding as the doors slide open. He was the one who took the lead, guiding them out of the elevator and down the hallway. When they came to his dark brown door, Y/N opened it and walked inside in front of Steve.

Steve kept his eyes on her as he walked into the move. He switched on the lights as she turned on her heels, the skirt flaring upwards, showing now what he realized was just her panties. Y/N grinned, knowing exactly what he was looking at. She took it a step further, undoing another button on her barely buttoned shirt, exposing more of the red lace bra. Steve swallows hard, taking off of the leather jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

"Are you going to keep me waiting like this, Captain Rogers?" She purrs to him. It's the combination of everything that makes something inside of Steve snap. He walks forward, yanking her against him. One of his hands move to rest of on the small of her back while the other moves to cup her cheek. His thumb resting on her lips and she opens her mouth for him. A million more dirty thoughts come to mind.

"Are you going to tell me what you want, birthday girl? Or am I going to have to guess?" Steve was using his Captain voice and all of his words were going straight to her core. He lets go of her face and her hand immediately shoots up, wrapping itself around his wrist. Steve feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest when she moves his hand to her throat.

"I want you to fuck me hard, Captain. Can you do that for me?" Y/N says sweetly, looking at him. Steve swallowed hard, his jeans tightening a little more. He really didn't know how to respond so she just continued talking, "I know you want to, Stevie."

"Y-You sure?" Steve was all talk and he knew that. Suddenly, he was that little guy from Brooklyn, too nervous to even look at a girl.

"Rogers, I put your hand around my throat. I am pretty sure that I'm sure. If you aren't, that's okay." There was humor in Y/N's voice as her face softened for a moment, her hand resting on his. Steve was feeling a thousand different feelings all at once. He studied her face, wanting to really make sure that this is what she wanted. Steve Rogers did what he usually did and threw all caution to the wind. It's her birthday and who was he to deny her request?

Steve slams his lips against hers, kissing her roughly. His hand slips away from her throat as he walks her towards the bed. Y/N's legs meet the bed and he pushes so she falls backwards. She bounces slight on the bed, quickly sitting back on her hands. The birthday girl watches as Steve kicks off his shoes and socks, his T-shirt soon joining them on the floor. Y/N licked her lips as her eyes trailed down his body and towards where his hands were working on unbuttoning his jeans. Steve was straining in his pants and they way she was looking at him wasn't helping in the slightest.

"Can I? Please?" She speaks up, her eyes looking up at him. Steve's ready to fall apart right then and there while she looked up at him through her lashes. He just nods in response and she quickly sits up, her hands flying to his thighs. She slowly pulls Steve's pants down his body, being greeting with by his boxers barely restraining his cock. The look she gives him is far from innocent as tugs the fabric down in one single motion. He springs out and her hand immediately wraps around him.

"Fuck, Stevie. You've been holding out on me." She breathes out, looking up at him. Steve doesn't get a chance to respond before her tongue swipes at the precum leaking from his tip. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down to watch her. Y/N looks back at him as she swirls her tongue around his head before taking more of him into her mouth. His hand moves without his brain telling it to and it buries itself in her hair. Somehow, she smirks around him continuing to relax her throat more.

Y/N fucking amazed him.

"Jesus Christ." Steve groans, eyes fluttering shut as she bobbed her head on him. The movement caused him to tug on her hair hard and thrusted into her mouth. Steve's eyes shot open and he was about to apologize, but she simply moaned around him, eyes watering slightly. Jesus fucking Christ. The movement had only spurred her on more and her movements quickened. Steve couldn't see it, but her hand had slipped under the band of her red panties. She was soaking wet and her clit was all but throbbing in need for any sort of attention. Y/N moaned around him again as her finger circled her bundle of nerves.

Steve wasn't a virgin. He hadn't been one since before the war, but with the way she was working him he might as well been. He held her hair in a makeshift ponytail as tried not to thrust into her mouth again. Y/N could tell that he was restraining himself, so she took as much as she could take of him, her free hand moving to cup his balls. The new action made him thrust again into her mouth and she looked up at him, nodding. God, Steve was ready to pull out a ring and propose to her in that moment. Instead, he thrusted into her mouth as carefully as he could, gripping her hair. He only did this a few times before he pulled her off of his cock.

"It's not my birthday, doll." Steve tells her just as she opens her mouth to complain. Her lipstick was smeared all over her face and her mascara was messed up because of how watery her eyes were. He looked down a little further and saw where Y/N's hand currently was. Steve's hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her hand out of her panties. He lifts her hand up to his mouth, licking them clean. She tasted just like candy.

"Steve, I need you so bad." Y/N whined as he pulled her fingers from his mouth. He dropped her hand, pushing her back onto the bed.

"What do you need doll? Use your big girl words." Steve responds as his hands move to rip her shirt apart, the remaining buttons going flying around the room. Y/N's breathing hard as she tries to speak.

"I-I need your cock. I need your cock in me." She manages to get out as he rips her skirt as well, tossing it over his shoulder. Steve never thought he would ever see her like this, which such dirty words falling from those pretty lips. His teammate is laying there, dressed in only a matching red lace bra and panties. Somehow, she still looks like a fucking angel. Y/N knows he is watching her intently as her hand slides behind her, unclasping her bra. She tosses it aside, her nipples hardening almost immediately once it's off.

"Fuck." Steve mutters and Y/N really wants to chide him over his use of the word, but then his mouth is on her skin. Steve's training kisses down her neck, occasionally sucking and biting at her skin. Y/N's hand flies to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark blonde strands as the kisses go lower. Her hold tightens as he wraps those pretty pink lips of his around her nipple. She arches into his mouth. If that wasn't enough, his hand moves down her abdomen and he pulls her panties to the side. Y/N inhales sharply as his finger seeks out her clit.

"Steve-Fuck." Her moans are like music to his ears. Steve looks up at her as his finger repeats her motions from earlier. He watches as her eyes close, her mouth dropping open as he bites her sensitive skin lightly. Steve suddenly wants to hear her moan his name for rest of his life. Y/N thought he'd be more awkward since he's almost as innocent as Peter, but Jesus Christ, she was fucking wrong. Steve shifts his assault to her other breast as his finger slides a little bit lower, slipping inside of her. He slowly pumps his finger in and out of her, easily adding another.

"You're so wet, doll. Is that all for me?" Steve questions, pulling away from her breast. Y/N moans out, nodding. Her other hand moves to hold onto his shoulder, needing him as close as possible.

"Y-Yes. All for you, Steve-Fuck!" She responds as he quicks the pace of his fingers slightly, his thumb giving attention to her clit. The noises coming from her mouth only get louder, nails digging into skin. Steve keeps his eyes on her as his fingers move a little faster, needing to hear more and more of her little noises. He could watch her fall apart like this for the rest of his life. Steve kisses her breast sweetly, a sharp contrast to what his hand is currently doing.

"You're so soaked for me. I hope you weren't dancing like this in that little skirt. Anyone could've seen." He spurs her on, his fingers curling slightly. Y/N cries out, quickly building towards her orgasm. She knew she want going to last very long with how much she was worked up and how Steve was working her. She couldn't get anything coherent out as her toes curled. Her nails dragged down his back as she arched her back off of his bed, trying to hold onto him. Steve was pressing himself against her leg as he pumping his fingers in and out of her as quickly as he could. He kept his eyes on Y/N as she came, crying out his name as she tugged sharply on his hair.

Steve couldn't help but kiss Y/N as his fingers worked him through her orgasm, her body shaking slightly. Her hand moves to cup his cheek, kissing him back passionately. He pulled his hand away and before she could complain, Steve slipped inside of her. They moaned into each other's mouths. Y/N held onto him as he filled her up completely.

"You're so tight, doll." Steve groans against her mouth, giving her a moment to get used to him before he pulled out and pushed back in. It was almost overwhelming. Y/N was already extremely sensitive and his movements weren’t helping at all. She held onto him as he started to pick up his pace, grunting out, “You feel so good, Y/N.”

“God, Steve.” Y/N cries out, tossing her head back. His hand moves to rest back on her neck, resting his hand lightly on her throat as he picked up his pace. She grinned at him, looking up at Steve. Y/N wrapped her legs around Steve’s hips, more than enjoying the hand around her neck. He knew neither of them were going to last long. Y/N had already worked him up and with how she sounded, he knew she wasn’t too far behind. Steve reaches down his free hand and starts rubbing her clit again.

“You going to come for me again, Y/N? Gonna come all over my cock?” Steve questions, snapping his hips into her. She digs her nails into his skin, gasping as he presses his thumb into the side of her neck. Her walls fluttered around him as she moaned. Y/N was almost there. Steve quickens his movements on her bud as fucks her hard and fast.

“Steve!” Y/N shouts, arching her back off the bed as she comes hard around his cock. Steve holds onto her tightly, lasting only a few more thrusts before he buries himself inside of her, painting her walls as calls out her name. Steve loosens his grip on her neck as he slows his thrusts, trying to ride out their orgasms. Both of them were panting as Steve moves to bury his head in the crook of her neck, his hand pulling away from her throat. Their hearts were beating a thousand miles a minute as Steve moves so he is laying down on the bed and Y/N is laying in his chest.

“Don’t tell Nat, but this is best present I’ve gotten thus far.” She manages to get out, a playful smile on her face. Steve laughs, holding her close. He kisses her slightly sweaty forehead.

“Thanks, doll. Happy birthday, Y/N.” Steve responds, his hand moving up and down her back. She looks up at him, grinning. Even though they just had sex and he was still buried inside of her, Steve blushed. God, he had it bad for her.

“Thank you, Steve. How long do you need before round two?” Y/N questions, her smile turning into a smirk.

God, she was going to kill him.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader