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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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I literally love your work and this 3k celebration is absolutely GENIUS so can I please get a filthy martini with Steve Harrington? Can it be enemies with benefits(also hate fucking? I blame you for this new trope obsession bc 24 hours GOT ME FERAL)?

nonnie i love you this is the such an incredible request i can only hope i did it justice oh my GOD

come party with me!

sweet like honey (steve harrington x fem! reader)

warnings: smut, p in v, mean steve sort of if you squint?, oral f receiving, talk of unprotected sex, cnc hickies? is that a thing? she says no and then he does it anyway?, arguing over using protection (steve says he'll convince her to not use it next time, but they use it this time!), not edited, minors dni

You hate him. You swear it to yourself, to your friends, to your own mother who sometimes points him out at sport events or at the local grocery store. You hate Steve Harrington. Simple as that.

But maybe, just maybe, it isn't as simple as that.

Because you hate him, yes - to your very core - but you still always end up here. You still answer when he texts you in the middle of the night, you still meet him at your spot at the park that serves as a halfway point between your house and his, and you still end up in his lap in the backseat of the BMW his daddy bought for him.

“This is the last time, Harrington,” you murmur through fervent kisses as you sit as comfortably as possible in his lap, “I mean it.”

He pulls back with that boyish grin that you absolutely despise, tightening his grip on your hips as his head tilts, “Of course, honey. Just like you said the last two times, right?”

You don’t offer him an answer, instead plunging back in for a biting kiss. You imagine that if you take his bottom lip between your teeth hard enough, if you bite down with the right pressure, he’ll bleed. And the thought of tasting Steve Harrington’s blood across your tongue is more exciting than you care to admit.

“Yes, but I really do mean it this time,” you insist against his mouth, your hangs tangling against the roots of his hair. Your goal is to mess it up, to rake through the product and all the time you know he spends in the mirror each morning, and ruin it.

He only hums in response and urges you down onto his lap harder, the bulge confined in his jeans pressing into you more noticeably.

“Hard already?” you tsk, rolling your hips harder against him, eliciting a load moan from his lips.

He’s just so easy. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back for more.

“God, just shut up,” he gasps against you, moving his mouth along your jaw and neck.

He starts to suck hard on your sweet spot, which in return makes you tug sharply on his hair. Hard enough to make him hiss in pain, “No fucking marks, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“I know,” he says, clearly not knowing, as he continues to chuckle and trace his finger along the junction of your neck and shoulder, “But imagine just how pretty you’d look, all marked up by me.”

“And imagine how pretty you’d look with your head between my thighs, not fucking talking,” you remark back.

No marks. Because if he left a mark, then people might know. And you’d rather die than have anyone find out you had been fucking around with Steve Harrington the last two months.

Steve suddenly maneuvers the two of you so that you’re laid out across the seat, fitting himself between your legs with clear practice. The two of you have been in this backseat more times than you can count, and have learned your way around the confinement of it all.

He pushes up the flimsy sleep shorts you’d worn out, bunching them at the top of your thighs as far as they will go as he places kisses up your inner thigh, starting at your knee, “I know you said no marks, sweetie,” his tone is laced with condescending confidence, teeth nipping at the soft skin as he looks up at you, “But what about here, hm? Where no one can see them? Do we have a deal?”

He’s going to get his way. He always knows he can get his way when he starts to soften you up like this, one hand gripping your knee and already guiding it over his shoulder as the other trails beneath the waistband of the shorts and draws circles on your hip.

“If anyone can see them, Harrington, I’ll-”

“Kick my ass,” he finishes your sentence for you, already moving to nuzzle his nose into your thigh, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, babe.”

He sucks and nips immediately at your makeshift permission, his saliva glistening against the purple bursting to life on your skin in the shape of his lips.

“Lay off the nicknames,” you sigh, throwing your head back as his moves to make a second mark, higher up and closer to where you ache for him, “Or I will go back home and leave you with blue balls.”

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, eyes flicking up towards you. It’s a shame he’s such an absolute dick, because he looks pretty from here. Hair messed up as you intended, pupils blown wide, lips nearly magnetic against you as if he can’t get enough.

“Oh, honey, you wouldn’t,” he taunts, finally sitting up, beginning to take off your shorts, “We both know you don’t mean it, do you? You can threaten me all you want, but you still come back every,” your shorts are off, and he pauses to lean down and bite at your hip now before continuing, “single,” he moves to the other hip, sucking hard, leaving a weaker shade of violet in his path, “time.”

You don’t reply as you whine out, hips bucking up, encouraging him to get it over with. To put his mouth where you need it most. To stop with his incessant cooing and taunting and to just fuck you with his tongue.

He gets the message fairly clearly through his thick skull.

And you like him best like this, quiet as he slides your panties to the side, tongue on your clit and already sliding his fingers into you, hellbent on unraveling you. He’s learned your body best at this point, knowing when to crook his fingers as he adds a second one, when to alternate between wrapping his lips around your clit to suck and using only the tip of his tongue to trace invisible shapes lost on you. He’s quiet, he’s as messy as a boy like him is capable of getting, and he knows.

But he’s eager. You’d say it’s his downfall, but you truly reap the benefits when he brings you right to the edge only to pull back and begin to make quick work of his own pants. He’s still in his jeans and polo, his work vest discarded in the front seat, his belt quickly joining it.

You have no time to make another smart ass remark. No opportunity to poke fun at the way he bumps his head against the roof of the car or the way he struggles with his zipper a second longer than he should. Because once he’s gotten his cock out of his briefs, thick and pink and already leaking from the tip for you, he makes quick work to be inside you.

“Condom,” you gasp out as his tip circles your interest, making him pause for the first time the entire night.

His eyebrows furrow, “You’re on the pill, yeah? We didn’t use one last time.”

“My mistake,” you grit out, fighting the urge to just let him sink into you, to feel him stretch you in a way you both know only he can, “I know you’re fucking other girls. Wrap it, or I’m out, Harrington.”

A sudden break of softness. In an instant, his teasing halts and he pulls back, looking at you with a hand still wrapped around his base, “I’m not fucking other girls.”

“What?”

“I said,” he leans down, warm brown eyes staring into yours, “I’m not fucking other girls. Only you. Only has been you since this entire thing started.”

If you were an idiot, you’d read more into his words. You’d read into the fact that the town’s womanizer, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, has taken himself off the market for you. You’d think about it the rest of the night, your entire way back home, fantasize about it as you closed your eyes and begged for sleep.

But you’re not an idiot. So you laugh at him.

“Bullshit,” you say, maintaining eye contact, daring him into some unspoken war between the two of you.

You watch as his jaw locks, his eyes set in stone, before he suddenly is fumbling around the car floor and producing his wallet. He pulls a condom from where it had been nestled between an abhorrent amount of cash, and he’s hasty in ripping it open.

“Fine,” he mumbles as he rolls the latex over his cock, “Fine. You want me to wear a condom, sweet thing? I’ll wear a condom. But I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll be begging me to go raw next time.”

Your stomach clenches, your core flutters. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re already reconsidering your insistence.

“Consider it a challenge, Harrington.”

When the stretch finally comes, you’re preening into him, back arching and legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He’s harsh now in his actions, hardly allotting time to adjust once he bottoms out before he pulls back and repeats the motion, slamming into you harder the second time.

He finds his rhythm quickly; he knows what you like. He knows that you want it rough, that you want him to destroy you from the inside out. Your nails claw at him through the cotton of his shirt, and you consider the ramifications if you were to tear through the fabric, leave holes and make the shirt unrecognizable.

Mommy and daddy would probably buy him a new one.

Your fingers dig in deeper at the thought.

“This good, yeah?” he asks, snapping his hips up into your hard enough to that your body shifts upwards, back burning from the rough tapestry of the seat and the top of your head banging into the car door, “You like it hard, don’t you, baby?”

No words are formed, your mouth open as whines and moans alike tear from your throat, pulling him in closer. He dips his lips back down into your shoulder, placing messy kisses up to your throat.

“You’re always such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? What would your mother think? What would your friends think?” he presses as a hand grips your bare thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding your leg even harder to his hips, “Going all cock drunk for Steve Harrington, the boy you hate.”

“Shut up,” you groan out, grabbing at his hair and pulling harshly, trying to lift his head from your throat. He doesn’t follow the pull of your hand. Instead, he bites down on the skin he was previously kissing innocently against.

He leaves a mark. You know he does. But all you're capable of is a pathetic whine as your pussy flutters around him, sucking him deeper into you.

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbles against the skin before his tongue lathes over the spot that still stings, “Fucking knew you loved being marked up, baby. Tried to stop me all this time because you knew you loved it so much.”

“Steve,” you beg as your head hits the door yet again from the force of another thrust.

He slows his movements, head lifting to take in your features. Your teary eyes, your heaving chest to match his own, “Fuck, too hard?”

You breathlessly laugh, shaking your head, pressing your heel into his lower back, “Harder. Please.”

Those two words are all it takes. Something snaps inside of Steve right there, in his backseat, you a writhing mess beneath him as his jeans continue to slip down his thighs. Your pleads are his command; he offers the smallest of mercies by moving a palm to protect the top of your head before his thrusts turn animalistic.

He’s pounding into you as if his life depends on it, as if your pussy is a warm and wet savior he had sought out for years. The surrounding windows begin to fog over as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours, swallowing each of your mewls in exchange for guttural moans of his own. Your pussy clenches down on him, hard, and it does nothing to slow his pace.

“Fuck,” you call out, back arching further. His hand trails below you and settles into the curve of your lower back, pressing you up against him further as he continues. “Oh my God, don’t stop. Please, fuck- Don’t stop. Please, please.”

Steve laughs lowly at your babbling, “I’m not, sweetheart. I’m not. Let go.”

Just like that, you feel the pleasure heat up your core, molten between your hips as you feel every inch of him continue to stretch your walls. His hips begin to stutter as you tighten around him, crying out as the coil tightens to it’s breaking point. It overflows from you, whimpers and cries alike as he kisses them away with clashing lips and teeth. The waves of euphoria are still consuming you and dragging you under when he suddenly stiffens, stilling deep inside of you and collapsing down on top of your chest, groaning the loudest of the night between pants, his hand still curled into the small of your back.

You suddenly wish you could feel his heat filling you. He was right - next time, there will be no condoms. You want to feel him, need to feel all of him.

You both are quiet as you catch your breaths, neither saying a word as you come down from your highs. In a moment of innocent serenity, accidental peace amongst enemies, he presses his cheek against your sternum through your own shirt. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest against your torso.

But the peace must end. Because you’re you, and Steve’s Steve, and the two of you can only fit together so effortlessly for so long. He finally lifts his head, the devilish boyish grin returning, as he asks, “So, same time tomorrow, honey?”

#3k celebration #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #side note i tried to make a divider for this event but can't figure out how to make it transparent boooo #i wrote this in like an hour i'm sorry if it sucks haha #it simply poured out of me the moment i saw the request

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