DING DONG, BlTCHES @sapphireplums - Tumblr Blog

Can’t Lose You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: After a foolish act of bravery nearly gets you killed, you and Steve have the argument of a lifetime. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) your boyfriend happens to be ridiculously hot when he’s angry, and the line between fury and passion has a tendency to stretch very thin when it comes to the two of you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI; Smut!, Unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, friends), Angry sex, My hand slipped and Steve is dominant as fuck, Dirty talk, Please let me know if I forgot anything!!

Author's Note: We all knew this day would come, and now it’s finally here. In honor of Steve Harrington’s Canonically Huge Dick, I present to you my first full-on smut drabble. Special thanks to @flowersforbucky for proofreading! And as usual, please let me know what you think! If you guys like this, there’s a pretty big chance you can expect more like it in the future!!

-

Steve Harrington, your boyfriend and the absolute love of your life, drives you fucking crazy.

He’s overprotective, bossy, always ready with a sarcastic comment, and so fucking cocky sometimes that you want to wring his gorgeous neck.

Perhaps luckily for both of you, you drive him crazy right back.

You’ve spent the last half hour or so shouting at each other. In his car. In his front yard. Through the halls of his empty house. And now in his bedroom, where he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair and pacing back and forth and still just as absolutely furious with you as he was since the fight began.

“What’s the point of a plan if you’re never going to stick to it?! What the fuck did you think was going to-“

“I didn’t think! I didn’t need to think! If I hadn’t gone in there, those fucking monsters would have-“

“They would have ripped you apart if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

“But they didn’t.”

“But they would have!”

You swear you mean to leave. You mean to turn on your heel and storm out, to shake off the anger and stomp home and wait for the adrenaline and fury and…everything else to wear off on its own.

But Steve catches your wrist, and spins you back toward him, and his face is flushed and his jaw is clenched and his eyes are on fire and…well, he must be having a similar thought process about your current state, because suddenly his mouth is crushed to yours and his hands are moving up to tangle in your hair with a ferocity that steals the breath from your lungs. He backs you into the door of his bedroom, slamming you against it and caging you in with his body so hard that the impact might hurt if it weren’t for his hand catching the back of your head to shield you from the blow.

“You drive me insane.” He growls, low, as his furious hands tug your shirt over your head like the garment is the most offensive thing he’s ever seen. “Never fucking listen. Always talking back.”

“Take this off.” You tug at his own shirt, breathless and growing increasingly more desperate with each layer of clothing remaining between you.

“And bossy.” But he pulls his shirt over his head, ducking back down to bite at your neck hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Oh, I’m the bossy one now-“ he cuts you off with another bite, hands sliding over your waist as he presses you tighter against the door until there doesn’t seem to be a millimeter of space left between you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn’t been there in time?” His words are dangerously quiet against your jaw, and you think he might be shaking. You pull back, catching his lips with your own as you begin to fumble with his belt. He responds faster than the crack of a whip, snatching your wrists with one hand and pinning them to the wall above your head without once breaking the kiss.

“Never sticking to the fucking plan.” He continues between demanding kisses, the fingers of his free hand working expertly at the button of your jeans. “Never. Fucking. Listen.”

“We didn’t have time to- oh God.” Your defense is cut off with a gasp as his hand dives beneath your waistband, and you hear his breath catch as his skilled fingers find just how desperate you are for him.

“Fuck-“ for just a moment, his composure breaks. You whimper, the sound leaving you before you can remember that you’re trying to sass him, and he crushes his lips to yours again as he begins to work you like a well-loved instrument. Despite his words, and the gravel still lacing his tone, his movements aren’t rough. He holds you still against the wall, completely in control, but his kiss is loving and his fingers are deft as they move in the exact way he knows will make you fall apart faster than you can think.

“Almost lost you, because you can’t stop throwing yourself into danger.” He murmurs, crooking his finger and adding a second in a single smooth movement that makes your toes curl.

“We didn’t have…t-time, fuck. Steve.”

“Still arguing with me.” He almost grumbles, but his voice is so raw and his fingers are speeding up inside of you and his thumb is working in small circles and you’re having trouble remembering to be pissy with him. That’s probably his fucking intention, but you definitely can’t complain right now. “You almost die, and two seconds later you’re arguing with me.” He pulls back, just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression that crosses it.

He’s losing his grip on his anger, too. You can see the fury in his eyes replace itself with something like reverence as they look into yours, as he crooks his fingers again and swallows your gasp of helpless pleasure like it’s a drug. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Hold onto me.”

He releases your wrists, and pulls his fingers back so quickly that you nearly sob from the sudden loss. Your arms move to lock around his broad shoulders before you can think, and his hands come down to the backs of your thighs so he can lift you against the wall and kiss you so hard and rough that you forget how to breathe right. His hips rock against yours, and when your nails dig into the warm skin of his back he groans low enough for the sound to vibrate through you.

“Want you.” You murmur, and he moans again as he pulls you back from the door and lowers you onto the bed, still so careful despite his anger.

Once again, your hands move down to tug at his belt, desperate for more of him, and once again, he bats them away.

“Not yet.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, trailing searing kisses over your collarbone as he crawls lower. Lower. You whine, arching your back in frustration as your fingers curl against his shoulders in a stubborn attempt to pull him back to you.

“Steve, just-“

He interrupts you with a sharp bite to your hip, hands already working to pull you out of your jeans.

“Do you really think,” his voice is even lower now, dark eyes still burning as he turns them up to you, “that after the shit you pulled tonight, you get to tell me how to fuck you?”

You do your best to glare, even as his words send molten heat through your already burning bloodstream. You can’t find it in yourself to answer, and his satisfied hum only makes you burn hotter. Cocky bastard.

“That’s what I thought.” He murmurs, thumbs hooking in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down as you squirm with a desperation that makes frustration ignite in your core all over again.

He lifts your knee over his shoulder, ducking back down to drag his blunt teeth along the inside of your thigh, and you try so, so hard not to give in. To stay mad at him. To find the words to tell him that he was being overprotective and you had everything under control and just because you’re about to lose your mind with lust and need doesn’t mean you’re done yelling at him.

And then his mouth is on you, hot and skilled and overwhelming, and anything you might have said is cut off by a near-sob of pleasure.

“That’s it.” He murmurs, the words vibrating through you as your fingers tangle helplessly in his hair. “Lemme hear you.”

The way Steve Harrington can take you apart with his mouth should be studied by science. The way you see stars as he writes sonnets into your body with his tongue, the way his fingers join the machinations of his mouth to make you cry out so loudly you’re worried you might wake half the fucking neighborhood. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, and his hand moves up to push your knee back down onto the bed, moaning into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are and it’s so fucking hot you might die.

Your high approaches like a fucking freight train, barreling towards you almost alarmingly fast. It’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain, but Steve doesn’t stop. Not for a second. His hand leaves your thigh, sliding up your stomach and your ribs until you’re almost mindlessly clawing at the muscled bicep before you, desperate to anchor yourself to anything solid.

His hand catches your fingers instead, threading them through his own, and when you look down, his eyes are dark and starved and possessive and locked right the fuck onto yours, and you fall over the edge with a scream of his name.

When you come to, still struggling to catch your breath, it’s to your boyfriend climbing up your body like a panther poising to attack, lips brushing over any exposed skin he can reach like he’s trying to inhale you into his very lungs.

“So good. You did so good for me…” he murmurs as he reaches the hollow of your throat, and you can only raise a hand to comb your fingers weakly through his hair. Your grip tightens, however, when you feel his own fingers return to where they were aiding his tongue moments ago, making you gasp and squirm beneath him, still oversensitive.

“S-Steve.” You start, only to be cut off by another sharp gasp as he slips two digits inside of you without so much as a warning.

“Shoulda tied you to the fuckin’ headboard.” He growls, breath warm against the shell of your ear. The words make you arch beneath him, and it takes a lot more focus than you would like to admit for you to smirk.

“Still mad, huh?”

He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth, and speeds up the movement of his hand until you’re writhing.

And once again, his fingers move and curl inside of you, relentlessly massaging your sweet spot until you’re shaking beneath him.

He kisses you, slow and hungry and deep, and whispers soft praise against your lips until he finally builds you slowly back up to the precipice. Works you open until you’re moaning and gasping shamelessly into his mouth.

Just as you’re about to combust, clinging to him like a lifeline, he pulls back.

“No no no-“ you gasp, mindlessly, and almost reach down between you before his hand flies up to catch yours, pressing it back against the sheets by your head.

“Shhh.” He coos, nuzzling into your cheek with a cocky smirk. “Not so quick to talk back now, are ya?”

“Asshole.” You wish you meant it. He laughs, kissing your cheek, and finally reaches down to tug his jeans over his hips.

He’s big. Almost too big. Even with all of the preparation, all of the time he took to work you open for him, the stretch makes you whimper as he pushes in, slow and careful and shaking with restraint.

“You can take it, baby.” He half-whispers, more than a little breathless himself, and squeezes your hand a little tighter as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you. My girl. So fucking tight. Made for me, yeah? You were fucking made for me…”

He kisses you again, groaning as he sinks all the way into you, and begins to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Like he’s savoring every thrust. Like he’s taking his sweet time making sure each movement hits the deepest, warmest parts of you.

“S-Steve.” His name leaves your lips in a desperate gasp, and the fingers of the hand not holding your own tighten behind your knee as he pulls it up a little higher around his hip.

“What is it, baby?” He asks, teasing and soft as you writhe beneath him. His lips glide over the line of your jaw, and his next thrust is just a little rougher. A little more intense. It sends a shot of pleasure through you, but it’s not enough. Not nearly. You whimper, the fingers of your free hand digging deep into his bicep as you try to match his movements with your own. Try to create just a little bit more friction.

He tsks at you, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours.

“Mm, always such a firecracker.” He purrs, another slow roll of his hips making you keen. “But you get so sweet like this, don’t you?”

“Steve.” You nearly sob his name now, and he still doesn’t pick up speed, but he does slide his tongue between your lips with a rock of his hips that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Shh,” he coos again , and you can see the restraint in his shoulders. See how difficult it is to keep his slow rhythm in the way sweat beads on his brow. “Be good, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Y-you…ngh.” The insult dies on your tongue.

“I what?” He whispers, breath warm against your cheek. His hand tightens in yours, still teasing, and your toes curl as your head falls back against the pillows with frustration. More more more. You need more so badly you can’t think straight. You know he does too. You’re going to kill him. “You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart.”

He wants you to beg. You’re definitely gonna kill him.

“This is…you’re…” words are not your friend, it seems.

He thrusts a little harder, just once, and you whine. “C’mon, be sweet for me.”

“Please.” You nearly sob, and he grins as his free hand comes up to smooth over your hair. “Please, please please.”

“Good girl.” He purrs, and finally starts to speed up. Finally angles himself to hit that spot inside of you that has you moaning into his shoulder. “Was that so hard?”

“Steve.”

And even with the way his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so he can kiss you so roughly you wonder if your lips might bruise, and the way he snaps his hips so hard against yours you wonder if the headboard is going to dent the wall, his fingers are still tangled in yours by your head. His eyes are still locked on your own, and there’s so much love in his gaze that you think you might drown in it.

You’re drowning in him, and you never want to come up for air.

“I love you.” He whispers, hoarse and hungry and raw. “I love you so much. Doing so good for me. Fuck.” He kisses you again, and you can do nothing but sob out more pleas and broken forms of his name.

You feel like you’re on fire. It’s so good it hurts. You can’t think. You can’t speak. You wonder for a moment if he’s somehow broken your brain, mind almost too empty to even register the sweet words he’s whispering against your skin.

You try to tell him so. Try to express the intensity of what’s building inside of you. The words fail, and you just choke on a whimper of “S’ t-too…”

“I’ve got you.” He kisses your cheek. Your nose. Your lips. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Wanna feel it.”

And you do. You’re too far gone to even scream anymore, biting down so hard on his shoulder that you’re positive it’s going to leave a bruise and clinging to him with everything you’ve got as your vision goes completely white for the second time tonight.

“So good... Fuck, fuck baby.” His breath is warm against your throat as you slowly fall back to earth. He follows you over the edge, pulling back to press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he comes apart with a guttural moan of your name.

You’re boneless. Exhausted. Damp with sweat and still trying to remember how to form coherent thought.

Steve seems to be in the same boat, collapsing on top of you and taking a moment to catch his breath. His nose nuzzles into the skin beneath your jaw, hand releasing your leg to slide lovingly up over your waist.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you can only nod, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders with an exhausted hum.

“Still mad?” You ask, and he finally pulls back to look down at you again, fingers tracing over your still-flushed cheek.

“You can’t do that.” He says, soft and just a little rasped. “You can’t…you have to be more careful. I almost lost you.”

“Well, if that’s how you’re gonna show me that you’re mad-“

“I’m serious.” He turns your face towards him, and his eyes are soft. Vulnerable. The fire and fury from before is gone. “I almost lost you tonight. You almost…” his breath stutters a little, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you get that?”

His thumb smooths over your cheek, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin, and you can’t blame your exhaustion for the way your heart melts.

“Okay.” You turn your face, kiss the skin of his palm. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He nods, and leans down to kiss you, slow and sweet and soft.

And as he gathers you into his arms, lips barely leaving your skin for more than a second as he shifts to wiggle you both beneath the covers, you completely forget that you were ever upset with him in the first place. Something about him being overprotective. Or bossy. Or both.

You’ll try to remember that you’re mad in the morning. Or not. Or you’ll just hold him, and remind him how much you love him in the dim light of his bedroom, and wait until you can feel your legs again.

Steve Harrington, the love of your life, drives you absolutely fucking crazy.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

DING DONG, BlTCHES