something wicked this way comes - vampire! steve harrington x human! reader
synopsis! a drunken dare has you stumbling up the stairs to the harrington manor not knowing what kind of treat you’re in for… or maybe you are the treat…
warnings! 18+, minors dni, smut, unprotected p in v, creampie.. if you can even call it that. can vampires really cum? idk but this one can, dubious consent, steve harrington is *technically* forever 21 even though this takes place in early 2000s, dirty talk, biting, nsfw, oral sex (reader receiving), reader is also 21, making out, blood play, edging, degrading kink, big dick harrington is back in town
word count: 3.1k
the harrington manor sat at the edge of the nearly forgotten cul de sac, dark and empty like it had been for years. hell, hawkins, indiana was nearly forgotten itself, almost, but not quite a ghost town yet.
everyone had heard of the harrington’s. whether you were five or seventy five, everyone, except for you of course, knew that in 1986, something caused mr and mrs harrington to flea into the night and never return, leaving all their belongings behind. their son disappearing shortly after, never to be seen again. turning into somewhat of a local legend.
legend has it, if it’s a cold rainy night and there’s a full moon, you can knock on the door and if he’s feeling up for company, the door will creak open, allowing you in— only for you to never be seen again.
but of course that was just a legend. something the kids made up in town to scare each other. even kids in the neighboring towns knew about it.
you found yourself sitting at a bar, one town over from hawkins with your college friends, it was cold and rainy, you were home for the week from college due to fall break. indiana gets cold quick, gone was the humid summer air, now replaced with dreary fall days.
“have you guys heard about the legend of steve harrington?” one of your friends ask, leaning over their drink.
you weren’t from here so you furrowed your brows in confusion, “who’s steve harrington?” you ask, thinking maybe it’s some kid who died in town that everyone knew about.
your friends jaw dropped, “you’ve never heard about steve?”
“i’m not from here, remember?” you remind them, obviously they were a little tipsy.
you’re swirling your straw around in your cup, waiting in both annoyance and anticipation as your friend loudly sips on their drink, “i can’t believe i get to tell you about this!” they mumble, excited, signaling the bar tender to bring out another round, “steve harrington is this guy that lived in hawkins, one night his family just up and left in the middle of the night. it was the 80s. they left him behind. no one ever saw him again.” they inform you, having leaned closer to make sure they kept their voice down.
you blinked, staring at them before snorting, they look at you in confusion, not sure what’s so funny, “is that all?” you ask.
your friend frowns, “well, i mean, yeah. i mean, there’s been rumors that he’s killed people but no bodies to back it up.”
“consider me unimpressed.” you deadpan.
“unimpressed about what?” your other friend asks, taking a seat next to you.
“the legend of steve harrington.” you say, tone skeptical. “literally the most unscary story i’ve ever heard in my life.” you giggle, slightly tipsy yourself.
“if you’re so unimpressed why don’t you go see for yourself. if you knock and the door creaks open, then that means old stevie boy is feeling up for company.” your friend taunts.
maybe it’s the liquid courage or maybe it’s because you’re so fucking bored of this town, you contemplate it over for barely a second before answering, “okay.” you shrug.
both of your friend’s jaws drop, “no way. you can’t do that. are you trying to die?” one of your friends say, at the same time as your other friend says, “okay, i’ll check in with you tomorrow, if you survive the night.”
you smirk as you climb off the barstool, “does anyone know if ‘steve harrington’ is hot?” you joke, making quotation marks.
neither friend answers, the blushes on their face answering for them.
“see you nerds later.” you say as you pick up your purse, sticking a twenty on the bar top to cover your drinks you had before walking out to your car. you were positive that you were okay to drive, having significantly less to drink then your friend. your phone vibrates as you turn your car on, you look down at the address that your friend texted you and grin.
you couldn’t wait to debrief over breakfast and mimosas tomorrow morning when you made it home completely unscathed because there was no way there was some dead ghost running around killing people in hawkins.
the full moon hung low over hawkins as your car rolled to a stop directly in front of the old harrington estate, gps dinging to let you know you were there, you climbed out, shutting your door behind you.
as you stared up at the looming house, you almost felt like it was watching you, taunting you, begging you to come in.
as you walked up to the porch, stepping up the creaking stairs, the roof of the porch a welcome escape from the rain, you think back to what your friend said about knocking.
you take a deep breath and step forward. one knock, two knocks, three knocks. you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. of course, nothing happened. you roll your eyes, what a waste of gas. as you turn to walk back to your car, you make it down the first step when you hear a creak behind you. you look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the door creaking open.
whatever, you think to yourself, it’s an old door, it probably was only opening because you knocked with too much force.
as you watch it open further, the hair on the back of your neck raises, you stare into the dark house, slightly unsettled, you can’t help but feel drawn to it. it’s taunting you, begging you to come in.
you walk up, reaching in your pocket for your phone only to realize you left it in your car, no flashlight. you huffed in annoyance, but not wanting to walk back through the rain, you walk inside. as you step over the threshold of the door, you almost feel comfortable. it’s just an old house, what’s scary about an old house?
as your eyes adjust, you can make out a set of stairs, a grand piano, candelabras, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. you walk over to the candelabra, surely there’s some matches somewhere. stopping in front of it, sure enough there were matches, as you light one, you take a closer look at the candle, noticing wax dripping down it. unhardened wax. someone had been in there recently.
maybe it’s time to go back to your car, as you back away, a low voice asks from behind you “looking for someone?”
you turn around, a boy that looks somewhat around your age is standing there, your shoulders drop, suddenly less tense, at least it’s someone you’re age in there and not some creep and he was cute so that was an extra plus.
you find yourself grinning, “yeah actually, i heard some spooky rumors and had to come investigate for myself.”
he smiles, “oh yeah? what kind of rumors?”
you lean in, “some psycho lives here.” your lips curl into a grin, “apparently when it’s cold and rainy and you knock three times, he might let you in. he died in like the 80s or something, some kind of ghost.”
“is that so?”
“mhm.” you nod, still grinning.
“well what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone on a dark rainy night in a psycho killer’s house?”
you shrugged, “had to come check it out. what brings you here?”
he smiled, ignoring your question, “you got a name, pretty girl?”
you tell him your name, “what’s yours?” you ask.
“steve.”
your grin falters, “interesting.” you say lightly, the room suddenly feeling quite small.
“that a problem?” steve asks, tilting his head. the candlelight catches his face in a way that makes his eyes look brighter.
“guess i just wasn’t expecting you to introduce yourself as the urban legend,” you joke, forcing a laugh. “kind of kills the mystique.”
he chuckles, low and warm, and for a moment you relax. “people like their stories,” he says. “makes things simpler.”
“simpler than what?” you ask.
“than the truth.”
the air feels heavier suddenly. you notice then how quiet the house is, no creaks, no wind through broken windows, no hum of electricity. just the rain outside and your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. steve takes a step closer, and instinctively you step back, your back hitting the piano. nowhere to go.
he steps forward, “i’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs.
you swallow, noticing now that his eyes are fixated on your neck, “people usually say that right before they do.”
a smile ghosts across his lips, “fair.” his eyes rake down your body.
“so you just lure people in here for fun?” you ask nervously.
he shrugs, “pretty girls. when i’m bored and lonely. but it’s been so long since one walked up to the door.” his eyes glance down at your lips, “until tonight.”
you glance away from him but the heat in your chest betrays you, he’s even closer now if that’s even possible. so close you can small him, metallic and intoxicating. heat radiates off your body but steve? steve’s freezing.
he leans down, “come on,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, “don’t be shy.. i promise… i bite in more ways than one.”
your stomach flips. “you’re enjoying this,” you accuse quietly.
“oh,” he says, lips curving, fangs just barely catching the candlelight, “immensely.”
he tilts his head, studying you like something precious and fragile. “i could let you walk out that door,” he says, almost kindly. “out into the rain and cold with a scary story to tell your friends. you’d be a legend for a week.” his eyes darken. “or you could stay. just a little longer.”
“and what happens if i stay?” you ask.
his smile turns wicked. “that’s the fun part,” he whispers. “you don’t get to know. not until it’s too late to run.”
you swallow hard, feeling the weight of him so close, his presence filling the small space between you and the piano. “too late to run?” you echo, your voice a little shakier than you intended.
steve tilts his head, that wicked grin stretching wider, fangs glinting ever so slightly in the candlelight. “exactly,” he murmurs. “because,” he leans in closer, just enough that your skin tingles, “you’re already here. you’ve already crossed the line, and besides…” His voice drops lower, rasping, intimate. “…i like when they try to play brave.”
your pulse thunders in your ears. part of you wants to scoff, part of you wants to melt into him, and part of you is screaming to run.
“you’ve got fire in you,” he continues, circling slowly, eyes tracing every line of your body like he’s memorizing it. “i can smell it. the fear… excitement… curiosity.” he leans closer, nose brushing your neck as he inhales your scent, you smell like perfume and smoke from the bar.
he tilts his head, his gaze flicking to your lips for just a moment, long enough for you to notice, short enough that it feels like a game. “i bet you taste like trouble,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, silk over steel. “i wonder…” he leans closer. your pulse races, the piano pressing cold against your back, the shadows of the candle dancing over his sharp features. “i wonder if you’d fight… or if you’d let me.”
your breath catches, throat tight. you don’t answer. you can’t.
steve smiles again, slow, predatory, and in one fluid motion, he closes the distance. your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush yours, soft at first, testing, teasing, before the kiss deepens, dark and hungry. it’s a kiss that promises danger and desire all at once, a kiss that makes it impossible to tell where the fear ends and longing begins.
he presses you harder into the piano, he nips at your bottom lip, causing you to moan, your mouth open just enough for his tongue to slip in, exploring further, “fuck.” he whispers. your hands find his hair, tugging, as the kiss deepens, “i want to taste you.” he mumbles against your lips.
you freeze. he notices, “relax, i won’t bite, not unless you want me to.” he grins against your lips.
you nod. it’s all the confirmation he needs as he pulls you to the edge of the piano, bunching your dress up and sliding your panties down your legs, tossing them somewhere into the abyss, he’s on his knees in no time, head between your thighs, sucking and licking. he watches as your eyes roll back and your head tilts, a perfect look at the veins in your neck. so full, pulsing with blood and life. all for him.
as your thighs squeeze him, his lips trail from your clit to your thighs, leaving bruises all down them before returning to your clit, his tongue swirling around before plunging into your hole, attacking you with his tongue, watching you as you come undone.
your moans fill the room and your hand that is still in his hair begins to tug harder, “steve, oh my god, steve. i’m gonna cum.” you moan.
just as you feel your stomach tightening and your breathing becomes more and more shallow, his tongue is off of you and he’s watching you as your chest heaves up and down. you whine at the loss of contact.
his lips are back on yours, you can taste yourself on his lips as he explores your mouth more, his hands finding your breasts, sliding under your bra and twisting at your nipple, causing you to let out a loud moan. he watches as your head tilts back, his mouth back on your neck, his tongue gliding up your neck over your vein, fuck, what he’d do to sink his teeth in it. but not yet. he lightly sucks on your neck, leaving a trail of bites down to your chest.
his arms wrap around your legs and he picks you up, carrying you towards the stairs, his lips finding yours and never letting up.
as he lays you down on his bed, you can’t help but look around, his room a capsule in time, you don’t have time to ponder or even really look because he’s kissing down your stomach, trailing further and further, stopping back at your clit, finding it again with his mouth. as you get closer and closer, he watches you come undone, a sudden loss of contact on your clit, you glance down at him.
he sucks on your inner thighs as he watches you, not breaking eye contact, you feel it before you realize what he’s doing, a sharp pain in your thigh as you watch blood dribble down. he grins at you as he sucks on it. your eyes roll back as you discover new things about yourself. he kisses back up your body, you look down at the trail of blood on your stomach, the blood in the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin as he catches your mouth with his own. the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth as he kisses you.
before you know it, clothes are being thrown everywhere, he lines up at your entrance, giving you a look as if he were asking you if it were okay, you nod and watch as he strokes his huge cock before lining it up at your entrance, gliding in.
“oh my— fuck!” you hiss, biting down on his shoulder. he was huge, you weren’t sure how he’d be able to fit all the way in you.
he thrust further and further in, your moans filling the room. “that’s it.” he mumbles into your neck, “take it, take my cock like the good slut you are.”
“steve, oh my god.” you moan, your eyes rolling backwards, nails scratching down his back.
“fuck, you’re so tight and wet, all for me.”
“so close. so close steve.” you mumble, fingers tangling in his hair.
he groans into your neck, your vein taunting him, “you know what i want.” he mumbles, “and i think you want it to.”
your breath hitches, your body betraying you, his eyes are dark, molten, almost predatory. your pulse is racing, danger and desire curled together inside you, sharp and hot.
“steve.. if we do this, there’s no going back.” you whisper. is that something you could realistically do? having just met him and all.
he smirks, slow, wicked, and leans in so close you feel the cold radiating from him, seeping into your bones. “i don’t care,” he murmurs. “and neither do you.”
you swallow, lips parting, heart hammering, and the truth hits you in a rush: you don’t care either. you’ve never felt so alive, so aware, so terrified and exhilarated all at once.
his teeth brush your neck, just grazing, teasing you. the cold bite against your skin sends a shiver racing through you. “say yes,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous, “and i’ll show you what it means to really live… to really want.”
you close your eyes, pulse wild, every nerve on fire. “yes,” you whisper, and it’s not fear. it’s surrender.
the moment his fangs pierce your skin, the world tilts. pain, sharp and electric, floods through you, but it’s intoxicating. dark warmth spreads through your veins, filling you with a power you’ve never known. your mind spins, senses exploding, the storm outside, the shadows in the room, the taste of him on your lips, they all blur into a dizzying rush.
he holds you as it happens, predatory and possessive, lips brushing yours again even as he drains you, his laughter low and satisfied. “good girl,” he murmurs, voice velvet and lethal. “you’re mine now. every bit of you.” he looks into your eyes, “now, are you gonna cum for me?” he asks.
you nod, “fuck, yes.”
“cum for me like the needy slut i know you are.”
your body goes limp as you cum all around his cock, moaning. he’s not far behind you, his thrusts speeding up as he fills you with his cum.
blood trickling from your neck, down your chest, he keeps his eyes on you as he licks it, trailing his tongue upwards, “you taste so good.” he mumbles before dropping down beside you, the two of you breathless.
