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bettyfrommars · 8 months

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I feel like would make for an excellent Vampire, especially the way he is in the later seasons. He'd have no problem charming reader if he really wanted to, and add in the vampire charm on top of that? Omg, I don't think anyone could stand a chance!

(I did clarify with requestor, and they were referring to Stevie boy)

hustler!vampire!Steve x fem!Reader

18+ONLY, mature themes, gore, hustling, possessive!Steve, drinking blood, a murder, reader wears a dress and fishnets, mention of smut. The characters I write for are always over 21. words: 1.6k

note: this request about Steve being a vampire had me writing two things at once: this short piece and a much longer one that should be done in a couple days. I've also been obsessed with the idea of hustler or con man Steve, and I plan to do more with him, but this is just some hustler/vampire Steve hybrid brain rot.

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You can feel him watching you from across the bar; the tan, older gentleman with the thick head of salt n’ pepper hair, wearing the Rolex watch---too cocky to even remove his wedding ring. You make a point to lick the rim of your martini glass, eager tongue flicking out, making eye contact with him as you take a sip.

That was the signal, that was the code, and he was coming over. You cross your legs and pinch a cigarette out of its gold case, bringing it to your red lips with manicured fingernails. The older gentleman is already at your side with his lighter flicked, flame ready for you.

“All alone tonight?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Not anymore,” you coo, swiveling on your bar stool to point your cigarette at the fire he is offering. You’re wearing fishnets and high heels, and you lick your lips after you suck a drag into your lungs.

He braces his hand on the bar next to you, exposing the inside of his Armani suit jacket, caging you away from the other men at the bar. “You want to get out of here?” He inclines his head, motioning to the bartender for the tab after you nod.

In the elevator up to his suite, there are no words, but his hands grip your hips, pulling you your ass flush against his pelvis. He kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder, and you stretch your neck to the side, offering yourself. His lips are soft and eager; his touch possessive but polite.

You reapply your lipstick as he searches for the room key in his pockets, and check it in the tiny compact from your handbag, wiping the corners of your mouth clean, kissing the air. Your eyes glance down either side of the hall, expectantly.

“After you, my love,” the man says, extending his arm, gesturing for you to enter as his eyes shamelessly take you in; pupils blown with desire.

Sure, you were used to high rollers, but it was your first time at the penthouse suite in this particular hotel and the view from the floor to ceiling windows made you gasp.

“You like it baby?” The man asks, and you keep him busy, so he forgets to lock the door. “It’s all for you.” He throws his jacket to the chair and rolls up his sleeves, watching you all the while.

You turn to face him, tossing your purse on the sofa, pulling the straps of your dress down your shoulders. “You’ve got a nice view,” you purr.

“I sure do,” he agrees in a mumble, loosening his tie as he breeches the distance, closing in to curl over you and steal a kiss from those perfect lips.

“Well, well, well,” a third, deeper voice enters the conversation, and you both swivel to see who is stepping into view from the hallway.

Steve has an unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips and he is flipping the top on his gold lighter open and closed as he walks. He’s wearing a white tee that is one size too small, accentuating the muscles in his shoulders, and black trousers with suspenders hanging down his hips. His hair is slicked back, and there are letters tattooed across his knuckles that spell out: GAME OVER.

You bite your lip at the way the tuft of hair on his chest peaks out over the collar of his tee.

“Who the hell are you?” The man asks, eyes darting around. “How did you get in here?”

Steve makes his way around the sofa casually, flicking his lighter, as if he were invited.

You take a few steps back, planting your hands behind you on the desk, not far from the man you came with, keeping an eye on the intruder.

Steve stops to light his cigarette, cupping his hand over the end, and snaps the lighter closed for the final time, shoving it in his pocket. He squints and rolls his shoulders as he takes a drag, plucking it from his mouth to point at the man with his smoke, blocking the path to the door. “First, I have a question for you.”

The man looks around, as if to find a weapon, or to calculate how fast he could get to the phone and dial for help.

“What I want to know,” Steve closes in, making the older man stumble back against the end of the couch. With one hand in his pocket, Steve takes another drag, gesturing to you with a buck of his chin. “Did you really think you were gonna fuck my girl?”

The man bristles at that, confused at first, but then he whips his head around to look at you.

You offer him a precocious smile, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth.

“What the—?” The man’s face loses all of its color as the weight of the situation begins to sink in.

“I asked you a question,” Steve demands, his face void of humor, pushing a cloud of smoke from his tight lips. “Did you. Think. You were gonna. Fuck. My girl?”

The man stammers, realizing he’s boxed in; Steve is blocking him from the exit, and you’re blocking him from the phone and the door to the bedroom.

“Okay,” the man says, holding his hands up in the air as if Steve held a gun. “How much do you want? Name your price and you can walk out of here, pretend this never happened.”

Steve chuckles indulgently then, scratching his nose with his thumb. “You’re all the same, you know that? So fucking weak.”

But then the man figures you’re the easiest one to get through, so he bolts, swinging his arm to knock you to the ground.

Nothing could have prepared him for the way you stood fast, baring your vampire fangs that dripped with saliva. The irises of your eyes glowed red, and you let out a feral hiss.

“Holy mother of christ—” the man jumps back, reeling, arms flailing.

Steve steps up behind him, mouth open wide to expose his sharp teeth, and then he chomps down on the side of the man’s throat, crunching into his veins like an apple. Some blood squirts out from the seal of Steve’s lips, but he always does his best to swallow it all. Cigarettes still smoldering between his fingers, he clamps that hand over his victim’s mouth to stifle the screaming. The man tries to twitch out of his grasp, but Steve is too strong.

After a few seconds, he decides to break his neck, realizing it’s not worth the trouble. There will be plenty of fresh blood to enjoy before his heart gives out.

“Save some for me, baby,” you come over next to him once the man’s body goes limp. You lean in to kiss Steve while your tongues lap up the blood and flick against each other.

After you’re both satiated, Steve carries the body to the bathtub like it weighs nothing. Both of your mouths are covered in crimson, dripping down your throats, staining the front of Steve’s shirt.

“Check his pockets, baby,” Steve tells you, and you’re quick to oblige, taking his wallet, watch, and wedding ring. Steve flips through the wallet, counting the thick stack of cash with a serious expression as he counts.

Once business is concluded, Steve throws the wallet on the kitchen sink and takes your face in his hands, looking you over, searching your eyes. “Did he touch you baby? You know I fucking hate that. You know I hate it when they get to touch you.”

You loved Steve more than anything, but you were also very good at your job. You knew you had to let them have a taste once in a while to build trust and make them think they were in control. You remembered how the older man had grabbed your hips in the elevator and kissed your neck.

“No, baby, no one touches me but you,” and then your mouth is on his, moaning into the kiss as you devour the claret from each other’s skin. Steve tilts your head back to suck your chin, kissing down your throat. The wig you were wearing falls to the ground as Steve’s strong hands yank your dress up to your waist and rip open your fishnets. He puts you up on the counter between the two sinks and gets on his knees to grab your thighs and bury his tongue inside of you. You clutch onto his hair, exposing your throat to the ceiling, whimpering his name.

You have sex for the next hour in the bathroom next to the dead body until it’s time to clean up and find a place to hunker down before sunrise.

It had been a fun winter in Vegas, but both of you knew that too much of a good thing was never wise for those wanting to keep to the shadows. You’d take your scores from the past 2 months and find a new place to call home, perhaps somewhere cool with long nights and short days. Maybe you’d keep hustling, or maybe you wouldn’t.

But you’d always have each other.

#steve Harrington #Steve Harrington oneshot #hustler!steve #vampire!steve #vampire #hustler #Joe Keery #Steeb #steve my beloved

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