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sparklingsin · 1 year

Text

— within these walls | steve harrington

+ steve harrington x reader

summary: "A house becomes its people."

you and steve find yourselves at an old mansion for a weekend getaway and love seems to be in the air. but is the mansion all as it seems— a beautiful old house, with a rich history and intriguing tales, where you and steve can have a bit of fun? or is there something more sinister at work?

tags: horror elements, mention of murder, skinny dipping, smut ⚠ 18+ MDNI ⚠, lengthy descriptions, not relationship centric // 7.5k

a/n: my submission for my strangertober challenge and a love letter to the horror genre. inspired by the works of christopher pike & r.l.stine (two horror authors i was obsessed with as a kid). i was really excited about writing this story and i hope you give it a read. happy halloween 🎃

The car lurches uphill, tires crunching over gravel and loose mud beneath. The sight unfolding before you forces you to bring your feet down from the dashboard, as you slide forward in your seat to peer through the windshield.

The house is magnificent.

A Colonial Revival, with white walls that have been worn down by time, grey rooflines and multi-paned windows that reflect little light. It is an old, old house standing against the test of time and yet, the glory of the house is barely tainted.

It is beautiful in the way that it evokes goosebumps on your skin as Steve’s car approaches it; a slight unease unfurls in your chest but curiosity gets the better of you.

As the car halts, you step out onto the cobbled footpath in silence before the tall cement steps, as does Steve. Up close, the house looks like something out of the set of a movie; foreboding yet beckoning you to take a closer look. The house has an air of eeriness around it but the large board standing atop the stairs makes it look more inviting. “Welcome to The Winchester House” the sign says. Beneath it, there are words scribbled in chalk— “Vacancy available”.

Steve comes to stand beside you, hands on his hips as he looks around.

Trees flank the mansion in near perfect manner with ebony branches reaching towards the sky, like long fingers emerging from dark waters for repose. A strong wind blows in as dark, cumulonimbus clouds gather in the sky above, rustling through your measly clothes and freezing your soul solid.

"Steve, baby," you murmur, shifting closer to your boyfriend, "Are you sure this is the place?"

Steve faces you then, the curl over his forehead lifting in the wind. There's an unsure smile on his face.

"Yeah, I checked,” he says, nodding up at the house. “Called the receptionist today and confirmed it. The Winchester House. This is it."

You gaze back at the looming house. As if on cue, lightning strikes the earth behind it, illuminating the entire scene in blinding white. You jump into Steve's side, who instinctively wraps his arm around you. Standing a mere two feet from so much electric charge makes gooseflesh erupt on your skin.

“A haunted house date was not what I had in mind,” you whisper, looking up at him and your wide eyes make him smile fondly.

“First of all, I don't believe it's haunted,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Second of all,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, ”—it is the only place near Hawkins where we can be all alone.”

A devilish grin spreads across his face then and he kisses your nose sweetly. Some of the uneasiness in your chest dissipates as Steve’s grip tightens around you.

“You and me,” he declares, pressing his lips to your cheek next and you giggle, pushing him away gently. “You, me, and the housekeepers who hopefully won’t bother us much.”

“Your idea of romance is strange, Harrington,” you laugh, running up the steps of the house as Steve attempts to grab at your waist but fails. You’re already at the door when you look back at your boyfriend— a vision in baby blue jeans, a blue-white polo and that favourite brown bomber jacket of yours.

“Hey!” he calls after you, before opening the trunk of the car to grab your things, “Don’t hate it till you try it.”

The inside of the house is a different story.

Because it is a lodging, the interior is cleaner and less menacing, although not entirely. The walls are dull, the furniture antique and there is an air of gloominess that forebodes you from being precarious.

Your fingers find solace in the spaces between Steve’s, as he steps towards the reception when the desk clerk, an amicable middle-aged woman, greets you.

“This is the key to your room,” she says, handing it to Steve, after he has provided her proof of the booking and his identification. You smile back at her out of courtesy.

“We have an innkeeper, who you can ring in for anything you need. You will be served meals for the duration of your stay,” she says, maintaining her perfect smile.

“Quite a short one, might I add.”

Steve smiles sheepishly. “Ah, we wanted a weekend getaway. Gotta get back to work on Monday,” he says, looking back at you.

“Am I right to assume that you are here for a special occasion?”

“Yup, It’s uh— it’s our one year anniversary tomorrow,” Steve replies, looking proud and you blush a little when the clerk smiles knowingly.

“Ah, young love,” she muses, smiling wistfully. "You seem like a lovely couple."

Steve smiles, looking back at you and you blush under his gaze once more.

“Are there any other lodgers staying here with us?” you ask, curious because ever since coming into the house, you haven’t heard a single sound.

“Just the one but they will be checking out tonight,” she answers and your uneasiness grows. The clerk seems kind alright, but being the only ones in the house makes you apprehensive.

"Hope you enjoy your stay at the Winchester House," she says, still smiling in the same way and it is starting to creep you out a little.

Steve gives her a cursory smile, before picking up your bags and heading to the first floor. You follow him, feeling something strange gnaw at the base of your throat.

Your uneasiness dissipates when you step into your room.

It is a bit old-fashioned for your taste; the beige satin bed sheets, the four poster bed, the wooden furniture. But there is a comforting familiarity that makes you sigh out loud. The second the door closes, Steve wraps his arms around you from behind.

“How'd ya like it, baby?” he asks, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and breathing deeply.

“This room is beautiful. I’ve never stayed in a place like this,” you say, reaching behind you to card your hands through his luscious hair.

“So weird that I hadn’t heard about this place before. It’s so close to Hawkins. You’d think someone might’ve mentioned it.”

The woods look lovely from the window, dark and mysterious. The scent of petrichor tingles at your nostrils, as you watch the sky darken into a midnight blue. A warmth washes over you, feeling light with Steve like this. It had been so long since it had been just the both of you— no kids, no Hawkins and it’s strange dangers.

Steve nuzzles further into your neck, enveloping you whole and you melt into his strong arms, inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Your eyes are about to close, exhaustion creeping into your limbs faster in his warm embrace, but something outside the window catches your eye and your heart skips several beats.

A figure, standing at the very edge of the forest and you gasp, jumping a little in Steve's grip. You focus on the edge again but the figure is already gone. You blink several times, swallowing hard.

"Baby, what—" Steve asks, turning you to face him, concern creasing his forehead. "What's wrong?" he asks, noticing your wide eyes.

"I— I just saw something— maybe a man… outside," you muster breathily and Steve frowns, looking back at the window.

"Well, the lady at the desk did tell us there were other guests around… it must be them,” he suggests.

Right. Guests. Or even an innkeeper. You don’t know why your mind had jumped to something sinister immediately.

"Yeah, yeah you're right," you say, feeling your heartbeat slow down a little as Steve pulls you towards the bed. You plop down beside him, sinking into his shoulder. Perhaps, you need this vacation more than you realise.

"You okay there, beautiful?" Steve asks after a moment, caressing your face with his thumb.

"Yeah, I-I don't know, I was surprised I guess, sorry," you murmur.

Some of the uneasiness in you has lifted— it had to have been an innkeeper or a guest— but you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right.

You had seen someone. And they had been looking up right at you too.

An hour later, once you've freshened up, you head down for dinner that is served in the dining hall. It is a bit early for a meal but the low growling in your stomach leaves no room for complaints.

The spread looks absolutely ravishing. You wonder how much Steve must have spent setting this up for you and you suddenly feel guilty.

Between work and the adventures you had in Hawkins, you and Steve were rarely able to catch a moment to yourselves. The exhaustion had resulted in petty fights that made you both miserable and it had been Steve’s idea to go on a mini vacation— a getaway to celebrate your love. Maybe it is the exhaustion that is making you so jumpy and you resolve, in that instant, to get out of your mind and have a good time. For Steve, at the very least.

You watch, as your boyfriend pulls the chair out for you, gesturing for you to take a seat. A wide grin is plastered on his face and he seems genuinely enthused. God, you are so in love with Steve Harrington.

The affair feels awfully fancy, as an older innkeeper steps forward to serve the food to you. He has a kind but withering face, his strong dark moustache indicative of some youth in his ageing body. From appetisers to the desserts, there are about six dishes that you and Steve wolf down hungrily.

“I’ve never had anything so good back in Hawkins. We should take the cook home back with us,” Steve says, through a mouthful of chocolate mousse and you laugh.

“I hope the food has been adequate?” A frail voice calls, and both your heads whip in its direction. Standing at the entrance of the hall is an even frailer man, dressed in an old but sharp suit, with a time-chiselled face and a long wintery-white beard— reminiscent of the wizards Dustin keeps talking about and you smile inwardly.

Steve looks at you, the puzzlement clear on his face and the old man comes to stand at the head of the long table.

“Excuse my rudeness,” the man rasps, “I am Samael Winchester, the owner of this house.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Steve says standing up and so do you, smiling at the man. You feel a strange urge to bow before him but resist it.

“Please, please… be seated,” Mr. Winchester says, waving his hands as he hobbles to the head of the table on his cane.

"This is a beautiful house, Mr. Winchester," you say, in an attempt to start a conversation.

The old man is silent for a moment before a smile splits his crooked mouth.

“This mansion," he begins in a raspy tone, "—has housed all the generations of the Winchester family. At least seventeen, if I recall correctly. It is the pride of the family name. It has always protected us, but it was once the grounds for an unspeakable tragedy which has tainted its name forever."

At his words, the hair on your arm stands up and a chill presses between your shoulder blades. What unspeakable tragedy is he talking about?

Mr. Winchester falls silent for a moment, a strange look on his face, and you exchange a cursory glance with Steve.

"A house, as it were, is a reflection of the people that dwell inside it; its walls and wood an echo of the inhabitants. A house becomes its people."

He pauses, his gaze drifting off into the distance. For a whole moment he seems frozen in place, unmoving, and it makes you incredibly uneasy.

Then suddenly, as if somebody had hit play on a recorder, he starts to speak again.

"I have no offspring of my own, so I am afraid, the burden to carry its legacy dwells on lodgers like yourself, who might enjoy its protection and hospitality."

"If you do enjoy your stay at this house,” he says, voice rising an octave, “—please spread the goodness of its name. I urge you to broaden your senses and hear what the house says, for she has incredible stories to share with those that want to listen," he declares, breathing deeply. The air seems to shift with his trepid tone.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay,” he adds abruptly. Before either of you can react he has already turned away and started out of the door of the dining hall.

You and Steve exchange another glance. That was weird, his eyes seem to say.

The words of the old man stew inside your head as you finish the last of your dessert. Thanking the inn-keeper for his lovely service, you exit the hall with Steve on your heels.

Holding Steve's hand you trudge up the stairs, back towards your room, only stopping to examine the paintings lining the wall. Every painting is the portrait of a Winchester that you presume lived in this house. There is one of Mr. Samael as well, from a more youthful time, and there is spark in his eyes that he now seems to be missing.

On the landing of the first floor, you almost run into something small as Steve calls for you to watch out and you halt in time to see a little girl, no taller than your knee, peering up at you.

"Hello," you say, a little out of breath from having caught yourself but try to force a smile. The girl is wearing a nightgown, something you didn't think children wore anymore, but pay little heed to as the girl smiles up at you.

"Hello, Miss," she chirps, brilliant blue eyes twinkling with mischief. She looks like an absolute doll with her two ponytails and big, round eyes.

"Hey, love," you grin. "What's your name?"

The girl doesn't answer, only looks between you both before fixating her gaze onto Steve. It isn’t strange that kids take an immediate liking for Steve, he just has a placating effect on most children.

“Aw, where are your parents, little one?” he asks, sinking down to her level on his knees.

“Daddy’s gone,” she states.

You exchange a glance with Steve, “Gone? Is he out?”

The girl nods her head aggressively. “To hunt,” she says, pointing at the window at the far end of the aisle. “In the forest.”

A little bell goes off in your head; it had to have been the girl's father that you had seen earlier. A wave of relief washes over you.

The girl looks up at you, beaming and then turns away.

“Careful!” you call after her, but she disappears down the flight of stairs and into the hall somewhere, her grey nightgown bellowing behind her.

Steve shuts the door to your room behind him.

“Well that was... something,” he murmurs, as you throw yourself onto the bed. You groan, stomach on the edge of bursting. The chocolate mousse had been far too heavy.

“Mr. Winchester?” you ask and Steve nods.

“He seems very attached to the house,” he replies, plopping down beside you on his elbows.

"I know. There is so much history in this house. So many stories."

Steve nods. “But the way he spoke about it, asking us to listen, as if it was—"

"As if it was alive," you cut him off, feeling that strange chill down your spine again.

“My heart kind of broke when he said he has no kids,” you add. “Do you think the real reason he’s turned this into a lodging is because he’s lonely?”

“That’s a sad fucking thought,” Steve murmurs.

You shrug. “He seemed sweet but I felt kinda weird when he was speaking.”

Steve nods again. “If I was an old man, living in a mansion all alone… it’d be weird if I wasn’t a little cuckoo.”

You chuckle. "Hey. Be nice."

“You think you could do it?” you ask after a moment, turning on your side to thread your fingers through Steve’s hair. He leans into your touch.

“Do what?”

“Live alone, in a mansion like this?”

“I could,” he begins, grasping your other hand in his and pressing his lips to your fingers.

“But I don’t want to,” he adds softly, “Not ever again. Not without you.”

There’s a look in his eyes that makes your breath catch in your throat. Steve Harrington is radiant, a star at the very centre of your solar system.

“I love you,” you say, rushed words tumbling out of your lips.

He holds your gaze, then slowly moves closer. His lips brush yours lightly, hesitant, eyes searching yours for an answer you had given him long ago. Your eyes close as he presses in again, tender lips swallowing your own as he pushes you further into the bed. You kiss him back passionately, letting your fingers lose themselves in his hair and yourself in his warm hold.

When your mouths separate and the world finds bearing again, Steve cups your face.

“I love you too," he says, adoration bright in his eyes.

"Let’s go to bed. I’ve planned a long day ahead of us.”

It’s the crack of the dawn when Steve wakes you up.

“Babe, what—” you mumble, your sleep-addled brain struggling to understand whatever is happening.

“Happy Anniversary, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, and there’s a flame in his hands — no, a candle on top of a tiny pastry — that he holds out for you. The soft amber lights up his grinning but sleepy face, and you can’t help but smile.

“Aww, Stevie,” you squeal, “Happy Anniversary, my love!”

You blow out the candle together, feeding each other the pastry and kissing sloppily between the mess. Steve licks off the little pastry you’ve got on the corner of your mouth. In the dark, you’re a tangle of limbs and sleepy heads, sighing and giggling into each other.

“Shit, I love you so much,” Steve whispers against your mouth, as you pull him in for the umpteenth kiss.

“I love you so much too,” you muse.

Steve pecks at your lips but then pulls away, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Okay, sorry to do this but we've got to go,” he says, pushing himself from on top of you at once and you frown, immediately grieving the loss of heat from his body.

“Go where?”

Steve picks off your jacket from the wall mount and throws it at you, a somewhat mischievous look on his face. You cock an incredulous eyebrow at him.

“It’s a surprise.”

When Steve takes his hands away from your eyes, the sight before you makes you gasp in surprise.

Steve has bought you a spring of sorts, in a more open part of the forest by the mansion. The clearest water froths in the smallish spring which is surrounded by trees.

"Holy shit," you murmur, taking in the natural beauty of the place and Steve grins.

"How did you find this place?"

"The inn-keeper told me about it," Steve says, tugging you closer to the outcrop of the spring.

"Remember how you said you've always wanted to skinny-dip?"

You quirk your eyebrows as he leers and steps away from you.

"Well, I am about to make all your dreams come true," he says and takes off his shirt, shoulder muscles rippling as he does. You can't help but brazenly ogle at his chest, the expanse of muscle and hair, enticing. His pants follow suit and you blush, feeling heated even in the cold morning air.

Steve smirks, slowly wading into the spring. You watch as he dips under and comes up a second later, all his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Baby!” he calls, looking at you pointedly.

“Steve Harrington, I’m not getting naked in the middle of nowhere,” you say, only half-heartedly, because Steve seems to be enjoying the water far too much.

“Are you going to deny your boyfriend the pleasure of your company on your first anniversary?” he asks, pushing back his wet hair and pouting at you.

“You’re spending too much time with Robin.”

Steve makes a face at you.

He's impossible, you think.

You give in— as if you had any choice— and start to take off your shirt, and Steve comes to lean on the wall of the spring, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes.

"Putting on a show for me?" he asks, voice low.

You smirk, taking off your jeans in the same manner, being slow on purpose, until you're in your underwear. A shiver travels down your body from the sudden cold, and the water of the spring looks even more tempting.

"Those too," Steve commands, pointing at your panties.

You submit, yanking them off, feeling exposed in the frigid air. Not wanting to catch a bout of pneumonia, you rush to the spring and climb in with Steve's help. The water is warm—almost hot—and you sigh loudly at the shift in temperature.

"Atta girl," Steve whispers, pulling you close to him by your waist. The spring is shallow, and you have to kneel to stay submerged.

"Happy Anniversary, babe," he says, smiling down at you, looking at you through hooded eyes that make you tingle in all the right places.

You push up at his hair, slicking it back onto his head and he smiles.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you whisper.

The two of you bask in silence then, enjoying the low ebb of water around your entwined bodies. The rustling of the leaves, the faint chirp of birds and the gentle babble of the spring makes you feel at peace. You could close your eyes and stay here forever, encased in the safety of Steve's arms.

“This place is so pretty, Stevie,” you murmur after several minutes, feeling a lull in your body from how calm you feel.

Steve brushes your nose with his, and you respond with a shy, fleeting kiss. The shy kiss turns into something more eager quickly, the both of you waiting for this very moment since the week, last. His hands cup your ass under the water at once and pull you taut to his body, just as you slip your arms around his neck. You can feel his hardness against your belly, little tendrils of heat erupting low in your abdomen at his touch.

“Nothing compares to you,” Steve whispers, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth and you sigh.

Up close, you can see the tiny droplets that encase Steve’s little moles, all across his face, neck and down his front, the little curls of hair, wet and clinging to his chest—shining in the light of the early dawn. His eyes are a dark pool of hazel, eyelashes brushing the top of his cheekbones as he blinks, the bits of stubble he hasn’t shaved in some days and his lips— plush and so inviting you can’t help but lean in.

Steve kisses you back, mouth moulding itself against yours. He draws you in, sucking softly and all the world fades away, leaving you two alone in the vast expanse of the blue waters.

You deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to slip in with ease. His tongue glides over your own, teasing and hot; his breath fanning across your face as he tilts his head to push deeper. Steve takes charge, moving the both of you closer to the wall of the spring and steadies you against it. Heated, he moves to bite at your lower lip, tongue sliding over it to soothe it right after. He moans as you grind up against him, feeling a burn low in your belly and his hands squeeze your bare flesh.

“Baby,” he whimpers, as his lips move to your jaw, teeth gnawing at your skin, sure to leave marks. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his tongue licking the column of your neck, making hills rise over your body and you moan.

“Stevie, what if someone hears us?” you gasp, but your words fade into a groan, as Steve sucks on your collar bone, hand coming up to squeeze your left breast. He flicks your nipple and then squeezes it, drawing a whimper out of your lips.

“Don’t care,” he rasps, the sharpness of his voice going straight to your core, “Gotta have you.”

Your mouth falls open as he flips you around and pulls you to his chest; strong, tanned arm thrown over breasts with little care. The manoeuvre pebbles your breasts at once, as his lips sink to the nape of your neck.

There’s something animalistic about doing this in the open air, under the blue of the sky— exposing your intimacy so casually. But in the moment, the fire thrumming under your skin destroys all your inhibitions.

Hot want shoots through you as Steve’s other hand finds your cunt, still underwater and you grind up at him, needing that sweet friction. His water calloused fingers feel heavenly up against your throbbing clit, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

You are so turned on by the way your body fits into the curve of his chest, hips slotting onto his pelvis to allow his cock to nestle perfectly between your cheeks. You rut into him, pleading, and Steve moans into your shoulder.

The water ebbs around you both as you push up against each other with increased frenzy, feeling yourselves heat up even in the chilling cold. And then, without warning, Steve slips into your stretched out hole, a whine tearing from your lips at his motion.

“Fuck, s’fucking good for me,” he curses, as his length finds it’s seat between your clenching walls. Your mouth hangs open as he starts to move, using the buoyancy of the water to pump himself into you with ease.

It is unlike anything you’ve experienced before; his long, hard member stretching you open so well in this position, that you are incapable of forming coherent thoughts. You’ve taken him raw before, but this— this feels truly wretched in the best way. His finger continue to work you as he pumps himself into you, the low sound of skin slapping skin under water, feeling erotic.

Your mind chants his name, as you try to roll your hips around him too, just as he begins to pump faster, pulling you up and towards your peak with him.

“Steve, I’m gonna—,” you hope he knows what you mean as he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you so tight and pumping into you with a ferocity that makes you buckle in the water.

You climax with a screaming of his name, not caring that it might be heard fifty miles away in Hawkins; the burst of fireworks in your body making you lose all sensation. Steve comes shortly after, filling you up with his seed; his warmth is enough to keep the coldness of the air away.

“Fuckin' hell, baby,” Steve moans, resting his forehead on our shoulder as you both come down from your high, movements becoming erratic. The water ebbs at your bare chest, as Steve caresses your waist. He pulls out gently then, making you gasp a little.

“That was incredible,” you whisper, turning around and slumping into his chest, hands carding through his hair. With him gone from inside you, you need every inch of your skin to be pressed against his to feel secure. You press a gentle kiss to his wet lips, one he returns with a tender sigh and a smile.

“You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” Steve rasps, and warmth blossoms over your being. The sun is starting to rise, a blush of pink starting to seep into the blue of the early dawn.

You feel at rest like this, entwined with Steve, in the comfort of his big arms. He’s your man, your lover, someone who’d protect you from anything, someone you feel the most safe with.

You move to kiss him again, opening your eyes briefly and that’s when you see it— a figure, that figure— in the shadows of the surrounding trees again— eyes, pale eyes that freeze your blood in your veins. A guttural scream rips from your throat, startling Steve, who clutches tighter onto you.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, turning around to find whatever it is that you are staring at but there’s nothing there anymore. The figure is gone.

“Steve, f—fuck,” you manage, and you’re trembling now, feeling colder than you’d ever felt before.

Concern clouds Steve’s eyes. “Y/N, what— what is it?”

You grip his shoulders tight, to stop yourself from shaking but in vain. “S-Someone was watching us,” you say and it feels even more insane to say it out loud, but you are surely not going crazy? You did see someone, a pair of eyes— an image seared into your mind forever.

“Baby, there’s no— Christ, you’re shivering. Let’s get out of here,” Steve exasperates, rushing to pull you out of the water after he gets out. He helps you dry up and into your clothes, draping his own jacket around you as well.

Your teeth only stop chattering once you’re inside his car, in the warmth of its seats. You watch as Steve steps closer to the tree where you’d seen the man and you want to call for him to get back but your voice dies on your lips.

“Nothing here,” Steve mouths and thankfully, returns to the driver’s seat. Shutting the door, he turns to you, eyes wide and creased with apprehension.

“What is going on?!” he demands and you whip your head at him, eyes pooling with tears.

“You don’t believe me,” you declare, trying to hold back the tears, but the image of the figure— so like the man you had seen at the grounds— keeps flashing through your mind.

“I do, but I—shit,” he sighs, before putting the gear into reverse and pulling out of the god forsaken place.

You are back at the house in no time, Steve not having said anything to you in the last ten minutes. He holds you close as you go back inside, not letting go of your hand. The clerk and the inn-keeper are nowhere to be seen but it is early in the morning and you figure they must be asleep.

You fall into your bed as soon as you are in your room. You pull your legs up to your chest, curling yourself into a ball— What is happening to you?

You don’t want to close your eyes in the fear that you might see the man again.

“I’m sorry for ruining your plan, Steve,” you whisper, as he plops down beside you.

He sighs, turning you over to pull you flush against his chest.

“You didn't ruin anything. I’m only worried, baby. What did you see?”

You gulp in silence, feeling dread cement in your stomach once more.

“A figure, a shadow of a person bu—but I saw their eyes, Steve, clear as day. Pale, and they—they were looking right at us,” you shudder, feeling your chest sink with each word.

“You’ve been jumpy since we got here,” Steve says, kissing your ear. “Could it have been an animal?”

The thought had crossed your mind too.

“No… this thing was… too humanoid to be an animal, Steve,” you plead and you know he must think you’re going insane.

“Baby, we’ve all had troubles with Vecna… after what happened,” he falters and you know where he's heading with this, “— do you think you’re having nightmares? But like, in the day?”

You hold your hand to your head. "I'm not hallucinating, Harrington," you mutter.

"It's... It's gotta be some fucking creep, following us. It must be that little girl's dad," you blurt, words coming out rushed.

"Let's not jump to conclusions. Didn't the lady say that they were leaving last night?"

You huff. "Well, maybe they stayed over. Fuck."

"Okay, just— relax, baby. Let's stay in here until we have to check out," he suggests, rubbing your back.

You glance at him, and the anxious look on his face makes your chest cave. He'd only wanted for the both of you to have a good time and here you were, seeing things.

But these couldn't be hallucinations or a trick of your mind, could they?

The eyes had been staring into your very soul.

You think you've ruined the mood. Steve sleeps the rest of the time up until late noon, when the sun outside your window is high and a slight breeze bellows the curtains inwards.

A yawn resounds from beside you as Steve stirs and you close the catalogue you’ve been reading, reaching over to run your hands through his hair. Steve groans, sleepily turning on his side until he settles his head onto your lap.

“Sleep good?” you ask and Steve mumbles a weary ‘yeah’. You chuckle, running your fingers deep across his scalp, just like he loves it.

“I feel bad about earlier,” you whisper, pouting slightly and Steve’s eyes shoot open.

“Hon, don’t. ‘S okay. I think—” he pauses, sighing. He squeezes your other, unoccupied hand. “I just think everything that’s happened is finally catching up with you.”

Maybe, he’s right. Maybe, it is the exhaustion of the strange happenings at Hawkins taking over your mind. Maybe, the terror that Vecna had instilled in you has manifested itself in this way.

You hope to god he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling slowly.

“Hey, hey. No being sad,” Steve coos, lifting your chin with his finger.

“Here’s an idea,” he says, jumping up from the bed suddenly. “We won’t leave the house but can we just explore it from within? It’s so old, there must be some interesting things around.”

In your heart, you know you don’t want to. There’s a chill that settles into your bones at the very thought of moving in and around this house, but how can you say no to the adorable puppy eyes and hopeful look on Steve’s face?

The house is full of beautiful antiquities that would sell for a fortune enough to sustain you and some of your future generations. Every room is decorated better than the last, a unique collection of furniture — from Italian white marble to mahogany wood— adorning the places. In every room, there is a little bit of history tucked precariously within; a painting of its occupant, a tiny love letter on one of the shelves, a statue of a lady that has the most intricate carving you have ever seen.

With every room, Steve and you find yourselves in a better mood than before. With every room, Steve finds more and more excuses to touch you, finally cornering you in the library. You barely get a good look of the place, before Steve is dragging you through and into a far corner of the room, tucked behind several columns of shelves.

"What kind of high school fantasy are you fulfilling here exactly?" you muse, as he pecks at your lips, giggling.

"Just be glad you're getting all of the Steve Harrington experience," he mutters through a grin, letting his hands slide down your body.

"Steve, the desk clerk might walk in," you hiss, just as he dips his head to chastely kiss your jaw.

You try to dodge the attack of his lips, afraid you might be caught, but Steve's too good at turning you into a mush. You're wound up too, especially after the fiasco in the morning, if you could ever admit it; Steve's brazen touches always rile you up.

He licks the length of your jaw and you gasp, trying to pull yourself away from him but in vain. He's too firmly, too deliciously pressed up against you and you lean into his ministrations quite easily.

Your hands, having a mind of their own, thread his hair as his fingertips come to linger at the hem of your skirt, right by your thigh. You meet him in the middle for a kiss, as his fingers slide up your thighs, tips cool against your warm skin.

There's an immediate fire igniting under your skin at the hot kiss, the swell of your lips chasing his own. Steve moans into your mouth as his hands palm your core through your underwear, sweeping you into a heat that forces your mouth open.

There's a rush in Steve's movements, and your heart feels heavy with guilt about earlier. You give into him; parting your legs further, allowing for easy access and Steve groans appreciatively. You pant into his mouth as he shifts the fabric of your panties aside, his thumb collecting your pooling arousal and pushes in two fingers.

Your knees buckle and chest heaves, as he hooks his fingers in. He has to press further into you to keep you upright and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation. You begin to moan from his pumping but he quickly shuts off your mouth with his hand.

"Be a good girl and try not to make a sound," he murmurs, increasing his pace and you stop yourself from crying into his hand. Steve knows how to make you feel good like the back of his hand, always tender yet rough somehow.

The peak seems close, within reach, as you rock against each other. Not long after, you're putty in his hands, as the wave hits you hard and you slump in his arms.

You've barely recovered from the haze when suddenly, a thump resounds from somewhere in the library and you jump apart— causing Steve to almost bump into the shelf behind him.

He signals for you to be quiet, as you quickly smoothen your dress and hair. You both walk out slowly, casually pretending to check out the books on the way until you're at the very start of the room, by the entrance.

There seems to be no sign of anybody.

"What was that sound then?" you ask, glancing around but everything seems to be in place— there is a desk, littered with several books, a tiny photo frame and an untouched globe that seems to strangely be collecting dust.

"Probably some book fell somewhere?" Steve says, but you're not looking at him; one of the books on the desk has caught your eye. A thick, red, leather bound book, with gold lettering embossed into it— "The House of Winchester."

You pick it up, and Steve comes to stand behind you, peering from over your shoulder as you open it.

The book is full of writings about the Winchesters; the family, the house and everything in between. The book is divided into sections; starting with the history of the family itself, then a section of photos and finally, family memorabilia. You sift through it, stopping to read interesting tidbits about the owners and former occupants.

You recognise some of the people in the section of photos, from the paintings in the house you'd inspected before. You continue to flip through the pages, until you reach one that has the picture of an old newspaper article titled— "Innocence Suffers Father's Wrath" and your fingers falter against the corner of the page.

Your eyes begin to skim over the words but Steve taps your shoulder then, gesturing for you to read out loud.

"Mr. Clausius Winchester, arrested late afternoon at the revered House of Winchester, withstands grilling at the hands of State police. Body of Margaret Winchester, his seven year old daughter who he is accused of killing, disinterred from the forest behind the same house, shows death caused by a bludgeon to the —"

You trail off, continuing to internally read the rest of the gruesome details, swallowing hard. The monstrous crime makes you gag and your heart breaks for the little girl. A picture of a man in a top-hat, with wild eyes and a large, unkempt moustache occupies the rest of the page beneath the text.

The image of the killer father.

The second your eyes settle on the ones in the picture, a chill settles over your being, like the door to a refrigerator has been opened in your face.

"Fucking hell," you hear Steve whisper from behind you.

Is this the tragic incident that the old-man Winchester was talking about?

Dread settles in thick, cementing in your stomach, as you turn the page that continues the article, and there it is, another picture that makes your blood run cold and hair stand on its end.

'Margaret Winchester', it is labelled. The picture is of a little girl, dressed in a white nightgown, hair tied into two perfect ponytails and an adorable smile bunching her cheeks.

The same little girl you vividly remember talking to, just yesterday.

"What the fuck?!" Steve exclaims, drawing a sharp breath, just as the book falls from your hand. You can hear your blood roaring in your ear, heart pounding as the words of the article spin in your head.

"Yeah, that's a no. Fuck that," Steve gushes, and you can tell he's just as thrown as you are.

"It's that.. it's that girl— fuck."

"How can— this can't be real," you whisper, breathing hard.

"Is this a sick joke, what the fuck?" Steve is pacing now and you have to steady yourself against the desk. This cannot be real, this has to be a prank.

But then, subtle memories surface; the girl, her bellowing, slightly translucent gown, the man at the edge of the forest with a top-hat— details your brain seems to recollect only now, feel too real. Too vivid, too freakish.

"We're out of here," Steve declares, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the library. You're too shaken to be thinking for yourself, so you gladly let him drag you to your room.

Your brain and body move in a disconnected fashion; hands throwing your belongings into your bags as your befuddled brain struggles through a fog of thoughts.

The little girl. Her father. The man you had seen. Twice. The forest. "..from where the body was disinterred." The little girl—

The walls outside seem hauntingly cold, and the wooden boards creak audibly as you walk out; the usually normal sound now seems strangely eerie.

The front desk turns out to be empty, the innkeeper missing and Steve seems particularly on edge. You are too, but Steve's firm grip on your hand grounds you a little.

"We're not waiting anymore. Let's just leave the keys and get our asses out of here," Steve decides, placing the keys on the front desk and after a beat, some spare cash.

You're out of the giant ebony door in no time, feeling more than happy to be out of the house that seems to be closing in from all sides.

You plop into the passenger seat of the car as Steve throws your bags in the trunk and slides into the driver seat, turning on the engine at once.

"Baby, you okay?" Steve asks and you don't really know if you are. Instead of answering, you reach out for his hand and hold it over the space between your seats. Steve grasp is tight and reassuring.

"Man, we've seen the weirdest shit at Hawkins," Steve begins, as he pulls out of the gate.

"But, what the fuck was that?"

Whatever it was, it wasn't right.

You cast one last glance at the Winchester House in the rear view mirror, and immediately regret it.

Standing at the gate is the old man, Samael Winchester. He lifts up a withering hand to wave at you and your heart leaps into your throat. It feels like you've betrayed him for some reason, and bile rises up your throat. A strange sadness washes over you as the gravel path twists onto the road, and the house disappears out of your view, once and for all.

"Baby, just, can we forget the whole experience?" Steve is saying, as you pull paper after paper onto the screen, scanning each of the documents line by line.

Your eyes are starting to burn; it's been several hours now but Steve, bless his soul, stands right by your side, bringing you more films to go through.

"I can't let it go, you know that, Steve. I won't sleep until I know," you huff, moving onto the next paper.

Steve sighs, rubbing your shoulder placatingly.

"Baby, it's been hours. Know what exactly?"

"At this point, I'll take anything about the house. The murder. Literally anything related. I don't care if it's one, tiny line," you blurt.

It has been exactly three days since you've left the murder house, but questions continue to plague your mind. For three days you've been walking down the dark corridors of the Winchester House in your dreams, stopping only to talk to the old man or the little girl in them.

Hawkins has it's fair share of stranger things; but ghosts? You had not even considered the possibility of those being real.

"A house becomes its people," the old man keeps saying and you wonder, if he had meant to warn you the very first time he had said it in the dining hall.

Warn you, that the people that used to live in that house still occupy it, like memories, forever reliving their stories within its walls.

Phoning back the house had been a bust. Nobody had picked up all the times you had tried, which was strange in on itself, but you had hoped to talk to Mr. Winchester. Hoped he could give you the answers you sought.

"Wait, what house did you say it was?" Dustin's voice calls from the other side of the microfilm reader, after what feels like hours.

"The Winchester House. Or the House of Winchester. It goes by either," you shoot back.

Dustin is silent for a moment.

"Okay. I think this might be relevant," he says, voice sounding small and you feel that familiar sinking in your chest.

You leap off your seat and move to his side, Steve following suit. On his screen is an article from October, 1906, titled "House of Horrors Deemed Unsaleable."

"The House of Winchester," he begins and you inhale strongly, bracing yourself, "—whose proprietorship belonged to the family of the same denomination was put up for an auction towards the first Friday after the last surviving owner passed away early September."

"The house, which has an ancient history and was notoriously famous for being grounds for a heinous murder, failed to gain traction amongst bidders and remained unsold. The price of the house is staggeringly low today, yet buyers have relucted purchase on grounds of wild stories circumventing the house. Stories of supernatural origins and spiritual claiming."

The world as you know it, seems to flip on its head.

"So wh—what does that mean?" Steve says, frowning.

"It means, Steve," you begin, as your heart begins to pound and breathing shallows.

"The house, for all we know, has been abandoned since 1906," you pause, tightening your white-knuckled grip on the machine to steady yourself.

"And, Samael Winchester, the last owner of the house— according to this article— has been dead for the last eighty years."

please, please let me know your thoughts and take-aways?

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things #mywriting #if this flops.....its game over besties

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