steve x fem reader
Can I get a request where the group is at the Creel house, and Steve is super protective of the reader.
i hope this lives up to expectations!! super sweet unless you’re scared of spiders like me <3
haunted house with a picket fence
(to float around and ghost my friends <3)
warnings: spiders and swearing
word count: 1.3k
The study door yawns open behind you, groaning beneath its own weight on antique hinges stiff with rust— a classic horror trope. Almost so cliche it doesn't scare you as dust swells into the air like insects, winking in the strobe light of Steve's borrowed flashlight and sinking back between the floorboards as though it were never disturbed.
But only almost.
You start, swinging round to face him, his familiar silhouette backlit against the empty hallway, his eyes narrowed in the face of your flashlight that’s aimed at his forehead. He throws his hands up and grimaces.
“You know is that really necessary?” You stand there, unimpressed, going so far as to scowl at him and stubbornly refuse to lower it like a petulant child, “I feel like i’m being interrogated or some shit.”
“And you deserve to,” you hiss, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Manifest in the doorway like something out of Poltergeist.” You steer the light toward a grate absentmindedly, shaking your head as he leans against the frame and you go to jab two fingers into his sternum, “Not cool.”
“Hey, you’re fine. You’re fine. I was just checking you hadn’t fallen through the floor it’s all pretty—“ He kicks a loose board and it shrieks in protest, “… old.”
“Oh come on Steve,” You giggle, something so strangely uplifting to hear among the cobwebs and the dark, a sound that’s been lacking here for thirty years— in this joyless maze of dingy rooms that sit forgotten in the cold light of day, light that seeps through boarded windows and ripples on the floor like water, “It’s just a big, old house.” You jump to test it’s strength, the floorboards mewling beneath your feet, “I’m totally safe.”
“I know, just— please don’t wander off on your own. Copy?”
“Loud and clear, Mom.” He rolls his eyes but guides you into the hall kindly by the small of your back, his hand warm against your skin as it boldly snakes beneath the hem of your sweater into the waist of your skirt.
“How about you take the big, scary bedroom next and i’ll have a nose around the bathroom?” You turn, eyes level with his throat and tilt your flashlight beneath your chins, carving out the bow of his lips, soft against the hard shadows that gather beneath his brow bone and settle in the hollows of his cheeks. It reminds you of telling stories at camp, nostalgic and sweet.
“Yeah, uh no. That’s not happening.”
“I’ll be just across the hall.” You brush your lips chastely over his, not in a kiss but the ghost of one, your noses brushing delicately against one another.
“What did I say about wandering off?” His adam’s apple bobs in anticipation.
“Steve.”
“I don’t like this.” He murmurs softly, his breath comfortingly warm on your cheeks and different to the damp which festers in the air, stagnant since the 50s. He tastes like toothpaste.
“It’ll be fine I promise, I don’t think this wizard sleeps in the tub.” He smiles unwillingly, the corners of his mouth curling upward in his best attempt at holding back laughter. “And it makes more sense— it’s like way more efficient.”
“Okay.” He relents when you smooth your hands dotingly across his shoulders, sweeping away the stray flecks of dust that decided to settle on his jacket— and fixing his collar too while you’re at it. “Okay fine.”
“Really?”
“It’s not like I can stop you.”
“Correct.” You call back to him. It echoes in the eaves and lingers for a moment after you’ve spoken.
“Hey uh…” But he clears his throat, hovering at the threshold opposite, fingers caught on the doorframe like an afterthought and drumming anxiously against the splintered wood, “Just yell if you need anything and… i’ll be as quick is I can.” You smile brightly and you nod with silent promise before disappearing into the dark and out of his sight with curious anticipation.
The floor is in better condition here, more stable as you step into the room considering it’s paved neatly with porcelain tile in geometric patterns, even beneath the copper tub that lacks a faucet handle. Besides the dirt that accumulates inevitably over the course of a few generations it was beautiful, had antique charm. And while you rifled through the cabinet, kicked at a few loose slabs on the floor it had no secrets to share with you. There were no clues here. You went to leave, distracted suddenly by an air vent that winks in the beam of your flashlight like crystal. It’s different to the one you found earlier— sunk into the floor and suspiciously screwed shut.
You pick at it, determined, tampering with short fingernails until it eases reluctantly away from the frame.
Jam jars are huddled like spies inside and the cobwebs strung between them are thick with flies. You reach for the tallest one, wanting to know what they hold. The dust is so thick it feels like velvet on the glass and peering through it there seems to be only twigs and something cottony inside, definitely old and dry but caught in it there’s a marble sized spider. More of them, trapped in there like someone’s pet but shrivelled with age and curled tightly into itself, it rattles at the bottom. Truly, truly disgusting and long dead now.
It’s not like you’re frantic, but hastily you shove it back between the others and leave them there as you press the grate haphazardly over the hole, that’s until something twinges on the cuff of your sweater, light but not unnoticeable and when you do, you only have to shriek once.
Before you’ve finished flicking it off, the spider now scuttling into a crevice, steps fly in the hall and you collapse against a warm body who’s arms close around your waist firmly, hauling you backward in the hallway, even slamming the door shut behind him. He twists you by your shoulders, his eyes searching earnestly for injury, raking over your face, your arms, your chest. “Are you okay?” You’re shaken, fingers curling into the sleeves of his sweater until your knuckles are white as you brace yourself against him to catch your breath, pulse beating in your throat, shattering your ability to speak for a moment. “What? What’s wrong? Who—“
“S-spiders.” You croak, staring at his anxiously expectant expression and feeling safer when he tugs you to his chest, cradling the side of your face with an open palm like you’re made of glass.
“Oh god, it’s okay, you’re okay. No need to panic.” You coil your arms around his neck and breathe in the smell of his detergent and hairspray— both are perceptible in the same way his fingerprints are, specific to him. “Here.” He offers and slowly, so as not to startle you, he turns your back to him by tugging gently at one hand and begins to comb through your hair with careful fingers, picking out anything that might have fallen into it. He goes so far as brush it over one side, smoothing the back of your sweater flush to your skin and fondly kissing the point at which it meets your neck, eventually pressing his face into the crook of your shoulder intimately. “Spider free.” You can feel his mouth against your skin as he speaks and lean back into the warmth of his touch. “Totally safe.”
“Thank you Steve.” Gratitude wells up your chest and your eyes flutter closed in contentment, releasing any tension with a satisfied sigh and whispering apologetically, “Sorry for scaring you, it was stupid.”
“No. No, it’s not stupid at all. You know i’ll always be there to… to—“
You laughed quietly into the dark, something that didn’t seem so threatening anymore, and like waves he felt it reverberate through his chest. “Protect me from the spiders?”
“Haunted houses, ghosts.” He snickers. “From anything you need me to. Always.”
let me know what you think!! my requests are open for anything you want to read next!! <3
you can also read my other fic ‘get to it’ - steve harrington x reader here.
