Summary: Steve Harrington has baby fever so bad it's practically a medical condition. He's going to be a disaster emotionally but he's going to be a perfect dad.
Pure tooth rooting fluff - warning you may swoon
A/N: I'm back on my girl dad Steve agenda! Yippie! I'm also starting working through my requests! Many for Joe few for Steve so allow my draft box to keep you entertained until then :3
Word Count: 1,026
The pregnancy test had barely dried before Steve Harrington lost his damn mind permanently.
Not in a bad way - never in a bad way. But in the way that had him waking up at 3 AM to reorganise the already-organised nursery drawers, in the way that had him pressing his ear to your stomach at the most random moments, in the way that had turned the former King of Hawkins High into a man who actually squealed in the baby aisle at Kmart.
"Baby," you called out from the couch, seven months along and feeling like a beached whale in the best possible way. "It's midnight. Come to bed."
You heard rustling from the kitchen, then the sound of something being dragged. Steve appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in seventeen different directions, holding a shopping bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, eyes bright and borderline feral with excitement. "I kept thinking about her."
"Steve, we don't even have a name yet."
"But we have a her," he said, like this was the most profound statement ever uttered. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and immediately lowered himself to his knees in front of you, gentle hands finding your swollen belly. "Hi, princess. Daddy's here. I got you something."
You ran your fingers through his hair, still damp from his evening shower. "What did you buy at midnight?"
He pulled out item after item with the reverence of someone handling ancient artifacts. A tiny pair of socks with strawberries on them. A onesie that said "My Dad is a Dork" in glitter letters. A stuffed demogorgon - soft and child-safe - that he'd apparently custom ordered from somewhere.
"Steve," you laughed, picking up the demogorgon. It's red and oddly cute, with button eyes and no teeth, just the blooming flower head. "Really?"
"She needs to know her roots," he said seriously, then ruined it by pressing a kiss to your stomach. "Your mom and dad fought actual monsters, princess. You're gonna be so tough."
"She's going to be a newborn, Steve. The scariest thing she'll face is gas and vomit."
He looked up at you, and your heart did that thing it had been doing since you were sixteen years old - skipped, stuttered, swelled. His eyes were soft, overwhelmed, his.
"What if I'm not good at this?" he asked quietly, all the manic energy draining into something vulnerable. "What if I - what if I mess her up? My parents weren't exactly - " He stopped, jaw tight. "What if I'm like them?"
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the worry lines he was getting from frowning in his sleep. "You're going to be amazing."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." You leaned down, kissed his forehead, his nose, his mouth. "I know you drove to three different towns to find the right crib because the first two didn't feel safe enough. I know you read three parenting books in one week and highlighted the important parts. I know you cried when we heard her heartbeat."
"I did not - " He caught your look. "Okay, I cried a little."
"You sobbed, Steve. You sobbed."
He buried his face in your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist. "I'm so scared," he mumbled against the cotton of your shirt. "I want to be perfect for her. For both of you."
Your heart broke open, warm and tender. This was the boy who'd faced down monsters without flinching, who'd fought in a war against things from another dimension, who'd become a hero without ever asking for the title. And here he was, terrified of being a father.
"Hey." You tugged his hair until he looked up. "You're already perfect. You're Steve Harrington. You fought with a bat that had nails in it to save a bunch of kids. You can definitely handle a baby."
"But what if she doesn't like me?"
"She's going to adore you." You smiled, feeling a tiny flutter against your ribs - her, awake and active, responding to his voice probably. "Feel that? She already knows her dad."
Steve's hand pressed flat against your belly, wonder transforming his face. "Is that - did she just - "
"She's saying hi."
He stayed there for a long moment, forehead resting against your stomach, whispering things you couldn't quite hear. Promises, probably. I'll protect you. I'll love you. I'll be there.
When he finally sat back on his heels, his eyes were wet again, but he was smiling. "I got one more thing," he said, reaching into the bag.
It was a tiny headband with a small bow, soft pink and impossibly delicate. He held it between two fingers like it might dissolve.
"To keep her head warm till she has hair." He said. "Which... Let's face it she's probably going to end up with my hair gene, but until then... I want her to feel like a princess. Our princess."
You took the headband, then took his hand, pressing both to your heart. "Come to bed, Harrington. Your princesses need sleep."
He helped you up - always so careful now, treating you like glass even though you kept telling him you weren't breakable - and walked you to the bedroom with one arm around your waist, the other carrying his midnight haul.
In the dark, curled around you with his hand spread over your belly, he whispered, "I love you. Both of you. So much it actually hurts."
"I know," you whispered back. "We know."
He was asleep in minutes, finally, exhaustion winning over anxiety. You stayed awake a little longer, feeling her move inside you, feeling his breath warm against your neck.
He was going to be incredible.
You knew it like you knew your own name. Like you knew that the boy who'd once been too cool for everything had grown into a man who was exactly cool enough for this - for late night shopping trips and nursery assembly and learning to braid hair someday.
Steve Harrington was going to be a father.
And he was going to be absolutely, perfectly, wonderfully terrified the entire time.
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Summary: Your fiance is is the new baseball coach for the children in Hawkins. But you can’t help but over hear how much the Hawkins mothers want him.
Warnings: angst, Hawkins mom’s are ruthless. Very brief sexual mention. Steve doesn’t know what’s going on really. Robin is a great friend. Not proof read.
—౨ৎ—
The sun was high over Hawkins cubs baseball field, kids shouting and sneakers squeaking against the dirt as Steve Harrington barked instructions like a general leading an army. You leaned against the chain link fence, cheering along quietly, your hand absentmindedly brushing the engagement ring sparkling on your finger.
Steve was completely and utterly in his element and completely oblivious to the way the mothers of the team watched his every move. You knew this would be part of the territory when you agreed to stand by him. Still, some days… it was exhausting.
“Did you see him?” one mom whispered to another, glancing toward Steve as he crouched to help a tiny pitcher. “I mean… come on, that hair, that ass? Come on”
You tensed, arms folding across your chest. You had heard these conversations before, more than you’d ever wanted and honestly, some of them were way too explicit for your liking. Not that it mattered. Steve was yours.
Another mother leaned in, whispering with a giggle, “I’m telling you, if I could get him alone for five minutes…”
You felt your jaw clench, taking a deep breath as the words washed over you. Your mind wandered to Steve his goofy grin, the way he made a kid who’d just dropped a ball feel like a hero, the laugh that made you melt every time. He loved you. He didn’t even notice the endless flirting. But you did.
You barely noticed Robin sitting down beside you at first until her knee nudged yours and she let out a low, unimpressed hum.
“Wow,” she said, eyes tracking the cluster of moms a few rows down. “Hawkins really said desperate stays desperate, huh?”
You huffed out a breath, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “You heard them too?”
Robin snorted. “Heard them? I think the entire county heard them. I’m shocked no one brought binoculars.”
You finally looked at her, the corner of your mouth twitching despite yourself. “It’s just… gross. I know Steve doesn’t notice. He’s just being Steve. But listening to them talk about him like that leaves a sour taste in my mouth”
“I mean yeah, gross,” Robin finished, nodding. “And totally valid. But also?” She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “They’re lonely, bored, and Steve Harrington is young, pretty, and new meat. Of course they want a slice.”
You sighed. “That doesn’t make it feel better.”
Robin softened immediately. “Hey. Look at me.” When you did, she smiled gently. “Steve’s obsessed with you. Like, embarrassing levels of obsessed, honestly, it’s kinda gross sometimes to watch.”
As if summoned by her words, Steve called for a five-minute break.
And he didn’t hesitate.
The moment the kids scattered for water and snacks, he jogged straight toward you, cap pushed back, cheeks flushed from the sun, smile already wide and bright.
“There you are,” he said, breathless, like he’d been searching for you all game.
Before you could respond, he leaned down and pressed a soft, familiar kiss to your forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary. His hand squeezed your shoulder, grounding, warm.
“I’m so glad you came,” he added, grinning. “Did you see that play? The kids are getting so much better already”
Your chest loosened despite everything. “I saw,” you said softly. “You were great.”
Steve beamed, then glanced at Robin. “Rob. Thanks for coming.” He says, playfully.
“Wouldn’t miss Coach Hair’s big debut,” she said dryly.
Steve laughed, completely unbothered, then jogged back toward the dugout when a kid called his name.
You didn’t miss it.
the way the moms fell silent. The way they exchanged looks. The way a few of them smiled, sharp and knowing.
Robin noticed too.
“Oh,” she muttered. “They think you’re just the cute little girlfriend.”
Your stomach dropped.
Sure enough, as Steve was handing out water bottles, one of the moms waved him over, her smile syrupy sweet.
“Steve honey?” she called. “Could you help my son real quick?”
Another chimed in, laughing too loudly. “Yeah, Coach Harrington, you’re just so good with kids.”
Steve jogged over without a second thought, friendly as ever, crouching down to listen completely unaware of the way hands lingered on his arm, fingers brushed his shoulder, voices dipped lower.
You felt that familiar sting bloom again, sharper this time.
Robin leaned back, crossing her arms. “Okay,” she said flatly. “Now it’s intentional.”
You swallowed, eyes fixed on Steve as he laughed at something one of them said, oblivious, trusting, yours.
“They think I don’t matter,” you whispered.
Robin’s head snapped toward you so fast you almost laughed. Almost.
“Whoa. Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “Have you seen the rock on your finger?”
She reached over, gently grabbing your hand and lifting it up between you like evidence in a courtroom. The diamond caught the sunlight, flashing unmistakably.
“That thing could blind someone at twenty paces,” Robin continued. “No one gives that to someone who doesn’t matter.”
You let out a shaky breath, eyes still fixed on the field. “It just feels like… I’m invisible to them. Like I’m just some placeholder.”
Robin scoffed. “Please. You’re not a placeholder” She nudged your shoulder. “Steve Harrington doesn’t half commit. He’s all in or nothing, and he’s been all in on you since day one.”
On the field, Steve laughed again, completely unaware of the looks being exchanged or the hands that lingered too long. He handed a kid his helmet, then gestured animatedly as he explained something big movements, big heart.
“He doesn’t see it,” you said quietly.
“Because he doesn’t think like them,” Robin replied. “He’s not flirting. He’s coaching. Being friendly. Being tragically hot.”
That earned a smile from you.
Robin leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You don’t need to prove anything right now. Let them think whatever they want. Steve will set the record straight without even trying, because every time he looks at you, it’s obvious.”
As if on cue, Steve glanced up from the field.
His eyes found you instantly.
His face softened, like the rest of the world had gone quiet, and he lifted a hand in a small wave meant just for you. The kind he didn’t even realize he did.
One of the moms noticed. Her smile faltered.
—౨ৎ—
Grocery shopping with Steve had somehow become one of your favorite things. Picking out your cereal for the week, planning the meals you’ll cook for him after work.
It was nothing special fluorescent lights, squeaky cart wheels, a half planned dinner, but with him, it felt like a date. Steve pushed the cart with one hand, the other laced with yours, bumping your hip on purpose just to hear you laugh. Every few aisles, he’d stop to ask your opinion on something trivial like it was the most important decision he’d ever make.
“Okay,” he said seriously, holding up two jars of pasta sauce. “Be honest. Which one tastes more like ‘future husband who tries his best’?”
You smiled, heart warm. “The left. Definitely the left.”
“See?” he said proudly. “This is why I’m marrying you.”
You were reaching for produce when you felt it, that familiar prickle at the back of your neck.
Voices.
“Steve? Oh my god, hi!”
You turned to see two of the baseball moms approaching, both smiles bright and a little too eager. Steve’s face lit up immediately, friendly and unsuspecting.
“Oh, hey! Mrs. Collins, right?” he said. “And—uh—sorry, I’m bad with names—”
“Jessica,” she said quickly, stepping closer than necessary. “That shirt looks great on you coach.” She adds. Flattering her eyelashes at him.
You blinked.
Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh tha- thanks?”
The other woman reached out, fingers brushing his arm as she spoke. “We were just talking about how great you’ve been with the kids. Really special, you know?”
You stared at the display of apples a little too hard, jaw tight. In the grocery store? Really?
Steve nodded, completely oblivious. “Yeah, I just love coaching them. They’re great kids.”
“And such a hands on coach,” added, her tone unmistakable now.
You almost choked.
Finally, Steve gestured toward you. “Oh, this is my fiancée.”
The word landed, but you could tell it didn’t register the way it should have. Their smiles faltered only slightly.
She tilted her head. “It’s refreshing, really. Steve seems like the kind of guy who’d normally go for someone a little more, you know, polished.”
Steve frowned slightly but didn’t say anything yet.
The other mom chimed in, gaze lingering on Steve’s arm before sliding back to you. “You must keep him grounded. You know, someone has to.”
You felt heat creep up your neck. “I guess?”
“Oh, don’t get us wrong,” the first one laughed softly. “You’re cute. Just, simple. Very down-to-earth.” The other lady nodded in agreement.
Steve’s brows knit together now.
“And it must be so nice,” the second added, “not having to worry about appearances when you’re engaged so young.”
That did it.
Steve straightened fully, hand coming to rest on the small of your back without even thinking about it. His voice stayed polite, calm, but firmer than before.
He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Okay… I’m gonna stop you guys right there.”
“I always figured ‘polished’ was overrated,” Steve continued, glancing down at you briefly, his expression soft in a way that wasn’t meant for them. “Hell, I’d take real over ‘polished’ anyday.”
The first mom let out a tight laugh. “Oh, of course, we just meant—”
“Yeah,” Steve nodded, cutting in smoothly. “I know what you meant.”
His eyes flicked back to them, easy and unbothered. “It’s interesting. You spend enough time around kids, you start to notice how people talk when they’re insecure.”
That landed.
The second mom’s smile wavered. Her eyes wide. “Insecure?”
Steve shrugged. “Not a bad thing. Happens to everyone.” He smiled again, casual. “But it’s usually the people who feel the need to compare who are the least sure of themselves.”
Silence.
He tipped his head slightly, like he was genuinely thinking. “Anyways , she’s exactly who I wanted. Still is. always will be.”
He gave your back a gentle squeeze and steered the cart forward, already done with the conversation.
“Oh and by the way” he added over his shoulder, almost absentmindedly, “congrats on raising great kids. That’s the important part, right?”
It sounded sincere.
It wasn’t.
A few aisles later, you finally exhaled.
You didn’t look back as Steve guided the cart down the aisle, but you could feel it. Steve waited until you were a safe distance away before leaning closer, voice low, playful.
“You okay?” he asked, like he hadn’t just emotionally dismantled two grown women with a smile.
You laughed breathlessly. “I think so. I’m still processing whatever that was.”
He hummed, clearly pleased with himself, steering the cart with one hand now. “Good.”
You glanced at him. “Good?”
Steve tilted his head toward you, eyes sparkling with something unmistakably dangerous. “Yeah. Because watching you get all quiet and flustered like that?” He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him. “Kinda makes me want to remind you exactly how much I love you as soon as we get home.”
You stopped walking.
“Steve.” you said slowly, stunned, heat rushing straight to your face.
He grinned, unrepentant. “What? I’m engaged. I’m allowed to flirt with my fiancée.”
You stared at him, heart pounding, utterly undone.
“I love you,” you blurted.
His grin softened instantly, the edge melting into something warm and real. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know. And I love you more.”
Watching them loose a game they never really had a chance of winning, was oddly satisfying.
—౨ৎ—
The bleachers were warmer than usual, the late afternoon sun settling comfortably over the field. You sat alone this time, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Steve as he moved between the kids with easy confidence.
Coach Harrington. Your husband. You smiled to yourself at the thought.
The voices came anyway.
“Oh look,” one of the moms murmured behind you. “The fiancé.”
The word was stretched thin like it was an insult or something.
“Guess she’s still hanging around,” another said. “Funny how serious she thinks it is.”
You felt the familiar tightness in your chest, but it didn’t bloom into anger this time. Just resolve.
Last week’s game flashed through your mind. Steve absent. The substitute coach fumbling drills. The quiet, private joy of hotel mornings, shared last names, rings exchanged in whispered vows far away from Hawkins.
You stood up and the movement caught their attention immediately.
“Oh, so sorry,” you said lightly, turning to face them. Your voice was calm. Steady. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”
They stiffened.
“I just wanted to clear something up,” you continued, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Coach Harrington wasn’t here last week because we were on our honeymoon.”
Silence.
“I guess ‘fiancé’ isn’t quite the right word anymore,” you added gently. “We got married.”
The stunned looks were immediate. Mouths parted. No clever remarks. No laughter.
From the field, Steve looked up.
He saw you standing. Saw their faces. Mouthed I love you.
Not flashy. Not smug but proud.
When the game ended, he jogged over, slipping an arm around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, Mrs. Harrington,” he said softly, eyes warm. “You stayed.”
Summary: going unnoticed all of your life only made steve’s attention that much more flustering. being seen by him was the best feeling you’d ever felt, and you letting him see you for who you really were made him love you more than he thought was possible.
TW: Smut, MDNI 18+, p in v, oral (f receiving), lotsss of kissing, lots of fluff, slight angst.
WC: 8.7K (now you know why it took so long!!)
A/N: ahh! this is my longest work ever! also first time writing smut, so i hope it was good :) this story is truly so sweet, i love it so much and i'm so excited to share it after working on it for so long! please forgive any mistakes, it's not entirely proofread, ill work on that that this weekend, I just wanted to get this out like I promised
It was easy to slip through the cracks at Hawkins High.
Sure, there weren’t that many students, but everyone had their head so far up their own ass that it made being a wallflower easy.
Naturally, there was a social pyramid. The “kings” and “queens” who subtly tormented the ones who fell below them, even some of the teachers. They got away with it because everyone wanted to be them, and let’s face it, they were pretty good looking. It was safe to say fear played a factor, as well.
Below them were the outgoing types — football players, cheerleaders, student council members. The ones who kept the school running but went unrecognized.
And lastly, below everyone else, were the quiet ones. The nerds who spent their lunch in the library, the more eccentric types like the thespians or members of certain clubs.
You had fallen into the third category. You made good grades, had a close friend that you spent lunch with. If she wasn’t there, you’d join the bookworms in the library, catching up on reading assignments. You didn’t dress fancily or do your hair up too high, didn’t wear shoes that clicked or squeaked, and you were most certainly not a cheerleader.
High school went by like people say it does — dragging on for years then over in the blink of an eye. You attended a small community college just outside of Hawkins, working on your associates.
There, you blended in, too.
When you were paired with people for projects, they always seemed to really like you, but they also never seemed to stay. Good friends were hard to come by, after all.
It felt like you just hadn’t found your place yet. Everyone else your age was in a relationship, going out every weekend, living their young lives. You often stayed home, no boyfriend and only a couple friends.
Sometimes it felt like the loneliness was suffocating. Listening to your peers rave about their crazy weekends made you self conscious of your calm ones, only causing you to pull back into yourself more. By the time your first two years of college were over and you earned yourself that associates, you finally accepted that you’d be alone — possibly forever.
Maybe it was dramatic, maybe you had a bad habit of exaggerating, but it was hard not to when your feelings got the best of you.
You had so many talents and interests and cool little things that no one knew about you, things no one cared to learn. You were shy on the surface, yeah, but you only needed someone to take the time to learn you, learn how wild you could get, how fun you could be.
Over the spring break of your 3rd year in college, the small town of Hawkins was placed under a military quarantine. A metal fence wrapped around your hometown, making entry and exit nearly impossible, effectively keeping you from making the short journey to your college.
You were still young, it wasn’t like putting a pause on your education was the end of the world…except, it kind of was.
One good thing about quarantine was that it forced you to get yourself out a little more. With nearly every job in Hawkins being filled a month after the earthquake, the only available jobs left were shift manager at the WSQK radio station, or working shifts with Keith at Family Video again, your high school job.
So, you chose option one.
Sure, you were only the shift manager, but working with Robin and Steve, you got dragged into a lot more than that.
After 2 months of working there, they finally got you to make your first appearance on air. It wasn’t easy, you sure put up a fight. There was just something about the two that made it easy to open up.
After 5 months of working there, you were permanently in the sound booth, helping Steve with the sounds or passing Robin notes.
And by the 1 year mark, you had officially made 2 best friends.
It was exhilarating! Finally, when someone asked about your weekend, you had something to talk about. You were the happiest you had been in a long time.
With Robin, her constant oversharing loosened your lips a little. She never judged. She teased, sure, but she was never one to make you feel bad about yourself. She was your biggest supporter, in fact. The clothes you wore, stories you told, things you created — she supported fully. She even convinced you to start wearing your hair up high on your head, the way you confessed you liked but didn’t wear it as to not draw attention to yourself.
And with Steve, well…
You two were really close, just like you and Robin. He hyped you up, loved the songs you suggested, picked stray hairs off your sweaters, and even let you press the rubber chicken hung on the wall of the sound booth, just because it made you giggle, even though it was his favorite thing to do.
However, lately things had been…off.
Your immediate thought was that you had something wrong. Were you too clingy? You just excited to have made a new friend. Did you laugh too loudly? Again, excited. Could Steve read your mind? You only thought about his hands sometimes.
Oh no, what if he could read your mind? That’s impossible, it’s ridiculous. Then again, what was the explanation for how he’d been acting?
He still let you punch the chicken, but he stopped standing so close. You rarely got to feel how warm he was anymore. He stared responding to you less, the jokes that originally took so much courage to make were now going ignored. He stopped seeking one on one conversation with you, he avoided eye contact and flushed when you met eyes.
It hurt.
It felt like you had lost a friend. One of your best friends.
You tried asking Robin, but she was a dead end, her lips sealed shut for once. She refused to give you anything to work with. Did Steve really hate you that much?
It continued on like that for the next few weeks. Steve being avoidant, Robin not saying anything about it to you, and you just accepting it.
What were you going to do? Demand he be friends with you? No, that wasn’t like you at all. A wallflower, that’s what you’d been described as your entire life, why change it because you misread Steve? Steve Harrington who, even through his beauty, used to be a complete bully. The kind of bully that made you eager to blend in, that kept you from being the bubbly, charismatic girl you could have been, the kind of bully that put you in this position now.
Hurting, but too afraid to speak up, too afraid to try and stop it.
Until one morning in August.
You had been in your office, organizing your filing cabinets that had gotten completely out of whack. Yellowed pages with cursive letters decorated your desk, an open file drawer waiting for its papers to be returned. You hummed to yourself as you arranged the papers into groups that would eventually go into folders, and back into the cabinet.
Lost in your own world, you failed to recognize the pitter patter of foot steps trailing towards your office.
“Whoa- holy shit,” A male voice sounded, his words almost accusatory.
Your head snapped up, and your eyes were met with a teenage boy. He had long, curly hair, an overgrown mullet of sorts. He wore a hat that was labeled with the words “thinking cap” that made you quietly giggle to yourself, and a WSQK t-shirt.
Unsure of what to say, you waited for him to speak.
“I’ve heard stories about you—“ he said your name, making sure it was correct.
You nodded, responding “About me?”
The boy nodded his head, stepping into your cluttered office space.
“I’m Dustin,” he grinned. The boy, Dustin, held out his hand and theatrically shook yours, giving you a little bow.
Ah, this is Dustin. Steve’s (younger) best friend. Of course you knew who he was, but it was nice to put a face to the name. You told him as such.
“I’ve been wondering when Steve was gonna bring you around, he’s usually not so protective of his girlfriends,” Dustin teased, but it wasn’t in the way that Robin did. Robin made sly jokes about you and Steve getting together, taunting you two like it was middle school. Dustin, on the other hand, sounded like what he was saying was factual.
“Oh, um—“ you began, only to be cut off by Steve’s booming voice.
“Henderson, bathroom’s that way! You should know this by now, man,” Steve trailed off at the end of his sentence, eyes flickering between you and Dustin as he realized what was going on.
His loud, blabber mouth friend talking to his quiet, reserved…friend? Crush? Love of his life? Possibly revealing his deepest secret.
Dustin mischievously smirked, raising his hands in surrender as he took careful steps backwards towards the bathroom.
Steve shot Dustin a look of warning then stepping into the doorway of your office. He leaned against it like he used to, one shoulder on the frame with his arms and ankles crossed. Flustered at his sudden closeness, you dropped your head and returned to organizing your papers.
“So, you finally met Dustin,” Steve started tentatively, almost like he was flustered, too.
“Yeah, he—he’s cool,” you said, because what else were you supposed to say? That he thought you were Steve’s girlfriend?
“He sure is something,” Steve mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. You giggled softly at his little joke, causing heat to wash over his face. “That little shit didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”
“Dustin? No, he was fine. Cute kid,” you added, referring to his theatrics. Steve seemed to have understood what you meant as he responded with a nod, smiling fondly.
“He didn’t…I don’t know, maybe say anything? Like, about me?” He nervously scratched at the back of his neck, now avoiding eye contact.
“About you? Uh…” you hesitated, your biggest tell when you were lying.
“He did, didn’t he?” Dammit, Steve knew you too well.
“Nothing bad! I promise,” you gave a smile, trying to be perceived as gentle and reassuring, but coming across as nervous.
Steve took a few small, languid steps into your office until the heels of his palms were digging into your old wooden desk. He rested his weight on his hands and clicked his tongue, beginning to speak.
“Will you please tell me? I really—I need to know.” Sensing your hesitation, he added a “please, honey,” that never failed.
With a sigh full of embarrassment, you told Steve.
“All he said was that it was nice to meet me, that you’re not usually so protective with your girl friends,” you make sure to make the space between girl and friend apparent in your words, trying to ease the blow for Steve.
“Oh, fuck. Listen, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to him about—“
“Steve?” You cut his rambling off, not really wanting an apology from Dustin, which is where he was headed with his string of thought. In fact, you were quite curious to know what he meant.
“Yeah?” Steve sighed, sounding resigned, like he knew what you were going to ask.
“Why did he call me that?”
“Call you what? My-my girlfriend?” He stumbled out, his words a jumbled mess, his cheeks flushed over and warm to the touch.
You nodded. Maybe this would give you an answer as to why Steve had been so weird around you, at least a clue.
The flush of the toilet and the sound of the faucet momentarily distracted your thoughts while waiting for Steve to respond.
“I’ve talked about you a couple times before, I didn’t think he’d even remember. I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought he’d come in here and tease you like that, I know how shy you can get.”
Steve’s response had you genuinely shocked. While you didn’t believe what he said to be true at all, it was touching to hear how much he’d noticed you. How he knew you got shy when people brought up romance, how he tried to protect you from the teasing.
“A couple times? I don’t think so, Steve,” Dustin smiled, peeking out of the bathroom door frame, only visible to Steve, who turned to Dustin, shooting him another look of warning.
“Dustin,” Steve protested, seeing the glim already in his eyes. There was no stopping this now.
“You’re telling me this isn’t the girl you won’t shut up about? I mean, this is the only other girl who works here, and I’m well aware of your refusal to date Robin, so, this has to be her.”
You were frozen at your desk. Wide eyed and lips parted, you remained completely still, using it as a defense mechanism. Maybe if you pretended you weren’t there, they would, too.
“That’s not—Dustin! I told you to wait in the car, but you just had to take a piss, didn’t you?” Steve raised his voice slightly, frustration dripping off each syllable.
Dustin only grinned, as if this was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
“Go!” Steve’s voice sounded as he pointed a finger towards the front door, presumably where Steve’s beamer was parked.
“What?! No! I finally got to meet your blushing bride and you’re kicking me out already?!” Dustin yelped out, still grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Out!” Steve demanded, flicking his pointed finger towards the door to emphasize his words.
Dustin let out a small “ah-ha” as he shoulder checked Steve on the way out. “You know, I think I’ll take my bike home, it’s the perfect day out,” Dustin tipped his hat to you upon his exit. You gave him a shy wave then immediately went back to the shuffling and organizing of your papers.
With Dustin gone, Steve was stood leaning against your office door frame once more, red as a tomato, and fidgeting with his fingers. You noticed more and more throughout the weeks that this was how he'd been acting. Shifty, nervous, and avoidant.
"I'm...sorry," Steve managed through his embarrassment. Just as he was turning to walk away, you drew him back in.
"Don't be," you spoke, sounding more hopeful thank you meant to.
"What?" Steve whipped his head back to face you, shock written clear over his face.
"I just mean, I know how kids his age can be..." you trailed off, feeling like you were exposing too much of your internal dialog.
What if he thinks I'm obsessively in love with him? What if he's not wrong? What if I'm obsessively in love with Steve Harrington? What if he can read my thoughts?!
"Can you blame me, though?" He nervously chuckled.
At that, you snapped your gaze up to meet his. What the hell did that mean?
"Uhm.."
"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm just making it worse, aren't I?" Steve rambled, hands coming up to his face as he dramatically wiped at his eyes. "I just—I really like you and I didn't wanna say anything because every time the station plays a love song you get all...red and blushy and I know how nervous you got when that one stock guy came on to you, and now here I am, doing the same thing—" he cut himself off with a heavy sigh, one that told you he surely thought he was about to get the rejection of his life.
"I'm not...It's okay," was all you could muster. Well, that and a small smile. You thought it was neutral enough that it didn't give your desire for his words to be true away completely, but enough for him to know you weren't upset or about to reject him, quite the opposite, actually.
Knowing you, the response seemed to settle Steve a little.
"It's okay? You're not freaked out or anything?" He carefully questioned, hands motioning around.
"No, actually. I'm flattered," you shyly admitted. Heat settled all over your body in embarrassment and flush.
Steve let out a breath of relief and emotion, his shoulders loosening a fraction.
"I hope I'm not being too forward, but would you maybe consider going out with me? Like as a date. Or as friends! Whatever you want, honey," he nervously asked, his voice soft and sweet, and his words soothing the fear that crept into you at his words.
Being your friend for so long, he knew that you'd never been in a real romantic relationship. Sure, there had been a boy here and a boy there, but none of them treated you right, none of them stayed. No boy had ever taken you out on a real date, just drive-in movies expecting you to do something with them in the backseat. No boy had truly taken the time to get to know you — to understand you. No man knew you like Steve. No man took months studying your nervous habits and your playful ones, no man noticed you like Steve. You're not sure if anyone's ever noticed you like Steve.
Nervously smiling, you forced your eyes to meet Steve's. His honeyed irises were wide and softened, hopefully awaiting your answer.
"I'd like that," you cautiously peeped out, words hard to form and never easier at the same time.
It was so easy, so natural to say yes to Steve. Not only had he made you feel so seen, so special in a life of blending in and going unnoticed, but you had also been subconsciously harboring an ever growing crush on Steve for months now.
"Well, alright then," he breathed, his smile wider than you'd ever seen it before. "I'll swing by around 7 if that works for you? I was thinking we get those snow cones you like before all the stands close down after Labor Day."
Your mouth hung open slightly in awe of his words. He remembered you liked visiting the seasonal snow cone shops? Surely he knew that a traditional first date to a romantic restaurant would have had you so flustered you'd barely be able to speak, opting for a more casual yet meaningful date instead.
"Steve, you don't have to—"
"I don't have to do anything I don't want, I know," he stepped closer to you, tilting his head and softly smiling down at you, "but not only do I want to take you out, I think I might die if I don't."
You giggled at his tone and teasing words, willing yourself to maintain eye contact just so you could look at him up close a little longer.
"Okay," you conceded, still red in the face.
Steve gave you a nod, still smiling that stupidly fond smile, and started to head out of your office. You watched him go, a bright smile spreading across not only you lips, but your entire face. You felt lighter than you had in years, but you were certain the anticipation would kill you.
Safe to say, the date went extremely well. So well, in fact, that there was another, and another, and all of the sudden you were Steve’s girlfriend, and he was your (first!) boyfriend. Just saying it out loud was exhilarating. Still, one year later, you got giddy at the thought.
He was the sweetest, most considerate and loving boyfriend you could have asked for. He held open doors, encouraged you to express yourself, and never pushed — not even when you two were kissing and he got a little (very big) problem in his pants.
It was hard at first, accepting his affection and attention, but Steve was patient with you. He held your literal and metaphorical hand through it all.
First, it was the attention. Never before had anyone ever been so dedicated to learning all of your little quirks or habits, but boy did Steve pay lots of attention. Sure, it flustered you, but it made you feel so seen, so undeniably wanted that you learned to love — to crave his stares.
Then there was the physical touch. It was just so new to you! The holding hands, hugs, kisses…It was hard for Steve, too. All he wanted to do the moment you agreed to go out with him was kiss you stupid and hold you after, keeping you there forever.
After date number 5, Steve was blessed to be allowed to have your first kiss, and you were blessed to have Steve introduce you to the wonderfully exciting world of kissing that you loved so much.
The past year of your life had been perfect — absolutely perfect. You had come out of your shell some, thanks to Steve, and you were much more confident. Now, that’s not to say your shyness went away, years of going unnoticed cannot be made up for in 12 months of love, but your brain started to rewire. You wore what you wanted, made conversation with the cashiers at stores, and even wore the pair of kitten heels that Steve bought you, unafraid of them making too much noise or drawing attention to you.
Steve saw this change and fell more in love, if that were even possible. Watching you let yourself be who you really were - the person that he loved so much - made him feel undeniably proud. Not of himself, but of you. That man nearly dropped to his knees when you tried out a new hairdo or wore a new skirt, not because of how you looked (though he’d drop to his knees for that, too), but because of your new found confidence. Letting him love you was the best decision you ever made, and loving you was the best decision he had ever made.
Which is why on the night of your one year anniversary, he went all out.
Still, no fancy restaurant- you hated when he spent too much money on you, even though to him there was no such thing. So instead, Steve mimicked an expensive restaurant right in his own home.
With your favorite meal planned out, he bought bouquets of red roses and countless long, white candles to decorate his table. Fresh rose petals scattered around with a smooth red wine he knew you liked but rarely ever had, due to its expensive price. He wore a flattering button up that hugged his chest and arm muscles, revealing the small pudge he liked to keep hidden beneath the fabric. He only wore khakis on his legs, but Steve could make anything look exceptional.
While Steve was finishing up the food, a knock came from the door. He knew it was you by the sound of it. No longer timid, light taps that were almost impossible to hear, but firm, strong knocks that made your presence known.
Steve hurriedly turned off the stovetop burner and moved the pan from it before opening the front door, revealing a stunning, smiling you.
“Hi, beautiful,” Steve awed at you, holding out his hand to let you in.
“Hi, Stevie,” you giggled, slipping out of the kitten heels he got you.
You were wearing his favorite dress, the one with a bold pattern that complimented your skin tone better than anything he’d seen anyone wear ever.
Your hair was curled tightly and your fingernails were freshly painted. Together, you and Steve looked like a celebrity couple on the red carpet. You brought a small bag with overnight clothes, intending to sleep over.
“Staying the night?” Steve questioned, his voice almost relieved.
“If that’s okay, I figured I’d get a little tipsy tonight, better not to drive.”
“No, yeah, it’s great! It’s perfect, actually,” Steve chuckled, pulling you in by the waist to steal a sweet kiss from you. “Happy anniversary, baby,” he murmured against your lips.
Smiling, you kissed him back, this time a little longer, a little deeper. “Happy anniversary,” you concurred.
Steve led you to the decorated table, pulling you along by your waist. He pulled out your chair, made sure you were settled, then went back in the kitchen where he plated the food.
“Oh, Steve, this is so sweet,” you gushed, eyes flickering from the plates of food he was carrying to the roses.
“Only the best for my sweet girl,” he whispered near your ear as he set your plate in front of you. He quickly went back in the kitchen to retrieve the wine and a bouquet of all your favorite flowers.
“Steve! This is too much, especially since you wouldn’t let me get you anything,” you protested weakly, happily taking the flowers from him.
“You’re my present. That’s all I want, anyway. You,” he declared softly, sitting down.
Even after a full year of this treatment, it never failed to baffle you. You sat there, gawking at Steve with the bouquet dripping down in your hands.
“Eat,” he motioned, pointing at your plate. You did as he said and got to work. Steve also loved this about you - you could put down some food. Not always, not any food, but if you got a good burger in front of you?
This meal being your favorite was sure to have you ravaging it, comfortable enough to be that way with him. He was so happy.
Dinner was perfect, he asked about all the things a good boyfriend asked about, and you listened to all the things a good girlfriend listened to. His hand stayed on yours throughout the night, squeezing softly when you made him laugh. Once dinner was done, he was quick to take your plate to the sink. That you knew better than to try and do yourself, like opening your own car door.
While Steve was doing a quick clean up of the kitchen, you topped both of your glasses off with a little bit more wine, just enough to get you loose and giggly. Wine was a romantic drink, too, and what better time to get romantic than your one year anniversary?
Well that was easier said than done. While you enjoyed all of the attention Steve would lavish on you, letting him love on you was much different than you loving on him, one of the biggest reasons why you two still hadn’t had sex.
Tonight, though, you wanted more. All the way was a lot for you to imagine, but you wanted more than just kissing. Steve got you so hot under the collar all the time, but you were just too damn shy to climb him like a tree, what you (respectfully) had been wanting to do since your first make out session.
When you sat on top of him, kissing him passionately, hands roaming and hips grinding, you could feel how hard he got, how big he has under you. Knowing you had that effect on him made you crazy - like out of your mind, crazy.
In the past few months, your make out sessions had gotten more intense. You let his hand explore more, even the inside of your body — a place no one had been close to before. He fingered you a few times but still refused to have you do anything to him, saying he wouldn’t last a minute.
That answer wouldn’t fly tonight.
When Steve came back to the table, you were already standing up, cheeks flushed from the wine, which you took another big sip of.
“What’cha doing, honey?” Steve asked, standing in front of you.
“Just…” you paused, wrapping your arms around his neck, your body flush against his, “thanking you for dinner.” You were red hot, nervous and nearly sweating. This was so unlike you, being so straightforward, and yet you couldn’t keep it in anymore, not after the evening he gave you.
“Yeah?” He asked, wrapping one arm around your waist, the other moving up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was tender and soft.
“Yeah,” you shifted your weight and stood on your tip toes, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his mouth. Steve grinned when you pulled away, landing back on your heels. He tilted his face down, pressing firmer kisses to your mouth, then down the line of your neck. They were quick, almost teasing, but it made you hot all over.
With a small sigh, you grabbed at the back of his head, gripping his hair. You didn’t tug on it, but you used it to keep him as close to as possible. Steve let out a quiet grunt, responding by bringing his lips back up to yours, kissing you passionately.
The two of you continued like that for a while, kissing and sucking at each other’s mouths, tongues swirling tongues, and hands roaming over shoulders and backs.
“Just cause it’s our anniversary doesn’t mean we have to—“
“Steve,” you cut him off.
“Yeah?”
Wordlessly, you responded by kissing him once more - just a little peck this time. You pulled back to look at his face, your eyes wide and lips reddened, glistening from spit.
“I want to.”
Shocked by your words, a tentative smile spread across his face, giving you a look of awe.
“Are you sure, baby?”
“I’m sure, Steve, I’m…I’m ready, I think,” you rambled on, your words growing more uncertain the longer you spoke. Steve noticed, of course, and held your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Hey, look at me,” he softly demanded, and so you did, “there’s nothing to be scared about, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met—ever seen! Nothing you do could be…unsexy or embarrassing to me, I mean just look at you,” he trailed off, eyes flickering down your body briefly before meeting yours again. “And, if for whatever reason you feel that way and you want to stop, all you gotta do is say so. I’ll stop, no questions asked, okay?”
You nodded, his affirmations reigniting the spark of desire you felt flash through your body. Unsure of what to do to get the ball rolling, you waited for him to do something.
“Wanna…go to my room?” He offered hesitantly, not wanting to scare you off.
You nodded, your hands dropping from his shoulders to his hands, taking hold of one of them so he could lead you up the stairs to his bedroom.
Before he even closed the bedroom door, your heart was racing. You'd never done this before, you were in over your head! Steve must've noticed your brain spiraling - probably because of your nervous fidgeting and eyes looking anywhere but him - and gently took your hands.
"Hey, talk to me," he gently encouraged, fingers messing with yours.
"I've never done this before, Steve. What if I mess up? What if I'm not good—" your words were cut off by the press of his lips against yours.
"'Nough with that, okay? I know its your first time, that's why you call the shots, got it?" He stared into your eyes, waiting for an answer.
"Got it," you nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"How about.." Steve's hands came back up to your face, tilting you chin up to face him, "we start with what you know? Kissing."
You smiled slightly, sighing in relief, "That I can do," you said, already reaching up for him.
"Oh, baby, I know you can," he teased, accepting your lips and keeping you close.
He started slow, slower than you would've like, except for the fact that he was so warm, so comfortable, so grounding. Kissing him made your nerves fly away, being replaced by intense waves of want as his tongue traced your bottom lip before making its entry.
He groaned into your mouth, hands sliding down around your waist once again, pulling you into him as close as he could, and then some.
Finally, he took a small step forward towards his bed, pushing your body backwards. Without breaking the kiss, he sat you both on the bed, feet on the ground but bodies facing each other. Wrapped in his arms, you barely even registered that you were one step closer to one of your biggest fears.
Once you did this, there was no going back. Not that you wanted to go back to a time in your life without Steve. This was a whole new world, one of the biggest steps in your entire relationship, not to mention your first time ever. Letting him see you - completely naked and vulnerable, laid out under him while he was inside of you was easily going to be one of the hardest things you'd ever done, and you were in college for goodness sake!
Steve pulled you out of your racing mind when he put his hand on your hip, thumb just inches away from your core. You'd done this before, too. Let him stretch you open on his fingers, pump them into you and circle around your clit till you were shaking and panting. This was still easy territory.
"Wanna lay down?" He broke the kiss, his voice raspy and broken as if he was already close.
"Yes, please," you agreed, shifting back so your upper half was laying against his pillows. Steve was about to lay himself over you, but he caught the motion before he could commit and asked if it was okay. You, obviously, said yes.
With one hand on either side of your body, his hips settled between your open legs, he dipped his head down to fiercely kiss your jaw, then your neck, then the exposed part of your chest. Beneath him, your body writhed and sighed, chasing his affection. A few times, your hips ground up into his, making him groan against your skin.
Wanting to feel his body, you tugged his face back over yours so you could kiss him as you unbuttoned his fancy shirt. Feeling your movements, Steve got a little excited and pushed his hips against yours harder, causing both of you to moan.
"Steve," you panted, your hands making quick work of the bottom buttons so you could get to what you really wanted - chest hair and tummy pudge.
You'd seen him shirtless plenty of times, but you got very few chances to touch him. Well, few chances while you were feeling bold, that is.
You eagerly shoved the shirt off his shoulders, causing him to stop his kissing and let out a small chuckle, looking at you.
"God, you're beautiful," he cooed at you, right hand leaving your side and pushing some hair away from your face to give him the full view. You turned red at his compliment, suddenly feeling very shy. You took his hand in yours and let the moment wash over you.
"Steve, will you help me with my dress?" You softly asked, voice fragile yet filled with a sense of desperate need. You wanted your body bare against his, like yesterday.
"Of course, baby. Here, sit up a little for me," he sat up, too, moving off you enough so that you could copy him. Once you were up, he reached behind you and found the zipper with his hands. "Are you sure you want this?"
"Yes, Steve," you murmured, preparing yourself to be exposed to him.
He took what you said to be the truth as he slowly, reverently, unzipped your dress. Your eyes watched his, waiting for them to glance at your body and give away his true thoughts, but they never did. His eyes stayed right where they were, on your face, reading your reactions. When the zipper came to it's stopping point, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.
"Want me to take it off?" He questioned, fingers finding the straps that once rested on your shoulders that had slipped on when the fabric loosened. You nodded and maneuvered your arms out of the straps.
He exposed your bra, then the entirety of your stomach before the trapped fabric stopped him from revealing anymore. You could hardly stand to make eye contact with him. You weren't exactly the most confident in your self, but that wasn't the main problem here. The problem was that you were now more exposed to Steve than you'd ever been to anyone.
"Wanna lift your hips for me, real quick?" He asked, referring to the skirt of your dress that you were sitting on. You slowly moved to let him free it before settling back into place, dress completely gone. He called your name, effectively bringing you back to reality, "you okay?"
"I'm alright, just...cold," you lied, flinching slightly when you saw that he caught it.
"This isn't gonna work if you lie, you gotta tell me how you're feeling," he reminded you, gently guiding you to lay back down in the cozy sheets.
"I'm really nervous, Steve," you whispered.
"Yeah? Why, honey?" He asked, moving back on top of you. Your legs easily parted as your feet moved up the mattress, legs bending at the knee on either side of him. The position was intimate, yes, you had nothing on but your bra and underwear and he was shirtless, but it wasn't sexual. It was safe, securing, warm. It was easy.
"No one's seen me like this before, Steve," you continued to keep your voice a whisper, not trusting yourself to keep your voice steady.
He considered your words for a moment, then replied, "Can I ask you something?"
You nodded, curious as to where he was going.
"I see you, honey, don't I? I see you happy, sad, angry, flustered," he brushed his nose against yours on the last word, making you both smile. "what's so different about me seeing you like this? Satisfied, breathless, still so beautiful it makes my chest hurt," he questioned.
Your wide eyes met his, considering his question. He made a good point, and you really had no rebuttal. The new perspective eased your mind exponentially.
Steve felt your body relax under his and he smiled at you, gently leaning in for another kiss. You responded eagerly, like you had forgotten the reason why you were up in his room, nearly naked below him.
"That's it, baby, you're doing so good," he praised, the moment getting heated once again.
"Steve," you desperately sighed into his mouth, hands nearly clawing at his shoulders, anything to get him closer to you.
"Hmm?" he groaned, one hand coming up to cup the underside of your breast, along the cup of your bra.
"Take it off...please."
'What, your-your bra? You want me to take off your bra?" He sounded almost startled by you straightforward request, but once you nodded, he did so immediately.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed or scared, you felt beautiful. Steve's words earlier really helped you see the situation differently, let you see how much he was into it, how much he wanted you, back.
He tossed your bra and dove in between your boobs, hoping it wasn't too desperate of an act. You did not mind at all, in fact you rather enjoyed the attention on a new part of your body - one that was relatively unexplored.
Steve leaned his head to the side, pressing kisses to the curve and all the way up to your nipple. He had a hand cupping the base of each of them, his mouth moving over you nipple as he softly sucked and nipped the skin around it. It was easy to tell you liked it with the way you were arching your back and gripping his hair.
"Steve," you mewled as he switched nipples.
"Yeah, baby-" he paused, sucking a mark into your skin, making you moan.
"More, please" you nearly begged, your aching core pleading to be touched.
"Patience, sweetheart," he muttered in your skin, having his fun with your tits.
It only took him a few more seconds until his hand slid down your torso, hands finding the top elastic of your patterned panties. You swallowed, willing yourself to find the courage to let him love on you some more. You wanted him so badly - wanted anything you could get. You lifted your hips, encouraging him to slide the underwear off. He gladly did so, lips coming back up to your neck. As heat rushed through you, so did an unexpected wave of confidence. Wanting to see him, to feel him, you reached your needy hands down and started undoing his belt. He groaned in pleasure as it came undone, helping you get him out of his pants. Much to your dismay, he kept his boxers on.
You weren't too upset, however. You still felt him 10x more clearly. His long, hard length rubbed against you as you both shifted around, seeking friction and comfort.
Just as you were about to ask for more, he gave a quick kiss to your lips before sliding down towards the foot of the bed, face nearing your dripping center. He kissed your body the entire way down, whispering sweet words of gratitude and praise against your sweating, flushed skin. You shifted you hips up towards his face, seeking his mouth as he kissed everywhere but the place you needed him the most. His hands gripped your hips, arms wrapped around under your thighs, keeping you spread for him. After kissing and giving occasional nips to the inside of your thighs, he rested his cheek on one, looking up at you.
"You okay with this?" He checked in, unsure if your heavy breathing was from arousal or fear.
"Yes, yes I'm more than okay with it, just please—" you begged, shocked at the words coming out of your mouth. Steve huffed a chuckle, not quite laughing at you, but more so at the way you were acting. It wasn't funny to him, in fact he was achingly hard at your reactions, he was just amused as he listened to your unfiltered words, the desire you felt making it hard to be shy.
He cut off your short ramble by pressing a sweet, gentle kiss right on top of your clit, shutting you up easily. You gasped, hips locking up as he pressed another kiss, then another, all trailing further down until his lips were met with the slick dripping out of your entrance. He then finally put his tongue to work, gathering all your arousal and dragging it up in his path back to your clit, which he circled and sucked.
Your hips unlocked and your hands moved to his hair. Once you were able to open your eyes, you looked down at Steve who was staring up at you, trying to read your face for any signs that you were uncomfortable, but he only found blatant pleasure written across your features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw dropped, mouth hanging open as he sucked and swirled.
Every now and then, you heard, or rather felt, Steve moan against you. The vibrations sent shocks throughout your body, bringing you closer and closer.
"I'm gonna try something, okay? Tell me if you don't like it," Steve rasped, licking his lips between words. You nodded your head, not really sure if he could do anything you didn't like. Your theory was proven correct when he started to work you with his fingers, alternating between using his tongue to fuck into you and his fingers. Which ever one wasn't inside you was circling your clit with the exact pressure he learned you liked. If he kept going like this...
"Steve, I'm close-I'm.." you trailed off as your body froze, legs tightening just like your insides. Your head pressed into the pillows, chin pointed towards the ceiling as you came, soaking Steve's fingers and lips. He gently worked you through it and stopped when he thought you had enough, not wanting to overstimulate you.
Pulling off of you, he crawled back over your body so that he could kiss the breathless expression off your face. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, and you never thought something so erotic could be so sensual, so intimate. But, then again, you were with Steve, who could make anything feel like that.
"You liked that, huh?" He teased, rubbing a large hand over one of your thighs, bringing you down to earth, soothing you.
"Yeah," you breathed, giggling back softly. After taking a deep breath you looked back up at, your expression now serious as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm ready to...you know," you awkwardly admitted, hoping to spur on his movements.
He nodded, dipping his head for a few more passionate kisses, getting the moment right once more. He worked his boxers off and reached over to your left, opening his nightstand drawer and pulling out a condom. He settled back over you properly, his cock pressing into your stomach, letting you feel his veins and the slick of his pre cum, already starting to spill over the head. He handed you the condom, letting you unwrap it as if it was your final act of proving you were ready. The last thing he wanted to do was rush you.
You peeled the wrapper, pinching out the small rubber disk. Steve took both from you, tossing the trash and pushing his cock through the ring. You made a small sound of protest, causing Steve to go completely still, looking down at you.
"You okay? Wanna stop?" He asked.
"No, no! I just...I wanna do it," you begrudgingly admitted, glancing at his swollen cock just barely in the condom.
"Oh, you scared me, honey," he chuckled, letting your hands replace him. You soon realized you didn't know what you were doing, and looked up at him for support. "Just roll it on towards me, it'll figure it's self out," he guided as you got him situated. He adjusted the tip slightly before looking up at you, giving you an praising smile. "Good job, pretty girl," he muttered, kissing your forehead.
You smiled the way you always did when he called you that - bashful and full of heat. You smiled back at you, leaning his face in yours, lips and noses brushing.
"I'm gonna start pushing in, okay? I'll take it nice and easy for you, don't worry. If it hurts, promise me you'll tell me."
"I promise... please, Steve, I need you," you whined, gripping at his muscular arms and shoulders.
He chuckled a little before kissing you sweetly, aligning himself with your entrance. You felt him poking you there, your breath hitching. Steve took one of your hands and laced your fingers with his, pressing your intertwined hand into the bed as he finally slipped the tip in.
"Steve," you breathed, clamping down on what little was in you already. He paused for a moment, both for you and himself, letting you adjust.
"Ready for a little more?" He asked after a moment, receiving a nod from you as you bit your lip. "Hey, no, let me hear you," he kissed you until you released you lip and moaned.
It continued for a while, him pushing in inch by agonizing inch, you whining and squirming beneath him, trying to let your body adjust while he reminded you to relax or it wouldn't feel good.
When he finally bottomed out, you were on cloud 9.
You were so full, so filled up by Steve that there was not one other thought on your mind. All you could think was Steve, Steve, Steve. And as for Steve, all he could think about was you, his precious girl.
He thought of how far you'd come in the past year, how good you were to him, how you were currently sucking him in, how if he paid too much attention to that last part he'd be done for.
"Steve, move," you whined under him, hips shifting to encourage him to start fucking into you with his cock like he did with his fingers and tongue.
"Oh, fuck--okay. I'm gonna go-gonna go slow, alright?" He grunted, willing himself to keep his composure.
Sure enough, he dragged his painfully hard (and large) cock out of you, slower than a snail, only about halfway, before pressing back in, a little quicker.
"Oh, Steve!" You gasped, hands holding him even closer, eyebrows pinching together again.
"I know, baby. God, you feel so good," he breathed out, voice strangled.
"More, please, I can handle it," you once again begged.
And Steve once again listened, pulling out about halfway before grinding back into you, hitting every nerve that lined you walls, every nerve that made you cry for more. The stretched was intense for a while, almost so much that you asked him to stop, but the pleasure was 1000x times better, keeping you going. Soon, the pain even out then disappeared, leaving only you, Steve, and the desire between you.
Noticing it was easier to slide in and out, Steve began to move faster, harder. He pulled out a little more each time until he was eventually pulling out nearly all the way and then pushing back into you, hard enough to press into that special spot, but still so, so gentle, so loving, so Steve.
He kept on for a while until you were both panting, desperate messes, whining and gasping against each other lips. His hands moved over your breasts and waists before one move to thumb at your clit, working you even higher. Your hands scratched his back and shoulders, and gripped his strong biceps.
"Fuck, baby...I'm close," he grunted, sweaty and breathless.
"Steve," you moaned, unable to think of anything else to say. All you knew was that you needed something you could only get from him.
You arched your back up into his stomach, letting the plush skin and fuzzy hair rub against you, and oh, how you loved it. He doubled down on his efforts to make you meet him at the release. He applied more friction to your clit and pushed into you with a little more force, never changing his rhythm or speed.
Right as his body tensed, condom filled, your release crashed over your entire body. You closed you eyes, just feeling. Feeling Steve's face nuzzled in your neck as his thrusts shallowed, coming to a stop. Feeling your body slowly come down from the mind-altering release. Steve stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, then gently pulled out, pressing himself up to his palms, then moving off you completely.
He disposed of his condom properly and rounded the bed to give you a kiss on the head, telling you to sit tight, and what else were you supposed to do?
A couple minutes later, Steve returned with a new pair of boxers on, your long forgotten over night bag, and a wet washcloth in his hands. You let out a breath of relief, smiling.
"Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did ya?" He teased.
"No, I know better than that," you teased back, a fond yet exhausted smile on your face.
"That's right," he smiled back, digging out your pajamas. After he helped you get cleaned up, he also helped you get changed, offering you water or snacks. You declined, just wanting him to get in bed with you so you could snuggle. You were cold, after all, and Steve was like a furnace. He giggled at your playful gestures, urging him to get in bed.
Once he was finally curled up in his heavy sheets, you laying halfway on top of him, did your eyes start to flutter.
"Steve?" You called for his attention, voice tired and soft.
"Hm?" he responded, much the same.
"Happy one year," you smiled into his chest. One year.
"Happy one year, baby. You know I love you?" He asked softly, another line now crossed.
Usually, that would have been a big deal that flustered you to the point of not being able to speak, but right now, in your eased and satisfied state of mind, it only made you smile.
"I love you, you know that?" you responded, poking lazily at his chest. He grinned and kissed your head.
"Hope your first time was good. I know I liked it, at least," he joked.
"It was more than good, honey. I don't think I'll ever be the same," you replied, your words coming across more sincere than you meant.
Every time I see a picture of season one Steve Harrington my chest squeezes because I remember that Joe Keery was like 23-24 during the filming of season one and season 5 epilogue Steve is only supposed to be around 22 so THIS??
This is how post-canon, grown up, mature, gone through six years of upside down hell, final boy, coach/sex ed teacher Steve should ACTUALLY look in 1989. I feel like people forget how YOUNG he actually is. Not me though, I regularly go insane about it
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summary: 1,3k. steve harrington prepares for his new job as a sexual education teacher, practicing his lessons at home with his girlfriend.
cw: estabilished relationship, sex ed teacher!steve, domestic fluff, playful banter, minimally suggestive, english is not my first language xx.
Steve Harrington had faced down monsters from other dimensions, survived near-death experiences, and coached a room full of rowdy middle schoolers who thought dodgeball was a contact sport.
None of that prepared him for this.
He stood in the living room with his lesson binder tucked under his arm, glasses perched on his nose—not because he needed them, but because he thought they made him look more teacher-like. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air, and the house smelled faintly like coffee and laundry detergent.
Normal. Quiet. Almost surreal.
You watched him from the couch, chin propped on your hand, heart doing something annoyingly soft in your chest.
“Okay,” Steve said, exhaling slowly. “Let’s just… start over.”
You smiled. “You’re doing fine.”
“I say that every time I mess up,” he muttered, flipping open the binder again.
The pages were neatly organized—tabs, bullet points, handwritten notes in the margins. You knew how long he’d spent on it, how seriously he took this job. How much it mattered to him to be good at it.
He straightened, planting his feet like he was at the front of a classroom.
“Today,” Steve began, voice careful but warm, “we’re going to talk about sexual health. And before anyone gets uncomfortable, I want to be clear about something.”
He glanced at you.
You nodded encouragingly, playing along.
“This isn’t about embarrassment,” he continued. “Or jokes. Or rumors. It’s about understanding yourselves and respecting other people.”
You tilted your head, impressed. “That was… actually really strong.”
His shoulders loosened a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You sounded confident.”
He huffed. “Fake it till you make it.”
Steve paced slowly as he talked, hands moving when he got more comfortable. He explained concepts the same way he coached baseball—plain language, no condescension, always circling back to responsibility.
“Communication,” he said, tapping the word on his notes, “isn’t just something you do once. It’s ongoing. You check in. You listen. You pay attention.”
Your gaze lingered on him. On the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, how earnest his tone was. There was something intimate about watching him like this—seeing the version of Steve most people didn’t get. The man who cared.
Who wanted to protect without controlling.
Teach without talking down.
“Can I interrupt?” you asked gently.
He stopped mid-step. “Yeah. Please. That’s the point.”
“You should tell them that it’s okay to ask questions,” you said. “That curiosity isn’t something to be ashamed of.”
Steve considered that, then nodded, jotting it down. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
You shrugged. “You make it easy.”
He smiled at you then—soft, grateful, a little shy. It made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with monsters or danger and everything to do with love.
He flipped to the next section and visibly hesitated.
“…This part,” he said slowly, “is where I always get stuck.”
You stood, crossing the room to him. “Because?”
“Because it’s practical,” he admitted. “And I don’t want it to sound clinical or—” He waved a hand. “—weird.”
You glanced at the page. “You’re talking about healthy relationships.”
“Yeah,” he said. “And boundaries. And… physical stuff.”
You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Steve, you’re the least weird person to explain this.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” you said. “But you’re also the guy who once gave a ten-minute speech to Dustin about respecting girls’ feelings after a dance.”
He grimaced. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t,” you smiled. “You’ve always been like this. You just don’t give yourself credit.”
The silence that followed was warm, unhurried. Steve’s gaze dropped to you, softer now, something affectionate and a little vulnerable in it.
“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“That I’m teaching this,” he said. “That I talk about… sex and relationships all day, and then come home and—” He trailed off, uncertain.
You stepped closer, resting your hands lightly on his arms. “No,” you said without hesitation. “It makes me proud.”
His breath caught just a little.
“You take something that could be awkward or confusing and turn it into something safe,” you continued. “That’s kind of your thing.”
He swallowed, then smiled, smaller this time. “Guess I learned from the best.”
You rolled your eyes. “Flattery won’t save you from the next practice round.”
He chuckled, then straightened again, renewed. “Okay. One more time.”
This time, when he spoke, there was less stiffness. More warmth.
“Healthy intimacy,” Steve said, “is built on trust. It should never feel rushed or pressured. And if something doesn’t feel right, that matters.”
You felt a quiet ache in your chest—not sad, just full.
When he finished, he let the binder fall shut and exhaled deeply. “Okay. I think that’s… good. Right?”
You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “More than good.”
His smile lingered long after, eyes closing for just a second as if grounding himself in the moment.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “For helping. For… all of it.”
You rested your forehead against his. “Anytime, Mr. Harrington.”
He groaned. “Don’t call me that.”
You laughed, the sound filling the quiet house, and Steve shook his head, trying—and failing—not to smile. He glanced back at the binder in his hands, thumb tapping nervously against the edge.
“Well,” he said, hesitating, “there’s still one part I haven’t… practiced out loud.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
He cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in a specific spot on the floor.
“The, uh. Physical side of things. You know. How to explain it without sounding like an idiot.”
Your smile turned teasing. “And?”
“And,” he continued, daring a glance at you now, “technically demonstrations help people learn.”
You stared at him for a beat before laughing. “Steve.”
“I’m kidding,” he said quickly—then paused. “Mostly.”
You stepped closer, closing the space between you. “You want to demonstrate?”
“Well,” he said, voice dropping just a little, playful warmth slipping in, “I have to make sure I’m explaining things… accurately. Clearly. Responsibly.”
You tilted your head. “For the students.”
“Obviously,” he nodded solemnly, though the grin tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Strictly educational.”
You rested your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palms. “And what exactly would you be demonstrating?”
Steve swallowed, then smiled—soft, fond, unmistakably yours. “Consent,” he said easily. “Communication. Checking in.”
His thumb brushed over your hand, slow and deliberate. “Like asking if something feels okay. Or if you want to keep going.”
Your breath hitched just slightly. “Sounds very thorough.”
“I try to be,” he murmured.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you—warm, familiar, charged with the kind of intimacy that didn’t need urgency. Then Steve laughed quietly, forehead dropping to yours.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe I don’t need a full demonstration. But… thanks for letting me practice anyway.”
You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Anytime, Mr. Harrington.”
He groaned again, but this time there was no real protest in it—just affection.
And for a moment everything felt perfectly normal—no monsters, no end-of-the-world stakes. Just Steve Harrington, practicing how to teach kids how to care for themselves, and the person he loved most cheering him on.
summary: you meet your son's favorite teacher, Coach Steve, and he starts becoming your personal favorite as well...
warnings: SMUT +18, piv with protection (he's a sex ed teacher, he's responsable), oral f, fingering, massive cock! harrington, choking, mentions of abandonment at pregnancy.
words: 7k
Practice is supposed to be easy today. Steve leans against the chain-link fence, arms crossed, whistle hanging uselessly around his neck. It’s a scrimmage, nothing serious. No parents on the bleachers, no pressure. Just reps, and kids burning off energy they’ve had bottled up all day.
“Alright, everyone” he calls, clapping his hands once. “Let’s keep it clean. Heads up, communicate, and have fun.”
His eyes flick to Evan, already bouncing on the balls of his feet at first base. Evan’s good. Everyone knows it. Quick reflexes, sharp instincts, listens. Steve’s personal favorite, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
“Alright, batter up!”
The ball cracks against the bat, clean and sharp. It bounces just past the shortstop. Steve’s attention snaps immediately to first base. “Go, Evan!” he shouts.
Evan doesn’t hesitate. He’s fast, always has been, and he pushes it, legs pumping, eyes locked on second base. The throw comes in late, a little wild, and Steve feels that familiar spike of adrenaline.
“Slide!” Steve yells.
Evan does, but his foot hits the dirt wrong.
It’s subtle at first, just a stutter, a twist that didn’t look pretty. Evan’s body hits the ground, dust kicking up around him, and then… he doesn’t get up.
“Time!” Steve’s already moving.
Evan’s sitting up, hands gripping his leg just above the ankle, face pinched tight in a way that makes Steve’s stomach drop. He kneels beside him.
“Hey, hey” Steve says gently, lowering himself so he’s at his level, “talk to me. Where does it hurt?”
Evan swallows, blinking hard. “My ankle, I think I twisted it.”
Steve exhales slowly, keeping his voice steady even as his chest tightens. “Okay, that’s alright. Don’t move it, yeah?”
His hand hovers near Evan’s shin but not touching until Evan nods. When Steve finally presses his fingers lightly around the ankle, Evan winces.
“Sorry,” Steve murmurs immediately, pulling back, “sorry. That’s my fault.”
Evan shakes his head. “No, it’s not.”
Steve’s already replaying the moment in his head—slide earlier, maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him, maybe-
The ice arrives. Steve wraps it carefully. “Think you can stand? We’ll take it slow.”
Evan tries. His weight barely shifts before his face cringes again. “Nope”
“Alright,” Steve says instantly, “no problem, we’re done for today.”
He helps Evan up, steady, Evan’s arm slung over his shoulder. Steve keeps him close as they move toward the bench, the rest of the team watching in silence.
Steve calls over his shoulder. “Water break, ten minutes.” He sits Evan down, elevates the ankle.
“Coach,” Evan says quietly, “am I gonna miss the game?”
“We’ll see,” he says honestly, “but listen to me, okay? You did great out there. One play doesn’t change that.”
Evan nods, trusting him without hesitation.
—
On the other side of town, you’re just finishing attending a customer at the bookstore, when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi, yes, hi. This is Steve Harrington. I’m calling from Hawkins Middle School.” you hear on the other line and your stomach tightens. “I’m Evan’s coach,” he continues quickly, like he already knows where your mind has gone, “he’s okay, he’s really okay. But he got hurt during practice, and I wanted to call you right away.”
“What happened?” your heart starts racing.
“He twisted his ankle, looks like a sprain. The nurse is with him right now, icing it. He’s scared more than anything, but he’s doing alright.”
“I’m on my way, I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Take your time.” Steve adds softer. “Really, he’s not going anywhere, I’ll stay with him.”
The front office directs you down the hall after you arrive, towards the nurse’s room. You spot Evan first, sitting on the edge of the bed, ankle wrapped and elevated.
“Mom,” he says, relief showing on his face. You’re at his side in an instant, hands on his cheeks, checking him over like that will somehow fix everything.
“Hey,” you murmur. “Hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”
He nods. “It hurts, but Coach says it’s not broken.”
Right. Coach. You finally look up.
Steve Harrington is standing a few feet back, arms folded loosely in front of him. He’s taller than you expected, broad shoulders, soft eyes, messy hair. There’s concern written all over his face. For a second, neither of you says anything.
“Oh, hi” you breathe.
Steve blinks, just once, like he’s been caught off guard too. “Hi,” his voice is calmer now than it was on the phone, lower. “you must be Evan’s mom.”
You nod, suddenly very aware of yourself, of the wrinkles on your shirt, you knew you should've ironed it before leaving. “Yes. I- thank you for calling me. I came as fast as I could.”
“Of course,” he says immediately. “I’m really sorry this happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” you reply automatically, even though you don’t know that yet. You turn back to Evan, brushing his hair back gently. “What happened, baby?”
“We were running a scrimmage,” Steve explains, “he went for second base, slid in, and his foot caught wrong. He did everything right, sometimes it just… happens.”
“The nurse thinks it’s a mild sprain,” Steve continues, “but I’d really recommend getting it checked by a doctor, just to be safe.”
“I will. Thank you.” You nod.
“If the doctor confirms it’s a sprain,” he adds, “he’s probably going to need a couple weeks of rest. No games. No practice.”
Evan groans softly.
“Hey,” Steve says immediately, crouching down so he’s eye-level with him. “That’s not a punishment. That’s how you heal right so you can come back.”
You watch him as he speaks to your son, so patient, steady, reassuring. And something inside you warms up.
“I’ll keep him involved,” Steve continues. “He can still come to practice, help out, keep his head in the game. If you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” you say quietly. “Evan loves baseball. And… he loves your team.”
Steve’s mouth curves into a small, genuine smile at that. “He’s my best player.”
Your chest warms in that dangerous way again.
“He’s the one who taught us the correct names for our bodies.” Evan points out, helping you recognize him in case you still needed help.
“Oh, so you’re the reason he started correcting me when I said pee pee and tooshie.” you joke.
“Yeah, that’s me, sorry about that.” he laughs.
“Anyway, we should get back home.” you say.
“I’ll walk you out,” Steve says finally. “If that’s okay.”
You nod, helping Evan down carefully, already planning the doctor’s appointment in your head.
—
Dropping Evan off at school and leaving him all by himself feels wrong.
“No running,” you remind him.
“I know,” Evan sighs. “coach said it like, ten times yesterday.”
That makes you smile.
“I meant it,” a familiar voice says from behind you. Steve is standing a few feet away, coffee in hand, jacket over his shoulders. He looks relieved when his eyes land on Evan, immediately checking the brace, the way he’s standing. “How’s the ankle?” Steve crouches down again like he always does.
“Still sore,” Evan admits. “But the doctor said it’s just a sprain.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. I wanted to catch you,” Steve says, finally looking up at you. “I was hoping you’d come by this morning.”
“Oh,” you say, a little caught off guard, “sure.”
Evan shifts his backpack higher. “I’m gonna go, Coach, I’ll see you later.”
“Careful,” Steve calls after him, “remember, no running.”
Evan grins and limps off down the hall.
Steve rubs the back of his neck, suddenly a little unsure. “So… what did the doctor say?”
“Mild ankle sprain. No fracture, thankfully. Ice, elevation, brace for a couple weeks. No sports for at least two, maybe three.”
Steve nods, absorbing every word like it’s important. It is.
“Okay,” he says. “That lines up with what the nurse thought.”
“He’s not happy about missing games.” you add softly.
“Yeah. I figured.” Steve’s mouth tilts into a smile. “But he’ll heal better if he rests. And I’ll make sure he still feels part of the team.”
“I appreciate that.” you say. “Baseball means a lot to him.”
Steve hesitates, then says, carefully, “Evan means a lot to my team. He’s my best player, and… well, he’s my favorite. Don’t tell the others.”
You laugh softly. “I won’t.” you promise.
“I was thinking… if it’s okay with you, I can check in during his recovery, help him keep up.”
“That would be wonderful,” you say immediately, then pause. “but, you don’t have to go out of your way.”
“I don’t mind,” he replies quickly. Too quickly. “I mean- I want to.”
“And,” he adds, more gently now, “if you’re comfortable with it… I’d like to stay in touch. Just to see how he’s doing. You know, swelling, pain, that kind of thing.” I wouldn’t mind seeing her again, he thinks quietly. At all.
“I’d like that, I can keep you updated.”
Steve smiles, “Great,” he says. “Uh- do you want to-”
“Exchange numbers?” you offer.
“Yeah, that.”
You write your home number down on a slip of paper from his clipboard, the pen shaking just a little more than you’d like to admit.
“I’ll only call if it’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t, I promise.” you assure him.
Steve scribbles his number beneath yours. “That’s the school line,” he explains. “But if you ever need me after hours, this is my home number.”
You tuck the paper carefully into your bag. “Thank you”
And as you walk away, you notice Steve standing there a moment longer than needed, already counting the days until he has a reason to call.
—
The first time Steve came to your house was on a Tuesday evening.
You know it’s him before you even open the door. Evan’s already limping toward it, excitement written all over his face, brace thumping softly against the floor.
“Coach!” Evan calls out, yanking the door open.
“Hey, buddy.” Steve says, smiling wide as he steps inside. He’s dressed casually today: jeans, a worn jacket, hair pushed back looking more decent than it usually does when he’s wearing the team’s cap. He’s holding a small paper bag. “I brought ice packs, the good kind, not the leaky school ones.”
“Cool, thanks.” Evan says, already reaching for them.
You stand in the doorway watching the exchange and the way your son’s face completely changed now. “Hi,” you say.
Steve looks up at you, and his smile softens immediately. “Hi,” he replies, “hope this is okay.”
“I already told you it was over the phone.” you grin.
He steps inside, glancing around with curiosity, the framed photos on the wall, Evan’s discarded sneakers.
“So,” Steve says, turning back to Evan, “how’ve we been behaving?”
“No running. No baseball. I’ve been icing it.” Evan shrugs.
“And?”
“And I’m bored.” Evan admits.
“Yeah. That tracks.” Steve laughs softly.
He crouches down again, inspecting the brace with practiced eyes. “Any swelling?”
“A little.”
“Pain?”
“Mostly when I forget and try to move too fast.”
Steve nods. “That’s normal. You’re doing good.”
You watch the way he talks to your son, steady and reassuring. It does something to you, the warm sensation again.
“I was just starting dinner,” you say, “you’re welcome to stay for a bit if you want.”
Steve hesitates. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not, I insist.”
“Coach, wanna see my baseball cards?” Evan says enthusiastically.
“I’d love to.” Steve replies.
You move into the kitchen, but you can still hear them. Evan animated, Steve laughing, genuinely engaged. Every now and then, Steve asks about school, about homework. You’re halfway through chopping vegetables when you feel him behind you.
“Need help?”
“Oh- uh no, I’ve got it,” you say, then add, “unless you’re good at chopping.”
“I can follow instructions,” he offers, “most of the time.”
“Alright, grab that onion.” you smile.
He does, sleeves rolled up, movements careful. For a moment, you work side by side.
“So,” you say, casually, “you always this involved with your players?”
Steve glances at you. “Not all of them.”
You raise an eyebrow. “No?”
“Evan’s special, he listens, he cares. Reminds me of myself at that age.”
“Really?” That surprises you.
“Yeah, baseball was everything to me.”
“That explains a lot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he smiles.
“That you’re very good at what you do, and very patient.”
“Thanks.” he says quietly.
There’s a pause. Then, because you’ve been wondering since the moment you saw him in the nurse’s office, you ask, “So… are you married?”
Steve nearly drops the onion. “No-” he says quickly. “No, I’m not.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-” You laugh.
“It’s fine, I’m single. Have been for a while.”
“Really?” you ask, surprised, and maybe a little too interested.
“Haven’t met the right person, I guess.” He shrugs.
“Hard to believe.” You hum thoughtfully.
He glances at you again. “Why’s that?”
“You seem like someone who’d make a good partner.”
The compliment hangs in there for a while. Steve clears his throat. “What about you? I don’t know what you do.”
“I work at the bookstore in town,” you reply.
“Makes sense.” he smiles to himself.
“Meaning?”
“You seem like the type who… knows about good books”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Coach… you’re flirting.”
He freezes, just for a second, then smiles. “Maybe a little… Dinner smells good, you sure you don’t mind if I stay?”
“I don’t mind,” you reply, “at all.”
Dinner went smoothly, Evan and Steve told you all about the team, they laughed about some of the other teachers, and when you noticed it was already late at night. Evan disappears down the hallway, to get ready for bed.
You grab the plates, taking them to the kitchen, where Steve starts washing them before you can stop him.
“Oh no, you’re a guest.” you complain immediately.
“I ate, that means I help.”
“You really don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He says, already turning on the faucet. You lean against the counter, watching him roll up his sleeves, hands moving confidently, showing some shadows of veins, you could stand there just watching them work all night.
“You’re spoiling me doing this,” you joke, “not a lot of men help with the dishes and cooking.”
“It’s just the bare minimum.” he shrugs.
“So, how did you end up coaching middle school baseball?” you ask.
“Well, I’ve kinda been everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Ice cream shop first, then a video store, a radio station” he smiles to himself.
“Radio, huh?”
“Yeah, briefly.”
“Makes sense… you’ve got a great voice” you say.
He pauses, just for a second, like the compliment caught him off guard. “Thanks, but uh… I was more like the sound guy.”
“Oh, sorry.” you laugh, embarrassed.
“No, please. Anyway, somewhere along the way, I realized I love working with kids. And coaching just kind of stuck.”
“You’re really good at it, Evan looks up to you.”
Steve dries his hands, turning to face you now. “That means a lot, he’s a good kid. You’ve done an amazing job with him.”
“Thank you.”
The radio shifts songs, something from the early 80’s, and you hum along without thinking.
“You like Fleetwood Mac?” he asks.
“Is that a real question?”
“No, you’re right.” he laughs.
“What about you?”
“Bryan Adams, Michael Jackson, you know, the classics.”
“Of course you do.” you smirk.
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” he raises an eyebrow.
“A secret hopeless romantic.” you tease.
“Secret’s out, I guess.” he jokes and you laugh. “I’m really glad I stopped by, I was worried I might be overstepping.”
“You’re not, I like having you here.” you assure him. “Especially if you do the dishes for me.”
“I knew you were just using me!” he says dramatically which only makes you laugh harder.
—
Dropping Evan off has become routine. After the first week of recovery passes, you’re still feeling very protective.
“Careful.” you remind him.
“I know, I know,” he says, “Coach is already there anyway.”
You glance up. Steve is standing near the entrance, coffee in hand, talking to another teacher. The second he spots Evan, he excuses himself and walks over.
“Morning,” he says, smiling at you first, then Evan. “How’s the ankle today?”
“Less sore.”
“Good,” Steve nods, “that’s what we like to hear.”
“I’ll see you later.” you tell Evan, brushing his hair back.
“Bye, Mom,” he says, then limps off toward the doors.
Steve waits until Evan disappears inside before turning back to you.
“You doing okay?” he asks quietly.
“I am. Thank you for always checking in.” you say smiling, but Steve is looking at something from behind you. You turn around and find none other than him. Brad Whitmore.
He's coming towards you two with a cap on his head, probably to disguise his receding hairline, and smile like he owns the place. "Hi sweetheart, how are you?" You’ve seen him around plenty, always surrounded by other parents.
“Hi, Brad.” you say politely.
Steve shifts subtly beside you, not stepping in, but not stepping away either.
“I was wondering,” Brad continues, eyes flicking briefly to Steve before settling back on you, “if you’d like to grab a drink sometime. You know, our kids are becoming good friends and maybe, we could too.”
You blink, surprised but composed. “That’s kind of you to ask,” you reply gently, “but I don't really find it necessary, thank you though.”
Brad laughs, like he thinks you’re joking. “Come on, one drink. What do you say?”
You keep your tone calm, your smile soft but firm. “I’m not interested.”
Steve’s jaw tightens. He tells himself it’s none of his business. That you can handle it. That stepping in would be crossing a line. But Brad doesn’t back off.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he says lightly, “you deserve to have some fun.”
That’s when Steve speaks, “she said no.”
Brad looks at him, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“She said no. That usually means stop.”
Brad scoffs, suddenly defensive. “I was just asking.”
“And she answered.” Steve replies calmly.
Brad mutters something under his breath, and walks off.
“Thank you,” you say softly, still surprised by his actions.
“You okay? He didn't make you too uncomfortable?"
“I'm okay, but yes, it was very uncomfortable." you laugh.
“Yeah, I could tell.” he chuckles.
You lean back against your car, shaking your head. “He’s been looking at me funny for weeks, you know.”
Steve frowns. “Really?”
“Yup, he’s kind of known for it,” you explain, “already dated half the moms.”
“Really? You deserve better than a douchebag like that.”
You blink, caught off guard, then smile.
“Well, the bar’s pretty low.” you joke.
“Still.” he laughs.
You meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you say quietly, “for stepping in.”
“Anytime.” he repeats, almost whispering.
Then Steve clears his throat, glancing toward the doors. “I should- uh- get back inside.”
“Yeah, and I should get to work."
But neither of you moves right away.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” You smile.
As you drive away, you can’t stop thinking about the way he said it. You deserve better than that.
—
The house is finally quiet. Evan’s door is cracked open just enough for the hallway light to slip inside. You finish rinsing a mug in the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel, when the phone rings. You cross the kitchen and pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Uh- hi. It’s Steve.”
Your heart does that stupid jump again. “Oh, hi Steve.”
There’s a pause on the other end. You can almost picture him scratching the back of his neck, weighing his words.
“I- I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“No,” you assure him quickly, “it’s fine. Evan just went to bed.”
“Okay, good, I just wanted to check in.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, totally,” he says. “I mean- mostly. He was just a little off today. Not bad, just quieter than usual. I figured I’d call and make sure everything’s okay on your end.”
You frown slightly. “Really? He seemed normal when he got home. Tired, but all good.”
“No, yeah, that’s good. I just- he’s usually nonstop, you know? talking, joking, messing around with his friends. And today he was more chill.”
“That’s funny. He wouldn’t stop talking at dinner about practice, and some argument over who gets to be shortstop when he’s back.”
He chuckles. “That’s good, I guess I’m just… paying extra attention lately.”
“Mm,” you tease, “concerned coach?”
“Something like that,” he says, then, before you can respond, adds, “You’re not mad I called, are you?”
“No, promise.” you say immediately. “But anyway ,what are you doing up so late, coach?”
He smiles. “Thinking about your kid. And maybe wondering what you do once the house goes quiet.”
“Is that so?” you smirk.
“Yeah, you strike me as someone who doesn’t get enough time to herself.”
You hum. “You’d be right.”
“So what do you do with it when you get it?” he asks. “Your time.”
“I read most of the time, before sleeping. What about you? What do you do at night?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Honestly? I think about my day, the kids, and lately…”
He trails off.
“Yeah?”
“There’s this mom who keeps popping into my head.”
Your breath catches. “Oh? She must be something special.”
“She is,” he says, “smart, protective… beautiful.”
“Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
“I think I might be,” he agrees softly.
“Hey, listen… I’m making lasagna tomorrow,” you add casually. “I always make too much. We’ll have leftovers for days.”
Steve smiles on the other end of the line, you can hear it in his voice. “That sounds like an invitation.”
“It might be, if you want.”
“I do.” There’s no hesitation. “I should let you go, before I say something I shouldn’t.”
“Now I kind of want you to.” You grin.
He laughs, low and warm. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Steve.” The line clicks dead. You stand there for a moment, heart racing, then walk down the hall and peek into Evan’s room.
“Hey, bud?”
He rolls over, blinking sleepily. “Yeah?”
“Coach Steve said you were a little off today,” you say, “you feeling okay?”
Evan frowns, confused. “What? Yeah, I had a lot of fun today. We were messing around the whole time.”
“Really?” You tilt your head. “You weren’t tired? Or sore? Or upset about anything?”
“Nope, why?”
You smile to yourself. “No reason,” you say, brushing his hair back, “just checking.”
Steve Harrington didn’t call because Evan was off. He called because he wanted to hear your voice.
—
Steve shows up the next evening with a bottle of red wine. “For the chef,” he says, holding it up.
“You’re already earning points.”
“Good,” he replies. “I was hoping for that.”
During dinner, Evan in his element, Steve fully engaged, asking him all kinds of questions. You catch yourself watching them more than once, something soft pulling at your chest.
When Evan finally drags himself off to bed, Steve lingers at the table, wine glass in hand.
“Your kid’s got a lot of opinions.” he says.
“He gets that from me.” you reply.
“I can tell.”
You pour another glass, sitting on the couch now, more comfortably, closer.
“So,” you say, tilting your head. “were you here just for the home-cooked meal, or am I special?”
“Definitely special.”
“Careful.” You smirk.
“I’m a confident guy,” he says. “Plus, you invited me.”
“I did,” you admit, “guess that’s on me.”
His eyes flick to your lips. Then back up. “Worth it, though."
“You know,” you say, “you’re not what I expected from a middle school baseball coach.”
“And what were you expecting?”
“Less charming,” you tease. “More… yelling.”
“I can yell,” he offers. “I just don't do it with you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“You’re not what I expected either.”
“Oh yeah?” you ask. “What did you expect?”
He thinks for a moment. “Someone more closed off. Less… easy to talk to.”
Your smile softens. “I am picky about who I let in.”
“I’m honored then.” he says quietly.
"I'm picky after Evan's dad left..." you start. "I mean, we were young, and he knew that being a dad wasn't what he wanted... so he decided to not be involved in this. And I started being more careful about my decisions then."
“You’ve done an incredible job,” he says. “Both of you.”
Your chest tightens. “Thank you. But enough of the heavy stuff before I scare you off.”
"Don't worry I’m still here.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Maybe." he smirks.
You tilt your head. “Okay then. Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with coaching or kids.”
Steve thinks, swirling his wine. “I haven't been in a relationship for a long time as well." he confesses.
"Really?" you ask. "Why?"
"Just... relationship after relationship, none of them going anywhere. I just haven't found a real connection with anyone in a long time."
"Yeah, that sounds really tiring." you say.
"I guess you were right... I do sound like a hopeless romantic." he cringes.
"That’s really cute." you smile softly.
Your eyes meet, playful.
“You know,” he says, softer now, “this is the longest conversation I’ve had in a while that didn’t feel like work.”
“That’s nice to hear."
“It’s you,” he says simply. “You make it easy."
“Steve,” you say quietly, “I should be honest.”
He straightens, attentive. “Okay.”
“This um- whatever this is, it scares me. Because Evan comes first, always.”
“I know,” he says immediately. “And I respect that. But I’m not looking to play around, I wouldn't do that.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods. “This feels real to me. And as you can see it doesn't really happen often.” Slowly, Steve leans in, not all the way. Just enough to make his intention clear, giving you space to stop him. “I want to kiss you,” he says softly. “But only if you want it too.”
You hesitate. “What if this complicates things?” you whisper.
“Then we take it one step at a time.” he replies. Something in his certainty steadies you.
“Okay,” you breathe.
And he leans in, breaking the little space that was left between you, kissing you gently, carefully. His hand comes up to your cheek.
Your hands fly to his hair, messing with it, pulling on him. He draws closer, his hands go to your waist, gripping you in as if it was going to stabilize him, keep him grounded. His kisses go down to your jaw and then your neck, sucking and kissing and biting-
"Wait, Steve" you say breathlessly as you pull back slowly, forehead resting against his. "Evan's sleeping down the hall. We shouldn’t..."
"No, of course. Sorry." he says and presses a final kiss on your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I mean that.”
—
Another week passed by, Steve and you kept sharing more kisses, but it hasn’t gone past make-out sessions.
Tonight, you’re at Steve’s place, Evan’s at a sleepover. You already had a nice meal and now he has you on the couch, already kissing.
“You know, I could get used to this.” he murmurs. His thumb over your lower lip teasing before he leans in again.
“You’re way too good of a kisser.” You smirk, between kisses.
Steve also smirks, trailing along your jawline to the curve of your throat, he sucks gently, his hand creeping beneath your shirt.
“Steve…” you exhale.
“Mmh?” he hums against your skin, his teeth grazing along it.
You giggle. “Maybe we can… do more tonight.”
He leans back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark. “You think so?”
“I do. We’ve waited a while now.”
“Yeah, we have. Are you sure?”
“I am, baby, I wanna do this.”
He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down on the edge of the bed. His hands slip back beneath your shirt. “You’re so gorgeous.”
You lift your arms and let him take off your shirt. His fingers grace over your skin, pausing to unfasten your bra. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
You smile and lift his shirt too. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He chuckles and tosses his shirt aside. He kneels in front of you, hands finding your waist. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Okay.” you smile
“I’ve been picturing this, exactly like this, for weeks.”
“I’ve wanted this for so long too.”
“Oh, yeah?” his hands sliding lazily up your torso until he’s cupping your breasts, thumb brushing softly over your nipples. “Then tell me, what’ve you been picturing?”
“I’ve been picturing you shirtless like this… and you do not disappoint.”
He laughs. “Yeah? What else?” he drags your thigh over his hip. “Or I just stay shirtless in those fantasies of yours?”
“No, we do more things.” you smile.
“Want details, sweetheart. I’ll do anything you’ve been picturing.” His gaze roams over you with hunger.
“Well, I picture you kissing me all over.”
“Yeah? Starting where, love? Here?” Steve’s head dips down again, his mouth wandering along your neck and collarbone.
“And you start going lower.”
His open-mouthed kisses go to kiss your breasts briefly, then your ribs.
“And you keep traveling down.”
He groans as he drags his mouth lower, past the curve of your stomach.
“And, my pants aren’t really on for this part anymore.” you smirk. His hands are on your waistband, yanking them down. He lowers again and kisses right where you need him most, even over your panties, tongue flicking just to hear you gasp.
“Mph, Steve!”
He looks up at you, keeps kissing through the damp fabric just to tease, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still. His teeth graze just enough to make you jerk up.
“Take ‘em off.” you say.
“Tought you’d never ask,” he mutters, his hands making quick work of your panties. He tosses them somewhere in the room. “Now that’s much better. You’re so gorgeous, all of you.”
“Steeve.” you almost whine, wanting his mouth on you again.
He chuckles softly with a grin, then goes willingly, his hands slide up your thighs, hooking behind your knees to wrap them over his shoulders. He hums against you, a slow, torturous pace that has you shifting restlessly below him. That’s until his fingers go inside of you, working them slow and gentle.
“Like that, sweet girl? So beautiful like this.” he mumbles and continues his work on your clit.
“Oh, yeah! Faster!” you ask and he chuckles low, but obliges, his fingers speeding up to match your demand. His free hand slides up to palm your breast, pinching your nipple to make you gasp. And then, he even adds a third finger.
He turns feral, as his fingers grace your g-spot with ruthless precision. “Jesus, you take me so well.”
“Oh my god! Steve, I’m cuming!” you arch back.
He groans, burying his face into your pussy, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses. “Yeah? C’mon then, sweetheart.”
And in between half-finished curses and moans, your orgasm takes over. He continues kissing you still then, making the high sensation last longer, until you have to move his head away.
Steve pulls back, lips swollen and glistening, his hair mussed and messy. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like that, all flushed and messy.”
“Want me to return the favor?” you grin as you unbutton his jeans. Steve exhales, but lets you undress him.
“Not tonight, honey, I need to be inside you.”
“Are you sure? Just for a little bit?” you kiss his ear as you pull the pants down.
His head tilts to give you more access. “I’m sure, baby.” Your hand goes to palm his over the boxers.
“Oh-” you’re taken aback at how big it feels. His hips buck up into your palm before he can stop them. “Can I take these off?” you ask but he ends up taking them off himself, hurried. “Steve, you’re… you’re so big.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest at the praise. He moves closer, his body pressing you back against the sheets. “You’ll take it just fine.”
“I just… I haven't had sex in a while and-” you doubt.
He cups your face. “Hey, we’ll go at your pace,” he murmurs against your skin, “no rush. I’ll make sure you feel good the whole time. Just tell me what you need.”
“Can I be on top?” you ask.
“That’d be perfect, the angle will make it hurt way less.” he explains and settles back against the pillows, hands finding your hips. “I’m all yours.”
You take a moment to get lost at that sight of him like that.
“See something you like? Or I should flex a little.” He jokes.
“You’re so hot, baby.”
He preens at your praise, very proud, his grip on your thighs tightening. You bite your lip, touching his torso all over. He sighs, head falling back into the pillows. Then, he reaches over to the bedside table, rummaging around until he finds a little foil packet. “Here.”
You open the condom and put the rubber on him, slowly, enjoying feeling him up like this. His whole body tenses beneath you. His eyes fixed on you, dark and clouded.
His hands go to your hips, guiding you closer, gripping the flesh tight. “Ready, baby?”
“Yeah,” you say and position yourself before slowly introducing him.
He hisses at the sensation. “Take it slow, sweetheart, don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Mmh, feels good,” he was right, the stretch is not as bad in this position.
He groans, grips tighter. “Fuck, you’re so warm. You feel so damn good, babe.”
“Ohh,” you moan as you take more inches. His abs tensing, breath coming in ragged bursts. His hands slide up to your waist, guiding the pace.
“Fuck,” he chokes out. “You take me so damn good. You were made for this.” His hands dig into your hips as he helps you sink down further. Then, one hand goes down to rub your clit and make it easier, his thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp and he grins.
“You’re so big, fuck.”
“Yeah? I’m gonna fill you up so good, sweetheart”
“I want all of it,” you nod.
“Say please, baby. Ask nicely.” his fingers digging into your thighs.
“Mmh, Steves please? This is so good.”
“Good girl. Think you can take more, sweetheart? Just a little more left.” You nod and he slowly drags you down, closer. “God damn, you feel so good. Just tell me when you’re ready to move, princess.” he breathes, his voice a hoarse whisper. You squeeze him without meaning to, your cunt getting used to the size.
His body almost jerks at every sudden tightness around him. “Fuck-” his hands fly to your waist, gripping hard as he tries to stay steady. “Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”
“We can move,” you pout as you rock back and forth.
“Yeah…” he grits out, his gaze fixed on you intently. “Slow and easy, just like that.”
“No. More, baby.” you complain.
“Yeah? You want more, baby?” he asks and you start jumping up and down on his cock. His hands on your ass in a white-knuckled grip.
“Jesus-” he arches back on the bed, his abs flexing hard under your palms.
He grabs your hips and starts moving them at his pace, buckling his hips as well.
“Mmh, fuck.” your arch back too.
“Fuck-” his thrust stutter, losing rythm for a second as he fight not to cum right then and there, “you look so goddamn perfect like this.”
“Oh, Steve… Steve!”
“I know, baby. I know. Just tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me… I want more.”
His expression almost feral as he flips you over so you’re underneath him. “Yeah? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
“Please,” you ask.
“Please what?” he murmurs, teeth scraping against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart. Try again.”
“Please, fuck me.”
He slams into you in one rough thrust, so deep now. He puts one of your legs over his shoulder and sets a delicious pace.
“Oh my god.” you arch back at the new position. Steve grunts, he leans in to devour your neck. His hair is already damp from the sweat, you carve your nails into his shoulders.
Steve hisses at the sting of your nails. “Fuck-” he growls, pressing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust. His hair damp against his forehead as he pants above you. “Mark me up all you want, love. I’m not going anywhere.”
His pace turns faster, harder, messier. “Gonna make you cum again.” His hand slips between your bodies to press circles on your clit.
“Ahh,” you cry out. “It’s too much.”
“Come on, baby, let go.”
“It’s too much, it’s… Ohh” you arch back one last time as you come around him, creaming him all around.
Steve gives you a few seconds to come back. Then, grabs your chin and leans closer. “God, you’re so pretty like this. So pretty for me, aren’t you?”
You can barely nod and he starts thrusting again to find his release. His hand still cupping your chin firmly, forcing you to look at him. “You’ll do whatever I say, won’t you? You’re mine after all” the possessive side of him takes over completely.
“Oh, fuck.” you moan at the comment. His hand wraps around your throat, squeezes just a little bit, not quite cutting off your air.
“Such a good girl for me.”
“Oh my god, Steve.”
“Yeah, that’s it- say my name like that again. C’mon, sweetheart. Beg for it.”
“Cum for me, baby. You’re so deep in me, filling me up so good.” you say. He groaned at your words, his body responding immediately. He leaned down to kiss you, movements growing more urgent until they suddenly stopped.
He buries his face into your neck. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“That was incredible.” you confirm.
Steve laughs softly. He brushes a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can move.”
“You? I know I can't even walk now.” you complain and he chuckles, shifting his weight to rest next to you. “I loved it, thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, love. I enjoyed it just as much.” He gets up and grabs a little towel. His muscles flexing as he reaches for the towel. He dabs your skin first, gently, before cleaning himself up. “You good? Need anything? Water? A blanket? you should go pee now.”
“You’re such a teacher.” you giggle at that last comment.
He grins at that, gently pushes you to the edge of the bed. “Shut up, smartass. I just don’t want you to get a UTI.”
“Can you carry me?” you smile trying to get him to say yes.
He raises an eyebrow at your request, but his smirk is already forming. “Oh, now I’m your personal chauffeur? I don’t know if I can do lifting after the workout we just had.” But despite his complaining, he sits up and slides an arm under your knees before scooping you into a bridal carry. “Happy now?”
“I’m right where I wanna be.” you joke.
—
By the time Evan is safe to play again, he goes back like a madman. Stronger, faster, more focused.
It’s been another two weeks since Evan started playing again, Steve and you are still going strong, but in secret. You’ve talked a lot about how to tell Evan, plus, he’s going to start questioning any minute now why the coach keeps visiting at home, even though he’s already healed.
“You ready?” Steve asks you.
“I think so.” you exhale, not entirely sure. You’ve been rehearsing this conversation for days, the entire speech is in your head.
The night before you were pacing the kitchen talking through it out loud, when Steve stepped in front of you and took your hands.
“Hey, you don’t need a script.”
“I do, he’s ten, Steve. This matters.”
“I know, but Evan’s smart. He knows when something’s real. Just tell him how you feel.”
“Improvise?”
“Trust yourself.”
That evening, you sit Evan down in the living room. No TV, no radio, just the three of you.
“Am I in trouble?” he asks.
“No, sweetie.” you laugh softly.
“Not at all.” Steve clears his throat.
“There’s something we need to talk to you about.” you start. “Coach Steve and I… We've been spending a lot of time, you know, just us. And we decided we want to be together. Like… dating.”
Evan looks at you; then at Steve; then back at you.
“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“Yeah, like that.” Steve nods.
Evan processes this silently for a moment.
“So, you’re not my coach anymore?” he asks.
“I’m still your coach. That part doesn’t change.” Steve chuckles.
“And you’re still my mom,” Evan adds.
“Very much so,” you smile.
“The only difference is…” Steve starts. “I might be around more. If that’s okay with you.”
That gets Evan, his face lights up. “And we can play together?”
“Yeah, of course.” Steve grins.
Evan sits back, nodding. “I like this.”
“You do?” you laugh.
“Well, coach is my favorite teacher, and now he’s kind of… mine too.”
Steve’s chest tightens. “If you want me to be.”
“Yeah, I do. Oh, Tommy is gonna be so jealous!” he jumps.
“Told you, no speech needed.” Steve murmurs.
“You were right.” you smile and lean into him, kissing his cheek.
“Ew, but don’t kiss in front of me.” Evan cringes.
