#dance party

There was fort building taking over the living room, dance parties in the kitchen, arguments over toys or devices, dragging water inside from the pool, spilled food across the floor, and your least favorite; fighting the battle of getting your babes to go to sleep at a decent time.

You wouldn’t give it up though, because it was a dream getting to stay home with all of them - truly it was. And the fact that Steve was a teacher and didn’t have to go to work every day was probably the best thing of all, because summer meant all hands on deck.

There were some days Steve had to be gone though - like today, because he coached some of the summer baseball leagues.

But out of all days for your husband to be gone - today was the day you needed him most.

You’d woken up blissfully to Steve’s fingers slipping past your cute little sleep shorts and panties - feeling his morning wood pressed against you, hips moving desperately as he worked towards tipping you over the edge.

“Steve,” you whine breathlessly, hand curling around his bicep - feeling the flex of muscles there as his hand pulls pleasure from you.

“I know, honey,” he mouths at your exposed collarbone, member twitching - aching at wanting to let go, forcing himself to wait until you came first.

And then the door flew open to your two year old storming her way inside - once again interrupted from getting a release for what could be considered the thousandth time this week.

Your toddler hasn’t grasped the concept of the knocking rule yet, and unfortunately, had recently learned how to climb out of her crib.

Steve immediately rips his hand away from you, making you groan disappointedly at the lingering emptiness.

“Damn those long legs of yours, Steve. She got them from you and learned how to use them to break out of her crib,” you whisper fiercely, before turning to see your babe demanding to be picked up from your side of the bed.

Steve snorts, before breathing by the shell of your ear, “You weren’t saying that last night, honey. In fact you seemed pretty pleased to have my thighs all pressed up against yours.”

Your hand whips out to smack playfully at his bare chest, and he laughs, sitting back on the bed. You roll your body to lean over the side to look at your girl.

“Morning, baby,” you smile at her, and she pouts at you, making grabby hands - upset that you still haven’t picked her up yet.

You haul her up, and she curls into you - body resting on the expanse of your chest and stomach. Your hand comes up to card through the wild brown curls that she also has thanks to her daddy.

“Did you sleep well, baby?” You ask her tenderly, kissing at her hairline.

She incoherently grumbles into your neck, clearly having woken up in a grumpy mood.

Her breathing evens out, and she’s nearly passed out again when she notices Steve gazing at her. She pops back up, grinning at him and tries to crawl over to him.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he kisses her cheek, “Daddy will be right back. I can’t hold you yet. I gotta go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and uh, wash my hands.”

You giggle as he rolls out of bed, adjusting himself in the tight boxer briefs he’s still got on - appreciating the view, and your toddler gets all whiney that he left.

“Trust me, babe. I know the feeling. Don’t like it when he leaves either,” you sigh deeply, significantly pent up with frustration.

The rest of the day went downhill from there.

Your toddler never quite let go of the crankiness and was practically glued to your side the whole day. You loved her to pieces, but it was exhausting not being able to put her down; making the daily to do list harder on you and all her siblings that needed you.

Your teenage girl was in a snappy mood too - something about her friends meeting up without extending the invite and was having a pity party in her room. You tried consoling her, but she didn’t want you - wanted her Dad, and God did you wish Steve was there to help.

While you were making lunch, your four year old was begging you to play with him because his ten year old siblings were being mean to him - leaving him out. When you confronted them, they claimed he was being a cry baby about the rules of the game they were playing - which made him more upset at the name calling.

They then proceeded to accidentally break your favorite picture frame that held a photo of you and Steve after you forced them to let their brother join.

Your twins weren’t all that apologetic about it either since you were the one that made them include your youngest boy, and honestly, you couldn’t blame them.

While you were picking up the glass, you had pricked yourself, blood pooling instantly and it left a throbbing feeling in your hand the remainder of the afternoon.

Your oldest boy spent his time talking to his girlfriend over the phone or packing up for college, which was making your heart ache at being reminded that he was growing up much faster than you’d like - knowing he’d be gone in just a few short months, missing him already even though he hasn’t left yet.

As the evening finally rolled around, you were incredibly grateful to see Steve’s truck pull up.

Steve had come inside briefly, kissing you sweetly in greeting, before explaining how the neighbor caught him on the way in - asked if he could come over to help fix something. Steve being the absolute sweetheart he is simply couldn’t refuse.

You loved that pure heart of his, but in moments like now, when you needed him after the day you had - it was excruciating. It’s your own fault really, encouraging him to go help - pretending you were fine when you definitely were not.

You hit your breaking point when suddenly all your babes needed you at once.

You were washing dishes, staring out the front window - hoping Steve would be coming back soon from the neighbors place when the commotion starts.

Your ten year old girl runs into the room, tears streaming down her face, “Mommy, he stole my favorite Webkinz!”

Her brother follows after her, an angry expression on his face, “No I didn’t!”

“He’s lying, Mom! Please tell him to give it back,” She’s nearly shouting now, and her twin matches her energy.

He folds his arms across his chest, “I already told you I didn’t take it! You must’ve lost it.”

They continue to fight over the stuffed animal, when you hear your four year old start screaming from the living room.

Your teenage girl comes out looking annoyed, “He’s been watching his cartoons for like an hour. I tried changing the channel and now he’s upset.”

The noise level continues to rise as you hear him start yelling for you. Your oldest girl then starts prattling on about him being a spoiled brat - complaining about how he always gets his way.

You swallow harshly, trying to take a deep breath when you feel your toddler grasping at your thigh - begging you to pick her up.

You can’t though, you stare through her - starting to dissociate at the constant call for help from all your kids, and she starts getting fussy at being ignored.

She promptly sits on her butt, stomping her feet against the kitchen tile. You can feel yourself ready to snap - ready to crack and say something you’ll regret to them.

You hate that you just want them to leave you alone for a second - guilt clawing at your chest and leaning defeatedly against the sink, closing your eyes, trying to tune it all out. You jolt when you feel a tentative hand on your arm.

“Mom?” It’s your eldest boy, who could hear the ruckus from upstairs.

You give him a wobbly smile, on the verge of crying yourself; you open your mouth but nothing except a shaky breath comes out.

“Are you okay?” He asks you nervously, and it’s then that the tears spill, shaking your head incessantly to indicate you were not alright.

He looks around at his siblings still each having their own meltdown, before he looks back worriedly towards you, “Want me to go get Dad?”

“Please,” you whimper brokenly.

Your boy is out the door quickly, and you can see him crossing the grass to the house next door. You don’t know how long it takes - zoning out dejectedly, feeling awful that you’re ignoring your children, but you just can’t help them right now when your own tank is empty.

Steve’s suddenly there, takes one look at you - can visibly see the pure relief that floods your body when you take him in.

He takes charge instantly, bending down to scoop your youngest up in his arms - immediately settling the tantrum. He starts giving your children tasks to distract them from the chaos they’ve created.

The twins are sent separate ways to look for the lost toy - one downstairs to check the play room, one upstairs to search their bedrooms.

Your oldest girl is given a brief scolding at for changing the channel without giving your youngest boy a heads up - because while she deserved to watch her shows too, the price was making her brother lose his mind when he wasn’t given any other options for what he could do instead.

Steve provides those options for your youngest boy who happily agrees to the third one - which is to play outside on the trampoline. Your oldest boy eagerly jumps in and offers to go with him, still just a kid at heart.

Your oldest girl is allowed to watch her show, and willingly accepts her youngest sister when Steve asks if she can hold her while he checks back in with you.

Your lower back is still digging harshly against the counter, and Steve makes a point to gently pull you away from it.

“Gonna run you a bath, okay honey?” He says, tugging you towards the stairs.

“I’m okay, Steve. Just needed a moment,” you confess.

“And I’m giving you more than a moment,” he replies, guiding you to your bathroom.

You try to argue, and he hushes you with a kiss - hands coming up to hold your jaw lovingly, “Want you to rest. Take some time to yourself.”

“They need me,” you protest weakly as he plugs the drain and starts the hot water.

“Yeah, they do. But they’ve been with you all day, and your needs are important too,” he says softly, brushing the moisture under your eyes delicately away.

The tension that’s been stored in you starts to melt at his touch, and you can almost feel the pull of the tub - steam starting to rise in the air.

“It was a really hard day without you, Steve,” you admit, leaning into him as he starts to help you undress.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m here now, gonna take care of it,” he peppers kisses affectionately down your body as the fabric comes off, kneeling down in front of you so you can rest your hand on his shoulder for support.

As the water fills, he finds a bath bomb to throw in there that he knows you’ll like - turning back to you to grasp onto your hips as you shimmy out of your jeans.

He mouths adoringly at your legs, “God, you’re beautiful, honey. Inside and out, you know that?“

You’re dizzy with want for him, but know it’s not the time - not with your kids running around with unfinished problems.

“I love you, Steve,” you breathe out.

“Love you too, honey. Love how you work so hard to take care of me and our babies,” he smiles up at you - lovestruck eyes boring into yours.

“Want you to be taken care of too. You take as long as you need in here, and I’m gonna go rally the troops,” he lightens the mood with that comment, grinning at the sound of your laughter bubbling out.

“Thanks, baby,” you mumble quietly, and when he finally gets you settled in the bathtub, you feel like a weight has been lifted off of you - finally resting after the emotionally draining day.

Steve stays with you for a moment, gazing longingly at you, leaning forward to press a kiss to the sweet spot below your ear.

“Missed you today, honey,” he nips gently at your neck, and you lift a hand to trace at his jawbone, leaving behind droplets of water on his skin.

“I probably missed you more,” you admit tiredly.

“Not leaving you alone for that long again, promise,” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter shut - peace sinking into your bones now that you know you don’t have to face the rest of the night without him.

You hear it before you see it - the dance party that’s definitely going on in your bedroom upstairs. The music is pulsing loudly throughout the house, dull thudding can be felt even from where you stand at the entryway to your home.

From the banister that overlooks the living room, you can see the flashing lights from your room and can hear the squeals coming from your littles - making a smile pull on your lips.

Steve had encouraged you to take the day to spend some time with Max, knowing that whenever you were around her you felt significantly lighter. You were hesitant, because you didn't want to leave your husband alone after the day your children had yesterday.

Steve Harrington is anything but a complainer though, and he’s going to take care of you, and his family - no matter how tiring it can be with six kids, because he refuses to be anything like his own parents.

Which is why he nearly shoved you lovingly out of the house come morning, assuring you that the kids and him were going to have the best day together, and would excitedly await your return.

You were thankful for the day with your sister, cup sufficiently filled and ready to see your babes that you missed dearly, no matter how horrible yesterday was.

You can tell that your children have had quite the day - living room transformed with makeshift forts, kitchen sink overflowing with empty bowls of ice cream, and the rave that’s happening on the story above you.

You kick your shoes off and pad up the stairs, music decibels increasing the closer you get. You can tell that it’s one of Steve’s favorites - Sandstorm by Darude - can remember when the song first came out and Steve would blare it in his truck when it came across the radio. You’d gotten him a CD with the track on it that he liked to pop into the player every now and then.

You hurry your steps, feeling like you're missing out on the fun, and nearly have the shit scared out of you when your eldest girl pops out of the room - sunglasses perched on her face, arms crossed, expression stoney.

“Password?” She says stoically, pretending to be a body guard, and you can’t believe that Steve and her siblings have somehow convinced her to take part in this.

Suddenly the music stops, and you try to peer into the dark room since the door is cracked open - can sense that they’ve stopped dancing, turned their flashlights off, whispering conspicuously about letting you in.

“Mom’s the favorite?” You guess jokingly - can hear the gasp of mock offense from Steve behind the door.

“Just for that, you’re going to have to say the real password two times,” Steve calls out, and you hear the traitorous laughter of your children.

“Fine, Dad’s the favorite,” you huff out lightheartedly, and it makes a smile twitch on your girl's face.

“Yes, and one more time?” She replies, going along with her father’s wishes.

You sigh pretending to be exasperated, “Dad is obviously the favorite.”

Instantly, a tiny hand shoots out from the opening of the door - it’s your four year old boy grasping a pair of black sunglasses, leaving sticky fingerprints behind on them. You take them from him, and the minute you’ve got them covering your eyes the music is blaring once again - starting over from the beginning.

Your girl steps aside, letting you in, and you're greeted with a sight you want ingrained into your brain for the rest of your life.

Your twins are jumping up and down in time with the beat of the song, and your four year old dances his way back into the middle of the room - stepping up onto the ottoman that sits at the base of your bed where your oldest rests, strumming his guitar along to match the chords in the song.

Steve’s dancing - no rhythm at all, but he’s bouncing your toddler around on his shoulders, fingers curled firmly around her legs to keep her steady. She lets out little screeches of delight every time he spins a bit too fast.

They’ve all got sunglasses on, though the ones covering your toddlers eyes are skewed - crookedly hanging off of her, and the disco ball you got the kids for Christmas last year is displaying a smattering of colorful stars across the walls.

Your toddler finally notices you, and she squirms around, wanting to be in your arms after missing you the whole day. Steve lifts her up and off his shoulders, passing herto you when you hold your arms out for her.

“Mommy, miss you,” she tells you.

“Missed you too, babe,” you smile, holding her tightly - swaying back and forth as the music continues to fill the room.

Your twins launch themselves off the bed, running to you, hugging you simultaneously - start rambling about their day with Steve and that they wished you could’ve been there for it.

Your four year old follows their lead, making his way back over to you and pushing his way into the hold your other kids have on you - refusing to be left out.

“It looks like you had the best day with Dad today,” you tell them, feeling just a tad bit disappointed that you couldn’t have had that with them.

“Yeah, but it would’ve been better with you here,” your oldest girl tells you almost shyly, and your eldest boy agrees with her.

Steve pushes the sunglasses covering his eyes back into his hair - instantly reminding you of the day you met him in high school, when he had similar ones perched on him. It causes the invisible string that ties you to him to to pull taught, desperate to be in his arms after being gone.

Despite your hands being full, he has the same idea - pulls you to him, capturing your lips with his and a mix of giggles and groans from your kids ring in your ears, causing you to smile against Steve’s mouth.

“I think I missed you the most,” he presses his lips to yours once more.

You hum in agreement, “Missed you, baby.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure you're actually the favorite,” Steve grins, referring to the fact that you were gone one day, and your children are hanging off you like it’s been weeks instead.

The events from yesterday are forgotten about, always providing your children with a fresh start - and as you spin giddily around the room with Steve and the sweet people that you created with him, you can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind reliving the sensory overload if it meant it led you to this particularly moment again.

Divider credits to @coldxperience