Lessons In Softness ⋆✧˚🧸ྀི 𝐒.𝐇
summery: Years after everything ends, Steve Harrington finally lives the life he once only dreamed of. A quiet day at home becomes a reminder of how far he’s come—and what truly matters now.
pairing: dad!husband!Steve Harrington x mom!wife!reader
notes & thoughts: hi guys! It’s so good to be back into my main account and post something sweet again. All this time I was writing from my f1 side blog but from now on, I’ll try to post all my sweetness and hotness from both accounts! As much as possible given I have sm to do being an acting student, who’s trying find footing into the film industry. I’m starting off soft with my very first Steve Harrington one-shot and I’m so excited for you girlies to read it, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. If u don’t know by now you should that I have ultra soft spot for dad and husband fluff yk? Domestic life is my fav 🌸 anyways, request are OPEN!! Send em my way, DMs are always open. Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Next one shot will be hot… maybe?😉
Peace was a strange thing.
Steve Harrington used to think it would feel louder—like fireworks or victory music or some kind of dramatic ending. Instead, peace felt like sunlight spilling through kitchen windows, like a dog shedding on the couch no matter how many times you vacuumed, like the low hum of a stove warming up lunch while kids laughed somewhere down the hall.
He stood in the kitchen in a white T-shirt with blue sleeves, dark jeans worn soft with age, and an apron tied crookedly around his waist that read KISS THE CHEF in bold red letters. He stirred a pan with unnecessary concentration, brows furrowed as if he were disarming a bomb rather than making lunch for his family.
Berry—his very muddy, very proud dog—sat nearby, tail thumping against the cabinet every time Steve glanced down at him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve warned. “You already ruined my shirt today.”
Berry barked once. Unapologetic.
Steve sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. Today was one of his rare free days—no work, no responsibilities outside these walls. So he’d decided to do everything. Chores, cooking, dog duty. Anything to make it easier for his wife, who had been carrying their fourth baby for six months now and was officially exhausted in a way only Steve truly understood.
Just as he flipped the food in the pan, laughter floated down the hallway.
High-pitched giggles. Breathless laughter. The kind that made his chest warm instantly.
Steve paused, a smile tugging at his lips, and turned the stove down—mostly—before following the sound.
Their bedroom glowed with soft daylight. YN sat semi-reclined against the headboard, loose pajamas resting low over her belly, his oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. One hand rested protectively over her six-month-pregnant bump.
Stephanie, seven, leaned against her mother’s shoulder, giggling quietly. Noah, five, hovered nearby, eyes bright. Atlas—two and endlessly curious—had both tiny palms pressed flat against YN’s belly, his entire face lighting up with wonder.
Steve leaned against the doorframe, heart full.
“Dada!” Atlas announced when he noticed him. “Baby kicking!”
Steve’s face lit up instantly. “Is she really?”
He yanked the apron over his head and tossed it somewhere onto the bed. “Been all morning,” YN replied, smiling as she gently caressed her belly.
Steve dropped onto the mattress dramatically, making the boys laugh. He crawled closer, balancing himself on his hands and knees before placing his palm carefully against YN’s stomach.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You in there?”
“It’s daddy,” he tried again, rubbing her belly. “C’mon. Kick for daddy.”
Behind him, Noah and Atlas had turned the discarded apron into a ball, tossing it back and forth on the floor, shrieking every time it missed.
“Why does she only ever kick for you?” Steve complained, leaning down to blow raspberries against YN’s belly.
“She probably doesn’t like that,” YN laughed.
Noah suddenly froze mid-throw, staring at Steve’s shirt. “Ewww. Daddy has poop on his T-shirt.”
“Daddy yuck!” Stephanie gasped, scrambling off the bed to look.
Steve glanced down and groaned. “Which poop looks like paw prints?”
He gently shoved Atlas onto the bed, the toddler dissolving into nonstop giggles. “That’s Berry. He was playing in the mud. It’s his.”
Steve laughed too, covering his face before dramatically hiding beneath the soft white quilt.
Stephanie climbed back beside YN, focused again. She placed her hand on the bump.
Her eyes widened. “Wow. That was a big one.”
Steve peeked out, comically offended. “Oh, come on.”
He sat up fully now, hands on his hips. “So everyone gets to feel her except me? That’s just not fair.”
YN shifted slightly and rubbed his arm. “Let’s try again tomorrow, yeah?”
The kids immediately chimed in.
Steve groaned and buried his face into the crook of YN’s neck, mumbling, “I cannot believe my own children are teaching me how to touch softly.”
YN laughed, kissing his temple. He lifted his head just enough to kiss her properly — slow, familiar, full of everything they’d survived together.
Steve huffed and flopped back down beside YN, one arm thrown over his eyes. “That’s it,” he declared. “I’m officially the least favorite Harrington.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” YN said softly.
“Am I?” He peeked through his fingers. “Because it really feels personal.”
Atlas toddled over and patted Steve’s chest. “Daddy sad.”
Steve gasped. “See? Even he knows.”
YN reached for his wrist, gently pulling his hand away. “She hears you all the time,” she murmured. “You talk to her every night.”
Steve’s voice softened. “Yeah… but I wanna feel her. Just once.”
Stephanie scooted closer, serious now. She placed Steve’s hand carefully back on YN’s belly. “You gotta be gentle,” she instructed. “She’s shy.”
Steve nodded solemnly. “Got it. Gentle.”
“You know how to get baby sister to kick, Noah?” Steve asked.
“Ya!” Noah climbed onto the bed. “You just have to touch it softly.”
He demonstrated. An instant kick followed.
Steve copied him—too fast, too firm.
Noah frowned and removed his dad’s hand. “You’re too hard! You gonna scare the baby.”
Steve and YN burst out laughing.
“Please, sweetie,” Steve tried again softly. “Daddy just wants to feel you kick one time.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
A firm, unmistakable kick pressed against his palm.
“She did it!” Noah cheered.
Steve didn’t move, afraid to scare the moment away. His eyes flicked to YN, wide and glassy. “Did you feel that?”
His laugh came out shaky as he leaned forward, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured to her belly. “Guess you were just waiting for me.”
The kids returned to their chaos.
A moment later, YN sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
Steve shot upright. “Oh shit.”
“There goes our lunch,” she muttered, rolling her eyes fondly.
Steve rushed to the kitchen.
Burnt. Completely done for.
He stared at it for a second before calling out, “Hey guys! How about pizza for lunch?”
Cheers erupted through the house.
Steve leaned against the counter, smiling to himself.
This was the life he’d always dreamed of.
And it was better than anything he’d ever fought for.
