₊˚⊹ two pinks lines | steve harrington x sinclair!reader
summary: two lines, one bathroom floor confession and one chaotic cupcake reveal surrounded by the family you built along the way.
warnings/tags: no major triggers. pregnancy. light anxiety/nervousness. tears of joy. dad!steveharrington x sinclair!reader, black!reader, fluff, baby announces, light hurt/comfort, gender reveal, no use of y/n.
a/n: hii guys, i’ve been working on this one for a while and i keep deleting scenes and rewriting.. so i’m just going to post. this was so cutesy, i loved writing it :’) I hope you all enjoy!
side note, only a month left of this semester and then i’m freeee!
cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato
The house is already half torn apart by the time your body starts asking the questions you don’t have the right answer for.
Sunlight leans through the front windows in warm, honeyed bands, catching on drifting dust that lifts every time you move. It settles along your skin in soft gold tones; the kind that deepen the richness of your brown, making it glow the way your mother used to say it did when you were little. Sun-fed, she’d call it. Rooted in light.
Fleetwood Mac murmurs from the living room, vinyl crackling beneath the melody. Steve swears records make a house feel lived in, even when it’s half dismantled and smelling like lemon cleaner and cardboard.
You kneel on the kitchen tile sorting silverware that multiplied somewhere between your old apartment and your shared house. The floor presses cool through your leggings. A curl slips free near your temple, brushing your cheek when you lean forward.
An not in an overly dramatic or sharp way, either, just.. sliding sideways.
Your stomach dips like missing the last stair in the dark. The citrus scent turns too loud and your palm braces against the cabinet with a quiet thump.
Your breathing shallows and you try to force air out of your lungs.
“Honey?” Steve calls from down the hall. “You okay in there?”
Socked footsteps approach in their soft and familiar sound.
He turns the corner holding a laundry basket of dirty towels and freezes when he sees you crouched towards the floor and still.
Concern moves across his face instantly, and without delay or hesitation, he sets down the hamper and kneels beside you.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Just dizzy,” you say quietly.
His hand settles at the back of your neck, thumb brushing near your hairline carefully, affectionate, and practiced in the textures of you. He’s learned the language of your body in small details: where tension lives, where calm can be coaxed back in.
Then he really studies you, his eyebrows furrowing together with something calculating and gentle playing like a movie behind his brown eyes.
“..When was your last period?”
The air changes and you stare at him, trying to think. It was the 23rd of March, which meant..
Steve exhales, blinking once as reality rearranges itself.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. No jumping to conclusions.”
“You are absolutely jumping.”
“Well, I’m internally screaming.”
Despite everything, you laugh and it’s thin and coated in nervousness. His fingers lace through yours as his other hand finds the underside of your chin, lifting your head so your eyes meet us.
Outside, the air carries early-spring dampness— thawed soil and budding things. You lock the door while Steve waits beside the car, watching you in that attentive way that’s always felt like being chosen.
The drive stretches quietly.
Hawkins rolls past in brick storefronts, faded signs, someone walking a dog, kids yelling across a yard. Ordinary life unfolding while something inside you feels newly fragile and enormous all at once.
Steve’s hand rests on your thigh and his thumb traces slow arcs.
It’s a cocktail of something unspoken and steady, but still careful. He’s always been careful with you.
Inside the store, the fluorescent lights hum overhead. The floor squeaks underneath your steps, and you walk shoulder-to-shoulder down the aisle until you stop in front of rows of pregnancy tests.
Possibilities packaged in pinks and whites.
You hesitate but he doesn’t rush you.
Just stands close enough for your sleeves to brush, the warmth between you shared.
He picks one up and turns it over, brown eyes scanning the words on the back of the box.
You huff, reaching a hand out to point at the most familiar brand.
“Middle shelf. Pink box.”
He grabs two, causing you to raise an eyebrow at your husband.
“For statistical certainty.” He shrugs, sending you a grin making you puff out a quiet laugh.
Walking to checkout, his hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine naturally.
You notice the glance from the cashier, that familiar awareness flickering through you, the layered knowing of existing visibly. You don’t miss the small smile playing on her lips as she scans the two, small boxes and lets her eyes glance at the rings displayed on each of your left hands.
Steve just squeezes your hand and swings it lightly. Like loving you is the most normal, obvious thing in the world.
At home, the quiet feels thicker.
Not empty, or lonely, just full in a way that presses gently against your ribs, like the house is holding its breath alongside you.
The front door clicks shut behind you, and the sound travels farther than it should, echoing down the hallway, bouncing off the kitchen tile, settling into the living room where sunlight pools across the hardwood in wide golden stripes.
Steve trails in behind you, keys jangling once before he drops them into the ceramic bowl by the door. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you.
Your shoes slide off at the mat, and you don’t even remember bending to untie them. Your body is moving on instinct now in a slow, careful way, every step heavier than the last.
You hold the small paper bag from the store in both hands like it might shatter.
He reaches out without thinking, fingertips brushing your lower back, warm and grounding. “You okay?” he asks softly. Not pushing. Never pushing, just there.
You nod once, swallowing. “Yeah.”
It comes out quieter than you expect.
You turn toward the bathroom, and he follows halfway down the hall before stopping, giving you space without needing to be asked. That’s something he’s learned, when to hover, when to hold, when to step back and trust you to come to him.
The bathroom light flicks on and the door closes behind you.
And inside, everything is too bright.
The tile cool under your bare feet. The mirror reflecting a version of yourself that looks almost the same, but not quite. Your curls slightly frizzed from the day, skin warm and rich in the light, cheeks flushed deeper than usual. Your hand drifts unconsciously to your stomach.
You unpack the test slowly, the plastic crinkles loud in the small space. The instructions blur for a moment before you force yourself to breathe and focus.
You complete it, hands steady in action even if your heart is not. Then you set it on the counter.
You wash your hands just to have something to do. The faucet rushes, loud and alive, splashing over brown skin, catching on the curve of your knuckles. You dry them slowly. Fold the towel. Unfold it. Refold it again.
Still not enough time passed.
Your chest tightens and you turn toward the mirror, leaning forward, bracing your palms against the sink.
“Whatever happens,” you whisper to your reflection, voice soft, fragile and honest. “You’re okay.”
For a moment, the world doesn’t react.
No thunderclap, no cinematic swell. Just the soft hum of electricity in the walls and your own breath leaving you all at once.
Your hand flies to your mouth and tears bloom instantly, hot and unstoppable, spilling over your cheek before you can stop them. You laugh, a shaky, disbelieving sound, and sink down onto the closed toilet lid, clutching the test like it might vanish.
“Okay,” you whisper, crying and smiling all at once. “Okay.”
You stand on unsteady legs and open the door.
Leaning back against the hallway wall, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. A casual posture, but not casual energy. He straightens immediately when the door opens, eyes scanning your face before they even drop to your hands.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You alright?”
Your hands tremble as you lift the test toward him.
He takes it carefully, like it’s fragile, and his eyes move over it once. Then twice.
And something shifts in his expression, something deep and open and raw. Wonder cracks through first. Then fear. Then love. Then awe so strong it almost softens his knees.
His gaze lifts to you, wide and shining, searching your face like he needs confirmation from your eyes and not just plastic lines.
Your chin wobbles and you nod, the tears sliding free again.
He steps forward and pulls you into his arms, slow, careful, instinctively protective. One hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your curls. The other settles against your spine, holding you close without too much pressure.
His face presses into your hair and you feel him breathe. Feel the tiny tremble he tries to hide.
“We’ve got this,” he whispers.
It’s warm and certain against your scalp. It’s not naive, not fearless. Just grounded. A promise built on choosing you every day.
Your hands clutch into his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric at his back. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek. Safe.
And something tight looses inside your chest because you believe him.
You lean back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy, cheeks damp. “You’re gonna be a dad.”
His lips part, breath catching.
A smile blooms slow and helpless across his face. He brushes a tear from beneath your eye with his thumb.
He presses a lingers kiss to your forehead, and pulls you back into him, hand settling gently over your stomach.
And in the quiet hum of the hallway, wrapped in his arms with the future suddenly real and warm and growing between you, the world feels bigger.. and softer.. and beautifully, terrifyingly new.
The days don’t pass in summary.
Morning nausea met with crackers handed to you before you even ask. Steve rubbing slow circles into your back when smells turn sharp. His arm around you in grocery aisles when the lighting feels too bright.
One evening you sit curled on the couch, bare feet tucked under you, reading while he flips through a parenting book.
“Did you know babies don’t have kneecaps?”
You blink, slow turning your head to look at him with an amused expression on your face that you try, for the life of you, to hide from your husband.
He grins, a quiet laugh falling from his lips as he squeezes you closer to him.
“I’m learning everything for our tiny roommate.”
The word out settles warm and permanent inside you and you just him in response, leaning back against him as he continues to read the book perched in his lap.
Morning begins slowly and you lie still beneath the blankets, aware of the heaviness low in your stomach, the slight warmth behind your ribs, the unfamiliar awareness of yourself. Pregnancy hasn’t made anything theatrical. It’s just made everything personal, more internal. Close.
Beside you, Steve shifts as you shift.
His eyes open halfway, hair flattened in impossible directions, voice still caught between sleep and waking.
You swallow, giving him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Morning, you.”
He studies your face longer than usual. Steve’s never been subtle about care, not really. His hand reaches out and rests against your arm, thumb brushing once.
He pushes himself upright without hesitation, moving with the soft clumsiness of someone not fully awake but already committed to helping. You listen to him in the kitchen; cabinets opening and closing, quiet footsteps padding against the floor, the sound of a glass being filled, and when he comes back, he sits close beside you, not crowding, just present.
Crackers in your hand, a glass of water offered. His palm settling warm against your back, rubbing patient circles there. He watches your shoulders loosen, tracks every breath like it matters.
You manage a few bites. A few sips.
“There,” he says softly, relief slipping into his smile. “Still undefeated.”
“You’re proud of yourself.” You manage playfully, causing him to grin.
You lean against him, resting your head briefly on his shoulder, and he tilts just enough to meet you halfway, his cheek brushing your hair in quiet affection before murmuring even softer. “I’m proud of you.”
By late afternoon on April 3rd, the room is quiet in that unfinished way—empty walls, bare floor, late light falling across everything without interruption. It isn’t a nursery yet, just space, but a possibility waiting to be named.
You stand near the center, arms loose at your sides, trying to imagine what it will hold. The sound of small feet, late nights, laughter echoing against walls that haven’t heard anything yet.
Steve’s footsteps come up behind you, slower than usual.
His hands settle at your hips, thumbs brushing small absent arcs like he’s steadying both of you in place. You feel his breath near your shoulder, the pause he takes before speaking.
“They’re going to grow up here,” he murmurs quietly. “That’s so wild.”
You lean back just slightly into him. “Terrifying?”
“A little,” he admits. “Mostly.. huge.”
His palms slide forward, resting over your stomach. He doesn’t press, just lets his hands exist there, reverent and careful, as if the contact itself matters.
The silence stretches comfortably around you both.
Slowly, he steps around you and lowers himself until he’s crouched in front of you. His hands stay where they are, thumbs tracing gentle, thoughtful movements. He glances up at you briefly, soft smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Your answer is immediate, warm as you smile down at him softly. “Always.”
He exhales once, steadying, and his attention returns downward. His forehead comes to rest lightly against you. His eyes close for a second, and when he speaks, his voice shifts into something quieter.
“I guess this is our first official conversation.”
His thumb rubs slow, absent circles.
“I don’t know if you can hear me yet.. or if you just hear weird heartbeat noises and stomach sounds..” He smiles faintly and you do too, your eyes turning glassy. “But I figured I should introduce myself anyway.”
Your chest tightens in that fragile, overwhelming warmth that comes from watching someone love something they haven’t even met.
“I’m Steve. I’m your daddy.”
He doesnt rush past it, just lets that sit there, absorbing the weight of actually saying it aloud.
“I don’t have everything figured out. Not even close. I burned toast yesterday.” A small breath of laughter leaves him. “But I’m going to learn all of it. I’ll mess up sometimes, but I’ll fix it. And I’ll be there. Every game, every nightmare, every ‘I need help with homework at midnight’ situation, even though your mom would be so much more help.”
His fingers shift slightly, holding you more securely.
“And you’ve got an incredible mom,” he continues, voice warm with quiet pride. “She’s strong in ways you’ll understand someday. She’s patient and brilliant and sees people clearly, she’ll show you where you come from, who you are, and you’ll carry that with you everywhere you go.”
Your hand slides into his hair without thinking, fingers combing gently through the softness at his crown. He leans into the touch instinctively.
“I just..” he says, quieter now, emotion threading through as he trails off, “..want you to know you’re already loved. You haven’t even gotten here yet, and you’ve already changed everything for the better.”
The room holds the words.
After a moment he presses a soft kiss against you, lingering before rising slowly back to his feet. His hands come to your arms, steadying you though you don’t need it, and then he pulls you into him.
You fold into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek resting over his heartbeat. His own hand moves across your back in slow, grounding passes.
You tilt your head up slightly. “You’re already very good at that.”
“At talking to someone who can’t argue back?”
“No. At being their dad.”
Something soft flickers across his face, humility, love and disbelief all tangled together, and he stills beneath the weight of it. His hand tightens slightly at your back, grounding himself, before he leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.
When he pulls away, his gaze lingers on you, thoughtful. “That still feels unreal.”
You squeeze gently. “Good unreal?”
“The kind where I’m excited and terrified and planning eighteen years ahead all at once.”
You laugh, and his thumb brushes your knuckles before his voice softens again.
“How’re you doing with it?”
You consider honestly. “I feel.. bigger. Not even physically. Just..” You search for the words, and he waits. Patient and steady as always.
“..Like I’m holding more future than I expected to.”
His expression softens, and it’s present and unwavering. His hand slides from yours to your stomach again.
“You’re not holding it alone.”
The simplicity of it nearly undoes you.
You lean into him, and his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close, chin settling lightly atop your head as the two of you stay there in the growing quiet.
By the time you leave the house for your first doctor appointment, the air has that peculiar spring heaviness. It’s warm, faintly damp and the breeze carries the scent of cut grass from the yard and something distant in the woods beyond the edge of Hawkins. The drive to the clinic is slow, almost dreamlike. Steve keeps glancing at you, hands tight around the steering wheel, like he’s afraid if he lets go for a second the reality might slip away.
“You good?” he asks, again, a little too many times.
“I’m good,” you answer, more firmly this time, letting the words hold you upright.
“Mmhm. Yeah,” he murmurs, half to himself. “Okay. But if not, you gotta tell me, capisce?”
“Capisce,” you whisper, a small laugh escaping as your hand drifts to meet his on the console. His fingers intertwine with yours, grounding you in a way no words could.
At the clinic, the waiting room smells of antiseptic mixed with something faintly floral. It’s a perfumed attempt to soften the starkness, but it just makes the nausea arise.
You sit with your sweater bunched at your waist, curls loose around your shoulders, fingertips brushing against Steve’s hand constantly. You notice how your skin glows in the clinical light, rich brown against the sterile white, and feel a quiet swell of pride and belonging. A living testament to the lineage of strong women in your family, a soft echo of your mother’s presence in your posture, your attention to the small details, your careful confidence.
Steve’s knee bounces once before he stills it, thumb stroking over your knuckles, voice low. “You nervous?”
“Terrified,” you admit, leaning back slightly against the chair, eyes on the clock ticking faintly on the wall.
He hums. “I know. Me too. But in heroic future-dad kind of way.”
You snort, letting the tension lift just a fraction.
Before you can answer, they call your name and your chest tightens like a fist. You rise slowly, Steve close behind, hand pressing into the small of your back, steadying you.
The examination room smells of the cool, antiseptic that presses against the warmth of your skin and softness of your clothes. The paper crinkles beneath you as you sit on the table, and you can’t help the small shiver that runs through your body. Steve’s hand slides around to your side, thumb finding its familiar circle along your hip.
The doctor, a kind, middle-aged woman with bright eyes and a calm smile, entered and flipped through your chart. “Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. How are we feeling today?”
“I am excited,” you admitted softly. “And nervous. Mostly excited.”
Steve leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Mostly excited, mostly nervous. Sounds like my kind of baby-moment math.”
You laughed softly. “Mostly.”
The doctor smiled at the two of you and simply gestured for you to scoot back a little on the table. “We are going to take a look now,” she said, reaching for the ultrasound wand. Her tone was calm but warm, as if she knew this was more than just another appointment.
Steve leaned closer, resting his hand lightly over yours. His thumb brushed small, comforting circles against your knuckles. “Ready?” he murmured.
You nodded. “As ready as I will ever be.”
The cool gel on your stomach made you flinch slightly. Steve chuckled and leaned down to kiss your temple. “Sorry, sweetheart. Cold but worth it.”
The screen flickered to life and you both leaned forward.
“There we go,” the doctor said. “See that little shape? That’s your baby.”
Your breath caught. The tiny curve, the pulse, the movement. You reached out instinctively, hand hovering just above Steve’s. He squeezed your fingers gently, sharing the awe.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I can see them.”
Steve’s grin was soft and a little shaky. “They’re perfect,” he breathed. “Look at them move.”
The doctor tilted the wand slightly. “There is the heart again. Strong and steady. Everything looks healthy. Normal growth. Right on track.”
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.. it’s really real.”
You laugh, tears breaking free despite yourself. “Yeah,” you say again, voice shaky, carrying all the disbelief, relief, and joy at once.
Back home, you pace the living room while Steve gathers your courage from the floor. He hovers near you, hand resting lightly at the small of your back, thumb brushing soothing circles over your sweater.
“You’ve fought literal monsters,” he murmurs, voice low. “You can handle a phone call with your brother.”
You roll your eyes but lean back into him. “He’s gonna freak out.”
“But it’ll be the freak out ever,” Steve teases softly.
You roll your eyes but grab the phone to dial the number, hit speaker and let it ring. Steve leans into you, shoulder brushing yours, hand resting over yours on the phone.
“Hey,” you whisper back, your voice thick and eyes already glistening.
Steve’s thumb rubs soothing circles into the back of your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, grounding you.
“I.. had a doctor’s appointment today,” you begin, voice fragile.
Lucas pauses. “Everything okay?”
You nod, though he can’t see you. “Yeah, yeah.. everything’s good.”
Another pause stretches. You swallow. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air and then you can hear him inhale sharply.
“Yes. Seriously,” you laugh softly, tears gathering.
A long exhale. “That’s.. really big.” he says, voice thick with something that sounded like awe and care.
You smile through tears. “I wanted you to know first.”
“…you’re gonna be such a good mom,” he says softly, reverence and love threading each and every syllable.
Your chest swells. “Don’t tell anyone yet,” you manage through laughter and tears. “We’re planning something.”
Lucas chuckles. “Yeah.. okay. But seriously, I’m proud of you. I always knew you’d do amazing things, but this.. this is next level.”
You breathe him in over the speaker. His pride and love, the memory of shared childhood laughter, fights, secrets, and midnight talks, wrap around you like a familiar blanket.
After you hang up, you turn, leaning fully into Steve’s chest. He holds you like the world has condensed into this single moment, whispering gently, “see, not so bad.”
The night settles like wot velvet, the bedroom glow soft and amber. The window is cracked open just enough to carry in the distant hum of cicadas and the faint whisper of night wind. You sit on the bed brushing out your curls, Steve stretched across the mattress, chin resting on his arms, eyes drinking in every detail of your face.
“You’re staring,” you say.
“I’m just appreciating my beautiful, pregnant wife,” he murmurs backs.
You roll your eyes, smile tugging at your lips.
He crosses to you slowly, hands settling on your waist. “You okay, honey?”
“I’m good,” you whisper truthfully, though your chest still twists with the dizzying reality of the day.
His hand drifts to rest over your stomach, his touch light, and you stay still, letting him anchor the moment.
Tears gather in your eyes. “It’s real,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
You turn into him and he holds you long and tight, allowing your laughter, your tears, your breath to intermingle. Kisses press to your shoulder, your cheek, your lips, slow, warm, and full of so many promise.
“You think they’ll have your eyes?”
You smile softly. “You think they’ll have your personality?”
He groans. “God help them.”
You laugh quietly into the quiet night and soon the silence settles around you both
“We’re really doing this,” you whisper.
Steve presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We are. And we’re gonna be so damn good at it.”
On May 6th, the house was alive in the soft, late-afternoon light, gold spilling through the front windows and catching on floating dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. The smell of fresh vanilla and sugar lingered faintly over the lingering aroma of lunch that Steve had prepared only a few short hours ago.
Balloons bobbed lazily just under the ceiling, tied with curling ribbons that caught the light. A scattering of pink and blue hinted at the secret tucked beneath the layers of frosting on the cupcakes that sat on the kitchen island. Everything was arranged with deliberate care: plates stacked neatly, napkins folded in soft triangles, silverware aligned. Steve had hovered in the kitchen, fussing over the smallest details, brushing his hands down his jeans and muttering under his breath, half-teasing, half-nervous.
You stood by the island, fingers wrapped around a glass of water, watching him fuss over frosting. Your sweater was soft against your skin, hugging you gently in all the right places, the faint swell of your stomach barely noticeable, yet grounding you in a quiet awareness. Steve’s hand found your lower back, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles, his breath warm against the side of your neck. “You look like an angel,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing just enough to make you roll your eyes.
“Flattery now?” you asked softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“You know I mean it,” he replied, fingers brushing through the strands of hair that had fallen loose around your face. “I’m serious. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
Before you could answer, the doorbell chimed.
Steve stiffened for a second, then muttered, “Here we go,” and offered a quick squeeze to your back. You grinned, tilting your head so he could press a quick kiss to your temple. “Go,” you whispered, already feeling your chest tighten with anticipation.
He opened the door to find Robin standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression neutral but sharp eyes scanning the room with that practiced, calculating gaze of hers.
Robin stepped into the house, eyebrows raised the moment she saw the balloons bobbing lightly under the ceiling, the cupcakes lined up neatly on the counter, pastel frosting perfect in neat swirls. She glanced between you and Steve, her lips quirking in a half-smile, half-smirk, curious but skeptical.
“So.. what’s all this?” she asked, voice light, teasing, like she didn’t quite want to believe it was serious.
You shrugged, letting a curl fall loose across your forehead. Steve shifted behind you, brushing your lower back in that reassuring, grounding way he always did. His grin was soft, eyes crinkling at the corners, like he knew something you didn’t even realize yet.
Robin’s gaze swept the room again, lingering on the cupcakes, the scattered plates, the balloons. Then, without warning, she said, “It’s.. almost like you’re pregnant or something.”
You and Steve froze for the tiniest moment. You met his eyes, both of you grinning quietly at each other. Just a little glance, no words needed, the kind of look that said yeah, it’s true.
Robin blinked. The words hit her fully, the realization washing over her like sunlight. Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open just slightly. “Wait..” she whispered, her voice catching, then growing. “Wait—oh my god… you’re actually pregnant?”
Your stomach flipped. You nodded, laughter spilling out softly. Steve’s hand stayed pressed to your back, gentle, grounding, thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles.
Robin froze for a second, then threw herself forward in a sudden, joyful hug, wrapping her arms around you tight enough to lift you slightly off the ground. “Oh my god! I can’t—this is amazing!” she squealed, laughing and crying at the same time, her head tucked close to yours.
Steve’s voice cut through, mock stern. “Hey! Not so fast, Robin—don’t manhandle my wife!”
Robin pulled back slightly, still holding you, and gave him a perfectly timed flip of her hand over her shoulder. “Oh, shut up, Dingus,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, voice full of warmth.
Steve rolled his eyes, hands going back to your waist in a slow, grounding motion. You leaned into him, letting him cradle you while Robin stepped back slightly, hands on her knees, grinning like she couldn’t believe it.
“This is… wow. I am so happy for you both,” Robin said, voice soft now, quiet awe threaded through it. “You’re going to be amazing parents. I just.. I can’t even—this is so good. So good.”
You laughed softly, brushing a hand over your stomach. “Thanks, Robin,” you whispered. “We’re really excited. Just a little scared too.”
Robin grinned again, tilting her head. “Scared? No way. You’re glowing. You look… like happiness. And Steve, look at you—just try not to cry, okay?”
Steve leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, smiling gently. “I’ve got this,” he murmured. “We’ve got this.”
Robin stepped back, still beaming, eyes sparkling as she took in the kitchen, the balloons, the cupcakes, and most importantly, the two of you. “I’m so proud of you guys. Seriously,” she said, voice full of warmth. “I just.. I can’t stop smiling right now.”
You grinned, feeling the tight coil of excitement and love inside you loosen into something soft, happy, and real. Steve rubbed your back slowly, thumb tracing circles, grounding you, letting you both soak in the moment.
Robin leaned forward one last time, voice playful now, hands on her hips. “Just don’t forget about me. I call dibs on all the baby advice.”
You laughed, nodding. “Of course.”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly, smirking. “Great. You’re gonna be insufferable already.”
Robin stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder. “Shut up, Harrington,” she said again, still grinning, still glowing with excitement, still completely in love with the idea of what was happening.
You laughed softly into Steve’s chest, letting the warmth of him, the soft pressure of his hand on your back, and the excited, joyful energy from Robin fill the room. The house felt smaller somehow, warmer, safe. It was all beginning, and it was already perfect.
The doorbell chimed, sharp and bright, cutting through the warm, quiet energy of the kitchen. Steve glanced at you, his brow quirked in that half-serious, half-goofy way he always did when he was trying to act casual but failing. His hand drifted to your lower back, thumb brushing in slow, soothing circles.
“That’s probably Lucas and Max,” you murmured, smoothing the front of your sweater with one hand, the other resting lightly on your stomach. You could feel it, the quiet swell there, grounding you in the moment.
Steve nodded, voice low and teasing. “Yeah, probably the two most chaotic people in Hawkins, coming right for us.”
You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaping. “Thanks for the reassurance.”
Steve leaned closer, nuzzling your temple lightly. “Anytime, babe.”
The door opened, and Max slipped in first, skateboard tucked under one arm, eyes darting around the kitchen instantly. Her gaze caught the balloons immediately, and she froze mid-step, eyebrows climbing in disbelief.
Lucas followed behind her, quieter, more measured, leaning against the doorframe with that smug grin he always wore when he knew more than he was letting on. He shrugged out of his jacket, hands sliding into his pockets, eyes glancing around the room like he was sizing everything up.
Max’s mouth fell open slightly. “Wait.. wait, wait—” she started, voice high and incredulous, eyes flicking between the cupcakes, the balloons, and finally you and Steve. “Are you serious?”
Steve, ever the gentleman, stayed by your side, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other brushing stray curls behind your ear with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Max froze, her body going still for a heartbeat, then she leaned forward slowly, scanning your face. “No way,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Oh my god… you’re really—”
You nodded, a small laugh breaking past your lips. “We are,” you said softly. “It’s real.”
Her eyes widened further, and then she launched herself forward, wrapping both arms around you in a sudden, tight hug. You laughed into her shoulder, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of her head, Steve’s hand sliding over your back to steady you.
“You’re glowing,” Max breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you fully. “Like.. actual happiness. It’s— wow. I didn’t even think this would happen this fast.”
Steve smirked, teasing, whispering in your ear, “See? Told you, babe. Hawkins never does anything slow.” You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.
Lucas, leaning casually against the counter, raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, that familiar smug curve to his lips. “Yeah, well.. not surprised.”
Max blinked at him sharply. “What do you mean you’re not surprised?” she asked, her tone a mix of shock and accusation. “Did you know?”
Lucas just grinned wider, tilting his head. “Maybe I did,” he said casually, voice low and teasing. “Maybe I didn’t. You’ll never know.”
You reached out to nudge him lightly with your elbow, laughing. “I asked him not to tell anyone yet,” you raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. “You didn’t tell anyone, right?”
“Relax,” he said, still grinning, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t tell a soul. I just had to look smug about it for a minute.”
Max shook her head, laughing, crossing her arms. “You are impossible,” she muttered, but her eyes shone bright with excitement and love for the two of you.
Steve, ever the commentator, leaned closer, voice low but playful. “See, babe? Even your little brother is impossible. But, uh— we kind of love him for it.”
You laughed again, brushing a hand along your stomach as the warmth of the moment settled in. Max’s gaze softened, and she leaned in to hug you one more time, careful now, her voice quieter but full of wonder. “I’m so happy for you. Both of you. This is so exciting.”
Lucas, still smirking, finally stepped closer, wrapping one arm around Max’s shoulder, letting her lean against him as he looked at you and Steve. “Seriously though, you guys are going to be great. No pressure or anything,” he teased, but his eyes held that familiar warmth that always made you feel safe, understood, loved.
Steve ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, smirking at the playful tension. “Careful, man. You’re walking a fine line between supportive brother-in-law and smug little jerk.”
Lucas just shrugged, that same half-grin of his, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, well I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
You shook your head, laughter spilling over again, heart swelling. Max squeezed your hand briefly before stepping back, eyes flicking to the cupcakes, then back to the balloons. “So— are we eating these, or…?”
Steve grinned, tugging you close. “Patience, Max. We’ve got a little more to share first.”
You leaned against him, hand resting on your stomach, and together you looked at Lucas and Max, your family in this small, chaotic, perfect moment. Excitement, warmth, love—they all swirled around you like sunlight in the kitchen, golden and soft, and you felt, for the first time fully, the real weight of what was happening.
The doorbell rang again. Longer this time, like whoever was outside had zero patience and even less self-control.
Steve groaned softly against your shoulder. “That’s Henderson,” he muttered. “It’s always Henderson.”
Max snorted. “Yeah, he rings the bell like it owes him money.”
Lucas elbowed her lightly but he was grinning.
Steve gave your waist one last gentle squeeze, that grounding, quiet pressure he kept offering you every few minutes like he needed to reassure himself you were real, and crossed to the door.
Before he could even reach for the knob, Dustin’s voice blasted straight through the wood,
“STEVE OPEN THE DOOR, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE—”
Steve yanked the door open mid-bellow.
Dustin stumbled slightly, hands full: a bag of chips, a stack of movies, and what looked suspiciously like a half-finished science project he’d clearly forgotten to leave at home. Behind him, Mike, Will, El, Nancy, and Jonathan hovered in a loose cluster, all bundled in jackets, talking over each other in various states of confusion and suspicion.
“There he is!” Dustin declared triumphantly, pushing past Steve immediately. “Okay, what’s the big—”
Like fully stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting rapidly between the balloons, the cupcakes, the pastel swirls of frosting, Max perched on the counter, Lucas leaning smugly beside her.
“What the hell is going on?” Dustin demanded, voice cracking just slightly.
Mike stepped in behind him, stopping just as abruptly. “Uh, are you guys having a—party?” he asked, blinking at the decorations like they personally offended him.
El’s eyes softened instantly, like she already knew. Like she felt it.
Will stepped in gently beside her, absorbing everything quietly, lips parted, his expression blooming into something soft and warm.
Nancy’s brows were already pulled tight with concern, scanning every inch of the room and then landing on you like she was checking for injuries.
Jonathan hovered just behind her, eyes gentle, calm, taking in the emotions in the room rather than the decorations.
Steve’s hand found your back again.
Max smirked, arms crossed. “So.. who wants to tell them?”
Dustin’s eyes snapped to you immediately. “WAIT—did one of you get a new job? Are you renewing your vows? Did Steve finally propose again even though you’re already married? Are the cupcakes poisoned—?”
Mike cut him off with a shove. “Dustin, shut up for like five seconds.”
El stepped closer, eyes on you — soft, hopeful, warm. “It is something happy,” she said gently, like a quiet certainty.
Steve let out a breathy laugh, then tilted his head toward you. “Go on,” he murmured. “It’s your moment to steal.”
Your fingers curled around the hem of your sweater, brushing lightly over your stomach, and you looked at all of them—these kids, these friends, this strange patchwork family of yours.
“We’re..” you began, voice catching on the warmth swelling in your throat. “We’re having a baby.”
A squeal—sharp, unrestrained, and completely unexpected—burst out of Dustin.
“Oh MY GOD—ARE YOU SERIOUS—STEVE—YOU—YOU—GUYS—YOU’RE—” He flailed so hard the chips went flying. Max caught the bag midair without looking.
El gasped, hands flying to her mouth, eyes instantly filling with tears. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around you so gently it nearly broke you.
“You will be a good mother,” she whispered into your shoulder, voice thick with emotion. “A very good one.”
Will stepped closer next, smiling that soft, full smile that always felt like sunrise. “This is amazing,” he said, voice quiet but overflowing. “Really, really amazing.”
Mike just blinked for a long moment, like his brain needed to reload, before he pointed at Steve. “You—? You’re gonna be—? I mean I guess that makes sense, you’re like… weirdly dad-like…”
“Wow,” Steve muttered. “Heartfelt, Wheeler. Thanks.”
Nancy came next, eyes shining as she reached for both your hands. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, voice warm and steady, already slipping into big-sister mode. “If you ever need anything, anything, call.”
Jonathan nodded earnestly beside her. “Seriously. We’ve got you both.”
Dustin finally launched himself across the room, hugging you with absolutely no respect for your center of gravity, until Steve swooped in instantly, tugging him back by the hood.
“Dude,” Steve scolded, “gentle. Gentle. There’s a tiny person in there now.”
Dustin threw his hands up. “I am gentle! I can be gentle! I’m very gentle!”
Max snorted without looking up from her cupcake. “No, you’re not.”
“I CAN BE!” he insisted, turning back to you. “Can I—can I hug you again? Like.. carefully?”
You laughed and nodded. He wrapped his arms around you delicately this time, like you were made of glass. “I’m gonna be the best uncle,” he mumbled, voice cracking again.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “I thought I called that.”
“We can share!” Dustin snapped.
El stood between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You will both be good uncles,” she stated simply.
Steve leaned in, murmuring to you with a soft laugh, “I swear to God, babe, our kid is going to have the most chaotic support system in the world.”
“And they’re going to be very loved,” you whispered back.
You looked around the kitchen, at this bizarre, mismatched, deeply devoted family. Max was perched on the counter grinning like you’d given her the moon, Lucas smirking fondly by her side, Dustin talking animatedly with his hands, El still gently touching your arm like she wanted to give you all her happiness, Mike pretending not to smile, Will probably already planning quiet little baby gifts in his head, Nancy and Jonathan sharing that knowing, soft look couples get when life feels suddenly huge and beautiful.
And Steve’s hand warm on your back.
It wasn’t just a baby announcement.
You stood next to Steve, fingers intertwined with his, thumb brushing lightly over the curve of your palm. He was close, almost protective, humming a quiet little tune under his breath as his hand rubbed gentle circles on your back.
“Okay…” you began softly, letting your voice carry across the room. “So.. here’s the deal.”
Steve leaned his forehead against the side of yours, smiling down. “I think they’re ready,” he whispered. “Mostly.”
You laughed, brushing a curl behind your ear, letting your hand rest on your stomach. “Mostly,” you echoed. “So. we found out more today. And we wanted everyone here. Because…” You took a small breath, looking at the familiar faces clustered around the island, buzzing with curiosity. “..it’s also a gender reveal.”
A beat of silence. Then Dustin leaned forward, eyes wide, practically vibrating with energy. “Wait—WHAT?! You assholes know and didn’t tell us?!”
Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jesus, Henderson. No. We don’t know.”
You laughed softly, squeezing Steve’s hand. “My mom made the cupcakes for us,” you said, voice full of warmth and excitement. “So we’re finding out together.”
Dustin’s jaw dropped. “Wait, wait.. wait. That’s actually genius.” He blinked at you, then back at Steve. “But also— you really made us wait for this?!”
Steve shrugged, still rubbing circles along your back, thumb brushing over your hip. “We had to. Someone’s gotta keep the suspense alive.”
Max leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes darting between Dustin and you. “And Lucas already knew.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “I asked him not to say anything yet, we wanted everyone to find out together.”
Dustin spun around, pointing an accusing finger. “You asked him?!”
Steve shot him a mock glare, eyebrows raised. “Yep. And it’s working perfectly so far. Don’t blow it.”
Your heart thumped in your chest as you looked down at the little round treasure in your hands, blue frosting hidden beneath the swirl of white. Steve mirrored your movements, his hand brushing yours as you both lifted your cupcakes in quiet solidarity.
“Okay,” you said softly, “on three. Everyone at the same time.”
“One…” Your voice wavered slightly with excitement.
“Two…” Steve whispered, fingers brushing yours again, thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles.
Everyone bit down simultaneously.
For a heartbeat, the room froze. And then—the frosting on everyone’s tongues registered.
“Oh. My. God.” Max’s voice was barely audible, but full of awe. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, eyes flicking between you and Steve. “Wait— it’s a boy?”
“Yes,” you said softly, laughing through tears that had already begun. “A boy.”
Steve pulled you close, forehead to forehead, breathing you in like he could memorize the moment with every inhale. “A boy,” he murmured. “Our son.”
Dustin waved his cupcake wildly in the air. “You’re kidding! I called it! I freakin’ called it!”
Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile softened as he brushed a hand through Dustin’s hair. “Yeah, okay, calm down, Henderson.”
Mike chuckled low, nudging El slightly. “Yeah it’s really happening. You two are parents.”
El’s small smile blossomed, eyes warm. She pressed a gentle hand to your side, then to her own chest. “I’m so happy for you,” she said softly.
Nancy stepped closer, arms folded, voice warm. “A boy, he’s going to be so loved.” Her eyes glinted with quiet emotion as she looked at the two of you.
Jonathan offered a small, knowing smile, hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Congratulations man.”
Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “You okay?” he whispered. “You’re glowing even more than usual.”
You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through his curls. “Yeah, just happy tears,” you admitted, letting your hand rest lightly on your stomach. “It’s really happening.”
The room erupted into overlapping chatter, laughter, and tiny squeals of disbelief. Everyone was still processing, pointing at their cupcakes, asking questions, bickering over names, and teasing each other—all while keeping their attention on the two of you.
Steve rubbed slow circles across your back, holding you just enough to ground you in the moment. “You feel that?” he whispered. “All of this.. it’s real.”
“I feel it,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “Every little bit.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger. “Our boy,” he murmured, voice thick with awe.
You smiled softly, hands brushing over his chest. “Our son,” you echoed, laughing through the tears.
The house hummed around you, alive with love, chaos, and excitement, and for one perfect, suspended moment, the world narrowed to the two of you, the small life growing inside, and the family that would surround him—messy, loud, happy, chaotic and utterly devoted.
