Ok this song came up on my Spotify today and I swear this is a Hellcheer fic prompt! If there already is something like this please send it my way!
Quote that sold me
"But she thinks that he looks like Elvis
When he runs his fingers through that jet black hair
And sometimes she forgets an order
'Cause she's so struck by him and stops and stares"
Summary of song. Guitar is playing in his band and girl is a waitress. He loves watching her work and she loves watching him play. The whole song is about how their love is bigger than anything because they have each other.
My friend fosters kittens and trains them before they find their fur-ever homes. Please consider any donation that you are comfortable with and everything goes to the kitties.
My friend has dedicated her time and heart to fostering kittens who have been abandoned. She ta… Ashley K needs your support for Help Foster
My friend fosters kittens and trains them before they find their fur-ever homes. Please consider any donation that you are comfortable with and everything goes to the kitties.
My friend has dedicated her time and heart to fostering kittens who have been abandoned. She ta… Ashley K needs your support for Help Foster
જ⁀➴ ♡ Coach Steve Harrington x School Nurse Reader
Summary: You’re finally starting to feel like your life is moving forward, a decent job that you’ve learned to love. However, the new teacher at school seems to be living in your office with an army of injured children.
જ⁀➴ ♡ Pure tooth-rooting fluff, Steve’s down bad.
A/N: I legit haven’t written a fic since like… high school? But my obsession with this man made me write this in about 2 hours which is faster than I wrote any of my university essays of shorter word counts. Yes I head cannon him having to wear glasses occasionally because he keeps getting black eyes when he's younger.
Word Count: 2,528
Hawkins Elementary wasn’t different at all. The lingering smell of disinfectant from being used on desks, crayons where they clearly didn’t belong and something odd burning in the cafeteria made you feel like you had stepped into an old memory.
Except this wasn’t through the eyes of your 10-year-old self.
Instead, you stood here, long skirt, blouse tucked in and heels clicking against the floor as you prepared your office for another day’s rush of scraped knees, twisted ankles and pretend stomach pains so kids can get you to call their parents to pick them up.
It wasn’t always your plan to pick up nursing, if you’d asked yourself at 18 where you wanted to end up your answer probably would have been something like anywhere but Hawkins. But after everything that happened, the lockdown, you struggled to leave. This was your home.
Apparently, you weren’t the only one.
As you rounded the corner quickly running to grab your morning coffee before starting day you’d failed to recognize him from the back. Clad in khakis instead of tight jeans, worn out sneakers, the faded Hawkins Elementary staff polo stretched across his broad shoulders, whistle clad around his neck as you remembered a notice about a new P.E. teacher starting today.
But the styled messy mop of brown hair eventually gave it away.
Steve “the hair” Harrington, circa 1985 was standing directly in front of you with a confused look on his face as he blocked the coffee machine.
“Oh-hey” he says tugging at the whistle around his neck like it had personally offended him “sorry am I-“he says turning around unsure of his surroundings.
“no. no I just-“you quickly chime in stopping yourself from saying I didn’t expect to see you here.
Steve shifts uncomfortably on the spot as you both cut each other off as he appears slightly nervous. “New. P.E. teacher as of Monday. Which is clearly today”
“Right” you say truly taking in his appearance. “I’m the schools nurse”
“Great!” he smiles almost relieved “Love that, we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other than”.
You don’t know why that small smile makes butterflies flutter in your stomach.
You do know him, technically, in the same way that you know someone who existed in the same space as you for 4 years, and who in the small town of Hawkins Indiana hadn’t heard of him. You remember him leaning against the lockers, his members only jacket slung over his shoulders. You remember the girls that orbited around him like he was the sun and whispered down the hallway. You remember the sighs from teachers as they called his name at the beginning of class.
But you don’t remember ever speaking to him directly.
And he doesn’t appear to remember you either-not as far as you can tell from the 4 second conversation in a sleep deprived Monday morning state. His eyes don’t light up with a -hey were you in my class? Just polite.
“(Y/N)” you offer.
“Steve” he says likes it a necessary response.
And you smile despite yourself.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
By Wednesday, Steve Harrington has personally escorted seven children to your office.
Seven.
The first comes in crying over a scraped elbow clinging to his arm like life support. The second a mean twisted ankle that sends her home with a pair of spare crutches you kept in the back. The third claims he is definitely dying because a dodgeball hit him “in the feelings”.
You give Steve a look at you hand the kid an ice pack as he makes himself comfy on one of your beds.
“I didn’t even use dodgeballs” Steve says defensively holding his hands up in the air. “They were foam.”
“Coach Harrington” you say tired pinching the bridge of you nose in defeat, “it’s nine-thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah” he sighs “I know”
You learn quickly that Steve throws himself into everything.
His lesson plans that are a little too ambitious for his 10-year-olds, into recess games with the kids that end in scraped knees along the pavement and multiple bandages, into being personally responsible for a cohort of 30 kids whole start to idolize him way too quickly.
By the end of his first week, you’ve already started to keep extra ice packs in the fridge expecting him to rock up with the latest victim of his schemes and have bandages on back order your hoping will arrive on Monday.
“I swear I’m trying to keep them out of trouble” he tells to you one afternoon slumped into the chair next to a small girl as your clean the cuts along her palm and wrap her hand. “They just… keep getting hurt.”
“They’re children” you say, “it’s kind of their thing.”
He huffs out a small laugh, then sobers “Still. Feels like I should be better at this.”
The words land with both of you heavier than he intends.
You glance at him, really taking him in. A faint scar lingering on his jaw, his leg bouncing nonstop as he tries to sit still. The exhaustion creeping in behind his eyes started to darken.
“You don’t have to be perfect” you say gently offering him a glass of water.
His gaze flicks up to meet yours taking a glass from your hands, his fingers lightly ghosting over yours slowly sending small chills up your spine as his expression tightens “I know.”
You don’t believe him.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
You slowly realise that what you thought was first time teacher’s nervous behavior, isn’t.
Steve Harringotn never just sends a kid to the nurse’s office.
You notice it the third week of school.
The first week you give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s his first time, he cares for the kids, he’s scared if they’ve been seriously hurt in his class or on his watch. The second week you think it’s out of obligation; this is what he thinks a teacher must do.
The third week? Now that’s just patterned behavior.
He stands in the doorway knocking softly on your open door, one hand resting reassuringly on a crying first grader’s shoulder, voice low and calm as he explains what happened.
“She tripped during tag” he says. “Didn’t see the cone”.
You nod, smile at the kid and usher them inside.
But Steve doesn’t leave.
He stands leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching closely as you clean the scrape and carefully hand over an icepack.
“You’re going to be okay” you give the girl a small piece of candy from the secret stash in the draw you wouldn’t dare tell the principle about. “You can head back to class.”
They nod at you happy and quickly scurry off.
Steve stays.
“Everything okay?” you ask starting to fill in your paperwork from the incident.
“Yeah” he quickly giving you a small smile. “Just making sure”.
You shrug it off.
The next time it happens, it’s a bloody nose, then a headache that mysteriously disappears the moment you offer up your crackers and water.
Every time, Steve escorts them himself.
Every time, he lingers.
At first you think back to your first true conversation, its diligence, its responsibility, he cares. After everything that Hawkins has been through, maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of letting anyone walk alone.
And then you notice that he always knocks when the door is wide open. He always waits to help you settle the kid before relaxing himself. He always finds an excuse to stay long after you’ve dismissed the kids – asking questions you’ve answered a hundred times at this point. Did you always want to be a nurse? Why didn’t you leave Hawkins? Why is there never any strong coffee left in the staff kitchen? And he’s leaning on your desk like he has nowhere else to be.
“You know” you say one afternoon as you peel open yet another ice pack, “you don’t actually have to supervise the nurse’s office.”
Steve smiles, sheepish. “Yeah, I know.”
He still doesn’t leave.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
By late October as the leaves have long since turned orange and fallen to the ground, small pumpkin lights decorate your office as the scent of cinnamon lingers thanks to a candle in the corner, you realise the kids have started to notice too.
“Coach Harrington always walks us here!” a little boy tells you proudly as Steve hovers near the door. “He says it’s very important!”
Steve clears his throat rubbing the back of his neck, he’s wearing a tightly fitted white tee shirt under his Hawkin’s Elementary coach’s jacket. “It is important.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”
“Very”, he insists. “Safety first.”
The kid leaves but Steve stays.
You turn to him on your heel; arms crossed over your chest now. “You going to tell me why you’re really here? Or should I just start scheduling your visits on my calendar?”
He laughs, showing you a charming smile you used to hear girls talk about back in high school. “I just like to make sure that you’ve got everything you need.”
“You mean like bandages?”
“Yeah... and you know” he gestures vaguely. “Company.”
Your chest tightens in a way that feels familiar, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome.
Because the truth is, you’ve started to look for him too.
You hear his voice as he approaches in the hallway and you focus automatically drifts away from whatever you’re working on. You catch yourself praying that voice will be followed by a knock not caring if it’s a scraped knee or a stomach fake out.
He’s different here to how he was in high school, quieter, gentler, almost treating every kid like they’re his own. You see the way the kids look at him with stars in their eyes, how they trust him with every secret, how they cling to him in playground begging him to join and how he never pulls away.
You also see the way he watches you.
Like your office is safe, that you’re safe.
One afternoon, he brings in a girl with what you believe is a fractured wrist and he stays longer than usual, too long, as you call her parents.
“You can go” you tell him softly. “Your kids must miss you.”
He hesitates. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure Steve.” You say dropping formalities.
He nods, eye flicking up to yours and finally stepping back – but not without looking like he’s memorising your face, how your hair falls into your face slightly as you sit next to the small girl pulling her into a gentle hug, reassuring her and drying her tears.
You pretend not to notice the blush creeping into your face afterwards.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
It continues like this for months, until school is almost packed up for the year.
Steve escorting the kids. Steve hovering around. Steve even begins finding reasons just to stop by even when no one is hurt- “Just checking the first aid kit!”, “The gyms out of tissues,” “do you happen to have any more of those band aids with the dinosaurs on them?”
And you let him.
Because the truth is, you like it. You like the way he softens in your presence, visible seeing his shoulders drop the moment he sees you and steps into your familiar office. You like how he talks to you, not the loud, untouchable boy you once knew of, but someone who’s quietly asking to be seen, to be understood.
You like him.
And still, neither of you say anything.
Until the day he doesn’t bring a kid.
The knock on the door comes across sharp and urgent, desperate.
You look up to see Steve leaning in the doorway holding his head as you see blood dripping down his forehead and between his fingers a split in his eyebrow.
“Steve- oh my god” you say pulling him inside immediately. “What happened?” your hands already beginning to work frantically examining the cut as he sits down on the edge of the bed.
“I- I took a basketball to the face, and my glasses broke and split my eyebrow” he says, voice tight. “Its fine. I just- “
“You’re bleeding,” you say interrupting him with a stern look on your face.
“Yeah,” he admits. “I know.”
You carefully lift his chin up to look at the cut better as you put gloves on and carefully clean the cut with saline. Causing him to hiss a bit.
But it’s not just the stinging.
He’s shaking.
Not from pain – you’ve seen worse injuries come through your office without that reaction.
“Steve” you say quietly, “look at me.”
He doesn’t, eyes averting yours to look at the wall full of posters behind you.
You press a few steri-strips along his eyebrow helping to close the cut up. “Why do you always stay?”
Now that gets his attention.
He laughs weakly, “What?”
“Every kid” you continue despite the pounding fear in your chest as you take you gloves off washing your hands and sitting next to him. “You escort them, you wait, you don’t leave, why?”
He swallows nervously.
“I just- “he exhales sharply. “I just don’t like leaving people alone when they’re hurt, especially not kids.”
“That’s not all” you say.
Silence is thick between you, it stretches and lasts longer, heavy in the air.
Finally, he looks across to you, his eyes glassy and full of fear.
“I like seeing you” he says finally.
The words fall out of his mouth like a confession he’s been holding inside for too long. “I don’t know how to just- come talk to you. So, I stay. I pretend it’s about the kids. But really, it’s because of this- “he gestures around the room. “-this feels safe. And you- “
He breaks off breath hitching as his hand comes up to tuck a hair behind your ear. “You make me feel safe, and everything is calm.”
Your heart aches.
“Steve,” you whisper looking at him with wide eyes.
“I didn’t want to be weird,” he says quickly. “Or cross a line. Or make you uncomfortable. I just- needed an excuse. I was so scared you just thought of me as that jerk from high school.”
You slide slightly closer to him, your hand coming to rest on top of his gripping to the edge of the bed.
“You never needed an excuse” you say.
He looks at you with shocked eyes like he doesn’t quite believe you yet.
“so” he asks softly, “is this okay?”
He looks down to your hand on top of his as he treads his fingers into yours giving it a light squeeze.
“It is,” you smile at him. “But next time- “
He tilts his head slightly with a slight smirk.
“Next time” you finish “you come and see me without someone bleeding.”
A smile spreads across his face/.
“Deal” he says “no ones going to bleeding when I take you to Enzos on Friday”
You let out a small laugh, and for the first time, when he leaves your office, you know he’ll be back – not because he has to, but because he wants to.
If you live in UK, Ireland or Australia, please watch Nautilus on Prime Video which was released last Friday.
It's a tv series serving as a prequel for Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas and even if it's not perfect, with low quality CGI, "simple" dialogues and a fast pace that doesn't serve the story, it's a real journey across all over the world, from India to exotic island and to the depths of the ocean, with good characters, girlpower (Loti my beloved!), some nice twists and a dark tone in some scenes even though it's family-friendly most of the time.
You may want to stop after episode 6, one the best episode btw, but if you watch the series and got attached to the story and characters, you will understand why I say you will wonder if you should continue but trust me, you have to, you won't be disappointed.
I started this today and I am charmed. It’s charming. The cgi is in fact mediocre but I don’t really mind - the costumes and sets are lovely and the acting is good. I like the characters (I’m obsessed with Loti) and I want to lick margarita salt off Nemo. I’m in it, I’m invested, I wanna see what happens next. I’m adopting Jiacomo immediately.
"tumblr's the only social media without algorithms!" "you can still be anonymous on tumblr!" "tumblr's so nice because you don't have to show your face!" WRONG tumblr is special because you can have 3000 followers and still get an average of seven likes a post. i'm doing stand up comedy at a packed venue and one person is laughing
