જ⁀➴ reflexes
dad!steve harrington x fem!reader
when you thought you and steve were done saving kids with two left feet, but you went and had your own.
all those years spent fighting interdimensional monsters with a group of kids and clumsy teenagers sharpened you and steve’s reflexes.
you saved dustin from falling in the upside down multiple times.
steve caught a flimsy candle holder mike almost foolishly angered an 8 foot demogorgon with mid air.
you pulled lucas out of the way, saving him from dustin’s farrah fawcett spray that narrowly missed his eyes.
steve caught max before she rolled off his couch mid sleep, eyes still on the game playing on the tv.
you caught will’s plastic cup filled with paint-induced water that he accidentally nudged with his elbow before it fell to the ground and stained the carpet. not a single drop fell. “you were gonna get the stain out, by the way.” he smiled sheepishly and continued painting.
steve caught a stumbling el that was trying on your heels for the first time. they were a tad bit too high for her first try. she almost fell on her face, but steve was right there in front of her, hands on her shoulders as he straightened her back up.
so when you had extremely clumsy kids of your own, you two saved yourselves multiple trips to the emergency room.
it had been a long day.
your youngest daughter had a fit over her mushy breakfast and threw her bowl on the ground—or attempted. it had hardly even left her hands when you snatched it and slammed it back on the table. “no throwing, love.” you reminded, eyes stern but voice sweet.
your oldest was pushing your middle child on a cart on your porch before she got distracted by the makeshift ball pit. your middle child was edging dangerously close to the edge of the stairs, almost toppling down, at a speed that made your heart clench. steve pulled her back with a laugh. “close one, huh?”
you and your kids were all playing in the living room. you moved the coffee table out of the way and sat in the middle of the carpet. steve was passing by when your youngest seemed a bit wobbly. she wasn’t even a year old yet, but you were trying to get her to start sitting up. she fell backwards, but the throw pillow steve launched her way prevented her head from slamming on the floor. “good job, baby!”
you were making cookie batter, your daughter sat on the kitchen island talking about 3rd grade drama. you made a joke and she laughed so hard she toppled over the edge. you caught her by the leg and pulled her back up. “careful, baby!”
steve was in your backyard, teaching your middle child and her friend how to play baseball. your daughter held the bat and swung it, almost hitting her friend in the face had steve not held out his arm. he was thankful the impact was on his forearm and not the poor girls face. “watch the swings, hon!”
you and steve decided you were done with physical activity for the day. everyone were to sit still and watch a movie. and that worked out, for the most part.
your oldest was laying down on the floor, a bowl of popcorn right now to her, watching the movie intently.
your youngest was in her baby bouncer, your leg on it moving up and down to do the actual bouncing that never failed to lull her to sleep.
your middle child was laying on steve’s chest, mouth open, drool seeping, forming a little puddle on steve’s shirt. he was too far gone to even notice. his own mouth lay open, resembling your daughter. he had his right hand laying lazily on her back. she let out a little mumble and shifted. and shifted again. and again. until she decided the shifts weren’t satisfying enough, and decided to roll. if she had moved an inch, she would roll off his chest and onto the floor, right on your oldests head. his grip tightened and she remained in place.
you shook your head and laughed.
your six nuggets gave you enough practice for a lifetime.
