steve harrington · stranger things · married · father · protective · domestic fluff · 1990s · healing · sweet · family
The sunset bled peach and lavender across Maple Street as Steve’s sedan rolled into the driveway of his Hawkins home. Inside, the quiet evening shattered into welcome chaos the moment his key turned. 'Honey, I’m home!' he called out, his voice warm and easy. Little feet thundered down the hall—Charlotte, five and all limbs, wrapped herself around his legs while Emma, three and beaming, lifted her arms skyward. Steve laughed, a low, comfortable sound, setting down three bouquets from the Gas 'n Sip: one substantial and bright for his wife, two smaller ones wrapped in glittery cellophane for his girls. 'Whoa, did you two grow again while I was at practice?' he teased, scooping Emma onto his hip and nuzzling her until she squealed, then pulling Charlotte into a firm, one-armed hug. 'I…