summary:: after a broken plastic tree sends you and your boyfriend Steve trudging through a tree farm days before Christmas, you find one that feels unexpectedly right. You still claim you hate the holiday but the photo on Steve’s camera tells a different story.
masterlist
word count :: 1.9k
pairings :: steve harrington x grinchy!reader
content warnings :: toothrotting fluff, slight innuendo but it’s so minor
writers note :: merry christmas my loves!!! who else is so scared for stranger things tn… cus i am. I’m getting so many asks about love like it’s ending..— i SWEAR it’s still happening im just so writers block rn and have parts of the story but can’t get the motivation to finish but trust it will be done. Anyways! as always thank you so much for reading, I hope you all have a lovely christmas<33
i do not allow my content to be stolen, copied or reposted anywhere else. do not put my work through any ai tools or generators
(stop using ai for gods sake.)
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The trees, the glistening lights that adorned every rooftop, the smell of hot cocoa and the ring of jingle bells… did not appease you in the slightest.
If anything, it made your skin itch with tackiness.
December always did that to you. You loved the cold, the feeling of the sharp bite of air in your lungs, the excuse to layer up, the way the world felt quieter under frost.
But Christmas? Christmas was messy. Loud. Too much of everything all at once. Too many expectations wrapped up in tinsel and fake cheer.
Don’t get yourself wrong— you loved holidays. Some of them. Emphasis on some, because wearing a stupid costume and getting blackout drunk was, frankly, your favourite way to celebrate.
Unfortunately, that only came once a year. And other than Halloween, there wasn’t a single holiday that really got you cheering.
But your boyfriend?
Oh, he was the complete opposite.
Steve Harrington treated Christmas like a competitive sport.
He was the kind of person who spent all of November saving and gathering decorations, as if the entire month existed solely for preparation.
His house was physical proof of it. Not a single corner was left untouched. Every surface or countertop sparkled with some kind of plastic LED bulb, a ceramic snowman or an aggressively cheerful nutcracker.
There were gingerbread scented candles everywhere. His bedroom. The kitchen. The coffee table. The bathroom shelves. Honestly, you weren’t even sure how you could still smell anything else at this point.
And then there was the mistletoe.
Steve carried a miniature mistletoe keychain in his jacket pocket at all times, ready to whip it out whenever the moment seemed fitting— which, according to him, was practically always.
When you were out, he’d let it dangle between his fingers with that stupid, knowing grin. When you were alone, it would hang lower, to which you never protested against
And sure, as the resident grinch, you should find it corny.
But you didn’t.
You found it… cute.
Just as long as he didn’t rub all of his Christmas cheer all over you.
Which is exactly what’s happening right now.
“Okay”
Steve says, clapping his hands together once, excitement practically vibrating off him.
“I need your opinion.”
That alone is suspicious.
You stand a few feet back, arms crossed loosely over your chest, eyes flicking toward the monstrosity in question.
His plastic Christmas tree— that he’s had for the 4 years you’ve been together. — standing proudly in the corner of his living room. It’s tall, perfectly symmetrical, and so aggressively artificial
Steve beams beside it.
“I spent two hours fluffing the branches”
He says, holding up the number two and practically shoving it in your face.
“Two.”
You squint, tilting your head.
“It’s… very green?”
You offer.
He gives you a look.
“Be serious.”
You sigh, stepping closer despite yourself. The lights are already on, glowing softly, reflecting off the ornaments he’s arranged with surgical precision. It’s not bad. It’s actually kind of nice. In a way that makes your chest feel tight, like you’re standing somewhere you don’t quite belong.
Your gaze drifts.
“Maybe”
You say slowly, pointing
“That branch could be shifted a bit? It’s sticking out weird.”
Steve hums, already mid-sentence about how the lights look better warm-toned than white.
You reach for it.
The second your fingers touch plastic, the bestowed upon tree betrays him.
It doesn’t just tilt slightly. It goes. The stand gives in with a sharp crack, and suddenly there’s nothing holding it upright. The tree slams into the floor with a violent thud, lights snapping dark as the cord yanks from the wall.
Ornaments scatter.
Glass hits hardwood and shatters— too many times. it’s sharp sound echoing through the room. One rolls clean under the couch. Another bursts completely, glitter and fake snow spreading like a crime scene.
You suck in a breath, frozen. You’ve just broken a relic.
A tree he’s had for more christmas’s’ than you could count, it had been there for all of your christmas’s and probably all of Steve’s.
This is where it ends. His jolly cheeriness and your relationship
“Oh my god”
Your voice is low, but loud enough to not be considered a whisper.
“Steve, I’m so—”
He’s staring at it. Kneeling slowly like he’s afraid the tree might jump him if he moves too fast.
He reaches out and lifts one of the broken ornaments between his fingers. It’s split clean in half, the little painted snowman smiling despite it all.
For a second, your stomach drops.
But then Steve lets out a laugh.
Not loud. Just breathy. A little disbelieving.
“Well”
He says, shaking his head.
“That’s… not ideal two days before Christmas.”
“I swear I didn’t mean to—”
“I know baby.”
He cuts in gently, glancing up at you.
“I shouldn’t have cheaped out on the stand. Or the ornaments.”
He looks back at the mess.
“And I guess the tree was getting too old for its own good.“
You kneel beside him, carefully nudging shards away with your sleeve.
“I’ll replace them.”
He nudges your shoulder with his.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
You look at him. Waiting for disappointment. For that flicker of frustration you’re so used to bracing for.
It never comes.
Instead, his eyes light up like something just clicked into place.
“…You know what?”
He says suddenly, standing.
“This is fine. It’s perfect actually”
“That’s a bold take.”
“No, seriously”
He says, already grabbing his jacket.
“This is fate. The universe is telling me— us something.”
You blink.
“That it hates us?”
He turns around with a grin that reaches his eyes.
“Tree farm time.”
“Steve.”
You say, gesturing at the calendar on the wall.
“It’s two days before Christmas, there will be nothing left”
“It’s the prime time.”
“That is absolutely not—”
He’s already pulling on his shoes.
“C’mon, baby. Worst case scenario, we come back with a lopsided little thing and a good story.”
You sigh, tugging your coat on anyway.
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The tree farm is… bleak.
Every decent looking tree near the front is already tagged and gone, sad little stumps left behind like gravestones. What’s left are the rejects. Trees with sparse branches, crooked tops, ones that look like they gave up halfway through growing.
Steve stands there, hands on his hips, scanning the rows like a man on a mission.
“Okay”
He says.
“We’re gonna have to go deeper.”
You snort
“That’s what she said.”
He doesn’t have a flicker of amusement, eyes still scanning
“Focus.”
He says before pointing ahead
You stare past the fence line, where the trees stretch on and on, thinning the farther back they go.
“Steve. That’s literally miles.”
“Perfect trees don’t live near parking lots,”
He says, already heading off.
So you trek.
And trek.
Cold seeps into your boots. The snow crunching and framing your shoe every time you move.
Your fingers go numb. You complain. He doesn’t listen. He keeps stopping, circling trees, squinting up at them like they might reveal their secrets if he stares hard enough.
“Nope.”
“Too skinny.”
“That one’s judging me.”
It feels like years of searching and sharp air biting against your cheeks.
At one point, you trip over a stump, barely catching yourself before you’re falling down hard.
Snow crunches beneath you, and for a split second the glittering ice scattered across the ground looks like shattered glass, it casting a sharp, blinding reflection everywhere. Your face stings as you hit the cold, breath knocked clean from your chest.
Before you can even swear, Steve’s hands are on you.
He hauls you upright with surprising ease, steadying you by the shoulders, eyes scanning your face like he’s counting freckles. He stutters out a light laugh
“Hey— you good?”
You nod, still a little dazed.
“Careful”
He mutters, half under his breath as he brushes snow from your coat.
“Gotta have some willpower if we’re gonna survive this walk.”
You scoff, but you let him pull you along anyway.
And then — finally — it happens.
“This one.”
The tree stands slightly apart from the others, like it wandered too far and never found its way back.
One side is full and lush, branches heavy and dark. The other is thinner, uneven, like it grew leaning toward the light and never quite corrected itself.
Steve steps closer, reverent.
He lifts a branch and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Oh my god”
He breathes.
“It smells incredible. Baby, get over here — it might put some jolly in you.”
He’s such a dork
You approach carefully, every step deliberate, eyes glued to the ground like it might trip you again. Your cheeks burn pink from the cold, from the effort, from the lingering embarrassment.
“Are you sure?”
you ask quietly.
Steve turns to you, practically glowing.
“Are you joking? Look at her.”
He gestures proudly.
“She’s a beaut. Perfectly imperfect.”
Your gaze drops to the snow.
“You used to talk about me like that.”
He barely has time to blink before he’s charging at you.
You laugh before he even reaches you. A startled and unguarded sound and then he’s got his arms around you, lifting you clean off the ground and spinning you in a messy circle.
“You’re in first place,”
He declares, breathless, burying his face into your coat.
“Don’t you worry.”
Then he’s picking up the saw off the ground
And well cutting the tree turns out to be… harder than it looks.
But Steve insists you help.
“No, no”
He says, placing the saw into your gloved hands, guiding them into position.
“You gotta be part of the process. It’s tradition.”
“It’s manual labour”
You grumble.
“Same thing.”
His hands stay over yours as you start sawing, slow and uneven at first. He adjusts your grip, pressing closer, his chest warm against your back as he murmurs encouragement like you’re doing something heroic instead of attacking a tree.
“That’s it”
He says.
“You’ve got it.”
Your arms ache. Your nose is numb. The saw finally breaks through with a dull snap, and the tree tips slightly before Steve catches it, laughing as it falls into his arms.
You stare at the plane, its floppy branches and uneven leaves. It’s stupid really but something about it feels… earned.
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By the time you get home, you’re exhausted.
Steve wrestles the tree into the stand, pine needles scattering across the floor, the scent of it instantly filling the house. It smells cleaner than the candles ever did. Real. Sharp. Alive.
Decorating is slower than you expect.
You hang a few ornaments. He rearranges them. You pretend not to care. He pretends not to notice when you fix one of his broken ornaments from earlier— glueing the pieces together with a focused concentration, tongue sticking out with precision. Steve smiles at that, a heat reaching his cheeks.
When the lights finally flick on, the room softens.
You both step back.
Like you noted before it isn’t the perfect tree— it’s far from that. The branches don’t all match. The top leans just slightly to the left.
But it’s yours. And maybe that’s what christmas is about
Steve pulls out his Polaroid from the top drawer of the console table, lifting it with a grin.
“Wait quick— Hold still.”
Before you can protest, the camera clicks.
He waits for it to develop, watching the image slowly bloom before smiling to himself.
“Wow”
He says.
“The first time I actually got you in a festive mood.”
You glance at the tree. At the photo. At him.
“You wish.”
He laughs, slipping an arm around your waist anyway, pressing a kiss into your hairline like it’s already settled— like this, right here, is exactly where he wanted you all along. Then he tilts your chin up and kisses you properly, slow and warm, tasting faintly of candy canes and him, and annoyingly you think that maybe this is how Christmas gets you, maybe you understand what it is
Maybe the holiday is finally bearable if it’s more years of warm kisses and Steve’s arms around you
You seem to have caught me at a very Japanese point in my life; we got Mikawa Yatsubusa (trunk ribbed for her pleasure), a mystery palmatum, and a Peaches and Cream varietal! All will be fun to work
Thinking of doing a cliff-side root over rock thing with this girl, she's looking regal post-prune. Yatsubusa is the most weed-looking Acer cultivar I've found yet lol
