Tags and Warnings: Late Christmas Fic, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Love Confessions (kind of), Fluff, Sexual Tension, Making Out, Post Season 2, Mutual Crushes, Inspired by a Taylor Swift Song, Song: Wi$h Li$t by Taylor Swift, Domestic Fantasies
Word Count: 5552
Summary: Steve's parents' annual Christmas party sucks, so he doesn't even bother attending. Instead, he's rather spend the special night with someone who he's realizing means everything to him – you.
A/n: I am SO sorry, I literally haven't written anything in SO long. Also, a late Christmas fic, but I don't think anyone is gonna mind lol. Reminder to reblog and engage if you enjoyed! (Also... I have so many ideas for other fics... Aka this is my resurgence I think).
Steve Harrington Masterlist
A faint wintry chill runs through the town of Hawkins, signalling the end of December, as if the lights that were strung over rooftops and lampposts hadn’t already. The scent of cinnamon lingers almost everywhere, Christmas trees and stockings adorning every household but one. A house made entirely of shadows and absence, except on a night like tonight, when “business needs” overcame the habit of its owners to be off on some beach, pretending they didn’t have a son back at home who needed them.
While the majority of the town is opening gifts from loved ones and eating lovingly prepared homemade meals, Steve Harrington is holed up in his bedroom, hiding away from his parents’ annual Christmas party below.
He’s seen it all far too many times. No pumpkin pie, no turkey, no gifts thoughtfully chosen and received – just a bunch of people in their late forties eating finger foods and drinking dainty wines and handing business cards to one another like they were free tickets to the movie theater. Steve’s mother would “have too much to drink” and start undressing some entrepreneur with her eyes, and his father would promptly pop about fifteen blood vessels trying not to ruin their perfect image in front of their guests by completely losing his shit. But his mother was never really that drunk to begin with, and his father would always bring it back up again later.
In the darkness of his room, Steve feels nauseous just thinking about it. Either that, or the expensive perfumes and colognes of about fifty different people are melding into a smell that makes his stomach roll. He figures it’s probably a combination of both and prays that no one will come upstairs and demand that he take part in their mess in order to “bring honor to his family’s name,” or some other snobby bullshit.
The magic of the holiday season, so it was called, was difficult for him to wrap his head around. Sure, he had participated in a gift exchange with Tommy and Carol last year – back before their fallout, not that he particularly missed them much – but it was only a half-assed excuse of what Christmas was supposed to be. Gag gifts given to each other in Steve’s backyard the day after the holiday, after his parents would already be gone again, mostly an excuse for them to take advantage of the leftover liquor until they were all so drunk that jumping into the almost-frozen pool didn’t seem like a half-bad idea. Just a funny thing to do.
It’s not like those were bad memories, not necessarily. Just that that wasn’t him anymore. That Steve Harrington’s fall from grace, and further graduation and involvement in the slaying of interdimensional monsters and the babysitting of a gaggle of argumentative children, had changed something in his heart.
Well, maybe not changed, but rather softened him in a way. Melted away the too-cool-for-you persona into that side of him that he tried to keep away, the protective instincts that he only reserved for special moments prior. It was either that or the way that you had come into his life.
You, the kids’ actual babysitter, were dragged right into this whole mess alongside him. Down in those tunnels, back to back, painting those creepy vines that were somehow connected to Will Byers’ disappearance and reappearance in gasoline. You both lifted the kids out before yourselves – complaining about how they definitely should not be involved in this, but knowing you could do nothing to stop the determined little shits – and Steve remembers the very look in your eyes as you lit the match and dropped it. A kind of dedication and determination that made his chest flood with warmth, a funny feeling erupting between his ribs that he promptly tried, and failed, to ignore.
The next couple of months held moments where he tried to insert himself into your orbit, most of the time without even realizing it. Spontaneous appearances on nights when you were supposed to be watching all the kids at the Wheelers’ house, his excuse being that ‘he was there to keep you company so they don’t bore you to death with their nerdy game.’ Over time, you formed a friendship, or that’s what you both opted to call the stolen glances and the far-too-common-to-be-accidental brushes of your fingertips. Every touch felt like the flame reflected in your eyes that night in the tunnels, but Steve kept telling himself it was nothing, that he didn’t know what he wanted.
Until now, on Christmas night, when he has this indescribable feeling that something’s missing.
Maybe it is you who has him rethinking everything, has this holiday season feeling far more empty and lonely than the others before it. None of his usual efforts seem nearly as enticing, as fulfilling as they used to be. Whereas seasons before were filled with nonchalant indifference and annoyance at being his parents’ statue for the night, there’s a kind of longing, an ache deep in his bones that he can’t quite place. The feeling of being suffocated in a house that’s too big and empty, even when filled with people, of his mind and body being called to be elsewhere.
Before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea, Steve pockets his car keys and slinks downstairs, maneuvering his way through hordes of people who don’t recognize him until he exits the front door. The sound of a car door slamming is barely heard over the chatter of snobby, fake laughter.
–
It’s nine o’clock on Christmas evening, and you’re at home, cozy and warm in a bed full of blankets after a long day of being spoiled by your adoring family, and yet you still can’t sleep. There’s a restlessness in your muscles, almost uncomfortable, the way you keep wishing that there’s something more.
Your parents and extended family had given you everything on your wish list, every minuscule thing you had asked for, because you knew that if you asked for more than they could afford, they would find a way to make it happen. You were always like that, far too aware of everyone else compared to yourself, willing to take less if it meant someone who needed it got more. So this feeling – this yearning that’s so strong it makes you sick to your stomach – almost makes you feel guilty for being a little selfish.
That tiny part of your brain that knows reason, that refuses to believe the delusion you’re trying to convince yourself of, tells you that this is because of him.
Steve Harrington. The boy with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen and the most infuriatingly handsome smile.
The very thought of him brings heat to your face and a stutter to your heartbeat, a reaction you’ve tried to starve away by pretending to hate him. Not that your attempts ever fully made it out of your brain, apparently, because you knew the way you looked at him, all wide eyes and lingering glances, like he’s some story that you can’t stop reading to go to bed.
You knew that if you told any of your past friends from school, they’d think you were crazy or trying to play a prank on them. The Steve Harrington that everyone else saw was the most stereotypical high school boy ever, effortlessly popular and surrounded by people who enjoyed gossip and anything that would bring the next high, no matter how morally reprehensible or childish that may be. Most people saw him as the same, an extension of that toxic culture of eternal pissing contests, but you had never fully subscribed to that idea.
Maybe you were truly deluded, or your little crush had originated long before you were willing to admit, but you had always noticed the small things no one else bothered to. The way he seemed to try to get Tommy and Carol to cool their badmouthing when it was anything that escalated above petty nonsense; the lengths that he would go to for them or especially Nancy Wheeler; the genuine regret and contempt that was in his eyes after he had to clean his friends’ graffiti off the theatre, which he effectively took the blame for…
Those moments had always made you believe that maybe Steve Harrington was someone different, someone trapped by the confines of their own surroundings, and his selfless protection of all the kids you babysat on the weekends had only proven you right. The only connection he had to them was that Mike was Nancy’s brother, and yet he had still gone headfirst, obliging all of their ridiculous requests to… apparently save Hawkins and their friend? You still weren’t sure what it was all about, but you knew that you were right there with him when he did it, something akin to understanding and appreciation in your gaze the whole time.
If you were being honest with yourself, which you weren’t, you’d have to admit that you hadn’t stopped thinking of him since.
Being in proximity was like being cursed with the most embarrassingly annoying ailment ever – like you were incapable of not oogling at him when he was around. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d tried to sneak glances at him, always getting pissed off at how effortlessly gorgeous he was.
There were reasons he was popular in school, aside from how much money his parents had and his charming wit. They were found in the curve of his jaw, the way his brown eyes turned to honey in the sunlight, the freckles that were placed sparsely on his face like painted there by some Renaissance guy who would later become known as one of the greats. Beautiful in the moment, yes, but fully appreciated years later, when someone who really knew their shit could stumble across it and decide it was a masterpiece.
Somewhere deep in your soul, you think you can be that for him. Some Renaissance guy.
Still, in the darkness of your room and the warmth of your bed, the thought feels crazy. Definitely the time to get some sleep, before you start meticulously daydreaming about the color scheme of your wedding like a middle schooler with a parasocial crush on a boyband member.
Goodnight, and Merry Christmas to me, are the final sardonically anticlimactic thoughts you have before falling into slumber.
Until an undisclosed amount of time later, when the sound of something metallic at your window nearly makes you jump out of your skin. It starts slow, a tiny scratching noise that gets chalked up to your needy cat wanting to be let in and is promptly ignored, if your sleep-ridden brain could even make the conscious choice to avoid it. But then it turns into louder scraping, your hyperactive mind thinking of demogorgon claws tearing through walls, and your body snaps up like a puppet on a string. Someone is trying to break into your window.
…On the second floor?
Luckily, you don’t have much time to question it, or to panic, because with a flick of the latch and a gust of cold air, the glass slides up and none other than the secret object of your affections tumbles in.
Steve catches himself on the edge of your dresser with his palm, legs caught in an unnaturally criss-crossed position to keep him from falling straight on his pretty face. Like it was all intentional, he shoots you a grin that’s equally smooth and sheepish, a combination that’s quite dangerous to your poor, poor heart.
“Hey,” he says, as if he didn’t just break and enter into your house – your room, even – in the middle of the night.
You should be mad, probably fuming, if you had to guess. No one should be coming through your window unannounced, jumping in like they own the place, then having the nerve to stare at you so expectantly, with eyes so soft and wide and obvious, like you should have known this would happen, it was just a matter of time. Like maybe your thoughts somehow summoned him and he was here to make your dreams come true.
All that presumptuous bullshit would normally piss you off, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything other than cross your arms over your chest, a minuscule sign of annoyance that comes across as anything but. More for show than meaning anything.
“What are you doing here?” The words leave your mouth before you can even process them, meant to hold an edge of command but destined to sound exactly how you feel – hopeful – the boy an answer to the silent prayers your sleepy thoughts had manifested into.
Steve avoids your gaze after the question, his neck turning a splotchy pink that you might be imagining in the dark. For the first time in his obnoxiously confident life, he actually looks nervous.
“Uh,” he starts, free hand rubbing the back of his neck. All it takes is one moment of his brown eyes meeting yours for him to visibly soften, shoulders relaxing as the muscles in his forehead loosen, and he’s dangerously close to normal. A warmer kind of normal that lets all the butterflies in the world into your stomach. “I just had to see you.”
Damn him. Damn him for always knowing what to say, for always knowing how to keep you impossibly flustered and taken aback. Most of all, damn him for reminding you that whatever this was between you was anything but one-sided.
You can’t let him have the upper hand, though. Not this quickly. You were never one to give in without a fight, or in your instance, without some witty banter and stares that practically dared him to do something, and that was undoubtedly another reason he was so obsessed with you.
“What, you’re telling me Steve Harrington has nowhere better to be on Christmas night?”
There’s a purposeful edge to your words, sure, but you don’t expect him to cower away at them. He glances down at his feet, expression darkening with reality in a way that makes your stomach knot in anxiety.
“Just some stupid party…” You internally wince, suddenly remembering the kids bickering with him about the best Christmas traditions. Less bickering from him, more… discomfort, like he hadn’t really known what to contribute to the conversation. You’re about to apologize – you don’t know what his home life looks like but you had heard the rumors when you were in school, had noted his parents’ absence from the lines of smiling, supportive graduation guests – but he beats you to speaking. “I ditched them.”
The air feels thicker, heavier. The implication’s clear: I ditched them for you. I ditched my parents for you.
“Oh,” is all you can say, head swimming in the tension, a fish fighting against the strong ocean current. Your body feels itchy, tingly all over, undoubtedly a side effect of the lingering electricity.
He flickers over you for a second, resolve and something unknown on his features, and you’re worried he takes your stunned lack of an answer as rejection. All of that fades as he seems to regain confidence before your very eyes, one deep inhale and it’s as if he’s reminded of where he is, where his heart had led him to wander tonight.
Two long strides forward and he’s right in front of you, sandalwood and vanilla invading your nostrils like smoke. You’re suddenly aware of how small your bedroom is, how easily it was for him to close in on you, towering over you in a way that was intimidating and intoxicating, positive and negative ends of a magnet, impossibly drawn to one another. You have the impulse to back up just to watch him chase after you.
You can feel his eyes raking over you, absorbing your appearance like it’s the first time, tracing a pattern he yearns to follow with his hands. From cheek to jaw to neck, before settling there. One corner of his mouth quirks up and his hands move, fingers twitching with restraint as he lifts the dainty chain from against your skin.
“Pretty,” he says, voice low and filled with admiration, and you can’t tell if he’s talking about the necklace or how you wear it. “You get this today?”
You nod as his touch slides along the chain, taking the central gemstone between his index finger and thumb. The heat of his hand is almost touching you, the back of his fingernail nearly scraping your collarbone.
“A gift from my grandma.” The answer is simple and true. When you’d opened the small box and found the trinket inside, the shimmering glow of the raw peridot had instantly reminded you of Steve. An exact replica of the green specks in his eyes that were only visible in the sun. It probably shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did to have a piece of him so close to your heart, even if it was just a symbol that only you would understand.
You debate telling him about it, but decide against it.
You also consider asking him what kinds of gifts he received earlier today, but you’re fairly certain you know what the answer will be. Neither of you want to think about that right now. Not when he’s close enough to be able to read your mind, and not when he’s scarily close to letting his hands roam wherever he wants them.
“I’ve been thinking…” Steve speaks softly, betraying the way his eyes linger on the expanse of your neck. His fingers keep rubbing across the stone, thumbing over every rough edge of the mineral as a muscle in his jaw twitches.
He pauses, seemingly unsure of himself. After a few seconds of agonizingly staring, he must find something in your expression that urges him to continue.
“I woke up this morning to a whole bunch of snobby rich people in my house.” He feels like he could laugh at himself for starting with that, but he also can’t be bothered enough to care. Not when he was doing this, telling you the things that had kept him up at night, as of late. “Talking about vacationing in the Bahamas, and paying their kids into Harvard, and buying thirteen different kinds of yachts–”
He cuts himself off with the shake of his head and a short, breathy laugh, not quite bitter but nowhere near amused. The disdain in his tone makes you want to fight someone, gives you delusions of grandeur where you think that maybe you’re destined to save him from such a lonely, shallow life.
“And it’s all nothing to me.” His hand drops the necklace and finally settles against your neck. His palm can feel the rapid beating of your heart through your pulse point. He looks at you like he’s trying to tell you something without saying it, like he’s searching you for what he knows is already there. “It’s everything that they want, and everything that they think I should want, and I don’t.”
The sincerity of his words shake the both of you. Steve had spent too many years trying to fit into the mold his parents wanted – star athlete, handsome, well-liked – but it was never enough. He had grown defiant enough not to care about the way his father chastised him for not being smart enough, the disapproving frown on his mother’s face when she compared him to the sons and daughters of her wealthy friends. His unwillingness to change transformed their actions from disappointment to contempt, and ultimately to total ignorance.
His parents reasoned that if he refused to be the perfect beacon of pride that they wanted, then they’d simply stop caring at all. “Business trips” became so frequent that the Harringtons coming home was more of a vacation than being away from it, and while it hurt and Steve could never lie and say it didn’t, maturity hit him hard.
The lavish, luxurious lifestyle that he so often had to hear about from distant relatives and his family – Hell, even Carol and Tommy had bothered and teased him about it numerous times, that infamous green-eyed monster fueling every petty comment or “joke” made – was cold and empty. A box full of broken promises, a bed that looked warm but had shards of glass hidden beneath the covers. Steve realized then and there that he never wanted any of it.
Maybe it was coming from a place of privilege, to never have to worry about being fed or having to pay the bills – even when his parents were away, they weren’t evil; they still had the decency to send him envelopes in the mail with more than enough money to make ends meet – and he was aware of how lucky he was for it. But there was still something missing. A meaning, a purpose, there had to be something more to this…
The thought abruptly crosses his mind, about how ungrateful and unappreciative he must sound – words in his head that sound suspiciously like his father – and he grimaces and backtracks.
“I sound like a total jackass–”
But you break in before he can commence with any more self-doubt, the question on the tip of your tongue, “Then what do you want?”
His expression shifts, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed just slightly, just enough to portray his confusion and apprehension. Whatever it was he expected, it wasn’t that.
“What?”
Your chest squeezes, too tight to feel like you’re getting enough air, but you repeat yourself anyway. Too late to back out now.
“What do you want, Steve?”
He’s a deer caught in headlights, all wide eyes and mouth left gaping open. You’d think that you just told him some world-ending news, like a demogorgon ate his grandma, not just asked him such a simple question.
You get the feeling no one’s ever asked that before, that his feelings, wants, needs are the least of anyone’s concerns. No matter where tonight leads, no matter the outcome of this, you internally vow to change that.
Steve looks down, eyes flashing back and forth like they’re running through a marathon of thoughts. He’s focused on the pattern of your shirt, but you can tell he’s far off, conflicted. It takes a couple of moments of tense quietude before he lets himself go back to staring at you, like he’s wordlessly made some giant decision in his head.
His thumb smooths over the side of your neck, whether to soothe you or him, you have no idea.
“For a long time, I didn’t know,” he starts, voice a little shaky, not entirely sure of himself. “I was younger, and stupid, and none of it really mattered. Nothing mattered besides what was cool or funny or…” He relives those years mentally and his mouth twitches downward, clearly disappointed and embarrassed at his past self.
“Nothing long-term even crossed my mind,” he admits with a half-laugh, half-scoff, like if he could take it all back, he would. Something sharp shoots through your chest, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he continues.
“And then there was Nancy, and it all felt… right. Right, but wrong at the same time.” He lets out a heavy breath that fans across your face, your lips. He’s never told anyone any of this before; it’s obvious in the tension of his forehead, worry lines surrounding his frown. “But even if things didn’t happen the way they did, it wouldn’t have worked. I could… always tell. We could never be what the other needed.”
He swallows hard, teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.
“I never wanted anything. Not seriously. Not even then.” You can piece together the unspoken, the expectations for him to have no desires other than what was expected of him. From his family, from his old friends. Maybe even from Nancy, whether intentional or not.
You open your mouth to speak, to say anything to prove him and all of those other people wrong, but he beats you to it again, his other hand raising to rest on your cheek. The air shifts, less uncertain and somber and more soft, caring. The distant haze leaves his brown eyes, and he zeroes in on you, memorizing the arch of your eyebrows, the smoothness of your skin beneath his partially calloused fingers. His earthy, sweet scent encapsulates you entirely, and you can’t tell if he’s leaning in or if you’re so far gone that you’re imagining it.
“I only realized lately,” he almost whispers; you’re his personal confessional booth. “That all of it, all of that bullshit is what they really, seriously want, and I…” He trails off, the fondest half-smile on his lips, nothing short of adoration in his gaze.
How much time passes is a mystery. He’s lost in your eyes, and you’re lost in the way he looks at you, like you’re a precious piece of glasswork, delicate and beautiful, dutifully worth protecting. Sacred, gorgeous, enticing to put his hands on… It could be twenty seconds, or it could be twenty years. If someone told you either, you would be inclined to believe them.
“I just want you.”
Deep in your gut, you knew those words were coming, but it was still nothing like hearing them. Suddenly, your mind and stomach are welling with an array of thoughts and feelings, drowning in emotion.
Everything you’d hoped for was true, was confirmed in such a devastatingly adoring manner. You’d spent too much time wondering, dreaming about addressing that thing between you, and now that it was here, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. All you can muster is a reverent whisper of his name.
“Steve…”
And that’s all it takes. The dam breaks and he’s everywhere all at once. He knocks into you with enough force to take your breath away, the both of you stumbling backwards. One of his hands moves to the small of your back to catch you as the other holds you both up, sturdy against the edge of your bedframe. His mouth is hot and hungry, working against yours with a fervor unmatched, converting all of those lingering glances, brief touches, wandering thoughts that spread like tantalizing wildfire directly into unfiltered need.
He’d liked to imagine his first time kissing you would be softer, gentler, but part of him always knew it would be this.
Steve smoothly guides you back onto the bed with practiced ease, his hands readjusting to your face, your waist. His touch burns as it slides just beneath your shirt, grasping at your bare skin as if he’s afraid he’ll never get to feel it again. You open your mouth for him eagerly, no signs of hesitation, and he struggles to contain the groan that escapes him.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, a silent plea for him not to move, not to leave. To stay right where he’s at, body hot and tense with electricity and want, hungrily pushing you back against the mattress. You let him incessantly kiss you, following every needy movement of his lips, every crash of his tongue against yours, a wordless admission with each sigh, with each tiny noise that reverberated from your mouth to his. I want you. I need you.
He pulls back to breathe, a disappointment to you both, but apologizes quickly by pressing open-mouthed kisses across your skin. Moving from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, he leaves a hot trail of saliva that makes you writhe. You’re both breathing heavily and his hand is moving up your side, mind fuzzy with a blinding desire to keep doing whatever it takes for you to keep letting out those noises that are making him feel dizzy.
“Want you,” he whispers against your neck, breathless and strained, continuing between kisses. “Everything, all of it…”
Between his words and his hands moving up the smooth, soft expanse of your stomach, you can’t think of anything but him. Just Steve, Steve, Steve… His warm fingertips, how soft his lips are, the heated honesty of every murmured word. It feels like devotion and destruction all at once, knowing that you can never be the same again, not since you’ve had him like this.
“Wanna spend the rest of my life like this,” he says, well aware that he’s approaching dangerous territory, but he can’t stop. “Wanna have some stupid white picket fence… Big house, kids everywhere… Teach ‘em to play basketball in the driveway…”
A shiver rolls down your spine, undoubtedly felt by him. If either of you were at all logical in this moment, you might shut up, but you don’t. It made your blood feel like it was on fire, to be needed in such a sincere, life-altering way. Steve was basically one step away from committing to forever with you and this was only the first time you’d kissed. What else he might do if you take things further makes your stomach twist, squirming beneath him at the very thought.
You don’t think when you answer, acting on torturous impulse, “Please.”
Please means many things. Please touch me, please don’t stop, please promise that you mean every word of what you said. Please don’t take all of this back tomorrow. Please show me how serious you are, let me give you what you want…
Steve pulls back, taking his warmth with him, and just stares down at you. Heated eyes bore into yours, and he’s searching, thinking, trying to figure out which of those things you’re really asking for. Trying to come up with a shred of self-restraint so he doesn’t do this right here, just like he’d imagined far too many times before, because goddamnit, he was a gentleman, he should at least take you out to dinner first–
Fortunately – or unfortunately – he doesn’t have the chance to decide because fate does it for him.
The sound of footsteps ascending stairs jars you from each other, both of you turning to stare at the door to your room anxiously. It never opens, but that’s reminder enough that you’re not alone, and that you’d be playing a dangerous game by getting it on when your parents and extended family are also in the house. Damn the holidays and the fact that your family had been too stubborn to stay in a hotel.
Steve sits up, running his hands through his hair before looking back at you, frustration clear as day in his furrowed brows. He sighs softly and then shakes his head, disappointed and all too aware of the fact that he just said some pretty heavy stuff to you mid-makeout. He finds that he doesn’t regret it, even though he’s blushing.
“I, uh, should probably get home.” He hates how the words sound on his tongue, hates thinking of spending more time away from you, especially when you just got started, but he’s not stupid either. God knows what time it is or what his parents might do if they ever figure out that his car’s not in the packed driveway.
“Yeah.” You don’t disagree, but the look on your face shows that you despise the thought as much as he does.
Steve stands up and tries to make himself look presentable again, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes and the absolute mess that was supposed to be his perfect hair. He does a half-assed job of it and then gives up, deciding that he probably wouldn’t run into anyone to question him anyway.
He looks back to the window and then pauses, like something’s just crossed his mind.
“I’m serious,” he says, louder than before but quiet enough not to raise any suspicion for anyone else. “Everything that I said.” He’s got this determined look in his eyes, a promise that he means what he says, a threat that this will be finished the next time he can get you alone. You visibly shiver in response.
“I know.” Your voice surprises you, rough from the way he’d kissed you breathless, thoughtless. Surprisingly, you like the sound.
Satisfied – or as satisfied as he can be, for now – Steve approaches the window and unlatches it again, thinking about how much has changed since he broke in earlier. He smiles to himself, ready to hop back out into the chill of Hawkins when you break into the silence.
“Merry Christmas, Steve.”
The words are simple, straightforward, probably meaningless to anyone else, but Steve’s never heard them genuinely. He’s never heard them from a loving family member, from someone who acts like he’s important enough to be the guy who created VHS tapes. He’s never heard them from soft, winded lips…
He turns around long enough to reveal how much that means to him – adoration and something one dangerous step away from love on his face – and shares the sentiment back to you.
“Merry Christmas, honey.”
As he slinks out the window and tries to maneuver himself off the ledge, he’s beaming. He doesn’t even curse under his breath when he nearly falls and lands on his foot the wrong way.
His first real Christmas present ever was you. He thinks that you’ll probably always be his favorite.
[1.6k] softly sung lullabies, heart-warming scenes and dad!steve all wrapped in one.
based off this ask.
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You were exhausted.
Not just tired, but ‘deep in your bones’ exhausted to the point you were surprised you hadn’t fallen asleep behind the wheel (and grateful that you didn’t).
You knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Everyone had told you it wasn’t going to be easy, but fuck, if you weren’t stubborn and adamant that you could handle it all.
You could handle being a young mother to a child barely under a year old. You could handle going back to work after a long, challenging maternity leave. You could handle the life-work balance everybody told you was impossible to maintain.
You were so fucking sure you could handle it, and now a month later, you were pretty sure your brain was one more breakdown from just completely giving up.
HEYYY @yoalchumly and i desperately need your help 😭😭
so basically her phone is an iphone and she cannot message me (non iphone) UNLESS she turns on airplane mode, turns it back off, and then the message sends. but if she wants to send another message then she has to do it AGAIN. literally someone PLEASE help we have no clue what we're doing and we have to keep calling each other to try and figure it out literaly help 😭😭😭😭😭
idk if anyone has ever said this but "how you get the girl" is also so very steve in my opinion!! something about the whole "i want you for worse or for better i would wait forever and ever broke your heart i'll put it back together" screams steve to me.
STOP I AM OBSSESSED WITH THIS!! THE SONG IS SO STEVE!!
okay but like hear me out...this song with steve and wednesday!reader👀like everyone telling him its a bad idea and its not worth it and that she will just break him, but he still falls for her despite what everyone says about her and there just being this side of her that is a little softer than normal that steve brings out in her and steve just adores it
and he would be so chuffed about actually “getting the girl” even if people are scared of his girlfriend🥲
[1.4k] or wendesday!reader, a secret santa draw and a very flustered and ambitious steve harrington for the first day of christmas.
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At first, Steve Harrington was elated to draw your name in the Secret Santa.
It was the perfect set up really. He adored Christmas—despite the fact he often spent it alone—he loved the songs and the decorations and the lights, the happiness that just seemed to take over the month of December. He prided himself in being a good gift giver, with money to spare and people he cared about to spare it on, it was truly meant to be.
And you.
Well, against all logic of anyone in Hawkins, Indiana, resident sunshine boy Steve Harrington had fallen for you. What started off as an innocent crush on a local weirdo had become something more and there was no denying he was absolutely and completely enamoured by you.
It was a perfect Hallmark set up if it weren’t for the fact that Steve had no fucking idea what to get you.
i have to revise some of my poems and i was wondering if anyone could help me with suggesting revisions? or with things that could be done more effectively?
i saw someone else do this and IM DYING to know so... if you had to assign each mutual a taylor album what would they all be assigned?
i already know i'm gonna forget people because i still, unfortunately, do not have all of my mutuals on my list (ugh i keep forgetting :") ) but here we go!! if i don't tag you i'm sorry, and if you reply i'd love to add you!! <333
starting with ally since she sent this in :)
ally @yoalchumly - red tv. not only because you listened to atw10 for HOURS upon hours in a single week lol, but also because a lot of how we met and the things we talked about remind me of the topics of this album. also, you have the very sincere, heartfelt and emotional (not at all in a bad way) nature to you, and to me that's what encapsulates the red album <3
lily @my-my-only-angel - (first of all i am SO sorry we hardly ever interact, but ily!! my tumblr feed sucks these days and i rarely ever see your posts but i still very much appreciate you!!) to me, you are SO cool it's not even funny. and you have the best bad bitch energy (a lot of people here a going to be hearing this btw so be prepared) so ultimately i'm bestowing upon you reputation!! you give off the vibes of someone who is unapologetically and confidently themselves, and i really admire that in you! that energy is absolutely present and rep and there is why i associate it with you!! <3
ela @lovelyela - (i know you're still kind of inactive but that's totally okay! i've been a mess about my blog recently so it's not biggie, but i wanna include you anyway so i hope that's okay!!) every time i've spoken to you, you have been absolutely so kind and sweet! you were one of my first even stranger things related mutuals, and i'll never forget that!! for that reason, i'm giving you debut album taylor swift!! you have the very kind, shy kind of vibe that that lbum has as a whole to me!! <3
natti @natti-ice - okay. you are literally so cool i'm not even kidding. like i am SO honored that you're one of my mutuals/friends and i LOVE always seeing you in my feed! so i'm also giving you reputation because, again, you have amazing energy that's very confident and you're just SO cool <3
vic @royalmaybank - we haven't interacted in like. a REALLY long time and i am so sorry!! i absolutely need to catch up on what you've written recently!! to me, you give off both the vibes of lover and folklore, but if i had to ultimately pick one then i think i'd go with folklore! the softness and calmness of it all, combined with the way that to me, every song on that album feels so made with love reminds me of you!! <3
anna @keeryshouse - anna!! we haven't talked in SO long but i'll literally never forget the first time we talked!! i always looked up to you a lot and that was just so so special to me! (and also when that anon said they thought we were the same person. literally one of the highest compliments i have ever received 😭) i'm giving you evermore!! for a lot of reasons haha. your writing is absolutely amazing - you write scenes and characters and just EVERYTHING so well - and to me you have the steve harrington fanfic equivalent of evermore's amazing lyrical genius. also!! your writing also makes me SO emotional, no matter the genre or what's happening in the story, and i think that's another thing that evermore does amazingly and so do you!! <3
ava @lxvecakes - you are so absolutely lover. from your theme to your love of pink and the overall softness of your personality!! you have such amazing and sincere lover vibes, and you were absolutely the easiest person for me to choose an album for, honestly!! not only are you absolutely enamored with love and being in love, but you're also such a lover yourself and i think that's absolutely amazing and beautiful!! <3
anna @steddiesandwich - a little unrelated but i absolutely miss talking to and interacting with you!! i still see you on my dash on occasion but i do miss some of the little convos we used to have because they were so fun! if i chose an albm for you, i'd choose midnights! i feel as though your blog is very organized, but you also have such a wide variety of ships and characters from stranger things that is so refreshing to see, and it reminds me of the ways in which midnights is basically bits and pieces of all of her other albums, a gian variety that is tied together beautifully, and that so reminds me of you and your blog! <3
lo @noirgoths - lo!!! i adore you and talking to you so much, and you've been so kind and have been there for me so much in the past few months, and i am so so grateful for that! :) you're someone who's very honest and genuine, but you're also so so cool too!! you're very strong and independent in ways that i wish i could be, and that reminds me a lot of midnights and how the songs there are both very open and sincere and are also self-aware and uplifting at times!! <3
bee @sunflowerharrington - we haven't interacted in a while or very much, but i still look up to you a lot and wish we did talk a little more!! but no worries because honestly i'm a little shy lmao; anyway! from what i've seen of you and how we've interacted together, you remind me most of midnights as well! (sorry 😭 a lot of midnights album recipients in a row but it's simply my opinion :") ) you have a lot of the qualities that i identified with lo; unapologetic sincerity regarding yourself and who you are, etc, and i know that we don't talk that much so i could be totally wrong, and that's my bad if so! (also i hope this isn't awkward because i'm cursed with not knowing how to talk to people :") ) <3
brooke @circesstars - oh my gosh. you are SO so kind and considerate and helpful, and i'm so glad that you're always open to helping me with things when needed!! i love when we randomly talk late at night (lmao) and discuss the absolute most random things :) for that reason, and a few others, you most remind me of 1989! a lot of songs on 1989 are about friendship and how important being with friends is, and that along with your general vibes really reminds me of 1989! (i genuinely hae no idea how to describe the vibes thing, so my apologies lmao. you just very much remind me of moving/visiting new york with all your closest friends and having the time of your life while there :) ) <3
athena @puppy-coded - i'm so glad that we became mutuals a little while ago!! your energy and vibes are, as your url says lol, very puppy coded and i love that! you have such an energetic and fun vibe and i love it, and thus you remind me of 1989 in that way (that's totally different from brooke's 1989 vibes?? idk how my brain works, oops-) anyway :") <3
persephone @very-offkey-kazoo - i love love LOVE talking to you so much!! the little dad jokes everyday and just talking to you about anything in general - including, ofc, cat pics <3 - makes me so happy and i always love hearing from you each day!! i value your friendship so so much!! the album i'm giving you is speak now, which makes more sense to me personally than it probably will vibes or content wise. speak now is the taylor album that i largely associate with the best parts of my childhood, and even though we haven't been talking for this long, talking to you is so easy that it feels almost like i'm talking to someone i've known since i was that little :) maybe that's weird - idk :") - but!! that's the album that i most associate with you <3
OKAY i'm done!! as i said if i forgot anyone i am SOOO sorry, please let me know and i'd love to write you one!! <333
hmmmm compelling. literally all i have to do is include a few bs lines about repetition as a form in poetry, but i just wanna sob because i am WAY too lazy to read the poem again even though its only like a 14 short lines 😭
okay 😭😭 i'm gonna write it now :")) mabe give me like. 15-20 mins and then i'm starting the giant steve + rep + a few extra secret bonus songs analysis :))
hmmmm compelling. literally all i have to do is include a few bs lines about repetition as a form in poetry, but i just wanna sob because i am WAY too lazy to read the poem again even though its only like a 14 short lines 😭
prguitarman
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