#HIS FLUFFY SPIKES AND HIS OFF KILTER STARS

[a-a-a-anon]

[harringtown]

i’ve got some people who carry me

merry christmas to all of those who celebrate it, happy hanukkah to those who celebrate it, and happy wednesday to those who dont celebrate at all! have some fluff anyways! a fluffy robin fic is also coming today!

Summary: the reader surprises Steve and the group on Christmas Eve (aka some good ol’ tooth-rotting fluff)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

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The first Christmas after Starcourt was held at the Wheeler’s home, with an invitation extended to anyone and everyone who didn’t have anywhere else to go. The Byers drove in from Maine, taking over the basement, and on Christmas Eve, the downstairs room was stocked full of people. Joyce was upstairs with the Wheelers, the Sinclairs, and Dustin’s mom, having grown up time, whilst the kids and teens gorged themselves on cookies and eggnog downstairs.

You weren’t supposed to get into town for another three days - to be blamed on a storm that grounded flights near your college - and therefore, weren’t expected to show. But you weren’t about to miss the holidays, certainly not this one. The last place you wanted to spend Christmas was in an airport lobby, waiting for a plane that might never come. So, you’d hopped into your car and driven through the night, only stopping at your home to drop off your bags before heading to the Wheelers.

The adults showered you in merry christmases and how are yous and hugs before sending you down the stairs, where your friends waited. You stopped halfway down, happiness swelling in your chest at the sight of the party downstairs. Max, El, Mike, and Lucas were unwrapping candy canes from the tree and creating mini shivs, Dustin and Will enveloped in what looked to be a spirited discussion about eggnog with Jonathan, and Nancy and Robin were giggling uncharacteristically as they sipped said eggnog. Their cups, you guessed, had been spiked.

And then there was Steve, readjusting the star on top of the tree, brows furrowed and lips pulled thin in concentration as he balanced on a small ladder. He lost his balance for a beat and grabbed onto the wall to steady himself, free hand holding the star in place. Once it was steady, he held his hands up and shuffled around on the ladder to face the others.

“Third time’s a charm,” he said, “as long as no one else-” he looked pointedly at Robin and Nancy “-topples into the tree, we should be good.” His gaze skated over you, and rocketed back, his brows knitting together. His lips parted and he lost his balance once again, nearly falling off the ladder as he climbed down it and turned to face you.

“What the-” he started, only to be interrupted by Robin, who squealed and set her eggnog down, running to you and throwing her arms around you. The force of the hug rocked you backward, and you laughed as you held onto her, balancing you both. She smelled of vanilla, and most predominantly, alcohol, when she pulled back to smile at you.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” She exclaimed. Nancy moved in next, nudging Robin out of the way to hug you just as tight. She was just as off-kilter as Robin, the pair a bumbling, tipsy, giggly mess; a mess that you’d missed fiercely.

“You’re here! I thought the storm-”

“I said screw it and just drove.”

“Hell yeah, you did!” Robin said.

“Could we all stop hogging my girlfriend?” Steve asked, and you remembered suddenly who you’d come to surprise. You disentangled yourself from Robin and Nancy, who grabbed their cups and held their free hands up in surrender as they moved out of the way.

Steve had you wrapped up in his arms in seconds, smelling of pine trees and peppermint and something indescribably Steve. His hands were warm against your cold skin, drawing the ice out with every brush of a finger. He ducked his chin and buried his face in your neck, lips hot against your skin, stray hairs tickling your cheek.

“You’re here,” he murmured, quiet, only for your ears. You pulled back and cupped his cheeks in your hands, lips curling up in a smile.

“But your flight-”

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” you said. “Missed you too much.”

“Not as much as I missed you,” he said, ducking to press a kiss to your nose.

“It’s true,” Dustin said, eavesdropping as always, “he hasn’t shut up about you for…how long have you been gone?”

“Three months,” you replied, turning in Steve’s arms, his hands shifting to your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“He hasn’t shut about you for three months!”

“Oh, leave them alone. You’re just bitter your girlfriend couldn’t come,” Nancy teased. Dustin stuck his tongue out at her, mature as ever.

“Come on,” you said, pulling away from Steve and taking his hand, tugging him after you. “Your present is in the car.” You were accompanied by whistling from the others as you headed for the stairs, to which you flipped the bird to anyone watching. Steve followed you up the stairs and past the adults, even more intoxicated than they’d been last you passed them, and out into the cold. You stopped outside the door, porch illuminated by the soft yellow lights strung up around the doorframe, hanging over the edges of the roof. Steve continued for the car, but you held tight and he stopped, turning to face you with a frown.

“Your car-”

“Your present’s at my house,” you said. He was only confused for a beat more before a sly grin tugged on his lips and his hands found your waist, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt and settling against the small of your back, cold - though not unpleasantly so - against your skin.

“Is it a good one?” He asked, arching his brows. You wound your arms around his neck and smiled, butterflies fluttering inside your belly, that tickle of nerves that had plagued you the entire drive flitting away, finally.

“It’s pretty good,” you said. “But it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. My parents are hosting some party, and I won’t be able to get to the tree until all those drunkards are out of the way.”

Steve cocked his head and shifted closer, that wicked grin only widening.

“Sleepover?”

You scoffed.

“You’ve got to stop calling it that.”

“That’s what it is!”

“When we were eight!”

“Still a sleepover,” he said, bending down and brushing his lips against yours, gentle and careful. You rolled your eyes and pulled him in for another, resolve crumbling, the two of you pressed more closely together than was probably appropriate for the Wheelers front porch.

“I’ll come, if you promise to stop calling it that,” you said. “We should probably get back inside. Before they send a rescue party. And you know how that ended last year.”

Steve frowned, remembering the multiple snowballs he’d taken to the face, and nodded, reaching out to open the door back up, the warmth from inside the house pulsing out to greet you.

“No promises,” he said, taking your hand again. “But you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“You think you’re always right.”

“Oh, go inside,” you said, giving him a tiny shove. He smiled at you over his shoulder and you made your way back into the house, rejoining your friends downstairs. It was a motley crew, but it was yours. And you were finally home, at long last.