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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting.

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens.

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen.

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business.

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts.

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux.

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic.

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes.

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair.

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest. “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him.

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah.

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm.

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage.

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires.

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-”

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying.

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen.

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile.

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.”

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater.

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.”

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out.

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication.

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?”

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks.

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.” Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time.

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet.

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips.

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist.

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges.

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped.

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them.

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met.

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change.

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done.

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about.

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs.

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore.

With Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger. “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens.

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff.

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right.

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #thank you all for reading along on this series!#ao3 has alllll the tags if you're curious before reading #have a lovely day! xx

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frostandflamesfanfic · 1 year

Text

Secret Santa (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Secret Santa (Rated G)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: None! Although, I'm sure my interpretation of secret santa is incorrect -- just a heads up.

Summary: For Stevemas Day 11; This Christmas, Robin decided to host a holiday celebration to bring the party together. When she adds in a little extra magic by starting a secret santa, Eddie recruits himself to help you find that perfect gift for that special someone.

It took you three times to read the two words on the page before you could finally understand it. Steve Harrington was written in red glitter pen on the folded slip in your hand. It was unmistakably Robin’s messy scrawl, but it still felt as if it was written in another language. Surely this couldn’t be right.

“Alright,” came the voice of the aforementioned bubbly coworker. “Does everyone have a name for Secret Santa?”

There was a low murmur of agreement, followed by the crunch of paper, which spread throughout the Wheeler’s basement. Why you all continued to set up a base of operations in your best friend’s home remained a mystery. Perhaps you were just creatures of habit. Routines kept you safe, comfortable even.

“Who’d you get?” The low voice of Eddie Munson caused you to quite literally jump from your thoughts. When he noticed your flinch, the metal head gave a small tut of concern. “Hey, you’re alright, you’re okay. It’s just me. It’s just…me.”

Ever since the attack, you’ve been considerably on edge. While nightmares took over your nights, paranoia filled your days. Every action could set you off. Whenever you closed your eyes, you saw it: that place and the horrors it contained. It happened so often and it felt so real. Sometimes you worried Henry had made his return. You had taken to sleeping with your Walkman at night, just in case. Never again did you want to return to that hellscape.

Eddie repeated his question. “Who’d you get for secret Santa?”

“Why don’t you just mind your own business, Munson?” you snapped at the metalhead. “I think I’d be violating some sacred oath of the secret Santa if I told you.”

“I got Henderson,” Eddie supplied far too quickly. He rested his chin on your shoulder and tilted his head to look at you. “There. Now you have to tell me. And I know it isn’t me…you’d be grinning like the Cheshire cat if it was.”

You sighed and held up the slip of paper clutched in your palm. Eddie wasted no time in snatching it up like the little gremlin that he was. A slow quiet whistle escaped him as he took in the name. “Well damn,” he said. “Didn’t you get lucky? This should be easy as pie for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The curly dark-haired boy raised an eyebrow at you in surprise. “You mean you’re not?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“You and Harrington. You’re not…together or anything?”

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. Sure, you had found yourself spending more time with Steve Harrington over the last two years, but it didn’t mean you were together. The Upside Down had messed with each and every one of your friends, who you considered to be more like family by now. Your panic somehow ended up bringing you closer to Steve, a guy you only admired from afar during your high school days. If you had told your freshman self you would be swapping horror stories and spilling blood with King Steve, you’re pretty sure they would have a heart attack.

The truth was, Steve had turned out to be the exact opposite of what you imagine. He was gentle and kind. The two of you had formed an unofficial nightmare prevention club. The near-nightly meetings would consist of multiple-hour-long conversations over stretched out phone cords or late night drives around downtown Hawkins. Other times, it was just silently sitting in Steve’s dark and abandoned living room, grip tightened on small objects hidden under blankets. These moments were your battle scars and it would be a long healing process. Fortunately, the two of you had gotten really good at being there for each other in the meantime.

“No, Eddie,” you corrected with a heavy sigh. “We’re not together. We’re just–”

“Friends? Yeah, right,” your friend shook his head with an angry passion. “Don’t go bullshitting me here, kid.”

“I’m not-”

Eddie held up a hand to your face to silence your argument. “Listen,” he said. “You might not see it, but I do. All of us do, actually. The two of you have been practically joined at the hip these days.” He tilted his head toward Steve’s direction. The man of the hour was talking to Robin at the time, the two of them getting into another one of their half-hearted arguments over something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You can’t tell me there isn’t something there, babe,” Eddie’s tone now softened. “I see the way you look at him.”

Your lower lip became the punching bag for a barrage of anxious bites as his words echoed in your mind. I see the way you look at him. Was it possible you had feelings for Steve? You continued to watch him as he maneuvered his way through the party, Robin continuing to ramble on as she followed on his coattails. It was almost effortless how he moved, sending smiles to each of the kids as he passed by. They were genuine with their accompanying eye sparkle, something you knew after the hours of late night conversations.

It was a side effect of Steve realizing he didn’t need to change who he was to be respected by others. Besides his adventures with the kids, he talked a lot about his childhood and what it was like growing up with parents who were more concerned about appearance than their child’s happiness. He shared with you once how he felt being a member of a family meant acting in the world’s longest lasting play. You always had to play the part of the perfect person, he had explained, hiding your imperfections and letting go of the important things everyone else thought were stupid.

“Ya know,” Steve mentioned at one point, “I think my parents would care less if I came home or not when they’re in town. As long as I was making a name for myself that was…positive and they could compare to some other set of snobs. Not some nobody who makes a lousy four bucks an hour shelving tapes every day.”

It broke your heart to hear his story. “Steve,” you had tried to console. “You’re not a nobody.”

“Not to you, or Henderson,” he relented. “God, I think the kid would probably have a heart attack if I didn’t answer to his every beck and call. Damn kid thinks he’s entitled now.”

You didn’t miss the ghost of a smile that dimly lit up his gaze as he spoke about Dustin. That “damn kid” changed him for the better, you knew Steve was beyond grateful for that. If it wasn’t for Dustin– and Nancy breaking his heart– he could have just been another cog in the corporate machine with wandering eyes. Now he was a man of heart, who valued family no matter what, even if it wasn’t by blood.

“Hey, Eds?” you asked, eyes still locked onto the back of Steve’s too-tight blue and white rugby shirt. “Think you could give me a hand with something this week?”

The dazzling smile you received in response was more than enough confirmation. “For you, kid? Always.”

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Eddie, no.”

“But it’s real music!” your best friend argued as he waved the cassette tape in the air rather aggressively. “If you’re going to do this, you may as well culture him with the good stuff while you’re at it.”

“I want him to like it.” You shook your head and plucked the tape from his grasp, setting it back down in its place in the box. “If he blows his eardrums out in the process, I think he’d have a hard time being able to enjoy the rest of it.”

The metalhead clutched at his chest dramatically, followed up with a slow flop against his beaten mattress. “You wound me,” he mumbled into the pillows. A second later, he popped back up and leaned over the edge of the mattress. He seemed intent on finding something and soon sat back up with another smaller box clutched in his hands. “Try some of these.”

Intrigued, you frowned and reached for the box. As you lifted the top off, you noticed two tightly packed rows of tapes. You used your fingers to pry one loose and lifted it into the light. A snort escaped you as you read the label. “Blondie?” you asked, tone clearly that of amusement.

Eddie rolled his eyes and began his own search through the original box of tapes.

Another laugh sounded from you as you continued to dig through the selection in your lap. “Okay, okay. You have to explain why you, Edward James Munson, have not one, but two ABBA tapes in your possession.”

“Blame it on Buckley,” he mumbled back in a bitter response. “She showed up one day to show me what she thought was good music. Why people enjoy this shit nowadays is just depressing.”

“Then why do you still have this shit?”

The only answer you received was a bored shrug. “I let you come in here and use my stereo system and go through my music collection to let you make your present for your dream boy-”

“Steve is not my dream boy-”

“Ah bah bah,” Eddie cut you off. “Don’t interrupt the generous man, kid. I give you access to my castle to work on your project for free. It doesn’t mean you get the chance to interrogate me about my collection like some kind of FBI agent.” He flicked two fingers in your general direction. “Make your picks.”

Your eyes drifted back to the box in your lap, a small smile tugging at your lips as you searched. The idea of a mixtape seemed like a good idea at first, but now that you were faced with the difficult decision of what to include on said mixtape, your confidence faltered just a bit. You took a deep breath, eyes closing to help you better concentrate. What was it that you wanted this to say to Steve?

If you had the opportunity to say anything to the boy you had already bared most of your soul to, what would you say? Your heart rate increased as you thought about the look on his face in your bedroom window, sneaking in to comfort you when you had a nightmare: soft hazel eyes and an even softer smile on lips that would press into your hairline absentmindedly. You would cling onto the boy for dear life, terrified to lose your connection to reality.

Without even trying, Steve had become your rock– the anchor tethered you from straying too far with your deepest fears. You couldn’t do this without him and, deep down, you hoped he felt the same way about you. Suddenly, everything started to click into place and you knew what you wanted to say.

You just hoped that you’d be able to find exactly what you were looking for.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“You made it!” Robin exclaimed with a cheery smile. She was quick to envelope you into a tight hug. You had to hide the wince that threatened to be revealed when the hard plastic ornaments sewn into her christmas sweater dug into the fabric of your own top. “Are you ready for a good time?”

“That better not mean beer, Buckley,” you chided.

“‘Course not!” your friend beamed. You couldn’t tell if this was just her natural enthusiasm, or if she had already had a couple drinks too many. “We got something much more festive! Jonathan and Argyle made the eggnog!”

You blinked. With the two California boys in charge of the beverages, this would certainly be an interesting evening. “Jonathan and Argyle…made the eggnog?”

“Yep! It’s actually really good.” Robin held out her mug. “Try it! It’ll warm you up really fast!”

“I’m sure.” As you leant forward to take a small sniff, you were instantly greeted by the stench of way too much bourbon. You were taken aback by the dark-nailed hand of a certain metalhead reaching past you for the cup.

“Well, if you won’t, I will,” he said, knocking back the remaining liquid down into his throat. “Damn, that’s good.”

“RIGHT?!”

“...okay, Robs,” you said as you reached for her arm. “Let’s get you back inside. Maybe find Nance.”

“She’s with Steve,” the short-haired girl slurred. “Talkin’ ‘bout something.” Robin gave a vague gesture toward the living room area, where Steve was currently resting against the doorframe talking to Nancy Wheeler. The two of them were laughing, although you noticed Nancy giving a few concerned looks in Robin's direction.

You couldn’t lie, there was a slight twinge of jealousy in your heart as you witnessed the two of them talking again. Logically, you knew they wouldn’t be getting back together. Nancy had moved on years ago–twice actually– and was finally in a stable relationship with herself. Determined to make a name for herself at Emerson, she took on her independence with pride and was loving her experience. She talked so much about the journalism program that Robin decided to apply and would be joining her the following school year as a communications major.

You and Steve had a bet that it would only be a matter of time before they would eventually end up together. It was almost an arguable match made in heaven. Robin’s nerves combined with Nancy’s determination…there wouldn’t be anything the two couldn’t do. You just hoped that one day they would see it too.

As the two of you approached them in the living room, you caught Steve giving you the brightest grin. He held out one of the mugs he had been carrying over to you. When you tried to send him a subtle decline, he merely shook his head. “Not spiked,” he called out over the loud Christmas music blasting through the room. “Brought my own stash since I know you don’t like alcohol.”

You gave him a soft smile as you accepted his offering, lifting the drink to your lips. It was smooth and creamy, with those spicy hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. It reminded you of Christmas from the very first sip. The fact that Steve had remembered about your alcohol aversion made you warmer from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“Awww, aren’t they cute?!” you heard Robin whisper dramatically to Nancy. “I can’t wait until they see-”

“Isn’t it time for the secret Santa?” Nancy interrupted the jittery dirty blonde.

Completely distracted from her previous statement, Robin nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah, that’s right!” she exclaimed. “Can’t forget that! C’mon dinguses.”

As the gift exchange began, you couldn’t help but feel nervous as Steve lifted his gift out of the pile. You had tried to wrap it as neatly as you could, using paper you knew he hadn’t seen at your house before. The whole point of the game was for it to be a secret until the last possible second. How could you possibly eliminate that fun?

When it was your turn to go up, you picked up the package with your name typed– not written– on the card. Someone else seemed very adamant about keeping their identity a secret, too. As you moved back to your seat on the couch, your fingers anxiously fiddled with the neatly tied bow atop the small box. It was beautifully wrapped with blue and white paper, some of your favorite colors. Whoever this person was, they definitely knew you pretty well.

When Robin gave the go ahead, everyone took turns freeing the presents from their papery prisons. You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped you. Tucked inside the box was a cassette with your name on it. As you flipped it over to read the description, a smile graced your lips. It was a collection of some of your favorite songs. There were small marks next to certain songs, which you didn’t understand. Maybe it was your Secret Santa’s favorite, too.

Looking around the room, you tried to guess who could have gotten you the gift. You knew it wasn’t Eddie, as he had given Dustin one of his original dungeon master journals. It could have been Robin, but she was more enthused with Jonathan’s present of new patches for her denim jacket. You risked a glance over at Steve to gauge his reaction to his gift and your heart stopped in surprise.

He was staring directly at you.

Steve raised an eyebrow at you and tilted his head toward the front door. Can we talk? his eyes asked in a silent question.

You nodded and immediately went into the hall to grab your coats, shoving the new tape into the garment’s pocket. As you walked outside onto the front porch, Steve didn’t waste any time with what he wanted to say.

“It was you,” he questioned. “Wasn’t it? You’re my secret Santa.”

You nodded bashfully. “Look, I get that it’s nothing special, but I thought it could be something different.”

“I love it.” Steve took a few steps closer. “I just…I find it funny that even after all this time, we’re still on the same wavelength.” He pointed to your pocket. “Cyndi Lauper, David Bowie, Joan Jett…”

When you looked at him confused, he gave a small smile. “Those are all your favorites. You listen to them all the time when you’re stressed or you can’t sleep.”

“You’re my secret Santa…” it dawned on you slowly.

Steve blinked. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t expect you to know something like that,” you admitted. With some hesitation, you reached into your coat pocket and held out the tape. “What are-”

“The marks?” he asked. “Oh, yeah, I uh, I was wondering if you were going to ask me about that.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “You uh, sometimes when you’re at work, you hum to yourself. They’re mostly the songs on the tape but, you know. Those in particular…well, I like to hear you sing them.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, eyes searching Steve’s. It was almost as though you were looking at him– truly looking at him– for the first time in your lives. There was something hidden behind his gaze. There was a sparkle in them, almost as if he was laughing about an inside joke only he knew. It was mixed with a flicker of something you hadn’t seen before. Nerves? Sadness? Adoration?

Steve cleared his throat to break the silence. “And, uh, I wouldn’t mind being able to hear you sing them more.”

“So you made me a tape…to hear me sing karaoke?”

“Not…not exactly,” he stammered. “God, am I really not that obvious?”

Confusion struck you again and you tilted your head in silent question. What was he talking about? Now Steve seemed nervous– something you had never seen him be before in the years you had known him. Steve Harrington had confidence, he was cocky; he didn’t get nervous, especially not around you. “Steve, what are you-”

“I love you,” the three words blurted out of his mouth in such a hurry, you had to blink a few times to process the exclamation. “I love you and I’ve been in love with you for a while now. There isn’t anyone else that knows me like you do, who listens– and I mean truly listens– like you do. You don’t judge me, you don’t make me feel like the idiot I totally am.”

He paused for a moment to take both of your hands in his. “When I’m with you, I don’t have to act anymore. I can be myself around you and know that that’s the person I want to be for the rest of my life. You are the person I want to be around for as long as you’ll have me. I love you.”

With the way he was holding you, your body felt warmer than it would with any festive beverage. You weren’t imagining this, were you? Did Steve, the boy you watched from a distance for so long, just say he loved you? “You’re not- this isn’t-” you stammered. “Is this a dream?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispered softly as he took a step closer to you. “It’s real.”

He cradled one of his hands under your chin, tilting his own face to be near your own. The look he gave you asked if this was okay, and somehow you managed the slightest of nods in response. When he slanted his lips over yours, you immediately began to melt into his embrace. You hadn’t dreamed of this moment before, but it still felt like a fairy tale. It was soft and gentle, everything you could have wanted.

When you finally broke apart, a smile graced upon your lips. “In case it wasn’t completely obvious,” you said. “I love you, too.”

Steve grinned and pulled you in for another kiss. This one was a bit more heated, but it was just enough. To the two of you, nothing else mattered in that exact moment. All that mattered was that you and him were finally happy and you were happy together.

“Well it’s about time!!” Robin’s voice called out, forcing the two of you to jump apart from each other. You had been so engrossed in the moment, the two of you hadn’t heard the front door open behind you. “Thought you’d never get together. Now can you guys hurry up and come back inside? It’s almost time to eat.” With a huff and a smile, she closed the door with a solid thud, causing the two of you to start laughing.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” you whispered.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he replied as he pulled you against him once more so you could walk hand-in-hand back to your family.

================

Author's Note: Merry Christmas Eve to my readers who celebrate the holiday. Can you believe we're almost to the end of Stevemas already?! It's been a crazy two weeks and I really hope you all have enjoyed the (basically) daily uploads. This was a really fun fic to write and I have to give a shoutout to @familyvideostevie for the inspiration after seeing the secret Santa prompt on their 12 days of christmas list. Make sure to check out their works because they're amazing!! I also wanted to do something a little different this time around to make my fics more interactive, so I hope you enjoyed listening to the actual mixtape you made for Steve while you read this story! :)

If you enjoyed this fic and want to see more like it on my blog, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend, or reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's these other types of interactions that help to spread the word about my works. Not only that, but it helps me feel motivated to keep writing and posting content. If you're interested in getting updates on the final day of Stevemas or any of my other works, maybe consider giving my blog a cheeky follow. I promise I won't spam you too much with other amazing creators' works! :)

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove, @maddipoof

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