10 Works by cuips_not_cute
Listing Works
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Summary
A sex tape is…crazy. It’s totally crazy. It wouldn’t work, and it's worse than any of Steve’s other ideas because…well, because Steve is straight. And hopeful. And stupid.
It wouldn’t work.
“No way,” Eddie says. “I’m not gonna make a fucking sex tape.”
Steve leans down, gets in his face. Eddie’s breath hitches.
“Why not?” Steve asks. “You scared?”
In the months following Vecna's death, Eddie is facing triple murder charges and a lifetime in jail. With Dr. Owens gone off the grid and a town that hates him, that plea deal his lawyer offers him is looking pretty sweet.
Enter Steve Harrington, who is having none of that.
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The Agony Of A Loving Gaze by cuips_not_cute, lollaika
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
16 Jun 2024
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Summary
It's supposed to be a simple drug deal. Eddie's used to those. What he's not used to is Hargrove offering him Steve Harrington as payment. As Eddie gets caught up more and more in Hargrove's abuse and struggles to make things better for Harrington, Steve is also struggling with isolation and self hatred. When the Upside Down crashes into Eddie's live, Steve and Eddie meet very different versions of each other. While Eddie is slowly but surely falling for Steve, he has no hope of Steve forgiving what he did and even if that happened, surely he wouldn't reciprocate Eddie's feelings. Or will he?
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There’s a bottle on his neck and a boy pressed against him.
Steve should be terrified. He’s shoved higher up the wall he’s pinned to, the boy’s eyes wild beneath his tangled mess of hair, his breath all rasp and spit and fear.
The bottle presses closer, harder, almost enough to break skin.
Steve knows it won’t, though, because this isn’t the first time he’s been here.
Or, Steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. Saving him means ending his torment, and it also means falling in love.
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Eddie doesn't particularly like the smell of blood.
However, he's growing awfully used to it.
It’s what he’s choosing to focus on. The smell of it. How it burns his nose. Clings heavy in his throat and fills his lungs with its thick, metallic haze.
That is, when he can breathe.
It’s awful hard to breathe.
But he’s trying. God fucking damn it, he’s trying. And it hurts worse than anything, worse than the bites or the torn flesh or the aching all over. It burns worse than the smell. He can’t tell if it’d be easier to breathe through his nose or his mouth, so he just sort of heaves with his mouth open and hopes that air gets in somehow.
He might be dying.
Steve says he’s not dying, very insistent on that, in fact, but Eddie’s not sure if he believes him.
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There’s a few things Eddie notices when he wakes up.
One, he bites his tongue. It hurts. Of course. The weird thing, though, is he doesn’t taste blood. But he knows he bit it hard and it’s throbbing behind his teeth. He tastes something, and his mouth feels wet but there’s no metallic flavor (metal. He likes metal. He’s remembering). It’s smoother. More earthy.
Two. He’s alone. Completely. No Dustin. Or Robin or Nancy or Steve or anyone.
Three. He’s sore. His whole body aches, his skin is thrumming with it. His neck especially, and his sides like where Steve was bitten, too.
Four. He’s got to blink a couple times to realize this one. Let his eyes adjust from the pitch black of being closed to the dim blue haze of the Upside Down. Yeah, that’s what he realizes. He’s still there.
Five. He’s fuckin’ starving.
In which Eddie wakes up with sharp teeth, Steve has a thing for tongue piercings, and it takes a while for them to figure out what all of that means.
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Eddie Munson isn't very good at puzzles.
Well.
He can make them, sure, in the form of weeks-long campaigns for his bandmates and a ragtag group of now sophomores he'd come to adore. He's great at making them. Great at making villains that his party thought they'd had figured out, beaten, only to make a quick 180 and have them come back from the dead for a final, earth-shattering fight. Yeah. He can make them.
What Eddie Munson can't do when it comes to puzzles, is figure them the fuck out. Especially, it seems, when the puzzle comes in the form of a boy one year younger than him and slightly shorter when you don't count his mass of gorgeous hair that makes him, falsely, look taller than Eddie. This puzzle had saved the world with him, had saved him when he was sure he was a goner.
The puzzle's name, of course, is Steve Harrington. King Steve, to many, Hawkins High's golden boy, rich and charming and apparently, a fucking badass.
Eddie never stood a chance.
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Perhaps Ed ought to stop drinking. He isn’t drunk now, in fact, he’s been sober a whole six hours, but he’s pretty sure heavy drinking can have effects that linger even after you’ve pissed all the alcohol out of your system. For instance, he’s pretty sure he is hallucinating a familiar blond figure walking toward him across the deck. Blackbeard digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, but when he moves his hands down, away from his face, the figure is still there. What’s worse is it’s reaching for him, an apology falling out of its pretty lips as soft hands clasp his own.
It’s not a hallucination.
In which Stede comes back, leather pants are too tight, and Stede has a bit of a thigh thing.
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"Christ, Aziraphale! Are you trying to imprint my arse on this wall? Because I think you just did."
"No, of course not. I thought it might work."
In which they are very stupid, and also very in love.
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“You know, I’ve always wondered what all the fuss was about those. Humans call them ‘love bites,’ too. But they’re just bruises, why do they like them so much?”
Crowley doesn’t know what makes him say it. He could blame it on the wine, sure, or anxieties leftover from the still-too-recent tricking of their bosses. Or perhaps, it is simply because the angel looks too beautiful that night, flushed face and curious words construed as an invitation for something. Something more.
“I could give you one. You know, if you really want to know what they’re like.” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s a mistake. Stupid demon, he thinks. Always going too goddamn fast.
In which Aziraphale gets very drunk and wonders what a hickey is like. Crowley cannot stop himself before he's offered to give him one.
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Crowley’s heart thudded. “Should we be as drunk as we are, angel? I can sober up, if you’d like.”
“No. Don’t want to be sober.” Aziraphale paused for a moment then said, “Wouldn’t have the courage.”
Crowley stilled. He knew that whatever was said next would change things. He just wished he knew how.
“Crowley I—” Aziraphale took a deep breath, preparing himself for something, glancing over his shoulders like he was making sure they weren’t being watched. At last, he spoke again in a voice barely above a whisper. “Crowley, my dear, I love you.”