Come Watch Eurovision We Got:

come watch eurovision we got:

funky uncle squad ready to throw hands with the nearest dictator

human neon conga line

thor in a toyota

pagan wedding rituals

edgar allan poe

token boyband

tiny woman in a box

possessed barbie dolls

xena, warrior singer

matrix cosplayers

glam rock fire lord ozai

cyberpunk ninjas and modern art sculptures

and lastly, europe when the votes come in

CIGARETTES & DIOR 𝙸𝙸𝙸

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beta read by my beloved @raelwrites

—enemies (?) steve harrington X reader, follows along with 'the flea and the acrobat' and 'the monster'

[if anyone wants to be tagged let me know]

when 1983 entered november, there weren’t very many things you expected to occur. some fights perhaps, a date here or there to humour nancy, academic pressure. what you weren’t planning for, and surely not what the rest of the residents of hawkins were planning for, was a funeral.

sure, you could finally wear that all-black suit at the back of your closet, but it also meant having to acknowledge that something was seriously wrong in hawkins.

and that’s not mentioning all the fucked-up shit you and your friends had seen.

“this is where we know for sure it’s been, right?” jonathan said, holding the paper at an angle so that both you and nancy could also see.

“so, that’s…” nancy points at one of the red crosses.

“steve’s house.” jonathan nods. “and that’s the woods where they found will’s bike, and that’s my house.” he lists what the other two crosses represent and you can’t help but notice just how close everything was.

“it’s all so close.” you voice, and jonathan agrees.

“I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. whatever this thing is, it’s… it’s not traveling far.”

“well, there’s gotta be like, somewhere it rests, right? if no one else has seen the thing then I mean…” you trail off, though nancy seems to understand what you’re suggesting.

“you want to go out there.” her tone makes you hopeful that she won’t think your idea stupid.

“we might not find anything,” jonathan says, though nancy is quick to defend the idea.

“we found something.” she tilts her head at you, and you grimace when the creature flashes through your mind. “and if we do see it… then what?” you hadn’t thought this far ahead.

but it seems jonathan had, because after a brief sigh he states, “we kill it.”

when it became clear that you were all serious, jonathan folded up his makeshift map and stood. quickly moving to follow him when he starts for the parked car nearby you wonder aloud what he’s planning.

“jonny-boy, wanna fill us in on your plan? ‘kill’ is a very broad idea, you know.” you try to keep your voice down, aware of the still-mourning towns-folk present.

when jonathan reaches the car, he quickly situates himself in the passenger seat and begins to fiddle with the lock on the glove box.

“what are you doing?” nancy questions, and you jump slightly having not heard her approach.

“just give me a second.”

“we’re looking mighty suspicious, that second better end soon jonny,” you remark, placing a hand on the bonnet to lean on.

“are you serious?” nancy suddenly asks and you look through the windshield only to see jonathan move a gun from the compartment to his jacket pocket.

“oh, what the- holy shit. how do you even have that?” you gawk, quickly looking around to make sure no one was close enough to neither see nor hear what was currently happening.

“what? you want to find that thing and take another photo? yell at it?” jonathan steps out of the car and with the slam of the door, nancy begins to voice her disagreement.

“this is a terrible idea.”

“shh, no- nance, this is a fantastic idea. the fuck were we gonna do against some creature from the black lagoon looking weirdo?” while the appearance of a gun in the equation throws you off, you can’t help but realise that it’s necessary for what you all had planned.

jonathan agrees with you, looking at nancy while adjusting the new additions to his pockets, “it’s the best we’ve got. what? you can tell someone, but they’re not gonna believe you. you know that.” jonathan points at you and says your name, “- knows that.”

“your mom would.” nancy strikes back, as if the poor woman didn’t have enough going on right now.

“she’s been through enough.” jonathan voices your sentiment.

“she deserves to know.” nancy continues to argue.

you step closer and place a hand on her shoulder, squeezing enough to grab her attention. “we’ll tell her, nance. but right now?” you gesture lightly at the fact that you were in a cemetery.

“we’ll tell her when this thing is dead.” jonathan finishes, and nancy has no reply.

“woah! hey- watch where you swing that thing, damn!” you jump out of the way, narrowly avoiding a collision with the side of nancy’s bat.

“sorry-” she grunts your name, stepping into another swing, “just practising.”

you skim your fingers along the other wooden accoutrements by the wall only to jump again when an unfortunately familiar voice calls out, “woah, woah, woah! hey, woah, woah…” steve fucking harrington.

“what are you doing here?” nancy asks, out of breath.

“what are you doing?” steve claps back. fair, though you think it’s quite obvious either way.

“nothing.” apart from swinging a baseball bat around like a lunatic, you mean.

“I hope that’s not meant for me.” oh. you grin.

“shucks, you figured it out.” you hop closer to the pair, golf club in hand. “it was gonna be a surprise! y’know, the whole maim and murder thing.”

“what?” nancy slaps your arm and you giggle, posing with the club as if to whack something. “no. oh, no, I was just… thinking about joining softball.” at her attempts to explain you can’t help but laugh briefly, relaxing from your previous position to use the club, now, as a cane.

steve kicks the golf club and you almost fall. fair play.

“well, uh… listen I’m really sorry. I mean, even before you threatened me with the baseball bat.” he moves around you two to lean against the car and you laugh at that. it was a little funny, okay? “I panicked and… I mean, I was a total dick.”

you drop the shovel you were attempting to remove from the wall. “ah! oh fuck, wait- did you just admit that?” when you turn, you’re met with twin faces of annoyance. not that surprising though you quickly pick up the shovel and mutter an apology to nance.

“did you get in trouble with your parents?” nancy focuses back on steve.

“totally, but… you know, who cares? screw ‘em. any news about barbara?” when steve asked about barb, you stop fiddling with the tools. nancy must’ve shaken her head because you didn’t hear a response before steve asked, “parents heard from her? or?”

this time, you turn and see nancy shake her head again. you can feel your hands begin to shake so you stuff them in the pockets of your jacket, which you still had to talk to nancy about.

“hey, listen. why don’t we, uh, why don’t we catch a movie tonight, you know? just kinda pretend everything’s normal for a few hours. all the right moves is still playing. you know, with your lover boy from risky business?” you snort at that but let them talk, knowing the invite was for nancy only.

you haven’t been invited to watch a movie since march.

“yeah, I know.”

“you know, carol thinks I actually kinda look like him. what do you think?” steve turns his face side to side before bursting into song. “just take those old records off the shelf, I’ll sit and listen to them by myself.” your urge to get a camera increases ten-fold at witnessing steve act a fool for nancy. god, what perfect blackmail material this would make.

“I just, I… I don’t think I can. I’ve been really busy with this whole funeral thing and… with my brother, it’s been really hard on him.” you can practically hear the soft emotional music that should be playing right now.

“yeah, sure. sure, yeah, yeah.” and you can’t believe you might actually feel a little sorry for steve.

“so…”

to alleviate some of the tension between steve and nancy, you waltz over and drape an arm across steve’s shoulders, reaching up to mess with his hair briefly. “I’ll go with you, hotshot.” though you might cut your arm off later if a scalding shower doesn’t disinfect the harrington off of you, it distracted the pair enough from their conversation for the mood to rise.

plus, it’s not like steve would actually agree to go with you.

“yeah?” steve asked, turning his head slightly to look at you. “thought you hated me?”

“that I do, dweeb, but you guys are so pathetic right now I might start to cry.” you frown exaggeratedly, bringing your free hand up into a fist by your face to indicate crying.

when he turns back with a raised brow at nancy, you drop both arms and step away.

when nancy turns to you then to steve and then back to you with a grin, you feel dread begin to build in your stomach.

“well, I think that’s a great idea. you guys can, you know, bond,” nancy says, and you and steve share a look because while you both can’t stand the other, you both also can’t resist nancy’s puppy dog eyes.

“so, what time?” steve asks.

ok, minimise the damage, let him down gently, tell him you were joking.

“if you got here with your car, we’re going now.”

abort. abort. abort.

“cool.”

amongst the list of idiotic things you’ve done, stepping into the same car as steve harrington- stepping into steve harrington’s car, has got to be quite high up on there.

“I will be honest, though, you have a hell of a nice car.” you swipe your hands across the dash. “permission to pilfer?” your hand hovers over the latch to the glove compartment.

he laughs, “yeah, sure. it’s only mixtapes in there anyway.” at that you quickly fling it open, pulling the contents into your lap.

“so, what kinds of- oh my god! hah! wait, holy shit- what are you, a disco freak?” you flick through the tapes, taking in the confusingly large amounts of abba. “oh, voulez-vous, neat.” you whisper and pop it in.

steve glances at you but says nothing of it.

it took one side of the tape and stop-start humming to reach the theatre.

“there’s no queue but if I don’t get a break from you, I might actually punch you, so you grab the tickets to whatever-the-fuck, and I’ll get the popcorn.”

you shoved your shaking hands into your pockets, waiting for the buckets to get filled up. “so-” steve calls your name and you jump, not expecting the teen to be behind you. “I got two for all the right moves.” he grabs one of the buckets the employee set on the counter and exchanges it for one of the tickets. “ready?”

you grab the other, sigh, and turn to the entrance to the screens. “as I’ll ever be.”

you groan in relief as you walk out of the double doors to the cinema, half empty popcorn bucket in hand. “that was like, the most boring movie I’ve ever seen. you enjoy that crap? like, nothing happened- it’s just some jock movie.” you thrust a thumb behind you.

steve laughs alongside you, empty handed having poured the left-over popcorn into your bucket. “I’ll be honest- I’ve only watched it so many times because nancy’s wanted to.” he grabbed a handful of popcorn to munch on.

“aww, aren’t you just the sweetest boyfriend!” you giggle and flick a piece of corn at him. he fails to swat it, thus entangling in his hair.

“oi- not the hair!” he shakes his head, but the popcorn piece stays. “is it gone?” you smile and nod.

“I’ll be honest, you do look a bit like tom cruise- hm. maybe if you flattened your hair a little…” when you reach up to touch steve quickly swerved out of the way. “spoilsport.”

“oh, yeah?” steve confiscates the popcorn bucket and jumps out of the way of your hand, laughing when you trip a little. when you continue to move for the bucket, steve hops away further until the pair of you are running down the sidewalk.

“steve! st- oi, dweeb!” you pant, hunched over against the nearest wall. “not everyone’s a jock, you know!”

when steve saunters back to you, popping pieces of corn in his mouth periodically, you straighten up. grab the bucket. run away.

you run into a pedestrian and drop the bucket. steve lets out an anguished wail. so do you, actually.

“the popcorn! it was so meticulously curated!” steve drops down next to you, and you gawp at the fact that king steve so readily lowered himself to your level.

“you will be remembered… dearly.” you mock-wipe away a stray tear before standing up and dusting your legs. thankfully, the stranger had walked off without complaint. “c’mon, I probably have popcorn at home- and better movies.”

“taking me home already? don’t you move fast.” steve teases, flicking a stay piece of corn at you.

“don’t get any ideas, harrington. now, where’s your car, again?”

“you’re only allowed in the car if you don’t laugh at my music the whole way.” steve unlocks the car when you get to it, and you snort as you sit in the passenger seat.

“stevie- half of your mixtapes are abba, what else am I supposed to do?” you flick through the tapes in his glove box, pulling out one at random and snorting when it turns out to be abba. you glance at steve when he has no rebuttal and double-back at the red face he sports. “uh- steve? you good?”

the teen nods, hums and starts the car.

“what, did you find the corn still in your hair?” you tease, picking the piece out and flicking it out of the window.

“yeah, yeah totally that- hey, listen… I’ll drop you home but I gotta go- gotta pick up tommy and carol soon. uh- popcorn another time.” you slip the abba tape in, determined to ignore what caused steve’s mood to shift so much.

“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

on saturday you wake to frenzied pounding on your front door. when it escalated from voiceless disturbance to frantic shouts of your name between the knocks, you stumbled out of bed, tossed on a discarded sweater, and journeyed to the front door.

“did you know?!” is what greets you the second you crack the door open. steve’s panicked voice is followed by the chill november wind so with a grunt you pull him inside.

“did I know what, harrington?” comes your grumble, resting against the door and wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“nancy and jonathan.” he elaborates, poorly.

“what about them?” you yawn.

“they’re fucking sleeping together.” your mouth snaps shut.

“ex- cuse me?” well now that can’t be what you heard, right? “did you just- hold on. what the fuck did you just say?”

“nancy- that- fucking bitch, she’s sleeping with byers,” steve says through gritted teeth, and you can’t help but scoff.

“and this comes from, where exactly? also- don’t call nance a bitch, what’s wrong with you?”

“yeah, well I fucking saw that freak cosying up with nancy in her bedroom.” steve’s words pause your feet in their walk to the kitchen.

“well now that can’t be right.” you resume the short trip to the kitchen and hear steve follow behind you, steps heavy and breaths deep. “eggs or pancakes?”

“what?”

“it’s a simple question, harrington. eggs or pancakes?” you start taking bowls out of shelves and utensils from drawers.

“pancakes?”

“good choice.” you turn around and point the whisk at him. “if I’m gonna get through this stupid conversation you’re insisting I partake in, I’m making some food.”

you hear when steve sits down by the slight scrape of the table chair and heavy sigh. you know he’s going to begin talking when the teen clears his throat. “did you know?”

“no- well, it depends. did I know they were hanging out? yeah, I was there with them half the time. did I know by best friend is now apparently a slut? that’d be a no.” you try to sound as nonchalant as you can. if the both of you start panicking, well, the pancakes definitely won’t be made. “what did you even see?”

steve groans in his seat at the table, shuffles around a bit, and hits his head against the wall behind him. “byers was practically all over her.” you can hear the disgust in his voice. “it was just- they were… agh- right, hold on.”

“you sure they weren’t just, I don’t know- talking? friends do that too, you know.”

when you hear him begin to move you turn, only to practically bash your body against his. “woah- hey now. hot pan behind me, careful.” you move away, laughing a little to ease the sudden discomfort and begin to ladle batter into the pan.

“ok so-” harrington just moves closer when you step away. “if you picture me as jonathan, you as nance…” steve presses the side of his body against yours, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “would you talk to your friends like this?”

you freeze.

“uh-” this can’t be happening. “not usually, no.” you whisper back.

he moves away. you almost sway to get closer again but catch yourself.

what the fuck?

“that’s what I though.” steve scoffs. “bet that’s why she blew me off yesterday. too busy blowing byers to hang out with her boyfriend.” you snort.

“yeah, alright. well, if you want-” you push a plate of pancakes towards steve. “we can go confront her about it later- eat.” you drop a fork on the plate. “and if she says nothin’, we can go bully jonny for an answer or something.”

“jonny?” you hear steve whisper.

“everyone’s gotta have a nickname, dweeb. syrups in the cupboard next to you.”

“hey! what the fucks happening?!” you shout, running down the alley from which you could hear the, sadly, familiar shouts of nancy and tommy. “hey, hey nance what- what the hell? what- how did this happen?” you pant, wincing whenever you hear a fist connecting with a body.

“steve said- jonathan, stop! stop! you’re gonna hurt him!” nancy attempts to explain but quickly overlooks it in favour of attempting to move closer, and you quickly grab her by the shoulders to hold her back from the swinging fists, holding tighter when you hear police sirens.

“guys! jonny, stop! you moron!” you let go of nancy when you’re certain she won’t try to move closer in favour of helping tommy pull jonathan away from steve, which becomes a much harder task than initially suspected when the teen just shrugs you off and tommy redirects to grabbing steve and running away.

“I got this one!” one of the officers shouts, cuffing a bent over jonathan.

“jesus, when steve said he had something planned with his friends, I didn’t think it mean this- what the fuck…” you place a hand over your forehead and lean on nancy who looks close to tears. “hey, hey nance. nancy, you’re ok, right?” you question, suddenly worried when she continues to stay silent.

“yeah, yeah- what… what are you doing here?”

“didn’t have popcorn at home.” which was true, but it didn’t answer her question. “what are you doing here?” you redirect.

“tommy said something, then steve said some stuff, christ. I don’t even know how this happened… one minute they were just arguing and the next, well.” you nod.

“wanna know the worst part about this all?” you ask, guiding nancy out of the alley and to the cop car jonathan was just placed in. “I didn’t even get my popcorn.” this pulls a laugh from nancy, and you beam, glad to have at least cheered her up, however brief it was.

the ride to the police station is silent. you ache to strike up a conversation but whenever you glance at nancy’s crestfallen expression the words die in your throat.

when you reach the station, you and nancy are redirected to the nurse. since neither of you actually did anything apart from be at the scene of the incident, neither of you had to speak with the police as of right now.

as the lady pulls a tray of ice cubes out of the freezer and a towel out of the desk drawer, nancy asks, “do you think we’ll be out of here soon?” probably. or at least, you hope so.

“you, yes. him, no.” she responds, “he assaulted a police officer.” which is a fair point, and true. however, that police officer did get in the way of a fighting teen, of course he was bound to be hit.

“well, how long are you gonna keep him?” you question, glancing around at the decorations on the walls.

“you and her boyfriend have big plans, do you?” the lady asks, straight-faced. you choke on your spit.

“he’s not my boyfriend.” comes nancy’s reply and you shake your head alongside her.

“I think you better tell him that.” because that’s gonna go down well with steve.

at nancy’s confusion, the lady continues. “only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart.” which was a sweet, albeit unneeded, sentiment. “and that damn stupid.” at least that’s true.

“you’re a- you’re a wise lady, ma’am,” you say before following nancy out of the room.

jonathan looks about as pathetic as you had left him at the desk and as you round the table you pat his back, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. the teen just came out of a fight, no point irritating any injuries he might have.

“found some ice.” nancy sits beside him, lifting the make-shift ice pack she was given to rest against jonathan’s face.

the tense silence is broken by jonathan, “everything ok?” you don’t bother answering. with how they’re staring at each other, it’s almost as if you don’t exist.

hm.

“yeah. everything’s fine.” is the lie nancy settles with because everything was most certainly not fine.

how is it that steve might actually be right for once?

Tags

fic rec so good steve harrington x reader steve x reader cigarettes & dior steve harrington fic rec

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666sachertorte666

2 years ago

For those of y'all who do have access to follow a TikTok link. Here's the video!!

Tags

dance tik tok victoria secret body postivity flash mob dancevideo

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666sachertorte666

2 years ago

CIGARETTES & DIOR 𝙸

with some editing here and beta reading by @raelwrites the loml, my biggest motivator, there, we have a first part to the series!;

enemies steve harrington and reader, follows along with 'weirdo on maple street'

[if anyone wants to be tagged let me know]

objectively, you suppose you could call steve a nice-looking guy. attractive, perhaps. maybe even dateable. subjectively, you know, deep in the very marrow of your bones, steve harrington is probably the worst person you have ever had the displeasure of knowing.

sure, tommy hagan was a douche and carol perkins was a stuck-up bitch but steve- oh, but king steve ‘the hair’ harrington was so so much worse. and there wasn’t really anything that made you feel this way—not anything you could sensibly give as reasoning anyway. yet the way he strutted about, flocked by his little gang of bullies, like some overgrown peacock just made your blood boil and skin flush with anger.

which is why, when nancy wheeler strode up to you with barbara in tow, you were not only worried but mentally figuring out where steve would be that during lunch to give him a good bollocking because nancy looked frazzled.

“nance-” you slammed your locker shut. “lovely to see you.” it wasn’t. you were still half convinced this whole dating steve thing was a ploy to get you two acting civil with each other. never going to happen, sorry nance.

she started with your name, “-listen,” this should be good. “we were invited to a party...” oh god. “would you be willing to come with us?”

fuck.

“how much choice do I have, exactly?” your hunch said not much.

“please?” called it. “we would really like it if you could come.” damn nancy and your fondness for your friends all to hell.

you shift, throwing an arm around the ginger beside you, “yeah, alright.” you sigh, “but I’m only going for barb and free booze.” which was only partly a lie, so you didn’t even feel that bad saying it.

barbara giggles, exclaiming your name with a light shove to your shoulder. “It’s tonight by the way, we’ll pick you up.”

tonight? “but It’s a tuesday.” who hosts a party on a fucking tuesday? “guys?” you go ignored as the bell rings immediately after, getting drowned out by the noise of scurrying bodies of passing students. nancy and barbara quickly bid their goodbyes and you solemnly schlump your way to next period, walking slower to prepare for an hour of sitting in the same room as steve.

fucking tuesdays, man.

the more you thought about it, the more you paced around your room. who’s hosting the party? neither nancy nor barbara would answer you when you asked repeatedly during class, which... definitely suspicious.

no matter, whoever it was and whoever was there, you would be the best dressed in attendance. what’s the point of going out if you can’t look hot whilst doing so?

you quickly spritzed some perfume when someone honked their horn outside your house, the girls had at least told you enough to know that it would be late evening when they came to grab you. you had slipped on your shoes and were prepared to leave before calling out to anyone still in the house.

it was a cold night, though what november night isn’t. glad for the jacket you grabbed before leaving—even the short jog to the car had managed to leave a slight chill in your bones.

“well don’t you look like a million bucks-” and a call of your name greeted you as you situated yourself in the middle seat, flashing a grin at barbara as you tugged the seatbelt across.

“why thank you, m’lady. and you both look dazzling, as always.” flattery will get you everywhere. currently, you were hoping that the flattery would get you at least the address for the party, or how many people might be there.

“you smell like a million bucks too, jesus, just how rich are your parents?” nancy remarked, having turned to face you from the passenger seat.

“enough that dior is my regular perfume, now-” you clap your hands together and lean forwards over the centre console. “don’t try to distract me, nance, where are we going?” if you were going to get any answers before arrival, you knew the only way was to just pester them enough that you got a reply out of annoyance. “c’moooon! just an itty-bitty name?” resting your elbows on your knees, you clasp your hands together in mock prayer.

“you’ll find out when we get there.” you get a light shove to your face from nancy and huff a little in your seat. you couldn’t even fiddle with the music, a rule you three had declared at the start of your friendship.

“passenger seat passengers have control of music.” you had declared promptly and firmly when nancy had tried to reach from behind you to change the mix tape.

“you’re just saying that because you don’t want to listen to madonna.” barbara chimed in from beside you, glancing at you before concentrating back on the road.

“I’ll listen to madonna plenty if you’ll stop trying to change it to her while I’m enjoying kiss- hey!” you slapped away a giggling nancy’s hand from the radio in time to prevent the song from being changed.

“you say that-” nancy began, still giggling through your name, “but I know you listen to abba, I’ve seen the tapes!”

“you’ve seen shit, nance! ignore her, must’ve hit her head on the door.” you remarked, thwarting yet another attempt by the girl at reaching the radio.

barbara merely laughed at you two, resolved to stay out of the radio debacle.

though, on the way to the café after school you kept your promise, and the car was filled with four voices singing physical attraction.

“barbara, pull over.” nancy suddenly exclaimed. to your knowledge, parties were usually held at a house, not in middle of a road. while the girls were busy talking you looked around the neighbourhood, surely something had to be familiar enough to pinpoint a location.

“he just wants to get in your pants.” barbara scoffed from her seat. wait what?

“woah-ho, hey… who wants to get in who’s pants?” you unbuckled your seatbelt quickly to shuffle forward, shoulder buckling with the back of nancy’s seat slightly.

“steve-” barbara began, and suddenly the secrecy made sense.

you recoil at his name, shouting out a protest, “what? nance, love, we’re going to steve’s?”

“he invited nance to his house, his parents aren’t home…” barbara began listing, but you had gotten the message loud and clear at the first mention of his name.

“come on, you are not this stupid.” barbara continued, and you knew now why this street was unfamiliar, if steve had to live somewhere here then you would have found every means possible to avoid even walking on the same pavement as him.

“tommy h and carol are gonna be there.” nancy rebukes, though it’s kind of a shit reply. those two have been having sex since like seventh grade.

“tommy and carol have been having sex since, like, seventh grade.” this is why you liked barbara. she even agrees with your thoughts.

you decided to splay across the back seat while the pair continued talking, knowing whatever they talk about would involve steve, and that’s not a conversation you want to ever willingly partake in. plus, it’s not like you wanted to walk home at night in the cold when you were in a perfectly comfy and warm car.

“woah woah woah, why is nance stripping?” you sat up, watching in confusion as the girl removed her jumper.

“is that a new bra?” barbara questioned, face slack in disbelief. despite nancy’s negative reply, it probably was. you had raided both of their closets on multiple occasions for fun enough to recognise that you did not recognise the bra nancy was wearing.

“jesus, girl. if you wanted to fuck, we could’ve found someone for you, didn’t have to go start dating steve fucking harrington for some mediocre dick.” when your comment went ignored save for a stifled giggle from barb, you left the car to follow the other two with a sigh.

goddamn steve.

“all I’m saying is, you need to consult your friends when making these sorts of big decisions.” you were gesticulating wildly, needing to find some way to get rid of the slurry of emotions churning inside of you. “and you don’t get to blame this on my totally reasonable dislike of steve either. barb totally agrees with me, right?” you slung your arm over her shoulders, pulling her lightly into your side to stop the full body shaking.

“barb, chill.” nancy chimed in from your other side, ignoring your comments.

barbara leaned into you a little more, “I’m chill,” she replied.

before you could make any further comment on the situation, the double doors in front of you three opened to reveal none other than the king himself.

steve spares a fleeting confused glance at you before speaking, “hello ladies.” god he looked like an idiot. one hand on the door and the other on his hip, steve grimaced at you, “hello-” he grits your name out. there was a half-formed hope in you that it would shatter his teeth as he said it.

you take a bow, “your highness,” you mock. if you’re stuck here, might as well have some fun, ey? “so, dweeb, what’s on the agenda for tonight? swapping books?” you push past steve, knocking shoulders as you go.

“sacrificing virgins to the old gods, should be right up your alley, freak.” steve taunts back, moving out of the way to let nancy and barbara in.

you twirl around to face steve, tugging your jacket off, “you flatter me, harrington. if anyone here needs to be scared of a virgin sacrifice it’s you.” you toss your jacket over the banister. the closer your stuff is to the door the faster you can high-tail out of steve’s house.

you followed the others to the back porch of the house, throwing comments out about the décor to barbara. though it might’ve been a nice house, you would never admit that while steve was within earshot. the smug bastard would hold it over you for the next century.

when the shrieking began from carol, you had immediately thrown out your disdain for the pool, “if anyone so much as attempts to throw me in I’ll cut your hair off while you sleep.” you wouldn’t actually do that… probably. but the others at the party didn’t need to know that.

grabbing a deck chair, you dragged it closer to barb. nancy was completely enamoured by the beast that is harrington and wouldn’t be good company so you sat as close to barbara as you could.

“that’s not even remotely attractive.” you sneer, watching as steve shotguns one of the beers in the cooler. “how did that even happen? nancy and steve, god.” you weren’t really sure what barbara thought about the couple, having not been able to talk to her without nancy around but you were comforted by the displeased face she held. “if steve hurts a single hair on her head I’m gonna rip his out.” barbara giggled at that, so you smiled. barbara’s laugh could probably cure cancer.

“yeah, she’s smart you douche!” tommy let out, which gained your attention because tommy being right was a once in a blue moon occurrence. he followed that statement up by crushing a can against his head and chucking it to the ground. like you said, once in a blue moon occurrence.

“oh, come on nance you’re not seriously gonna shotgun that are you?” you exclaim, waving the hand that wasn’t across barb’s shoulders in the group’s general direction.

you were ignored in favour of steve starting a chant as nancy pulled open the tab. tommy and carol joined in, speeding up and then hollering when nancy threw the can on the ground, empty. who knew all it took to get nancy wheeler to let loose was the grating voice of steve harrington?

“barb, you wanna try?” nancy asked, already moving towards the cooler.

“what? no.” and though you weren’t asked, you shook your head along with barbara. “no, I don’t want to. thanks”

nancy picked up a can while steve chimed in with his own, unwanted, goading. “it’s fun! just give it a-” nancy was cut off, though, by yet another soft protest from barbara.

“nance, she said no. cut it out.” you moved to sit up, preparing to stand if necessary.

“just- just give it a shot.” and with that barb stood up, having taken the can nancy gave her. you watched, tense, from your seated position just behind her as she moved the small blade to puncture the can. even before the motion was made, you were beginning to stand up and when barb suddenly dropped the can and blade all together you huddled up to her, cradling her bleeding hand.

“fuckin’ told you shitheads…” you grumble, inspecting the cut as best as you could in the low light.

“where’s your bathroom?” barb asked, voice shaky. to which steve, useful for once, quickly pointed out the directions for both you and barb. past the kitchen and to the left. easy enough to remember.

“he better have a fucking first aid kit in there-” you quickly opened the door for barb before stepping in after her. “how’s the hand? does it feel swollen? heating up?” you moved to rummage through the cupboards as you question, hoping to find at least a bandage.

“heating up? is that meant to happen to cuts?” barb sat down on the closed toilet seat, smiling faintly at the sight of you rushing around as much as you could in the enclosed space. “I’m ok, really. it looks worse that it is, I promise.”

you make a positive noise from inside the cupboard, having found both a disinfectant for cuts and some bandages. “I’ll only believe you if you let me help take care of it-” you start, moving to crouch next to the girl and taking her injured hand in yours. “it’ll sting, probably.” you warn before slowly dragging the cloth dipped in disinfectant across the cut, stopping every so often as barb flinches.

“et voila! one bandaged hand to go.” it took barely 10 minutes to complete, but any spare moment with barb you would take. “let’s go find nance before she gets eaten by harrington.”

the both of you exit the bathroom laughing, though it dies the second you notice nancy on the stairs, following behind steve and wrapped in a towel.

“nance,” you called out.

“nancy,” barbara joins, “where are you going?” she asks once nancy turns to look at you.

“nowhere… just, upstairs. to change.” because that doesn’t sound suspicious. and sure, she looks like a wet puppy, but you’re reminded instantly of the conversation had in the car. “I… fell in the pool. why don’t you go ahead and go home, I’ll just… I’ll get a ride or something.”

“what the fuck?” you whisper, yeah super fun party nancy, thanks for the invite. you can’t help but scowl at her.

“nance…” nancy repeats your names back at you. “this isn’t you.”

“I’m fine.” that sure sounded like a goodbye. “just… go ahead and go home, okay?” well, how nice.

nancy turned and walked up the remained stairs, and you scoff at the interaction that just occurred.

goddamn steve.

“we can head back to mine, I can make us some food and we can marathon some tapes left from last week,” you suggest, moving to grab your jacket you knew you had hung on the banister. it wasn’t there. “fuckers moved my jacket, hold on.” you took the stairs two at a time to quickly get to the second floor when barb called out.

“I’ll wait outside.”

making a noise of agreement, you knocked on every door as loud as you could, knowing only the party guests were in the household. “hey shitheads! where’s my jacket?” you bang on a few more doors before stumbling across your jacket on the floor in front of you.

at this point, you really wanted to leave. so, with a scoop of your jacket and a cursory pat down the pockets to check everything is where it should be, you hop down the stairs giddy at the thought of spending more time with barb.

“got my jacket!” you called out. you glance around the living room before moving to the back porch only to still not see barbara anywhere. “barb?” you call out again, confused at the sudden vanishing of her presence. did she not want to hang out with you? isn’t that a kick in the heart, huh.

“could’ve fucking said something, at least.” you scoff. that’s another friend to abandon you in one night, not even an hour apart.

you shrug your jacket on while looking around despite there not being a trace of barbara anywhere. with a grimace you turn around to head out, ignoring the rustles of the bushes in front of you, no point in standing around when you had a nice warm bed calling out your name back at home to nap and wallow in.

Tags

fic rec steve harrington x reader steve harrington x enemy reader steve harrington fic rec THIS SOOOO GOOD Love the suspense and the banter!

98 notes View Post

666sachertorte666

1 year ago

this broken design, ch11

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: kidnapping, canon typical blood/violence/gore, mentions of animal dissection (just the words "animal dissection")

You fall in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re roughly dragged along the ground past Alana’s house; the next moment, there’s a blindfold secured over your eyes and you’re situated in what you guess to be the trunk of a car. You feel every minute bump in the road and you swear the driver is intentionally hitting potholes, if only to jostle you around more. At some point, you feel your vision fading—even amidst your best efforts to remain awake. You know you need to stay conscious to escape, but your body refuses to obey your commands.

The next time you wake, you’re met with an incessant, throbbing headache. You wearily blink your dry eyes open, wincing as light sears into your vision. Left with nothing but a buzzing silence and your thoughts, you berate yourself for letting your guard down. You had forgotten the nature of the people you were investigating. You’re in danger. You take a deep breath around the gag in your mouth and try to remain calm. Thankfully, your blindfold must have been removed at some point.

Surveying your surroundings, you find a dilapidated dining room with dusty trinkets lining the walls. There’s a fanciful chandelier hanging over the luxurious dining table, which has seven empty seats. You’re located at the back head of the table—your wrists bound to the arms of the chair you were placed in. There are mere ropes holding you to the chair, but somehow, you can hardly even move, let alone try to get out of them. You must have been drugged—with something potent enough to remove all traces of physical resistance from your system. You can’t do anything more than make your fingers twitch from where they’re resting on the edges of the chair arms. Moreover, when you do manage to move them, your hand twitches sporadically. That’s definitely not a good sign.

It’s hard to stay awake, even though you know you need to be conscious and aware of your surroundings to keep yourself safe. There’s nothing to occupy you except for the monotonous ticking of a clock in the hall behind you, your blurred vision, and your aching limbs.

At one point, when you drag yourself out of the void of unconsciousness, you find that you have a companion. Frederick Chilton is sitting in the chair on your right. You blink at him blearily and try to get his attention, only to remember that you’re both gagged and nearly unable to move. Upon closer investigation, it looks like he’s unconscious. You don’t stay conscious long enough to learn anything about Chilton’s situation or see your captor. Weirdly enough, your captor has been strangely absent—leaving you to decay amidst molding walls in solitude. Each time you fight off unconsciousness, you notice that Chilton is more roughed up. Your captor has a grudge against him, and it doesn’t take you long to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Ironically, by trying to protect Alana, you only ended up putting yourself in more danger. If you had the strength, you’d shake your head in disbelief.

The opportunity to speak with your captor finally comes the next time you wake. The man, evidently finished with torturing Chilton for the day—judging by the blood soaking through the man’s shirt—tightens the ropes around Chilton’s wrists. This is your chance. “Gideon?” You feel yourself asking. It comes out muffled because of the gag. Your voice is dry and raspy; your entire mouth is dry and the words almost seem to bounce around restlessly.

You blink at the figure. It looks like Hobbs. But, no, it can’t be Hobbs—Hobbs is dead. You blink and try to peel away the Minnesota Shrike’s cloying visage. The sickly emerald tones in his eyes fall away to reveal a sharp blue-eyed gaze. Dr. Abel Gideon is looking at you with interest; Chilton is no longer the subject of his attention. You cast a hateful gaze at Chilton’s prone form, feeling a momentary stab of satisfaction at seeing him hurt. You have to rip yourself from those thoughts to focus on Gideon, who is now standing next to you.

“I must say, you were out for quite a while,” Gideon hums. You can’t tell if he’s speaking to himself or to you. He turns your chair ninety degrees to make you face him. “Perhaps I overdid it with the drugs. I haven’t been at the operating table in quite a while…” His focused musings are eerie. The man is treating you as if you’re an experiment—an animal on his dissection table. Eventually, Gideon sighs and removes the gag from your mouth.

“Why did you take me?” You ask immediately. That’s the first thing you want to know. You can justify Chilton’s presence here—he worked with Gideon in the past and nearly convinced him he was the Chesapeake Ripper. You’ve never done anything of the sort, however. You’re not a mental health professional, nor have you even spoken to Gideon aside from the single conversation you had through the bars of his cell.

Unsurprisingly, Gideon doesn’t answer your question. You’re not even sure if he can hear what you’re saying. “Say hello, Frederick.” Your assailant says instead, momentarily stepping aside to make sure you can see the man in question. Frederick Chilton cannot say hello, since several of his organs have been evidently removed and he is unconscious. You grimace. You don’t like the man, but you don’t think he deserves to be mutilated so cruelly. You swallow hard. “Might as well have some fun before I dispose of you properly.”

It takes you a moment to comprehend that statement. You look up, only to find that Gideon isn’t looking at Chilton anymore—he’s looking at you. You take a rattling breath in. Gideon walks away for a treacherous moment. Your heart is racing in your chest, so loudly that its rhythm reverberates in your ears. He’s back a moment later with a knife in hand. His fascination with Chilton is gone. The psychiatrist lies neglected in his chair, unconscious but ignored. For the first time in your life, you envy Frederick Chilton.

“Dr. Lecter is rather fond of you. Perhaps if I…” Gideon breaks off. Quick as lightning, he drags his knife along the skin near your left eye. You scream and writhe in your bonds, but he only smirks. You know that’s going to leave a nasty scar. That must be the point, you think to yourself faintly. He wants to leave a mark on you. “I forgot how enjoyable this was.” You want to kick at him, but Gideon must sense your thought process because he quickly steps out of range.

You’re left to slowly dissipate in your chair, the uncomfortable sensation of warm blood trickling down your face. At one point, you feel droplets fall from your eye in a manner rather similar to tears. The next time you blink, your vision is crimson-tainted. Your vision doesn’t seem to be affected, other than the blood falling into your eyes. The entire left side of your face is stinging. This time, when you feel your eyes slip shut, you don’t fight it.

You have no idea how much time passes after that. It’s clear that the drug is still in your system, because you can’t keep yourself awake for more than what you assume to be an hour or two. Chilton remains a steady, silent presence at your side. Each time you wake, you realize that he looks no better than before. You can hardly focus on him, though—not when it’s been several days (you can assume) since you’ve had anything to eat or drink. Your limbs are cooperating with your commands a bit more than before, but you know you’re still nowhere near your usual level of fitness.

The ugly sound of a chair scraping against the ground jerks you out of your thoughts. Gideon is dragging a chair towards the table—a chair that is inhabited by a redheaded woman that looks far too familiar. It doesn’t take you long to recognize where you know her from—she’s Freddie Lounds, the same reporter who has been dragging your reputation through the mud all these years. Gideon pushes her to a place at the table at your left, opposite Frederick Chilton. Dread stews in your chest. This feels more significant than you can currently comprehend. Gideon stands at the other end of the table, his gaze contemplative as he looks from Chilton to Lounds, before finally settling on you. You immediately dislike the strange resolve in his eyes.

“Choose.”

“What?” You say.

“Choose,” Gideon repeats. There is nothing short of complete, utter sincerity in his voice. “Choose who lives and who dies.” You stare at him in disbelief, wondering if you misheard him. Evidently, you didn’t—Gideon is holding a gun in his right hand and seems to be waiting for your command. There’s an entertained smile on his face. He must be enjoying this spectacle—seeing you come to terms with the fact that you will be the cause of an onlooker’s death.

You glance between Freddie Lounds and Frederick Chilton. Who should live? Who should die? You have both of their lives in your hands right now. Freddie shoots you a wide-eyed look. Frederick looks equally terrified and his eyes are begging you for help. You experimentally tug at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair. Unsurprisingly, they don’t budge. You try to think of a way out of this. It takes you a few moments to remember that you do have a weapon—a dagger concealed in your boot. However, it’s nearly impossible to reach without informing Gideon of its presence. It seems you’re well and truly cornered. You have no choice but to kill.

You contemplate who to save. It’s a macabre thought, but a necessary one nonetheless. You’re sure that your hesitation would only encourage Gideon to kill both Lounds and Chilton. You take a deep breath. Chilton worked with Gideon on numerous occasions, and manipulated him into thinking he was someone else. Lounds wrote some unsavory things about you, but she’s ultimately innocent in all this. She’s nothing but a bystander—a civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. You take a shuddering breath in.

Gideon is waiting expectantly. You return his gaze and incline your head towards Chilton. In a true show of cowardice, you can’t say his name. You don’t want to utter his name—don’t want to succumb to the reality that he will die because of you. The smirk on Gideon’s face widens impossibly, showing crooked pointed teeth and a truly maleficent elation. You watch as he pulls a gun from his belt—evidently stolen from his prison transports—and cocks it. Gideon steps around the table and moves to stand a mere few feet away from Chilton—far too close for him to miss. The gun is steadily aimed at Chilton’s temple.

Gideon’s finger squeezes the trigger. Your heart is thundering in your ears, but you know what you need to do. Your arms are trapped but, thankfully, your ankles aren’t bound to the chair. You lean forward and kick Chilton’s chair as hard as you can.

The gun fires.

Chilton falls to the ground. The bullet resides in the wall behind him, leaving the drywall to crumble around the entrance point. You wait for a puddle of crimson blood to grow on the floor, turning the carpet red. Nothing of the sort is present. Frederick is unscathed.

“Well, well,” Gideon remarks, putting the gun on his belt for a minute to deliver a slow, mocking clap. The applause echoes in the hollow space around you, creating a horrible rhythm. Freddie’s eyes are wide and the expression on her face is indecipherable; it almost looks as if she’s truly seeing you for the first time. “You think you’re clever, do you?” You don’t elect to respond.

“Fine,” Gideon remarks. “You’ve made your choice.”

Gideon cocks his gun and pushes it against your own temple this time. He raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to utter your last words. You stare back at him defiantly, heart in your throat. Just as his finger squeezes the trigger once more, you rock your chair to the side with enough momentum to send you crashing down to the ground. You sense the cold metal of your dagger resting against your ankle, and it only takes a second of manipulation for the dagger to fall down to the floor. From there, you twist and lean back until you can grasp at it with your bound hands. You maneuver to the side and duck under the table to guard yourself from the onslaught of gunfire. With the momentary coverage, you’re able to cut through the ropes binding your wrists to the chair. The effort is rather awkward and certainly hurts, but you’re miraculously able to get your hands free. You idly wonder if Gideon is giving you this time to break free of your bonds, if he wants the thrill of the hunt. The thought makes your stomach turn. You crawl under the table and jump out at the side. You’re quickly met with the business end of Gideon’s gun and a malicious smirk. You dive to the side and roll, swiftly getting to your feet and wielding your dagger.

In a gunfight, the person with a dagger is far outmatched. Right now, Gideon has the upper hand, since he has a gun. You need to fight offensively—fighting defensively will get you killed here. You also need to be unpredictable—fight dirty, use common household objects as weapons. Perhaps most importantly, you need to move the fight elsewhere. Otherwise, Chilton and Lounds could be injured in the conflict. Knowing this, you decide to turn and duck down the hallway behind you, confident that Gideon will follow after you. Sure enough, you hear his footsteps follow you through the hall. You sprint down the hall, ducking around corners until you come across a small supply closet. It’s just barely big enough to stand in and you do so, before pressing your lips together and holding your breath.

“Ready or not, here I come,” Gideon announces, his footsteps echoing in the eerily silent hall. The floorboards in front of the closet creak and you have to put a hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing. The killer pauses in his tracks just outside where you’re hiding.

You duck down instinctually and a bullet rifles through the closet door where your head had been just seconds ago. Gideon shoots another bullet a short distance from the first and it nearly skims the top of your head as you’re bending down. Eventually, he must decide that you’re not in the closet, because he continues walking forward.

You take the gifted opportunity and shove the closet door open, before lunging forward and stabbing Gideon in the back of the neck. He lets out a pained hiss and claps a hand over his neck, before turning around and firing at you. That shot seems far too close for you to dodge, but soon Gideon is lunging at you and the thought slips to the back of your mind. You bend low and manage to tackle him to the ground, before making a grab for the gun. Your effort fails as Gideon throws you off of him with ease. Quick as lightning, he pushes you into the ground and chokes you. His gun meets the side of your head and his grip on your neck tightens, effectively robbing you of breath.

Your vision is beginning to blur. You know you’re near the end; you don’t have much air left. You try to kick out at him, but Gideon doesn’t budge. Your hand scrabbles for purchase on his relentless grip, trying to free your airway. In the scuffle, you somehow lost your dagger. You blindly reach behind you with your free hand, praying that it fell to the floor behind you. To your surprise, your hand closes around something sharp—your dagger. You don’t hesitate to stab upward into his left eye. Gideon screams and instinctively loosens his grip on your neck. His hold on his gun is loose; you twist to the side, ignoring the inexplicable stab of pain in your side when you do so, and rip it from his grasp. Gideon’s left hand covers his eye and his right hand reaches out towards his gun, which you’re now holding. You don’t give him the chance to get it back, instead putting the pistol to his temple and firing.

Gideon falls backward, hitting the ground with a loud thump. You push yourself up to a sitting position before twisting to kneel, desperately hacking and coughing as you regain your breath. You’re certain you’d never been closer to death than in that awful moment, with Gideon looming over you with a devilish smirk on his face. You must’ve bitten your cheek somehow, because there’s the coppery taste of blood in your mouth. It hurts to swallow. Once you regain your breath, you stumble up and brace yourself against the wall. Gideon’s corpse burns into your vision.

Laughter reverberates in your ears. Garret Jacob Hobbs stands further down the hall, a brilliant maniacal smirk on his face. There is nothing but malicious glee in his eyes. Your first victim regards your latest. You blink and Hobbs becomes Franklyn Froideveaux. Franklyn stares at you with hollow, unseeing pits for eyes. His skin rifles outward, exposing the mess of bloodied organs residing in his chest and stomach.

For a fraction of a moment, the pendulum swings before your eyes. Gideon’s body is still in front of you but, when you blink, it’s gone. You hiss and grit your teeth hard, trying to rip yourself out of this reverie. This is your design. This is your design. Your bullet carved a neat hole in his forehead, allowing crimson droplets to flow down his face and onto the ground. The wound on his neck must be adding to the accumulating puddle of blood.

There’s a stifled yell from behind you and you’re broken from your thoughts. You turn your back on Gideon’s corpse and run back to the dining room, only to meet the eyes of Freddie Lounds. “Miss Lounds,” you remark, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The effort to speak feels slightly uncomfortable. You continue anyway. “I’m sorry, let me help you there.” You move toward her and use your dagger to cut the ropes binding her wrists. Then, you cut the gag off from where it’s knotted at the back of her head. Freddie doesn’t say anything, but she does rub her wrists with a pained grimace. You immediately feel guilty. Somehow, it feels as if it’s your fault that she’s here.

There’s a strange expression on Freddie’s face as she regards you. She almost looks… worried. “What’s the matter?” You feel the need to ask. Freddie wordlessly points at your torso. You look down and grit your teeth, feeling a brutal pain ripping the breath right from your chest.

There’s a bullet lodged in your side—the oblique, you remember from your lectures. You immediately remember the shot from earlier—the one that came far too close to dodge. In the heat of the battle, you hadn’t noticed. Now, you wince and bring a hand down to exert pressure on the wound. Freddie’s staring at you in disbelief. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence as the two of you remain quiet. Then, Freddie inexplicably moves towards the table and grabs a napkin. She hands it to you and you thank her, pressing it up against your side. Unsurprisingly, the fabric is quickly growing bloodstained. You take a deep breath and try to look over your shoulder, despite the pain it triggers in your side. It seems the bullet didn’t exit your body.

You weakly grasp at the wall, before slowly sliding down until you’re seated on the ground. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down your neck. Your adrenaline was pumping before, bringing your attention away from the inexplicable discomfort at your side. Now, however, all you can focus on is the throbbing pain.

“Freddie,” you remark. The reporter raises an eyebrow. “Can you…?” You break off, looking at the phone mounted to the wall in the other room. It’s just barely visible from your current position on the ground. Freddie seems to understand what you’re saying, because she runs over to the phone and dials 911. You raspily tell her to mention Jack Crawford and she does, from what you can hear.

“They’re on their way,” Freddie says. It’s the first time she’s spoken since Gideon first brought her into the dining room. Your vision is blurry at the edges, but you can still make out the shell shocked expression on Freddie’s face. She looks completely out of her element—startled and disturbed, as if the world has just flipped on its axis. Guilt finds a way into your heart again.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, past the bloody taste in your mouth.

“Why are you apologizing?” Freddie asks. She’s squinting at you in suspicion.

“My fault,” you respond through gritted teeth. Somehow, the effort to talk is now met with a harsh twist of pain that bolts through you like lightning. You continue to apply a rather shaky pressure to the wound, grimacing when you see the napkin is now crimson. Freddie gets up and grabs a few more napkins, before squatting down next to you once more.

“It’s not your fault,” Freddie murmurs, shaking her head and averting her eyes. She looks relatively unharmed—at least, physically speaking. She is justifiably shaken by the events that transpired. Freddie changes the napkin in your hand for a fresh one. You whisper a word of gratitude and she nods, her lips drawn tight in a flat line.

Time drags on. Everything around you is fuzzy. Freddie hovers over you, a surprisingly worried expression on her face. You try to reach out to her, weakly reassure her that she’ll be okay, but you can’t move. Everything burns. The adrenaline you had earlier must be wearing off, because now you’re intimately aware of all your wounds. Blood trickles down your lips, likely creating a rather gruesome picture—if Freddie’s expression is anything to go by.

It feels like it takes years for help to arrive. You know it can’t be more than fifteen minutes, yet it feels as if you wait for an eternity. When you finally hear the distant sound of a door getting kicked in, you can’t help but let out a small relieved breath. Admittedly, even breathing hurts. You feebly adjust the napkin against your side. You hear the familiar words of agents announcing their entrance to the building. In moments, there are several agents entering the room. A tactical medic approaches you within moments. There’s blood seeping down your skin and soaking through your clothes. You don’t have the strength to do anything except exert a weak pressure on your wound. Your breaths are harsh gasps and increasingly hard to come by. You blink.

It’s hard to be aware of your surroundings. You manage to fight the urge to remain in this dreary darkness and your eyes flutter open. You’re reclined on a stretcher in an ambulance, with several straps preventing you from movement. Your vision is swimming, but you can vaguely make out faces looking over you. You blink a few times in an attempt to clear your sight; when your vision finally returns to normal, you feel fear strike through your heart. Hannibal is sitting at your side, a sharp gleam in his eyes. His brows are pinched in what you assume to be manufactured concern. There’s a paramedic at your side asking you questions, but the words all sound garbled. When you look back to Hannibal, you swear you see him smirking. A trick of the light, you tell yourself. Your heart starts thundering in your chest and a machine begins to beep incessantly. You don’t want to be so vulnerable in front of the Chesapeake Ripper, but you don’t quite have a choice. Your vision falls to black within a few moments.

You manage to catch glimpses of the starry night sky, then the white ceiling of what must be a hospital. When you realize you’re being wheeled through a hospital hallway, you can’t help but grow more nervous. You’re tightly secured to the stretcher and you feel trapped. There’s an oxygen mask secured over your mouth and nose. You grimace instinctually from the pain shooting through you, rippling up your torso and down your skin. You try to move your hand, but you can only slightly bend your fingers. Alarms are blaring.

Several nurses hover over you. They’re trying to speak to you, you think. You can’t answer. There’s nothing but overwhelming pain. Your fingers are twitching again. A tear slides down your cheek. The light above is blinding. Your hand is restless. You can’t stop fidgeting.

Suddenly, Hannibal’s hand is on your forearm. His grip is incredibly loose but the pressure is somehow—regrettably—reassuring. Before you can contemplate the meaning behind the gesture, you’re slipping into unconsciousness once more. This time, however, you don’t wake. Instead, you’re left to drown in your own dreams and nightmares, removed from reality.

taglist [comment if you'd like to be added/removed]: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown

Tags

fic rec x gn reader gn! reader hannibal lecter x reader hannibal x gn reader Hannibal Lecter x male reader SOOO WELL WRITTEN

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666sachertorte666

2 years ago

Your Best Nightmare

Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader

Note: harrington!reader, can be biological or adopted, no reference to appearance. Also gender neutral, only characterization is that Steve is a protective older brother

request by @kazeddie85 : Harrington!reader x Eddie? They were dating before they went into the Upside Down and her brother has to force her to leave his body there. For days she’s depressed, won’t eat or go to school, even to graduation. She can’t sleep because of the nightmares of Eddie being ripped apart and hearing his screams. Until one night she sees him in her room. She thinks she’s dreaming but it turns out that it’s real- it’s vampire!Eddie.

wc: 3k

warnings: canon s4 event/character death, grief, depressive symptoms related to grief, nightmares, vampire!eddie

*****

“No! No!” Your shrill voice echoed through the quiet house. “No! Please!” Rapid footsteps thundered down the hallway and stopped abruptly at your doorway.

A darkness weighed heavily over the town of Hawkins, but the darkness in your own life was suffocating. You tossed and turned, sweat seeping through your bedsheets as your sleep-ridden brain conjured the worst of images.

Steve hesitated a moment at the threshold to your room, but soon his feet carried him to your bedside, a heartbreaking routine. He climbed onto your bed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. With the shuffling movement, you awoke and tears stained your cheeks as you hid them in your brother's nightshirt. Your cries were muffled but the shuddering of your body was unmistakable pain.

“Shhh, I’m here.” Steve whispered into the top of your head as he rubbed his hands over your shoulder in soothing circles. Words were futile but it was all he could do. Nothing could take away the pain of the prior few days.

“Y/n, just go!” Dustin shouted to you, piercing the haze of worry set deeply into your face. Ignoring the voice in your head telling you that you shouldn’t leave Dustin behind, you listened to the boy for once and turned tail to run out into the open expanse of the Upside Down in search of your boyfriend.

“Eddie!” You screamed into the void, looking all around you until your eyes settled on the swirling cloud of demobats in the distance. With a gut-wrenching realization, your breathing picked up and you took off in a sprint toward that nightmarish cloud in the distance. “Eddie! Hold on, I’m coming!” You puffed out with difficulty while you ran. But he couldn’t hear you. Through the blurry barrage of tears trickling down your face while you ran, you could just make out Eddie’s form, valiantly slaying the small-but-mighty beasts as they took turns dive-bombing toward him. A pride knocked in your chest at his performance, the brave way he fought despite the stupidity of leaving you behind in his trailer.

But pride was soon replaced with despair when Eddie’s body was yanked to the ground and your breath caught in your throat just as your feet froze and your body halted in shock. Recovering quickly, you continued running, cursing the ground for how far away you still were. With a quick glance behind you, you spotted Dustin limping away from the trailer, following after you slowly. But you kept running.

“Eddie!” Your shouts were growing more frantic with each passing second. As you neared enough for the scene to unfold clearer, you choked back a fresh round of tears. He was struggling. His body writhed on the ground and the black shadowy forms of the bats surrounded him, diving in and out with a rhythmic thrum.

It was when Eddie stopped fighting back that your heart dropped into your stomach and you ran with a renewed desperation to save the man who was so set on saving you.

“Was it the same one again?” Steve asked you once your body relaxed and you sank exhausted into his side. Steve swung his legs up fully onto your bed and you curled into his side, feeling once again like a little kid afraid of the monsters in your closet. But this time the monsters were real.

Nodding your answer to his question, Steve tightened his grip on you. He settled in for the long run, letting his eyes drift shut while you battled to dismiss your terrorizing thoughts in order to get at least a few hours of rest.

The truth was, Steve understood all too well. Your nightmares were relentless and they were like clockwork. But Steve wrestled daily with his own memories of that night, although nothing could compare to the misery he knew you faced. At first, Steve had been resistant to the idea of you dating Eddie Munson, resident freak of Hawkins High. But seeing the way your smile stretched wider than ever before when you were with him, and the way Eddie looked after you like you were his greatest treasure - Steve couldn’t deny that there was something special there, no matter how confused he was by the pairing.

But that made this reality all the more worse. School was now impossible for you, everything reminded you of Eddie. Eddie had escorted you through every hallway to each of your classes, sacrificing his own class time to be with you - something you knew he wasn’t too heartbroken to do. Every sight and every smell would bring back the emptiness in your chest. So you refused to go.

Graduation was nearing and you were barely keeping your head above water. But if Eddie couldn’t graduate, why should you? You’d be lucky to make it through the rest of the year anyway, because even the teachers had to pretend like the whole town wasn’t falling to pieces and the apocalyptic end of the world wasn’t just around the corner.

Steve checked in on you on his breaks from work, but most times you would hide under the covers and let the phone ring with no desire to respond.

And then there were your parents - they were completely unsympathetic to your condition, insisting that a “selfish, murdering psychopath like that Munson boy doesn’t deserve the grieving you are giving him.” They never liked him, or more like they never cared enough to try, and you hadn’t the energy to put up a fight.

It was endless.

You weren’t sure how your body hadn’t shriveled up from all the tears you expended each day. And you simply couldn’t comprehend how life could go on with any semblance of normalcy knowing what had happened in the Upside Down that fateful night.

“No, no no no.” Your head shook back and forth in denial as your eyes swept over the chewed up form of your boyfriend. “Eddie,” it came out more as a whimper, as you knelt beside him, immediately taking his hand into your own and cradling his head in your lap. His eyes fluttered open but his usually bright and piercing brown eyes were now a deep muddy color, like the light was being pulled from him with every passing second.

Your tears began to fall freely and without restraint, dropping down over Eddie’s body, your tears mixing with his blood. And there was so much blood.

“Edds, I’m here.” You choked it out, horrified at the croak of your voice. His gaze met yours and despite the severity of his injuries, he smiled at you.

You could have melted right there, his smile alone sending a wave of welcome warmth over you. But this wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t be happening.

His smile faded when a fresh jolt of pain seized his body, his muddled brain only half processing the state of his body.

When Dustin finally arrived, the weight of the moment intensified, seeing the agony behind the younger boy’s eyes was difficult to bear on top of your own emotions spilling over. You looked at each other with a knowing failure.

Eddie’s body shuddered in your arms and you fought back the urge to scream out into the vast expanse of this nightmarish world.

With nothing around to stop the bleeding or dull the pain, you were helpless. As you watched the life drain from his eyes, his dying words to you and Dustin would be tattooed in your mind for the rest of your life, you were sure. You begged for the fates to bring him back to you. What had you done to deserve this?

After what felt like an eternity, you heard shouts in the distance. You knew that voice. And it was panicked.

Steve, Robin, and Nancy crested the horizon and ran in your direction. At the same time, you felt the ground beneath you rumble and the sky erupted in fluorescent lightning. Dustin looked up at them as they neared, but you kept your eyes glued to the still and cold face of Eddie beneath you, afraid he would disappear if you looked away. You ignored your racing heartbeat responding to whatever was happening to the very ground on which you sat.

Once the others had approached close enough to know it was too late for their friend, Robin and Nancy dropped down behind Dustin and offered what little comfort they could. Steve, however, was at your side in an instant and he would never forget the racking sobs shaking your body as he held you and wished he could make it all go away.

But there was no time to waste. With your head curled up under Steve’s chin, he whispered to you frantically. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. But we have to go. We have to get out of here.”

You were awash with every possible emotion all at once. You shook your head fervently. No, you couldn’t leave.

“Yes, we have to go, come on.” Steve moved to stand and he tried to pull you up with him. But you threw your body back down over Eddie’s in a last ditch effort to remain behind, despite knowing that Steve would never allow you to stay here when you could already feel the world crumbling around you.

Steve’s hands gripped your shoulders and pulled you away, but you didn’t go easily. “No, I won’t leave him!” You fought against his hold but you were no match for Steve as a bone-deep fatigue sank in over the overwhelming heartache. “I can’t- I won’t- Steve please.” You begged through your tears.

Another rumble sounded and all heads turned toward the sound. Not a hundred yards away, the ground was opening up and an eerie red glow emanated from within.

Nancy pulled Dustin to his feet and yelled over the din of destruction, “Steve, we need to leave NOW!” She was already pulling Robin and Dustin behind her, heading toward the Munson trailer to return to Hawkins before the Upside Down imploded on itself.

Steve hauled you along behind him, refusing to let you have your way and remain behind with Eddie. “Eddie!” You cried out repeatedly, an unwavering flow of tears barreling across your cheeks.

“We have to leave him, Y/n. I’m sorry, there’s just no time.” Steve tried to remain calm and gentle but he was worried they had already wasted too much time. “We can come back for him later.” He knew this was a lie, there was no coming back here, not after all of this.

And so Steve dragged your emotionally drained body away from Eddie’s. It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do, leaving Eddie behind in the place that had quite literally destroyed everything you loved. And the image of his body laying alone in that horrid place would haunt you for days to come.

It had been two months since that night that scarred your heart and mind irreparably. Two months of crying into your pillow and trying desperately to mend the broken pieces of your life. Two months of tossing and turning to the tune of nightmarish images of Eddie and the bats and the sorry state they left him in. Two months of Steve and the others fretting over you and your inability to move on, yet understanding the difficulty of it all.

Tonight, the routine would start all over again. You knew exactly what would happen. You would lay in bed, pushing away the images that would plague your waking mind, trying in vain to forget everything long enough to fall asleep. But then the sleep demons would slink through your thoughts and memories and pull the images back, bringing those memories to life and forcing you to relive those horrific moments. The final moments of Eddie’s life.

So you laid yourself down, forced away those painful thoughts and after a fit of discomfort, you finally drifted to sleep.

Your dream tonight was different, however. In your dream, you imagined leaving Eddie’s body behind and the toll if had on you as Steve dragged your body away, kicking and screaming. But this time, you awoke from the nightmare much faster than usual. Because as soon as the image of Eddie’s lone body solidified and your dream self stood over his prone form, he opened his eyes and his red irises stared back at you. This image jolted you awake. You sat up abruptly in bed, panting heavily from the confusion and the barrage of feelings threatening to explode from within yourself.

Your eyes searched the darkness around you, ensuring that you were still in your bed at home, where you had been just a few hours ago.

But what your eyes found was even more alarming than you could have expected. Standing just a few feet from the foot of your bed was a tall, lean figure with a head of curly, shoulder-length hair. The familiarity struck you to the core.

Your breathing picked up more, matching the escalated beating of your heart. You could have sworn you had woken up from your dream, but blinking away the image before you was proven impossible. This was real.

“Eddie?” You whispered into the darkness, your voice quiet and hesitant.

He took a step toward you and you pulled the blankets tighter around you. This couldn’t be real, right?

The figure raised his hands in a defensive stance, and he stepped into the dim light of the moon cast through your open window - that window had remained closed for the past two months, a reminder of all the times your Eddie had snuck in after hours.

But when the figure was illuminated in that faint moonlight, your breath hitched. The chestnut-colored eyes you adored so much were staring back at you, but the blood-red irises were startlingly new. It was Eddie. And yet it wasn’t.

“Eddie, is- is that you?”

Hope sparked, but you refused to hold too tight for fear of utter disappointment.

In the blink of an eye, he was at your bedside, knelt beside you. His unmistakably gentle gaze was trained on you and you alone. His hand was cold as his fingers laced in yours, you could feel the heat from your own hands transfer to him.

It was as if time stood still in that moment. It was him. It was your Eddie. And yet he was different.

“I thought you were dead. You- your body was- you stopped breathing.” You tried to reason it out. Your hand untangled from his and you let your fingers dance over his shoulders, his cheeks, feeling flesh and only barely allowing yourself to hold onto the crumb of joy at believing this was really him.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you knew without a doubt. Eddie closed his eyes at your touch, a pained expression of lost time swept over him.

Into the silence broken only by the slight sniffles brought on by the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, Eddie spoke to you, hearing his voice for the first time in two months. “It’s me, but I’m- I’m not the same. I've… changed. I’m different.”

You laughed at his choice of words. “You’ve always been different. That’s why I’ve always loved you so much.” You pressed your forehead against his, relishing in the closeness you had missed with your whole heart.

Eddie pulled his head back and took your hands in his, lowering them into your lap. He was serious, more serious than you had ever seen him before. “It’s much more than that now. I can’t- you just have to trust me for right now. But I needed you to know that I’m here, and I’m- not exactly alive but I’m here. And this will all be over soon.” He looked around and paused, listening into the silence at the muted squeaks of the floorboards in the hall. “I have to go. I have to get back before-“ he stopped himself. Then continued. “I love you and I’ll be back. Just trust me.” Before you could protest, Eddie moved and within the blur of a fraction of a second, he was at the window, hands braced against the frame. He hesitated, waiting.

Then you heard it. Footsteps padding down the hall, just outside your room. The door swung open slowly and Steve stood stock still, his eyes sweeping the room, first finding you sitting up in bed, then following your gaze toward the window, he spotted Eddie. A sight he thought he would never see again. How many times had Steve caught Eddie in this exact position, poised for escape through your second floor window.

While Steve remained frozen in place, processing the scene before him, Eddie nodded his head toward his friend before jumping from the windowsill toward the ground below.

Alarmed by the sudden movement, Steve ran toward the window, looking down toward the ground below, but seeing no sign of the Munson boy who had been there not two seconds before.

He turned toward you for answers. And what he saw almost melted him right then and there. It was subtle, but for the first time in two months, you were smiling. You had a dreamy look of slight disbelief, but then again, what you had just witnessed was something out of your dreams.

When you met Steve’s questioning gaze, you told him the most beautiful truth. “He’s back. I don’t know how and I don’t care. But he’s back. Eddie’s back.”

*****

wanna be tagged next time?

All: @jellyfishbeansontoast @makebank @astrydis @gloryekaterina @outerbankslut @miraclesoflove @hufflepuffhaze @glitt3r-litt3r @simonsbluee

Stranger Things: @sortagaysortahigh @maycat-19-142 @theoreticslut @ambearsstuff @emersongareth @munson-burner @val-writesstuff @milkiane @luvmybbies @meaganjm @melody303 @tiaamberxx @fairyhope028 @darklingbrekksov @bijleegiregi @buckysgirl17 @unbelievablefandoms @spongebob-in-the-upsidedown @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sadbitchfangirl @fandomsunited @yoalchumly @rienstalled @flwrdia

Tags

stranger things fic rec love it eddie munson x reader eddie munson x harrington!reader eddie munson x gn!reader vampire!eddie vampire!eddie munson 10000 stars amazing Beautiful amazing breathtaking

252 notes View Post

666sachertorte666

1 year ago

Type "I am" in the tags and whatever follows is your gender today...

Tags

i am so gay

36K notes View Post

666sachertorte666

2 years ago

Connor sitting on the plushsofa in one of the smaller livingrooms of the estate enjoying a hot cup of tea and a rare moment of silence when a 14 y.o Kendall, 11 y.o Roman and 8 y.o Siobhan (age heacanon from me idk open to other ideas!) come barging in, kendall slapping adoption papers on the coffee table "You're our dad now, bitch"

Tags

succession roman roy shiv roy hbo succession kendall roy connor roy siobhan roy shiobhan roy succession headcanons

24 notes View Post

666sachertorte666

2 years ago

shakespeare is metal. (2/?)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson desperately needs to graduate this year, and you're the only tutor that hasn't turned him down. (part 2 to "i’m not above begging")

warnings: cursing, mentions of murder/suicide (in regards to shakespeare), jason carver being a shithead (is that even a warning??)

a/n: you guyssss 🥺 I can’t believe the first part of this has 100 notes! thank you all so much for being so kind. i’m truly grateful for every single one of you that took the time to read this and provide such positive responses. it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. I got carried away again at 2,764 words (I have a too much gene, oops). as always, all feedback is welcomed/appreciated! please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts!

tags: @uraveragequeer

It had been three weeks since I had started tutoring Eddie. I really wasn’t sure what to expect when I had agreed to the arrangement in the first place. I had known of Eddie, but I didn’t know Eddie. Not really. The morning of our first tutoring session, I ransacked my entire closet trying to figure out what to wear. I had never given so much thought into an outfit, despite the obligatory first day of school outfit of course. I stared at my frazzled face in the mirror, cheeks glowing red from hurling clothes on and off my body, my once neatly curled hair now sticking out in odd places. Why do I suddenly care so much what Eddie Munson thinks of my clothes? He wears that same Hellfire shirt every other day.

Eddie had agreed to meet me that Monday morning in the library at 7:30 am sharp. I had expected him to be late, partly because Eddie Munson was not known for his punctuality, but also because I literally had to give him directions to the library. It amused me that the place I had spent a majority of my time in high school, he had never stepped foot in. I arrived at 7:15 and took a seat at one of the tables near the back. The library was empty, not even the librarian had arrived yet. My knee bounced in anticipation as I continuously checked the clock behind the desk what felt like every 30 seconds.

7:17. 7:19. 7:21. 7:23.

Just as the minute hand landed at 7:30, Eddie Munson was bursting through the library doors with a large, goofy grin on his face. My face must have betrayed my inner thoughts, because he looked at me with a knowing smirk and pointed in my direction as he took a seat in front of me.

“You thought I wasn’t gonna show, didn’t ya?”

“No! I just..expected you to get lost..that’s all. Since you’ve never been in here. Um, let’s get started, yeah?”

“Sure. But just so you know, I’d never stand you up angel.”

Eddie shot me a wink and a lopsided grin, pulling out a pencil and a notebook that had definitely seen better days. And me? I was malfunctioning. Eddie Munson winked at me. And called me angel. And I liked it. Why did I like it so much?

That was essentially how all of our tutoring sessions had gone so far. Eddie would be his usual charming self, say or do something flirtatious, and I would be left a stuttering mess trying to steer his attention back to the task at hand, which was a victory in itself. That boy had the attention span of a baby goldfish when it came to topics he bore no interest in. Dungeons and Dragons? Oh he could go on for days. Shakespeare? I couldn’t even get him to hold a book in his hand for longer than 5 seconds.

“I don’t understand why I have to do this. Why do I have to agree that this old dude is ‘one of the greatest writers of our time’ when I think he sucks? It’s forced conformity. I mean who even decided Shakespeare was so ‘great’? Why should we have to be forced to study him until the end of time because of one stuck up asshole’s opinion who’s clearly never read anything worthwhile? Now Tolkien, there’s a fucking writer. Why can’t I do this stupid project on Lord of the Rings?”

“Because you want to pass Mrs. O’Donnell’s class and graduate?”

Eddie groaned loudly, rubbing his large palms over his face and tilting his chair back as he put his feet up on the table which earned him a dirty look from the librarian. His arms crossed over his chest and he stared down at the several books in front of him with detest, as if each one of them had personally offended him. His final project was to pick a work of Shakespeare, read it, and write a three page essay on its meaning. The project itself wasn’t difficult, but Eddie was.

“Look why don’t you think of it as a..um..what do you call it in your game? A challenge?”

“Quest, sweetheart. It’s called a quest.”

Sweetheart.

“R-Right, quest. Think of this as a quest. Shakespeare, is your key to getting out of Mrs. O’Donnell’s class, and Hawkins High itself. Except instead of dice, you have to write a paper.”

“But dice are so much cooler! The new set I got last week are-”

“Eddie.”

“Fine.”

Eddie grumbled and picked up a copy of Romeo and Juliet, eyeing the cover in disgust. His large brown eyes scanned over the various copies laying on the table, all of which he held with contempt. Eddie’s eyes were quickly becoming one of my favorite things about him. They were so warm and expressive, like large pools of melted chocolate. It was hard not to get lost in them. They felt like a safe space. His fingers slowly moved over the covers of the worn paperbacks, his large rings gleaming under the harsh lights in the library. Eddie’s hands were also becoming another one of my favorite things about him. They were so large, and everytime I looked at them, I remembered how soft and warm his skin felt against my own. Eddie was an expressive talker, always talking with his hands and animated gestures. I often found myself getting caught up in his movements, eyes so focused on following his fingers I couldn’t even hear what he was saying. During the past 3 weeks, my mind constantly wandered to his hands. He had mentioned being in a band once, which instantly sent my mind into a frenzy wondering what his hands looked like when he played.

Eddie had been a constant figure in my mind ever since our interaction in the tutoring center. The more time we spent together, the worse it seemed to get. I found myself worrying about my appearance more, tripping over my words in front of him, constantly looking for excuses to talk to him outside of our sessions. I had no idea what was happening to me or why I was all of a sudden so enthralled with Eddie Munson.

“Alright, level with me angel. Which one of these books will make me want to slam my head in my van door the least?”

The completely unamused expression on Eddie’s face caused me to laugh out loud. I quickly cupped one of my hands over my mouth and flashed the librarian an apologetic look. I shook my head as I regained my composure, looking over at Eddie who had a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I made the mistake of letting Eddie know that I thought he was funny. Since the first time he made me giggle, he made it his personal mission to get at least one laugh out of me every session, no matter what it took. There was no length he wouldn’t go to.

“You are going to get us kicked out! I can’t be banned from the library Eddie, I practically live here! Look, Shakespeare is not that bad. If you would pay attention, you would know he’s actually pretty..metal.”

Eddie stared at me incredulously with wide eyes, his chair landing back on the floor with a loud thunk as he leaned over the table. His dark brows knit together in the middle of his forehead as he mimicked my words.

“I’m sorry..did you just say Shakespeare is..metal?”

“For his time, yeah. A lot of his plays involve murder, or suicide, or a murder-suicide. Some of them are pretty violent. He was also actually kind of a rebel. He wrote tons of plays that cryptically called out the royals of his time, knowing that they would be performed in front of them. He essentially mocked them to their faces, and they had no idea.”

Eddie’s eyes flickered between the titles on the table and me, disbelief written clearly all over his features. He leaned forward to rest his cheek in the palm of his hand. After several minutes of contemplation, he nodded slowly with a click of his tongue, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Huh, that is pretty fucking metal.”

I pulled out a copy of Hamlet from the stack and put it in front of Eddie, gently tapping on the cover.

“You’ll like this one. There’s murder, suicide, witchcraft and other supernatural stuff. Arguably one of Shakespeare’s best soliloquies. It’s one of my favorites. Plus, I think you’ll like Hamlet. He’s a drama queen, like you.”

Eddie let out a sharp gasp, covering his chest in an exaggerated fashion with one of his large hands. He painted an expression of mock offense and quickly stood from the chair, gaining everyone’s attention in the library.

“Excuse me? You..you think I’m a drama queen? Wow. I just..you know..you think you know someone and then..they just break your heart. Unbelievable. I really thought we had something Y/N, something special.”

I tried my hardest to contain my giggles, quickly reaching out to grasp onto Eddie’s wrist as he started to walk away from our table. My cheeks flamed when I realized all the other students in the library were staring at us. Some of them looked amused, some of them looked disgusted. I hated the way people stared at Eddie. I hated how much they judged him.

“Eddie! Shh! Seriously, please sit down. If we get kicked out of the library, I can’t tutor you anymore. You know I can’t bring you to the tutoring center anymore.”

Eddie had been unofficially banned from the tutoring center after our second session for being a “distraction”. After ten minutes of drum solos with pencils, Eddie being well, just Eddie, and a heated exchange with one of the jocks, we moved permanently to the library. Although, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before we were unofficially banished from here as well.

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, his long fingers nearly covering the entire front cover of the copy of Hamlet still in his hand. He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips, eventually sitting on top of the table right next to my chair. The sudden closeness caused me to tense as the scent of his cologne filled my senses, leaving me somewhat dizzy.

“Fine. But only because I want to sit. Not because you said so. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Crystal. But for the record, you know you’re a drama queen. You practically put on your own Shakespearian show everyday at lunch.”

“Well if you wanted a front row seat sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

My next words of banter immediately caught in my throat, and I prayed to whoever was listening Eddie couldn’t see the change in color of my cheeks. Eddie Munson was a natural flirt. That was just his personality. I had to remind myself that several times over the past few weeks. He’s not flirting with you, dummy. He’s just being nice. He talks like this to everyone. Luckily the bell rang and saved me from becoming a stumbling mess in front of Eddie once again.

“I mean it, you should come sit with us sometime. If you’re feeling brave. See ya later, angel.”

I grumbled under my breath the entire walk to my locker. Damn Eddie Munson. Damn him and his stupid wink and stupid smirk and stupid cute dumb face that sends my brain into a total meltdown.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely registered the pair of blue eyes that were staring at me expectantly as I shut my locker door.

“Hey..you.”

Jason Carver. I had tutored him several times in the past two and a half years, and he still didn’t know my fucking name. I forced a tight-lipped smile on my lips and held my books protectively against my chest.

“Hi Jason. What can I do for you?”

“I’m actually here about what I can do for you.”

My face must have given away my confusion, since Jason started to laugh and leaned against the locker next to mine. A little too close for my liking.

“You know, about the freak.”

“Excuse me?”

I hated the way that word rolled off his tongue so easily, as if it had said it a million times before. I knew he had. And I knew exactly who he was hurling that word at.

“Come on, you know you don’t have to tutor him right? You can say no.”

“No I can’t, Jason. It’s my job.”

“I know plenty of tutors who have turned that freak down, for good reason.”

“Well unlike them, I take my job seriously. I can’t just turn away a student that needs my help.”

Jason’s lips stretched into a grin that I’m sure was supposed to be charming, but to me it just looked threatening. Jason didn’t like to be challenged. He took a step forward to lean against my locker, placing his arm on the metal above my head. I didn’t like the way he towered over me. It made me feel like a helpless animal trapped by its prey, being taunted.

“Look, I get it. You’re a sweet girl, and a saint if you ask me. I know you take it seriously. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have passed chemistry and been kicked off the team a long time ago. I owe you a lot. Which is why I’m here. I’m just looking out for you, okay? I know you try to see the good in people and all, but there’s no good in that devil worshiping freak. Like I said, I owe you. So if he starts to bother you, or make you feel unsafe, come to me. I just wanna protect you.”

Protect me? You don’t even know my fucking name. And you don’t know Eddie. It took everything in my power not to laugh in his face, every shred of self-control not to call him an asshole and to mind his fucking business. But I couldn’t do that. I’m the nice girl. Nice girls don’t talk like that. Nice girls don’t cause a scene. Nice girls smile and nod. So, that’s exactly what I did.

“Thank you, Jason. I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Hey, you looked out for me. I just want to repay the favor. You’ll come to me, right? Promise?”

There was an edge to his tone, like he was daring me to disobey. My fingers gripped onto the spine of my math textbook so tightly I knew they had turned white. I did my best to appear natural, forging another submissive smile onto my lips.

“I promise.”

My answer seemed to satisfy him. He gave my shoulder a tight squeeze, threw me his most charming smile, and took off down the hall towards the gym. I felt dirty. I felt like I needed to take the most scalding hot shower I could stand to burn away every piece of evidence of Jason Carver’s hand on my shoulder. But mostly, I felt guilty. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t correct him. I didn’t stand up for Eddie, which is what I should have done. Social status be damned. Not like I really had one, but still. There was a nauseating feeling building in my stomach. He would have done it for you.

Eddie would have stood up for me. He wouldn’t have hesitated. He wouldn’t be a coward like me. At that moment, I wondered if he knew. I wondered if he could see right through me, see me for who I really was. A coward. A girl that always did as she was told so she didn’t make waves. A girl that kept quiet, and never spoke up, even against something she knew was wrong. Another conformist.

He would be ashamed of you.

That one thought played over and over in my head all night as I laid in bed. That nauseous feeling never went away, it just continued to gnaw at my nerves and only grew in strength as the hours ticked away. I thought about Eddie, and how I was going to handle seeing his sweet smile while my guilt was eating me up inside. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

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fic rec eddie munson x reader eddie munson fic

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666sachertorte666

2 years ago