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onouwu · 10 months

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Dr Omiata's Depravity - Capturing an Assassin

1st chapter HERE Resuming her duties at the castle, Ellie prowled the war-torn landscape once more, her senses attuned for another captivating treasure amidst the chaos of battle. The thrill of the hunt and the anticipation of a new discovery fueled her as she navigated the battlefield with a newfound sense of purpose.

Hours of relentless fighting passed, and just when the day seemed to blend into an endless symphony of clash and carnage, her heart missed a beat. Across the battlefield, a figure caught her eye. A woman, her fiery red hair a stark contrast against the cold gray stone of the castle walls, was attempting to scale the fortress. An assassin, perhaps, intent on a covert mission.

Ellie, her instincts on high alert, dashed towards the woman, her swift feet carrying her like a shadow. Before the woman could notice her, Ellie had her locked in a powerful chokehold. Her desperation was powerful, but her delicate form could hardly leverage resistance. The woman’s chest heaved with an urgency that was both distressing and captivating. Ellie felt the woman’s body writhe in her iron grip, each muscle straining against her hold in a desperate bid for freedom. A twisted thrill filled Ellie's veins. As she grabbed the woman tightly and dropped to her knees, she took in the feeling of this vibrant life in her grasp. The woman's chest billowed against her grip. Her core felt lively yet delicate and soft contrast to the modest tone of her arms and legs. Her skin was pale as the snow, barely hiding the delicate blue streaks just beneath the surface. Her chest, lightly dusted with a smattering of freckles, began to express her body's limits. It rose and fell in an erratic rhythm, each rise a plea for air, each slowing fall a testament to her fading strength. Her swollen pink face contorted in agony as drool ran down either side of her cheeks onto Ellie's arm.

The assassin's heart pounded like a wild beast against the bars of its cage. It was a powerful, frantic rhythm that reverberated throughout the woman's torso, a raw, primal drumline that became more vivid as her lungs calmed down. Its ferocious beating echoed the woman's will to survive and called Ellie's hand to her sternum. Ellie could feel the desperation, the determination, the unyielding spirit that resided within the fragile form of the woman and nothing excited her more.

However, as the woman's strength waned and her arms and legs fell limp to her side, the heart as well, once punching away at her palm in protest, gradually settled into a slow and inconsistent beat. With one final desperate gasp, the woman's fight for survival came to a close. The woman lay still and silent, the only sounds coming from her a shallow labored breath. Ellie scooped the unconscious woman into her arms and carried her back to her home. Once they were inside, she carefully placed the redhead onto the bed, taking a moment to appreciate her new prize's radiant beauty. There was something enchanting about her, a wild, untamed fire that burned bright even in her unconscious state. Ellie straddled the unconscious woman, her own heart pounding with anticipation as she ran fingers through her hair and explored her like a prize, a trophy of this senseless war. ...

There was little to stop Ellie, who knew that to the world around her, she had nothing but an enemy, less a human than a sack of meat. Still, she was lost in her admiration. Her fingers coveted the soft curves of the redhead's delicate form while her vitals became stronger and more stable by the second. The woman's eyes fluttered open. Lost in the moment, Ellie was taken by surprise. She watched and felt every second of this recovery, but she hadn't planned for what to do. "no-no, not yet, sweetie." Ellie said softly. Her words an angel's hymn, but her intentions a cruel exercise of power. Before the woman had a chance to gather her bearings, Ellie’s hand was around her throat. The woman's eyes widened with terror, that vibrance Ellie felt sitting in the dirt, it was back and more beautiful than ever. Ellie reveled in the control she wielded.

Ellie rested a hand on the redhead's chest, both to support herself and feel the turmoil within. The woman's heart beat erratically under the stress, her hands wrapping around Ellie's arm but to no avail. The strong and steady thump turned into a frantic scramble as her weakened body was consumed by panic. Ellie was keenly aware of the woman's fragile state as a doctor, yet she couldn't help but savor the rush of depraved bliss.

Suddenly, the frantic beat under Ellie's hand stilled, replaced by an unsettling silence. Panic seized her as she realized the woman’s heart had gone into failure.

Ellie's medical training kicked in. She began chest compressions. "Stay with me," she muttered to the still-conscious woman who struggled for breath even with her neck free of pressure.

As Ellie's hands pressed down into the woman's chest, she savored the sensation of the woman's taut and petite frame yielding beneath her weight, her sternum creaking slightly under the pressure, the softness of her bosom cushioning her exertion. The woman's heart beneath her palm, quickly started pumping weakly but determinedly... but Ellie didn't stop. The excitement filled her mind, it made her heart pound. Instead, she continued, fueled by a strange exhilaration. The poor muscle squirmed in a dysrhythmic paralysis under Ellie's command, each sporadic pump an echo of the rhythm she dictated. It was a testament to her will over the beautiful redhead's pallid little chest and the struggling vitality within.

The woman's feeble hands could barely rise in protest; ineffective against Ellie's relentless thrusts into her core. Each pump of her hands, each rebound of the woman's delicate ribs it only reinforced her dominance.

The woman's heart finally gave up, and ceased to beat on its own, the rhythm now entirely dictated by Ellie's hands. It was as if the woman had given in completely, surrendering her very life force to Ellie's whims. Her arms dropped and her eyes glazed over as if in the twilight of consciousness,

With every thrust, Ellie could see the blood coursing through the woman's veins, making them bulge against her neck. the plump little organ responding only to her command. It was a heady sensation - one that sent shivers down Ellie's spine. ---

The redhead's eyes fluttered open to the dim light that filled the room. She winced as a dull throb pulsed through her chest. Looking down across her naked form, she saw the telltale signs of bruising marring her once pristine skin, a deep purple testament to the ordeal she had been put through by the sadistic castle guard. Ellie's touch was indelibly etched into her flesh, a reminder of the terrifying hunger the woman wielded.

Her heart pounded erratically and sharply against her bruised sternum; each beat a reminder of what happened. The woman had played her heart like a musical instrument.

She tried to move, to rise, to escape. But the cold, unforgiving shackles bit into her bare skin, confining her wrists and ankles to the bed. She was trapped, helpless, a prisoner to the whims of her captor.

Ellie was not done with her. The thought sent a chill down her spine. The shackles were proof of that. Each metal loop was a silent promise of more to come, each chain a grim foreshadowing of her fate. Ellie had a taste of her helplessness, and the game was far from over.

#CPR abuse #Forced resus #Conscious Resus #cardiophillia #cardiophile story #f/f #non con #captured damsel #human trophy

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gaspingandcompressing · 4 months

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Once again seeing posts on CPR/resus kink blogs featuring MINORS! Children should NEVER be featured on kink blogs. EVER.

You will be reported and blocked. No fucking excuses.

#cpr #compressions #resus #breathplay #mouth to mouth #resuscitation #cardiophile #resus community #stop abuse

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iiumiium · 1 year

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just renewed my cpr certification how r y'all

#plastic baby abuse #cpr dummy #cpr classes #cpr training #cpr certified #cpr dummy baby #abusing cpr dummies

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abyssal-endling · 2 years

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(cw for death, drowning, abuse, ableism)

.drown.

In the bottom of my childhood's swimming pool, a figure in all black hugged me before pushing me away. My lungs heaved against pressing palms, eyes swollen in confusion.

When I walk in the lake, the tides call to me. Echoing in my skull, saying "not yet, don't forget", until I turn away once more.

A stapled packet of test papers sends a man I barely know into a rage, and my head into the water with a fist on my neck. The rippling faucet cries, "no, no, not yet!" until he leaves me there to shake.

I let myself sink under, to remind myself of warmth for a moment. When I come up again, her voice echoes on:

"No, my child. Not here. One day, but not yet."

#phrog scribblings #abuse #ableism #drowning #near death experience #anyway i drowned in a pool as a kid and saw a figure at the bottom before the lifeguard pulled me out for cpr #i was maybe 3 or 4 #then at the great lakes i got stuck in the undertow and climbed out frazzled at 9 #when i was 12 my dad held my head in the tub because i got diagnosed with autism #despite all of this i have an obsession with wated and being underwater

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kintsukuroi-babes · 2 months

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October 17 2023💔❤️‍🩹

My notes app right before I overdosed on her*in and fe*tanyl. I was at Felisha’s house ans she did cpr on me for 30 minutes before the paramedics came. I was dead. I know I died that day. I remeber being in the room but I wasn’t in my body. I was unconscious but I could still remeber everything that happened, I can still see and feel the panic she went thru. If she stopped giving me cpr I would be dead right now.

I remember smoking the h in her bathroom, leaving the bathroom and walking into her room and immediately later down on her bed. I remember being on my phone and squinting so hard to try and type out a bucket list apparently, took like 5-10 mins. I was trying so hard to type and I couldn’t get an actual word into the note no matter how hard I tried. I remember ber trying to type a word and then going back to see if I did it and Everytime it was just giberish.

Then I left. I was sitting there and my breathing was so slow and everything was so relaxing, and I remember taking my last breath before it all went black.

Strange that that’s what I was trying to do right before my life could’ve ended. Felisha saved my life, if I wasn’t with her that night I wouldn’t be here, if that happened while I was w my ex I would’ve died. She’s my guardian Angel.

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atimeofyourlife · 5 months

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Time after time

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: uncle wayne adopts steve | rated: t | wc: 942 | cw: reference to abuse, reference of canon fake suicide | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, steve harrington needs a hug

The first time they met, Wayne knew the boy couldn't be much older than fourteen. Definitely younger than Eddie, who was fast approaching sixteen. It was early, a little before 6 am, during summer vacation, no less. Wayne had finished his shift and called into Benny's to get a coffee and breakfast, on the mornings he did this, he was almost always the first customer of the day. Occasionally beaten in by a cop, or a firefighter, or anyone else that had been stuck with a night shift. But he had never seen a kid in so early. Sat alone in the corner booth nursing a cup of coffee with an almost empty plate in front of him.

"Mornin' Wayne. The usual?" Benny asked.

"You know it. But, uh. What's with the kid?" Wayne replied, nodding toward the boy in the corner.

"Dick and Linda's kid. They're back in town, and he needs a safe place. So he comes here."

"Why don't you report it?" "You think I haven't tried? His parents paid off just about everyone from the mayor down. Kid's not lucky enough to have any other family around to look out for him."

The kid came over with his empty cup and plate.

"I've told you a thousand times that you don't need to do that kid." Benny said.

The kid just shrugged.

"What's your name, kid?" Wayne asked.

"Steve, sir. Steve Harrington." He replied.

"I'm Wayne. And I wish my boy was as polite as you."

The second time they met, it was in more unfortunate circumstances. Benny's funeral. There'd been weird shit going on in town, starting with the Byers' kid going missing. Wayne didn't believe any of the official stories. But especially not the story of Benny's supposed suicide. He knew Benny so well, and something like that wasn't the sort of thing to cross his mind. He took his place in the community too seriously for that.

But the kid had changed. A few years older, and a lot more haunted. The look in his eyes giving away that he'd seen more than his fair share in his young life. And he was jumpy, almost always looking over his shoulder. He kept to himself, away from everyone else there. Wayne didn't see much of him until after. Steve was standing at the edge of the parking lot, his hands shaking as he tried to get his lighter to work.

"Here, kid." Wayne held his own lighter out.

"Thank you, sir." Steve replied, after taking a long puff on his cigarette.

"No need for thanks, kid. You doing okay?"

"I. I think I'm gonna miss him. He's helped me out a lot." Steve admitted.

"That was Benny for you. Always ready to help anyone out. But do you have anyone else you can reach out to if you need it?"

Steve hesitated a moment. "Yeah, sir. I do."

The third time, it was less of a meeting than Steve yelling directions at everyone. Tabitha, a woman who lived on the other side of the trailer park, collapsed in the middle of Big Buy. The kid snapped into action without second thought, checking Tabitha for a pulse, for her breathing. He yelled at an employee to call for an ambulance as he started chest compressions. At another to clear space. At some other customers to block the end of the aisle so no one else could stand around and watch. Wayne approached as Steve gave rescue breaths, before going back to the chest compressions. When he noticed Wayne, he looked like he was about to yell at him, but Wayne spoke first.

"It's okay, kid. She's my neighbor. And I know CPR too, so when you need a break I can take over."

They swapped places a few times before the paramedics showed up and took over.

"You did good, son. You acted quicker than any adults did. You may have just saved her life." "Anyone would have done it, sir. I was just the closest who knew what to do."

The fourth time, it was at the hospital. Steve in the hospital bed next to Eddie's, identical wounds, but Steve's were infected. Wayne got to talking to Steve while Eddie slept.

"I tried to protect him the best as I could, sir. I patched him up, and made sure he got to the hospital in time. I know I should have done more-"

"You did more than enough. You kept him alive, now you need to focus on making sure that you're healthy. And you can drop the sir shit. It's Wayne."

After that, Wayne lost count of the meetings. From sharing the hospital room with Eddie, to being friends, to being more. He would do as much for Steve as he would for Eddie, and wanted to ensure that both always had somewhere safe to return to.

"Steve, if you ever want to get out of that big empty house of yours, you're more than welcome to join us here. We'd love to have you move in with us." Wayne said to Steve one day while they were cooking together. Eddie always conveniently disappeared when anything cooking related came up.

"Sir, Wayne. I couldn't put you out like that." Steve replied.

"Nonsense. You're as much my kid as Eddie is, it don't matter who your momma or daddy is. We want you here, you spend enough time here as it is, we might as well make it official."

"I, Wayne. I'd like that." Steve was quite choked up, so Wayne pulled him into a hug. All was going to be okay, with him and his two boys.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #wayne munson #steve harrington has bad parents #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

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whumpback-wail · 7 months

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Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader)

A group under Dottore was doing a series of human experimentation in a facility in Fontaine. Being the Duke's finacée, (y/n) was captured by one of Wriothesley's many enemies, and sent to the facility to be an experiment subject. After her rescue, (y/n) was not the same. Battling PTSD while having no idea of what happened to her, she has a long journey of recovery ahead of her, and Wriothesley is there with her every step of the way.

Contains dark and mature themes, please DO NOT read if you're not certain you can handle the story, warnings listed below. Minors DNI.

Genre: f!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, a bit of mystery, action, more angst

TW/CW (will add as I go): first draft (will probably stay that way), very dark themes, angst, torture, blood, cpr, wishing for death, panic attacks, ptsd, human experimentation, implied s3xual abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, hyperventilation, hospitals, rehabilitation, vomitting, back and forth timeline, mentions of r@pe, pregnancy, ab0rtion, emotional and physical trauma

Updates: Completed!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters aside from (y/n). This story is 100000% fictional, any similarities to real life people or incidents are purely coincidental. After reading the TW/CW, please DO NOT read if you think you can't handle the story.

Minors DNI

Masterlist:

01 - Make It Out Alive

02 - What's Real?

03 - More Questions than Answers

04 - Investigation Continues

05 - Divulgence

06 - Embrace

07 - Decrescendo

08 - Epilogue

09 - Originally Planned Plot (Bonus)

#wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley angst #wriothesley x reader angst #whump #whump writing #whump series #whump fanfic #whump fanfiction #genshin impact whump #genshin impact wriothesley #whump community #genshin character x reader #anime whump

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madelynraemunson · 9 months

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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

Chapter 002: Wing Man

You start your first night of work. Eddie requests a private show. But not for him; for his friend — a rich and lonely bachelor who can’t seem to get over his ex.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020

word count: 7.2k words

NSFW — lap dance, steve creaming his pants, abusive relationships, talks of trauma, steve and reader trauma dumping lol

pairing: lonely bachelor!steve x fem!exoticdancer!hargrove! reader (and lowkey eddie)

author’s note: yes we get with steve before we get with eddie, but we will get there okay??? 🫣🫣🫦 also don’t tell me you guys wouldn’t homie hop in hawkins because these men are SO FINE

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

“Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance. Take you down another level, and get you dancing with the Devil” -Wicked Games by The Weeknd

♡

A sultry black set.

A hot pink set with bows. Caribbean blue. Army green for the military men. Some cuffs. Personal wet wipes. Sanitizer. And lastly, a stethoscope to play the part.

“I can’t believe you accepted a caregiving job,” Max scoffs as you both make your way out of Scrubs 4 Less. “Do you even have healthcare experience?”

Your stepsister loved to mask her prying with carefully crafted screening questions. Even if they sounded pessimistic.

“Sure I do,” you shrug. “Remember that summer I cared for Great-Aunt Dotty when she had Parkinson’s? Figured maybe it’d be similar.”

“I guess.”

You take it upon yourself to remind Max that you are certified in CPR. And with that cert, you saved numerous people from drowning as a lifeguard. Of course that was for one year during high school, but it was experience nonetheless.

"Well, what about the heavy lifting?"

"Easy. All in the legs." you pat your thighs. Despite being calm on the outside, you are getting nervous now. About everything.

"Takes a lot of core strength too. And upper body."

It's like she knows what you actually will be going to be doing. However, there are parallels between both professions, and you made sure you made a choice like that so you wouldn't have to lie as much about the physicality of things.

"You seemed to have gotten the job pretty fast,” Max notes.

"Nursing homes are really short staffed. Especially with the pandemic and everyone leaving from all the burnout, they’ll take anybody who qualifies."

"Did they even determine if you do?"

"Are you questioning my ability to take care of people?”

You know you’re being manipulative. You can spot a manipulator from a mile away. But this little white lie is for you and Max’s own good. Even if it means selling her a fake story. Even if it means lying. Living a double life.

“An abusive home life and all-timers isn’t comparable.”

“Have you considered that some people with Alzheimer’s are combative as well?”

“And you had to accept the graveyard shift?” she pries further, ignoring all your valid points.

“It pays more,” you answer sharply, readily. “Two dollar shift differential.”

“Oh my god, we’re practically millionaires.”

The sudden change in Max's behavior is really catching you off guard. She was optimistic on her birthday. A little withdrawn when the weekend was approaching. Now the pain is evident it is almost unbearable. Sure, Billy isn't a problem anymore, but with all of his chaos, Max has found solace in using her hobbies as coping mechanisms. Her body needs that adrenaline, and now you have cut off access to all of it.

Max can't go surf. She can't run around freely just yet because she doesn't know good routes and trails. She doesn't have friends in the area besides you, Robin, and Vicky. She misses Donovan.

Max is hurt. You know she is, but you don't blame her. Still, you’ve had it.

“Hey.” you snap.

Max halts. She knows she went too far.

“I know it's sucky... the situation we're in right now," you sigh. "But I'm doing this for us, remember? It’s temporary. We just need a soft place to land, and this is paving the way towards that.”

At least that’s something you didn’t have to lie about: It’s a sacrifice you were making for her.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

Orientation day comes in a blink of an eye.

Eddie is giving you a tour of Hellfire while discussing how his particular ‘system’ works. You’ve got to give him credit. His system makes sense.

“I don’t ask my girls to pay to dance here,” he explains. “I just think that’s bogus. Also, it’s Hawkins. Not that many competitors, so if I let you dance here, you’re automatically staff.”

You two walk down the hall. Eddie shows you where you would clock in and out, promising you your punch-in code by the end of the week. You learn that everyone gets paid out every Friday, because in Eddie’s words, “fuck that biweekly shit”. Tips go home with you every night, but you are expected to help tip out staff members patrons don’t really see or interact with. Therefore: Jonathan’s girlfriend Nancy whose House Mom, Henry, and Argyle. The boys make their money from bussing and serving. Jonathan earns tips from POTIONS.

“I figured as much.”

You graze your hand along the kukris on the wall as Eddie talks. He stops to take note of it and gives you a boastful smile.

“You like ‘em?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

“That’s the perk of owning your own business,” Eddie says exuding a lazy stretch to graze the kukris himself. “You choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes.”

He ponders for a while longer.

“Most of the time at least.”

Clearly a majority of the money also went to the chicken wings.

Eddie leads you to back of the house where he then proudly showcases his wing menu to you. There’s the Hawkins Hot Chick for Nashville inspired hot chicken. Chicken Strippers for the picky eaters. And the ‘Hot As Cluck’ buffalo wings with spice scales named after Metallica songs: Fuel (mild), Fight Fire with Fire (medium), Creeping Death (hot), and The Unforgiven (Extremely hot). All are served with one’s choice of carrots and celery or crinkle cut fries on the side.

“Crinkle cut fries are the best kind of fries,” Eddie states. “Ain’t that right, chef?”

“Ay ay!”

One chef. For the entire back of the house. Though that seems like the textbook definition of a staff shortage, the friendly Latino man with long, black hair that he concealed with a hairnet and baseball cap most likely had it covered. He flashes you a kind grin with kind, hooded eyes to match, quite possibly revealing to you that he’s likely stoned out of his mind. But if it helps him through the shift…

“Argyle’s the man,” Eddie explains. “Pitched the chicken wing idea to me when we were both blasted.”

Suspicions confirmed.

“Is it just Argyle?” you inquire waving hello to him.

“Sometimes Eds helps out back here too,” Argyle answers for him. “Like when we’re really fucking shlammed, he’ll come back here and help cook.”

Argyle turns to you. You smile at him.

“But most of the time I got it,” he says. “That man’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, Argyle’s a beast,” Eddie confirms. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

While Eddie tidies up back of the house, you and Argyle converse with one another. He’s 28, produces music on the side, and learned how to cook from his mom at the age of three. California native as well. By observing the mini station he has set up, you notice that Argyle keeps a stash of Yerba Mate with him at all times, and some bud in his mini gym bag. You also learn that he and Eddie often take breaks together, hot boxing one another’s vans as if it were some sort of competition. But, as Argyle had mentioned, with how much Eddie currently has on his plate, those joint breaks (no pun intended) have been pushed to the backburner.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Hargrove,” Argyle concludes. “Excited to have you on our team.”

“Likewise!” you shake his hand with a smile. “Looking forward to bugging you for chicken wings.”

“You bug me all you want, mamas,” he insists. “I’ll make you allll the chicken wings in the world.”

“You a flats girl or a drumstick girl?” Eddie questions.

“Flats,” you respond instantly.

You receive a distraught gasp from the cook while Eddie cackles.

“Atta girl,” Eddie smirks patting your back. “I knew I liked you.”

“BLAS.PHE.MY!” Argyle screams. “Drumsticks are where it’s at bro.”

The three of you argue back and forth about chicken for the next couple of minutes, Eddie sticking beside you through and through. Though play-fighting with your new coworkers seems meniscal in the grand scheme of things, you reveled in it. It’s the first time in a while you felt a sense of community outside your sister. You wanted to savor it, especially since you know that this is temporary.

“You’re a red flag, Hargrove,” Argyle jokes, clutching his chest. “You were perfect in my eyes until you said you were a flats girl.”

“Well it’s a good thing she’s mine and not yours,” Eddie jeers.

Your heart flutters. Eddie and chicken wings. You’ve GOT to be in heaven.

“Alright, word,” Argyle calls after Eddie as he pulls you away from the kitchen. “Word. I’m still gonna spoil her with food like she’s mine though.”

“He’s such a flirt,” Eddie says to you once you’re both out of earshot. “Endearing and endangering at the same time.”

“All in good nature right?”

“‘Course!” he exclaims. “We’re all about respecting women at Hellfire. Everything’s lighthearted banter.”

And you’ll revel in that too. Especially since ‘respect’ and ‘lighthearted banter’ weren’t things you were able to experience at home.

“Also!” Eddie adds. “Respectfully… Wear something simple but classy on Friday.”

“Ooh,” you chime. “Simple and classy?”

“Yeah, I’m talking neutral tones. Red lipstick also preferred but you can do whatever you want. I’ve got something I need you to do for me on your very first day.”

I’ll do anything for you, Eddie. Your intrusive thoughts are starting to take over.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

It’s Friday night now and everyone is in their respective stations preparing for the rush. Argyle is prepping the fryer while Chrissy flirts with him for nachos. She waves at you with her fingers and gestures that you can have some too. You smile and mouth a, “thank you” to her.

You really like Chrissy. Of all the dancers you’ve seen so far, she is the most memorable. She is charming and sweet, soft but firm with her boundaries. She has regulars lining up for her daily, all with different types of quirks and interests. But Chrissy somehow fits all of their molds, just by how fast she can switch from doe to siren depending on her audience. You want to be just like her.

You and Eddie stop by the kitchen before heading off to finish orientation. There are chicken wings — flats only, of course — on the line waiting for you with a note scribbled on the back of an old ticket order.

“Shy Girl<3”

“Eat up, mamas,” Argyle encourages you. “Gonna need the energy for tonight.”

“Yeah!” Chrissy cheers. “It’s Fridaaay!”

You thank them before heading out with Eddie once again. Eddie steals a flat from you and flashes a thumbs up to the cook before you two leave.

“Mm,” he approves. “Fight Fire with Fire Buffalo.”

You are just about done with wrapping up orientation training and ready to start the first night on your own. That is until Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s younger brother and bus boy, comes along and interrupts Eddie’s train of thought. You walk with Eddie in silence, munching on your food while Mike relentlessly hounds him about bringing his girlfriend into the club. She is 18 but Eddie is refusing.

“But but-” Mike stammers. “The club is already eighteen plu-”

“But nothing,” Eddie interrupts. “This is Hellfire Club. Not babysitting club.”

“Well I’m 19 and you let me work here. Why does it matter if she’s 18?”

“Because you’re a dude, Wheeler,” Eddie hisses in return. “It’s different for the ladies.”

Not willing to risk any liabilities, he leaves Mike with just that. You follow Eddie, fiddling nervously with your hands as you watch him tsk and shake his head in disapproval.

“I can’t have teenage girls in here,” Eddie mutters. “That’s just blatantly obvious right? Or have I lost it?”

“No, right. Totally!” you agree.

Eddie has another rule. No strippers under the age of 20. Anyone under, including ages of 18 and 19 are children to him. He admits that he gets squeamish when guys bring their younger looking girlfriends into the club. You assume it pertained to his colleague’s girlfriends too.

You walk past the bar with Eddie, waving hi to Jonathan as you did so. Dustin is at the bar as well but is too busy to say hello. You manage to glance over and watch him fix his hair, trying to look his absolute best while FaceTiming his Mormon e-girl from Utah, Suzie. After eavesdropping for the past couple of days, you pick up that she insists on video chatting with Dustin every time he is at Hellfire to ensure his fidelity. Suzie wanted to be his “only wifey” to which ‘Dusty Bun’ assures her that she is.

“Uh oh,” comes a voice ever so soft it sounds eerie when it echoes through the club. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

Slithering into your periphery is the same tall, lean guy that you ran into earlier last week. Today he's sporting a white tank top that revealed a couple small tattoos scattered around his body, black pants that were tight enough to be yours, a loose wallet chain belt, and chunky work docs. His gorgeous blonde hair looks attainably messy by what you suspect is mousse. He smells of beer and cigarettes tonight, his tired eyes a precursor to his lust-filled gaze. A poster boy for all the men you wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents is none other than,

“Henry Creel,” Eddie says. “Mike’s just picking a bone with me. Have you met Hargrove? She’s our newest dancer.”

It’s seemingly Henry’s first day back. From the first day of orientation to now, you’ve only had run-ins with Jim, the older gentleman who is also a bouncer. Jim spent years with the Hawkins PD, but after a scandal that only Eddie and his peers seem to know about, Jim found a home protecting young women at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club. The only place that gave him a chance.

You like Jim. You like everyone here. You are also ecstatic to see Henry again, this time as a dancer. You can see the excitement blooming in his eyes, with a steady increase in his pupil size by the second.

“Well, well,” Henry smirks. “Look who decided to join us.”

You two shake hands again.

“Henry’s my other bouncer,” Eddie explains, but you already knew that. “He’s my right hand man. He’s tiny but mighty. Could snap bones in an instant.”

You peer over at Henry with shocked eyes, to which Henry acknowledges with a dramatic bow.

“You’ll see it,” Eddie hovers a hand over your back. “I sure hope not anytime soon, but there’s always that one douchebag.”

“And they always underestimate me too,” Henry says. “I get a nice kick out of it. It’s a win-win.”

Henry is certainly not beefy, but judging by his muscle tone and sharp upright demeanor, he can put up a fight. Dude seems like he does a lot of the dirty work for Eddie. He can get away with it too.

After bidding ‘see you later’ to Henry, you continue walking with Eddie.

“So,” he starts. “Did you put together a cute simple outfit for tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I can tell it’s gonna look amazing. I dig the red lipstick and the choker.”

Eddie wanted classy so you gave him classy. Underneath the cloak, you are sporting a lacy black set with a matching black choker and classic red lipstick. Your hair is straightened tonight since beach waves are your signature.

“You want a sneak peak?” you smirk.

Eddie quirks up. “Oh man, do I? Let me at it.”

You take off your cloak to reveal what you have underneath.

Eddie stops in his tracks, taking in the sight in front of him. His gaze is both soft, yet lout. Delicate in the brows, yet carnivorous in the eyes. Slowly, his jaw lowers, uttering a silent gasp as he fully processes the sight of the vixen — you — in front of him.

“Jeez…” he strains. “You look…”

You blush. Electricity whirls through you as Eddie continues to relish in your beauty.

“Showstopping,” Eddie finishes.

He reaches his arms out and you take them, letting yourself fall into his chest as he pulls you to him. During the embrace, he sets his lips beside your cheek, brushing against them delicately as he gives you a verbal kiss.

“Mwah!” he exclaims, leaving you longing for a stronger peck. You feel like you’re on a cloud when he spins you to get a full 360 of your look. “I was expecting like a light color, or pastel…but black — black is your color.”

“Yeah?” you reply. “It’s not too edgy? Choker and all?”

“A lil rough around the edges won’t hurt,” the club owner approves. “He’s gonna love it.”

You follow closely behind. “He?”

Your first client. You had a feeling that’s what Eddie had planned for you today, but reality didn’t sit in until right now.

"Ever given a lap dance before?" Eddie inquires.

"Yeah, but not in this setting."

He seems amused with your answer. Eddie smirks as he gives you a nudge. "Perfect."

You two are walking down the corridor now, down to an isolated room at the end masked by a beaded curtain. You’re unsure if the goosebumps that form on your skin is because of the slight chilliness of the club or because you were walking into a seductive hideout with the boss you had the hots for.

You two stop just a yard short of the curtain. Eddie turns to face you.

"I've got a buddy named Steve. Not short for anything, his parents just... loved the 80s." he chuckles. “You’re giving him a private show tonight. One hour.”

Eddie’s buddy. The pressure is on. The name rings a bell, you believe Dustin was talking about him the first day you set foot in Hellfire.

“Oh,” you say. “I think I heard your friend Dustin talking about him last week.”

As if it were some inside joke, Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie mutters. “Don’t even get me started on those two.”

Eddie motions you forward, extending his arm to signal an “after you” gesture as you proceed into the private show room. The beads of the curtain carelessly clash into one another as Eddie saunters in.

"Anyway, Steve has been going through it lately. His lady left him for another dude, he lost his job because the city wanted another basic coffee shop instead of a place to rent cheesy B movies…and the last time he worked in the food industry he had to wear a sailor’s uniform, so he’s since opted out.”

You wander around what was going to be your office for the next hour as Eddie aimlessly takes his own path and furthers his lay-down.

“His folks want nothing to do with him because he doesn't wanna be nepotized by them. When he’s not working, he’s babysitting — you guessed it — Dustin and the rest of the boys when they’re not here or playing D&D with me. Oh yeah, and on the topic of girlfriend, he hasn't gotten laid in a fat minute.”

Eddie pauses.

"It's kinda depressing,” he says. “Now that I say it all out loud.”

He makes a sharp turn and walks toward the boombox he kept in the corner of the room.

"That is depressing," you mumble nonchalantly, as if you yourself had not been laid in a fat minute… contrary to your obnoxious brother’s popular belief.

“How do you sleep at night knowing you’re a fucking slut?” Billy’s voice haunts you.

You’ve only had one real boyfriend and Billy knew that. And that boyfriend, shortly after he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, admitted that you were simply a placeholder for him. They’re happily married now and it tortures you knowing that being the first choice was never in the cards. Billy knew that too and used that backstory to fuel your insecurities. Billy knew you hated feeling used, yet brought it up every chance he got. Making his victims feel small, that was the source of his power. You shudder it off.

You watch as Eddie plays around with the boombox, ensuring that the aux chord was working along with all its other components.

"Tell you what," Eddie begins to barter. "You give him a good show, you can keep a hundred percent of your tips tonight. Consider it a sign on bonus."

“Wow, Eddie really?” you exclaim. “That…helps me out a lot. Thanks so much.

“Of course, doll,” Eddie grins. “Happy to help.”

Eddie finishes up tidying the room before walking back over to you.

“I can’t get over how amazing you look,” he adds one last time. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you thank him one last time.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He lingers for a while longer before going outside to look for Steve. Meanwhile, heart’s-a-fluttering you try to acquaint yourself with the place, choosing a seductive song of your liking before getting prepped.

Wicked Games by The Weeknd.

More ruckus sounds from outside of the show room. You assume your client has arrived.

“That’s the boy,” Eddie confirms. “BRB-right back.”

You excuse your boss as he makes his way over to his friend. While you wait, your mind begins to race. Does your outfit look okay? Does your breath smell? Do you smell? Despite all the wardrobe and wellness checks you’ve done, your mind is insistent that something else was off. To calm your nerves, you decide to take a quick gulp of Bombay Sapphire, a gin Eddie had provided for the room, before Steve walks in.

Liquid courage. May help with the performance too.

“There he is,” Eddie cheers as the two men greet each other outside. “What took you so long?”

“There was uh, traffic,” a softer voice responds.

“I call bull.”

The two talk a bit more, voices too quiet for you to make out what they’re saying. That, or the sound of your heart pounding against your chest drowned out their conversation. Steve sounds friendly. Timid, but friendly nonetheless.

You listen in on Eddie’s spiel about you. He called you stunning, explained that you just moved from California, and that you are exactly Steve’s type. Whatever that could possibly mean. You then hear Eddie go over the rules. No touching you without consent. No verbal or physical harassment. No sexual intercourse. And to tip generously.

“She sounds lovely. Thanks for the run down, Eds.”

“‘Course. She’s all yours, Big Boy.”

The beaded curtains clash once more.

In walks a man around Eddie’s age, late 20s, early 30s with sleek mahogany hair and slight puffy eyes. He’s sporting a gray North Face sleeveless jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and denim blue Levi’s. He’s a lot more preppy than you thought he would be. Steve’s reaction to you was similar to that of Eddie, despite how different they seem from each other.

“Hi,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you smile. “You’re Steve?”

He nods shyly. “You’re who they call Shy Girl?”

“That’s meee.”

It doesn’t take a body language analyst to see that Steve is guarded. It takes another fragile, sullen demeanor to know one.

“Are you one of Eddie’s shy friends?”

The comment earns a laugh from Steve. “You think I’m shy?”

“Just a little.”

He attempts to mask a gulp. “I’ve just never gotten a lap dance before.”

“You think I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stalk towards him and rest a hand on his chest when proximity and Steve himself grants you permission. You sink your palm in deeper when you pick up he’s receptive to it.

Oh yeah, that’s all gin.

“With your handsome self?”

Steve’s blushing now. “Yeah…strip clubs are kinda not my thing. They’re starting to be though, cuz I always come and support Eddie.”

“What a nice boyfriend,” you joke.

“Eddie and I do have a budding bromance,” he admits with a laugh.

“Boy I’d love to be in the middle of that,” you tease him honestly.

Steve is left stunned and speechless while you grab his hand and lead him to the futon in the middle of the room. He attempts to relax, exhaling the tension out of his shoulders and manspreading as he watches you encompass him. You walked in a slow circle around Steve as the music starts and he peers up at you with curious eyes. Alas, you stop in front of him, cupping his face softly in your hands and synchronizing your hip movements to the rhythm of the song.

Relate to your customers. Talk to them. Build a connection with them, you think to yourself.

“So how’s your day been?”

Steve cracks a faint smile. "Good, how's yours?"

"Good," you chime as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap.

Steve sharply inhales, sucking the tension he had just released right back into his body. You shake your head in disapproval and stroke his face calmly.

“No, no,” you coo. “Just sit back, relax. You’re safe with me.”

“I’m safe with you, huh?” he responds in an is-that-so kind of fashion. “You seem like pure danger to me.”

“Oh, please,” you snarkily disregard his comment. “I’m an angel.”

“In a place called Hellfire?” he challenges you. “I find that hard to believe.”

Steve wants to touch you. So bad. But he refrains. You feel it in his levitating palms, resting just inches away from the small of your back. You start to lightly ride his thigh, hoping to catch his palm in passing as you move your hips about. Instead you’re met with something hard at the base of his pants, an outline and protrusion that wasn’t there before.

Steve looks down and acknowledges it with a shrug.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "It has a mind of its own."

You laugh faintly in return. "It's okay. I'd say it's responding appropriately."

"Yeah?"

"Given the circumstances," you say as you grind slower, deeper. "Yeah."

"Well, that's a relief."

Steve is cute. And a polite man who values your consent was sure to receive it. You two lock gazes before one of you dared to speak again. It all feels like a blind date, and you’re two giddy young adults.

"You..." you start. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

"Really?" Steve asks. "Usually dancers don't let you do that."

"It depends who you ask," you smile. "Consent is subjective...and you have mine. C'mon."

He obliges and starts to graze your ass softly with his hands. You run his hands through his hair, then along his neck without lifting them. A muffled moan is slowly released from his mouth.

"Shit," he sputters. "Feels really good."

He tosses his head back.

"You make me feel so good."

"Aww," you grin. "Me?"

"Yeah you," his voice is deeper now. Huskier. "All because of you."

His hand moves upwards towards your bra and he begins to fiddle with the straps, and then the clasps. You continue your steady grinding, rolling your hips to the beat of the music, tossing your head back for the full effect while Steve holds back the urge to cup your perfect breasts in his kneady hands.

A whimper escapes Steve’s mouth when you find the sweet place to roll, resting a palm over his abdomen for leverage.

“Needy, are we?” you tease him. “Needy for me, Stevie?”

“So fucking needy,” he breathes, a nervous gulp swallowing another sneaky groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

I’ve got my heart right here, I’ve got my scars right here.

Suddenly, you cease the grinding, going from cowgirl to reverse. Grabbing a hold of both his knees with the back of both your hands, you sink down to the floor, knees bent, slightly out turned. Your hands move from his knees to encompass his elbows, accommodating the playful headlock he abruptly decided to have you in, watching you squat down beneath him.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

His arms creep from the sides of your face to the front of your face. You crane your head upwards, peering up at him and refrain from shivering when he brings an arm across your neck. His other hand rests on your face, stroking it tenderly.

“Get up here and, ride my thighs again, please.” he pleads. “It was feeling so good.”

“Okay,” you oblige before standing back up.

“Before you do though, let me get a good look at your ass.”

You stand there for him, bending down ever so slightly so he could run his hands across your back. He grabs a fist full of your hair gently with one hand and strokes your ass cheek with the other.

"Wow," Steve hums as he runs his fingers along the birth mark on your lower back. "I like this birthmark."

"Yeah?" you say. "Some people have said it looks like a tramp stamp."

"It's cute," Steve insists, pulling you onto his lap. “It kinda looks like a bat."

He points to where the wings would be and the fangs and you laugh. No one's admired your tramp stamp-esque birthmark the way Steve did.

"Thanks," you reply. "My brother has a matching one."

You pause.

"Sorry, that didn't sound all that sexy."

Steve tosses his head back and chuckles, hand resting firmly on your ass again. "You look sexy talking regardless, so I don’t mind.”

The chemistry between you and Steve feels so natural. You know if your nurturing heart felt like this with all clients you would be in big trouble. This profession isn’t for everyone and you realize that. But you decide to realize everything else later. Meanwhile, your focus right now is pleasing Steve.

You resume the thigh riding per his request, and chase your own subtle high as you did so. Steve whimpers and whines, seeming to long for you even more with every stroke of his hair, every brush against his cheek, every steady and calculated grind against his—

"Woah, are you okay?"

Suddenly you’re cut off by Steve abruptly pushing you off his lap. When you peer over at him, his face has gone completely red.

Did you do something wrong? Did you violate a boundary? Millions of thoughts race through your head. You can’t get fired on the first day of your new job…

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just..." Steve stammers, flushing a deeper red hue with every word. “I... uh, kinda came in my pants."

"Oh..." you begin.

"I am so sorry," Steve sighs. "Embarrassed is an understatement. I’m such a loser.”

You two start frantically talking over each other, one extremely apologetic, another sympathetic to the concerns. Again, it’s like you two are clumsy young adults on a blind date set up by your bold friends.

"It's been a while... so..." Steve stammers.

"Steve," you stop him.

"And..." he cuts out.

"It's okay," you reassure him. “It’s okay, Steve. If you need a break, we can stop.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees with a resigned sigh, the red colored flush migrating to his ears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You go to put your cloak back on again and strut towards the gin. Perhaps offering the man a drink would help loosen up his nerves.

"What should we do with the allotted time left?" Steve wonders eyes following you. He’s rubbing his knees anxiously with his palms. “Eddie has this room booked for an hour. He needs to think you're doing splits on my dick or something or else he won't be satisfied."

Laughter erupts from the deepest parts of your belly at Steve's comment. Steve can't help but laugh as well.

"Hm, we can wait a bit and I can give you another lap dance?” you suggest. “Or a strip tease?"

You weren't used to those words coming out of your mouth, so you attempted to make it sound as normal as possible. Wow, you really just gave a lap dance. And someone came from it.

"Do you think..." Steve inquires. "That we can just... talk?"

----

So you and Steve do exactly that. You talk about your families, and your aspirations, your deepest fears, and your core values. Steve Harrington isn’t the loser he thinks he is. He’s a really cool guy. But deeply misunderstood.

“So you and your brother have similar birthmarks?” Steve questions.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Except his is on his belly. We literally took the term identical twins to a whole new level.”

He laughs.

“Your brother sounds cool.”

“He was.”

Steve gasps in astonishment.

“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. Is he…”

“He’s not dead. Just an asshole.”

The color returns to his face. He exhales steadily and shakes his head. You find his reaction funny, despite how twisted that made you sound.

“Dead to you though?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle. “Dead to me.”

You two do a cheers to that with your alcohol-filled glasses and take another painful sip. It burns.

“Tell me about yourself now,” you prompt him.

There’s a dramatic pause.

“Well,” Steve begins. “I’m an only child. So eyes have been on me for as long as I can remember. What’s Stevie up to? This is what we expect of him and this is what happens if he’s not what we make him out to be. It didn’t take til young adulthood to realize that I have been living in my parents’ shadow. I don’t even know what I like.”

Steve spurs on about how he has struggled with his identity, going back and forth between if what he was pursuing was a desire of his or his parents’.

“And for a while I thought I knew who Steve was. Until I lost myself again in a girl named Nancy.”

“Aw,” you pout.

“A girl,” Steve pauses waiting for you to catch on. “Named Nancy.”

Your eyes widen. “House Mom Nancy?!”

Steve nods as you slowly piece things together.

“So Jonathan’s girlfriend is your…”

“Ex girlfriend,” Steve confirms. “Small world, huh?”

You suppose it wasn’t good that Hawkins is so small. You’d hate for someone to recognize you when you’re taking a casual stroll outside.

Nonetheless, you push that concern to the side and continue your conversation with Steve.

“What happened?”

“Some petty high school shit,” he explains. “But it’s always been her. She made me a better me. The closest to Steve that I’ve ever felt.”

“Wow,” you say. “So you saw a future with her?”

“Marriage, kids, everything,” Steve confirms. “Then she decided I wasn’t what — who — she wanted.”

It’s silent for a while. Steve shakes his head bitterly and downs the rest of his drink. You slosh yours around waiting for him to speak again. Besides, if you did, you’d end up ugly crying about your ex. And no one wants their stripper trauma dumping on them when they’re supposed to be performing.

Thankfully, Steve is the first to speak again.

“Yeah, Nance. She looks… she looks happy,” he turns to you with dismal eyes. “I don’t ever wanna get in the way of that.”

“Do you ever see her here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s in the back being House Mom, making sure all the girls are taken care of and all that. And I’m sure she doesn’t come up front because she knows Eddie has been trying to play wingman.”

You chuckle. “With a stripper?”

“With anyone,” Steve chuckles. “God that sounds awful. I sound like a loser.”

“Would you stop saying that?” you snap. “You are not a loser, Steve.”

“I know I’m not a loser. Just feel like it sometimes. Especially when it dawns on you that you’ve been living life for other people.”

“I kinda know how you feel.”

You two lock eyes again. Steve rests a hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers briefly before he begins playing with each of your fingers one by one.

"I guess…going back to the previous topic…” he proceeds. “If I could change anything about myself, I would've done more of what Steve wants to do. Not what Todd and Marsha want Steve to do. Or what Tommy H. and Carol want Steve to do. Because maybe then Nancy and I would’ve been endgame. Or maybe Allison. Possibly Tammy? Who knows? See? Everyone’s world but Steve’s.”

"Steve," you start. "I hope you realize that I have no idea who any of these people are. It’s kinda hard to keep up.”

"And that is such a relief to hear that," he sighs again, this time in exasperation. "I just feel so free talking about them to someone who doesn't know who they are. Hawkins is small, you know. And it’s good that the only bias you can form is in my favor since you only know of me."

You offer him a consoling pat atop the hand, to which he responds by leaning his head on your shoulder. With how tender everything has been with Steve, there’s a temptation to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. But you stop yourself.

"I'd like to know you, know you, though,” you find yourself saying.

He gazes up at you. You two smile at each other.

“I’d like to know you more too, Shy Girl,” he answers. “If you’d let me.”

“Duh, it’s what I just said.”

He chuckles. “You’re not saying that for the tips?”

“No. Just human to human.”

You stroke his cheek longingly, running your hand along his stubble.

"It's also been a while since I've gotten laid too," you admit. "And I've got a lot of pent up stress I need to release. You seem like a trustworthy person to do that with.”

The energy changes. Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

"Oh yeah?" He rubs your thumb with his and soon you find yourselves holding hands.

"Yeah.”

“Sounds like we have a deal then, Shy Girl.”

Before Steve gets any ideas, you interrupt him.

“I don't wanna have sex at work," you admit. "Especially not on the clock."

"Oh, yeah I didn’t think it’d be now. Some people do find that hot though.”

"It's my first day. I can’t disappoint Eddie this early in the game.”

"You're kidding."

You shake your head.

"Wow, I would've thought you've been doing this a while."

You blush. "Thank you. But nope, you’re my Guinea pig.”

Steve continues to gawk in amazement. Then he reaches for his wallet, grabbing a huge wad of Benjamin Franklins and handing it to you.

"Tell you what," Steve bargains. "You buy yourself something nice, get your bills paid, and come through in a couple days. The roomie won't be home so we'll have the place to ourselves. We can get takeout or something too. Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.”

You bite your lip. "I'd like that."

“Good. I’d like that too.”

———-

"So, how was it?" you hear Eddie ask Steve.

"Dude...I just about creamed my pants," he says as you hold back laughter. "You got yourself a good one."

"Nothing's ever too TMI for you, Harrington," Eddie says. "But thanks for the imagery."

"Yeah. I gotta get going now. I got laundry to put away at home. It's been piling so much I think it's going to tip over."

“Roger,” Eddie says before bidding him goodbye. “Oh, speaking of which, did you tip her good?”

“You bet I did. Woman like her needs to be spoiled rotten.”

————

You make your way back to the dressing room after saying bye to Steve and finishing the flats Argyle had specially made for you. At your locker, you subtly attempt to count the hundreds Steve gave you for his lap dance and talk session. The man left you 10 of them. A whole band.

You were stunned. What did King Steve do for a living anyways? It didn’t matter to you. You had enough for groceries, gas, and a portion of your rent, all earned in an hour’s work, and all yours to keep as Eddie insisted.

The realization makes your heart skip a beat. You and your sister were good for the next few weeks.

Knock, knock.

“Don’t freak out ladies, it’s just me!” Eddie shouts from the other side of the door. “Put your cloaks on I’m coming in!”

You watch as the girls scurry to get their covers back on. The amount of respect Eddie has for his dancers is insane. Perhaps it’s common decency but it was such a striking difference than what you were used to. It warmed your heart in a way, but also made you sad. You deserved this respect all your life.

When Eddie finds you, he starts towards you, a look of approval spread wide across his face. As deeply as you wanted it to be because he found you attractive, you infer that it’s because you’re bringing in good business — and that you’re good, given a small amount of experience with the pole.

You two are face to face now. Eddie speaks up first.

“Steve, uh,” he says. “Steve really likes you.”

“Oh really?” you smile. “I’m glad.”

“You’re just a natural, Shy Girl,” he compliments you. “Everyone’s just raving about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far and what Stevie told me, yeah,” he confirms. “But I guess it’s no surprise. Shy girls are almost always the freakiest, huh?”

You try not to laugh while you’re witnessing the imagination of your boss running in the complete opposite direction of what really happened between you and Steve. Nevertheless, you let him. You didn’t mind taking up space in your dashing boss’s mind.

“You should come to work a little early next time you’re on,” Eddie says. “I’d like to take you to lunch.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks. “Really?”

“‘Course! I do it with all my dancers as a welcome thing. I’d like to know more about you. You’re more than just a pretty face and someone who simply works for me.”

‘I do it with all my dancers.’

Your heart sinks. Back to square one.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m gonna head out now. Gonna go see the lady friend. I’ve got Johnny boy, Argyle, and Henry holding down the fort.”

The tinge in your heart intensifies.

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Yeah, I rarely see her cuz she bartends. Even though we work similar hours we work opposite days. But she got first cut tonight so I’m heading over.”

“Have fun, Eddie.”

“I sure will,” Eddie says. “Goodnight, Shy Girl.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie soon disappears out of sight and now your shift seems ten times longer. Regardless, you stuff your tips into your tote bag and prepare to meander around the club, enticing other bachelors for a dance.

Without Eddie around, it seems less exciting.

“Doing it for Max,” you remind yourself while fixing your hair in the mirror in front of you.

You reach for your phone to see the amount of time that has transpired since the private show with Steve. But the clock wasn’t your concern when your Home Screen lights up.

Your heart nearly sinks to the floor.

Billy Hargrove

1 Missed Call

Billy Hargrove

iMessage: 1 message

You open it.

What the actual fuck.

#the babyboyification of steve harrington #daddy eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson smut #Steve #steve harrington #Steve harrington smut #Steve and reader #Eddie and trader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Dirty Work 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I'm ahead on studying so figured I'd get this going.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The television blares as you come downstairs. The hues flicker through the archway as you peek inside. Your father must’ve left it on. You’re used to finding him passed out on the couch but he’s nowhere to be seen.

You yawn into your hand, another week ahead of you. You near the couch as the volume makes your ear drums buzz. Why does he always have it so loud?

Your morning tea hazes your vision. You have those few moments of peace before you have to start the day. The warmth flowing into you, nestling in your stomach, comforting you. As you come around in search of the remote, you stumble to a stop.

Your father didn’t make it that far. He’s slumped over on the edge of the couch. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the remote on the floor. He must have dropped it. You snatch it up and mute the television, leaving its glow to light the room.

“Dad,” you touch his shoulder, but you already know. He’s not rasping or coughing or choking. Oh no. Oh no no no.

You try to roll him onto his back, then to sit him up. You can’t move him. He’s limp and heavy and…

You run away, racing upstairs to grab your phone from your night table. The charging cord snaps out of the port as you flip it open and rush back to the first floor. You’re panting as you key in the emergency number and put the phone to your cheek.

“Hello!” You nearly shriek at the operator as they answer, “my dad! My dad!” You shake your head as you try to gather yourself, “my dad’s not moving. He’s not breathing.”

“Alright, ma’am, I need you to calm down, can you do that for me?” The man coaxes.

“I don’t know,” you whine.

“Ma’am, you gotta calm down. You wanna help him, don’t you? So take a breath, alright?”

You inhale and let it out, “he’s not breathing,” you babble again.

“Okay, ma’am, you gotta get him on his back for me, can you do that?”

“Y-yes,” you chuff out and go back to the couch. You push on your dad, lifting his arm until he flops onto his back, “he’s on his back.”

“Alright, do you know CPR?” The operator asks.

“I… yes,” you gulp. The doctor sent you to lessons after your dad got the tank. He said it was standard for family members. Your dad told you it was garbage. “Yes, I know how.”

“Good, I need you to breathe for him. You remember the steps, right?”

“I– I can do it,” you say convincing yourself as much as him.

“Do it now, alright? I want you to keep on until the ambulance gets there. You don’t stop,” he says calmly, “I’m tracing your location and I have people on the way.”

“I’m… I’m gonna do it. Now.”

You place the phone down and hit the button for the speaker. You stand over your father’s limp body as your eyes gloss with tears. He can’t be dead. You won’t let him do that. He never listens to you but you’re not going to let him die.

You tilt his head up and move the oxygen tube out of the way. You put your hands on his chest and pump, keeping count as you do. Then you pinch his nose and bend over him, blowing into his mouth, just how they showed you.

You don’t stop. You won’t. You can’t believe this is happening. It’s not going to happen. You can’t lose your dad. He’s all you have. He’s all you’ve ever had.

You hear sirens and the operator speaking to you. You tune it all out as you focus on your dad. You’re crying as you pump again. One, two, three…

The world is foggy around you as you count, over and over. You feel someone touching you, pulling you away. There’s noise all around as the colours turn to blurry orbs all around you. You fight to get free until you realise it’s okay. They’ve come to help.

You watch the paramedics in their white shirts work on your father as another stands beside you. She hands you your phone as the operator talks to you.

“It’s okay, ma’am, they’re going to get him to the hospital,” he assures. “And take care of you.”

You thank him in a wobbly voice and shut the phone. The woman beside you gives a sympathetic look. The men by your father mutter.

“He’s breathing,” one declares, “get the stretcher.”

“He’s… he’s alive?” You squeak.

“Stand back,” the paramedic beside you stops you from going forward, “gotta let them get him loaded up.”

“Is he going to be okay?” You murmur.

“We can evaluate him at the hospital,” she insists, “you can ride with him but first, they need to get him there.”

You nod and wipe your wet cheeks. He’s alive. Barely. You think you might have saved him. For once, you think you did something right.

🧹

You call into work as you sit out in the waiting room. You hope missing your shift doesn’t affect your probation. Clara thanks you for letting her know but you expect it’s a hassle she doesn't want.

You have your spring jacket pulled over your pajamas and a pair of slip-on sneakers. You wring your hands almost raw as you wait and watch the clock. You are overflowing with anxiety.

You rock in your chair as the minutes stretch to hours. You see others come and go. Some in rough shape, others on their own strength. Stretchers roll in and out, occupied or otherwise. The sterile scent dries your nostrils and stains your tongue.

As noon rolls around, you get up and find the vending machines just inside the entrance. You drop coins in the slot and push the button for an English tea. The cup drops down into place and the nozzle churns loudly, spitting out thinly steeped tea. It’s better than nothing.

You return to your seat and blow over the top of the cup. Your mind pendulums between the room down your hall and the beeping machines, and the empty house with its fantastical gardens. You should’ve been mopping Mr. Laufeyson’s floors that day.

You finish half the tea before you give up on it. It’s lukewarm and bland. You slouch down and cross your arms. Your eyelids droop but you won’t let them close. You yawn and watch a woman comfort her sniffling child as he sneezes into her shirt.

It’s all so surreal. It feels like a dream. It is your worst nightmare. The doctor warned you but you hoped… you hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Your name is called and you sit up, nearly jumping out of the seat. You wave your hand and approach the woman in blue scrubs.

“That’s me,” you gulp.

“You can come see him now,” she says.

You blink, “he’s okay?”

She gives you a look, “he’s stable. Come this way.”

She turns back as the large double doors open inward and strides forward. You follow her and she leads you to a room. She points you inside. “He’s on the other side of the curtain.”

“Thank you,” you utter before she’s off. Everyone is in a hurry there. You suppose they have to be.

You turn and look at the closed curtain around the first bed. You pass it and peek around the next. You find your dad, eyes shut, tubes crisscrossed all around him as a machine echoes his heartbeat. You pull the curtain shut and sit in the stiff plastic chair just near the end of his bed. You stare at him, eyes welling hotly.

“I tried,” you croak, “I really tried, dad.”

You drop your face into your hands and let yourself fall apart. You bawl, swallowing down your sobs as you choke. You try not to make too much noise in your grief. You wouldn’t want to disturb your neighbour. But you can’t stop yourself. You’re sorry. You’re so sorry.

You let him down again.

🧹

Your father wakes up the next day. He isn’t cognizant as he thrashes and chokes on the tube down his throat. You hit the bell and stand back to watch in shock. The nurses rush in and shoo you out.

It’s hours before you see him again. The new nurse says he’s sedated and will need to be for a while. You ask if he’s okay. Again. Her answer isn’t much of one.

You spend the first two nights sleeping in the plastic chair. You can’t bring yourself to sleep in the house alone, but you have to leave him. You have a job that day and you need the money. Especially after seeing the invoice for the ambulance.

You go home and change on the third morning and go down to the east side for your assignment. You get through it without thinking. You just do. The familiarity of scrubbing, sweeping, and mopping mutes your emotion. Outside the hospital, you can almost pretend it’s not real.

When you finish, you go back to the hospital. You eat in the cafeteria before you go to your father’s room. Your stomach mulches painfully as your body greedily digests the processed chicken noodle soup. It’s your first meal since the day you got there.

Those yellow walls become your new home. You only leave to go to your third shift that week and otherwise linger. When the nurses send you out, you have tea in the cafeteria or choke down another unappetizing meal from a plastic tray.

Your father’s awake on Sunday night. They tell you they’re weaning him off the sedation. His eyes are glassy and confused. He doesn’t look like himself and for more than the tubes that keep him alive.

Monday morning you say goodbye and promise to be back after work. He grumbles and coughs. He doesn’t have a feeding tube anymore but hasn’t said a word. You don’t know if he can or if he just has nothing to say.

You set off to Mr. Laufeyson’s house. Another week. You’re halfway through probation but you won’t celebrate. You only want to panic. You need money. You need more shifts. Three houses a week for another month and a half won’t do.

As always, you just have to take what you can get.

You shake off the last week before you cross the threshold. Hopefully your eyes aren’t too swollen. Between the lack of sleep and crying, they’re raw and itchy.

You open your phone and click the stubborn button on the keypad to scroll. You put in the code and push through the gate. The garden is a blur of green as you ignore it. You’re not there to watch the leaves dance or breathe in the beauty. This place is just as gray as the rest of the world.

You go inside and begin. Shoe covers, gloves, and… you don’t have your water bottle. Oh well. You proceed down the list. Room by room, item by item. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him. You hope he’s not there.

You get to the second floor. There’s a new bullet point. ‘Study: grease the office chair.’ Huh?

You recall on your last visit how the chair squeaked with his every move. You huff and return downstairs. You go to the closet where the rest of the supplies are and find a new bottle. Small with a narrow nozzle. You read the instructions as you ascend back to the upper level.

You open the study door and stop short. You didn’t think too knock. You sputter but keep any words from spilling out. You keep a grasp on the doorknob but before you can back out, Mr. Laufeyson lifts his gaze from the laptop and catches you in his sights.

“Stay,” he demands and slowly closes the laptop lid. You wince as it clicks. “I thought you quit.”

You stand dumbly in the door. You glance from him to the wall then down at the bottle in your hand. He clicks his tongue and his chair squeaks as he leans forward.

“You may speak. I want to know where you were.”

Why? Your habitual silence keeps you from blurting that out. You clear your throat.

“I couldn’t work, that’s all,” you say, peeking up at him sheepishly.

He tilts his head as he narrows his eyes, “for what reason?”

You don’t know what to tell him. You don’t think he really cares. You roll the bottle in your grasp.

“I had an emergency,” you explain, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t–”

He puts his hand up, “they sent another one. I didn’t like her. She didn’t dust the mantle.”

“I’m sorry, sir–”

“Mr. Laufeyson will do,” he corrects.

“Mister–”

“We’re done speaking,” he interrupts.

You sniff. Did you offend him? Should you have told him more? You only want to be professional and it wouldn’t be proper to bring your personal life to work, would it?

He stands suddenly and you grip the bottle tight, keeping your arms straight at your side. He struts around the desk, his height emphasized by his long steps. He approaches you, stopping as you move out of the way of the door.

“Fix the chair,” he demands, “that damn noise is driving me mad.”

He sweeps out, leaving you grasping the bottle of grease in confusion. Is he mad? And why is he so concerned with your absence? He doesn’t seem very fond of you. Will he tell Clara? Could he have you fired?

You try not to worry about it. You already have enough on your mind. You can only do what you can do. Grease the chair and finish the job.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #thor #marvel #mcu

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yawnderu · 4 months

Note

look between Simon praying to god while giving reader CPR and your latest drabble comparing reader to an Angel I am fucking LIVING for a Simon who has absolutely no faith, has seen the worst of humanity in every way possible, but you’re the only thing he believes in. Not that you’re even inherently ‘pure’ or ‘good’ but just that you’re in his life and treat him well that in itself is a miracle to him.

Yes!! Simon has seen the absolute worst humanity has to offer, beaten down and abused like a dog his whole life, Simon stopped believing in a God a very long time ago, when he was first broken by his father's abuse.

The thought of God never even crossed his mind for over 20 years until you come into his life. You took the time and patience to carefully break down each and every single wall he built around his heart to keep it cold.

Simon might as well be a married man the moment you look up at him with those pretty eyes, raw admiration and love as you keep the conversation going even when he's short in each answer, trying to keep himself guarded. An angel on earth, was his first thought when you knocked on the door of his apartment, a homemade pie held in your hands.

From that moment on, Simon began hanging out with you any time he was not on base, even finding himself looking forward to it despite the lingering self-deprecating thoughts telling him a dog like him doesn't deserve you in the slightest. Your lingering touches and reassuring words were all the encouragement he needed to fully indulge you.

God, now I can't stop thinking about Simon x Angel!Reader ejkffbehjh

#cod mw2 #stray answers #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley imagine

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seonghrtz · 6 months

Text

𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿!𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 ; inspired by this fanart.

doctor!toji, who is a doctor at the emergency center of the Zenin family hospital, and although he despises his family, he still works at their hospital.

doctor!toji, who has a very hectic schedule because he works at the emergency center, but always makes time to go to the gym (one of the ways he de-stresses from work).

doctor!toji, who, despite his serious and intimidating appearance, has a very calm personality and is well liked and respected by his colleagues. he is very attentive and dedicated to his work, one of the best doctors in the hospital.

doctor!toji, who drinks at least two cups of black coffee, pure, with no added sugar or sweetener, to stay alert and awake during his shifts.

doctor!toji, who decided to become a doctor to help people, even after all the abuse and mistreatment he suffered at the hands of his own family.

doctor!toji, who first noticed you when he saw you jumping on the stretcher of a newly arrived patient and performing cpr on the person while the stretcher was being taken to a room for emergency surgery.

doctor!toji, who started noticing you everywhere after that night, watching you from afar, afraid to approach.

doctor!toji, who only got closer to you (bit by bit) when one of the inmates, gojo satoru, started teasing him every time he was caught looking in your direction.

doctor!toji, who approached you with a lot of trepidation, afraid that you wouldn't like him. then he would just make a short comment to you, and that as the days went by (as he gained more confidence) he would start talking to you more.

doctor!toji, who loves spending time with you, whether it's walking around the hospital on your rare free moments, in the break room, at mealtimes, or even in different places when your days off coincide.

doctor!toji, who convinced you to go to the same gym as him and now you train together.

doctor!toji, who always buys your favourite drink when he goes to the hospital cafeteria for his coffee.

doctor!toji, who loves to watch you, especially when you're studying, he likes to see you concentrate. and from time to time he'll just watch you or help you study or study with you (it depends on his mood).

doctor!toji, who hates to see you depressed after losing a patient. even though he and you as doctors know that it's not possible to save everyone, losing a patient is still upsetting. toji always hugs you when it happens.

doctor!toji, who will always take you home on his motorbike, even if you live in the opposite direction from his flat.

doctor!toji, who likes you romantically but lives in denial because he's afraid you don't feel the same way.

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writing-for-marvel · 11 months

Text

Heartburn

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 4 | Series Masterlist | PART 6 > >

Summary: You hadn’t expected to meet Bucky’s family so soon, let alone in your hospital.

Warnings: strictly 18+, TRIGGER WARNING mention of a child dying from an epileptic seizure, mention of child abuse, mention of someone dying from alcoholism/liver cancer, minor character has a heart attack, CPR including chest compressions is depicted, mention of surgery, angst, fluff, implied smut, please note this is a medical AU which is set in a emergency room

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: sorry if the pacing is a little off in this one, I had a vision but I’m not sure it’s actually come together all that well. We finally learn about Bucky’s past in this one! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

It’s the irritating beeping sound of a phone alarm that pulls you from your dreamland with a start.

For a minute you’re disoriented, even though you recognise the surroundings as your own bedroom. Only a second ago it seems you were cuddled up next to Bucky on your couch, head on his shoulder and fingers intertwined as reruns of The Office played in front of your tired eyelids.

Now, his large form reaches across to the bedside table to quickly shut off his alarm, the muscles in his bare back tensing with the stretch.

“Sorry darling, got an early shift and my uniform is back at my place.” The apology spoken in his hoarse morning voice is coupled with a soft kiss to your forehead which is sweet, but not quite enough recompense for the price of being woken up extra early.

Even though you’ve just woken up, probably looking puffy, bleary eyed and like a unshowered mess, Bucky’s gaze is still filled with wonder and tenderness, as if, even in this state, you’re still the most exquisite person he’s ever laid eyes on and he can’t quite believe he gets to wake up beside you.

He holds you into his warm, musky scented, hairy chest for a long minute, wherein you almost fall back to sleep listening to the steady beat of his heart, until he covertly attempts to remove his arms from around you, aiming to leave you to continue to rest alone in bed.

“No, don’t go.” You mumble in protest, reaching out to grab hold of his burly frame. Bucky’s strong enough to pull away from you if he really wanted, but it’s clear he doesn’t when even the drowsy grasp you have on him is adequate to prevent him from leaving your bed.

Bucky snuggles back into your embrace and a soft, loving smile spreads over your sleepy features which induces his heart to melt into warm honey in his chest. This is where he’s meant to be.

In a decades time, reflecting back he’s not going to remember everyday he turned up to work on time, but he will reminisce on these stolen moments with you.

For so long being a paramedic has been his purpose. That after everything he’s suffered through he poured his soul into helping other people to give him a reason to keep going.

But perhaps now he can instead be a little selfish. Open up his heart, which has been under lock and key, and indulge in the rapture and ardour that you seem to instinctively induce within him, even if there is a threat of eventual heartache.

After years of drifting lost at sea, he’s finally found a safe haven with you. And he doesn’t plan on doing anything to jeopardise that. He’d inflict life threatening pain on himself before allowing any hurt to come to you.

Bucky kisses you, pulling your pelvis flush with his as you swing your leg lazily over his thigh. It’s far from the perfect kiss, noses bumping, lips lethargic, unbrushed teeth and morning breath, but to Bucky it’s impeccable and unforgettable because it’s a kiss shared with you the first morning you’re waking up beside each other.

When your hands slip below the elastic of his sweatpants, Bucky knows he’s going to be late for his shift, but that hardly seems important when he gets to spend these extra moments with you.

Besides, he knows Steve will cover for him.

Right now, he’s just focused on satisfying his girl.

* * *

“Alright, I need to know everything about your date last night.” Typically this was a sentence Wanda spoke to you after a night spent with Bucky, but was now coming from your mouth directed at her.

It had been a relatively slow day in the ER. All patients were stable and you were caught up on paperwork, so you finally had the opportunity to interrogate Wanda about her first date with the anaesthesiologist she met last week - Vis, she had called him.

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” She teases with a smirk, which tells you exactly how her night ended. You remember saying something of a similar vein after your first date with Bucky.

“Are you gonna see him again?” You prompt, wanting far more information about your friend’s love life than she was letting on.

“He’s already booked us in for Per Se this weekend.” You can see the excitement she’s failing to hide in her beaming smile which gets reciprocated on your own features.

“Oh, fancy! How did you manage to score that reservation after just one date?” You ask with raised brows and Wanda just smirks.

“I can do amazing things with my mouth.”

All of a sudden there’s a commotion over by the other side of the ER which pulls everyone’s attention. Bursting through the double doors from the ambulance bay is a gurney with a patient and a paramedic atop performing rhythmic chest compressions.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a strange sight to see in an ER, in fact, it’s a daily occurrence in your experience. However, what you do find peculiar is the sight of a familiar broad paramedic with long chestnut hair performing CPR even though you know for a fact his shift finished hours prior.

Something close to terror rises like steam from a burning hole in your stomach. You can see by the pure panic lining Bucky’s features as he screams instructions that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Time seems to stand still as you watch the scene play out in front of you - Bucky continues compressions as they wheel the gurney past you towards the surgical wing. From your position you get a glimpse of a middle aged woman with the same colour hair as Bucky unconscious on the stretcher.

One of the ER doctors you don’t know very well offers to take over CPR but Bucky glowers at him and proceeds anyway. It’s not until Dr Strange approaches with his surgical team that a helpless melancholy overcomes Bucky’s demeanour and you immediately want to wrap him in an endless hug.

They exchange some words before Bucky shouts despondently “she’s my mother!” Your already bruised heart crumbles into a million tiny pieces on the floor in front of you. Dr Carter takes over from Bucky’s role as he steps off the gurney, wanting to follow the team into the OR but Strange stops him with a hand to strapping chest.

“This is as far as you go Barnes.” You hear him command flatly, and when Bucky opens his mouth to argue like you knew he would, Strange cuts him off. “We’ll do the best we can.” Stephen remarks in his quintessential vague and unpromising statement before following his team into the surgical wing. Knowing how superior Stephen’s best is, this utterance generally makes you feel confident about a patient's outcome, but this time, when the patient is someone so close to a person you care deeply about, it provides no comfort.

The short paramedic who arrived with Bucky, perhaps driving the ambulance, observes him with sorrowful, sympathetic eyes. She reaches out to him, looking as if she’s trying to find the right comforting words, but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. He instead searches you out in the crowd of people who had gathered at the incident, finding you almost instantly, and with a few large strides has his arms wrapped tightly around your middle and his head tucks into the crook of your neck.

“I’m so sorry baby.” You whisper in his ear while on the tips of your toes, the ends of his long hair tickling your jawline. As you rub slow circles over his back a wretched sob bubbles up in his throat and his whole body starts heaving as he cries. “I’m right here, Buck.”

You feel his clutch on the back of your scrubs tighten as he continues to weep, your chest tightening knowing that as much as you may want to, there is nothing you can do to take the weight of this catastrophic misery from him.

“I can’t lose her too.” He cries in a barely intelligible stammer. Your heart cracks at the implication of too, instinctively pulling him closer in your embrace, tears welling in your own eyes at seeing your strong and cheeky Bucky face such overwhelming anguish. “Please, I can’t lose her too.” He repeats in a blubber with a hefty sniff, pulling back to gaze at you with imploring eyes, as if begging you to promise that she will live.

At this moment all you want is to ease his suffering, but you know as a physician you can't make that promise. Statistics are not in her favour. Your hand intuitively comes up to cup his face, thumb wiping the stream of tears flowing from the corner of his eye.

“I know, Buck. C’mere, let’s go to an on-call room where you can lie down.” The sea of people who had been silently staring at the scene of Bucky breaking down part for you to move through, though not before you throw incensed glares at those who were observing Bucky’s moment of grief.

You keep your arm steadily around Bucky’s muscular back as you both lead him through the maze of the hospital, towards where you know the nearest on-call room is due to your carnal activities weeks before, and keep him upright.

You shut the door behind you and lead Bucky to the small bed, his movements stemming from you prompting him - you suspect he’s too caught up in distraught thoughts to even recognise where he is.

Sitting with your back against the pillows, you gently pull Bucky up to your chest. His large frame is heavy and pushes you further into the mattress, but it’s a welcome, comforting embrace.

That morning, cuddled up in bed in a similar manner to now feels like a lifetime ago. You stay like that for a while, Bucky’s tears dampening your scrubs. It’s raw, observing someone you care for in such a vulnerable, impuissant state. You’re not entirely sure what Bucky needs right now, you’re still yet to learn so much about one another, but just being present seems to be sufficient for the moment.

With a sniffle Bucky clears his throat and finally speaks.

“She just collapsed, I stopped by her place after my shift. One second she was fine, talking and laughing, then the next unconscious on the floor.” He explained, slightly muffled into your chest as you stroked his hair in soothing motions.

“Thankfully you were with her.” You comment, dreading to think what would have happened if he had arrived too late, but realising that it probably isn’t any consolation to the person whose mother is currently fighting for her life.

You return to comfortable silence, your hand combing through strands of his hair, already having learnt that he enjoys having his hair played with. He shuffles so that your legs interlace, which helps you pull him closer.

“You’re probably wondering what I meant by her too.” Bucky gauges, and though you were intrigued by the insinuation of his phrasing, you also understand that it’s none of your business.

“Bucky, you don’t have to go into that now. You can tell me when you’re ready, or not at all if it makes you uncomfortable.” You utter softly into his hairline before peppering a few kisses along his forehead to his temple.

“I want you to know.” He urges, and though you’re not sure it’s the right time for him to detail any previous suffering or trauma he’s had to endure, you’re also not in a position to pick an argument with him. You’re all ears for whatever he wishes to share in such a vulnerable moment. “I trust you.” There’s a weight to these words that you enjoy bearing, that for Bucky there’s not many people who have the privilege of earning his trust and this heavy responsibility is an honour rather than a burden.

Bucky takes a deep breath, his bottom lip quivering. You stroke his hair again and when he gazes up at you it feels like you’re holding your entire world in your hands.

“Sorry, I haven’t had to explain this to someone in a long time.” He apologises needlessly.

“Take your time.”

He gulps down the lump forming in his throat before he starts.

“I had a baby sister.” He simply states. I can’t lose her too, echoing in your mind in Bucky’s distraught, desperate voice and every nerve in your body fires with despair.

He lost his baby sister.

Overcoming saying those five words aloud takes him a moment, but you remain patient. Even if that’s all the explanation he is to give, that wouldn’t matter to you, you already believe him to be the strongest person you know.

“She was five years younger than me, and besides Steve, was my best friend. You think I’m cheeky, well Becca was ten times worse.” He says with a reminiscent chuckle. You continue to rub steady circles over his sturdy back as his head rests on your chest. “She was only nine when it happened. She had epilepsy and one day when we were home alone she started having a seizure. I did everything I was taught to do in that situation, but she still didn’t make it. It took the ambulance over 30 minutes to get there. You’re a doctor, I’m sure you can put the pieces together.”

Sometimes being a physician and having intimate medical knowledge about what exactly was happening to a person felt like a punishment rather than a blessing. Being able to visualise precisely was happening in her body during her last moments and the medical reasons why she passed away even though a fourteen year old Bucky did everything he could to prevent it was knowledge you didn’t wish to have in this moment.

“I blamed myself for the longest time, I still do occasionally.” He comments and your chest constricts at the vision of a teenage Bucky thinking he was the reason his little sister died. You pull him even closer to you, your cheek brushing the top of his head.

“You would have done everything you could, James. I’m sure Becca knows that.” Bucky looks up at you with a combination of bewilderment and admiration, overly appreciative of the blind faith you’ve placed in him.

“My dad blamed me for it. Becca was always his favourite. Daddy’s little girl.” His voice is demure, so different to the brash, confident man you met in the ER. But part of you feels appreciative he can be vulnerable with you, that he can be truthful to his pain when you’re together instead of putting on a facade. “He took that grief and anger out on me and my mom after that. Told me he wished I was the child of his that died. She left him after that, and I barely saw him from then on. Didn’t fight her for custody, didn’t even want shared custody, he was completely fine with never seeing me again. He drank himself to death - got liver cancer and died just before my twenty-first birthday.”

Though it felt malevolent to wish harm on someone who had been through the horrendous pain of losing their daughter, you couldn’t help the sense of warm contentment filling your chest that Bucky’s father cannot hurt him anymore. What a vile thing to say to your own son.

“What happened is not your fault. It was devastating and so very unfortunate, but the blame does not lie with you. Don’t you ever believe for a moment that your fathers words are true.” He chokes out a sob and for a few long minutes you simply stay cuddled up to each other in the small on-call bed.

“You remember on our first date when you asked why I became a paramedic?” He finally breaks the silence with a raspy voice. You hum in affirmation. “This is why. I wanted to make sure no one else had to go through what my family did. That no one would lose a loved one because the help they needed didn’t arrive in time.”

You recall the day you met Bucky, carrying seven year old Sasha into the ER, a tear trickling down his cheek as she was wheeled off for her scan. You had always believed the tear was born from thinking she was in pain - but now, you contemplate that instead it was a happy tear, that against all odds he had successfully pulled a young girl from the train wreckage and she was getting the help she needed. Aid that never got to his sister.

“Ma and Steve are the only family I have left. I’m not ready to lose her.” You want to tell him that he will always have you too, but considering he’s known you for such a short time compared to his actual family and childhood best friend, it feels like an empty gesture.

“You want me to go check on her? I have surgical wing privileges, I could-”

“No, please, I need you here.” His embrace becomes suffocatingly tight to prevent you from leaving, and you reassure him with a kiss.

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky pulls the covers around the two of you, perhaps as an added layer you would have to fight to leave this room, so you repeat your statement, followed by placing a stream of kisses over his damp cheeks.

It becomes a warm cocoon as the two of you snuggle, Bucky’s large hands snaking under your shirt to rest on the expanse of your back, saying he just wants to feel close to you, the feel of your bare skin in a chaste circumstance seems to lower his previously pounding heart rate.

It’s not long until there is a knock on the door of the on-call room. You and Bucky exchange worried glances knowing this is it. You can sense Bucky’s apprehension in opening the door, so with a look asking for permission, and a slight nod from him, you twist the door handle.

It’s Dr Strange on the other side. You suspect Wanda had clued him into your whereabouts.

“She’s alive.” He states, knowing that key piece of information is all you care about, and you feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. You can’t imagine how Bucky must feel.

He pulls you into his chest in a bone crunching hug, happy tears now leaking from the corners of his eyes, relief buoyant in your chest at seeing your man with a smile on his face once again.

You don’t retain much more information after hearing this news. You note Stephen mentioning Winnifred had suffered a heart attack, and that they placed a couple of stents but you don’t absorb anything further.

You follow Dr Strange to her recovery room hand in hand. Bucky’s hold on your much smaller hand remains tight, though you can feel the trembling of his fingers. In response, you rub your thumb over the smooth skin of the back of his hand.

When you arrive, you observe an unconscious Mrs Barnes through the open cubicle curtain. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief next to you. Though still under the effects of anaesthesia, she is alive, and you have to be thankful for that much.

Stephen leaves you to wait for her to wake up, and glancing around, you recognise a few of the nurses who have done shifts in the ER give you sympathetic smiles.

Bucky takes a moment to observe and come to terms with his mother looking fragile in a hospital bed, wires connecting to machines attached to all parts of her body. He seems afraid to enter the room at the same time as looking grateful that she is still with him.

He takes a tentative step closer to the room, however you stay firmly where you are, the tension from your joined hands giving away your reluctance to invade his mothers privacy.

“Buck, I don’t think she’ll want a stranger in there with her at a time like this.” You comment, concerned about intruding into a personal, confidential space of a stranger. It wouldn’t be a good first impression if she kicked you out before you could even introduce yourself.

“But I need you.”

And that’s all it takes.

Bucky needs you, so nothing else matters.

Still somewhat grudgingly you follow Bucky into the private hospital room, but his beaming smile directed at you as you sit beside him, legs slung over his thick thighs, hands intertwined, is reward enough for facing that anxiety.

Besides, that is nothing compared to what Bucky faced today.

By the time Winnifred finally regains consciousness it’s been a long day - having been woken up early with Bucky and the carnal activities performed in your bedroom before either of you started your shifts, to the emotional rollercoaster since he entered your ER, but you’re still smiling and joking with each other until she awakens.

“Ma!” Bucky jumps up, worry filling his eyes as she groans, adjusting her position in bed. “Try not to move. You’ve just come out of surgery.”

“Surgery?” Winnifred takes in her clinical surroundings, surprise and dread brimming her eyes as she recognises the type of bed she’s in, pulse oximeter connected to her finger, blood pressure cuff strapped to her arm.

“The doctor will explain everything, but right now you just need your rest.” Bucky instructs, taking her hand in his and gently stroking her arm comfortingly. She gazes up at Bucky like he’s her entire world, and given everything she’s had to endure in her life, you can imagine that’s probably not far from the truth.

Her eyes land on you for the first time, and she tries to push herself up in bed but that only results in her grimacing, clearly in pain.

“Are you the doctor?”

“I am a doctor, but I’m not your doctor. I can get them for you though.” You offer but she immediately shakes her head, as if you haven’t properly interpreted her question.

“No, I mean James’ girlfriend, the doctor?”

You pause for a brief moment - the most you and Bucky had discussed your relationship was that you weren’t sleeping with other people, but had never confirmed that you are officially dating. You didn’t want to scare him off by putting a label on what you are. Hearing ‘Bucky’s girlfriend’ spoken out loud makes it very real all of a sudden, but it’s a title you want to possess.

“Yes, I’m James’ girlfriend.” You confirm, meeting Bucky’s tender gaze from beside you. He slings his arm around you, cheeks rosy from blushing, pulling you closer into his side, kissing the top of your head as Winnifred observes you both with a besotted smile.

You introduce yourself and Winnie, which she requests you call her, already has a million questions about where you grew up, your family, how you met her James, and why you got into medicine. You gladly answer them all, immediately seeing the joy it brings her that Bucky has a partner that cares about him as much as you do. You suspect it’s also a good diversion for her while nurses come in, poke and prod her and take vitals.

The sun sets outside the hospital but Winnie’s spirits are high when visiting hours come to an end. Bucky is adamant that he sleeps on the makeshift window bed in his moms room so that he can be there for her during the first days of her recovery. You offer to take care of Alpine, his mischievous snowy white cat, while he focuses on being with his mom.

Bucky insists he walks you out, even though you’re adamant he should stay with his mom. When you leave her room, Bucky all of a sudden looks nervous, and worry churns in your stomach.

“I know we said we weren’t putting labels on this-” He motions between you with an anxious look in his eye, as if he’s overstepped and is frantically trying to explain his rationale, “but ‘girlfriend’ was just the easiest way to explain it to her. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Bucky.” You say to stop his nervous ranting. You take both of his hands, intertwining fingers, and a shaky breath leaves his lips as he swallows the myriad of words on his tongue. “I want to be your girlfriend - I didn’t say it just to appease your mom. I kinda thought we were already there to be honest, but I don’t want to push you to take this quicker than you’re ready for.”

“I’m ready.” He whispers with a subliminal nod. “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.” He admits sheepishly, but it’s honestly adorable. This tall, burly man, whose size would intimidate most, is nervous to admit he’s never had a girlfriend. Something of pride blooms in your chest that you get the honour of being Bucky’s first ever girlfriend.

Hopefully his only ever girlfriend.

“Aww, I’m your first?” You stand on the tips of your toes and place a delicate kiss to his chapped lips as you tease him. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Affection twinkles in his eyes. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his deep, steel blues observing you like you hang the stars and the moon in the night sky. Bucky leans down, encircling your waist with his strong arms as he kisses you with ardour.

“You are far from my first…” He mumbles against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip and pulling it lightly, “but you’re the only one that matters.”

You kiss him again, arms around his neck pulling him down to you. You’re dangerously addicted to the taste of him, the way his lips move against yours and how his tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it.

Ensuring that you get safely to your car this late at night, Bucky walks you all the way there, giving you another kiss before making sure you lock your car door and promise to text him when you get to his place to pick up Alpine and when you finally get home.

He watches as you pull your car out of the lot, until you’re completely out of sight.

Warmth spreads through the pit of your stomach even though you’re driving away from him, remembering Wanda’s warning before going on your first date with him. No one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

No one except you. And now you’re officially his girlfriend.

* * *

Walking back into his mom’s hospital room, Bucky’s surprised to find her still sitting up in bed with a bright smile plastered on her face. If he didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have known she was ill at all.

“James.” Winnie pats the edge of her bed, motioning for Bucky to sit beside her. “She makes you happy?”

Bucky perches himself where his mother suggested and takes her hand in both of his, overly grateful to have her still with him. He kisses the back of her hand as he thinks of his response - not because he’s uncertain of his answer, you make him astonishingly happy, more than he has been in living memory, but because the extent of that delight is difficult to put into words.

“Incredibly so.” Is what he comes up with, though it feels incomplete and deficient of the precise devotion his heart already feels for you.

His mother, however, seems content with the answer for she clasps her hands together and hums with excitement.

“My boy, I never thought I’d see the day where you would finally let yourself be happy.” She takes a delicate hand and cups his face. Her eyes are filled with overwhelming joy, and Bucky suspects as happy as she is for him, she is also using it as a distraction from her current circumstance.

He didn’t think he’d ever open his heart and allow someone to own it as he has done with you. His greatest fear is being hurt like that again - being crushed by grief like a car in a compactor until he’s a shell of the person he was.

You have this uncanny ability to bring out the true jocular and jovial personality his mother would recognise from before bereavement overtook his life.

He’s already decided that he cannot for the life of him lose you. That if this doesn’t work out with you, he will shut his heart off from the rest of the world for good this time. You’re the only person he’s interested in giving his heart to, if his life can’t be shared with you, then he’ll have to find a way to be content on his own.

“So, can I be expecting grandbabies anytime soon?” Winnie asks in a teasing voice which makes Bucky’s cheeks flush. There isn’t any doubt where Bucky and Becca got their cheeky nature from.

“Ma, we’re definitely not there yet.” He shakes his head urgently but his mom just chuckles.

“Do you love her?”

Bucky pauses. It’s a yes or no question, and yet the answer certainly isn’t that simple.

Can you love someone who you’ve barely known for a month?

Probably not. At least, not in the way his mom is most likely probing about. He’s not even sure if his heart will allow himself to feel that way about someone. But there’s a flutter in his chest and a warmth in the pit of his stomach every time he so much as thinks about you that suggests he’s already begun falling.

“I think I could - I think I will.” He amends which promotes a smile to blossom on his moms face.

“She’s good for you.” It fills Bucky’s stomach with butterflies that his mom has only observed the two of you together for such a short time, and yet still holds this view. “Makes you genuinely laugh like when you were a little boy. I haven’t heard that beautiful sound in such a long time.”

They both have tears in their eyes now, and after the emotional upheaval of the day, Bucky is barely holding on from breaking down again.

“I don’t plan on letting her go, Ma.”

Part 6 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

The first time Chris asks to see Buck, Eddie doesn't hesitate before saying no. The second, third, fourth, fifth times follow immediately after, Christopher's fury growing with each denial. But Eddie doesn't budge. He'll accept the abuses hurled at him, accept the weak punches Chris throws at his chest, accept the I HATE YOU! and slammed bedroom door.

Its nothing he doesn't deserve.

The sixth time Christopher asks, teary-eyed and pleading, Eddie wavers and says not yet. Chris huffs, but he grabs onto that little bit of hope like a lifeline. Eddie doesn't have the heart to tell him that hope is useless.

See, thing is, he knows Christopher is growing up. He knows his son is old enough to handle seeing Buck in a hospital bed - or, well, maybe not handle it, but he knows he's old enough to decide when he's ready to see Buck himself. But Eddie isn't ready.

Eddie wasn't ready when he tried to haul Buck back up onto the ladder, Eddie wasn't ready when he had to relinquish Buck's life to the others with no idea what was happening, Eddie wasn't ready to see Chimney straddling Buck's torso and begging Buck to wake up, Eddie wasn't ready to watch the doctors roll a still unresponsive Buck through the glass doors, Eddie wasn't ready to see Buck cold and still with a tube down his throat.

Christopher's always been braver than him.

But, selfishly, Eddie doesn't think he could handle seeing Chris beg Buck to wake up or say-

No. Eddie knows he couldn't handle it.

And, fuck, maybe its the wrong choice to keep Chris from getting to say goodbye to another parent. Its probably, definitely the wrong choice. But Eddie can't- He just can't.

He can't do this. He can't say goodbye.

Not to Buck.

Its when an Uber pulls up to the house and he catches Christopher trying to sneak out the front door that he realises he couldn't keep them apart anymore than he could have stopped that lightning from hitting Buck.

(You could have stopped it. You could have gone up in his place. You could have been faster. You could have been the one doing CPR. You could have-)

Eddie just grabs his keys and ushers Chris towards the Jeep - a fucking jeep, really? what is it? spit on Eddie day? - waiting for them outside.

He doesn't expect Chris to celebrate, but he also doesn't expect the stony silence that suffocates them in the back of the car. When Chris sniffles, Eddie grabs his hand and lets his own tears roll down his cheeks.

He should say something, but there aren't any words for this. This much he knows.

There weren't any last time either.

Eddie doesn't really register the journey from the parking lot up to Buck's room in the ICU. Not until Christopher suddenly goes very, very still and grabs his hand.

There's not a single part of Eddie that hasn't been shattered since he pushed himself up onto shaky arms and saw Buck hanging from the ladder, still, too still, but right now its the first time he really feels like he's going to fall apart.

"He's in there?" Chris asks, voice tiny and small and so, so scared.

"Yeah, buddy," Eddie croaks, "he's in there. But you don't have to go -"

"Yes. I do." Christopher takes a deep breath and marches towards the door like he's about to walk onto a stage.

Eddie follows. After a moment.

Chris has always been braver than him.

(He hasn't been in Buck's room once. Had only looked at him from beyond the window to his room for a few moments before using Christopher as an excuse to flee. Because he's a coward.)

Eddie doesn't know why he expects Buck's room to be empty. His family is at its biggest right now, even if Eddie remains quietly suspicious of Margaret and Phillip's sudden redemption. And he knows no one would ever let him be alone for more than a bathroom break or a coffee run.

Eddie doesn't know why he's so surprised to see Hen offering Chris her chair by Buck's bedside. She's known Buck the longest - along with Bobby and Chim of course, but between Bobby's superiority and Chimney's rebar, they'd gotten closest the fastest. He doesn't know why he expected Hen to still be at home with her wife and kid.

(Maybe because he'd been desperately jealous that she had someone to shoulder the weight with her.)

The grief-stricken, knowing look Hen shoots him is enough to have his chest tightening up worse than the suit shop.

And then, Christopher reaches for Buck's hand, looking so goddamn young but so fucking determined, and Eddie thinks it'd be fucking typical of him to have a heart attack three days after Buck's heart stops.

"I-I'm sorry, I c-can't." He glances at Hen in what he hopes she understands is a plea to look out for Christopher before fleeing from the room.

His legs don't take him far. His legs were made to get him up that fucking ladder to Buck. His legs weren't made to take him away from him. So, he collapses back against the wall under the window and sinks to the floor just as the first sob racks his body.

Its a painful thing. Like its torn from the very depths of him. Like someone has used the Jaws to pry his chest open and is ripping chunks of his organs out of him.

Its a desperate thing. A prayer and a plea to a universe he doesn't believe in.

Its a quiet thing, however. Because Eddie mastered that art so well that it is deeply ingrained in him.

Its a quiet thing which is why he can still hear Christopher's voice through the thin hospital walls.

"Buck, you promised me-" Christopher's words break, and Eddie breaks with them, pressing his fists into his eyes as hard as he can. "You promised you weren't going anywhere, and you never break your promises."

Eddie doesn't remember this promise. He remembers a hundred pinkie promises between his son and his- His Buck. But he doesn't remember this one. He wonders if it was before or after the-

It was before. Eddie knows Buck well enough to know it was before.

"Wake up, Buck. Please, I-"

Eddie's a coward. He's a coward, that's why he can't get up from the floor. He's a goddamn fucking coward.

"I want my dad," Chris wails, and Eddie doesn't know how he manages it - thinks briefly of stories about mothers lifting cars off their babies - but the next thing he knows he's watching Christopher bury his face in Buck's shoulder.

The left one, not the one with the Lichtenburg figures, the one near his heart.

Eddie doesn't need to look at Hen's tear-streaked face to know that Christopher wasn't asking for him.

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yanderehsr · 9 months

Text

Hi, I created a masterlist so it's easier to find something that you want to read

Rules

Everything I post is yandere but I will still put some trigger warnings just to be on the safe side. Also the links are in the order I posted them with some exceptions

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Clingy behaviour, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Murder, Violence

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka's love language

Natasha comforting reader after a nightmare

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka kidnapping reader

General yandere March 7th

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka dealing with people searching for reader

Yanqing cuddling with reader

Blade interested in married reader

Caelus, Gepard, Blade and Jing Yuan with a witch reader

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka with the rules they set for reader

Asta traps reader on the space station

Gepard, Caelus, Luocha, Blade and Yanqing with pocky challenge

Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Blade with reader favored by Yaoshi Part 2

Jing Yuan and Yanqing with adopted reader that joins Sanctus Medicus Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Jing Yuan is jealous because Yanqing takes readers attention

Jing Yuan, Yanqing and Bailu with Qiqi reader

Jing Yuan falls for reader with husband and child during their vacation

Jing Yuan abusing his power as general

Seele and Bronya with a menace to society reader

Jingliu's childhood friend is dating someone

Blade when reader gets stockholm syndrome

Blade, Dan Heng, Himeko and Bailu with Nahida reader

Blade, Kafka and Silver Wolf with toddler reader

Himeko and Welt being parents to a Klee reader Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Blade being jealous and wants Dan Heng's darling

Arlan with an anxious reader

Jing Yuan, Blade and Luocha with a reader that is a constellation from ORV

Blade, Dan Heng and Jing Yuan with shy teen reader with neglectful parents

Blade, Gepard, Jing Yuan and Welt with Bartender reader

Natasha dealing with a darling that almost escaped

Tingyun, Hook and Seele with Diona reader Part 2

Clara and Qiqi with a puppet (fnaf) reader

Jing Yuan with neglected wife reader Part 2

Blade and Dan Heng decides to share reader

Dan Heng, Jing Yuan and Luocha with a regressor reader

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka with autistic reader

Blade, Jing Yuan and Gepard with a reader that can summon powerful creatures

Headcanons for Serval

The difference between Stelle and Caelus

Dan Heng, Jing Yuan and Blade with a teen reader that's like Collei

Childe's love language

Serval and Gepard with Nahida reader

Jing Yuan and Yanqing with single mom reader and their child

Jing Yuan, Gepard, Blade and Caelus with maid reader

Blade with Mr Bean reader

Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Gepard with vidyadhara reader that does not remember them

Bronya forces reader to love her

Gepard, Jing Yuan and Luocha as dad's

Natasha, Himeko and Kafka when reader becomes attached to them

Breaking up with Aether

How Childe, Hu Tao and Yae Miko would kidnap the reader

Blade and Jing Yuan when reader becomes marastruck

The difference between Dan Heng and Imbibitor Lunae

Silver Wolf as a jealous ex girlfriend

Arlan, Gepard and Sampo taking care of their partners newborn

Dan Heng, Blade and Sampo when darling fakes getting knocked out so they can get CPR

Herta and Bronya/Seele with a runaway teen

Childe, Blade, Zhongli and Jing Yuan punishing an escaped reader

Imbibitor Lunae wrapping his tail around reader

Stelle, Dan Heng, Himeko and Welt with Lumine reader

Jing Yuan going for Yanqing's mother and getting help from his student

Nahida with a motherly reader

Breaking up with Venti

Himeko Love Letter

Caelus and Stelle with reader who has racoon tail and ears

Blade, Jing Yuan, Welt and Luka with a reader who has a burn/scar Part 2

Kafka as a jealous ex girlfriend

Blade, Kafka and Silver Wolf with mute reader

Breaking up with Xiao

Childe with abyss lumine reader

Breaking up with Dan Heng

Natasha Love Letter

Breaking up with Blade, Kafka and Silver Wolf

Himeko, Kafka and Asta with a Stelleron hunter reader

Furina headcanons

Kafka with journalist reader

Paimon reader: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

I hope you'll enjoy them😄

#yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere male #yandere female #masterlist

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