#Second Life Vintage Fair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jellicatty · 2 months ago

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♯1 ┆ ❝ SUMMER BUMMER ❞ 𝜗𝜚 ᵎᵎ

With your teases and flirty remarks, the two men find themselves guessing the color of your panties— another game they played besides golfing.

╰┈➤ contains : nanami x beverage cart attendant! female reader x higuruma. nana and higu golfing. masturbation. grinding. mutual pinning. innuendos. nana and higu are perverts here. jealous! higuruma. reader is a tease. reader wear skirts.

╰┈➤ note : EEEE FINALLY I POSTED THIS it only took me like a months... anywayy, sex scenes aren't really my forte plus this is like the first time i wrote one sooo don't expect too much (?).

╰┈➤ next : groupie love (coming soon) ...

Defendants would put all the blame on him, the court's verdict is seemingly destined to oppose his favor. Or, that's what Higuruma thought. Another failed case, another living being failed by the country's unjust system, another alleged victim thrown into jail.

Higuruma though, knew that these circumstances would happen. His dream have lasted for centuries, formed by his compassion to deliver the accused to light. But little by little, his principles have formed cracks.

Although his workaholic nature is unfaltering, worsened by the multitude of paperworks, Higuruma does crave for rest. But, his work-life balance contradicts his need for relaxation. Until, the opportunity had arrived and he's now trudging to a bar.

To passerby, it was your typical, vintage bar that old and worn-out folks like him would visit. However, Higuruma saw it as a sanctuary for his deep troubles. From drinking with his colleagues or just simply letting his usually work-occupied mind slip away, his favorite bar had seen it all.

"One— No, three of these, please." His ever polite tone still there even as the hours of long work shouldered him down.

The atmosphere rivaled the comfort of his home, and it's probably why Higuruma had an liking for it.

"You're being carried away by your thoughts, Mr. Higuruma." The bartender was quick to notice his blank expression, placing his ordered drinks in an attempt to distract his mind from work.

But, the bartender knew Higuruma too well. Despite connecting only through brief conversations, and a short time together, the bartender had a sense of what Higuruma's state of mind is at the end of the day.

"If you want to take off your mind away from work, then I suggest doing something else for a change." Well, this hasn't been the first time the advice was given to the attorney. He's had his fair share of therapeutic tips from concerned people. None were able to fully convince him though.

"I don't... I'm too busy."

"You wallow in self-pity, yet do nothing to save yourself from it. I've met other people like you, people who find comfort in what makes them distraught." Instead of his duties, the bartender was now focused on Higuruma. "It doesn't end good for them. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. It's not that easy to let go of something that you've dedicated your whole life too."

"I'm sure nothing will be lost if you do let go for a fraction of a second."

"You're not going to give this up, huh?" Higuruma sighed, "Well, I'd like to keep a valuable customer." They both chuckled at the Bartender's wishes. After some thought and a drink or two, Higuruma was set on the decision to make some small changes in his life for once.

The problem is, what would be the change?

Gym was out of the question since he frequently did so. Hiking's too taxing and he can't leave his duties for a long time. Sports were a possibility, as long as it didn't physically exert him that much. Golfing, maybe? He thought.

"One of the gents at the bar earlier has been to the newly opened golfing course here."

Ah, golfing it is.

"I think that young fellow over there needs a getaway from their life, too." His focus turned to the younger, blond man sitting three stools away. A few bottles have been emptied, yet it was evident that he could go for a few more. Nothing outstanding from the man aside from his leopard-pattern tie. Just your typical, fatigue worker.

"Looks like you're also preoccupied with your mind, Sir Nanami. I take it as a bad day?"

"No need to say more."

Although Higuruma knew it was not the best to disturb the tired man, he thought that perhaps talking to him would make their mundane nights better. Maybe, to comfort him with the words he wished to hear.

"Sorry for intruding your conversation, but are you new here?"

"Nope. Been here for some time now. Just been a bit busy with some... grueling reports again." He winced at the mention of his work.

"Reports?"

"I'm a salaryman." Higuruma now turned his full attention on Nanami, filling his curiosity. He hands out a calling card, "Here, just in case." And for a brief second, Higuruma almost laughs at his own 'joke' that he always did with his new acquaintances. Fortunately for him, Nanami's humor was not yet stripped away by his boring profession and softly smiled at his friendly remark.

It's a simple change like this is what Nanami wanted. Nothing extraordinary, nothing too small to notice too. The two men shared their experiences, silently bonding over the heavy troubles they carried from day to night. And if they were being honest, this was one of those moments where they surely won't forget. It's like moments like this was there only escape from the tiring duties they must do.

Alas, the deepest night has caught up to them. The lulling blue tones that played throughout their visit no longer graced their ears. The only noise present was their chatter and the kind bartender's huffing and puffing of cigarette.

"You know, despite your gruff look, you're an approachable guy. A fun one too if you squinted."

"Oh, gruff? You should check a mirror, Higuruma."

The two men chuckled at their jokes, slowly packing up their own belongings before cleaning their surroundings. After they finished, they walked together outside.

The blistering cold of the night quickly breezed past the two men. A shiver and a small breath of fresh air later, they nodded at each other and departed from the bar with heavy steps.

The night was still young, and Higuruma's desperate for a change. Fortunately, Nanami Kento had arrived. Albeit small, Nanami still had made a difference to Higuruma's perpetual enervating days.

He doesn't want their interactions to remain just at the bar, though. Perhaps, he should suggest on golfing together to help the blond too.

The summertime heat was merciless. As one could anticipate for this time of year. In the intense heat, Higuruma and Nanami were helpless. Their experienced selves took turns swinging their golf clubs, finding entertainment in their calculated swings and triumphant shots. Empty cups scattered on their table, their belongings left unattended.

Golf seemed like a good start—and maybe their greatest choice by far. It was not only a nice diversion, but it also provided them with the ideal reason to spend time with their favorite entertainment—you, the beverage cart girl.

Weeks have passed, and life has been more tolerable. The first golf meets with Nanami were riddled with a comfortable silence, as if the two men had known each other for a while. The only bond they had was formed on their sleepless nights and persistent work, yet conversations flowed effortlessly. With their unfading politeness and formal talking that stayed even during their golf meets. They both assumed that the other was righteous, and a man of good qualities. Damn were they wrong.

Refined. Upright. Gentlemanly. Those words that used to describe the two men were long discarded. Since your arrival, the two men had been nothing but good, their true colors spilling from the shells of who they used to be. Higuruma could still vividly recall the moment where their true selves slipped. Their gazes were fixed only on you that day, overfilled with joy once you asked for their orders in that sweet voice you had. And right after you left them with their hard rock problems to themselves, they turned to each other as if their eyes alone could communicate. A word did not need to be shared. They knew that you were going to be a problem.

"What do you think's the color of her panties this time, Nanami?" Higuruma positioned his hips in a more appropriate manner, then swung his club.

"That cheeky woman loves pink," Nanami replied.

Aside from golf, they engaged in another game — guessing the color of your panties. As suggested by Higuruma when he caught a glimpse of it a few days ago, this was now the two men's favorite pastime. To them, it seemed only fair since you'd purposely bend over to shamelessly give them a view of your lace-trimmed panties that matched your outfits.

"I highly doubt it will be pink again—"

Out of nowhere, the faint noise of tires screeching slowly approached the two men. Puzzled, they looked at each other first, before turning around. Their eyes confusedly searched for the noise, before their gazes landed on the approaching golf cart— or rather, you.

It was as if you were the oasis in the Sahara desert, quenching the men's thirst with your exposed skin and alluring smile. With your pastel yellow pleats that went inches above your knee, your tight-fit Lululemon jacket that hugged your delectable figure, and your glamoured face, you joyfully steered the cart towards them.

Your beautiful smile greeted them, "Sir Kento! Sir Hiromi! I've brought you your drinks again!"

Higuruma's typically vacant eyes had their spark back to them, the usual boring look it wore instantly disappearing. Meanwhile, the hard lines of Nanami’s face eased, his stoic demeanor softening in your presence.

You hopped off your seat and prepared their ordered drinks, blind to their improper gazes that seek your undergarment.

Luck was merciful, and the world was on their side today when a breeze had swept your skirt upwards in a cartoonish fashion.

"Oh!" Your cheeks flushed scarlet at the embarrassing incident, yet your hands take their time to pull down your skirt.

Their eyes are quicker than your hands, ill-intent gazes finding your undergarment in a flash. Light pink and polka dotted, adorned with a small bow at the front. The kind of panties that he envisioned every night. Nanami snickered, proving himself to be right once again.

"Pay up," Higuruma grumbled, cursing the man under his breath. Their actions no longer define the men they used to be. Their gentlemanliness and polished attitudes dissipate into the air at the sight of you.

"Thanks, angel. You know how to make our day better, huh?" Nanami returned your smile and took the drinks from your hand.

Higuruma is not oblivious enough to overlook Nanami's full interest in you. He's sure that a deprived man like him would ogle at your frame. He applauded the blond's self-control because, God, mini skirts were the death of him.

"That would beeee... 12 dollars!"

"12 only?" Higuruma pulled out his wallet and handed more than the said amount, "Here, keep the change, sweetie." However, your hands clumsily dropped the money.

Your breasts from the tight-fit jacket were threatening to spill out as you bent down to grab the fallen change. Although involuntarily, the two men were able to shortly glance at it and oh, my— what a sight. Two mounds pressed tightly together, sweat sensually gliding on your skin, the natural red flush adding more allure.

Their throats ran dry, needing a refreshment as they were taken aback by the promiscuous view of your tits. There's no way that wasn't intentional, they thought.

Although you often pulled those stunts, your shyness still lingered— a thing that they grew fondness for. You excused your blunder, timidly covering your face as you walked back to your cart.

"Aw, you going so soon?" You knew Higuruma would call for you. After all, he enjoyed your presence and often was the one chatting with you. From his smirk though, you should have known he had something in store for today.

"Come, let Mr. Kento here teach you some golf lessons." Higuruma's true goal of making you break in broad daylight is hidden under his hoax suggestion. Nanami, with his sharp senses, saw Higuruma's real intention, irritated at being his guinea pig for entertainment.

Despite his annoyance, he gratifies the other man's idea. Now, he has an inexcusable reason to close the proximity between you.

You asked the man in your honeyed voice "Would it be okay, Sir Kento?", so sweet it's almost sickly. His ears are focused on your saccharine voice, contradicting his jumbled thoughts that insisted he was sick of hearing it, fearing how much power your words have over him. His mind wonders; Would you have that same, sugary and sweet voice? Would your moans echo like candy, alluring and irresistible?

Nanami's attention was quickly drawn to you, looking up at him, his bulging biceps pressed against your tits. Your big, doll-like eyes are desperate to be taught. Nanami wonders again if you'd have the same look when he'll be ruining you.

"Pleaaseee! My shift will be finished soon!" Your pout was his last straw, a victim to your begging once again. Sighing, Nanami agreed to your requests.

"Yay! Thank you, Sir Kento!"

"Calm down, sweets. Mr. Kento here is going to malfunction if you keep on clinging to him like that." Higuruma snickered at Nanami's flustered face. "Oh, I apologize, Sir Kento!" You sheepishly backed away and regretted your actions.

The truth is, it wasn't just the two men that had their perverse fantasies. You too suffered their charm. Whether it be downing the alcohol they ordered, or simply breathing, it always had been a distraction for you. Their Ralph Lauren polos hugged their bodies in a nice fit, outlining their flexed muscles that shone deliciously under their sweat and the sun's rays. Thick, defined thighs, straining their pants. Even when playing normally, their wealth and professionalism exuded, something that you found very appealing.

"Bend with your hips, Y/n. Not your waist." Would it be wrong to say that you found his strict demeanor attractive? Would it also be wrong to think of the many things Nanami would order you to do in bed?

"Aaand— Did I do it right?!" Nanami's advice went through and exited your ear. Your swings misaligned and your ball never reached the goal.

"Gosh, you're a lost cause, angel. This is how it's done." Without warning, Nanami walked to your back. His proximity was sinful as his crotch settled at your ass, the sudden closeness eliciting a small, shocked gasp from you.

"Like..." He's also affected by the warmth and comfort your ass gave, hot breath fanning over your neck. He extended his arm and put them over yours, guiding your own so you can swing in a correct manner. "This."

But, aiming for the goal was the least of your worries. Not when Nanami's cock is noticeably hardening against your ass.

"There, you did it!"

A mix of disbelief and amusement flickered on Higuruma's face. Regret washed over him as Nanami took his suggestion to another level, scolding himself for underestimating the blond's courage and will to tease you right in front of him. With no escape, he's now forced to watch the consequences of his actions unfold. Yet, despite the pure jealousy clouding his mind, he does admit that the scene was enticing.

His thoughts are improper and vulgar, your flushed expression fueling him more. His train of thought is unavoidable though. Whenever Nanami teased you in broad daylight, publicly, and in front of him, his thoughts will surely be anything but pure.

"S-Sir Hiromi—!" Your voice cried, not for help but for his attention. A whore like you loved the attention. You loved Higuruma's disgusted scowl as he watched the two of you get handsy. You loved Higuruma's body, which reacted opposed to his shown expressions— his bulge visible while his face grimaced.

But, his thoughts got the best of him, and you only wanted to share your achievement.

"Did you s-see my shot? It was perfect!" You finally let out a breath when Nanami pulled away, not without a small, teasing comment whispered at you.

Let him watch.

Oh, you will.

Another time, though, because Higuruma's jealousy was painfully cutting through the air. His patience was wearily thin, and it's all because you cannot stop grinding on Nanami's bulge.

Determined to outdo the blond's ministrations, and also ease his jealousy, Higuruma chimes in., "You mind for a dinner together? Could tell that you need a break just from your eyes alone, sweets."

The sudden attention left you light-headed, shocked with their unspoken rivalry. You had power and influence over them, and you know just how to use it. But for now, your mind could only focus on the fact that you were going to dinner with your client. You’ve overstepped so many rules and most probably going to be in trouble, but a night with a man like Higuruma Hiromi was something you won’t deny.

Nanami sees your excitement. Feeling the sprouted competition happening between him and his friend, he quickly interjects, "I still don't have your number either. What is it, angel?"

Higuruma's betting on all of his suits (which are all expensive, by the way) that Nanami's going to fuck his fist to your pictures tonight. And he wasn't wrong. Because, as soon as Nanami arrived home, his first thought was to check your socials (surprisingly, not his paperwork). He was initially confused since you had an innocent facade online. Shared religious quotes, pictures with family, not a single photo where your boobs are out for everyone to see. He's even doubting if he followed the correct account. The only confirmation he had that it was yours was the new story you had posted.

It was you, right after your shift, posing in front of the mirror with a smile. Your caption about thanking the Lord for another day made him laugh. He's confident that you're praising Nanami for his ministrations earlier instead.

Nanami also wholeheartedly believes you're thanking him too for pressing his hard cock on your ass. He's flattered, and fucking horny, still bothered by the stunt he pulled earlier.

His erection is painful, and Nanami realizes how he could take care of it. Although feeling a bit perverse at the act he's about to do, he shoves his second thoughts away, eager to cum at a picture of you.

His lengthy dick is in his hand, gliding against his tip, then sliding up and down. His pre cum coated the top, oozing continuously as he stared at your picture on screen.

"Fuuuck..." He groaned, eyes closed, panting at the pleasure he was feeling. He indulges in his fantasies, letting his imagination run wild. He thinks of you inside his bedroom, wearing nothing but your light pink underwear, with polka dots all over and decorated with laces and ribbons. The same panties that he caught a glimpse of that he's so weak for. He's curious about what you'd be like, but he knew your salacious nature, and figured that you'll be the same slut you are.

God, if only you were here.

If you were here, it wouldn't be him toying with himself. It would be you, bouncing up and down, drool dripping from your mouth, as his cock fucks your pussy silly. You'd have that dumb look on your face, mind clouded in a lust-frenzy haze as you desperately begged for more.

"Mhm! Sir Kento!" He knows you'd call out to him, your voice ever-so-sweet, whining and weeping at the fervent feeling of him filling you up.

"Gonna cum inside you." is what he'd say if you were here. And you being you, you're fain of his request, straddling his hips as if it was made to be there. You wouldn't pull away. Instead, you'd remain on his dick as splurges of cum shoot out of it.

"T-thank you, Sir" You'd thank him for drowning your sex with his cum. Nanami would only get hard again at your sweetness that managed to stay in the bedroom, and he'd flip you over and pound himself into you.

His empty promises to himself would be fulfilled one day. But for now, his hand will do.

"S-shit" His voice is shaky, body trembling at his intense high. His palm is dirtied by his cum that he hoped was inside of you instead.

Tonight, it will be his hand. Next week, it will be your mouth. He's certain of that— No, he swears it will be your small mouth wrapped on his cock. Perhaps, with Higuruma fucking you silly too.

tags : @packsvlog @honeynanamin @rrssrios @misscigarettes @shokosbunny @shamelessdonutkryptonite @i1uvc4ke @dongh9e @freakadelik @tomurafrlover23 @sad-darksoul @glader13 @that-redheadd @beantokki @a-hidden-gem @joonsanswers @erenspersonalsexdoll @s-1-xx @shxniq @ilovetengen @zianaz-slvtz @jwnzlvr @wifenanami @20kglex @oromaangel @jejejjekskwl @s4m4nth4wrld @jaeminsmilk @alpha-mommy69 @lobsteeer @blackphoenix0718 @wrldldo @nappingmoon @cindyneko-strider @yumiecheesecrackers @rattats-world

#comment to be tagged for pt 2!#nanami x reader #higuruma x reader #jjk smut #nanami smut #higuruma smut #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #higuruma hiromi #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi smut #jjk x reader smut #| 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐘 (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

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queen-of-deans-booty · 2 months ago

Text

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: minor fluff, angst, murder (implied), character death

Summary: One good deed turns into your worst nightmare, one that you can’t stop from coming.

Square Filled: heartbreak (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Before you can leave the bedroom, Dean pulls you in again and kisses you. He knows exactly what to do to get you to stay, but you promised your friend you’d go shopping with her. You wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to get lost in the kiss for exactly five seconds before you pull away.

“I gotta go, Dean,” you giggle.

“Come on, stay. I’ll do that thing you like,” he smirks.

“No. It’s not fair to use sex to hold me here. I’ll only be gone a few hours at most. You’re so clingy,” you laugh and push him off you. “You’ll survive for a few hours. I promise.”

“Okay, fine, but you’re not leaving my bedroom when you get back.”

“Deal,” you chuckle. “If I’m not back by seven, you have my permission to come get me.”

You kiss Dean quickly before leaving the bedroom. Dean won’t let you take his precious car so you opt to take one of the other older ones in the bunker’s garage. They’re all vintage classics that Savy fell in love with when she first saw them. She’ll appreciate you taking the 1955 Ford Thunderbird. Savvy is only in town for a few days on business so you only have a few days to hang with her before she goes back home on the East Coast.

“How are you and Jerry doing?” you ask when you pick her up.

Normally, the drive to the mall is only twenty minutes if you take the main roads and the highway. The weather is nice so you opt to take the back roads which will add another thirty minutes to the ride. Neither of you mind.

“We’re trying for another baby, so that’s exciting.” She already has four kids so you’re surprised she wants to bring another one into the world. “What about you? Any kids for you and Dean?”

“Savy, we’ve only been dating for six months.”

“So? You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want kids, and I don’t think Dean will have an issue with me not wanting kids.” Kids don’t fit into the hunting life. “Plus, we’re taking things at a nice pace. He just asked me to move into the Bunker last week.”

“That must be easier for hunting.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Are you happy, Y/N?”

“Very. Are you happy?”

“I am,” she smiles.

“Good.”

You turn the music up and let the wind blow through your hair as you drive down the desolate road. You turn the corner and see a gray car parked on the side of the road about one hundred yards away. There is a man standing by the car with his hands on his head like he’s stressed about his car situation. You slow down and turn the music off when you approach the man.

“Car trouble?”

“Yeah. My tire is flat, my phone is dead, and I don’t know how to change a tire. I know what you’re thinking. A man doesn’t know how to change a tire? I was never a car man, and no one ever taught me,” he chuckles nervously.

“Do you have a spare?”

“Yeah, in the back.”

“I know how to change a tire. I can help you.”

“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

You pull up in front of the car, and Savy looks at you with concern.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?”

“I’m just changing a tire. It’s fine. Ten minutes tops.” You get out of the car. “Stay here.”

“Thank you for stopping. I would have had to walk home,” the man chuckles. “I’m Peter.”

“Y/N. That’s Savy, and it’s no problem. I’d want someone to stop for me.”

You take the spare from the back and get started on taking the current tire off the car. You have just undone the lugnuts from the rim when your phone rings from your car.

“Dean is calling you.”

“Answer it. Tell him I’ll only be a minute.”

Savy grabs your phone and answers his call.

“Y/N’s phone. How may I help you?”

“Where is Y/N?”

“She’s busy right now. Can I take a message?”

“Just tell her to call me when she can,” Dean says and hangs up. Dean puts his phone down and looks at his brother who is looking at his iPad. “So, you thinking ghost possession?”

“Well, the witnesses claim to see black goo coming out of the victims’ ears before they killed themselves.”

“Yeah, ghost possession. We’ll leave in an hour. We’ll pick up Y/N on the way.” Forty-five minutes later, Dean enters the man cave to grab something when he sees you sitting on the couch staring at the TV that’s turned to the news. “I thought you’d be gone for a few hours. When did you get in?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Oh, well, Sam found a case a few states away. He’s thinking ghost possession. You in?” You don’t answer and continue to look at the TV. “Are you okay?”

“Look what’s on the news.”

Dean walks closer to you and pays attention to the news reporter.

“While on a car chase, authorities discovered a 2003 gray Honda Civic abandoned on the side of the road. When authorities looked closer, there were signs of a struggle. We’re not clear as to what may have taken place, but they found two women’s purses on the ground. It is presumed that two women are missing, but their identities remain a mystery as of right now. Back to you, Sam.”

The news coverage changes to another news reporter who is already on the scene.

“Yes, Jill, what happened here is a tragedy. Local authorities are doing everything they can to locate the two women, hopefully alive.” Shouts from the officers can be heard, and Sam looks behind him to see what is going on. “This just in, I think they found a body.” Sam turns back to the camera. “I am unsure if they are able to identify the body. When we have more information, you’ll be the first to know. Back to you, Jill.”

“Wow, that’s so sad,” Dean says.

You look at Dean with unshed tears in your eyes.

“I’m at the bottom of Waconda Lake.”

“What?”

“Who are you talking to?” Sam asks when he pops his head in. Suddenly, you mist away, and realization dawns on Dean’s face. His knees buckle and he has to sit down before he crumbles to the ground. “Dude, you okay?”

“I think Y/N’s dead.”

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #supernatural fiction

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icallhimjoey · 2 years ago

Note

bestie *grabs you by the face and makes you listen to me* i am obsessed already! there isn't going to be a day where you don't know how to captivate me with your words, it's not fair! so... we're in a wedding dress and we've passed out and joe is wearing the unseen but already infamous olive green vintage suit... now what???

excellent question! here we go (smallest teeny tiny little tw: mention of the thought of someone committing suicide) Wordcount: 2.9K

---

Between Floors and Feelings

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe wasn’t exactly sure how this worked, but being put into a position where he had to take charge, where there didn't seem to be any other choice but to take charge, made it really easy to actually do just that. He took charge.

He just... did it. Went with it. Felt he was doing an okay job at managing it, too.

Sure, he was stuck in a tube station lift after midnight with a pretty girl who had panicked, had seemed to entirely forget how to breathe properly and had made herself pass out, but... he felt like he’d been in worse spots.

At least he knew for certain where you were. Had eyes on you. Could see and would know that you didn't... you know, make silly permanent decisions to what likely were temporary problems.

Because all problems were ultimately temporary, weren't they? Joe believed so, at least.

You’d only been out for a few seconds, hadn't gotten hurt in the process, and from his crouched position next to you, Joe had tried to speak to the lady on the other side of the intercom.

That didn’t work. She asked again if their services were needed, clearly not hearing any of what Joe was trying to tell her.

“Hang on!” Joe shouted over his shoulder towards the corner of the lift, and it made you wince at the sudden loud noise.

Waking up after involuntarily blacking out was awful. Disorienting, unsettling and confusing. Embarrassing too. It also took you a second to fully understand where you were and what had happened, and nothing really clicked into place until the strange man that hovered above you shouted.

Pounding heartbeat.

Lingering headache.

So drained.

“Here,” Joe capped the water bottle he was holding, and placed it down where you could see it. “Can you do one thing for me?”

You tried to sit up, tried to engage your muscles to help you move your head up from the floor.

“Two things!” Joe held up both hands, universal sign for stop. It made you lay back down and relax the muscles of your neck. “Two things, can you do two things for me?”

You groaned, knowing it was important to take things slowly, but you couldn’t feel anything down past your knees and as you told your brain to tell your toes to wiggle inside your shoes, you weren’t sure if anything was even happening down there.

“Don’t move,” Joe counted on a finger held over your face so you could see. “And focus on breathing, okay?”

You felt shaky and your face felt cold – wet – and you lifted hands to touch, to wipe, but your arms were too weak and moving them became just a weird trembling hover of clammy palms over white fabric.

Joe saw, took hold of them both and squeezed.

My God, those were possibly the sweetest most expressive eyes you had ever looked into. This guy looked at you like he'd known you all his life, like he knew exactly what had happened to you earlier that evening, like he could feel everything you were feeling right now.

And it helped.

“Just focus on breathing, nothing else. S’all you’ve got to do,”

Behind him, the static of the intercom died, and Joe muttered, “Oh, fuck,” before quickly getting up and moving towards it, pressing the emergency button once again.

“Inhale,” Joe said, bent with an ear close to the speaker, but eyes on you. One of his arms was stuck out to you, which didn't do anything, but it was nice anyway.

You decided that having just one job to do was actually... sort of nice.

You didn’t need to think of anything else for a second. Didn’t need to think about how the entire night had unfolded. How you’d seen you boyfriend – ex, oh my God, ex-boyfriend now, Jesus Christ. How you’d seen him excuse himself to go to the toilets, but then had seen him walk in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t believe you’d actually seen it.

With your own two eyeballs.

“Exhale,” Joe said and demonstrated an excruciatingly slow escape of his breath through his mouth.

“Keep going, take a minute, all right?”

Focussed. Eyes on the weird ceiling light boxes of the lift. Inhale. You could stay focussed. Just one job. One small task. Exhale. You could do this.

Slowly, you noticed that you could actually feel your feet fine. That your headache wasn't that prominent. Just a background sort of thing, probably because you were slightly dehydrated from the crying, and you listened to the intercom lady talk to Joe.

“Emergency services, how can I assist you?”

“Yes, hello!” Joe sounded unusually upbeat seeing the current situation you found yourselves in. “I am– we are stuck in a lift,” Joe waited a second, hoped maybe some form of acknowledgement would come through. However, it stayed silent, so he continued, “It's just me and one other person in one of the Covent Garden tube station lifts, and–”

Joe got cut off right in the middle of his sentence.

“Hello, emergency services. You have pressed the emergency button in one of our lifts, are you in need of any help?”

Joe stared and blinked at the little holes that formed a larger circle.

“Yea, we're stuck,” you tasted a tinge of annoyance in Joe's tone. “The lift stopped moving and the doors–”

“Hello?”

“Hello?!”

Joe looked at you questioningly disturbed, as if to say, am I crazy? What the fuck's happening?

Then the static of the intercom stopped again. Like they'd hung up on you.

“I think it's broken,” you said, voice way too small for your own liking.

Joe tried again, pressed the emergency button, waited for the static to come on, but the same thing happened. A voice asked if you needed assistance, if you needed any help, but it seemed like the microphone on your end wasn't working properly. They weren't receiving any of what you were saying. Of what Joe was trying to articulate slowly, to enunciate distinctly, and he grew more and more irritated each time he had to repeat himself.

Cool time to feel the urgency within your body that came from your bladder that needed emptying.

You needed to piss badly.

Joe pressed the emergency button again. And then again. Checked his own phone to be presented with the difficult truth that he also did not have any service underground, and then, pressed the emergency button yet again.

What else was there to do? How else were you going to get out of there?

“At some point they must understand,” Joe explained, and you agreed. There was going to have to be a point you could reach by just pressing this button over and over for people on the other side to realise that this wasn't kids just pranking them, or an accidental press of a button. Maybe they could somehow see where you were, have someone locate you and get you out... you didn't know how emergency buttons in lifts worked.

You just laid there and listened to Joe pressing a button, to a lady asking the same urgent question that didn't get an answer she could hear until you could no longer feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

Slowly, the acceptance that this was going to probably last for at least a little while settled within you.

You told your bladder to keep it together.

Shit.

It all made fucking sense, didn't it? Your worst-night-ever bingo card hadn't had "stuck in a lift" crossed off yet, so of course, this had to happen. Almost felt like it was written in the stars a little. Meant to be. One bad fuck up right after the other. Life really knew how to kick you right in the shins when you'd just been knocked over the head.

“I'm going to sit up now,” you announced, because you felt like you couldn't just move without letting him know. Not after the whole can you do two things for me.

Before you could even attempt to slowly pick yourself up off the floor, a tweed-cladded knee pressed into the tulle that felt like it engulfed you entirely, and two hands helped pull you up into a sitting position.

“Here, against the side,” Joe said, hands softly guiding, but persisting you moved to sit with your back leant against a side panel of the lift.

God.

You'd forgotten what it was like for someone to fret over you like this. All worried and distraught. All caring and shit. Attentive, almost doting. T'was cute.

Like, you were fine, but it was kind of nice. Kind of fed your self-pity a little. Made it go, yea, see?! we are sad and we do need taking care of.

“Are you all right?”

A careful second passed where you tried to really feel within your body if you were. And... you were, so you gave a small nod.

Then, the water bottle got kindly pressed into your hands again.

“I won't force you, I know I drank from that, but I promise, you will probably feel better if you just had sip,”

The faintest of little smiles appeared on your face when you finally took the bottle from Joe's hands, and you'd have taken hold of it much sooner had you known the facial expression it would bring about from him.

You still weren't going to take a sip though. Didn't want to fill up your bladder more. It was already painful enough as it was.

Joe got up and went to press the emergency button again.

A silence passed. Just static.

Joe pressed the button over and over, waited for the same question to be asked, waited for the static to stop, and then, he'd just press it again.

This was ridiculous.

Your gaze went from looking up at Joe down towards your hands in your lap. Water bottle immersed in bridal fabric.

You had seen your boyfriend make out with your boss whilst she was pulling off his tie.

You had pissed in her handbag.

You were stuck in a tube station lift with a faulty intercom and a handsome stranger.

Ridiculous.

You huffed a laugh that surprised you a little.

Fuck, this was so fucking ridiculous.

The huff turned into soft giggles, which turned into a louder chuckle, and when you looked back up to make eye-contact with Joe, you squeezed your eyes shut as big belly laughs escaped you.

“This is so ridiculous!” you laughed, and when you looked again, you saw Joe was biting back his laughter until it loudly escaped from his throat through his teeth. “What is even happening right now?!”

You felt delirious, overtaken with giggles that you couldn't stop because you were far too tired to work against them.

You laughed and laughed, drowning out the lady asking if you needed assistance. You had to wipe under your eyes where you found tears in the corners and you didn't mind wiping these away. These were good ones.

Joe ended up throwing his head back, shoulders slack from his giggles, then bending forward, nearly tumbling over which only made you laugh more. He leant against the wall opposite you, laughed and slowly slid down until his bum reached the floor and his trousers had ridden up, bright yellow socks now revealed to you.

You laughed until it slowly fizzled out into smaller giggles. Then a last huff, maybe two. Then silence again.

The atmosphere had gone from strangely tense to stupidly playful. This was nicer. Made you relax into yourself a little more.

“I'm sorry you had to deal with... that,” you said through a stupid smile, vaguely motioning with a heavy arm to the spot in front of you where you'd passed out a little earlier.

“Nah, don't worry about it,” Joe scrunched up his whole face as he shook his head a little. “I hope you didn't have urgent plans,” Joe made a face, tucked in chin, eyebrows raised high, followed by small nod with his eyes trained on the tulle of your skirt. Like a wedding, he meant jokingly.

You snorted. Made Joe laugh again.

“Because, we might be stuck in here for a while.”

It made you frown and groan.

“This is just my luck.”

“You um... you seem like you've had quite the evening,” Joe treaded lightly, sounding like he was just making conversation but was very clearly pointing out the elephant in the lift. The big, poofy, white one.

“This isn't,” you shook your head and winced at yourself. “This isn't what it looks like, sorry,”

You saw confusion strike, and you bit your lips into your mouth as you squinted, contemplating if you should tell him. If you did, it had to be the full story. Just going, “oh I'm not a bride, this isn't my wedding day” would only lead to more confusion, because that's what it looked like, wasn't it?

But lying felt worse.

Joe was right. You might be stuck in there for a little while.

So, you thought it over for maybe three seconds, then stuck out a hand for Joe to shake and you introduced yourself. Said your name, and Joe repeated it back to you.

“Joe,” he then said, reintroducing himself.

“I'm not a bride,” you followed up.

“Cool, neither am I,” Joe said and smirked. Pulled another giggle from you.

Shit.

“This is fancy dress,” you motioned both hands up and down your frame.

“So is this,” Joe did the same, copying your movements.

“No it isn't,” you laughed. That suit looked far too expensive to be fancy dress.

“No, it's not,” Joe agreed and laughed along.

Fuck, it felt good to laugh.

Flirty bastard.

Joe looked up towards the emergency button above him and reached a hand, pressing it again, not even bothering with waiting for the intercom to spring to life. He just needed to press it to press it. To let people know you were still stuck. While the intercom static filled the lift car once again, he turned back to you and continued the conversation.

“Bridezilla?” he questioned.

You slowly inhaled a deep breath. “Well... ex-wife, or so it turns out,”

Oof.

Joking about it felt wrong and made you itch all over. Too soon. Far too soon. Big nope.

Jesus, that nearly made you want to cry again.

Joe saw, read it in your face, and straightened his own.

“If it's of any consolation,” he started, then squeezed is eyes firmly shut as he said, “You look fantastic.”

It burst another laugh from your chest that immediately made you sit up straighter. “Stop, stop,” you pleaded. “I'm going to pee myself,”

“No!” Joe lurched forward, added “Sorry, sorry!” with a joyfully painful face so full of empathy, you didn't really know what to do with all the care they held for you.

You winced through half laughs with tensed shoulders until they died down, then made awkward eye-contact and passed Joe's water bottle back to him.

“Oh, yea,” Joe took it, held it up a little to drive home the point that he understood why you hadn't taken a sip yet.

Your eyes shot back up towards the emergency button. Joe saw, reached a hand up, pressed it once more and said, “They must come soon,”

He just said that to make sure you stayed calm, you understood. But you wanted to be realistic. Needed to at least speak the question that played on your mind into existence.

“What if they don't?”

It made Joe look at you a second before he turned his head and inspected all four corners of the lift.

“If they don't, we'll just... we'll move closer to here,” Joe pointed towards the corner he was closest to. Closest to the intercom. “And we'll use that corner to pee,”

Another snort laugh.

Another wince.

Another, “Sorry,” from Joe who couldn't help the pursed little smile on his face at the fact that he'd made you laugh again.

“They better fucking hurry,” you said mostly to yourself, and Joe leant forward, reached, and somehow knew exactly where to grab to get your knee through the layers of your skirt. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and said, “We'll be out of here in no time. You watch.”

He said it mostly to make sure panic wouldn't get a hold of you again.

Wished he was right so you wouldn't actually need to resort to assigning a certain corner of the box you were trapped in to be the bathroom.

Wished he was wrong because, strangely, this didn't actually seem so bad.

Joe’d been in worse spots. Way worse spots.

He was stuck in a tube station lift with a broken intercom after midnight with a pretty girl who had made herself pass out and who really needed the toilet, but... she laughed at his jokes, giggled at the faces he made and it was now all he wanted to do for the rest of the night.

Make her tear-stained face spill over with joy for however long he was granted the time to do so.

Just your luck? Just Joe's luck.

Yea.

This wasn't so bad.

Joe’d been in far worse spots.

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #between floors and feelings #part 2

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hotvintagepoll · 8 months ago

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Propaganda

Gladys Cooper (Now, Voyager, My Fair Lady)— Best known for tyrannical mothers or put upon wives, she was a gorgeous early star too. Bette Davis thought exceptionally highly of her 'On the day following Cooper's death, her Now, Voyager co-star Bette Davis appeared on The Dick Cavett Show and called Cooper "Without a doubt, the most beautiful person as well as actress, and a professional ... never was she late one minute, never didn't she know every line."'

Joan Crawford (Dancing Lady, Mildred Pierce, The Women)— God, where do I start!!! Her face is so UNIQUE and compelling and stands out so much. I love her thick brows and high cheekbones. She has a school-marmy hardness too her that makes her a little scary and therefore sexy. Her low thick voice also does it for me. Despite being an unusual looking woman with an unusual face, she never loses her glamour. Just a gorgeous talented actress, AND she was some sort of gay!!!

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Gladys Cooper:

Joan Crawford:

I just love women that are very mean.

she was a smoke show in every decade, from the 20s to the 60s.

The classic matronly beauty with amazing eyebrows

of course there's a space for MILF joan but i want to just take a second and say she was so cute in her early movies (like grand hotel and the women)! those parts often get forgotten but her stardom shines in them just as much as in her older #queen #icon roles

Misremembered for wire hanger hatred, this original screen queen mastered the art of the comeback and refused to let Hollywood toss her aside as she aged. The term “auteur” is usually revered for directors or writer-directors, but most critics have one actor they’ll give that title to as well: Crawford—anyone who knows classic movies already has a “Crawford picture” in their head. She knew how to style herself and promote herself. She made herself a star and kept herself fixated in the Hollywood firmament. What’s hotter than knowing just how hot you are?

(don’t think about Mommie Dearest right now) Joan was known for being super nice to all the like crew of the movies she worked on and she’d get everyone gifts. Joan would hold movie nights at her house and knit at the back of her home theater. Joan was sooo obsessed with other women including Greta Garbo, whos dressing room she would obsessively and purposefully walk by. She said that while working on Grand Hotel, Garbo grabbed her face and “if there ever was a time in my life where I would’ve been a lesbian, that was it.” But like Joan also probably did sleep with women including Barbara Stanwyck. Joan was so obsessed with Bette Davis, screening multiple movies of hers in a day at her watch party, constantly trying to spend time with her or do a movie together, insisting on the dressing room next to hers at Warners and sending her daily gifts… etc. Once Bette said that sex was gods joke to humanity and Joan said “I think the joke is on her.” Joan fucked a lot. Joan got caught publicly fucking a man and sent a letter to the woman who saw them basically saying “I bet it excited you” and the woman was like you know what. It did. Joan was best friends with a gay man. Joan was an actually genuinely good actress even though people mocked her a lot for being like cheap and stupid (partially because she never finished school because her family was broke). Joan was so insane and so cool that’s all.

#joan crawford #gladys cooper #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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blackdollette · 11 months ago

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LOVE. - clyde

✩♬.ᐟ now playing: love - lust for life

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: to be young and in love...

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999@josibunn @livingdead-materialgirl @romanroyapoligist@auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @simply-stellarr

female!reader x clyde

word count: 771

contents: fluff, drug usage, shotgunning

whenever you were with clyde, time was only a concept. you were two young and fiery spirits who had an unexplainable passion for timeless music that neither of you were ever sober enough to understand. you called it vintage, and he called it retro. not that it really mattered, though. your frequencies were always synced either way.

you often wondered what life would be like if you had never met him, thinking back to that one fateful day when you were both 16. he was a scruffy boy who was in desperate need of a haircut, clad in a blue flannel, green cargo pants, and held a well-used skateboard under his arm. he had taken your virginity, ran away with you, and stopped your first high from being horrific. as strange as he was, you couldn’t help but think he was the coolest guy in the world.

he had his leg pressed against yours one night, a stupid little smile spreading on his face as he watched you take your first hit of a joint. “when the smoke’s in your mouth, make sure to inhale a little. don’t wanna waste any of the good stuff.” he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you for a minute as you cautiously inhaled the hot smoke, an equally burning heat resting on his cheeks. you blew out a dainty little ribbon of smoke, shyly looking at him as you searched for his approval. he patted you on the cheek and messed up your hair a little. “atta girl. you’re already a pro.”

he grins, watching you inhale and exhale the smoke. after watching you for a few seconds, he takes the blunt from you and takes a hit himself, then he hands it back to you. “here, give me your hand real quick.” he grabs your hand and pulls it towards his mouth. when it's near enough, he blows out the smoke that's in his mouth and blows it on your hand. your hand feels like it's covered in a thin layer of smoke. he laughs and pulls your hand away from his face “watch, the smoke is going to leave an imprint of my lip. It's a trick I learned when I was a little kid at a party one time, when I saw a drunk guy doing it to a girl's hand.” you couldn’t help but laugh at his little magic trick, feeling like you two were the only people in the world at that moment. the night ended with you two shotgunning until he turned blue in the blue.

late nights on the streets with his arm around your shoulders and his shaggy flannel tied around your waist made you feel like you were on top of the world, careless and ignorant, yet wrapped with a cloak of innocence. you weren’t afraid to take on whatever this cruel world threw at you, because he would always have just the drug to ease the pain. he had given you a chance to see life through the lens of his crystal blue eyes. he had never been the poetic type, but he liked to say that you were the high that he’d been chasing his whole life. what ever that meant.

you loved to get all dolled up and pretty for him whenever he made plans for the two of you, even if it was nowhere in particular. wearing your flowy white silk dresses or some baggy jeans and sneakers, from live concerts to getting kicked out of underground clubs, it didn’t matter because simply being in his chaotic presence was enough.

you were always engaged in any deep conversation he felt like bringing up at the time, even if he always did more of the talking. you sat on a park bench with him one day, kicking around stones as you braided his chestnut brown. a blush creeps back onto his face as he looks back at you. “it's not fair how every time you tell me how you feel, you make me fall in love with you all over again. i love the way you talk, with the way you speak and just how cute you sound when you’re higher than a kite. and i will never get over your cute little giggles. and you always make me warm inside when you smile. and you make me feel young again, like being with you makes me feel 13 again…’

he gave you the resting reassurance that you didn’t need to worry about the future or anything to come. he granted you more fun and pleasure than any drug ever could. and you knew that was all you needed, because you were young and in love.

author's note: day one of valentine's season!!

#Spotify #clyde rory culkin #clyde electrick children #rory culkin clyde #electrick children clyde #rory culkin smut #rory culkin #fluff #lana unreleased #lust for life #lfl #lana del ray #lana del rey #444rockstargf

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icebear4president · 4 months ago

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A small fic with dysfunctional family dynamics featuring Alfred and Arthur

"Alfred, will you please just unload the dishwasher?"

And while Alfred tried not to get too irritated with Arthur, he wasn't about to let the snide remark about his hard-earned space collection slide. Besides, he always cooked the meals, so Arthur can't complain about being put on dish duty.

"Alfred, you are acting like a child."

Rolling his eyes, Alfred stuffed his phone into pocket, and leaned on the counter arms crossed. Whatever, if Arthur wanted to annoy him, than he'll annoy him back. So why not make Arthur extremely uncomfortable with his request. Not that he desperately wanted to hear the words or anything.

"Sure! If you say you're immensely proud of me, that is."

Arthur's excessive scrubbing faltered for a second. "What?"

"If I unload the dishwasher, will you say that you are immensely proud of me?"

"No-why would I do that?"

Alfred grinned at how uncomfortable he was making the other man. Honestly, was it really that hard to answer the question? Apparently he didn't want help with the dishes as much as he said he did.

"Because I'm America. I always demand payment in some form, and this is what I want. I'll even unload the dishes first, but after you have to say your immensely proud of me."

Arthur hesitated, frowning at the soapy water. He just wanted help, was that too much to ask without being subjected to Alfred's nonsense. "Are you sure you don't want money or food? Maybe buy one of those gold kiddy coins you like?"

'Collectible and vintage coins,' Alfred wanted to say, but bit his tongue and smiled instead. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p', "I want you to say you're proud of me."

"Why in the world do you suddenly care if I'm proud of you or not, you never did before," Arthur asked. "Look, I would unload the dishwasher myself, but I'm going to hand wash them first. It's only fair."

What was with this guy and dodging answers. Good thing Alfred was just as stubborn as him, as well as persistent. "I demand payment, and this is the payment I want. Come on dude, they're just words. It's not like I'm asking for something unreasonable here."

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache from this whole exchange. "Alfred, if you're going to unload the dishwasher, than unload the dishwasher. If you don't want to, than don't. It's not that big of a deal."

Alfred leaned forward, desperate now. He was beginning to think this wasn't about dishes anymore, not that he'll think too hard on that. He just wants Arthur to say the words. Hell, even if he didn't even mean it or if he says it sarcastically he'll take it.

This was turning out not to be as fun as he thought it was.

"But I WILL unload the dishwasher. I'll wash the dishes too....you just need to say you're proud of me. Not even immensely or anything, just that you're proud of me."

Wiping his hands, Arthur finally turned to face Alfred. "But what have you done to warrant me to say that? Proud of you for what? Washing the dishes and putting them away? Like every person on this planet does," he asked, genuinely curious for the answer.

"No, just in general."

Arthur sighed, returning to his task. This back and forth was tiring him out. "I'm not going to say I'm proud of you for just being here."

Alfred clutched his chest, feigning hurt. "After all I've done to get to this point, and you still aren't proud? You wound me, what even is the point of life if my big brother can find no good in me," he said, swooning dramatically. Of course, none of his words meant anything, he didn't actually care what England or any of the others thought of him after all. Definitely not.

"This again. Why do you get existential and crap when you're upset?"

"I'm not upset. Why are you getting upset?" Alfred countered. "They're just words, they don't actually mean anything. I'll unload the dishwasher, plus do the dishes if you say them."

Arthur sighed again, and shook his head. "Evidently they mean something to you. And no, I'm not going to say them. Now, if you're not going to help, than go do something else productive," he said, turning his back to Alfred and signaling the conversation to a close.

Alfred stared after him a while, before angrily digging out his phone again. He didn't care, he shouldn't care. It was a joke and he admits he pushed it more than he should've. Maybe it hurt a little, or maybe a lot, but it was fine. He didn't need England's validation, he was a big boy and he would be fine. He would just go watch tv, or cry in his pillow, and forget all about it. "Fine, whatever," he finally said, with a dismissive wave.

After a few moments, Arthur turned to check that Alfred was gone before he spoke again. "I am proud of you. Immensely. I thought you would have known that already," he said, voice echoing in the room.

#hws america #hetalia #aph america #hws england #aph england #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones

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xiosandrafirelyte · 2 years ago

Video

♥Vintage Fair ♥ 2023 006 by Xiosandra Firelyte Via Flickr: Officially OPEN NOW through June 19th!! Event: VINTAGE FAIR Join SILLY LLAMA UPDATE GROUP SHOPPING GALLERY Presented By: BeSpoke Silly Llama Productions Credits: WATERCOLOR Jem Eyeshadow VAUGHN Xia's Alien BRAT GANG COMPANY Vintage Scratch N' Sniff Cheek and Chest stickers BLURR Face Stickers . 80s Set MIGNONNE Soft lips evoX ZOOM Love&Peace Outfit Where was the pic taken? BACK TO THE 80S CLUB BACK TO THE 80S FACEBOOK Sponsor List: DESIGNER SHOWCASE ENTICE MVD ND/MD & ENLIGHT SAINT SHE SAID DESTROY SHORT LEASH SIMPLY SHELBY BESPOKE CARAVAN GROUP Who else will be there? Take a look!! PARTICIPATING DESIGNERS Who will be showing off all of these fabulous designs? Meet us over here !! OFFICIAL BLOGGING TEAM LINK TREE XIO -----------------------------------------

#vintagefair2023 #Second Life #SecondLifeAvatar #Silly Llama Productions #Second Life Vintage Fair #Watercolor #Vaughn #BGC #Brat #Gang #Company #Blurr #Mignonne #Zoom #Back #80s #flickr

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lexotanmerlin · 6 months ago

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Lex # 5165

♥Hair: !!Firelight!! Dave & Deb B5B Gift Hair ♥Head:LeLUTKA Avalon Head by jaden.nova ♥Skin: Curious Kitties *C:K* Azil Peach Skin – 50s Megastar by ameshin.boo @ Vintage Fair ♥Body: eBODY – REBORN – by eBODY ♥Tattoo: Fewness – Your Sign – Cancer by Fewn Daddy ♥Tattoo: Puddles. Zodiac Tattoos by Veronica Cuddles ♥Veins: Izzie’s – Body Veins & Cellulite (combined) by Izzie Button ♥Necklace and…

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#Bliensen #Curious Kitties #Eventyra #Juniper Events #NoRush #Second Life Vintage Fair #Silly Llama Productions #Silly Llama Productions 2024 #SL Vintage Fair #Vintage Fair #Vintage Fair 2024

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aerroughneck · 2 years ago

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!The Little Bat, enLight, FAGA, Fameshed, Have Unequal, ND/MD, Something New, Truth, Uber Event, Vintage Fair Blog: https://aerwolf.blogspot.com/2023/06/perty-polka-dots.html Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/aerlinniel_vella/52978240993/in/dateposted/

#!The Little Bat #enLight #FAGA #Fameshed #Have Unequal #ND/MD #Something New #Truth #Uber Event #Vintage Fair #second life #secondlife #slblogging

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sarahowritesostucky · 7 months ago

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Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 2

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist 2. Jerrica

Steve's newest patient takes an unexpected turn for the worse when he hits heat

Omegas are people just like anyone else, but they have to fight so much harder just to have basic things, just to build lives for themselves that they can be happy with.

Steve’s seen how hard the world and their own biology come down on them time and again, no more so than in his own family. His mother had been a single omega parent and Steve spent his entire childhood watching her struggle to scrape together a good life for herself and her young son. The system wasn’t fair to people like his mother, and Steve is a firm believer that if you can help, you should.

That’s why he carries groceries up three flights for the single father who lives in 4b. It’s why he volunteers at the local shelter for battered and abused omegas, and helps at an organization for disabled omega mothers. It’s why he always makes an extra effort to be kind to his omega coworkers when he sees them struggling in an already demanding field. And it’s why, when Steve was seventeen and watched his mother die from a very preventable gynecological cancer, he made the decision to become an omega sexual and reproductive health practitioner.

There’s a poster Steve has in his living room; vintage, framed, cheerful advertising from a 1940’s housing company. “Give her the home she deserves to make,” it reads, showing a tall, strong alpha in his World War 2 dress uniform. He’s holding the hand of a smaller omega woman, the two of them smiling and walking towards a sparkling new house in the suburbs.

Steve’s mother always taught him that as an Alpha, he had a duty to take care of those weaker and more vulnerable than himself. He promised her that he’d always look out for the little guy. Then she’d died. He’d registered for college the following spring, beginning what would turn into almost a decade of education and training on how to help omegas who were experiencing trauma.

He’s never regretted any of it, because it allows him to help people. People like Bucky, and his neighbor in 4b, and the woman in 416 who doesn’t want the hysterectomy that she desperately needs. People like Amy Lewis.

Steve trails slowly through the store, carrying the shopping basket for the woman in front of him as she finds things off her list that she needs for her upcoming birth. They’re at Twig & Tuft, a store that caters to nesting, expectant and new mothers. Steve is helping Amy to do her shopping. Amy is omega, single, eight months pregnant, and she has an intellectual disability.

Steve feels guilty because even though it’s his second day off and all he’s supposed to be focused on is his weekend volunteer gig, he can’t help how his thoughts keep drifting back to the new patient in his ward: Bucky.

Steve can’t be at the hospital every day. Logically he knows this. He’d go insane or die from exhaustion if he did. But this is the first time in a while that he’s had two days off in a row and it’s the first time in even longer where he received a critical care patient on his last shift of the week. Steve had left detailed instructions with the ward staff, and he knows his team of nurses, therapists, techs and PAs (and hey, even sometimes the doctors, too) are very capable people. They can take care of Bucky. It’ll be fine.

He’s still found himself thinking about it almost all weekend though.

Amy stops halfway down the aisle, looking up at the shelves that are full of different baby formulas and feeding accessories. “Baby bottle,” she mumbles to herself, frowning as she sees the choices. There are all sorts of bottles in various materials, shapes and colors, all with different packaging proclaiming them: easy! clean! ergonomic! Preemie! or Silicone! Natural! or BPA-free!

“Oh man,” Amy says, flustering. “There’s too many.” She holds her list closer to her face, tongue working around in her mouth as she puzzles it out. “I dunno which one.”

Steve waits patiently as she figures it out. He’s only supposed to step in to help when she asks him, since it’s important that Amy be allowed to practice her decision making skills and build her self esteem. Steve’s biggest job being here is to intimidate anybody who might try to take advantage of her; financially, sexually, or otherwise.

He just wishes he’d been there to beat the ever loving crap out of the man responsible for getting her pregnant in the first place. All the caretakers at Amy’s group home know that it was someone employed at her old vocational school. Apparently the issue’s been “handled.” They won’t tell Steve the guy’s name. Probably smart.

Amy is a twenty-four year old woman who has Down syndrome. Steve first met her when her mother dragged her into the hospital’s free clinic, demanding an abortion. Amy hadn’t wanted it, and even when Steve explained the difficulties that would lie ahead for her, she’d been adamant: she wanted to keep her baby.

It’d caused quite the uproar amongst the clinic staff and OmCare social workers. Everybody had an opinion on it. The police couldn’t do anything without a statement from Amy, and all Amy did when asked who the father was, was cry. Amy’s mother hated Steve’s guts for giving her daughter’s wishes priority over her own.

ASHDOM, or alpha supports helping disabled omega mothers, is the charity that Steve got involved with after meeting Amy. They provide her with housing and anything else she needs to achieve her dream of being a parent.

Another visibly pregnant shopper approaches from the other end of the aisle, though it’s a male and he’s not as far along as Amy is. The man pauses and stares for a second when he spots them. Steve catches his eye and the man flushes and looks away, continuing down the aisle in their direction. He scans the shelves and quickly spots the items he needs—right in front of where Amy is looking.

Amy misses social cues that would have other shoppers smiling apologetically and stepping out of the way, so the man is forced to reach around her awkwardly to grab the items he wants. “Excuse me,” he says, sighing rudely when it becomes an effort. He puts the items in his basket and tries to move on past her, but Amy is distracted by her list and when she doesn’t move out of his way fast enough, he huffs and pointedly squeezes by, so close that their clothes brush together. “I said excuse me,” he grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry!” Amy says, smiling because she’s friendly and hasn’t picked up on the man’s attitude.

“Hey.” Steve glares at the guy as he passes. He turns and speaks quietly so that Amy can’t hear. “You don’t have to be so impatient. Not everybody is as fortunate as you.”

The man tenses at being called out on his rudeness. He keeps walking but looks back over his shoulder at them. His eyes flick from Steve to Amy and back to Steve, disapproving. Steve grinds his teeth together at the assumptions he can see the guy making. The man rounds the end of the aisle and walks out of sight, and Steve sighs.

“Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve makes sure to get the scowl off his face by the time he turns back around.

Amy is holding out a three pack of basic baby bottles and looking expectantly at him. “This one is good for my baby, right?”

Steve smiles and praises, “Yeah Ames. That’s a good pick.” He holds the basket out so she can drop them in. “What’s next on the list?”

She looks carefully at her paper. “Um, dipe … diapers!”

They move on to the diapers section.

Some days, Steve thinks he must take more showers than any other human being alive.

He works out, so that usually accounts for one of them per day, but then there’s his before shift shower, after shift shower, and usually one or two others between certain patients. Because he’s not just a nurse practitioner. Before he completed the schooling necessary for that, he’d gotten his certification as a registered therapeutic heat support, and then as a registered medical heat technician. It’d helped him pay for college, and most hospitals wanted at least one of the two additional certifications if they were going to pay for an alpha’s salary on the OOBGYN ward.

Steve still takes on the occasional heat partner. But it’s less common now that Mercy General upped their staffing budget and hired more dedicated heat specialists. Hell, with Odinson on staff, the patients who need partnered usually request him, once they get a look at his picture in the profile binder (there’s a running joke on the ward that Thor used to work as a romance novel cover model).

So yeah, Steve doesn’t get intimate with as many patients as he used to. But when you spend your days around (and sometimes inside of) sick, pregnant, birthing and/or heat-ripe omegas, you tend to develop a funk. And if there’s one thing you don’t want to do to upset a vulnerable omega patient, it’s to come into their room reeking of a different omega’s pheromones.

So Steve showers a lot.

He’s just finished drying his hair when he leaves the staff locker room and hears a commotion from down the hall. He’s come up to the OOBGYN ward to shower, but he’s actually scheduled for clinic duty downstairs. He just wanted to check on Bucky before the start of his shift.

He doesn’t get too alarmed at the yelling until he gets down the hall a bit and realizes where it’s coming from. He sees a male orderly rushing into Bucky’s room. He hurries after him and sees the orderly moving for the bed, Bucky cowering away, and a female nurse standing back with a sedative prepared. The room reeks of Bucky’s fear.

The orderly grabs for Bucky and Bucky yelps and scrambles out of the bed, crying out loudly in pain when his IV stand gets dragged along and scurrying backwards into the corner of the room with it. The orderly moves after him.

“Stop!” Steve yells, rushing forward. “Stop, stop it. Now just hold on!”

Bucky is crying, cowering in the corner, and when he sees Steve he practically throws himself at him. “Steve!”

“Whoa, hang on Honey.” Steve catches him. “Sh sh. Calm down, it’s okay.” He can’t do anything but hold him and pet his back to try and calm him down enough to make sense of the situation. “What the hell is going on?!” he demands angrily from the nurse.

Like most staff on ward, she’s beta, and she looks fed up with Bucky. “He won’t calm down.” She holds up the sedative meaningfully, and Steve smells another wave of acrid fear coming off the omega who’s clinging to him. “Omcare was just here, explaining his custody arrangement. He freaked out when we tried to go over his care plan.”

“You need to back off,” Steve growls at the nurse. He tells her and the orderly to clear the room while he gets Bucky back into his bed. The poor kid is clearly in pain as he climbs onto the bed and lies down. “What hurts?” Steve asks, and Bucky puts his hand on his lower belly. Steve instructs him to lie still for the moment. “Bucky,” he says, careful to keep his voice quiet and soothing. “Talk to me. What happened? What got you so scared?”

The omega won’t look Steve in the eye when he says, “The social worker guy came. He told me about … about what I’m gonna have to do.” He peeks up at Steve but quickly averts his eyes again, face pinched. “They said I don’t have a choice, cause the hospital has custody of me now. Is that true?”

“Yeah, Honey. It’s for your safety. So that you don’t have to go back to … to where you were living before.”

“They said I have to have a heat.” He says it like it’s the worst possible thing ever. “I don’t want to!”

Steve inhales and lets it out slowly. “I was hoping to get in here before they told you. So I could explain it to you.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh they explained it. Every shitty detail.”

Steve gently takes Bucky’s arm and examines the IV port for any damage. It looks fine, but the tape is all warped so he fetches another Tegaderm and tells the kid to hold still while he sterilizes the site and replaces the bandage. “I’m sorry they treated you like that,” he says quietly as he works. “I’ll talk to them, and I’ll make sure you’re assigned different nurses who won’t behave that way.” Bucky seems reassured by his promise, and his scent, while still upset, has at least calmed down from the panicked tone it'd had when Steve came in. “Tell me about your pain,” he says as he finishes up the IV. “Where is it and what number is it one through ten, one being none at all and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Bucky shrugs, tears in his eyes. He looks miserable. He points to his belly and pelvis, quickly removing his hand. “There and there. And I dunno. A five I guess. Sometimes a seven or eight when it gets really bad—Ah!” he gasps and grabs Steve’s wrist, grimacing for a second. “That,” he sighs, the pain obviously passing. “Like that.”

Steve pats his hand. “You said it’s a sharp pain?”

Bucky nods. “That time it was. It’ll be achy, usually, and then get real sharp for a second or two.”

Steve nods. “You’re cramping. We gave you a temporary heat suppressant to prevent you from withdrawing too quickly when you got here.” He hesitates, then says, “And an emergency contraceptive. Your body might be reacting to that.” He watches as Bucky pales and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “I hadn’t … I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You shouldn't worry though. Your IUD was placed correctly so there's little chance anything would've implanted anyway.”

Bucky sniffles, looking sour. "This really sucks."

Steve knows what the nurses and social workers told Bucky to get him so upset. Before Steve’s shower in the locker room, he’d stopped by the nurses’ station and read over the treatment plan that’d been handed down by the OmCare custody team over the weekend. Steve recommended half of it, but he’s still nervous about Bucky having to endure it all when he knows the boy was just raped.

He holds Bucky’s hand and says, “You’ve been through something really awful, Honey. And it honestly sucks, but I promise that they wouldn’t write your treatment plan this way if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Your body is really—”

“Screwed up,” Bucky says despondently.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. We really need to make sure that you don’t slip back into a dangerous place like you were when they brought you into the ER.”

Bucky looks up at him fearfully. “The nurse said that I could’ve died. Is that true?”

Steve grits his teeth and thinks about how he’s going to have to seriously lay out the new hire who obviously hasn’t finished her sensitivity training. “Yeah honey,” he tells Bucky gently. “We got you stabilized, but you were in pretty bad shape.” He feels Bucky’s hand shudder in his, and presses it back down on the bed. “I promise we’re not gonna let it get that bad again, okay? We’ll get you healthy. I’ve already seen your weekend test results and it looks like the antibiotics we’ve got you on are helping the infection to clear up fast. So that’s good news.”

Bucky makes a quiet whining sound in his chest. “But the things they said I have to do … Dr. Steve—”

“Just Steve,” Steve reminds gently. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Steve. Please. I don’t want to do it. I’m scared and … and embarrassed.” The tears that’ve been swimming in his eyes for so long finally break, rolling down each of his cheeks. He sniffles and hurriedly wipes them away. “I’m so fucking embarrassed, I can’t stand it.”

Steve’s heart is breaking all over again for this kid. It’s not often that he's presented with an omega who isn’t comfortable with their designation. Bucky really is an unfortunate combination of circumstances. “I know, Honey,” he tells him. “I understand. Some of the treatments you’re going to have to go through involve a lot of intimate touching and I know you’re embarrassed. But I just want you to remember that everybody who works here is very used to it all. It’s routine for us, and nobody is gonna judge you or think bad things about you. We just want to help you get healthy, okay?”

Bucky nods, but Steve can still smell his distress, can see the tension pulled throughout his body. “I have to have a heat,” he says—very quietly, like he doesn’t even want to say the words out loud.

“Yes,” Steve nods. “We’ll bring you into it slowly though, I promise. We’ll keep you very comfortable.” Bucky snorts derisively, like he doesn’t think the words ‘heat’ and ‘comfortable’ should go in a sentence together. “Hey,” Steve says softly. “Hey, so when we know that a patient’s been … hurt, like you have, we have special procedures in place. To try and make it easier on you.”

“... What are they?”

“We can assign you a support alpha,” he says. “Someone who’s trained for these situations. You’ll get a private room where you can nest and have all the things you want that make you feel safe, and nobody but you and your support will be allowed in there. The support will conduct all the procedures you need, so that they’ll be the only person who touches you.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that information in. He looks mortified, and Steve’s chest aches in sympathy for the kid. “It’ll make it all a lot more private for you,” he says softly, giving Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Does that sound good?”

“No,” Bucky says glumly, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve chews his lip, knowing that he can’t do any better for him. It’s a shit situation, but when you specialize in trauma OOBGYN, you wind up dealing with shit situations more often than not. It’s kind of in the job description. Steve just hates this case more than most. “We can also give you a counselor,” he offers gently. “Somebody who you can talk to.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Mm mn. No.”

“I really, really think you should have somebody to confide in,” Steve says. “We have all sorts of counselors. All designations, male and female, young and old. You can choose who you want.”

Bucky appears to be thinking about it at least, his face still pinked up in discomfort. “... Omega,” he decides quietly. “A guy, please. Somebody … I dunno. Not an old person.”

Steve nods, relieved that the kid is taking his advice. “Okay, good. I’ll make sure that’s what you get. They can come and talk to you today, and everything you talk about is completely private between the two of you.”

“Everything?” Bucky checks, peeking up warily at Steve.

“Unless you say you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, then yes.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that in, and is pleased when he doesn’t see any reaction that would indicate the omega had been thinking of self harm. “Okay,” he says, patting Bucky’s hand and standing. He’s probably going to be late for clinic duty now. “I’m gonna go yell at the nurse and orderly for you.” He sees Bucky’s lips quirk the barest bit, and feels about a hundred feet tall for it. “That won’t happen again. I’ll personally assign your new nurses and I’ll put in for a counselor to come in and see you this afternoon.”

“You’re still gonna be my doctor though, right?” Bucky asks, looking hopeful.

Steve nods kindly. “Yeah, Honey. Not a doctor though, just an NP. I’m your attending.”

“Attending. Right.”

He heads for the hallway but looks back when he's at the door. “Watch some tv and try to relax, okay? I’ll make sure nobody tries to implement anything until I’m back on shift up here.”

Bucky looks so vulnerable and sad sitting in the bed by himself, but Steve can see how he tries to put on a brave face. He nods. “Okay. Thanks Steve.”

“You’re welcome. Bucky.”

He finds the orderly and nurse at the nurses’ station. “You two,” he says sternly, pointing at the two betas who already look wary of him. “Grab his chart and walk with me down to clinic. We need to chat.”

Even though he just showered, Steve has to grab a bunch of scent wipes from the dispenser and wipe himself down after being in Bucky’s room when the kid was so upset, and he spends the whole time plus the trip downstairs chewing the two betas out. Thoroughly. He has the nurse scribble down the changes he wants made to Bucky’s chart, and warns her that she’s got sensitivity training in her near future. He makes it very clear that neither of them are to deal with Bucky again, and makes sure that a younger, male omega counselor familiar with rape cases and gender dysphoria will be in that afternoon to talk to him. “Go back to work,” he tells them once they reach the hallway outside the clinic. “I’ll be up later for my second shift.”

They both hightail it away from him and back toward the elevators. Steve sighs, then pushes in through the double glass doors to the hospital’s community clinic.

Steve has just managed to get two seconds to himself to take a piss and then try to shovel some food down. He’s crouched in front of the minifridge behind the clinic desk, half a burrito stuffed in his mouth, when a pair of electric blue Danskos step into view.

“Wow Rogers. You know some people’d consider that a marketable skill.”

Steve glares up at her. He rises to his full height. But she’s never intimidated by him. “Nebula,” he grumbles once he’s swallowed. She’s not one of his nurses, thank God. He only ever sees her in clinic. “What do you want?”

She shoves the chart she’s holding into his chest and he’s forced to grapple for it, his burrito smearing on the back of the clipboard. “Exam four,” she says, then goes to sit in front of one of the receptionists' computers.

Steve makes a face at her back, taking one more huge bite of his burrito before sticking the sad remainder back in the fridge. He glances at the clock: 4:10, Less than an hour to go with clinic duty, then he’s got a break for dinner, then he’s on the ward for first night shift. He glances down at the clipboard Neb had handed him. Intake apt. : Termination of pregnancy. He winces and goes to wash the smell of chorizo off his hands.

“Hi.” He’s still facing the door as he starts speaking in his overly friendly doctor’s voice. He can already smell pregnant omega, which means it’s not a first trimester abortion. Great. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP here at Mercy General. What’s brought you into the clinic today?” He turns around and sees who he’s dealing with, and forces himself not to visibly react.

A girl who can’t be older than fourteen years old is sitting on the exam table, in an examination gown and socks. A woman whom Steve assumes is her mother stands beside her, looking impatient. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour,” she complains.

“I’m sorry.” Steve goes and sits on the rolling stool, already knowing that this is going to be the low point of his shift. “It’s an open clinic, ma’am. Waits can be long, but we do our best.” He turns his attention to the girl. She’s got brown hair and a ruddy complexion and looks anything but happy to be there. “Hi,” he says gently, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

“Jerrica,” she says.

“Hi Jerrica. It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to tell me why you’re here today?”

“I’m sure that’s obvious,” her mother snaps, impatient and nodding at the clipboard Steve’s holding. “She’s hid it till now. I found the test in her bathroom trash.”

“Uh huh.” Steve can see how uncomfortable the daughter is as her mother angrily tells Steve about her personal business.

“She won’t tell us who did it. We think it was one of the construction workers.” When Steve raises an eyebrow, the mother explains, “We’ve been having the basement renovated. Her stupid father hired a bunch of college kids to do the work.”

Steve inhales deeply. ‘College kids’ means over eighteen, which means he has to notify OmCare. “Have the police gotten involved?” he asks.

“Of course. But there’s nothing they can do if she doesn’t tell them who it was.” She glares at her daughter, making it obvious they’ve already gone over this multiple times.

“Mom,” Jerrica complains. “Nobody raped me. I told you.”

“You are too young to be having sex, Jer! It’s called statutory rape.”

Steve gives the girl his attention. “Jerrica?” he says. “Would you like your mother to be here for this appointment?”

“Excuse me,” the mom says, angry. “I am her mother.”

“And this is a very sensitive situation where I want to make sure Jerrica feels heard,” Steve says pointedly. Normally he’d make more of an effort to be in everybody’s good graces, but he’s not very pleased with how the woman seems to be walking all over her daughter from the get-go. He looks to Jerrica for an answer, and she straightens up stubbornly.

“She can wait outside,” she says.

“Well I don’t care what you want. You’re not even in high school yet and look what you’ve gotten yourself into!”

It’s obvious the woman isn’t planning on respecting her daughter’s wishes, so Steve stands up and guides her to the door, using his size to intimidate her. “Ma’am. I’ll send the nurse out for you to re-join the discussion in a little bit.”

The mother turns when she’s just outside the door and whispers harshly at him, “She needs an abortion! You know that.”

Steve smiles tightly and sees Nebula walking by. “Nurse, please show this lady back to the waiting room while I talk with her daughter.” Nebula purses her lips at him, and Steve doesn’t wait to watch her deal with that. He closes the door and turns back to Jerrica with an apologetic wince. “Your mom seems very concerned,” he says, and Jerrica rolls her eyes.

“She’s a bitch.”

Steve sits back down on the rolling stool and nods at the girl’s stomach, sobering. “So, you’re pregnant.”

Jerrica nods, hands going to her stomach. “I don’t want an abortion,” she says. “I already thought about it. My friend Stacy was gonna take me to planned parenthood. But I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Steve is already having an unpleasant flashback to the time Amy's mother dragged her into the clinic, demanding the same exact thing. To focus himself, he glances down at his clipboard. It looks like the mother filled out the intake form. “Do you know who the father of the baby is?”

Jerrica huffs. “Yes. I’m not telling her though. She’ll just get him arrested.”

“Were you forced to have sex against your will?” Steve asks. He knows the law on statutory rape backwards and forwards, and this girl is practically a baby, but he’ll be much more concerned if anything was forced. “Jerrica? Were you raped?”

“No!” She scowls at him. “I wanted to have sex. It was my idea.”

Steve inwardly cringes. “Okay. Let’s talk about this baby then. Do you know how far along you are?”

Surprisingly, she nods. “We only did it one time. It was right after Thanksgiving. Like two days after or something. So that’s like three months ago.”

“About fourteen weeks, actually,” Steve says, marking it down on the chart. “I’ll do an exam to confirm. Abortion is only legal in New York up until twelve weeks.”

Jerrica starts to look gleeful.

“Unless there’s a medical need for termination. A concern for the mother’s health.”

“But I’m healthy. And I want to keep it.”

“I know, I know,” Steve tells her. “But I just want to give you all the facts, all of your options. If you did want an abortion at this time or later, I would consider you a medical risk due to your age. I’d approve the procedure for you.” When she just gapes at him, he explains, “Your body isn’t developed enough yet for childbearing. I can tell by looking at you. A woman’s pelvis has to widen and shift before a baby can safely pass through the birth canal.” She squirms and blushes at Steve discussing her anatomy, which is just another indicator of how horribly young she is. “How old are you, Honey?” he asks her.

“Thirteen.” She juts her chin out. “Almost fourteen.”

“Have you ever had a pap smear?” he asks her, rolling his stool over to the counter so that he can grab some gloves.

“A what?”

He sighs to himself. Fuck. “A pap smear,” he repeats, making sure to give her a friendly, neutral expression. “It’s when the doctor checks your vagina for irregularities.”

Her face goes bright red. “No,” she mumbles, tangling her hands in her lap. “Do I have to do that?”

“You don’t ‘have’ to do anything,” Steve tells her. “But it’s normal to do a prenatal exam when a patient is pregnant. And at this stage that would involve a pap smear and a transvaginal ultrasound.”

Jerrica won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do that,” she says quietly. She shakes her head and crosses her socked feet over each other. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s for the baby’s and your health. It’s important, but I’m not going to make you.”

“You can’t make me get an abortion either,” she asserts. “I Googled it.”

“That’s correct,” Steve says. “But Jerrica, can I level with you?” She nods cautiously at him and Steve says, “I can tell that your mom is bossy and that you two probably don’t always get along. Me? I’m just a nurse practitioner. I don’t know you and I don’t have any stake in what you decide to do or not do with your body, okay?” He waits for her to nod, then adds, “You are very young to have had sex with someone, especially someone who’s over the age of eighteen. Your mother’s right when she says that’s illegal.”

“But I wanted to!”

Steve shakes his head. “Even if you wanted to, it’s still legally considered rape on his part. Now, I’m not going to force you to tell me the father’s name, but I’m required to report this to our social services department.” When he sees Jerrica’s face fall in panic, he hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell them who the father is, either. You're not in trouble. But you will have to speak with a counselor and a social worker. My advice for you would be to take advantage of that. Talk it out with the counselor and really think hard about if you’re actually ready to have a baby. If you decide at any time that you do want to terminate, I’ll approve the procedure. And if you keep the pregnancy, then you’ll need to see a doctor at some point to be examined.”

Jerrica looks tense, but she doesn’t shake her head again or insist that she wants to keep the baby. She shrinks into herself, looking even smaller and younger than before. “... Do you think I should do it?” she asks, voice wavering.

Steve decides to be honest. “Personally? I think you should consider termination. You’re very young and the birth could be dangerous for you. You’d still have your whole life ahead of you to have a baby one day if you want, when you’re ready for one.”

Jerrica nods tearfully and scoots off the table. She hurriedly pulls on her jeans and then turns her back to Steve as she drops the hospital gown and yanks her shirt back on. She doesn’t look at him again as she turns for the door. “I’m gonna go find my mom,” she mumbles, and leaves the room.

Steve sighs, feeling wrong for having given her his opinion on what she should do. He’s really not supposed to do that, but this girl is so young. He wanted to at least give her some perspective. Figuring that his shift is pretty much over and he’ll soon be on break for dinner, he chucks the exam gloves in the trash and grabs the clipboard with Jerrica’s paperwork on it, heading out to go file the OmCare report.

He spends his break eating dinner in the cafeteria and then napping on an empty bed. His phone alarm wakes him up and he heads to the ward for his second shift. Clint’s walking down the hall in his civvies, backpack slung over his shoulder, and he greets Steve with a small wave. “I put my case notes in,” he says. “Sorry, Phil’s waiting in the car. We’ve got reservations for seven, otherwise I’d stay to go over—”

“I’ve got it,” Steve says, tossing his head in the direction of the elevators. “Go on. Have dinner with your husband, for once.”

Clint smiles tiredly, grateful as he continues on down the hall. “Thanks man.”

Sharon and Hope are on for the night. Steve has a quick meeting with them where they review ongoing cases and he gives them the run down on their newest patients. Hope agrees to spend some extra time with the woman in 416 who’s still refusing to have the hysterectomy that she definitely needs, Sharon makes the rounds with meds, and Steve grabs Bucky’s chart and heads to his room.

“Knock knock,” he says from the doorway, seeing the omega awake and sitting up in his bed. When Bucky sees him, he grabs the remote and mutes the room’s tv. Steve smiles and walks in. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky shrugs. “The counselor came. He was nice.”

“Who’d you get?” Steve knows just about everybody in OmCare, but turnover is high. “Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “He listens.”

Steve walks over and stands next to the bed. He sees the tray of food sitting on the bedside table: meatloaf and veggies that are barely touched, a half full glass of water, and an empty jello cup. “You didn’t eat much of your dinner,” he comments lightly.

Bucky glances over at the tray. “I haven’t been very hungry.”

Steve checks the kid’s chart, sees the notes that the day nurse wrote down in a messy scrawl:

Intravenous suppressants titrated down to 40mg/4 hrs at 12:00pm OmCare counseled patient 1:45pm–2:30pm 3:00pm–antibiotics dose administered Titrated intravenous suppressants down to 20mg/4 hrs at 4:00pm

Preheat symptoms observed. Agitation, low appetite, bellyache, cramps, elevated temperature. Patient reports mild vaginal bleeding but no pain, breast tenderness. Refuses exam. Patient has pain upon bearing down on pelvic floor. Ultrasound shows slick glands impacted with no improvement. Request form for on-ward heat suite submitted. Patient is resistant, refusing to select a support.

Steve finishes reviewing the notes and sets the clipboard aside so that he can take Bucky’s hand when he sits down on the side of the bed. “Bucky,” he says, keeping his voice coaxing and soft. “You’re getting close to your heat. Remember how we talked about getting you a support alpha?” Bucky shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Steve holds fast. “It’s important, Honey. Come on now. Do you think you’d prefer a male or a female support?”

“Male,” Bucky says automatically, but he’s still shaking his head in denial. “But I don’t want one. I don’t.”

“It’ll be much better for you if you go through this with a support,” Steve says. He’s got no intention of forcing Bucky to utilize the service, but he knows that in a case like this, it’ll be borderline dangerous not to bring an alpha in. “We’ve got a binder full of choices. Here, let me go grab it for you.” He hurries out to the nurses’ station and gets the binder. When he sits back on the bed, he opens it to the first profile and hands it to Bucky. “You can look through and pick someone you’re comfortable with,” he says kindly, though he can see the dubious look on Bucky’s face as the kid flips through a few of the pages.

“I’m not gonna be comfortable with anybody.”

“I know it’s hard, Buck. I promise we’ll do our best to get you whoever you want to—” Steve pauses when Bucky gives a little gasp and freezes in place. “What?”

“You,” Bucky says, staring at the page.

“Me?”

“It’s you.” He points at the page, and Steve looks over to see his own profile picture. Shit.

“Um, I can’t—”

“I want you,” Bucky says firmly, looking up with large, hopeful eyes. His mind is made up. “You. It has to be you.”

“I wish I could, Sweetheart, but that’s not how it works. I’m your attending, so I’ll still be watching over you, but your alpha support has to be someone else.” He sees how devastated Bucky is at this and he absolutely hates being the cause of it, so he quickly takes the binder and flips through the pages to try and find a profile that might tempt Bucky. “Um, let’s see here. We’ve got a guy named Thor who’s really nice, and—”

“No!” Bucky throws himself forward, hugging onto Steve and shaking his head in refusal. “No I don’t want anybody else. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me!” He begins keening, distressed and grasping onto Steve desperately, rubbing his face against his wrist. Steve stares, dismayed by this turn of events. He tries to calm him down, but each time he goes to pull away the boy cries out and tries to bite him.

“Bucky, stop! Stop it. You need to calm down.”

He doesn’t stop and he doesn’t calm down. He just gets less verbal and more frantic, shoving himself into Steve and scenting stronger and stronger, until it fills Steve’s nostrils and consumes his senses. He grabs Bucky’s shoulders to try and push him off, but the omega fights back with an unnatural strength and gets his face in Steve’s neck, and that puts Steve’s face in his neck, and—oh no.

Steve is instantly hard underneath his scrubs. He’d neglected to wear any blockers before starting his shift. He’s getting the full force of Bucky’s scent, the scent of a young omega on the cusp of heat, and now Bucky is surely smelling him, a fully–aroused alpha. It all comes to a head when Steve loses his composure for the barest of seconds, and a low growl starts up in his chest.

Bucky hears it and stiffens, and then he bursts out in tears, frantic, crying and moaning and scraping his teeth over Steve’s neck. He’s humping Steve’s leg and Steve gasps when he feels a gush of slick leak onto his scrub pants. “Nnnn!"

"Bucky,"

"Nuh! need it, you. Please, Alpha, it hurts. Steve, Steve, Alpha please!”

Steve realizes that he’s been backed into a corner. Refusing the kid now will only cause more harm than good. So, holding onto Bucky with one arm, he reaches for the call button with the other and presses it. “Nurse, I need a heat suite prepped now.” He gasps and jerks in pain as he feels Bucky bite into his neck, hard. “Fuck!” He grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes into his glands, forcing him into submission long enough to reach the call button again and bark out, “And bring a sedative!”

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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