#Baby Monitoring System

[wombywoo]

sick bby 🤧

[jameshurleyhateblog]

ok i blocked him but also i really do hope that guy gets to a point of like, not hating himself so much. like, if you're in the kind of relationship that requires you to be perfomatively totally cool with your own mistreatment and complicit in your own oppression/silencing, that'll fuck you up. i too used to think misandry was a personality trait and loudly hating men was praxis, and then I got out of a bunch of shitty interpersonal relationships and bad situations and learned that bioessentialism is Bad, Actually.

[ciceroartwork]

AAAA

8-Bit and @aceinacloset's B.A.B.I!

[drchristophedelongsblog]

Baby boomers are likely to be more demanding medically than their elders.

Several factors converge towards this trend

Level of education and information

Baby boomers are generally more educated and informed than previous generations.

They have better access to medical information and are more likely to seek quality care.

They are more likely to ask questions, challenge diagnoses, and seek alternative treatment options.

High expectations for quality of life

Baby boomers grew up in a period of prosperity and have high expectations for quality of life.

They are less willing to accept age-related limitations and are more likely to seek solutions to maintain their autonomy and well-being.

They have a proactive approach to their health, they want to continue being active for as long as possible.

Familiarity with technology

Baby boomers are more comfortable with technology than previous generations.

They are more likely to use digital tools to monitor their health, search for medical information and communicate with healthcare professionals.

They are more likely to use telemedicine tools or medical monitoring applications.

Awareness of patients' rights

Baby boomers are more aware of their rights as patients.

They are more likely to hold healthcare professionals accountable and seek recourse if something goes wrong.

The financial aspect

Baby boomers often have better financial situations than their elders, which allows them to have access to more expensive care.

Potential consequences

This increased requirement could lead to an increase in demand for health services, which could put a strain on health systems.

It could also stimulate innovation in the healthcare sector, with the development of new technologies and new approaches to care.

In conclusion, it is likely that baby boomers will be more demanding in terms of medical care than their elders, which will have important implications for health systems.

Go further

[bommagoni]

Bed Monitoring System and Baby Monitoring System Market

[svsembedded]

Wireless Wi-Fi IP Camera Based Baby Monitoring System Using Sensor's With Arduino

[abyssyby]

despite the world

— your union is a symphony of imperfection; as it begins with your sin, so it will last with his. and your song welcomes the new life you made.

�� ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi hi! this may be the dawn of a humble pregnancy series pre-twin babies, as many have requested and i have also been very excited to write. hope u enjoy this one! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | fluff, some angst/comfort, some dating stages hehe, pregnancy announcement!, mom/wife!reader, dad/husband!sylus, & mephisto! (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

In all your years as a hunter— protecting the city, upholding peace, being a model citizen— you’d never thought your greatest betrayal, your greatest sin against your oath, would be to fall in love with the enemy.

And marry the enemy. 

It was manageable during the early stages of dating. When “Skye” would come by the association on his big, ominous motorcycle to come pick you up. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, palms colliding with his strong shoulders to spin him around— face away from the association windows. Before he’s seen, before he’s known. 

“Can’t a man visit his partner?” he chuckled, large hands hovering over yours on his waist as you pushed him back to his vehicle. Content already just by the warmth you emitted through his clothes. “I missed your voice.” 

You strained, shoving. “Then call!”

“Then I’d have to wait for you to pick up.” He’s pouting, you can hear it through the cockiness of his tone. Knowing that fact scared you and invigorated you all at once. You pushed, pushed, pushed. 

“Sylus, they can’t see you.” You begged as you kept him from turning to face you, the association windows, your co-hunters beyond the glass. Him, the Hunters Association’s enemy number one with a kill-on-sight order, waltzing straight towards the main entrance. 

He grinned. He decided he liked seeing you all flustered because of him. “Then hide me.” 

He found a weakness in your hold, shifted his weight there, and broke past your restraints. Before you can react— reach for his face, push him back around, anything to save him— he gently slid his hands to your cheeks. He cups your jaw as if you were paper and fire, and leans down to scorch your lips in his flames. 

“I missed you.” He murmured the secret into your kiss, and would clearly not mind proclaiming it to the world should you wish. 

You softened, relenting in his embrace. Kiss him back. “Stubborn.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

 Or when he’d send flowers to your desk.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The cards held little information as to why the sender decided to gift them, but as to who… 

“How much fruit does this guy sell?” Andrew wonders, poking at the hydrangeas and sunflowers in bundles on your desk. Vases, baskets, and bouquets have made your little cubicle into a giant parade float. Your corner is single-handedly making the building smell a little sweeter. 

“Not much,” you murmur, fingers dancing over the stand-out vase of daturas closest to your monitor. A shy blush pairs with your dreamy little smile. 

Sometimes he’d appear at karaoke nights with coworkers under the guise that he’d been in the right place at the right time. There, you learned that Sylus prefers physical contact as much as it is possible. He doesn’t particularly force you into it, doesn’t keep you to his side like a magnet. But rather integrates it naturally into your system. 

He isn’t shy when it comes to mingling, proudly talking about his (very fake!) fruit business, his passion for bikes, and his night fishing. But as he speaks, his arm is curled around your waist. As you flip through the songbook, his chin rests on your shoulder, asking which song you feel like singing and if he can sing along. As you start to sing, he presses his lips to your head and hums the song with you. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

But as the years progressed, the relationship grew deeper. And with the undeniable call of your souls left you gasping for each other when apart— what you have has now turned into your greatest crime of all.

And here you are, buying a pack of diapers (since apparently you can’t have just one?), a pacifier, a bonnet, and a stuffed animal to confess to your husband your most notorious crime to date—

Having children with the enemy. 

“I’m not asking here,” your nose twitches when you pout like that. Mephisto registers it into his log to improve his artificial intelligence in reading human emotions under: annoyed. But he squawks still in disapproval. 

“Please, Mephie, it’s just a little bonnet.” The white piece of yarn and lace dangles from your fingers by the ribbons. Mephisto caws and flaps his wings, a clear no. 

You grit your teeth. He files that under: desperate. “C’mon, it would be so cute—“

“What would be so cute?” 

Figures. All the luck in the world siphoned from Sylus’s fortunes and placed into you, and yet when you’re together, he cancels it out anyway, depriving you both of any.

You’re able to stuff the props back into your coat pocket just as he engulfs you into an embrace from behind. He buries his nose into your hair affectionately and melts against you. 

As per routine, he undoes his cufflinks, unlatches his watch, and rubs at his wrists in this hold. Never once leaving your warmth as if the rest of the home was submerged in the most frigid of winters. “Fighting with Mephisto again?” 

“No, just conversing.” Your hand reaches up to caress his face, cloud fingers gliding against silken skin. Distracting him from your other one that pinches the bird’s beak shut to keep it from squawking things Sylus apparently understands.

“Mm.” You feel his warm palm on your belly before he curls it around your waist. Your breathing hitsches, the props rattle in your pockets, and you begin to wonder if he— 

“You’re hungry.” He points out, feeling your stomach grumble and growl beneath his touch. “Sweetie, have you had lunch?” 

You purse your lips in reply, and to him, it’s a telltale sign that you had some kind of beverage in place of a proper meal. He sighs, planting a kiss to your cheek before unlinking himself to move into the kitchen. 

Once he disappears behind a corner, you wrestle Mephisto into the little bonnet and pacifier, begging him to hold still, to please, please comply just for a second. At one point, he gives up.

He is a perfect statue when you tie the bonnet that makes him look like a soot spot in the middle of a sunflower, and he balances the pacifier between the two pointed tips of his beak. He earns a kiss on his head before he’s sent away.

Mephisto lurks somewhere in the shadows as the gourmet instant noodles are halved and served in two ceramic bowls. Before Sylus takes his seat on the barstool beside you, you tug him close with shaky hands.

In truth, you never gave yourself the time to overthink it— took a test as soon as the suspicion arose, hid its positive conclusion, brainstormed the cutest way to tell him, and ran to the store as fast as you could. Not once thinking of anything else aside from telling him as soon as possible.

It’s natural that you’re feeling queasy. Though… It’s too soon for hormones, right?

None of the dots connect because now you’re crying, and he has the most horrified look on his face. Which is exactly the opposite of what you wanted. No, no!

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” he’s looking over you like you’d just returned from a mission. Eyes wide and worried, he clasps your cold hands together to heat them, tugging down at your cheeks to check beneath your waterline. 

“Sylus, you like kids, right?” you hiccup, the words running from you before your tongue is able to catch them.

You know as a fact that he is kind beneath that hostile exterior, as warm as the hearth of a fire, and as giving as an unthanked tree, bearing fruits expecting nothing in return. 

But beyond the kindness he has extended to you, you’ve never seen him handle children other than Luke and Kieran, who barely count despite their childlike whimsy they insist is ‘charisma’ or whatev—

He blinks. Confusion and concern warring clear on his face. “What?” 

“A baby? We never—talked—about—it—“ your hand goes to your chest as you push through the sharp intakes of breath that come with the sobs. Suddenly, the world is spinning, and you’re maybe tilting sidewards. His hand catches your shoulder before you topple over.

Sylus looks like he’s watching you combust. “Beloved—“

“I’m pregnant.” you choke out, unable to map your way through the script you practiced thanks to the sudden storm wracking your chest. 

Mephisto flies out warily at the cue word, clad in his little baby get-up, and rests atop your head. He ruffles his feathers proudly despite his degrading appearance. “Caw!” 

Sylus is breathless. “What?” 

Your arms hang helplessly on your sides. Sightless and senseless. You’re floating through a space of uncertainty and discomfort, but certainly not because you don’t want this with him— but because you feel the dread of bringing a life into yours. One of dangerous missions, kill-orders, wanderers, and blood. 

And then wonder if he’d even want this life with you.

He stares at your face, the anguish and fear in your glistening eyes. He notices the loose pieces of ribbon slipping out of the pockets of your cardigan, the glitter on your sleeves, the bird in a baby bonnet on your head.

His heart races to an ungodly speed, and his silence betrays his one true thought on the matter. 

“Sylus?” There is fear in your whisper when moments pass and the only sound in the room is the gentle hum of static. “Please say something.” 

The look on his face is unreadable. He’s calculating a million equations to stop the end of the world. He’s trying to decipher illusion from reality in a fever-dreamt haze. He’s holding on to the last piece of sanity he has left as it dwindles away at the sound of your voice saying those words. 

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. 

Your lip wobbles again. Frustration begins to build, seen in the way you tap your foot on the ground impatiently. You grit, “Sy—“

He engulfs you. Tightly, too tight. In an embrace that feels like it means more to him than just holding you. He is anchoring himself, making sure this is all real.

His one hand cradles the back of your head to his chest, his other arm wraps around your waist, firm and gentle all at once. His world is rupturing, but he welcomes it wholly, like there was no other end meant to be but this.  

You feel the wetness when he presses his face in the crook of your neck. Your heart pinches painfully. His tears trickle down to your collarbone as he silently gives you his response. 

“Yes,” he’s never sounded so raw, so honest until this moment. “Yes, I will love our children.” 

It takes moments before you both come down to earth. Tangled in each other’s arms, bathed in each other’s tears. But when you do, it is joyful and bright. 

Sylus has never smiled so widely and unabashedly in his life as he marvels at your beauty. You, who looks like you’d swallowed the sun and now emits its radiance. With your eyes of liquid starlight and your love-swollen lips. His heart, his soul, his life, his wife. 

The mother of his child. 

Never once had that realm of possibility been broached— being a father in any lifetime much less this one. The thought turns his insides into stone, his chest aches beneath the weight of a phantom spear. 

But he whispers, just as he pulls away. “You are the only one who can ever make me want this. She is from you— what else can I do?” 

Not because he dreads it, but he is helpless— built, existing only to love you. Everything you are. Everything you do. Everything of you. 

You sniffle, reaching up to hold his face, and reply, “You think she’s going to be a girl?” 

He looks at you, now— hopeful eyes shining, shaking fingers balancing the little stick that tells you your future, bashfully handing him a little dragon plush in a diaper (your failed initial announcement plan). 

He is thawed, whole, redeemed in ways he cannot begin to understand. 

He’ll do everything to deserve you, everything to deserve this family you’ve given him. He will curl his entire being around you; protect each beat from your hearts, hoard each breath drawn from your lungs. 

Despite the world, despite his fate— he will bend fortune to his will, rewrite all the stars in the sky— just to live this life. With his family. With his child.

In all his years as a monster, in this moment, he will give everything to anything for redemption. For you. That is his greatest sin of all. 

✧˚ ⋆｡ more pre-baby! (coming soon!)|| more little twins (the ones in mama's belly here) || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

[animemeg27]

my pc is built!!! finally!!!!

spent all day putting the thing together and now I gotta figure out how to install windows ;w;

that's a problem for tomorrow

[sangunary]

Hear me out, yandere platonic batfam x reader who has a weak immune system, i think the reader will keep her sickness away from the family, her only source of comfort is her friends and for the batfam i think they will go yandere when zeny collapses maybe And then there goes full yandere, like you will be monitored 24/7, strict rule and blablabla

- Your Love Is Too Sweet

Yandere Batfam x Sick Reader

SYPNOSIS: Your family love's you too much to listen to your pathetic plea for the sweet taste of death.

Warning: NOT FOR SENSETIVE READER!

It all began when you were at the ripe age of ten, during school while chasing your friends around the hall your legs gave up on you. Your vision began to blur and saw black patches.

With your little hand you hold onto the wall to support you, the wind knock out of your lungs.

Something heavy was pressing down at your lungs even tho you tried to stood up straight and look up, hoping for more oxygen.

It was so sudden and unexpected, you have been fine and suddenly clutching onto the wall seeking for oxygen. It was a pathetic scene to look at but when it past your friends helped you to clam down.

When you arrived at the eerily haunting manor you called home, you immediately seek for comfort.

"...Dick? Are you busy?"

Your little voice ring out throughout the room. Your last family never listened to you speak, too busy sleeping on the couch or on the ground, their eyelids open in a way it shouldn't be possible.

They were always busy and you ended up having to take care of your baby brother, who wasn't biological your brother but dna meant nothing to a child.

But, you had a new family and your new dad told you to forget so you can have a better future. But you couldn't help but miss them, atleast your mom still listen just she only listen when she took her medicine.

"Sorry, birdie... I have to talk to Kory, go talk to Jay yah? He's at the cave"

Dick with his phone still on his ear, quickly turned your body around and push you out the living room as he nudge you to start walking.

You understand why he was busy with Kory. Lately, Kory doesn't visit anymore...

The last time she visited she went home mad after Barbara mentioned something. You didn't really understand as Damian did cover your ear with his hands, from his expression it seem like a normal conversation but from their body language... opposite story.

After that, nobody mentioned Kory or Dick will cry in his old room, you could clearly hear him apologising and sobbing since your room was next to his.

While picking at your hands you slowly walked towards the entrance of the cave, although you admire your family for prospecting the city, lately you realised how everybody was so disconnected to the family.

It felt like they only have family reunion because it was traditional and not because they wanted to catch up with everyone.

The whole family was indeed present today because Joker escaped from Arkham again... But they all acted like guests visiting their far cousin.

"Jay...? Could you please listen?"

You asked as you sat next to him on the ground, watching up at him fixing his motorcycle.

"Sure, what is it?"

With the opening you began to speak, talking about how you have been feeling under the weather alot.

Sometimes you would wake up and just puke, but you didn't wake anybody up because you felt like it's your responsibility to take care of yourself. Quietly cleaning yourself up and going back to bed.

How you have lost sleep because you kept getting sleep paralysis and how the monster was your biological mother. How she would morphed into this creatures that loves to scream into your ears.

How your mother would carry your baby brother, as their skin began to merged with eachother as you heard bone moving or breaking. It was a hard scene but you couldn't look away.

But, you couldn't do anything but pray to God and go back to bed. You didn't want to burden anyone with your stupid hallucinations.

Jason would replied with 'oh, sucks', 'good', 'hm', 'oh,... He wasn't listening and you just got up and left.

Tim wasn't much help either, the moment you enter his room you always left with atleast three errands from him.

Throw away some paper, get him coffee and tell Alfred that Tim was still in the house so he wouldn't forget to make him dinner as well.

So, you didn't even put him on your list.

He only see you as an errand kid. You doubt he would waste his time to listen to you speak.

"Dad?"

You called for Bruce as you enter his office, filled with pictures so his kids but they felt drain of emotions.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I felt sick today"

"Go tell Alfred, sweetheart"

Right, always Alfred but never him. The supposed father.

You couldn't help but felt a huge Disappointment on your heart.

The best batman, the worst father.

He knew the family was slowly drifting away but he was too busy with joker and ivy to even try to find solutions. Too busy saving the city to even save the family he vouch to protect.

With a heavy heart you left, didn't even seek for Alfred he himself was busy.

Having to collect the broken glasses of the family, trying to tape it back. To have the once lively family back to normal.

Damian, too inexperienced in emotions and his grandfather have been trying to take him back.

Stephanie, she was going through alot and she asked to be left alone.

Cass, you and her have no connection. Knowing that she tried to not scared you by avoiding you.

Barbara, the whole city is on her shoulder she and doesn't have time for kids like you.

Duke, depressed after his girlfriend cheated on him.

Even tho they themselves were heros, they couldn't save themselves from crumbling into pieces.

For year's you have been silently taking medicine after watching videos and self diagnosing yourself.

Cleaning after yourself at night when you had an accident, buying medicine from shady places. You tried everything to fix your body, but barely nothing worked.

You always fell into sickness the moment the season changed, it get abit cold, virus is around and even just from standing too long under the sun.

Your friends were your only source of comfort as they would bring you some sickness pill or even painkiller to stop your stomachache.

Your family was falling apart and your friends kindly took you into each of their family's and treated you like their own.

They were truly God sent. And you were greatful, trying your best to spend as much as time you could with your new found family.

At night while studying you would fall asleep and you prefer to sleep on the cold wooden desk than on your bed. You don't get bed dreams when you're not resting on your bed.

You hated your bed at times, because you always see your brother and mother. Their skin becoming one, your brother sweet voice would turn into one that sounds like a wild animal and a baby shared a voice box.

Your mother or the one from your hallucinations would try to touch or caress your face, but it was drain of affection and emotion.

It felt like metal being dragged across your cheeks, her messy hair highlighting her eyes and the nasty yellow-ish slash under her eyelids.

And your brother body was at her upper waist towards her upper belly, she was never good at holding him. She was always trembling and the amount of black bruises on her arms made her uncomfortable, to the point that she avoids having direct skin contact with you or your brother.

Even without those nightmare, your stomachache was enough to make you squirm around at your bed so you instead always choose to study during any moment.

With drools down your mouth and book still open, you would wake up with a blanket on your body. Somebody did check in on you, which is surprising as everybody in the family were going through dirt.

But one day you collapse suddenly.

It was at the Manor, while looking at the pictures of your family. Everybody was present even aunt katie, a big smile and you in the middle with a shy smile.

Your first day with them, after you lost your world. Bruce gave you a new one, where you can start from the beginning.

But, everything just crumble down into pieces after one year in the family.

Bruce gave you a world that was born to crumble. Everyone were so distant now, even Christmas left like a drought.

You overheard Alfred talking To Bruce about this matter. Telling him on how he shouldn't just watch as his family is slowly breaking into shards, how he would regret is sooner.

Bruce argues that they were just modling out of their shell, becoming a new person. Escaping from his hands and finding their own path.

Alfred told him, no matter how old or young they are they will always be his kid. Kid's that need their Father to help them become into a brand new person, they needed his hands to hold theirs so they won't be afraid to fall.

Bruce was stubborn, seeing himself as the villain in his kid's life. He doesn't want to be involved in their life because he would definitely ruin it, and if that happens there is no point in Batman if he would just be a bad guy to his kids.

After you collapse you woke up to a place that looked like an hospital but looking at the machine hooked up to you was definitely not one.

Several amounts of wire that drilled through your skin to supply you with the essential to keep you breathing, began to felt like machines sucking every cell out of your body.

The cold metal against your back felt like your skin was merging with it and even lifting even a finger sent immense pain through out your body.

You couldn't tell how long you have been laying there but, it had taken a toll on your body.

The familiar scent of medicine and a weird scent of rotting corpse filled your nostril. You couldn't help but cover your mouth and nose to stop the noise but it always remain there.

Your nails were long, lip felt chap and everything felt new. You couldn't move your hand so freely and even struggle to move your left leg.

Beside you Cass was sleeping. Her hand holding your right tightly Like you would slip away like a balloon if she wasn't to hold onto you.

But when you move your leg she jolted awake. Now you understood.

Cass was the one who checked up on you at night, the one to cover you in blanket and left pills when she observed that you have a fever.

"You are awake!?"

She seem delighted, you felt like you could see a ghast of anxiety leaving her body as you tried to speak.

But nothing came out.

"It's alright. Rest. I am here"

She spoke gently, her hand still on yours. The fear you used to phantom seems you disappear. She wasn't so bad afterall.

After your slumber, each of your siblings came in one by one to not put pressure onto you.

Dick was with Kory who smother you with hugs and kisses on her forehead and cheeks, while Dick asked her to not burry you in affection too early as you might still be in pain.

They repatch their relationship because after you collapse and Stephanie found you, Dick went to her seeking for comfort.

He was stressed out about being a cop and w vigilante barely getting sleeps and all the inhuman behaviour he witnessed were hitting him harder. He knew that his previous family was falling apart and he couldn't do anything... And you the youngest being in coma took a devastating toll on him.

But, Kory listen to him, forgave him and help him took care of you.

Jason look alot better as well. Gave you some treat and told you about the outlaws.

How, he found a meaningful purpose in life. He finally understood why you spend so much time with those brat from school... He would too if he were you.

He also left a small plushie lf superman but alot more bigger and great say's it was from bizzaro, a letter and a gift from Arthemis and a keychain from Roy? He said the real present from Roy would be given when you could drink.

Tim on the other hand, turns out he was in a relationship . After you were in a coma, he started to become more distant from everyone. Whenever anyone entered his room he would looked back hoping to see your little figure. But it was hopeless.

He lost touch and just overwork so he wouldn't have a complete breakdown every minute. And Kon dragged him out of his shell, after a big fight which ended up with both of them tearing at eachother and Kon just confessed.

The same guy who love's to ruin your freshly combed hair and messed with it / freshly ironed clothes and wrinkle it.

Damian was alot more better with emotions now, finding his true path in life and defeating his grandfather.... All that while you were in a coma.

He did briefly mentioned having friends now since you being in a coma awaken something inside of him. He realised how little time some people have so... He volunteered to work in the hospital after a terrible accident and accidentally found a new passion.

Everyone in the family seems to be in good term while you were in a coma. You didn't know if u should be sad or happy since you did miss all the good things.

But at time past everything just went terrible for you.

You could still couldn't move much and you ended up in a wheelchair and they would fought over who gets to hang out with you. You couldn't meet your friends who were extremely worried about you, in the name of protection.

When you felt like your health was peaking the next day you'll be laying down at the same cold mattress, stomach hurting, tears all over your face and having Alfred to inject you with those green liquid.

Those green liquid seems to be the cure to your every problem, although whenever you asked about it no one would speak just a pat and telling you to sleep.

It was getting concerning. Sometimes at night you would always dreamt of the same thing how your mother and baby brother died, she wouldn't let go of him even tho you begged her to.

She hold onto her like her life depends on it... And before you could do anything the explosion engulfed them both... The aftermath wasn't pretty.

Their body melted into eachother... How you saw your mother finger move towards your face, it felt like a horror film. Where the whole movie was centred around you, suffering one after another.

"Bird?"

Jason called out your name, he was one of the people who wouldn't leave you alone at all.

His hand was on your head as he tried to brain your hair for the second time.

"hm?"

you couldn't reply much as you did actually just went through a horrible migraine that came out of the blue.

"Do you wish to be free sometimes?"

He asked, which was quite odd. You looka t his face with didn't tell much either.

"Am I not free?"

You asked curiously, the white blanket that was covering you was now only covering half of your body. As you did sit up straight.

His hand immediately went back to his, as the brain he have been working on for hours with alot of error came undone. His disappointment was clear but he didn't speak up.

Rather he knew the braid would end up looking stiff and maybe even look like a candy caine. Although he wasn't the best at it, it was his best shot at comforting you.

"Nothing, just curious... I'll stay tonight. Can't have you crying at three in the morning cause I definitely won't help you out"

You look at him as he lay down on the other bed which Bruce installed... Saying you need to be under monitor at all times.

"Jay... please what's going on?"

You pleaded, from the way everyone have been Acting you knew only he would tell you the truth.

"You didn't survive... you didn't went to coma"

He began, still he was very calm.

"Your heart failed... I couldn't take it and with the rest except for B... We brought you to the Lazarus pit... But, you... Attacked us, Damian hit you and you went into a coma"

He explained as he stared at the wall infront of him. He seems eerily calm for what he was confessing for.

"We've been injecting you with it because you'll die if we stop, but it's the only reason why you're getting all those symptoms. Those headache and nightmares. But, we do it for your own good"

It makes sense now. How they banned you from seeing anyone out side the family as you have been pronounced dead already.

The headache, the nightmare, your body felling into a deep sleep suddenly, the nose bleed. Everything was because they have been injecting you with the that thing.

The same liquid that brought back Jason was the very same that brought you back. But, alot more problems follow you.

How blood would randomly seep out of your nose and nails, your organs felt like they were rearranging themselves.

Every passing hour felt like your body was slowly rotting from the inside like how ut was supposed to be.

Alfred came into the room with a string on his hand. You couldn't stop the swet from forming, your body temperature was extremely High and everything felt like they were from some cold place.

"Please, Alfred... Just end this. I can't continue this madness"

You clutch onto the bed sheet as dark red blood drip onto the mattress.

The pit didn't exactly fixed you like how it did for Jason. It just put your soul and brain back to power. It didn't fix about the fact that you were dead. You were a walking corpse with consciousness .

You grab onto his arm, he was your only hope for being free from your body.

The same body that was rotting from the inside, your body didn't belong to you any longer... You could feel them decomposing.

Your ribs slowly falling apart, your heart even tho beating was rotting slowly. And everything hurt.

"Please... I can't live like this..."

You clutch onto your heart as you could felt the vein snapping and tearing itself one by one... piece by piece.

"Sorry Master, you do not know what is good for you. Without you the family won't be the same... And I know how much it meant for you to see them together. Sometimes pain is needed to achieve what you want"

He took your wrist and pierce the metal through your skin as he inject the substance.

"Now... Go to sleep, when you wake up everything will be normal again. You could see the sun again. We are waiting for you"

Your eyes began to gave up. As you couldn't even mutter a word out.

You would have yo repeat the cycle forever.

Whenever you began to rot they would refresh you.

Cause a family without you is nothing.

[reasonsforhope]

"When Ellen Kaphamtengo felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, she thought she might be in labour. It was the ninth month of her first pregnancy and she wasn’t taking any chances. With the help of her mother, the 18-year-old climbed on to a motorcycle taxi and rushed to a hospital in Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe, a 20-minute ride away.

At the Area 25 health centre, they told her it was a false alarm and took her to the maternity ward. But things escalated quickly when a routine ultrasound revealed that her baby was much smaller than expected for her pregnancy stage, which can cause asphyxia – a condition that limits blood flow and oxygen to the baby.

In Malawi, about 19 out of 1,000 babies die during delivery or in the first month of life. Birth asphyxia is a leading cause of neonatal mortality in the country, and can mean newborns suffering brain damage, with long-term effects including developmental delays and cerebral palsy.

Doctors reclassified Kaphamtengo, who had been anticipating a normal delivery, as a high-risk patient. Using AI-enabled foetal monitoring software, further testing found that the baby’s heart rate was dropping. A stress test showed that the baby would not survive labour.

The hospital’s head of maternal care, Chikondi Chiweza, knew she had less than 30 minutes to deliver Kaphamtengo’s baby by caesarean section. Having delivered thousands of babies at some of the busiest public hospitals in the city, she was familiar with how quickly a baby’s odds of survival can change during labour.

Chiweza, who delivered Kaphamtengo’s baby in good health, says the foetal monitoring programme has been a gamechanger for deliveries at the hospital.

“[In Kaphamtengo’s case], we would have only discovered what we did either later on, or with the baby as a stillbirth,” she says.

The software, donated by the childbirth safety technology company PeriGen through a partnership with Malawi’s health ministry and Texas children’s hospital, tracks the baby’s vital signs during labour, giving clinicians early warning of any abnormalities. Since they began using it three years ago, the number of stillbirths and neonatal deaths at the centre has fallen by 82%. It is the only hospital in the country using the technology.

“The time around delivery is the most dangerous for mother and baby,” says Jeffrey Wilkinson, an obstetrician with Texas children’s hospital, who is leading the programme. “You can prevent most deaths by making sure the baby is safe during the delivery process.”

The AI monitoring system needs less time, equipment and fewer skilled staff than traditional foetal monitoring methods, which is critical in hospitals in low-income countries such as Malawi, which face severe shortages of health workers. Regular foetal observation often relies on doctors performing periodic checks, meaning that critical information can be missed during intervals, while AI-supported programs do continuous, real-time monitoring. Traditional checks also require physicians to interpret raw data from various devices, which can be time consuming and subject to error.

Area 25’s maternity ward handles about 8,000 deliveries a year with a team of around 80 midwives and doctors. While only about 10% are trained to perform traditional electronic monitoring, most can use the AI software to detect anomalies, so doctors are aware of any riskier or more complex births. Hospital staff also say that using AI has standardised important aspects of maternity care at the clinic, such as interpretations on foetal wellbeing and decisions on when to intervene.

Kaphamtengo, who is excited to be a new mother, believes the doctor’s interventions may have saved her baby’s life. “They were able to discover that my baby was distressed early enough to act,” she says, holding her son, Justice.

Doctors at the hospital hope to see the technology introduced in other hospitals in Malawi, and across Africa.

“AI technology is being used in many fields, and saving babies’ lives should not be an exception,” says Chiweza. “It can really bridge the gap in the quality of care that underserved populations can access.”"

-via The Guardian, December 6, 2024

[cupofteatoyou2]

Sex Is a Luxury Item

(+18)

The nursery door closes with a soft click that feels louder than it should. You both stand there for a full ten seconds, like you're trying to will the silence to hold. Then—very slowly—you back away.

“Did she…?” Alexia whispers.

You hold up a single triumphant finger. “Out. Cold.”

Alexia’s whole body visibly deflates with relief. “Praise. Be.”

You tiptoe down the hall like you’re sneaking out of a haunted house. Once you’re safely in the living room, she collapses onto the couch with a dramatic grunt.

“I’m never using the word ‘down’ again unless it’s followed by ‘to clown’ or ‘for real this time.’”

You laugh, slumping beside her. “I sang the ABCs, and I did that swaddle shuffle thing you made fun of.”

“I don’t make fun of it. I fear it.”

She reaches for your hand, twining your fingers. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles and it’s the softest touch you’ve felt all day.

It makes your chest ache a little.

“I missed this,” she says quietly. “Just being able to… sit with you.”

You glance over at her. Her hair’s a mess, hoodie slightly damp from some earlier baby-related incident, but the look in her eyes is calm. Warm. Need.

“I missed you,” you say softly.

“I missed your mouth,” she says, just as softly—except hers is a little more direct.

You smirk. “Oh, we’re skipping right to that?”

“It’s been weeks. I’m done playing it cool.”

You shift closer, legs touching, your hand sliding to her thigh. Her eyes darken. “Don’t tease.”

“You used to love that.”

“I used to have eight hours of sleep and an immune system.”

You giggle, then tilt your head and kiss her.

It starts slow. Gentle. Careful. You haven’t had space for this in so long, and you both know it. Her fingers slide under your shirt. Yours tangle in her hair. It builds like a fire you’re finally allowed to light.

You shift onto her lap, her arms circling your waist like she never wants to let go.

“I’ve wanted this,” she murmurs against your mouth. “God, I’ve needed this.”

You kiss her again, deeper, slower, letting her feel it.

And just when her hands start to slip under your hoodie—

click.

Rustle.

A small sound crackles from the baby monitor.

You both freeze.

Then a soft sigh.

“Don’t move,” Alexia whispers.

“Maybe she’s shifting in her sleep.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s sensing happiness and preparing to destroy it.”

You both stare at the monitor like it's a horror movie screen.

There’s another soft grunt.

And then—one, single, high-pitched cry.

Alexia slumps back onto the couch. “She’s awake.”

You blink, heart sinking. “We didn’t even get a boob out.”

“I didn’t even make it past second base.”

You press your forehead to her shoulder. “What do we do?”

She sighs. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ve got her.”

“You did bedtime. I’ve got her.”

You squeeze her hand. “Together?”

She looks at you, eyes soft and tired. “Always.”

You both rise like soldiers going back to war. As you pad toward the nursery, Alexia reaches back and flicks off the light in the living room.

“Tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

Alexia was moving like a woman possessed.

You watched her storm around the house with a candle in one hand, wine bottle in the other, and the baby monitor clenched between her teeth.

“What are you doing?” you asked from the couch, half-laughing, half-intrigued.

She spat the monitor onto a pillow and said, “Tonight, I’m reclaiming my title as your wife. Not just your co-parent. Your sexy, romantic, occasionally sleep-deprived wife.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared or impressed?”

“Both. I cleaned spit-up off my ear today. I deserve this.”

You tried not to laugh, but her eyes were wild with determination. She lit the candle dramatically and dimmed the lights.

“She’s fed, changed, burped, rocked, lullabied, and snuggled within an inch of her life. The monitor says she’s sleeping like a rock. We have—statistically—at least one hour.”

“And you used that hour to set the mood?”

“I used five minutes to set the mood. I plan to use the next fifty-five to ruin you.”

You flushed. “God, I missed you.”

She moved closer, cupping your face gently before kissing you, slow and warm. You melted into her, everything soft and familiar, her hands on your waist pulling you in.

“Tell me you want this too,” she whispered.

You grinned, leaning your forehead against hers. “Of course I do. But slow, okay? I just want to feel close to you again.”

Her lips curved. “Slow is my middle name.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Tonight it is.”

She tugged you down onto the couch, mouth finding yours again. Her hands moved carefully, like she remembered every part of you and needed to touch it all. Your shirt came off, hers followed. You gasped into her mouth, and her teeth scraped your bottom lip in that exact way that used to make your knees weak.

Her hand slid under your bra—

click.

You both froze.

Alexia’s eyes darted to the baby monitor. A tiny grunt. A rustle.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered. “Do not wake up. I’m begging you.”

You pressed your ear to her chest, listening with her.

Another rustle. Then silence.

“She’s just shifting,” you said, exhaling.

Alexia didn’t move. “I’ve never wanted a mute button more in my life.”

You burst out laughing and pulled her back down. “Crisis averted.”

Your fingers went to the waistband of her joggers. Hers slid behind your back again—

And then—hiccup.

Sniffle.

You both slowly turned toward the monitor again.

“Maybe she’s just—”

WAHHHHHHHHH!

You both groaned in perfect sync.

Alexia flopped backward, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. “I love her so much, but she is truly the tiniest, cutest pussyblocker I’ve ever met.”

You were already pulling your shirt back on, laughing into the fabric. “We made her too powerful.”

“She’s weaponized her timing,” Alexia muttered, slipping on her hoodie. “We’re under siege.”

In seconds, you were back in the nursery. The baby blinked up at you both, looking thrilled to be awake again.

“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” Alexia said as she rocked her. “She senses hormones like a shark smells blood.”

“Maybe she just misses us.”

“She sees me kiss your neck and goes, ‘That’s enough out of you. Stay away from my mommy’”

The baby yawned. Then sneezed directly in Alexia’s face.

You giggled so hard you nearly dropped the burp cloth.

“Still love her?” you teased.

Alexia wiped her cheek and said, “I’d take a thousand sneezes to the face if it means we eventually get to have sex again.”

Once the baby was back in the crib, snoring softly, you both tiptoed out like burglars escaping a crime scene.

Back in the living room, you didn’t even speak—you just pounced.

Alexia caught you, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you right back into her lap. Your lips locked, more eager this time, more desperate. Her hand slid down your thigh. Yours pushed up under her hoodie.

“I missed your skin,” she whispered against your jaw. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I’ll show you,” you murmured. “Just keep kissing me like that.”

Shirts peeled off again. Breathing got heavier. Her hand moved under your waistband—

BWAAAHHHHHHHH!

Both of you nearly screamed.

The monitor lit up again.

“She was asleep for eight minutes!”

“She sensed skin-to-skin contact!”

Alexia stood dramatically and pointed at the monitor. “You, young lady, are a menace to intimacy.”

You were crying with laughter as you stood. “She’s literally a baby, Lex.”

“A baby with an agenda.”

you both went in together again and took turns holding her. You whispered lullabies while Alexia made up dramatic Shakespearean monologues about interrupted foreplay.

“Sleep, my tiny villain. For tonight we are merely shadows of the lustful beings we once were.”

You were shaking with silent laughter.

Back to bed. Again.

This time, neither of you even pretended to go fast. You laid beside each other, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together.

Alexia sighed. “I love her so much it physically hurts.”

“I know.”

“But if I don’t get to see you naked soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You grinned. “We’ll get there.”

“You think when she’s in college we’ll finally have sex again?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be nasty empty-nesters.”

She laughed and pulled you close, tucking your head into her shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

“Even covered in milk stains?”

“Especially then.”

Your baby snored on the monitor. Peaceful. Temporarily.

You kissed Alexia one more time and whispered, “maybe Tomorrow?”

Alexia yawned. “I’m scheduling it like a dentist appointment.”

Alexia stood in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a baby spoon like it was a laser pointer in a corporate meeting. Her hoodie was stained with milk, her bun was half falling apart, and yet she radiated authority.

“We need a new strategy,” she said, pointing the spoon at you with conviction.

You shifted your baby on your hip and squinted at her. “Is this about sex or war? Because your vibe is giving NATO crisis response.”

“Sex is war,” she muttered dramatically. “And right now, we’re losing.” She gestured broadly to the chaos around you: toys scattered across the floor, a bib hanging from the lamp, a rogue pacifier floating in someone’s half-drunk tea. “We are being outmaneuvered by someone who can’t even hold her own head up yet.”

“She’s a baby,” you reminded her, kissing said baby on the head.

“She’s a tactical genius,” Alexia said, narrowing her eyes at the infant. “Every time we so much as touch lips, she makes a sound like she’s being exorcised. She waits. She listens. Then she strikes.”

You snorted. “We’re being pussyblocked by someone who thinks her own feet are a conspiracy.”

“Exactly!” Alexia snapped her fingers. “It’s a psychological game. She doesn’t even know she’s winning, and that’s what makes her so powerful.”

You bounced the baby gently. “Okay, war general. What’s your big plan?”

Alexia marched over to the fridge, yanked off a magnet, and slapped a Post-it to the surface like it was a classified briefing. In bold, scribbled handwriting, it read

OPERATION: SEXY SUBMARINE

You stared.

“Tonight,” Alexia began, pacing, “we follow a strict schedule. No detours. No distractions. No Netflix, no chatting about the laundry, no doomscrolling while she naps. We do everything early—feed her early, bathe her early, snuggle her into a sleepy little puddle of baby bliss. Then we put her down.”

She paused dramatically.

“And then, we retreat. Bedroom only. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Door closed. Silent mode. Like a stealth mission. No candles. No ambiance. Just pure, uninterrupted—” she made an expansive gesture “—reconnection.”

You bit your lip, amused. “What’s with the submarine part?”

“Because we’re going under the radar. No noise. No trace. Pure stealth.”

“And because it’s been so long, we’ll probably have to dive deep into foreplay before anyone remembers how anything works?”

Alexia’s face lit up. “Exactly. See? You get me.”

You kissed her cheek. “Alright, Captain Putellas. I’m in.”

That night, you prepared like Olympic athletes warming up for a relay.

Dinner was served 47 minutes ahead of schedule. Alexia made airplane noises while feeding mashed peas, which ended up mostly on her shirt, but you were both undeterred. Bath time included the new sparkly bubble soap and a rousing three-minute duet of “Let It Go.” Your daughter clapped for you both like you’d just taken a bow at a Broadway matinee.

Book time came next. You sat side-by-side in the rocking chair, your daughter balanced across both your laps. Alexia read The Very Hungry Caterpillar with the dramatic timing of a Shakespearean actor on a caffeine high. Then she followed up with Goodnight Moon in a soft whisper, pausing between each “goodnight” like it was a prayer.

The final lullaby was sung in hushed tones. Alexia cradled the baby like she was made of glass, her voice wrapping around the room like a blanket.

“She’s out,” you breathed, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic peace.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “You ready?”

You tiptoed like trained spies out of the nursery. Alexia carefully shut the door with the reverence of someone sealing a tomb.

Once inside your room, she didn’t waste time. Her hands slid around your waist as soon as the door clicked shut. “No talking,” she whispered. “You might jinx it.”

Your lips met hers, slow and deep. She pulled you to the bed, her hand warm against your lower back, your knees already going weak. Clothes started to come off—carefully, quietly. Her hoodie hit the floor. Your shirt followed. Her hands traced your ribs like she was relearning you from scratch.

“I missed this,” she breathed against your collarbone.

You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging gently. “I missed you.”

She leaned in, kissing along your throat, one hand sliding up your bare thigh—

THUMP.

You both froze.

Then:

sniffle.

hic.

whimper.

Alexia slowly looked over her shoulder. “No. No, she’s bluffing.”

“Lex…”

“She’s testing us.”

A louder whimper. Then a soft wail.

Alexia flopped onto her back and buried her face in a pillow. “This is a conspiracy. A full-scale operation against our libido.”

You sighed but couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “The Sexy Submarine has been compromised.”

“She’s too strong,” Alexia groaned into the pillow. “She’s outmaneuvered us again.”

You pulled on your shirt, patting her back. “Come on, soldier. We’ll regroup.”

“She doesn’t even like books,” Alexia muttered as she stood. “I read two stories. Two! With voices!”

In the nursery, your daughter greeted you with wide, innocent eyes.

Alexia lifted her gently, holding her close. “You are lucky I’m weak for cute things,” she whispered, nuzzling into her soft hair. “But seriously—do you have to wake up every time I try to get laid?”

You were laughing into your hand.

By the time she was back in her crib, you were both too tired for round two. You collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, limbs tangled together.

Alexia turned to you with the softest look in her eyes. “I love you,” she murmured. “Even if we never have sex again until she’s in preschool .”

“Preschool’s only few years away. We can make it.”

She groaned. “No. No we can’t.”

You reached for her hand. “We’ll find our way back. We’re just in the baby fog right now.”

Alexia smiled, eyes already drooping. “At least we’re in it together.”

You drifted off to the sound of your daughter snoring through the baby monitor.

The silence was golden. Sacred. A rare miracle.

Your daughter was finally asleep. For real this time—tiny limbs sprawled, cheeks flushed, pacifier bobbing softly with each breath. You and Alexia stood outside the nursery like two burglars about to flee a heist.

Alexia turned to you, eyes dark with purpose. “If she even makes a noise in the next hour, I swear to God—”

“Shhh,” you whispered, grabbing her hand and yanking her down the hallway like you were both escaping prison.

Back in the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind you, and Alexia’s lips were on yours before you even had a chance to breathe. Her hands slid under your shirt, warm, insistent, and you melted into her like it hadn’t been weeks of stop-starts and frustrated cuddles.

“God, I forgot how soft you are,” she whispered, mouth grazing your neck. “I feel like I’m kissing a memory.”

You laughed softly, tugging her shirt over her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m starving for you.”

The kiss deepened—slow and messy, teeth and tongue, her fingers dragging down your sides until she was pushing you gently toward the bed. You went easily, smiling against her mouth, thighs parting instinctively as she climbed over you.

She kissed down your chest, taking her time, teasing. You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging just enough to make her hum against your skin.

“You’re being mean,” you whispered, breath catching as she took a nipple between her lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Alexia looked up at you, grinning wickedly. “I’ve had four weeks to plan this.”

Her kisses trailed lower. Lower. Her hands slid under your thighs, spreading you open slowly, reverently. You moaned as her breath hit your inner thigh.

Then she paused.

“Lex—”

“I’m savoring.”

“You’re torturing.”

She grinned and lowered her head.

And then—

Then—

Just as her tongue touched you—

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It was immediate. Loud. Gutting.

The baby monitor crackled to life like a horror movie villain.

Alexia froze. Lips still pressed against you.

You whimpered. “No. No, no, no—”

She dropped her forehead to your thigh with an actual whimper. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, already mourning the orgasm you had almost tasted.

Alexia lifted her head, eyes wild. “She’s possessed. She’s got, like, a sixth sense.”

“She was dead asleep,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I felt her soul leave her body. What even—”

Another scream. A hiccup. The unmistakable sound of a pacifier hitting the crib floor.

Alexia let out a strangled growl, crawled up your body, and collapsed on top of you. “I’m going to cry.”

“She’s probably just—”

“I don’t care. I’m staying here. She can put herself back to sleep.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through her hair. “You want her to self-soothe at nine months?”

“I want to finish going down on my wife, is what I want.”

You were still breathless. Still throbbing. Still too turned on to laugh properly. But you laughed anyway. “Five more seconds and I would’ve blacked out.”

Alexia rolled off you with a dramatic sigh and reached for her hoodie. “I hate how much I love that baby.”

You smiled. “You don’t hate her.”

“No, I just think she’s doing this on purpose.”

“She’s nine months old.”

“She’s a genius-level saboteur with a personal vendetta against my sex life.”

You groaned as you slid your shirt back on. “You going or me?”

“I’ll go. I know the look in your eyes. If I let you walk in there all flushed and dripping, she’ll cry for another hour.”

You made a face. “Rude but fair.”

Alexia shuffled out, still muttering to herself.

You lay there, legs still parted, body aching, mind spinning. You could still feel her mouth on you. You could still tastewhat you almost had.

Through the monitor, you heard her gentle voice:

“Shhh… shhh… no más drama, cariño. Mamá is this close to having a breakdown.”

More hiccups. Some giggles. A thump.

You closed your eyes and moaned into your pillow.

Fifteen minutes later, Alexia returned looking like she’d been through battle.

“She kicked me in the boob and laughed about it.”

You sat up, arms open, and she dropped into them with a full-body sigh. “I want you so bad it’s physically painful.”

“She’s asleep again?”

“Temporarily. Probably until I touch you again. I think it’s her new defense mechanism.”

You kissed her temple. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Alexia looked at you. “If I don’t eat you alive tomorrow, I might die.”

You pulled her close. “I’ll let you. But we have to move faster. Get in, get off, get out.”

Alexia laughed softly. “Operation Quickie Reloaded?”

You nodded. “Or just Operation: Don’t Wake the Baby.”

She smiled. “Tomorrow. We win.”

You’ve never seen Alexia this unhinged.

She marched into the bedroom like she was about to defuse a bomb, except the bomb was your daughter’s cry and the stakes were your sex life.

“White noise?” she asked, holding up the machine like it was the Holy Grail.

“Set to rainforest,” you replied.

“Doors locked?”

“Deadbolt and chair wedged under the handle.”

“Monitor?” she asked.

You held it up. “Battery: full. Volume: high. Vibe: non-threatening.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d just completed a NASA launch checklist. “We’re not being pussyblocked tonight. Not by our own baby. Not by fate. Not by a squeaky floorboard. Nada.”

You grinned, already lying back on the bed in just her Barça tee and a pair of lacy panties she hadn’t seen since the third trimester. “God, you’re hot when you’re this paranoid.”

She climbed onto the bed, eyes dark and focused. “Do not speak her name.”

“The baby?”

“She has ears like a bat. And emotional radar.”

You laughed, pulling her in by the collar of her hoodie. “You’re acting like we’re about to commit a crime.”

“We are,” she said, voice low and sinful against your neck. “We’re gonna fuck. And we’re gonna finish.”

She kissed you like it was her last act on earth. Her hands skimmed up your thighs, under the tee, finding bare skin and making you jolt.

“Oh,” you gasped, “we’re skipping foreplay?”

Alexia pulled back, scandalized. “This is foreplay. This is tactical sensuality. I’ve been edging myself emotionally for weeks.”

You blinked. “You’ve been… emotionally edging?”

“I’ve imagined going down on you while rocking the baby back to sleep.”

You choked. “That’s hot and disturbing.”

“Motherhood’s weird like that.”

You pulled her back down, breathless with laughter and lust. “Okay, tactical sensuality. Show me what that means.”

Alexia sat back on her knees, peeled her hoodie and tank off in one smooth motion, and tossed them over her shoulder. “Step one: remove barriers.”

You raised a brow. “Physical or emotional?”

“Panties,” she replied, and yanked yours off like she had a vendetta.

You gasped. “Damn, mamá’s not playing tonight.”

She grinned and ducked down between your legs. “Shh. You’ll wake the boss.”

The second her mouth touched you, your legs jerked up in shock. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

She laughed against your skin. “God, I missed how sensitive you get.”

You whined. “You’re not allowed to be cocky about it when we’ve been dry for, like, nine months.”

“I’ve been tracking your ovulation by instinct alone.”

You were laughing and moaning now, torn between arousal and actual tears.

Alexia licked a long, slow stripe, and your hips bucked. “Fuck—Lex.”

“Yeah?” she said, smug as hell, holding your thighs down with both hands like you were her personal reward.

“I swear if you stop, I will file for sole custody.”

She looked up, mouth glistening, smirk savage. “Not even God’s interrupting us tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow beside you and threw it at her. “Shut up and keep going!”

She did.

She devoured you like a woman who’d waited far too long, who’d dreamed about this every time she’d rocked a crying baby at 3 AM, who’d looked at your bare shoulder while brushing her teeth and thought, soon.

And now?

Now was finally here.

No interruptions.

No cries.

No disaster.

Just Alexia between your thighs, moaning like your pleasure was oxygen.

You threw your head back, already dizzy, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

A pause.

A beat.

A quiet.

You both froze.

Alexia slowly raised her head. “Was that—?”

“No,” you said firmly. “It was the white noise. Wind in the trees. Jungle frogs. Shut up. Keep going.”

She stared at you for one more second—then dove back in with a muttered, “For the love of all things holy.”

And this time? You knew it.

She wasn’t stopping for anything.

Your thighs were shaking, and your hands were tangled in Alexia’s hair like you were holding on for dear life. Her mouth moved with slow precision, her tongue relentless and so smug about it, you could practically feel the grin in the way she licked.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest rising fast under her tee.

Alexia hummed like that was exactly the plan. You felt it vibrate against your skin, and it sent a shock straight through your core. The kind of touch that made your whole body lock up before melting again, like your nerves couldn't decide if they wanted to tense or just give up entirely.

“I haven’t even started,” she murmured between strokes of her tongue. She looked up at you with her chin glistening and eyes filled with that cocky, dangerous glint—like she had something to prove, and your body was her proof.

She flicked her tongue again, just a bit firmer now, and you jolted, moaning her name as if it was the only word your mouth remembered how to form. “Lex… oh my god.”

“Still so sensitive,” she said, half awe, half victory. “And still mine.”

You groaned, one leg twitching at the knee, a helpless spasm you couldn’t even stop if you tried. She wrapped her arms around your thighs to hold you steady, fingers digging into your skin in the gentlest kind of possessive grip.

Her mouth found you again, unrelenting, licking slow and deep before switching to short, tight circles over your clit—soft, then harder, like she was playing a rhythm only she knew.

You squirmed, unable to stop it, and she moaned low at the way your hips moved. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

Her hands slid up and found your chest, warm palms cupping you like she missed this just as much as you did. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and your body practically convulsed.

“Lex—Lex, I’m gonna—”

She pulled back, just barely, mouth still wet, panting slightly. “You better. I’ve waited months for this. You think I’m gonna let you off easy?”

You whimpered and bucked your hips up toward her mouth, needy and too far gone to care. “Alexia—”

“Say it again.”

“Alexia.”

She grinned—pure sin. “Good girl.”

And then she sucked.

Your whole body arched off the bed. Your hands tightened in her hair and pulled, not even on purpose. It was just instinct at that point—desperate, overwhelmed, chasing release like it was life or death.

You were loud. Too loud. But you didn’t care. Not until you realized what you were risking.

“Shit—the baby—” you gasped, eyes flying open, chest heaving.

Alexia popped off you with a wicked look, then licked her lips like she’d just finished dessert. “She’s sleeping.”

You reached for the monitor blindly on the nightstand. “We can’t be loud—”

“She sleeps through the dog barking, thunder, and your snoring. She can handle a little moaning.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Bebé…” she smirked, already crawling back up between your legs, “I love you, but yes, you do. It’s cute. It’s like tiny dinosaur growls.”

You were about to argue—but her tongue was already back where you needed her most. And suddenly, snoring didn’t seem like the hill to die on.

You tried, for a full ten seconds, to stay quiet. You bit your lip. You pressed your hand over your mouth. You even turned your head into the pillow.

But when Alexia slid two fingers inside you and curled them just right, you squealed.

“Fuck.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth like it was going to do anything at that point.

Alexia chuckled, not stopping for a second. “So much for quiet time.”

You couldn’t answer. All you could do was breathe fast and try not to scream as she fucked you with her fingers and sucked your clit at the same time, the kind of multitasking only someone with pure chaos in their DNA could master.

She kept her pace slow and steady, dragging you toward the edge in the most excruciating way possible. Your thighs started trembling again, tighter this time, clenching around her head like your body was trying to trap her there.

And the worst part? She loved it.

You felt her moan into you. Felt her speed up. Felt the smugness in every move like she was daring you to come and wake the baby up. Like this was some fucked-up game.

And you were losing.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Lex, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” she said, voice muffled. “Come on. I wanna feel it.”

Her hand was gripping your thigh, holding you open, and her mouth was pure destruction.

You broke.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that had been building for weeks—months, maybe. You shook, you cried out, you grabbed the sheets and her hair and anything you could reach, and your whole body convulsed as pleasure took over. Every nerve lit up and then gave out all at once.

You were panting, a wreck, your limbs limp and twitching.

Alexia finally pulled back, face flushed and shining, looking like she’d just finished a workout.

“Goddamn,” she said, breathing hard. “That was worth the wait.”

You didn’t have the strength to speak. You just blinked at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, brain full of static.

Alexia crawled up next to you, her arms sliding under your body, pulling you into her chest.

She kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think you broke something. Like… structurally.”

She laughed, full and loud, and you smacked her arm weakly. “Shh. She’s actually going to wake up if you don’t shut up.”

Alexia smirked against your skin. “Let her. I earned that orgasm.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless. “You say that like you carried the baby for nine months.”

“I did carry the diaper bag for nine months. That counts.”

You swatted her again, and she caught your hand, kissing it sweetly.

“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “Was it… okay? After everything?”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. And for a second, all the teasing fell away. Her eyes were soft, warm, maybe even a little nervous.

You nodded slowly. “It was everything.”

Alexia’s face relaxed, and she leaned in to kiss you, this time sweet and lingering and full of everything unsaid.

“You’re everything,” she whispered.

And then—

crackle.

The baby monitor buzzed to life with a hiccup.

Both your heads whipped toward it like you’d heard a ghost.

Another hiccup. Then a whimper. Then silence.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the monitor. “Don’t you dare.”

You held your breath.

Another soft sound. Then… nothing.

Alexia reached for the monitor, flipped it face-down, and muttered, “I swear, she’s got a sensor for sex.”

You laughed into the pillow.

“Next round?” Alexia whispered. “Face. My face. Ride it. I’ll even play with your boobs.”

You looked at her, amused and dazed. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m starving.”

You rolled over, still dizzy from round one, and gave her a look. “Bathroom. Five minutes. Before she wakes up for real.”

Alexia perked up like a golden retriever. “You serious?”

You grinned. “You better bring the monitor.”

She was already out of bed, grabbing it with one hand and your wrist with the other. “Say less.”

The cold of the tile never stood a chance against the heat in your body.

You straddled Alexia’s face like you were born to be there, knees digging into the bathroom floor, one hand braced on the counter and the other fisting in her messy hair. She looked up at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and those dark, feral eyes like you were her next meal.

You barely had time to moan before she latched onto you—mouth open, tongue flat, licking one long, devastating stripe through your folds. Your whole body shuddered.

“Oh—fuck—Lex…” you gasped, already rolling your hips down against her mouth.

She groaned in satisfaction, hands gripping your thighs like she was anchoring herself. “That’s it. Use me, cariño.”

You did. Hips grinding down, thighs trembling around her head as she worked you over with slow, confident licks. She licked your clit with the kind of deliberate pressure that drove you insane—just enough to tease, just enough to ruin.

“You taste like heaven,” she muttered between strokes, voice muffled but smug. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You let out a strangled moan, rocking harder. “Then shut up and eat.”

Alexia laughed, hot breath fanning over your core. “Bossy now, huh?”

But she obeyed, and when her lips sealed around your clit again, you almost lost it. She sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly, her grip on your thighs tightening to keep you in place. You were practically sitting on her face now, and the way she moaned underneath you told you she loved it.

Then her hand slid up your thigh—and before you could prepare yourself, she sank two fingers into you.

You gasped loud, the stretch sudden and perfect. “Lex—fuck—”

She didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. Just started pumping her fingers deep and fast, curling them at just the right angle to make you see stars.

“God,” she breathed against your clit, “you’re so fucking tight—clenching like you’re trying to suck me in.”

Your head dropped forward, forearms now braced against the sink, body shivering under the weight of her mouth and hand.

“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”

She obeyed without a word—three fingers now, pushing in with a wet, obscene sound that had your entire body jerking. Your moans were loud, shameless, bouncing off tile walls.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured. “Fuck—you’re taking me so well. Look at this pussy—dripping all over my hand.”

You whimpered, hips grinding, thighs starting to shake.

And then she started fucking you with her fingers, hard and deep, curling with every thrust. Her mouth stayed latched on your clit—tongue swirling, flicking, licking with relentless precision.

You were coming apart. Muscles locking, breath catching, fingers digging into the counter.

“You gonna come?” she rasped. “Gonna make a mess all over my face?”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

She moaned against you, her free hand slipping up to grope your boob, fingers rolling your nipple. “You’re everything, you know that?” she murmured. “My perfect girl. Let go for me.”

You choked on a cry, orgasm ripping through you like a wave—violent, pulsing, unstoppable. You came with your whole body, hips stuttering, thighs clamped tight around her head as her fingers drove deep and her mouth kept sucking.

Alexia groaned like she was the one coming, still moving inside you, still licking every aftershock from your body like she was addicted.

And then—just as your high started to ebb and you collapsed onto her chest, legs shaking, completely destroyed—

The baby monitor crackled.

“Waaaaawaaaa…”

You froze.

Alexia’s head dropped back onto the tile, and for a long beat… silence.

Then “Oh, come on!” she groaned, exasperated but laughing.

You buried your face in her shoulder, still panting. “Are you kidding me?”

“She waited,” Alexia said, wide-eyed and breathless. “She actually waited until you were done. That’s progress!”

You snorted into her neck. “She’s a pussyblocker with manners now.”

You both started laughing, tangled together on the bathroom floor, sticky, sore, and finally satisfied.

Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We made it, mommy.”

“Barely,mama” you whispered back, grinning.

Then the baby monitor made another soft sound—your daughter babbling like she knew exactly what she’d just interrupted.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “We’re never gonna have sex again, are we?”

You kissed her, slow and sweet. “Not without a timer and industrial-grade earplugs.”

She smirked. “And maybe duct tape for the baby monitor.”

You laughed, standing slowly, legs wobbling.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go check on our pussyblocking miracle.”

Alexia groaned again, getting to her feet. “At least we got few orgasm. I’m calling that a win.”

You smiled, taking her hand. “A very wet, very loud win.”

And together, you padded out of the bathroom—laughing, limping, and still very much in love.

[ladysharmaa]

My love, my life

Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: As Spencer and the rest of the team headed back to Quantico after a case, his girlfriend waited for him while talking to Garcia. However, a man with a gun could delay the couple's reunion. Will Spencer arrive on time?

The sleek black SUV curved around the corner, Quantico’s familiar skyline coming into view. Spencer Reid sat in the passenger seat, legs jittering, phone pressed to his ear. The sun was dipping behind the clouds, casting the FBI building in a calm before the storm.

“Okay, okay, so Thai or Indian?” came the voice on the other end. Y/n, Spencer's girlfriend, was lounging at Garcia’s neon-lit desk, legs kicked up, the glow of computer monitors illuminating her smile.

She had been away from Spencer for about a week and was already going crazy. So, she decided that instead of waiting for him at home, completely bored, she would wait at his work, since she also missed Garcia.

They all had a complicated case, which kept Spencer away from her birthday dinner. Despite apologizing a thousand times since then — not that it was necessary, Y/n understood the demands of a bau agent's job — the genius promised that as soon as he returned he would make it up to her. And so, they were planning which restaurant they would go to.

“I vote Thai!” Garcia chimed in, half-distracted as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Extra spicy. Like the way you two look at each other, my little doves.”

Derek Morgan’s laugh echoed from somewhere near Spencer. “Is the genius blushing again?”

Spencer adjusted his scarf and ducked his head, trying and failing to fight off the flush rising to his cheeks. “I'm not. But it’s actually a fascinating physiological response. Blushing is controlled by the sympathetic nervous system. When you're embarrassed or emotionally overwhelmed your body releases adrenaline, which increases your heart rate and dilates your blood vessels. That’s why the face turns red. But here’s the really interesting part — the face and neck have more capillaries than most other parts of the body, which is why it’s so visible."

"We get it, Spencer." JJ laughed in amusement. She was glad that Spencer found Y/n as he has been happier, and it was so cute to hear him talk about her all the time. He had heart eyes whenever he thought about his perfect girlfriend.

Spencer shrugged, but the little smile that formed on his lips gave him away. “I’m five minutes out.”

“Five minutes is too long.” Y/N teased. “I’m starving. Might chew on Garcia’s keyboard.”

“Do not touch my baby!” Garcia warned her dramatically.

“I’ll be there soon. Can’t wait to see you.” Spencer laughed softly, fingers tightening around the phone.

But just then, they all heard a thunderous bang. Even through the call the team managed to hear it clearly. A gunshot. Followed by screaming.

Spencer shot upright in his seat, his heart plummeting like a stone. They all stopped breathing, their attention glued to the cell phone that was heavy in Spencer's hand, which was shaking heavily. The line was chaos. Garcia was yelling something, Y/N gasped.

Fear ran through Spencer's veins, he didn't want to think about Y/n, his Y/N, in a dangerous situation. He faced the worst of the world every day, and the last thing he wanted was for his girlfriend to come into contact with the monsters that lurked in the shadows. He had to be with her.

And then there was silence. The call disconnected.

“No. No, no, no,” Spencer muttered, frantically tapping redial. “Pick up. Please pick up.”

Hotch, driving, had already stiffened and pressed harder on the pedal. “What happened? Someone try to contact Quantico.”

“They were shot at. Someone fired a gun. I lost the connection.”

"Nobody answers me, Hotch." JJ informed, also quickly calling members of Quantico. "There's a conference with the President of the United States, so a lot of agents aren't there. And now they'll have to stay with the President.”

"This is planned, Hotch." Emily added.

Hotch’s face hardened, eyes laser-focused on the road. He hit the sirens and floored even more the gas.

Spencer clutched the dashboard, unable to sit still. “We have to get there faster. She was just talking to me, everything was fine. The BAU is supposed to be a safe place—”

"They are going to be fine, pretty boy." Derek tried to reassure him, despite also being filled with panic. This has never happened before, as it was extremely dangerous to threaten a place full of FBI agents.

“We’ll get them”. Hotch promised. “Hold on.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Inside the BAU headquarters, panic surged through the bullpen.

Garcia and Y/N had barely made it from her office to the hallway when a group of armed men burst in through the rear access doors. They fired shots into the air in warning, pushing civilians and agents into the main atrium. One agent tried to draw their weapon and was immediately shot in the leg, collapsing with a yell. The others immediately dropped their guns as it was too risky, as a civilian could easily be hurt.

Y/N had grabbed Garcia’s hand, whispering, “Stay close to me, okay?” Her own body trembled, but they had to be brave until the team could save them.

The ringleader —a man with cold eyes and military posture — paced in front of the growing crowd of FBI employees. “You know what we want,” he snarled. “Files. Not on paper. Not redacted. Everything.”

He turned and raised his weapon — pointing it directly at Y/N, who was still holding Garcia's hand, all of them kneeling on the ground. When the girl realised the attention was on her, she tried to let go of the blonde's hand to not also put her in danger. But to no avail, they knew who Garcia was. They studied them. They prepared the attack.

“You!” he barked at Garcia. “You’re the tech, right? Show me the system. Get me what I want. Or she dies.”

Y/N flinched, but lifted her chin. Garcia clutched her friend’s arm tighter.

“Please...” Garcia stammered, inching toward her desk. “Just give me a second. It’s not that simple. We have encryption layers.”

"Don't lie to me!" he shouted furiously. In a moment of rage, he pointed the gun at an officer, who was calming an elderly couple, and shot him in the chest. He immediately fell to the ground, clutching his chest in pain. Y/n stared in horror at the sight of the bleeding man, her scream of surprise and horror mixing with those of the rest of the hostages. "As you can see, I'm not bluffing. Give us what we need, or your friend dies."

"You’ll get what you want, just... Just don’t hurt her.”

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Meanwhile, the SUV skidded into the FBI lot. Before the car had fully stopped, Spencer jumped out and bolted for the door, badge in hand. His chest ached, lungs burning, every part of him screaming to find her, to make sure she was okay.

“Security breach confirmed." an agent informed, walking besides the team quickly. The agents were already forming a perimeter, thinking of the best way to enter the building. “Multiple hostiles. Civilians inside.”

Reid’s feet didn’t stop moving, going straight to the operating table where the design of the building was. Hotch assumed the position of leader with SWAT units, immediately barking out orders. From the corner of his eye, he looked at Spencer, who was anxiously looking ahead.

"We'll get her and Garcia, Reid. Focus, I need you to find me an entry."

The genius was already ahead, his brain working through multiple options at an extreme speed. Every second was a second Y/n might be hurt. Or worse. He couldn't think about it, or he would go insane.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

"What's taking so long?" one of the men in the group asked impatiently. "We're surrounded. Man, what are we doing? What were we thinking?"

"Calm!" the leader ordered. "Everything is fine. Work faster, blondie." he continued to Garcia, who was discreetly doing it on purpose to delay the process.

"I'm sorry… They-they are blocking me. It takes longer."

"While she's doing that, let me help him." Y/n begged, unable to hear the injured agent's painful and increasingly shallow breathing any longer. "He's loosing a lot of blood. If he dies, it'll be worse for you."

"Shut up." the man holding the gun muttered, hitting himself lightly on the head. It was like he couldn't think, nothing was going according to his plan.

"He's going to die if we don't do something! Please!" the girl cried desperately. " At least let someone put pressure on the wound."

"I said shut up, bitch!"

Then, he fired. Y/N didn’t even have time to scream.

Just a sudden, hot burst of pain across her shoulder. She stumbled backward, hand clutching instinctively at the blood already soaking through her jacket. She collapsed on the ground, the breath knocked clean from her lungs.

Garcia screamed, her hands instinctively covered her ears, her mouth open as she looked at her friend's fallen body.

The world seemed to explode around them as the BAU team breached the entrance with a deafening shout. The SWAT team poured into the atrium, with Hotch, Emily, Derek and Spencer right behind them.

There were voices shouting orders, leading the hostages to safety. But Spencer Reid didn't hear any of it. Something inside him snapped when he saw Y/n, his love, his life, on the ground surrounded by a pool of her own blood.

He appeared forward, his gun drawn, eyes already locked on the shooter. He didn't think. He just knew. With a clean pull of the trigger, Spencer fired. The gunman dropped instantly, a clean shot to the chest. Another fell in the ensuing gunfire, and the rest surrendered as SWAT flooded the hall. All of it was a blur.

Spencer, before he even realized what he was doing or what was happening, was already running towards her. He had to get to her.

“Y/N… No, no, no—”

He dropped to his knees beside her, blood already staining the scarf around his neck as he pressed it hard to her shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. She was conscious, but her face was pale, eyes glassy. It was a strange appearance on Y/n, she always looked healthy, happy. Spencer loved that she blushed as much as he did, or even more, that she looked at the world with a sparkle in her eyes that he no longer had. But hers was enough for both of them. She made his world colorful.

“I got you, I got you, just stay with me, baby.” he whispered with a small smile, trying to reassure his girlfriend instead of showing all the fear he was feeling. His hands were shaking. He was shaking. He couldn't breathe. "I need medics over here!"

A shaking hand held Spencer's wrist, who was carefully caressing Y/n's cheek, at the same time wiping away the blood that had splattered on her skin. Just that small movement took immense effort on the girl's part, who licked her lips before speaking, "I'm okay, baby. That agent… He was shot. Is he alive?"

"What?" Spencer asked disoriented. Were there at least other people in the room? All his attention was on her. Hesitantly, he quickly raised his head to look at the person in question and returned his focus to Y/n's beautiful eyes. "He's fine. I'm worried about you. You need to go to the hospital."

“I tried to help him…”

“Just don’t close your eyes, please.” His voice broke. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t breathe without you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much.”

“I’m here,” she whispered, barely audible. “Don’t cry…”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, voice raw and trembling. “You are everything to me. I love you so much.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Spencer. At least I can now understand the pain you also went through. It truly hurts like a bitch.”

“I never wanted you to be in this kind of pain.”

“I’m okay.” she breathed.

When paramedics finally reached them, Spencer refused to move. They asked him to give them space. He didn't. He would never leave her side again.

They told him she needed clean bandages and oxygen. He nodded, but stayed glued to her side, holding her free hand like a lifeline, watching every single move they made. His mind was cataloging everything — angle of the shot, blood loss rate, respiratory rate, risk of nerve damage, but his mind was screaming one thing: don't let them take her away from me.

She was the light that pulled him back from his darkness. The calm in his storm. The one thing that made the nightmares quieter, the cases bearable, the only reason worth living for. Without her, being alive meant nothing.

Spencer refused to let go of her hand, watching like a hawk every movement the paramedics made. “Don’t touch her like that! She’s hurt. Just tell me what you’re doing!"

Y/n, not enjoying seeing Spencer so stressed, especially because of her, tried to speak, but it was proving to be a hard task. "Spencer..."

"Leave the mask on, my love, you need the oxygen. Relax, I'm right here.”

“We need to stop the bleeding and prepare her for transport.” one EMT said calmly. “Sir, you are in the way.”

“I’m not leaving her!” Spencer shouted, more frantic than he had ever been. But his tone left no arguments. “I'm going in the ambulance."

Hotch appeared at his side, giving him a nod of understanding. “We’ll meet you there.”

As they loaded her onto the gurney, Spencer walked beside it, never releasing her hand, eyes flickering with fear, desperation, and something deeper than both. Love. A kind of love he never felt before. It was so strong, so powerful.

He sat beside Y/n while the paramedic checked her vitals.

“I’ve faced killers, bombs, cult leaders… things that should keep me up at night,” he said quietly. “But nothing has ever scared me like seeing you fall. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my heart stopped. Because the thought of losing you… it’s not something I can survive.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“You’re my person, Y/N. You’re the one I dream about when I can't sleep and the one I search for in every crowded room. I can solve a thousand puzzles a day, but none of it matters if I can’t come home to you.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, voice breaking.

“You did come. You saved me.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to hers. Spencer pressed sweet kissed around her face. Her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips.

“No.” he whispered, eyes closing, savoring every moment with her. “You saved me. You have, every day since I met you.”

Silence settled around them like a soft blanket. Spencer could finally relax while hearing the quiet rhythm of her breathing and the steady hum of machines. It was peaceful. She was alive.

And in that quiet, Spencer made a silent vow. He would never take a single second with her for granted again.

Because now he knew, without her, there was no him.

[favefandomimagines]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (f.l)

Summary: Y/N discovers a secret that could cost her and Frank everything

Request: @soflowra hiiii!!! could i request a frank langdon x reader where she finds out about the benzos and kind of confronts him? (thank youuuu!!!)

AN: I took some creative freedom with this one lol

The hum of fluorescent lights was constant in the ER, like the white noise of chaos. Monitors beeped, patients groaned, and somewhere down the hallway, someone was yelling about a broken femur. Dr. Frank Langdon thrived in the noise. It kept his mind racing, his hands moving, and the darkness at bay.

Y/N stood in the doorway of Trauma 2, arms crossed over her chest, watching him work. The moment was so typical of him—snapping orders, trauma gown tied loosely around his body, a half-empty Red Bull undoubtedly nearby. Sarcastic, fast-talking, brilliant. God, he was brilliant.

She was on her way back to OB when he caught her eye and winked.

“Should’ve been a trauma doc, sweetheart,” he called out as he approached her.

She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Maybe in my next life.”

They’d been together for a year. It started just after his divorce—messy, public, and the talk of the hospital for months. She wasn’t trying to be anyone’s rebound.

But with Frank, it didn’t feel like that. There was something real underneath all his walls and caffeine highs. Something warm. Vulnerable. Something he’d given only to her.

She loved him.

But lately… something felt off.

It started with charts. She was covering for another doctor in General that week—odd, yes, but she liked to keep her skills sharp. While reviewing a patient’s post-op pain management plan, she noticed the dose of hydromorphone seemed high. Not alarmingly so—just… off. She shrugged it off. Maybe it was an attending’s call.

Then another chart. Then two more. All written up by Frank.

Each time, the dosage ordered was slightly higher than what the patient had been administered.

She brought it up casually while they were at the nurses station after another OB consult he paged her for.

“Hey,” she said softly, “you ever accidentally order the wrong dose on a discharge script?”

His eyes flicked to hers. “What are you talking about?”

“I just saw a few that looked a little high. From you.”

He didn’t blink. “Pain is subjective, right? I go by instinct. Better to have it and not need it.”

She nodded. But her stomach curled, tight and uneasy.

By the end of shift, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Frank was still Frank, still sarcastic and lightning-fast, still showing up to every shift extremely over-caffeinated. But there were cracks.

When she ran out to his car to grab her jacket, she found an empty oxy bottle in his car’s cupholder. Not prescribed to him, no prescription on it at all.

It was nearly midnight when she decided. She stayed late after her shift, combing through the hospital’s prescription logs. She knew the system. She knew the way people tried to hide it. She also knew what to look for.

Her heart cracked as the pieces came together.

He was stealing. Masking it under the chaos of the ER. Signing off on more than what was used. Logging it as administered. And no one else had caught it.

Not yet.

She confronted him later that night in the on-call room.

Frank was sitting on the edge of the cot, sipping from a fresh Red Bull and scrolling through his phone like nothing was wrong. He looked up, grinned. “Hey, baby. Didn’t think you were on tonight.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly, shutting the door behind her.

He frowned at her tone. “Everything okay?”

“I know, Frank.”

His expression didn’t change. “Know what?”

“I know about the pills. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Silence fell. Thick and suffocating.

He stood slowly, the can in his hand shaking just slightly. “I don’t know what you think you know—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t lie to me.”

He swallowed hard. “Y/N…”

“You’ve been altering scripts. Signing off on meds that were never given. I checked the logs. You think no one would notice?”

“I’m not a junkie,” he snapped. “A junkie couldn’t do what I do every day. I run trauma codes, I intubate drunk driving victims with one hand and hold pressure with the other. A junkie couldn’t do that.”

Her chest rose and fell in a slow, controlled breath. “You’re addicted, Frank. That’s what this is. And I don’t care how steady your hands are or how many lives you save—you’re still stealing. You’re still lying. And if Abby finds out…”

That stopped him. The sound of his ex-wife's name leaving the lips of the woman he loved.

“She will fight you for custody,” Y/N continued, her voice cracking. “And she’ll win, Frank. You think the board will let you near narcotics again? You think a court’s going to hand your weekends with the kids to someone diverting benzos from their hospital?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“This isn’t just about us,” she whispered. “You have kids, Frank. They didn’t ask for any of this.”

He turned away, his shoulders tight, head bowed like the weight of the room was finally crushing him.

“I know,” he murmured. “God, I know.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat. “You want to tell me you’re not a junkie, fine. But what happens when Abby finds out? When the hospital files a report? What happens when you have to look your kids in the eye and explain why Daddy can’t come around anymore?”

His breath hitched.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she added, softer now. “But this… this will destroy you, Frank. If you don’t stop it now.”

He didn’t say anything.

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.” she pleaded. “You lied to me, Frank. For months.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Frank sat down again, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, and for the first time since she’d known him, he looked like he might break.

“After the divorce,” he said finally, voice hollow, “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Everything I lost. And then the ER… it’s never-ending. One shift bleeds into the next. I needed to keep going. Just… keep going.”

She said nothing. Let him talk.

“So I started small. Just to take the edge off. Then I needed more. And I knew how to get it. Then we got together and you deserved more than the mess that I am.”

Y/N’s eyes burned.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m not… asking for forgiveness.”

She sat down beside him, but didn’t touch him. “So what now?”

He looked up at her, eyes red. “I’ll tell Dr. Robby. I’ll get clean. I swear. I just—” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you.”

She reached for his hand.

“Frank,” she said softly. “You need to get clean because you want to. Not for me. Not for this relationship. But for you.”

He nodded slowly, brokenly.

“But I’ll be there,” she said, “every step of the way. If you let me.”

He squeezed her hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” she whispered, “but you still have me.”

[v6quewrlds]

imagine joe coming home to your baby.

author's note⠀⁎⠀the vibes are so sinister on here so here's some fluff. part two to this blurb that y'all screamed at me for.

The click of the garage door echoed through the quiet house as Joe's car pulled in. She looked up from her book, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting shadows on her face. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table; surprised to see that it was already past midnight. The Bengals' first road game had gone late into the night, and Joe had texted her that the team plane was delayed.

Her heart fluttered as she heard his key in the lock and the gentle thud of the door closing. She set the book aside and sat up, her eyes searching the darkness for a glimpse of him. Joe appeared in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the moonlight spilling through the window. He looked tired but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes about his relief to be home. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his backpack slung over his shoulder, the scent of his shower gel still lingering faintly in the air around him.

"Hey, babe," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Welcome home," she answered back, her voice low and warm.

Joe dropped his bag and shuffled over to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned in to kiss her, the tips of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "Did she go down easy?" he asked, nodding towards the baby monitor.

She nodded, her smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I could tell she missed you though. She was glued to the TV, bouncing around in her jumper, babbling every time she saw you with your helmet off."

Joe chuckled, the sound warm and comforting in the stillness. "Yeah, my mom sent me a video. How was she with my parents?" The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down, the weight of his weariness seemingly lifting off him. She shifted her position, her arms wrapping around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"You know she loves them," she said, her voice filled with affection. "They had a blast. She even tolerates being held by other people when you're not around." She kissed his jaw lightly before adding, "But she definitely prefers her daddy."

Joe leaned into her touch, his eyes drifting over to the baby monitor. He could see Amara's chest rise and fall rhythmically, the little angelic face a picture of peace. "I thought we'd be back in time," he said with a sigh. "Wanted to tuck her in, tell her goodnight."

"I know," she soothed, her hand moving to the back of his neck, her fingers gently massaging the tension there. "You can go check on her if you want? Make sure she's okay?"

Joe nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He turned his head to kiss her once more before standing up and making his way to the nursery. The door creaked open softly, Amara's little face illuminated by the solar system nightlight on top of the dresser. He stepped in, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps. She looked so tiny in her crib, her tiny hands balled into fists, her eyes scrunched shut in a deep sleep. He leaned over the rail, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her skin was warm and soft, and she smelled faintly of baby powder and vanilla.

He lingered for just a minute more, adjusting her purple onesie as gently as he could before turning to leave. She was waiting for him in bed, her eyes closed but her breathing not yet even. He slipped under the covers, pulling her closer into his arms, and whispered, "Goodnight." Her response was a sleepy mumble, her body immediately curling into him.

He wasn't sure when he drifted off, but the sudden shrill of the baby monitor jolted Joe awake. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM, a stark red in the darkness. She stirred beside him, mumbling something incoherent. He nudged her gently. "I got it," he whispered, slipping out of bed and into the hallway.

The nursery door was slightly ajar, and the light from the monitor cast a soft glow across the room. Amara's cries grew louder as Joe approached, his heart swelling with a mix of concern and love. He picked her up, her tiny body wriggling in his arms, and sat down in the rocking chair. He cradled her close, her warmth seeping into him, and began to rock back and forth, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"What's going on, pumpkin? Did you have a bad dream?" Joe's voice was low and gentle. He rubbed her back in slow, circular motions, his thumb tracing the line of her spine as he waited for her sobs to subside. Amara's cries grew quieter, turning into hiccups before she sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. He could feel her tiny heart beating against his own, a rhythm that never failed to soothe his own racing thoughts.

"That's better," Joe murmured, kissing the top of her head. He held her close, the rocking chair squeaking softly in the quiet room. Amara's eyes searched his face in the dim light, and he offered her a small smile. "I missed you, princess," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the post-game fatigue. "I'm proud of you for being so good for Mommy. She told me you didn't give her any trouble while I was gone."

She woke to the sound of Joe's hushed speech, her sleep-heavy eyes focusing on the empty space beside her. She glanced at the baby monitor and saw Joe rocking Amara in the nursery. A warmth spread through her chest, watching him in that moment, soothing their baby girl with such tenderness. She slid out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, the soft glow from the nursery guiding her.

As she approached the nursery, she caught the sound of her daughter babbling softly, and Joe's soothing whispers. She could see his profile in the moonlit room, the love, and dedication etched into the lines of his face as he rubbed Amara's back, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks and forehead between his words. The scene was so intimate, so beautiful, that she almost felt like an intruder, despite it being her own family. She leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of her husband and daughter, their bond strong in the face of the brief separation.

Amara's eyes grew heavy, and her breathing evened out as she drifted back to sleep in Joe's arms. She stepped forward, watching as Joe carefully set her down and made sure she was snug in her crib. He took a moment, his hand hovering over her tiny chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths.

[cheeseponderer]

To add on to my post about blushing virgin Bruce: just imagine the first time Clark calls him baby!?!?

It’s bound to happen because, come on. It’s Clark Kent, aka the walking country farm boy stereotype. Its practically ingrained into his system to say all those annoyingly sweet nicknames like sweetheart and darlin’ and fucking cupcake

Anyway, the first time it does actually happen, its when Bruce is having one of his little fits because he let the joker get away or something. Hes been ignoring everyone and refusing to come out of his cave for hours and Clark is getting worried; he’s been practically begging Bruce on hands and knees to just eat something when it slips out-

“Baby, will you please just come upstairs for dinner?”

Bruce then promptly freezes in his rapid typing, which causes Clark to freeze(woah! Domino effect) because he thinks something is wrong with Bruce.

“Baby? You okay?”

When Clark reaches out to rub his shoulder in an attempt at comfort, Bruce makes no sound and doesn’t even look at clark; he just stands up, grabs Clarks hand, and starts leading them to the elevator like this is a perfectly normal thing to do

Clark hesitantly lets himself be lead, feeling both triumphant and scared because theres no way Bruce Wayne just caved so easily after only like one hour of whatever you call what Clark was doing. (Begging? Torture? Manipulation? Depends on the perspective; bruce would probably say all three)

Clark is getting suspicious, so even though both the elevator ride up and dinner are dead silent and kinda awkward he doesn’t really mind, because it gives him time to workshop his theory

When he actually gets to test it out, its because Bruce is glued to his monitors(again), this time in his office instead of the batcave. Clark asks him 3 or 4 times to just come to bed because hes so obviously tired and when bruce doesn’t listen(as predicted,) Clark just leans against the doorframe, raises an eyebrow and says-

“C’mon baby, you know you want to”

He purposely uses that soft, kryptonian voice he has saved away for almost-end-of-the-world speeches. Bruce does that thing again where he freezes up and sort of stops breathing; and when he doesn’t move for a few moments Clark is about to furrow his brow and ask if hes alright, but then bruce is standing up and crossing the room at record time and. Guess what.

Hes blushing.

Bruce actually lets Clark lead them to his bedroom hand in hand. Are you kidding.

Clark hides the biggest smile ever in Bruces hair when he climbs into bed and starts clinging to Clark like a koala, because holy motherfuck he just cracked the code to the universe

This is half baked at best but you guys see what im going for right

[ds-angel1]

how serial killer!rafe infantilizes candy!reader

cw: murder, dd/lg, drugging, (forced) infantalisation, conditioning

Picks out your clothes daily: baby pink jumpers, frilly socks, shirts with cartoons, flowy dresses, and overalls; he calls anything else “not for his girl.”

Pre-chews or cuts your food: he’s “making sure you don’t choke, sweets.” Even at restaurants.

Won’t let you have sharp objects. “Why would my baby need scissors? You’ll hurt yourself.”

Reads you bedtime stories: real ones, or made-up ones about princesses being rescued by men with knives.

Bans caffeine and alcohol, (but gives you sedatives and “mood candy” in cutesy pillboxes you decorated.)

Only calls you “baby,” “princess,” “kitten,” or “doll.” ect., He never uses your real name, he says it sounds too grown.

Rewards you with praise for being helpless:“You’re such a good girl for letting Daddy handle it.”“That’s right, no thinking, just smile for me.”

Corrects your tone if you sound “too adult.”“Ah ah, use your soft voice, baby. Remember?”

Encourages babytalk. Pretends not to understand you unless you use cutesy words.

Tells you scary, complex things (like taxes, politics, or crime) are “way too much for your soft little brain.”

Your wardrobe is 80% themed: cupcakes, animals, pastel florals, glitter jelly shoes, or footie pajamas.

Insists you wear lip gloss and blush but nothing “mature.” No red lipstick, no eyeliner, “makes you look mean.”

Only buys you coloring books and kids toys, nothing that you need actual brain power to do or use.

Keeps the remote for the TV hidden when he leaves so you can’t watch anything but the kids channel.

Tells strangers you’re “special” or “slow” so they won’t talk to you directly.

Uses pacifiers when you’re stressed, says it “calms her.” Sometimes he soaks them in syrup or drugs.

Keeps you under a surveillance system with baby monitor audio, GPS bracelet, and room camera. Just in case.