#Hand Sanitization Monitoring

[abbotjack]

Don't Make Me Someone You Can't Have

pairing : dr. jack abbot x resident!reader (afab!reader)

summary : The fallout didn’t start the day of Pitt Fest—it started when you told Jack Abbot how you felt and he told you he didn’t want you. A week later, grief, jealousy, and everything unsaid ignite into something impossible to bury. (Lowkey inspired by Big Love by Fleetwood Mac—because obviously.)

warnings/content : trauma aftermath (mass casualty event), hospital setting, attending x resident dynamic, mutual pining, emotional repression, angst, jealousy, possessive behavior, verbal rejection, explicit sexual content (f!receiving, protected sex), semi-public/backseat sex, emotionally loaded dialogue, swearing

word count : 4,212

18+ ONLY, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : I am just so obsessed with Abbot, like oml I do not need a new hyperfixation at this point of the semester but here we are. Hope you guys enjoy this!

There’s blood on your forearms.

Not a lot—just the dried trace of a life you couldn’t save, stuck to your skin even after the first scrub. You’ve already changed out of your soiled gloves and gown. You sanitized twice. But still, you scrub again, because your hands won’t stop shaking and focusing on the motion keeps you upright.

The shooting at Pitt Fest has left the trauma bay soaked with the sound of screams you can’t forget. The floors were slick. Supplies ran out faster than anyone could track. You can still hear the rhythmic buzz of the trauma pager, the overhead call for more gurneys, the shrill monitor that never quieted until it did.

Your white coat is somewhere in the hallway—discarded and stained, a casualty of triage. There’s a bruise blossoming on your cheekbone, just beneath your eye. It’s from when the mother of the boy thrashed in panic, her elbow colliding with your face. You didn’t notice it at first, not until someone pointed it out with a grimace. Said it was turning purple, already swelling. Said you should ice it. You didn’t.

You press harder on your hands.

Jack Abbot hasn’t spoken to you since he snapped orders across the gurney three hours ago, voice razor-sharp, eyes like flint. He’d taken over compressions without blinking. His personal protection gear streaked in blood. His shoulders set like stone. His voice—steady, calm, cold.

You’d hesitated.

Just a second. Maybe less. But he’d seen it.

“You’re too shallow—switch out. Now.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Just stepped in, hands already moving, chest compressing with the precision of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Because he has.

He moves like he did on the field. You’ve heard stories—Jack the soldier, desert heat in his lungs, fingers suturing flesh with a kind of brutal grace. You’ve seen glimpses of it before, but tonight? Tonight, it wasn’t a glimpse. It was a full transformation.

You backed away, stunned into silence. Not because he took over. But because of how he did it. Like you were a liability. Like you didn’t belong.

You told yourself it was adrenaline. It wasn’t.

The door creaks open behind you, and you don��t have to turn to know it’s him.

You keep your eyes on the mirror—don’t move, don’t breathe—until his reflection comes into focus beside yours.

His eyes go straight to your cheek.

The bruise.

His posture changes. Shoulders tense, mouth tightening. He doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of something behind his eyes is unmistakable. Not surprise. Not guilt.

Anger. Not at you—but at the fact that you’re hurt.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the counter. His eyes flick to your cheekbone again. The bruise is deeper now, ugly in the fluorescent light.

“You paused,” he says finally, voice low.

You dry your hands slowly. The paper towel crinkles between your fingers.

You turn, sharp. “I froze because I’ve never had to treat a gunshot wound in a fifteen-year-old while their mother screamed in my ear.”

You don’t stop.

“She was grabbing my sleeves, pulling at my hands, sobbing and shouting his name—over and over. She kept trying to touch his face. I could barely see where the blood was coming from. I wasn’t even sure where to start.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “That’s what the job is.”

You laugh, and it sounds like it’s clawing its way out of your chest. “Don’t lecture me on what the job is, Jack. I’ve been here three years. I know what this place does to people.”

His jaw tightens. There’s something in his eyes—anger, maybe. Or guilt. You can’t tell with him. You never can.

He pushes off the counter.

“You think I don’t know what it does to people?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he steps closer, the air between you tight enough to snap.

“You think I wanted you in the bay?” he asks.

You blink. “What?”

Jack’s voice dips lower. “I saw your name on the call sheet. I almost pulled you off rotation.”

Your breath hitches. “You don’t get to do that.”

He’s close now—too close. He smells like hospital soap and something else beneath it—deep, expensive cologne that cuts through the sterile air. Teakwood. Mahogany. That warm, slightly spiced scent that always lingers a second too long after he leaves a room. Clean. Controlled. Intentionally chosen. Just like him.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart,” he says.

Your heart slams. The words hit harder than they should, because they’re the first ones he’s offered that sound like anything real. Not just protocol. Not just war-worn discipline.

“I already have,” you whisper. “And you didn’t notice. Not when I told you how I felt. Not when you shut me down like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.”

He swallows hard. His posture stiffens.

“You didn’t even look at me after that,” you say, voice shaking. “I told you I had feelings for you, and you acted like I’d crossed some unspoken line. Like caring about you was a mistake I should be embarrassed by.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head, eyes burning. “For you, it’s easier to pretend this thing—whatever it is between us—doesn’t exist than admit you’re scared of something real.”

You don’t have to spell it out. You’ve seen the way he distances himself—the way he locks things down before anyone even gets close. You’ve felt it.

The silence now is a living thing. Loud. Brutal. The air is laced with too many unsaid things.

You can feel it—beneath the calm, beneath the scrub shirt and military precision—Jack is burning.

But he still doesn’t reach for you.

So you do what you always do.

You leave before he can stop you.

You don’t get far.

The trauma bay doors hiss shut behind you and the night air hits your face like a slap—cool, sharp, soaked in hospital exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. You pace once. Twice. You don’t cry.

You breathe. You think you might scream. Instead, you lean back against the cold exterior wall of the hospital and close your eyes. And there it is—the echo of his voice, thick with something too raw to name.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart.”

But it wasn’t just tonight that gutted you. It started before. When you said too much and he gave you nothing.

It was three days ago. Late enough that the hospital had gone quiet—the kind of quiet where your thoughts get too loud, and nothing feels safe to admit.

You were both at the nurses’ station. Jack sat at one of the desktops, the screen glowing pale blue in front of him, his fingers motionless on the trackpad. You were across from him, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other absently toying with a pen.

You’d been circling it for weeks—maybe longer. This thing between you. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the quiet, in the unspoken, in the almosts. In the way your skin prickled when he entered a room. The way air shifted when he stood behind you—close, but never touching.

It was in the way his gaze found you during rounds, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The way his voice dipped when he said your name, soft and unreadable—like a secret slipping between his teeth. The way your breath caught when he brushed past you in the hallway, the fabric of his scrubs grazing yours, sending a bolt of something electric down your spine.

It was professional. It had to be. But it never felt neutral.

Every look felt like contact. Every silence, a dare.

The tension wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. It sat just under the surface—constant, quiet, undeniable. Like gravity. Like something pulling you toward him whether you wanted it or not.

But it wasn’t just you.

Jack watched you, too. Carefully. Deliberately. Like he was trying not to want you and failing anyway. He always looked away too slowly. Cleared his throat when your laugh caught him off guard. Said your name differently than everyone else—lower, rougher, like he was holding it in his mouth too long.

There were moments you caught him looking at you like he was already sorry for it.

Like he knew what it would cost if he gave in.

There were nights you couldn’t sleep without replaying the way his hand brushed yours, or the heat of his body behind you in the elevator, or the flicker of something in his eyes before he shut it down again.

You weren’t supposed to notice.

He wasn’t supposed to let you.

But you did.

And he did.

And both of you kept pretending it wasn’t real—even as it took up more and more space inside your chest.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t rehearsed it. It just… happened.

“I care about you,” you’d said, voice soft but steady. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need you to know.”

Jack didn’t look up. Not at first. He just sat there, shoulders stiff, jaw set like someone had flipped a switch inside him. When he did meet your eyes, it wasn’t with warmth. It was with something colder. Sharper. Like he was bracing for impact.

“This can’t happen,” he’d said. Quiet. Controlled. Like he was reciting a rule he’d memorized a long time ago. “You’re a resident. I’m your attending. You know that.”

You’d nodded, tried to smile, tried to make it easy for him. Tried to act like it didn’t sting.

But he kept going.

“And even if you weren’t… it’s not a good idea.”

He hesitated. Just a second. But enough.

"You don’t know me," he added, eyes hard. "You think you do, but you don’t. You see what I let you see. And that version of me—that's not real."

And then, like he needed to twist the knife just to make sure it stuck :

“Whatever you think this is—I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

You knew, even as he said it—he didn’t mean it. Not like that. But he wanted it to hurt. Needed it to. Like if he made you hate him, it would make walking away easier. That was the part that stayed with you.

You hadn’t cried then. Not in front of him. You nodded again, eyes dry, throat burning, and told him you understood. But you hadn’t said anything else. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask him why.

And he hadn’t offered.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

He hadn’t said a single word to you since—not until today, when his voice finally cut through the chaos to order you off the boy’s chest. Cold. Clinical. Like nothing had ever passed between you at all. Like you were just another resident.

But you’d felt it. In the way he walked into a room and wouldn’t look at you. In the way his voice would hitch when you brushed past. In the way his fists curled tight at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but refused to let himself.

He was trying to be cold. Trying to keep the line drawn.

And still—still—he’d almost pulled you from trauma rotation tonight.

You open your eyes. The ache in your chest feels ancient. Familiar.

Big love. That’s what it was. The kind that never had a chance to grow, but still bloomed under your skin like it owned you.

And Jack? Jack let it die before it ever had the chance to live.

It’s been a week since Pitt Fest.

The hospital has started to settle into something like normal, but you haven’t. You still flinch when a trauma page comes over the comms. Still hear that mother’s voice, shrill and ragged. Still feel the ghost of Jack’s hand brushing yours when he took over compressions. That wasn’t the moment you broke, but it was the moment you knew you couldn’t pretend anymore.

So tonight, you go out. Against your better judgment.

Whitaker begged you. Santos threatened to show up at your apartment with a bottle of tequila. King and Mohan promised only one drink, just one, come on, you need it. Javadi was supposed to come too, but she bailed last minute—something about studying for boards and not wanting to get caught at another bar underage.

So now it’s the five of you crammed into a booth at this dive bar near the hospital in downtown Pittsburgh, the one with sticky floors and pool tables missing half the balls. The music is too loud, but the company is easy. Whitaker is doing some elaborate retelling of a patient who tried to fake a heart attack to get out of paying his copay. Mohan is crying from laughter. You’re sipping something sweet and strong and trying to let it all melt away.

It’s working.

Until you see him.

Jack.

He’s across the bar, half-shadowed under the neon sign, nursing a beer like he doesn’t want to be seen. But he’s not alone.

Robby’s with him. Of course he is.

They’re leaned in close, not talking much. Just sitting. Watching.

No—he’s watching.

You.

Your drink stills halfway to your mouth. Your stomach twists, not violently, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Jack doesn’t look away. Not immediately. Just holds your gaze like it hurts him. Like it should.

You force yourself to blink, to laugh at something Whitaker says. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking. You pretend you don’t feel your entire body tuning itself to the sound of his silence.

He rejected you. You know that.

But the way he’s looking at you now? It doesn’t feel like rejection.

It feels like longing.

And maybe that’s worse.

You down the rest of your drink in one go. It burns less than it should.

There’s a man at the bar. Mid-forties, maybe older. Salt-and-pepper beard. Expensive watch. He catches your glance and offers a smile that’s a little too polished, a little too practiced—but you return it anyway. Because he’s older. Because he’s sharp-eyed. Because he reminds you, in all the wrong ways, of someone else.

You excuse yourself from the table before anyone can stop you.

You take your drink, your heels, and your broken pride, and you slide onto the stool next to him.

Jack sees. Of course he does.

You make sure he does.

“Can I buy you another?” the man asks, nodding to your empty glass.

You smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

You laugh too easily. Let your shoulder brush his as he leans in. He says something you don’t hear because your pulse is thundering in your ears.

Across the bar, Jack’s jaw is tight. His hand clenches around his beer bottle, the label peeling beneath his thumb.

You tilt your head back and laugh again—this time louder, brighter, crueler.

Because if you’re going to hurt, you want him to feel it too.

And he does.

You can see it in the way he breaks eye contact first.

You can see it in the way Robby says something and Jack doesn’t respond.

You can see it in the way he stands up a minute later, like he can’t stand to watch anymore.

But he doesn’t leave.

He moves.

Across the bar. Slow, deliberate. Controlled rage in every step.

Robby calls after him, eyebrows lifted, confused—but Jack doesn’t answer.

He stops a foot away from you, the stranger mid-sentence, and you feel it before you even look up—heat rolling off of him like a storm about to break.

“Can I talk to you?” Jack says. Voice low. Measured. Barely held together.

You arch an eyebrow, take a long sip of your drink. “Busy.”

The man beside you glances between the two of you, sensing something sharp in the air. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Jack’s eyes are locked on yours. Not the stranger’s. Not anyone else’s.

“You need to come with me,” he says, lower now. “Now.”

And it’s not a command. It’s not even a plea. It’s desperation wrapped in control, fraying at the edges.

You consider refusing. You want to.

But you rise anyway.

And follow him out the door.

The air outside is colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just him.

Jack doesn’t speak right away. He walks fast—toward the lot behind the bar, where his car is parked beneath a crooked streetlamp. When he finally stops, it’s with his back to you. One hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.

You follow, heart hammering. He turns.

“What the hell was that?”

Your arms fold across your chest. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

His eyes flash. “The guy. The flirting. You were trying to—”

“Trying to what?” you snap. “Move on? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jack exhales, sharp and uneven. “You don’t get it.”

“No, Jack. I really don’t. You said this couldn’t happen. You told me to forget it, forget you. And then you stare at me like that? Like you’ve got any right to be angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he bites out. “I’m—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretches. You can hear the distant music from inside, laughter spilling through the front entrance. But here? It’s just you and him, and everything you haven’t said.

“I didn’t want to do that to you,” he says finally, voice frayed. “Push you away. I just… I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”

Your voice lowers. “Why would you want it to stop?”

He steps forward once. Close, but not touching. His hands stay at his sides like he’s afraid of what will happen if he reaches for you.

“Because it scares the shit out of me,” Jack says. “Because you matter more than you should. And because I don’t trust myself not to fuck that up.”

Your heart twists. “So instead you say things to make me hate you?”

“I thought if you hated me, it would be easier for both of us.”

You laugh—soft, bitter. “It’s not.”

His voice breaks. “I know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. There’s pain there—old and festering. The kind that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with whatever he’s been dragging behind him since the war, since before.

You take a breath. “So what now?”

Jack steps even closer. You can feel the heat of him again. His eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back up like he’s furious with himself for even looking.

“You came out here,” you say.

“I didn’t want to watch someone else touch you,” he admits.

“Then don’t make me someone you can’t have.”

There’s a beat.

And then he’s kissing you.

Rough. Desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for years and it’s finally breaking loose. You answer it without hesitation, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him down like you’re daring him to finally stop pretending.

He presses you back against the car, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His mouth is on yours—hungry, ragged—like if he slows down, this will disappear.

“Back seat,” he growls. His voice scrapes through your chest.

He opens the rear door behind you, hand never leaving your hip, guiding you with him. You climb in first, crawling across the backseat with your heart in your throat. By the time you turn, he’s already sliding in after you, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid, final thud.

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, harder this time, like his life depends on it. You climb into his lap, straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed close and flushed with heat. He shoves your coat off your shoulders, pushes your shirt up. You tug his top over his head and toss it somewhere in the car.

“God,” he mutters, eyes raking over you. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it.”

He does.

He unhooks your bra with one hand—like muscle memory—his mouth already on your chest, teeth and tongue working in tandem. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you close as your hips grind down into his.

You’re panting. He’s shaking.

You reach between you, working open his belt, and feel him throb beneath the fabric. Jack shudders when your hand slips inside, groaning low into your skin.

“Wallet,” he mutters against your neck, voice breathless. “Inside pocket.”

You grab it. Your fingers move fast, practiced by adrenaline. You find the condom tucked there, tear it open, and hand it to him. His eyes meet yours as he rolls it on—slow, deliberate. Controlled, even now.

You brace yourself on his shoulders and lower down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside you.

The stretch burns in the best way. You gasp. He swears.

You don’t move. Not yet.

He kisses your jaw, your collarbone. Holds your hips steady with both hands like he’s savoring the feel of you. And when you start to move—hips rolling slow and deep—he leans his head back and groans your name like it’s the only word he knows.

“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes.

You ride him hard, your rhythm building, mouths colliding again and again between moans. His grip bruises your thighs as he thrusts up to meet every movement, his control slipping with every second you stay on top of him.

Then suddenly—he shifts.

His arms wrap under your thighs, and in one smooth, powerful motion, he lifts you.

You gasp as he turns, guiding you onto your back across the seat. He stays inside you the whole time, never letting go, until your back hits the cool leather and he’s towering over you, braced between your legs.

“You okay?” he asks, breath ragged.

You nod, already whining for more.

Then he starts to move again—deep, relentless, rocking the car with every thrust.

He shifts, bracing one hand beneath your thigh to push your leg higher, opening you up to take him deeper. The angle hits something devastating—you cry out, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

Jack leans down, mouth hot at your neck, breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice cracked and raw. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Jack.”

His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip for leverage—then slips between your bodies. His fingers find your clit and start to circle, firm and focused, his pace never faltering.

It sends you over the edge.

You break apart beneath him—back arching, thighs trembling, his name ripped from your mouth like a prayer you didn’t know you were saying.

You’re still shaking when he comes—groaning into your shoulder, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep one last time and lets go.

Afterward, you don’t speak right away.

You’re tangled together. His chest is against yours. His arms still hold you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. Your heartbeat stutters beneath his palm. The windows are fogged, the car soaked in heat and the weight of everything that just happened.

You stroke a hand through the back of his hair, calming him more than you.

Finally, he shifts, settling beside you, your body still half-curled on top of him.

And quietly, you say:

“I followed you out because I thought you were going to leave again.”

He freezes.

You feel his breath catch against your shoulder.

“You left once,” you say. “After I told you how I felt. You didn’t look at me. Didn’t say anything. Just made it clear I’d imagined all of it. And tonight? I thought you were about to do it again.”

His voice is tight when he finally speaks.

“I almost did.”

You nod slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack exhales hard. “Because I saw you with him, and I knew—if I walked away again, I wouldn’t just lose you. I’d be choosing to.”

He turns your face toward him.

“And I couldn’t live with that.”

You search his expression. His hand brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then settles on your cheek.

“I tried to kill it,” he says. “Tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. But it is. And it’s too big to ignore.”

“Big love,” you whisper.

He nods. “Yeah. The kind that burns everything else down.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I waited. Through all of it—every time you pretended you didn’t feel this, too.”

His eyes close. Like the truth hurts more than anything else tonight.

“I don’t know how to want you without wanting all of it,” he admits.

And you don’t need him to explain what all of it means.

The chaos. The risk. The weight.

You nod. “Good. Because I don’t want halfway.”

He leans in—presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, soft now. Careful.

And finally—finally—he says, “Then I won’t run anymore.”

You believe him.

But only because Big Love doesn’t let you run.

It lives. Loud. Messy. Permanent.

And tonight, in the heat of a parked car, Jack finally lets it have him.

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Atsumu

You’re two months pregnant and absolutely glowing. There’s a nervous excitement in your every breath, your hand constantly drifting over your still-flat belly as if to check that it’s real. That there’s really a little life growing inside you. A little Miya, curled up and getting bigger by the day.

You’re in the passenger seat of the car, heading toward your very first ultrasound appointment. The windows are down, and the soft spring breeze is curling through your hair as the late morning sun streams through the windshield. Everything feels light. Hopeful. Surreal.

Atsumu is driving one-handed, his other resting on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against your leggings. He hums quietly to the radio, lips twitching into a smile every time he glances over at you.

“Y’know,” he says after a moment, “I been thinkin’ about what kind of nose they’ll have. Hopefully yours. Mine’s too pointy.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that bubbles up without effort. “As long as they don’t have your drama.”

“Hey!” he protests, though he’s still smiling as he squeezes your leg. “They’re allowed a little flair. They are mine, after all.”

You roll your eyes fondly, fingers tangling with his at the next red light. He lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles before driving on.

When you pull into the clinic parking lot, your nerves start to set in—low and creeping. It’s your first time seeing the baby. Hearing a heartbeat. It makes everything feel suddenly, painfully real.

The waiting room is quiet, with soft instrumental music playing and the smell of hand sanitizer hanging in the air. You’re seated beside Atsumu, your knees bouncing ever so slightly as your mind races ahead. His hand is still in yours, firm and grounding.

When the nurse finally calls your name, you squeeze his fingers a little tighter.

The exam room is dimly lit, calm, with a monitor beside the table and soft instructions given as you lie back. You wince slightly at the cold gel, heart pounding in your ears as the technician glides the wand over your stomach.

She squints at the screen. Tilts her head.

Then her eyes widen slightly.

“Oh.”

You stiffen. “What? What is it? Is something wrong?”

She’s quick to reassure you. “No, no—everything looks good. It’s just... you’re having twins.”

Silence.

Atsumu leans in closer, eyes squinting at the screen. “Twins?”

“Twins,” the technician repeats, pointing to two distinct little shapes. “You see here? Two sacs. Two heartbeats.”

Your gaze locks onto the screen. Two. Not one. Not the tiny flutter you’d been preparing for, but two.

A sudden wave of panic crashes over you.

“Two?” you echo, your voice a shaky whisper. “Like... two babies? At the same time?”

The technician gently clears her throat. "Well, it’s a little early to know for sure if they’re fraternal or identical, but yes—twins."

You feel your breath hitch, the room growing smaller around you. “That’s two car seats. Two cribs. Two births. Two newborns crying at once—”

Your hand grips Atsumu’s forearm, eyes wide as your mind races. “I don’t—I wasn’t ready for two. I barely wrapped my head around one.”

You’re still staring at the screen when Atsumu shifts closer to the bed, his hand still resting lightly on yours.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Breathe for me, okay?”

You turn toward him with wide, overwhelmed eyes. “Tsumu... that’s two babies. That’s two of everything. What if I can’t—what if I’m not enough for both of them?”

“You are,” he says instantly, without hesitation. “You will be. We will.”

But your hand flails toward his forearm like it needs something to latch onto. “This is your fault. You and Osamu. You cursed me with twin genes!”

He stares at you, stunned. “What?! How is this my fault?”

“Because you’re a twin! That’s how!”

The technician offers a gentle smile, still watching the monitor. “Actually, twins are likely influenced by the mother’s genetics. So if anyone ‘passed it down,’ it’s likely you.”

You blink slowly. “So... it’s me?”

Atsumu exhales—relieved. “See? I didn’t do this! You doubled down on your own.”

Your head snaps toward the technician, eyes wide and blinking rapidly, a storm of disbelief swirling behind them. You don’t say anything—but your look says plenty.

The technician catches the expression immediately and offers a placating smile, lifting her hands lightly. "I’ll give you two a minute," she says gently, already stepping toward the door, and quietly slips out of the room, pulling it closed behind her with a soft click.

You drop your head back onto the exam pillow with a muffled groan. “I don’t know how to do one baby. Let alone two. That’s double the crying. Double the diapers. Double the college funds.”

Atsumu leans down until his forehead presses softly to yours. His hand finds yours again, grounding you with the warmth of his palm and the way his thumb strokes soothingly across your skin.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and gentle. “Breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes still locked on the monitor where two flickering heartbeats pulse in rhythm.

He kisses your forehead, slow and reassuring. “We’ll go one diaper at a time. One bottle at a time. One late-night rocking session at a time. We’re gonna be okay.”

Your lip trembles. “Are we?”

He smiles, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I’m not lettin’ you do this alone. You’re stuck with me, baby. Me, and the two little monsters we made.”

You laugh wetly, a mix of shock and affection tangled in your chest. He leans down and kisses you again—cheek, then jaw, then temple—before turning to look back at the screen.

And in the glow of that monitor, with two tiny heartbeats tapping out the rhythm of your future, Atsumu squeezes your hand and whispers:

“They’ve already got the best mom in the world. The rest’ll be easy.”

You sit up slightly and reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug, your chin resting against his shoulder. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “I needed to hear that.”

[hadersversion]

yet another drabble about dad!logan because i’m watching the wolverine and love sick over this man!

obviously logan is a girl dad…as we seen many many many times. i can definitely see him wanting a BIG family, once you got him started and he’s seen you pregnant with HIS child? oh, that motherfucker will BECOME a mother fucker. he’s like a rabbit with you, constantly on you.

the one thing i keep picturing is the two of you setting up the nursery together. he obviously did the heavy lifting and painting, which cause a fight between the two of you constantly. “im pregnant, lo. i can do somethings, ya know?” “i know, bub, why don’t ya set up the library while i finish putting the dresser together?” it’s all about compromise…in some way? but the two of you spend hours in there together, trying your hardest not to lose your mind over ikea’s confusing directions and the missing screw that fell somewhere in the room. logan is trying not to lose his cool in front of you, mumbling under his breathe. but you know once you leave the room, he shouts swears and knocks the boxes over. it makes you laugh as you grab waters in the kitchen. but once the nursery is done, you two are so exhausted you fall asleep on the floor using the baby’s new pillows. though it was sort of uncomfortable, you two felt content knowing that the room was done and your baby would be here soon.

but your first kid is a girl, his heart swells when he sees you holding this perfect bundle of joy that’s a perfect combination of the two of you. but you swear a tear leaves his eye when that beautiful baby girl opens her eyes and they look exactly like yours…logan never had a favorite color before until he looked into your eyes. and now he gets to see it even more through your daughter. you knew logan was protective over you, that was a given. especially since you were pregnant but once the second his daughter came into the world, you could’ve swore he took over the role of mama bear. he would hover over ANYONE that touched them, made sure they washed and sanitized their hands multiple times, he would even ask people if they were feeling sick before they even entered the room. you had to convince him people didn’t need to wear a mask and gloves in the hospital room. but once the team met baby wolvie, he felt at ease. a little prideful showing off your guys’ daughter, actually showing off his smile to show just how happy he is.

he’s definitely going 10 mph on the drive home, cursing under his breathe at people beeping and swerving around him, not wanting to yell in front of the baby. “logan, you can speed up a little bit. she’s not going to fly out of her car seat.” “stop being a backseat driver, would ya hun? i got this.” “whatever you say old man.”

the first night was obviously tough with the baby crying and making a fuss over everything. you cried, logan held you, you both were frustrated and upset. it was tough, you knew it wasn’t easy but holy hell this was shit. but you had that support system, the man you loved helping and comforting you. but once that sweet baby girl settled in your arms and finally slept longer for an hour, you both gave each other a tired smile as he kissed your head. “you’re glowing, mama. absolutely gorgeous.” “shut up, i know i look like shit.” “shut the hell up, why would you say that?” “because you look like shit, papa.” you both laugh and pass out on the couch, receiving the best sleep ever in each others arms. until the baby monitor goes off less than two hours later.

🎀🦢💓kaila🎀🦢💓

[blu3vs]

LATER — J. TORRES IMAGINE

SPOILERS FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD BELOW THE CUT

synopsis: you knew the risk of being with an avenger, and what it came with, you just never expected such a drastic change in two separate aspects of your life could happen so close together

warnings: brief pregnancy mention, mentions of burns, critical injuries, mentions of death

—————————

two weeks.

two weeks was all it took for your life to completely change in more ways than one, and both involved your fiancé.

just the night before he left with sam, disappearing for god knows how long to pursue his dreams as the falcon alongside captain america. you knew what went down that night, you knew what happened.

it was all still a blur, however, with joaquín being off grid and unable to contact you as you sat alone on your bathroom floor, clutching two positive tests; one digital, one rapid. pregnancy now consumed your body, and you weren’t even able to share the news nor the first time experience with the love of your life.

your mom knew as soon as you did, calling her frantically crying which forced her to step out of her office to console you. you then told your best friend, who lived just thirty minutes from you. she came to your house as soon as she had found out, and the two of you sat together while you talked about joaquín and the baby growing inside of you.

but nothing, not even the adrenaline and fear of finding out you were pregnant could prepare you for what you faced next. you don’t think anything on the world could’ve prepared you, quite frankly.

what you immediately noticed was the sterility of it all. the clean floors, bright white walls with pale blue curtains everywhere, the smell of hand sanitizer and antiseptic. the hallways were long, especially the one that led to the observing room, where you now sat, watching joaquín being worked on with his body surgically cut open and tattered from battle.

you knew it was bad, from the moment you saw it on TV. it was funny, seeing your fiancé on TV as you felt a sense of pride, before it was quickly replaced with utter fear and a wave of nausea worse than your morning sickness. from the initial impact, you thought he was dead.

and he was dead, for two whole minutes on the OR while they desperately worked to restart his heart. you wanted to bang on the walls, jump in, save him yourself, because you were so convinced that just your touch would heal him. you wanted it to, so badly, but that just wasn’t possible for an average human like you.

so while he was coding, you could do nothing but curl into yourself, sobbing as you helplessly watched the surgical team resuscitate him. the two minutes felt like two years, but seeing the doctors shoulders slumped and seeing the monitor spring back to life with his heartbeat made you slightly calmer.

you didn’t know when, but at some point sam had entered the room with you. he was quiet at first, watching them operate on joaquín, before he settled in the chair next you and held you while you cried. it had been the first time since finding out about joaquín that you had some sort of comforting contact with another human, and it made you crumble.

in between sobs you told sam you were pregnant, and it was then that sam had held it together before letting a few tears slip. “you’ll be able to raise this baby with him,” he followed up with, determination and hope in his tone. you couldn’t tell if it was true or not, but you needed the consolation even if it wasn’t.

another hour passed by, where bucky barnes had stopped by just to give his support. you didn’t tell him about your pregnancy, but you could still tell he was earnest in the way he had approached you and briefly supported you.

sam stayed until the surgery was over, and when it was, your tears had dried by that point, leaving mascara streaked down your face. you had thought to yourself about the fact that joaquín knew more ways than one to make your mascara run, and the morbidity of it all made you chuckle.

now, sitting in the hospital room that joaquín occupied, another week had passed since his surgery. you didn’t allow yourself to go home for the first few days, making your friend come to give you clothes from your house. it wasn’t until sam brought up the fact that you should rest, considering your pregnancy, and it was then that it clicked. you needed to rest and reset for you and the baby.

after your brief reset at home, you found yourself feeling lighter and more comfortable, a nice meal and a hot shower was exactly what you needed. you picked back up on your prenatal vitamins, and had a newfound pep in your step walking toward joaquín’s room.

the door didn’t even creak as you opened it, just the small click of the door being heard. but what you couldn’t hear at first was the sound of talking, so quiet and low you brushed it off as next door. his room was quite big, so the closer you got, the louder it got.

“joaquín?” you called out, setting your purse down by the door and coming out from behind the wall that blocked you from seeing his bed. walking from behind that wall and seeing him, so alive and talking to sam made your heart lurch and your eyes tear up. “mi amor,” he spoke, voice slightly raspy but a smile plastered on his lips.

“oh my god,” you cried, walking over to his bed and almost collapsing on top of him as you carefully hugged the side of his body that didn’t have burns running down him. with his one good arm he hugged you back, the heavy brace restricting him but not enough to the point where he didn’t squeeze you tightly.

pulling back from the hug, you grabbed his face in your hands, a watery chuckle escaping your lips as you analyzed each and every one of his features. his hair, unruly and grown out. his cheekbones, his nose, the moles dotted across him face, his eyes, his smile. just him.

sam slipped out of the room which went undetected by you, now just leaving the two of you alone. “i’m okay, i’m alive,” he muttered, taking one of your hands away from his face and kissing your palm gently. whether he noticed it or not, you didn’t miss the way he also started to toy with the ring on your finger as he held your hand in his.

“you’re okay,” you nodded, brushing his curls away from his forehead. “you scared the hell out of me though. your mom too,” you then declared. you noticed the way joaquín’s face fell at that fact, the obvious and very true fact that he did have a brush with death. you figured you would talk more about it with him later as you took notice to his fallen face, and rather focused on the fact that he was just here with you now.

“i know, im sorry,” he whispered, casting his gaze down at the sheets. “don’t. just, be here with me now. we don’t have to talk about it right now unless you want to.”

joaquín shook his head at your suggestion, and now it was his turn to caress your face, a half hearted smile gracing his features. “later,” was all he had to say, and you didn’t press it anymore, and you found yourself curled up into his side after he had pulled you down with him onto the small hospital bed. you couldn’t be more happier and relieved.

whether “later” was meant for that specific topic or any other one, you decided to wait on sharing the news with him. because, honestly, you weren’t too sure if he was ready for the news yet, not because he couldn’t handle it, but because you knew and he knew that later would always be an option now that you were with him.

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Epilogue | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Sam is back for good and Ghostface is gone. Now the two of you just have to deal with the aftermath of what happened. . .

Previous Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

A fleeting touch on my hand makes my eyes flutter open. It’s bright and even though it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the light, I know from the smell of hand sanitizer and the sound of a heartbeat monitor next to my head that I’m in the hospital.

“Hey. . .” A soft voice to my right makes me want to turn my head, but unlike back at the theater I can’t even do that anymore.

My chest tightens at the thought over never being able to move again, but then Sam’s face appears above me, a soft look on her face despite the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hi,” I say, my voice barely even a whisper.

She’s here. She’s actually here.

Six years ago I was in this exact same situation, but back then I was alone.

I was alone and my parents had just died, but now no one else is dead and she’s here.

“H-How are you feeling?” she asks, touching my cheek and taking a seat on the bed next to me.

I’m not in any pain, but I can’t move and I feel like I could sleep a thousand years.

“I dunno,” I answer honestly despite the tears suddenly welling up in my eyes. “I’m— I don’t. . . I can’t move. My head. . .”

“Your head? What about your head?” She furrows her eyebrows and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead.

“I can’t move my head,” I say, my voice breaking. A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek, but Sam is quick to wipe it away with the pad of her thumb.

“Well, yeah,” she say. “You’re wearing a neck brace.”

I blink and swallow, only now realizing she’s right. I am wearing a neck brace. I can feel it pressing against the underside of my chin and into my shoulders.

“I—“ don’t know what to say. But luckily I don’t have to say anything because Sam shifts closer, bumping against my hip before bending down and brushing her lips against my forehead in a fleeting kiss.

“You. . . broke your back, but the doctor said the surgery went well and if everything goes as planned, you should make a full recovery,” she says with a watery smile.

“What?”

“You’ll be okay.” She takes my hand and laces our fingers together and I can’t stop a sob from escaping me when I realize I can feel it.

It dawns on me that I already felt her touching my hand when I woke up and that I felt it when she bumped against my hip.

I can feel it all, which means I can probably also move.

I hold my breath and focus on our intertwined hands before closing my fingers around hers. It works, and even though I have to concentrate a lot to do it, it works. I can also wiggle my toes ever so slightly which makes me close my eyes as unimaginable relief washes over me.

“The doctors say you have a long recovery ahead of you, but you’ve done it before and I’ll be by your side every single step of the way. . . Literally,” she says and I can’t help but smile and open my eyes again despite the tears now freely streaming down my face.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Sam shakes her head and rests her forehead against mine. “Don’t thank me you idiot. It’s the least I can do.”

I scoff playfully. “Who are you calling an idiot? I saved your life.”

“You’re right,” she smiles and I manage to brush a tear off her cheek, “I’m sorry, My Love.”

I smile, too, and trace the edge of her jaw with my finger, making her shudder. “Mmm-hmm that’s better.”

When she dips her head and kisses me carefully, I’m not at all surprised, and I kiss her back with my heart fluttering in my chest, but then she pulls back with a weird look on her face.

Her lips are pressed into a thin line and there’s a familiar crinkle between her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Is it Liam? Or Gale?”

She shakes her head and exhales shakily, her breath hitting my cheek. “No, no. They’re both fine. They’re both out of surgery. Anika and Kirby are okay, too.”

I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to go on.

“It’s— Your back. . . The doctors said—“

The door flies open, making me look up as Sam whirls around.

“You’re awake!” Tara exclaims, and the sight of her in the doorway makes me smile.

“Hey, Sprout.”

Her face breaks into a smile and she rushes to my side, grabbing my left hand while Sam slides off the bed and takes a seat on the chair next to the bed without letting go of my right hand.

By the strained smile on her face I can tell that she’s upset that we were interrupted, but she doesn’t seem ready to say what she was going to say with Tara in the room, so she stays quiet while Tara asks me how I’m feeling.

“I’m okay,” I reassure her.

“You sure?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not in pain?”

I chuckle softly and squeeze her jittery hand. “I’m sure. I’m on some pretty hardcore drugs.”

That makes her smile turn into a grin and out of the corner of my eye I can even see Sam’s lips twitch ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I bet. Man, I was so high last year when they gave me painkillers. . . Are you high? Oh you’re probably so high right now, I’m jealous,” she rambles, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m not high,” I argue playfully, “I’m just tired. I think the kind of drugs you got were different than what I’m getting right now.”

“Ah, that’s a bummer.” She pouts but shrugs and it all happens so fast, Sam shoots her an incredulous look.

“Tara, what the—?”

“I’ve had like five coffees since we got here,” Tara cuts her off and I suppress a laugh when Sam’s eyes widen.

“Five?” she shrieks and Tara just shrugs again, her eyes darting back and forth between me and her sister.

Well, I guess that explains why she’s so hyper active.

“Where did you even get all that coffee?” Sam asks and I can’t help but smile at the way she sounds like a parent scolding their child. “The hospital’s cafeteria is closed.”

My eyes dart to the clock on the wall.

It’s seven in the morning.

Less than twelve hours ago we were at the theater. . .

I shudder at the memory and force it to the back of my mind and focus back on Tara who takes a seat on the edge of my bed, swinging one of her legs back and forth. She’s still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, but she seems to have cleaned herself up somewhat since getting here because her hair is pulled into a ponytail that matches Sam’s and there’s no more smudged mascara under her eyes.

“There’s a vending machine in the hallway,” she explains, her hand squeezing mine absentmindedly. “And Paige and Jackson brought coffees for everyone when they got here.”

Wait, what? Jackson’s here?

I knew that Paige was coming, but I didn’t know he was coming, too. How did he even get here? Did he drive? No, probably not. I’m sure after he found out what happened he managed to convince Paige to pick him up in Boston on her way here.

Sam scowls, unimpressed by Tara’s caffeine intake, but before she can scold her for it, the door cracks open.

Ah, speak of the devil. . .

Paige and Jackson peek into the room and when they see that I’m awake, they step into the room completely.

“You’re awake,” Jackson notes with a small smile, his eyes flickering to Sam’s hand in mine before adding, “And I see that the girlfriend finally knows that she is the girlfriend,” he teases which makes me blush furiously.

“Shut up,” I hiss, ignoring the way Sam is looking back and forth between us with raised eyebrows and pink cheeks.

Jackson just laughs and high fives Tara before dragging an empty chair to the side of my bed and plopping down on it.

“Yeah, shut up, Jack,” Paige says playfully, coming to my defense with a knowing look before turning serious and taking a seat on the end of my bed.

Boy, this room is really getting crowded.

“You know, I’m getting sick of visiting you in the hospital all the time,” she says with a frown.

I cringe and tighten my hold on Sam’s hand. “I know. . .”

“Do you though?” she asks with a pained expression. She places a hand on my leg and squeezes it through the thin blanket. “You keep on almost dying, and it’s stressing me the fuck out. I swear, I’m aging prematurely because of you.“

I want to laugh at that, but I know she’s being serious, so I don’t. “I’m sorry,” I say honestly. I want to sit up and give her a hug, but I’m still too weak to do that and the neck brace would just be getting in the way. “I promise, I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Paige smiles sadly and gives my leg another squeeze. “I know, but it still sucks every time I get a call that you’ve been hurt again, and now Liam, he—“

“How is he?” I cut her off quietly.

Silence settles around us for a moment, and Paige averts her eyes when she finally says, “He’s awake, and in good spirits, but he lost two fingers fighting off Ghostface and he has a pretty big scar on his face. Almost lost an eye, too.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod absentmindedly, taking all the information in.

He lost two fingers and he’s going to be traumatized for the rest of his life. . .

How brutal was that attack? And how did Quinn even know about him? How did she find him?

It must have been she who did it because Bailey and Ethan were accounted for when the attack happened.

“It was Quinn, right? Bailey’s daughter?” I ask and to my surprise, Tara’s the one who says yes.

“The police went through her phone and found messages she sent to Bailey on the night of the first attack,” she explains, her leg still swinging back and forth. “She said she’d overheard you talking to someone named Liam while Sam was on the phone with Bailey and that it would be a good idea for Bailey to find out who he is and target him.“

“B-But, why?”

This time, Paige answers.

“They wanted to hurt someone close to you so you would be too preoccupied to help Sam and Tara,” she explains and the thought that Liam was used as a pawn in their twisted game makes me feel sick.

I chuckle mirthlessly and close my eyes momentarily. “Jokes on them, that didn’t work. I still helped Sam and Tara.”

Everyone hums in agreement, and a tense silence settles around the room until Jackson straightens up in his chair with a smile playing on his lips.

“Liam might have lost two of his fingers, but do you know what he said when we went into his room and saw him for the first time?”

I want to shake my head, but because of the neck brace I can’t, so I say, “No, what did he say?”

Paige and Jackson share an amused look before Jackson answers.

“He said, at least I can still do this.” He raises his hand and flips me off with a grin and I can’t help but smile and scoff playfully.

“Of course he did.”

Everyone laughs, and the mood lightens a little.

Who else but Liam would joke about almost being murdered, right after almost being murdered?

I glance at Sam to find her already looking at me with a fond look in her eyes and smile shyly.

She’s here, and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Bailey is dead, and so are Quinn and Ethan.

They’re revenge plan didn’t work out after all, and I’m sure the media has already covered everything that happened last night, finally clearing Sam’s name once and for all and sending an indirect message to everyone out there who thinks they can fuck with us—no matter what anyone tries, we’ll always come out on top.

I have yet to see Mindy, Anika, Chad, Gale and Liam, but I know they’re fine and that’s all I need to know right now.

“Sammy?” I ask tentatively, touching her hand.

She’s once again sitting on the bed next to me, but this time her head is resting on my shoulder and it seems like she’s fallen asleep because for the last ten minuet she hasn’t moved or said anything.

I can’t imagine the position she’s in is very comfortable because her legs are dangling off the side of the bed, but she hasn’t complained about it yet, so it must not be as uncomfortable as it looks.

Tara, Paige and Jackson left a while ago to go out and find some breakfast, leaving us alone once again.

It’s peaceful and quiet, but I still want to know what she wanted to say right before Tara came in.

“Yeah?” she whispers, confirming that she has not yet fallen asleep.

I intertwine out fingers and run my thumb over the back of her hand. “What were you going to say before Tara came in?”

“Oh. . . Uh.” She sits up slowly and looks at me with sad eyes, her free hand coming up to rest on my chest. “The doctors— They—They said. . .”

I squeeze her hand. “They said. . .?”

She sighs and averts her eyes for a second. “They said after this surgery, your spine is pretty fragile. Yes, they put in screws and rods and stuff, but another bad hit could paralyze you permanently,” she whispers and I instantly know what she’s trying to say without actually saying it.

No more hockey. . .

I bite the inside of my cheek before tugging on her fingers to get her to look at me again.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly.

“What— No, it’s not. Hockey is your whole life and you worked so hard to get to where you are right now and—“

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut her off gently. I let go of her hand and trace a finger over her eyebrow and down the side of her face. She leans into the touch, and her eyes soften, but it looks like she’s about to protest again, so I go on. “I knew I wouldn’t be playing hockey forever. That’s why I got a masters degree. It’s okay, really. I’m alive, and I’m not paralyzed. That’s all that matters.”

Her eyes search mine for any doubts, and when she doesn’t find any, she gives in with a small nod and a sad smile. “Okay. . .”

“Besides,” I say lightheartedly, “I kind of already have a new job, if Liam is to be believed.”

“What?” Amusement and disbelief flashes across her face and I can’t help but laugh and tap her on the nose.

“When I called to warn him about Ghostface he said something about his boss wanting to hire me and how he already gave him my resume,” I explain which makes her laugh as well and rest her head back on my shoulder.

“Unbelievable,” she mumbles when our laughter dies down.

I hum in agreement and start running my thumb over the back of her hand again.

After a while, I’m pretty sure she’s finally fallen asleep so I close my eyes as well, intending on getting some rest as well, but then she speaks up quietly.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

I open my eyes and lift our intertwined hands up so I can press a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, getting lost in her dark eyes when she looks up at me through her lashes.

“What if— what if he comes for us again?” she whispers. “Ghostface, I mean. . .”

I grit my teeth and level her with a determined look. “We fuck him up,” I say and after a moment Sam nods, determination shining in her own eyes.

“We fuck him up. . .” she repeats quietly before letting her head drop back down on my shoulder.

_______________________________________________

And that’s a wrap, everyone!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

All your comments meant/mean the world to me and kept/keep me motivated.

Hope you all have a wonderful week!

Love,

Soph ❤️

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[jiejies-corner-store]

this cruel world

pairing. aventurine x reader tags/tw: fem!reader, pregnancy, complications with pregnancy, references to childbirth, angst w/ open ending, spoilers to aventurine's real name, mostly 2.1 spoiler free i think sfw a/n: i did not proofread this at all, but i'm playing through 2.1 and i have to keep stopping because baby aventurine is hurting my soul. might make a follow up to this pt. 2

The more you had, the more you stood to lose.

Aventurine lived his life holding onto this one fact.

“--vasha…”

So why… why did he ever aspire to gain more than he could handle to lose.

“Sir, you need to leave the room we need to stabilize her,” the nurses ushered him out of the room. The cold white lights of the hospital room made his head spin. The smell of sanitizer burned his airways. Everything was happening all at once and there was nothing he could do. He was about to crash out. He was about to lose it all.

From there it was a blur. It wasn’t until he felt a hand touch his shoulder that he even realized he’d been standing staring down at this… glass box for an hour. His neck strained but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“He looks just like you,” Topaz said, joining her colleague, staring down at the small infant encased safely in the clear incubator. All sorts of things were attached to the steadily breathing Avgin child, monitoring… waiting. Just as he imagined you were at the moment. Hooked up to a hundred machines as the nurses and doctors worked to try to keep your brain alive and your heart pumping.

“I’ve… not even been able to hold him yet,” Aventurine said quietly. It was wrong. It was wrong to acknowledge his son’s existence. It was almost as if the second he did, he would lose you. A sick gamble.

Topaz broke her gaze and instead looked to Aventurine. “She’s going to be okay you know. These are the best doctors that the galaxy has to offer—”

She shut up when Aventurine had nothing to offer her except for a dejected look. After watching over the young Avgin in silence for a few more minutes, Topaz left with a simple pat on the father’s back, and left him to his thoughts.

Outside, rain poured in heavy sheets of water.

Finally, Aventurine sat down next to his newborn child and finally swaddled the child into his arms, closing his eyes as tears began to build up in them, “Welcome to this cruel world… Ilyas.”

When he opened his eyes again, an identical pair stared back in wonder.

[scarletwinterxx]

as long as stars are above you and longer if I can - chwe hansol imagine

hellooo ~ so this was requested and tbh I was also in my vernon brain rot week so here we are😅😅🥺🥺 hope you like it!

if anyone want to be mutuals on X, i'm using the same un there😊

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Hansol, as many already know, is a man of very few words. He hates useless facts, always talks straight to the point and will only speak when asked. He's the perfect person to spill your secrets to because he'll never talk to anyone else about it.

As a lover, he has his own way to show his feelings for. He loves you in his own ways, he's a savant when it comes to you. You always say he spends that much time being quiet because he's too busy reading your mind

"Admit it, you're a mind reader" you jokingly accuse him

When it comes to you, he'll laugh at the silly little facts. You're his exception.

"Just with you, darling"

You don't even have to say anything, he already knows what you need. He would always know what to say, when to say it, how to say it. He just always knows.

"Sol?" Even in a room full of people and loud noises all around, he heard you. In a flash you have his undivided attention. His conversation with his bestfriends forgotten but they're already used to it. His eyes speaks for him whenever you're around.

"Mhm? You cold, darling?" he asks, already shrugging his jacket off to put it on you. Once you're all bundled up, he takes your hands and blows warm air on it. All you had to do was say his name and he does the rest.

You're hungry? he'll order food for you, doesn't matter if he's with you or not. Your address is registered on his phone, ready to send food deliveries whenever you need or want it.

You coming home late? He'll pick you up or on the rare times he can't, he'll book the taxi himself so he'll know all the details and monitors the trip until he's sure you safely made it home.

You mention your favorite snacks to him? he stocked up on it at home, always making sure to never run out of your favorites.

You need cuddles? he'll be there no matter what time of the day, ready to dot on you and smother you with his love.

He got you all memorized, down to the little details you might not even know about yourself. Like how you always put sanitizer on your hands after touching anything because you hate it smelling like anything else, so he now carries one with him wherever he goes. Or how you pick on your thumb when you're nervous, so when notices this he holds your hand and draw random patterns on your skin to distract you. He even got you a bracelet you can fidget on when he's not around to hold your hand.

Or the fact that you always put your hand inside his pockets, his jackets or jeans or whatever it is. You don't even notice it, you just always do it. So he lets you be.

He loves you so loud, you don't even need words to know. But still, he tells you.

In those vulnerable moments you see all of him, all the emotions he keeps away from everyone else but bares all of it to you.

"Hey, I love you"

You were caught off guard by his sudden declaration of love but it makes you smile nonetheless.

"Suddenly?" you chuckle, you were just cooking ramen as midnight snack and he's here to spend the night with you after having a Harry Potter marathon.

"Where's my I love you too?" he's standing beside you, bumping his shoulder against yours and his head against your own. Like a cat.

"You're cute you know that?" you chuckle, standing on your tiptoe to bump your nose against his "I love you, too"

Then the of you continue on what you're doing.

That's how it's like loving Hansol, he shows he loves, tells you he loves, makes you feel he loves you every second you're with him. Even in silence, his love screams so loud you'll never forget it.

[disabled-dippy]

things to put in a dysautonomia emergency bag/cart ✿

having one place (near your bed preferably) where you can keep all the essentials for bad symptom days has been absolutely key in getting me through those bad days. these are some ideas for what you can put in yours, if you want to make one as well!

prescription medications

painkillers

antacids

anti-diarrheals or laxatives (maybe both)

salt pills or packets

electrolyte drink packets (the powdered stuff)

disposable water bottles

salty snacks

compression socks

pulse oximeter

blood pressure monitor

mini electric fan

ice pack

heating pad

hand warmers

change of clothes

sweatshirt

gum or mints

alcohol wipes or hand sanitizer

disposable toothbrushes

floss

mini hairbrush

dry shampoo

wet wipes

sunglasses

noise-cancelling headphones

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The End (The Surprise, Part 25)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of afab body parts, baby times, emotional times, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Everything you've ever wanted, everything Emily's ever wanted–it's happening. ❤️

NOTE: You guys 😭😭😭 I've literally had so much fun writing this series! I know it's not the end end. I'll keep adding chapters as I feel like it. But still. This is a bittersweet one to finish up. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. ❤️

The End

You blinked awake, and it was as if your senses, your body itself, were restarting after a hard reboot. Your brain couldn’t quite catch up with the bright lights, the beeping of the machines, the throbbing pain below your belly…

Your breath caught in your throat. Your belly. It had shrunk, not completely, but it was empty, you knew. You coughed and winced, glancing around the room so quickly you made yourself dizzy, your brain seemingly unable to take in any of the visual information. You felt tears spring to your eyes, a cold panic seize your chest; you could hear your heart rate monitor beep faster, more urgently, until alarms were going off. Where was the baby!? Something was wrong, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. She was gone. She was lost.

But, then, something familiar, finally. A voice you recognized. Emily’s: soft and gentle and comforting, the way she always sounded when you were scared and she was trying to calm you down. 

“Hey, hey,” she cooed, and your eyes swam as her face came into view. You were so confused and you felt sick and your stomach hurt and your baby… You choked out a sob and Emily gently grasped your face, kissing your eyelids. “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.” She had huge, dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping, and when your eyes focused, you could see that she was on the verge of crying, too. And that terrified you.

You couldn’t seem to get any words out, but managed to place your hand over your stomach, looking into Emily’s eyes to ask a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.

Emily wiped tears from under your eyes and sniffled. “Baby, she’s fine. She’s just fine. She’s sleeping right there.” Emily pointed to the chair behind her. Beside it was an elevated box, an incubator, and inside, just barely poking out, you could see her skin, her little foot, minuscule and perfect.

You sobbed in relief and Emily kissed your forehead, wiping her own tears away before running a hand through your hair. “She’s okay, honey.” Her voice broke as she looked at you. “You scared us, you know that?”

You pulled Emily toward you, so you could press your forehead to hers, could just breathe her in. She was so relieved, had been so scared, her body literally shook with it. You kissed the side of her head, holding her close.

You cleared your throat and looked again at the incubator, shocked at how your stomach had shifted from being sick with worry to being sick with excitement.

“A girl?” you asked, voice hoarse from the anesthesia. Your eyes twinkled with mischief as you waited for Emily’s answer.

She nodded, grinning and shaking her head at the long-running joke. “You were right. You want to hold her?”

You nodded vigorously, trying to sit up further and wincing at the pain in your abdomen.

“Careful, careful!” Emily exclaimed, lunging forward to help you. “Be gentle with yourself, please, baby,” she insisted, watching you as if you could break at any moment.

Emily washed her hands thoroughly, then doused them in hand sanitizer before squirting an ungodly amount of sanitizer in her hands and bringing it to you. She rubbed it into your skin, then pulled your shirt open a bit so that your chest was exposed.

You waited, barely breathing, as Emily carefully pulled the incubator over. She opened the little door and reached in gingerly to grab the baby, cradling her carefully and kissing her forehead.

“Eve,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Meet your mama, sweet pea.”

Emily’s eyes were full of tears again–and so were yours–as she carefully placed the sleepy baby on your chest. You sniffed, blinking tears away as you cradled your daughter’s tiny, warm body. Eve gurgled and wriggled and blinked her eyes open. She wrapped her hand around your pointer finger and you giggled. Nothing had ever felt more right, more perfect in the world, than Eve resting on your chest, than her little heart beating against yours, than holding her here while Emily sat propped on the bed beside you, running her hand through your hair and kissing your head every few moments.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you whispered to the baby. Eve coughed a bit and started to cry and you patted her back gently. “Oh, shh. It’s okay, Evie. You’re okay, baby girl.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, you and Emily, just watching her, just beaming to one another every time Eve moved, every time she made a new adorable sound, every time she yawned or blinked or squeezed her little fists. But it wasn’t long enough. You didn’t know that you’d ever get enough of this.

Dr. Delgado came in and smiled at you all. “How are all my ladies doing this morning?”

You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. You pressed your hand into hers and looked into her eyes. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and by her voice you could tell she really meant it. “Now, Y/N, you lost quite a bit of blood during the c-section and the resulting surgery to repair your uterine lining. I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, but… you will not be able to have more children.”

Emily squeezed your shoulder, and both she and Dr. Delgado waited a bit, as if waiting for you to break down. But you didn’t feel sad, at least not right now. You had Eve. You and Emily had a child. That’s what you had set out wanting, and that’s what you had. You couldn’t imagine needing anything or anyone else besides the two girls you had with you right now.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“It also might take a bit longer for your c-section incision to heal than most, since your body’s healing internal damage, too. All that to say, let Emily help you. Understood?”

“Understood,” you confirmed.

“Alright,” Dr. Delgado consulted her tablet. “Some official business now. Emily, now that Y/N’s awake, do you feel comfortable putting the name on the birth certificate?”

“I do,” she said, her hands never leaving you.

“Alright, so obviously, first name ‘Eve.’ Last name?”

“Prentiss,” you told her. You’d both decided that a long time ago.

“Any middle name?”

You looked at Emily and she nodded toward you. “Your call, honey. You won.”

You stared down at Eve’s sweet, crinkled face and smiled. “Julien.”

Emily sucked in a little breath beside you, furrowing her eyebrows when you looked at her.

You shrugged. “It’s can be a girl’s name. Your family should be a part of her name, too.”

“Eve Julien Prentiss,” Dr. Delgado repeated. “Is that right?”

You both nodded, and Emily planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Alright. She was born yesterday, August 24, at 5:42 AM. Four pounds, one ounce. 17.1 inches. All in all, she’s doing very well. I’d like to monitor her for at least 48 more hours and, ideally, I’d like her latching and breastfeeding, at least some, before you take her home, if we can make it happen. We can always supplement with formula as needed, though. Right now, she’s got a nasal cannula to help her breathe, but she’s doing very well with it, so I think we should have you guys home within the week, at most. Alright?” She set down the tablet and gestured toward you. “While I’m here, you want to try breastfeeding?”

“Yes!” you answered excitedly. “Please.”

Dr. Delgado handed you a moon-shaped pillow and placed it around your waist. “Okay. So we’re gonna send you home with one of these. It’ll help you stay comfortable, especially while you’re recovering. You’re gonna want to do what’s called a football hold while your incision is healing…”

She gingerly lifted Eve off your chest and positioned her under your arm, just like you were holding a football, and showed you how to hold her head up. “You’re gonna kind of lift the breast up,” Dr. Delgado explained. “And then you bring her to the nipple. You almost want her nose to touch the breast.”

You followed her instructions, using your other hand to press Eve toward your nipple. Emily watched behind you, her fingers rubbing the bottoms of Eve’s feet. You frowned a bit as the baby tried to squirm away, twisting her head.

“Here,” Dr. Delgado suggested. “Try squeezing the tissue around the nipple to make, like, a nipple sandwich. Then brush it against her mouth. She should kind of yawn… Yes! Just like that!”

Eve opened her mouth wide, and you gently pressed her toward your nipple, gasping softly as she took hold and began to suckle. Her little mouth was warm and firm against you.

You smiled and turned to Emily, who was looking at you like she might start crying again.

“Well, that was easy,” Dr. Delgado said, clapping her hands together. “I tell you what, if all babies latched that easily, new parents would spend half the amount of time in the hospital.” She stood and made some notes on her tablet before moving toward the door. “I’ll leave you all alone for a bit. She’ll unlatch when she’s done, you can burp her, and she’ll likely want to take a nap afterward.”

“Thank you, Dr. Delgado,” you called after her.

“Thank you!” Emily echoed.

When the three of you were alone again, Emily wrapped her arms around your neck from behind, planting kiss after kiss on the side of your face.

“Oh, honey, you look so beautiful,” she said, nearly breathless. “Both of you. You know what…”

Emily stood and rifled around in her purse for her phone. When she had it, she stood back and held it out, as if to take a photo.

“Hey!” you protested. “I thought we said no hospital pics!?”

Emily gave you a pointed look. “We said no labor photos. And I kept my word on that! Honey, you’re too pretty not to take a picture of. I mean, look at you!” Emily’s eyes were suddenly swimming again. “Look at my beautiful girls!”

You let Emily take her pictures, knowing that you’d probably be glad to have them later.

A few minutes later, as Emily was scrolling through the photos with a discerning eye–“Baby, do you mind if I post one of these? …Not the boob ones! Just one of the others? Oh! Could we take one of all three of us?” –Eve unlatched from your nipple and yawned, spilling milk out the side of her mouth, which you dabbed up with your hospital gown.

“Hey, Em,” you called to her. “Could you come here and take her for a second? I need to burp her, but I’ve got to move a little, my leg’s falling asleep.”

She was at your side faster than you could finish the request, lifting herself into the hospital bed next to you, and gently taking Eve from you.

“Okay,” you said, fighting off a yawn. The adrenaline of meeting your daughter was wearing off, and the exhaustion of meds and healing and new motherhood was hitting all at once. You tapped Emily’s arm. “I can take her back.”

“I can burp her, honey,” Emily told you, reaching slightly for a burp cloth and draping it over her shoulder. “Why don’t you rest for a while?”

“Are you sure?” you asked, already lowering yourself, slowly, painfully, so that your face rested on Emily’s lap.

“I’m sure,” she said, running one hand through your hair while the other tapped rhythmically against Eve’s back. “It’s not just you now, honey. I can finally pull my weight.”

You squeezed her thigh, smiling against her. “Oh, Em. Baby, you’ve pulled more than your weight. The whole time.”

Before you had the chance to say anything else, you were conked out. So conked out that you were drooling, even snoring a bit. Emily smiled and shook her head at you.

Eve let out a burp that seemed almost too big for her body, and Emily chuckled. “Oh, good job, sweet pea,” she whispered, kissing Eve’s head. “That was a big one. Let’s not wake up Mama, though.” Emily patted Eve’s back for a bit longer, then noticed the deepening of the baby’s breath, the rise and fall of her tiny chest. Eve was asleep, too.

Emily watched you both, her heart filled with so much love she thought it might burst. And to think, just 24 hours ago, she’d been so close to losing you both. She’d never been more thankful in her life, never more determined to keep people safe and happy than she was you and Eve.

In a moment of inspiration, she fished her phone out of her pocket, and held it above her head, positioning all three of you in the photo. You, curled asleep on her lap and Eve sleeping softly on her chest beneath her hand.

She typed out a caption for social media:

My girls ❤️

She couldn’t help it. You were, both of you, too good not to share. And she’d gotten about a million calls from the BAU, not to mention your mom and even her mom, asking for photos and updates. She pressed post and then threw the phone to the side, content for now just to be. She would never take you for granted again, knowing she could have lost everything yesterday. But instead, she had gained everything. Everything she’d ever wanted, here in this room, in this bed. Forever hers. Her girls. She was the luckiest woman in the world.

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand: Part 8

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley X f!Reader

Warnings: Preterm babies? mentions of medical things.

Word Count: 2k

New to the series? Catch up here: 7

Getting into the wheelchair was the most humbling thing you had ever done in your life. You had really taken for granted how easy walking around when you were pregnant was. Now as the nurse and Simon held onto your arms and helped you into the wheelchair as you gasped in pain, your entire body shook with the effort. As they carefully lowered you into the wheelchair, you caught a glance of Simon's face. His face was slightly pale, his eyes worried as he watched you. 

He looked like he was the one who could pass out at any moment, not you. “There we go, you alright?” the bubbly red headed nurse asks. She straightens up after she puts the foot rests down, her badge clip clinking together. Kelsey, her name was Kelsey.

“Yeah, i didn't expect it to feel like that…” You mumble, and she gives you a soft smile.

“Kinda like your organs are just gonna fall right out of you?” She smiles, and you can't help but laugh. 

“Yeah, pretty much. It wasn't painful, just really uncomfortable… But I'm okay.” 

“You sure?” Simon's voice is rough, his brow still pinched as he listens to the conversation between you and Kelsey.

“I’m fine Si, I promise.”

He doesn't reply, he just gives you another once over before stepping out of the way so Kelsey can wheel you out of the room. The hallways were long and white, a few vitals carts hanging around. Nurses passed every few moments as they went about their days. A few pressed themselves against the wall as Simon walked by. His large form takes up most of the hallway. He was the poster of intimidating, all muscle and an impassive face to match. 

As we reach the end of the hall our nurse Kelsey waves her badge in front of a sensor that controls the large windowless doors in front of us. As the door slowly open the soft hum of white noise and beeping monitors fill your ears. 

“This is the NICU, its where we keep my personal favorite patients,” kelsey smiles as she pushes me through the doors. There's a typical nurses station in front of us, but instead of the regular hospital rooms that you see in the rest of the building. There are two long walls with large glass windows that allow you to look into two rooms with 3 rows of incubators. Each room housed 9 of them, not all of them were full. Some were just waiting to be occupied. A few sets of parents stand around them, wearing pink overgowns, as they reach their hands into the incubators to touch their babies. 

Kelsey disappears for a moment and comes back wearing her own overgown and hands one to simon. “You have to wear these, its to prevent germs from your clothes getting on the babies. It just helps us keep them safe. We also need you to use hand sanitizer before you enter and when you're done. It's important we do everything to keep them safe.” she explains as she helps you put yours on. You look over your shoulder as Simon attempts to put on the overgown, its stretched tightly over his arms and chest. His larger than average form filling up most of the pink overgown. A small snicker leaves your lips as you take him in with the pink gown. He’s usually dressed in all black or dark colors. To see him wearing something so bright was actually funny to you. 

You never thought you’d see the day Simon Riley wore pink, but here he was, stuffed into a too small overgown, small frown on his lips. You can’t help the small smile that plays on your lips despite the nerves you were feeling growing inside you. What if you couldnt handle seeing your baby like that? Would they look okay? Would they even look like a baby?

You had no idea what to expect, your stomach was turning as Kelsey gave you some hand sanitizer. After you and Simon rubbed it in, she wheeled you into the room, it was warmer in here than in the hallway. The constant hum of the machinery louder, as she pushed you towards the last incubator on the left. It was a large plastic box, with 4 little circle windows, a soft yellow glow emitting from a light on top. As you get closer you can see some of the stuff inside A soft pink blanket, and the smallest baby you have ever seen. They wore a hat so small you weren't sure if it was even possible for them to call it a baby's hat. It seemed more fit for a doll. 

Your daughter laid in the center of the incubator, an array of tubes and wires connected to her too small body. Her eyes were covered with gauze, and she had a mask over her nose, and a thin white tube coming from her mouth. She was mostly still, the only occasional movement was her arms or legs moving in a sort of jerking movement. Her diapers were too big for her, even in the Nano- Preemie size they had on her. 

“Shes… shes so small..” you whisper, your hand coming to rest against the warm plastic of the incubator. 

“She is, but she's been doing really well. She’s been stable since we put her on the oxygen and she hasn't shown any signs of distress since. I think she's got a real chance.” Kelsey smiles as she looks between you and Simon. 

“If you want you can reach in through the little windows, just try not jostle any of the wires,” she smiles, as she walks over to another family standing around an incubator. 

Simon stands behind the wheelchair, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder. He's quiet for a few moments, the warmth of his large hands seeping into the fabric of the hospital gown. You shove down the emotions that are bubbling up inside of you, taking a deep breath you lean forward in the wheelchair. A dull ache pulling at your lower stomach as you carefully move yourself towards the edge. Your hand shakes a little as you reach your hand up and through the small open window. You hesitate, your hand hovering over your daughter's tiny frame. The only place where she didn't have monitors and iv’s was her small hand. It was no bigger than your thumb nail. Barely big enough for the tip of your finger to fit in, taking a deep breath you gently touch her tiny hand with the tip of your finger. 

Reflexively she grabs onto your fingertip, her tiny fingers gripping the tip of your finger. Emotion clogs your throat, but it's not you who makes a sound, instead it's Simon. It was quiet, and if you hadn't become accustomed to him over the past few months you never would’ve mistaken his sharp intake as annoyance. But you knew better, it was him trying to keep himself together. You glance over your shoulder and notice his brown eyes are glassy. A single tear falling down his cheek and dripping onto the pink overgown. 

“Simon…” you whisper, reaching your other hand up to rest on his hand that is still firmly in place on your shoulder. 

“Sorry..” he mumbles, wiping his hand across his eyes, before he clears his throat. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You smile softly at him, “Come over here.” 

Simon hesitates, but moves a little closer, coming to stand on the side of the wheelchair, you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. His entire body was stiff, every movement seemed almost painfully slow. 

You pull your hand out of the incubator and grab Simon's much larger hand, “It's okay, you won't hurt her.”

Simon's brown eyes searched your face, looking for any signs that it was a bad idea, he was so much larger than her, even you. His hands weren't the gentlest, and they had done terrible things for many years. How could he possibly touch something so small, something so innocent. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as you gently guided his hand into the incubator. As his index finger touched her small hand she grabbed it just like she had yours. 

“See? You didn't hurt her,” you smile, leaning your head against his upper arm. You hated to admit it but even this small venture had you drained. The events of the past 24 hours are catching up to you fast. Your body was starting to hurt, and sitting was uncomfortable but you didn't want to leave.

How could you?

The image of Simon standing in front of the incubator was something you wanted burnt into your brain for the rest of your life. His hand, which was larger than your daughter's entire body, hovering over her as her hand gripped his finger. After a few moments, Simon pulled his hand out and looked down at you. His brow slightly furrowed as he took in your expression. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his fingers catching the side of your chin and tipping it up so he could see your face better. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you force a small smile, but Simon sees right through you. 

“Don’t lie to me, you just had major surgery,” he grunts softly, his hand sliding to rest against your cheek. You instinctively lean into him, his palm warm and comforting. 

“I’m just tired, and a little sore, but I don't want to leave her…” You whisper, your eyes falling shut. You were more than just a little sore, whatever pain meds they had given you were definitely wearing off. You could feel the incision now, it was a dull constant ache. But the headache that was starting to form behind your eyes was worse. It was like someone was taking an ice pick to the space behind your eyes. 

“You need rest,” Simon frowns, his brown eyes trailing across your face, “we’ll come back later okay?” 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and give a small nod. As much as you didn't want to leave you knew it was best that you got some rest. You weren't any good to anyone if you didn't heal. But it didn't stop the nagging feeling in your chest when Simon carefully pushed the wheelchair out of the room. 

Once you're in the hallway Simon helps you take the overgown off, he throws the light pink objects in the trash and turns back to you.

“Ready?” He asks, “You can go take a nap and we can come back okay?”

Would they let you?

Did they have visiting hours here?

God why hadn't you researched the hospitals sooner?

What if something happened while you were resting?

What if she stopped breathing?

What if she died....

She was so small, so fragile, so breakable. 

And it was all your fault. You couldn't do the one thing you were supposed to. You were supposed to keep her safe until she was strong enough. Your body was supposed to nourish her and carry her until she was bigger. She was too little. Who would protect her now that you, the person who's supposed to, couldn't.

“Hey,” Simon's thumb sweeps under your eye, “why are you crying?”

“It’s my fault…” You sob, tears falling rapidly now. “This is all my fault.”

“Love..” Simon whispers, now kneeling on the floor in front of the wheelchair. One hand resting on your knee the other on your cheek as he wipes away the flood of tears. 

“None of this was your fault,” he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “None of it okay? You didn't do anything to cause this. It wasn't something we could have stopped okay? No one is blaming you, and I know that she won't either. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this okay? We’ll get through it together.”

“Okay…” You managed to breathe out but the tears didn't stop, and neither did the guilt eating a hole in your chest.

Next Part:

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18, @itsmytimetoodream @humanities-cutest @ajrfanz @jggykhug09090 @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @ashreblogsnow @liwooa

[karinadele]

Hydromorphone

Ratchet x Reader pt:2

pt:1

pt:3

Warnings: Still on the pregnancy talk. Deaddove ideation from Ratchet, Talks of AFAB body, Obsessed!Ratchet

He feels it, sees it grow over the months. Even recalibrating his optics to run scans himself, visually seeing a human sparkling –as you’ve corrected him, a ‘baby’.

“It comes out where?!” Ratchet exclaimed. Utterly shocked, he figured that humans can’t just shift their plating for the delivery of sparklings, but did not expect that a newspark would have to come out from your valve. And to think that it will stretch to 10 cm to accommodate that?! Was that even possible?

You groan. This was going to be a long night. Birds and the bees? Adult Alien version.

“Yeah. Not just the vaginal canal. The cervix also dilates. Everything has to come out.”

Ratchet’s processors were struggling to string together the imagery. Can a human valve really stretch that much?! Isn’t it painful? Between flabbergasted and worried, he shifts his optics and resets them a couple times. Rubbing his servo on his forehead as it hides the view of his faceplace from you, a hint of something else also arises into him. A small flush of blue coats his cheeks. What a ridiculous thought that he’s thinking right now. Forget imagining seeing it, he’s long gone from that now. He’s thinking more sinister thoughts.

Mass displacement. He’s always thought it was a necessity to interface with you, but with this new information? It was revolutionary, yet he dared not to think about it.

Thoughts on what a sparkling between the two of you would be like. Hypothetical. There’s no way CNA and DNA were compatible, let alone frame sizes and oh primus. Just the thought of an interspecies organic and Cybertronian would have never crossed his mind if this conversation did not happen.

Yet now, it’s consumed him. The thought of wanting to know what your sparkling would be, an offspring of your own genes, integrated with his data. Without thinking about the ethical and legality issues of it, just purely if it’s optics would be the same as your eyes– or his. The frame definitely would be his colour right? Or would it not have a frame and be soft and malleable? A protoform? Would it have your spunk and will for life? Or perhaps his dedication.

As the days creep by, becoming closer and closer to your delivery date, he continues to monitor you, giving you regular scans as these thoughts eat away at him. Every moment with you, was like an eternity, to want to know what it would be– to have you carry his sparkling. An obsessive desire to fill you with him, go claim you as his. Even if nothing happens with it, just the concept of having the opportunity to lay his servos on you, mixing the very bases of his workings with yours. For the very lines of his binary coding to be intertwined with your DNA in the smallest molecular structure that even his optics can’t zoom on into.

You let out a content sigh of relief as he holds your belly. Melting down from the weight being carried off your back as you crack out a smile, closing your eyes. Humans holding it up? Try a bot. That’s where it’s at.

Hearing you hum out in response to him just gently lifting a barely tangible weight to him as you blissfully embrace yourself into his trust. Such a simple action, yet ironically, he’s now physically carrying your weight. Your child. Oh how he wishes this was his sparkling. To hold the newspark growing in you, as he made sure both of you are fulfilled.

“You know?” You squint and start puckering your lips. “We actually had a very high death rate of mothers in the past.” 

Ratchet freezes. Death of carriers? Of you?

“Yeah” You continue. “We didn’t learn about hand washing until recently, honestly.” You sigh out as you think about how ridiculous the situation with Semmeiweis was. “Like seriously! No one even believed that washing your hands and sanitization was important when delivering?!”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ratchet huffed out. Yes, your species was primitive, but there’s no way humans were that incompetent right? 

“It was only 2 centuries ago when they finally realized sanitation was important. And you know what?!” You continue. “They only believed it after the dude was dead!” You know you’re not winning any brownie points for the human race right now, but the truth is the truth. And you’re mad.

If it wasn’t for you, he still would have found humans repulsive. They’re a primitive species, way behind on their sciences and technology. But you? You’ve managed to show him the beauty of leaving things organic. That not everything has to be skyrise buildings and urban living. Once finding the fleshiness of humans and organic nature of the planet to be revolting, but the late nights spent with him by the lakes, the trails, showing him the mesmerizing beauty of planet Earth.

Not realizing Ratchet is lost in his own thoughts, you continued to complain. “We’ve made so many medical discoveries, yet the only thing holding us back is the idiocy and people’s stupid beliefs on things! Can you believe it? If I was so hard strung about life, I wouldn’t have accepted you!” You huffed out.

Ratchet halted his thoughts. What did you mean by accept? For a fleeting moment he toyed with the idea you meant ‘accepting him’. Only to be quickly replaced with the reality of ‘accepting of the autobots’. 

Cybertron is made out of metal. Hell, it’s Primus himself. Everything evolved based on his will and however much transfornium can handle. The rest being transplanted or modified. But Earth? There is no one substance, almost everything is created from their own version of biological evolution. One where if you leave it, it will still continue to flourish. And now, having learned how your species reproduce, he’s only grown to be more appreciative. 

“... I accept you too.” He managed to mumble out, with a bit of static. Hoping you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear his thoughts of if you accept cybertronians, then he will protect you, alongside whatever of earth is needed. Despite its intolerable species. For you, –and his sparkling. Unbeknownst to you. 

Next

[beardedmrbean]

The Connecticut woman accused of locking up her stepson in a home prison for two decades was ordered Friday to wear an electronic monitor while she's free on bail.

Superior Court Judge Joseph Schwartz told defendant Kimberly Sullivan that the change in bail conditions shouldn't be viewed as a prejudicial signal in her case.

"I think putting GPS monitoring on her is appropriate to protect the public and to ensure that she comes," the judge said. 

"You are not guilty (now), you have the presumption of innocence. You will get a fair trial. The reason I put GPS monitoring on you has nothing to do with being guilty and shouldn't be interpreted that way."

Sullivan was arrested on March 12 in the wake of a Feb. 17 fire at her family’s home in Waterbury, southwest of Hartford.

The blaze was allegedly set by her stepson in a bid for freedom and when first responders arrive, they found the 5-foot-9, 68-pound captive, officials said.

The severely malnourished 32-year-old man had not received medical or dental care in years and had been subjected to “prolonged abuse, starvation, severe neglect and inhumane treatment,” police said.

The man used a lighter, hand sanitizer and some paper from a printer to start the fire, according to an affidavit in support of Sullivan’s arrest.

“I wanted my freedom,” the weakened man allegedly told police.

Sullivan posted bail a day after her arrest and defense attorneys have denied all allegation against their client.

The defense claims that the man was properly cared for and not prevented from leaving.

Sullivan has been charged with first-degree assault, second-degree kidnapping, first-degree unlawful restraint, first-degree reckless endangerment and cruelty to persons.

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART TWO

parings: hawks x mother!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: minor character death!

notes: THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE ON PART ONE, ITS ALWAYS APPRECIATED❤️

summary: you, the mother of Tokoyami Fumikage, are just a simple nurse! Who has caught the eye of a certain pro.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

your alarm is blaring at 4:00 in the morning, work always has you coming in at weird times.

but you so warm in your bed, the comforters are the just right amount of warmth, the fan is blowing at the perfect speed, and your in the perfect position.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

maybe work can wait for at least one day…no people need your there- if you asked for an off day you and someone died you could never forgive yourself.

So you begrudgingly rise from your bed, getting ready for your day.

Washing your face, brushing your teeth, dressing yourself, etc.

You walk out of your room making your way into the kitchen, while on your way you spot Tokoyami on the couch.

“Fumikage?” you say sleepily.

His head peeks up from the couch slowly, “uhm, hi mom..”

“what’re you doing up?”

“nothing.”

You sigh, “did you get some sleep at least?”

“Yea I-i did mama, don’t worry.” He scratches at his head.

“We’ll make sure to take a nap at least before you get ready for school…” you ruffle the feathers on the top of his head and kiss his forehead.

Tokoyami yawns, “I’ll see you soon, mama.”

you smile, “Course sweetie…”

You make your way out of the house finally, getting into your car and driving to work.

As you pull in there are multiple ambulances surrounding the hospital, which isn’t unusual but it wakes you up from your tiredness.

Was there an accident? It seems like there’s a lot more than there should be usually…but you didn’t see anything on the news? well you forgot to turn it on.

You walk into the hospital and check in, nurses are going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. What happed anyways?

You can see Emi, your co-worker, run up to you. See seems more stressed than usual…

“Oh y/n, thank the gods your here- t-there was an accident up the street, some building collapsed, and we are almost fully packed.” She says hurriedly.

“Hey, hey calm down. We can handle this okay, Emi?”

“O-okay” she takes a quick deep breath, “You need to be at room D3 at the intensive care unit, they need more hands.”

“Got it, deep breaths okay? I’ll see you later.” You walk away, well that explains why there’s so many people here.

You’ve never really worked at the intensive care unit before but people usually make it back to stability in your hands.

Emi days you have a magical touch, Fumikage says it’s because you’re amazing.

You walk into the intensive care unit, a another nurse, Monika, waves you down to the room.

You hurry in, the patient isn’t in the best shape. doctor starts talking about an emergency surgery.

You sanitize and put your gear on, starting it immediately, you listen when the surgeon calls for a new instrument.

You’re worried, you keep your eye on the monitor- is it supposed to be going down like that?

The surgery continues.

the monitor drops.

“8:17, time of death.”

it hits you like a brick.

Monika pats your back, she basically lives in intensive care. She knows what it’s like.

“There was nothing you could do, there in a better place, okay?” She says trying to comfort you.

You haven’t experienced a death yet while working, which sounds insane since you work all the time but..you’ve never seen it.

you’ve never heard the monitor stop beeping.

You have to continue though- you need too.

You have other people to save so you keep working, that’s what Fumikages father hated about you.

5 dead, 34 injured. That was the count at the end of the day, apparently hero’s were still pulling out body’s from the rumble.

“Take your break, y/n” Monika says.

That’s really the only thing you can do at the moment.

So you sit down next to Emi, her head is in her hands.

“Do you think we did enough?” She says with sorrow in her voice.

“I don’t know.”

Her voice shakes, “That was my first time I saw someone die on the table like that.”

“Yea, mine too.”

“I’m sorry, y/n.” Her voice breaks.

It’s okay thought, all of this just toughens you up! sometimes it haunts your dreams but you always wake up in the end.

You started dreaming it was Fumikage on the table and not just some patient.

it makes you want to vomit.

You hear Monika walking around the corner, she waves.

She hands you a drink, “Here”

“Wish it were alcohol”, you chuckle.

“Well apple juice is all we got, don’t get stuck in your head y/n.”

“Tell that to Emi.” You take a swig of the apple juice.

Monika sits next to Emi and starts talking to her so softly you can’t really pick up on it.

It’s 5:18, you haven’t eaten yet, it’s probably a good time to clock out.

Maybe you’ll go to that new chicken place, Fumikage said it was good.

So you decide to walk there, you don’t really trust yourself to drive at the moment anyways.

It’s close to the hospital so it was an easy walk, your legs ached a little bit and they only ached more at the thought of walking back to your car.

You walk in with a ding from the door, you texted Fumikage on the way to ask for his order.

You look around for a moment then walk up to the counter, ordering you and your sons meals.

They ring it up and give it to you, you sit

down and one of the booths.

You start to eat, re-thinking all of the events of your day until you can hear someone slide into your booth while you’re munching on your food!

You look up to see who would do that, because yknow-boundaries, only to see the bird hero?

“Rough day?” He says with a soft smile.

you sigh, “you don’t even know.”

He giggles, “yea, you look rough Mrs. Nurse.”

you shot him a glare, he just shrugs.

“How’s your kid, U.A. And all that?”

“Ah, he’s doing good, not getting enough sleep though.”

He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, “no good, needs his beauty rest.”

You smile softly, suppose some hero’s also save people how are just having a rough day.

He focuses, “And how’s the old ball and chain?”

“The what?”

“your…husband?” He says hesitantly.

“Oh!” You laugh, “please haven’t seen him since I was 16.”

He blushes and stammers, “Sorry, I-i just thought..yknow?”

“Thought he’d stay? we were young yknow, he didn’t want my son and I did.”

“sorry to hear that.”

“We always fought anyways so, good riddance I suppose.” You chuckle.

Hawks sneaks away a fry from your bag of food, “We keep meeting, don’t we?”

“Yea, you might be a stalker, Hawks.”

He blushes as his wings puff up, “n-not true!”

you laugh, it’s nice.

This is nice.

You look at the time on your phone, 5:48, you don’t wanna worry Fumikage so-

“Oh gosh, I need to go.” You say in an apologetic voice.

“I can fly you back.”

“I have my own wings, hawks.”

“You look tired.”

“I am, but I have a car I need to take home so-“

“Why drive when you have wings?”

Good question, your wings are actually too small to carry your weight through the sky so there’s not really a point throwing yourself off a roof to see if you actually can.

“You can walk me to my car?”

“great idea, mama bird.”

“Mama bird?”

“Well you’re a mom and I assume that your son has a bird quirk…so.”

I mean he’s correct. The two of you leave the restaurant with the food in tow, making your way to your car.

Hawks wings jitter anxiously though he shows composure, “So, his old man ain’t around?”

“Nah, left right when he found out, haven’t really tried to date since- well I have but yknow.”

“Hard out there for single moms?”

“Yea, it was bad about 4 years ago? Met this guy and he put his hands on Fumikage, called the cops and made sure he stayed far away from him.”

Hawks looks off to the side slightly, lost in thought but only for a moment.

“My car is right here.”

He grins, “Nice car, Mrs nurse.”

“Oh please, it’s Y/N Tokoyami” you chuckle out.

“Got it in my brain.” He points towards his head.

You just laugh and shake your head while getting into your car.

Hawks stands next to your window, “see you again?”

“We keep meeting so probably- how’s your head also?”

“Hm, from what?” He questions.

“The hospital remember? I’m surprised you’re already back on patrol.”

Hawks rubs the back of his neck, “guess you just have a magic touch?”

You laugh and shake your hand while rolling up your window, reminds you of Emi- wonder how she’s doing.

You start to drive home, you can see hawks waving in the rear view mirror, he’s nice.

Fumikage will be happy, you hope he had a good day.

You hope hawks had a good day too.

Finally you reach home, you probably look like a walking zombie who had a death grip on a chicken bag when they died.

Tokoyami greets you right when you open the door.

“Mother, I heard about the building- a-and I was worried that-“

“Don’t worry so much Fumi..your mama saved people too.”

Fumikages speech slows, “It’s just…I know how you get.”

You really wish you didn’t have to be all down in the dumps in front of Fumikage.

Long days and stressful days at the hospital always get to you, you wished that they didn’t.

Sure it was your first time actively seeing someone die in the hospital but you always knew that you’d see it one day.

“Hey look on the bright side, I got chicken?”

Fumikage sighs, “I hope you know my classmates would consider that cannibalism.”

“They better be nice to you.”

“They are- well we haven’t really talked but no one’s really mean.” Tokoyami responds sheepishly.

“Don’t lie to me, silly goose”

Fumikage starts to unpack the food bag, “well there’s this one boy, bakugo, he is like obsessed with destroying another boy named Midoriya.”

“Destroying?” You giggle.

Fumikage sits down at the table, “yea totally, we were paired up today to act like hero’s and villains- and they got the opposite from each-other and they destroyed the whole building!”

again, that’s an email.

“Who’d you get paired up with?”

Fumikage looks away from your curious gaze, “this girl named Tsu.”

“Is she cute?”

“mama.”

You laugh, “I’m just asking!”

Fumikage retorts, “What about that hawks guy, is he cute?”

“Now why’re talking about him, hm?”

“Press caught him walking you to your car, scandalous old woman.”

Ah, the paparazzi….you wish you could send an email about them.

You gasp dramatically, “Old woman?!”

“Answer my question!”

“He’s alright, I like em rougher you know?”

Fumikage gags, “gross, mama.”

“You asked!”

You and Fumikage continued talking about small things that happen in your day, apparently a boy named Shoto slipped on his own ice while no one was looking- except Fumikage was.

Now reaching almost ten o’clock, you force Fumikage and yourself to bed.

Fumikage begrudgingly walks over to his bedroom, still wanting to talk to you a little more.

“Night, mama.”

You walk over and kiss his temple, ruffling his feathers.

“Night night, my little chick.”

Fumikage shakes his head and retreats to his room, you return to yours as well.

Cuddling into your nest, which is really just your bed with an in godly amount of pillows, blankets, and plushies- you let sleep come over you.

You wonder if hawks gets to sleep this good at night, or even if he has someone to talk to about his tough days.

Wait, why’re you thinking about him anyways?

PART THREE: MOTHER HEN: PART THREE

[chocobochaserstories]

Turk headcanons for when their partner is sick ?? please 🥺 (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NOT OMEGAVERSE LU)

im such a big fan of your blog frfr honor my request please best friend

Fem!Reader

(also anyone else: please don’t plead with me. This is my sister so she’s allowed to)

Reno

“Aight, I’mma crash at Rude’s. Call me when you’re better.”

Sends you mobile orders of tissues, medicine, and disinfectant.

He cares (he swears, at least), he just doesn’t want to get sick

He fears getting ill for the dreaded “man cold”

He’s trying… just doesn’t want to get sick with you.

He grew up in the slums. Getting sick was a death sentence since most people couldn’t afford great medical care.

Rude

The best boyfriend to get sick with.

He’ll draw you baths, massage you, make homemade soup, and bring anything you need.

Need your pillow fluffed? Thinner blanket? Thicker blanket?

He’ll hold your hair while you’re ill and rub your feet.

Also very good father candidate to have children with, if that’s your vibe.

Prepares you easy and healthy snack/meal options. Simple on the stomach, fast to reheat or even eat cold. He makes you fresh popsicles with that Stamp popsicle mold you swore you needed. Popsicles just taste better puppy shaped.

Elena

Tries to do her best to help, but you and her are fresh out of high school and she just got a brand new job as a Turk rookie and she can’t blow it.

She’ll make you (canned) soup and crackers, or pick up ginger ale for you on the way home from work.

Takes care of you and provides you with comfort, love, and cuddles

She brings you blankets from the closet and heating pads/ cold packs

She’s also very good when you’re on your period, or you both are.

Tseng

You immediately get herbal teas and remedies, acupuncture, massages, and when that doesn’t work, then he resorts to modern medicine.

He takes your vitals every hour, monitors your breathing, notes your symptoms, etc. He has a whole medical chart going, ready to be turned over to a medical professional if you need to be hospitalized.

He has an entire cart (you know, like one of those three-tier carts) ready and stocked with anything he might need: medical tools like a thermometer, stethoscope, sphygmometer, blankets, hand sanitizer, alcohol swabs, tongue depressors, cotton rounds, tissues, pillows, heating and cold packs, medications, cough drops (homemade with ginger and honey, per traditional Wutai medicine recipe), and other things you could need.

He will call you hourly, on the hour, every hour once he’s returned to work and not at home being your doctor and nurse in one.

Rufus

“Isn’t this what clinics are for? Go there.”

Darkstar will sleep with you and give you cuddles when Rufus is being a brat.

[honourablejester]

Blades in the Dark Character Concept: City Maintenance Worker Turned Cracker

I’m going back to the Leech playbook, because it’s one of the two that immediately sparked multiple things for me. One of the template builds is a ‘sapper’, and the flavour text specifically mentions that ‘Duskwall is a city full of industrial machinery, spark-crafts, plumbing, and electrical systems for you to bend to your purposes or sabotage. Get out your tools and get your hands dirty’.

Plumbing. Getting your hands dirty. And, well. My VtM Nosferatu is calling again? I want a sewer worker turned criminal. Because the whole damn city is built over sewers and underground canals, and if you’re comfortable down there, it definitely might let you access certain places you’re not supposed to. (I swear I’ve watched a heist movie where they broke into a bank that way, but I can’t remember specifics).

So. Playbook is Leech. Background, again, we’re going to be local. Akorosi. And I want to tie her back to the City Council, not directly, she’s nowhere even close to noble, but I think I want her family to have been a long string of minor civil servants and clerks and assorted ‘civic helpers’ for generations now. Her talents proved to be a bit more hands on, but the family has ties into the nuts and bolts of city government. They tend to be employed in and around Charterhall. Hence her access to education for the more esoteric ends of the Leech specialities.

But her background is going to be a lot more blunt and mundane, because she’s Labour. She was a city maintenance worker, specifically the sewers and canals. She was down there unclogging sewers and shoring up walls and mapping flow problems and monitoring for illegal mushroom tunnels (sidenote, love that that's a thing in this city) and all the daily slog that goes into keeping the underside of the city in working order. Her family didn’t exactly approve, but at least it was still something approaching ‘civic service’? But it’s hard to have too many illusions about respectability and legality when you’re wading through the city’s filth, so perhaps it’s not surprising she wound up sliding sideways into another career before long.

For her action dots, she gets the two in Tinker and one in Wreck from Leech. For her heritage, we’ll give her one in Study. Should the opportunity ever have come up to write an examination to get into a slightly more respectable end of city sanitation and maintenance, one that came with an office instead of a sewer, her family determinedly made sure she could take it. For her background, we’ll give her a dot in Survey. You need to be able to diagnose problems underground. And then for her two free dots, we’ll give her another one in Wreck, to make her very good a breaking (into) things, and then … a dot in Attune, I think. There’s weird shit down there. She’s run into it a time or two.

Her special ability, as per sapper, will definitely be Saboteur. She can Wreck things quietly and efficiently, and keep the damage well-hidden from casual inspection. She’s been a damage inspector. She knows how to do things quiet and clean.

Friends and rivals. I do love this part of character creation, you know that? It automatically builds stories and connections for you. Her close friend is going to be Veldren, a psychonaut. AKA a drug addict with a slightly more eldritch bent. Because I think … He’s a cousin. Her favourite cousin. And another family black sheep. He started out an artist, already a more fanciful and flimsy career than the family approved of, but at least he was respectable about it. He was part of one of the artist colonies around the old city walls in Charterhall, he had a respectable patron and everything. But then his use of mind-altering substances made him increasingly more unreliable, and when his patronage was dropped because he flaked on too many commissions, he wound up evicted and in a Fogcrest flophouse over in Silkshore instead. (He might be the reason, along with subterranean weirdness, for her dot in Attune). She loves him, and she’s trying to look after him. He’s also another reason why she’s drifted away from the family’s zealous adherence to ‘respectability’ towards a more criminal outlook.

Her enemy is going to be Eckerd, a corpse thief. Because she was canal maintenance, and bodies get dumped in canals the whole time, which meant she got in the way of body acquiring/transport/disposal a non-zero number of times, and Eckerd holds a grudge about it. Since her more criminal turn herself, she’s been a bit exasperated by this, but fine. If he wants to be enemies, sure. She’ll be enemies.

Her vice is Obligation. She’s going to look after Veldren. She’s going to make sure he stays fed, and warm, and at least slightly tethered to reality, while also enjoying his company. He’s fucking weird, but he was a genuine artist, and he has genuine insights and a fun personality when he’s awake enough for it.

Then finally, Name, Alias, and Look. Her name is Thena Slane. She is extremely sturdy and almost aggressively practical in appearance, wearing plain and well-tended (and waterproof, I went on a research tangent here wondering if waterproof waders existed in the 19th century, and apparently they did, they might have been around as early as the 1850s in America) work clothes. She is, unfortunately, also perpetually followed by a faint miasma of canal-and-sewer, even now.

And her Alias … Again, a small research rabbit hole, I was wonder if there were old terms for sanitation workers or sewer workers, and I found this list of Victorian occupations. There are a couple of interesting ones, but scavelman was a term for someone who maintained and kept waterways and ditches clear. So her Alias, I think, will be Scavelman, gender notwithstanding, and if anyone has an issue with it, as a reminder, she has two dots in Wreck and is happy to respond in kind!

So. Thena Slane, Scavelman, ex-maintenance worker and current criminal cracker for hire!