#Visitor Pass Management System | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gas-writer · 13 days ago

Text

Working After Hours...

I don't use Tumblr that much, and already posted this new story over on DeviantArt. But if you haven't already read it over there, maybe you'll like it here: A happier, more positive, and longer anesthesia story! Let's see if tumblr will do 9000 words in a single post...

I power down the last computer at the registration desk. The screen clicks off.

Friday nights at Riverside Surgical Center always end like this. Just me, alone in the building; wandering the halls, making sure everything is powered off, closed and packed up for the weekend. It's my favorite part of being the sole IT support specialist here. When everyone else rushes out, I get these perfect moments alone. With the equipment.

The hum of the building's air handling system becomes noticeable as I cross the deserted, silent lobby. My footsteps click against the polished vinyl flooring. I walk to the entrance, diligently checking that the automatic door is locked closed. It is. I’ll lock it again when I leave, but tonight I don’t want any unexpected visitors.

I turn and begin my rounds through the facility. The surgical center’s manager thinks I'm dedicated. In reality, I'm obsessed.

Medical technology has been my special interest since I was a teenager. While other kids collected posters of rock bands, I hoarded medical supply catalogs. By eighteen, I could name every component of an anesthesia machine and knew the admin passwords to a handful of patient monitors. The job here at Riverside isn't high-paying, but it gives me access to a playground of sophisticated equipment that nobody outside the medical profession would get to touch.

The pre-operative area is my first stop. Six curtained bays line the wall, each containing a stretcher with accompanying vital signs monitor. I walk slowly, making sure each monitor (a Phillips model I know well) is powered down. When in use, their screens show blood pressure, SPo2 and pulse rates. They’re seldom used with ECG leads in pre-op. I notice things like that. I’ve always been into the small details.

Regardless, they’re all dark now. The monitoring system's central station sits at the nurse's desk. They’ve already turned it off.

I walk into one of the bays, and push an IV pole out of my way. Mounted on the pole is an infusion pump, its digital display dark. I check the bay's cabinets, making sure the stock of IV catheters, saline flushes, and adhesive dressings are orderly. I don’t really have to do this; it’s a med tech’s job, but… I want to.

As I check the next one, I pocket a couple of alcohol prep pads. Then a few pairs of purple nitrile gloves from the wall dispenser. Nothing that would be missed. I've been collecting “supplies” for months this way. I tell myself I’m building my own personal medical kit for home, but I know I just like having this stuff.

The staff lounge is next. There’s not really anything in here that I need to power off; we’d all be in trouble if I shut the refrigerator down. Nothing seems out of place here. It was one of the nurse’s birthdays today, and there are cake crumbs on the table. I skipped the party, but I helpfully wipe them up. There’s a box of masks by the door, though, and I take one, adding it to my scrub pockets. My heart rate increases slightly at the thought of what I'm planning later, but for now, I just turn out the breakroom’s lights.

Moving on with my patrol, I enter the post-anesthesia room; the PACU. This is more or less a mirror of pre-op, but with closer monitoring. The ECG traces on the monitors get used here. Eight recovery bays face a central nurse's station where the staff can observe all of the waking patients at once. Like pre-op, I verify each is powered down, and catch one that the nurses missed.

I pass through the automatic double doors that separate the PACU from the main corridor. My pulse quickens as I approach my actual destination tonight: the surgical suites. Riverside has three operating rooms; more than average for the facility’s relatively small throughput. Each is specialized for different types of procedures.

OR 1 is the largest, equipped for general surgery. Its boom-mounted equipment arms hang suspended from the ceiling in standby mode. The room lights are off, and the surgical lights on articulating arms are stowed neatly against the ceiling. I stare through the door for a moment, then move on.

I walk to OR 2, which is set up primarily for orthopedic procedures. The C-arm x-ray unit is parked in the corner, draped with a protective cover. Riverside sees a lot of broken arms, ACLs that need repair, and the like, but I’ve never been that interested in medical carpentry. Everything looks alright here, so I move on again.

Finally, I reach OR 3. It’s the smallest of the three rooms, sometimes used for endoscopies, but also for gynecological and urological procedures. This one has always held a special fascination for me, for reasons I leave unexamined for now. The operating table here is equipped with integrated leg stirrups, really more like giant yellow boots, that can be positioned at various angles. The table itself is computerized with both foot pedals and a remote. It can be easily moved to nearly any position, which is why I’ve chosen it for tonight.

I hesitate at the doorway, my heart pounding. The room, like the others, is dark and still. My hand finds the light switch, and I flip it. The room lights and overhead surgical lights come on at once, uncomfortably bright. I let my eyes adjust for a moment, then I step inside and let the door swing shut behind me.

This is my plan. This is the reason I’m so helpful on Friday nights.

I move purposefully. The anesthesia workstations here are slightly older than I might find in an academic center, and frankly, that’s what I want. It still has physical knobs that I could twist, instead of a touchscreen. I approach it; running my fingers along its smooth surface. I think, just for a second, how embarrassed I’d be if someone saw me basically petting the machine. But I’m alone. That’s the point.

On the far side of the operating room is an entire wall of supplies. Opening a cabinet, I locate the components I need. A disposable breathing circuit, nicely packaged with a filter and a gas sampling line. A pair of rebreathing bags, and an adult-sized anesthesia mask. In another cabinet, I find a four-point head harness, designed to keep the mask securely in place during procedures. I lay these items out methodically on the anesthesia machine's work surface.

Next, from a different cabinet I retrieve a pulse oximeter sensor, and a blood pressure cuff. I return to the anesthesia workstation, and connect both to their respective ports on the machine. Even if I didn’t know where they went, the plugs are colored and fit only in the right place. It just takes a few seconds, despite my slightly trembling hands. I think about getting ECG pads; the machine is already setup for 5-lead, but I decide it’ll be too awkward to manage the wires.

I connect the breathing circuit to the outlet and inlets on the anesthesia machine, carefully attaching the corrugated tubing and the rebreathing bag. The mask will go at the end of the circuit, but for now, I just slightly inflate the plastic seal around the mask’s rim with a syringe, then I lay it down on top of the machine

I press the power button on the anesthesia machine, listening to the startup sequence of beeps and watching as the ventilator performs its self-test. When it’s done, I perform a machine check, following the same protocol the anesthesiologists use each morning. I verify that oxygen flows properly from the wall outlet through the machine's pipelines. The backup oxygen cylinder shows pressure on its gauge. The nitrous tank is open and full. I check the carbon dioxide absorbent canister; it's fresh, the granules still white instead of the purple that would indicate it’s all used up. This is good, because I’m not actually sure which cabinet would hold a replacement, and I don’t want to search.

It takes a few minutes, but the checks complete cleanly. The rebreathing bag inflates and deflates properly and everything holds pressure. I slip the mask onto the business-end of the anesthesia circuit, pressing it in place firmly.

This machine, I note, has two vaporizers on it, purple and yellow, iso and sevo. I don’t plan to use these, but I see that the liquid level indicator on the sevoflurane shows about a quarter full. I’m intrigued but volatiles are far too dangerous to mess around with.

With the electronic foot pedals, I adjust the operating table to its lowest height setting and position it at a slight incline, so I can sit comfortably on it. The table’s dual armboards easily fold down, out of the way completely. I’m relieved to see the stirrups are likewise folded down; I'll have no need for those tonight. When I’m done, the operating table resembles a very expensive, very black chaise lounge.

I wheel the anesthesia machine closer to the operating table, careful not to pull the gas supply hoses too far. With some effort, and a couple more change to the operating table’s pitch, I position it where I can just about reach the machine’s controls, while seated on the table.

I shimmy to the center of my operating-table-made-chair. I smooth out the sleeve of my left arm and wrap the blood pressure cuff around my own bicep. It’s awkward. I struggle with the Velcro, trying to get the cuff closed in the right place on my arm, and to tighten it appropriately. After a few attempts, though, I get it close enough. The pulse oximeter clip goes easily onto my right index finger, and rhythmic beeping starts to track my heartbeat. I reach to the anesthesia machine, and using my middle finger to put the button, start the cuff. Within seconds, the monitor displays my vital signs: heart rate 92, blood pressure 138/84, oxygen saturation 99%. My elevated heart rate and blood pressure doesn't surprise me. I've been fantasizing about this whole thing for months.

I reach out to the machine’s controls and set the oxygen flow rate to 6 liters per minute. The flow meter's ball rises in its chamber, indicating the gas is flowing as expected. The room fills with a quiet hiss.

I pick up the mask, and I feel a momentary hesitation. What I'm about to do crosses a line, from a special interest to something more dangerous and much more against the rules. But the temptation is too strong to resist. I've come this far, after all.

I bring the mask to my face, feeling the soft plastic seal against my skin. It's cool at first, but quickly warms against my face. I take a deep breath, smelling the significant plastic scent of the new breathing circuit and mask. The oxygen fills my lungs.

I pickup the black head harness, and, with a little more awkwardness, I secure the mask to my face, tightening the straps until it stays sealed tightly even when I’m not holding it.

My breathing sounds loud inside the mask. For a few moments, I watch the rebreathing bag inflate and deflate rhythmically with each breath I take. I watch my oxygen saturation maintain at 99% on the monitor. Everything is working perfectly. It’s time to take the next step.

I reach for oxygen flow knob again. This time, it twist down… and twist the nitrous oxide tap open. I know how the flowmeters work, and set the balls to a roughly 33% nitrous oxide flow. I take a deep, deliberate breath through the mask, and the effects begin almost immediately. A pleasant warmth spreads through my limbs. I hold the breath for a second, then deliberately take another very big breath. My fingertips tingle with a curious numbness. By the third breath, a buzzing sensation starts at the base of my skull, radiating upwards into my head. I’m surprised, and more than a little bit pleased, at how fast I’m feeling the nitrous. I've read about this feeling countless times in medical literature and online, but experiencing it firsthand is amazing; both the physical sensation and the forbidden nature of what I'm doing. I want more. I turn the oxygen down slightly again, and the nitrous up.

I lean back onto the operating table, letting my arms fall to my sides, and take in more of the gas as I relax.

The room maintains its sharp edges and clinical brightness, but my perception of it begins to shift. The surgical lights above me seem more intense, their glow extending just a bit beyond their actual boundaries. The rhythmic sound of the gas flowing through the circuit becomes hypnotic. My breathing is less intentional now, but even so, I’m still breathing slowly and deeply. The rebreathing bag inflates and deflates and I enjoy watching it for a couple of minutes. Inhale, exhale. Inflating, deflating.

I check the monitors with slightly unfocused eyes. My heart rate has decreased to 84 beats per minute; it’s still elevated from my normal resting rate but lower than before. My oxygen saturation remains good. The blood pressure reading cycles automatically every five minutes. The cuff tightens around my arm before letting go with a soft hiss: 125/76. The beep of my heartbeat has slowed.

I laugh, muffled by the mask. I watch the rebreathing bag some more.

The blood pressure cuff cycles again; time is stretching, I’ve floated here five minutes already, and dissociated without realizing it. There’s a clock on the OR wall, and I watch it for a minute. It moves simultaneously slowly and fast. I smile. I’m happy, and… I want more.

I decide to increase the concentration. My movements are deliberate, almost ceremonial, as I pull myself upright, then reach out to adjust the flowmeters. I’m already around 50%, and I want a bit more. I twist the nitrous upwards, nearly as high as it’ll go. I can tell the difference almost immediately.

The buzzing in my head intensifies, becoming a gentle vibration that extends through my entire body. The boundaries between myself and the room begin to blur. The operating table beneath me seems to become softer, much softer, as if I might sink through it if I relaxed completely. I don't, though; I still have the presence of mind to lower myself back onto the table gently, instead of falling off.

I let myself drift again. I think about the nurses and surgeons who work in this room, wielding their instruments, controlling life and consciousness with practiced hands. Now I'm doing the same, in a way. This thought seems somehow hilarious and profound. I don’t start laughing but I’m pretty close. Before I know it, the blood pressure cuff is cycling again.

I raise my hands in front of my face, fascinated by how distant and blurry they seem. I wiggle my fingers, watching the movement with detached curiosity. There's a delay between my intention and the action, as if I'm connected to a video game on a bad internet connection. I slide my palm along the cool surface of the operating table, the sensation of touch seems simultaneously intensified and muted.

A new thought surfaces through the haze of nitrous oxide: what would sevoflurane feel like? I know that nitrous, at normal pressure, can’t actually knock anyone out. But sevo, at even at moderate concentrations, induces unconsciousness within minutes. I don’t want that. Even while intoxicated, I clearly understand the consequences of gassing myself to far. But my understanding of MAC is that at lower concentrations, like, say, 1% or 2%, people my age will generally remain awake. At least for a little while.

I could try it. Just a little.

I know it’s dangerous, but the idea is irresistible.

I sit up again, and reach for the anesthesia machine, my movements a lot less coordinated now, through the nitrous fog. First, I turn down the nitrous oxide flow to zero, allowing pure oxygen to clear my system for a moment. I take several deep breaths, feeling some of the fuzziness recede. My thoughts sharpen enough for me to recognize the recklessness of what I'm about to do, but not enough to stop me.

I turn the yellow vaporizer dial just a bit, turning it to 1%, then to 2%. Enough to taste it, to feel its initial effects for real. I’m not feeling tentative now, like I was with the nitrous, even though I know I’ll need to quickly turn it off. I breath all the way out, and the sevo begins to flow.

The first breath is still mostly oxygen, and I let myself settle back onto the table. When I take the second breath, though, a distinctly sweet smell fills the mask. It smells chemical, like a harsh cleanser, but… not unpleasant. I don’t feel anything. I take another careful breath, then another. Only then, does the effect hit me.

A heavy warmth spreads through my body, like someone’s thrown a weighted blanket over me. Another breath, and I start to feel distinctly tired. The nitrous made me feel fuzzy primarily, this is making me feel drowsy.

I try to breath normally, and the edges of my vision begin to blur, the periphery darkening slightly. It’s as if a camera’s vignette effect has been applied to my eyesight. The beeping heartbeat sound in the room seems to recede, becoming muffled and distant. It’s much more intense than the nitrous, and much more intense than I expected. I understand, in a moment, how stupid I’ve been. I need to turn the gas back off.

I sit up, trying to reach the machine, and it feels like I’m moving through syrup. My intention to move my hand doesn’t match my muscles exactly; the same effect as the Nitrous but more severe. The machine seems farther away than it was a moment ago. I reach for the vaporizer dial, and my own hand seems disconnected, as if it’s not mine.

Before I can reach the dial, another hand appears in my peripheral vision. A hand that is, for sure, not mine.

I try to turn my head, movements sluggish, brain struggling to process this unexpected development. A figure in blue appears, standing beside me, and grabs my wrist, pulling it back from the vaporizer.

"What have we here?" a female voice says. "Someone's been playing with toys they shouldn't touch." The words have a British accent, and seem to echo strangely in my ears.

I start to speak, but the mask is still harnessed to my face. I try to reach up to remove it, but the woman grabs my other wrist, too.

In the harsh surgical lighting, I see it’s a woman in blue scrubs, a surgical cap covering reddish hair, bright eyes above a white surgical mask. It's a nurse, but in my disoriented state, I can't immediately identify which one. Panic cuts through the chemical haze. I wasn't supposed to be discovered. No one should be here. The staff all left. I made sure of it.

I’m not sure what to do. I try to stand, to pull away, but my reactions are dulled by the anesthetics already in my system. The sevoflurane continues to flow; I still haven't turned it off, and each rapid, frightened breath draws more of the agent into my bloodstream.

"Turn it off," I manage to say, my voice muffled by the mask. "Let go of me!"

"I don't think so," the nurse replies. I feel myself being pushed backwards, down onto the diagonal operating table. "You've set everything up so nicely. It would be a shame to stop now."

I'm larger than her, stronger under normal circumstances, but the sevoflurane has substantially undermined my coordination. She pushes me down easily. But I’m not done yet; I turn sharply, trying to break her grip, and succeed in pulling one arm free. I reach for the mask, intending to tear it away, but she’s fast, or I’m slow. She blocks my hand, catching my wrist again.

"Oh no, you don't," she says, her voice hard. "Keep that mask on."

Fear spikes through me. Each breath is drawing more sevo into my system. I thrash, but the head harness keeps the mask firmly in place despite my movements, and the continuing supply of anesthetic makes my fight increasingly clumsy.

The nurse adjusts her grip, pinning one of my arms under her body, while reaching for something on the anesthesia machine I’ve placed so conveniently close by. To my horror, I see her turn the sevoflurane vaporizer not down, but up. I can’t see where she’s set it, but I know anywhere above 3% will rapidly render me unconscious.

"No!" I shout this time, the word completely intelligible even through the mask. I buck upward, pressing my legs against the table, trying to get up. For a moment, I think I might break free. The pulse oximeter rips free from my finger, setting off a high-pitched alarm from the monitor.

I’m able to slide my right arm free of the tangle of limbs, and I grasp at the mask, fingers scrabbling at the head harness, but they just… won’t… get it… My fingers don’t work right.

The nurse recovers quickly, catching my free wrist a third time, and forcing it down. She swings one leg over me, straddling my chest and fully jumping on the table. Before I know it, she’s on top of me. She’s using her weight to pin me down. Her face is close to mine now. It’s aggressively intimate, her blue eyes intense above her mask.

"Don't struggle, love" she says, her voice simultaneously soothing and menacing. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."

With her full weight on top of me, my movements grow increasingly fruitless. Even if she wasn’t on top of me, the feeling of heaviness, the feeling that started after my first few breaths, is much stronger now. Each time I try to push her off, the physical exertion forces me to breathe harder, deeper, pulling more sevoflurane into my system. I realize that the more I fight, the faster the anesthetic is taking hold.

My vision begins to waver, the straight lines of the room twisting and bending. The nurse's face above me seems to split and rejoin, her mask and eyes turning blurry and confusing. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head, but my eyelids are harder and harder to open each time I do. It doesn’t help at all.

"You're quite strong," she comments, sounding slightly out of breath, but in control. "But the sevo is stronger, love. Always wins in the end."

My strength is failing rapidly now. My arms feel impossibly heavy, as if I’ve been tied down with giant elastic bands. I still struggle, but my movements are feeble, uncoordinated. I’m losing.

The room begins to spin in slow, nauseating circles. The lights overhead multiply, separating into a rainbow of colors. My hearing seems more affected now too: the nurse's voice echoes strangely, as if coming from multiple directions at once. The alarm from the disconnected sensor sounds distant, as if I’m underwater.

I'm aware of my breathing becoming slower, deeper.

"That's right," the nurse says, her voice drifting to me through layers of distortion. "Stop fighting now. You're doing so well."

I watch the nurse as she climbs off of me, but somehow, her weight seems to stay. She maintains her grip on my wrists for another few seconds, but my arms have gone limp. She releases them cautiously, maybe prepared to restrain me again if I’m faking it, but I am very much not faking it.

I can barely lift them now. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy. I force them open only with tremendous effort, trying to focus on her face, but my vision is degraded, or my brain won’t control my eyes. I can’t tell which. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t.

"Good," she says, her tone shifting to something almost… sexual. "You're submitting beautifully now."

I hear the sound of electric motors as she repositions the table, I feel myself tipping backwards. She’s straightening my legs, raising the table, returning it to a flat configuration. She gently places my arms at my sides. I want to resist but can only manage the weakest of movements.

The nurse moves to the anesthesia machine, adjusting something I can't quite see. The sevoflurane concentration, I realize distantly. She's increasing it again. The time I breath, the gas rushes in forcefully, making me breath fully and deeply. She’s squeezing the rebreathing bag.

"Just close your eyes and drift off now," she orders, her voice seeming to come from very far away. "It’s dreamland for you."

My eyelids flutter. No amount of effort can keep them open. I realize with a distant sort of horror that I'm about to lose consciousness. I make one final, feeble attempt to sit up, to roll off the table, but my muscles refuse to cooperate.

A strange feeling of peace begins to replace my fear. The inevitability of going under becomes almost comforting. I can no longer remember why I was fighting so hard against this feeling. I’m so incredibly tired and I just want to sleep. With each breath into the mask, it gets stronger.

"Perfect," she murmurs, watching as my resistance fades completely. "That's exactly right. Let it happen." I hear her, but I don’t understand.

I can’t see the nurses’s face anymore, as spinning blackness rushes in from the edges of my vision. Yet somehow, I know she's smiling as she watches me fall down to oblivion. The world clicks off.

I drift up through darkness. Consciousness returns in fragments as my brain boots up.

First comes the sensation of touch: cool air on bare skin, pressure around my wrists, on my back, on my thighs and ankles. A moment later, my sense of position; proprioception. I’m on my back, my arms splayed outwards, my legs in a strange position.

I try to rub my eyes, but the pressure on my wrists keeps them from moving.

It takes several seconds, maybe a whole minute, to process what just those two senses are reporting, what all that means. I'm lying on my back, restrained somehow.

Next, I hear a steady beeping. It’s increasing in speed as I wake up. No memories yet, but the sound seems familiar.

My eyes are closed. Only with some effort am I able to force them open. As soon as I do, I blink against harsh, circular lights overhead. Surgical lights. The operating room comes into fuzzy focus, and with it, my fragmented memories.

I'm completely naked, immobilized, and splayed open on the operating table. I remember being caught, overpowered.

My mouth feels incredibly dry. I try to swallow but barely produce enough saliva. My whole body feels sore, like I’ve just run a marathon or fought a wrestling match, which, in a way I did.

I try to move my arms again, turning to look at my wrists restrained to the table’s perpendicular armboards. I’ve seen Velcro positioning straps used here before, the kind intended for patients at risk of pulling out IVs or simply moving too much while anesthetized for surgery. The restraints here are not those, but padded leather cuffs that more resemble something from a 1950s insane asylum. I don’t know where they came from, but I’m not sliding out of them any time soon.

I lift my head slightly, fighting against residual dizziness, and look down the length of my body. As I feared, I’m completely naked; my clothes and underwear both gone. ECG electrodes have been placed on my naked chest. That’s not good.

Much worse, my legs are elevated and separated, positioned in the yellow leg-lifting stirrups that hold my feet and ankles. I'm in the lithotomy position; as if someone’s positioned me for a gynecology, urological, or rectal procedure. I try to pull my feet down, but unsurprisingly, the yellow boots and straps are tight and strong enough that it’s useless. A strangled noise escapes my throat as I realize how completely vulnerable I am. My heart beats faster and I hear the heartbeat monitor on the anesthesia machine match it. I try to stay calm and finish examining my situation. I’m not going to find a way out by panicking.

I don’t see any people around, thankfully. But it’s obvious the room has been transformed since I lost consciousness. The anesthesia machine has been pushed back to its usual position above my head. I can stretch to see it; its displays glowing with data, my heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and now ECG and respiratory traces.

My eyes dart around the room, taking in details that send fresh waves of adrenaline through my system. Surgical instruments have been arranged on a Mayo stand beside the table; gleaming metal specula, retractors, forceps, and scissors. An electrocautery unit sits ready, its grounding pad visible but not yet attached to my body. A black endoscope is coiled on a blue-draped table nearby that I’m sure wasn’t there before. Everything is positioned as I’ve seen it used during the work week, all as if in preparation for an actual procedure. Or more than one procedure.

I remember the clock on the OR wall. It reads 6:17 PM. I try to remember when I started my self-administered anesthesia experiment; the surgical center closed at 4, so it couldn’t have been long after 5:00. More than an hour has passed that I can't account for. An hour during which someone, the nurse who caught me, has prepared this nightmarish scenario.

The door to the operating room swings open, and she enters, as if summoned by my thoughts. Now that I can think clearly, I know who this is. It's Nurse Evelyn, the British transplant who joined the surgical center staff six months ago. I suddenly recall it was her birthday cake crumbs I cleaned up an hour or so ago.

She’s fully attired for the OR now, a disposable yellow isolation gown tied over her scrubs, her hair tucked completely under a bouffant cap. No hint visible of her red locks anymore. Her hands are white latex.

Her bright blue eyes above her mask crinkle at the corners, suggesting the smile I can't see.

"Ah, you're awake," she says, her accent pronounced as she approaches the table. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How are we feeling, then?"

"What the hell is this?" I croak, my voice hoarse. "Let me go right now!"

Nurse Evelyn tilts her head, studying me with amusement. "That's not a very diplomatic way to address the person who caught you abusing clinic equipment, is it? You're in quite a sticky wicket. Imagine what administration would think if they knew you were playing doctor after hours."

She moves to the anesthesia machine, checking the displays as if we’re in a normal, professional situation. "Your vitals are stable. No worse for wear, I think. How’s the nausea?" I have no nausea, thankfully, but I don’t answer.

"Why am I restrained? Why am I…" I can't even say it, the vulnerability of my naked, exposed position.

Nurse Evelyn laughs, the sound light and warm despite the circumstances. "Why are you strapped down and undressed? Self-preservation, love. Couldn't have you waking up and bolting before we had our little chat."

"As for the stirrups, well, I needed to conduct a thorough examination while you were under. Very thorough. I had to make sure you were healthy enough for what I have planned, you understand."

Heat floods my face as the implication sinks in. I think she’s joking, but I have no way to really know. "You had no right…"

"Rights?" she interrupts, stepping closer to the table. "Let's discuss rights, shall we? Did you have the right to use the anesthesia machine on a lark? To use controlled substances for your personal entertainment?" She leans over me, her eyes intense above her mask. "No, you didn't. But I understand why you did it. We're not so different, you and I."

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. The beep of the heart monitor betrays me.

"I saw how you set everything up. The care you took with the preperation. The way you monitored yourself." She runs a gloved finger along my forearm, a strangely gentle and intimate gesture. "I think you’ve been planning this a long time. And I also think you weren't just curious about the physical sensation. You wanted to experience the vulnerability, the surrender of control. The submission."

Her assessment hits uncomfortably close to the truth. I don’t know what to say to her. She’s not exactly right, but it’s frighteningly close. There’s for sure some connection between the equipment I’m especially interested in and intense power dynamics; anesthesia has, along with it, the requirement to complete surrender to another's care. I, of course, don’t voice this, but my silence speaks volumes.

"While you seem to enjoy being the patient," she continues, "I prefer the other role. The one who decides what needs to happen. When consciousness begins and ends. The one who holds complete power over another human being." Her eyes glitter. "Quite the perfect match, wouldn't you say?"

"You're crazy," I whisper, though I think I don’t really mean it. I think she can tell that I actually do understand. I feel something inside me; not just fear, but a flicker of dark excitement I don't want to acknowledge.

"Crazy? No. Unconventional, perhaps." Evelyn moves to the foot of the table, between my spread legs, and I feel a fresh wave of vulnerability. "Here's what's going to happen. It's Friday night. No one's due back until Monday morning. You and I are going to this entire weekend exploring our mutual interests. I’ll send you under in various ways; different medicines, different combinations. I was an anesthesia nurse in England, you know. I'll take care of you quite professionally, of course."

"You can't just keep me here," I protest, though my voice lacks conviction. "People will look for me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Will they? The solitary IT worker who avoids social interaction and lives alone? Will anyone call on you?” I don’t answer, and again my silence speaks. “No. You're not due anywhere until Monday morning. Same as me."

I struggle against the restraints, panic rising again. "This is kidnapping!" I protest. It’s not halfhearted; I’m genuinely scared, even if that’s not the only emotion anymore.

"It’s hardly kidnapping," she counters smoothly. "You mostly did this to yourself. I just… helped you a bit.”

What you should realize now, love,” she continues. “Is that I could easily report what I caught you doing. That's career-ending at minimum, maybe even criminal charges." She leans over me, staring into my eyes. "Or, we could have a mutually beneficial weekend. You get to explore your fascination with anesthesia in ways you never could alone. I get to practice my skills and indulge my own… interests."

Her gloved hand rests on my thigh, the touch clearly intended to be suggestive, intimate. "Do we understand each other?"

I stare up at the surgical lights, my thoughts racing. The situation is surreal, terrifying, and yet… I can't deny the dark thread of excitement growing under my fear. Part of me has always wondered what it would be like to fully surrender to anesthesia in the hands of someone who knows what they're doing. To let go completely.

Something in her tone, in the absurd situation itself, makes a hysterical laugh bubble up from my chest. "This is insane."

"Perhaps," she agrees, "but I think it's exactly what you wanted. Just not how you expected to get it."

"What exactly are you planning to do to me?" I ask, my voice steadier now.

"I’m going to put you to sleep again," Evelyn tells me. "I’ll try different induction techniques. A sevo mask induction, as you've already experienced. We’ll try the isoflurane, too, I think. A standard propofol induction. Certainly ketamine in some combination. Perhaps etomidate, if I decide you’ll risk the side effects" Her voice takes on a dreamy quality. "I’m told each one feels different going under."

I swallow. “You can’t just anesthetize me over and over,” I object, but I don’t think I’m convincing.

She doesn’t seem convinced. “It’s definitely not recommended. But neither is the scheme I caught you playing out, is it? There are some risks, but you’ve already been taking some of those, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

I swallow hard, looking down at my spread legs. "And the position I'm in now? The surgical tools?"

"I think it's better if I don't explain everything I have planned," she says, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Fear of the unknown heightens the experience, doesn't it? You’re vulnerable. Exposed. At my mercy." Her eyes crinkle as the heartbeat tone speeds up. "All I’m going tell you is that you won’t feel a thing."

Nurse Evelyn leans closer. "If you cooperate, though, this could be quite pleasant for you too. Some patients report euphoria, lovely dreams. You may even find the experience… arousing." Her tone drops on the last word, sending an involuntary shiver through me.

I close my eyes, weighing my options. While she’s implied I have a choice, I suspect there really is none. She has me literally and figuratively tied down. Fighting seems pointless; she controls the drugs, the restraints, everything. But I’m not ready to trust her, even with the desire she’s ignited below my fear.

“Please, just let me go,” I protest again. But I’m not sure if I really mean it.

"I don't think you mean that, love" Evelyn reads my thoughts, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She moves to stand beside me, her white gloved fingertip tracing a line from my collarbone down my naked chest, all the way to my waist. "I think you're just scared to admit it."

The latex of her glove feels cool against my skin. I shiver again, and my breath catches involuntarily. Evelyn leans in close. I can feel her warm breath through the mask she’s wearing. She whispers in my ear.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you? When I caught you… when I held you down… when I made you breathe in the gas until you couldn't fight anymore."

My pulse quickens, betraying me on the monitor with an accelerating beep. My memories replay as she describes them; her weight on my chest, my useless struggle, the sweet smelling gas filling my lungs against my will. I realize, to my horror, that I’m getting noticeably aroused thinking about it.

"I saw your eyes before they closed," she continues, voice silky and intimate. "That moment when fear gave way to something else. When you realized you couldn't stop it happening. You want that feeling again, don’t you?" I don’t answer. My mind races. I can’t help but feel she’s right. But I think about all the surgical tools laid out. And I don’t trust that I have a real choice here.

"You're going to put me under again no matter what I say, aren't you?" I finally ask.

"Clever," she says approvingly. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time off with the fairies this weekend. But how pleasant that time is, and how pleasant the time in between is, depends entirely on your attitude."

She moves to the head of the table, starting up the fresh gas flows. "Shall we begin? Don’t answer. You’re right, you don’t have much of a choice. A little nitrous again to start, I think."

Despite everything, I feel my resistance beginning to crumble. The fear remains, but alongside it grows a perverse curiosity. What would it be like to experience all those different anesthetics, administered by someone who knows exactly what they're doing? I think I’m going to find out.

She lowers the mask towards my face, holding my chin only lightly with her gloved hand. I move my head to the side, trying to avoid the mask. It's a futile gesture, but some part of my brain, maybe the majority, still rejects the idea of submitting so. The mask follows my movement, and her grip on my chin tightens.

"Let’s have no foolishness," Evelyn scolds, her tone sharpening.

She presses the mask firmly against my face, creating a tight seal. "Deep breaths now. Be sensible."

Against my better judgment, I feel myself relaxing slightly. The fact that it’s all being decided for me is strangely reassuring, even as the situation remains profoundly frightening. I do as instructed, and begin to breath, deeply.

She turns the nitrous oxide flowmeter, and I hear the gas begin to hiss through the circuit. "Just breathe normally. Fifty percent to start, I think. You'll feel it soon enough."

I inhale obediently. I can’t really smell it, but within moments, the familiar warm tingling begins in my extremities, slowly spreading inward. The steady beeping from the pulse monitor starts to slow.

"There you go," Nurse Evelyn says, her tone suddenly soothing instead of sharp. "Just like that. Nice deep breaths."

The nitrous works quickly, creating the same vibrating sensation I experienced earlier. The fear fades, replaced by a slight detachment that makes my situation seem less threatening, more surreal. The restraints around my wrists and ankles no longer feel quite as imprisoning. I forget about my nakedness after a few more breaths. My head starts to feel fuzzy, as if cotton is being stuffed into my brain.

"Good?" she asks, watching my face closely. I nod, unable to deny the pleasant sensations washing through me. I try to organize my thoughts. The gas already makes it difficult to think critically, but the fear and desire still war within me. Evelyn watches me with those intense blue eyes, monitoring my response to the nitrous oxide. She seems to know exactly what she's doing with the anesthesia equipment. Professional. Controlled.

Can I trust her? She's holding me captive, but there's something oddly reassuring about her dominance. She’s confident, and she clearly knows what she's doing. But she's also clearly unhinged, willing to cross professional and ethical boundaries without hesitation.

Just like I am.

I really did want this, in some way.

"Alright," I say finally, my voice muffled by the mask. "I'll cooperate."

Her eyes light up with genuine pleasure. "Brilliant! I knew you'd come around. We're going to have such fun together. I think we have a bit more to do tonight, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

I wonder exactly what she means, and exactly what she’s planning for me, but I don’t have time to ask.

"Now we'll add the sevoflurane. One percent to start." She adjusts the vaporizer dial. "This will be just like before, only now I’m in control the whole time."

The distinctive odor of sevoflurane mingles with the nitrous oxide. My eyelids grow heavy again, the room's edges softening. Nurse Evelyn secures the mask with the harness, which I hadn’t realized was already behind my head.

“Now, love, with both sevo and nitrous, you’ll go off quickly,” she explains. I know there’s a phenomenon where having both nitrous and a volatile on at once increases the effects, but I can’t remember if 1% is already enough to anesthetize me.

I’m starting to feel more drowsy. Like before, the nitrous made me detached, but the sevo is making me want to sleep. I force my eyes wide open, trying to stay awake as long as I can.

“Up to three percent,” Evelyn’s voice seems distant and echos in my ears. I know that’s enough to put me out. The visual hallucinations begin immediately. The vignette effect from before returns, my vision narrowing. The lights begin to wash out, strange colors begin to fade in. When Evelyn leans over me, her white mask seems to glow. The yellow color from her isolation gown seems to stretch out around the room.

"Time for dreamland again. Why don’t you count backward from one hundred?" she instructs, increasing the sevoflurane concentration. I can’t see how far, but the smell increases significantly.

"One hundred… ninety nine…ninety eight…" My voice sounds distant to my own ears, the words slurring together. I look up at her and her face seems to distort. The room begins to spin. The yellow of her gown changes into a confusing medical rainbow, yellow, blue, white, green, along with nameless colors that don’t exist in normal reality.

Nurse Evelyn's gloved hand rests gently on my forehead, a gesture that might be comforting under different circumstances. "You’re doing brilliantly. Keep going."

I’m supposed to be counting.

"Ninety seven… ninety six… ninety five…" The numbers come with increasing difficulty. I already can’t remember what number I was on. Have I made a mistake? My tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in my mouth. The ceiling above me seems to spin faster, expanding and contracting with my breathing.

"Nine…" I manage, though I can’t hear myself. I'm no longer sure if I'm speaking aloud or just thinking the numbers. What was I counting?

"Almost there," she encourages, her British accent barely penetrating my mental haze. "Just slip off again."

The room begins to spin faster, Nurse Evelyn's face above me, already blurred and stretched, begins multiplying and rejoining like a kaleidoscope image. I try to raise my hands, to pull the mask off. One last moment of confusion. Of course, the restraints don’t let me move at all. I’ve been helpless this whole time.

"Perfect," she murmurs down at me. My eyes close of their own accord. My body relaxes. The spinning, the drowsiness, the sense of weight over my body is all too much to fight.

Consciousness fades even faster now. Darkness takes me again. My brain turns off.

My head throbs. I realize I’m awake. I don’t remember going to sleep. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel impossibly heavy. It occurs to me that maybe they've been taped shut, but I don’t know why that thought comes to me. A mechanical beeping lines up with the throbbing in my head. Rhythmic. Familiar. A patient monitor? I shift and it feels like I’m in a bed. Somehow, I think I'm in a hospital bed. My mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, my tongue thick and clumsy. I try to swallow, but produce barely enough saliva and my throat is sore. The details of how I got here elude me, for the time being.

It takes a minute, but I finally manage to force my eyes open, only to immediately squint; above me are harsh, fluorescent lights. White, institutional ceiling tiles come into focus. They also seem familiar.

With effort, I raise my right hand to rub my eyes, and feel a tug. Looking up, I see an IV catheter secured to the back of my hand with section of transparent tape. A line of clear IV tubing snakes up to a half-empty bag of fluid hanging from an IV pole nearby. The movement causes my hospital gown to shift against my skin, and I discover I’m wearing a hospital gown.

I’m disoriented but my memories begin to fall into order. I remember my plan for the night. Going to the operating room. I remember my interrupted experiment. Evelyn catching me. Her weight on my chest as she held me down, forcing me to breathe in the anesthetics. I think of the restraints. I remember her making me go under a second time. I think I remember something else, something after that, but it’s too blurry to piece together. In any case, I remember enough.

I bolt upright, but like opening my eyes, I instantly regret it. The sudden movement makes the room spin and my headache momentarily gets worse. I grab at the IV site, about to simply pull it out, when a voice stops me.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

I hadn’t noticed until now, but Nurse Evelyn is quietly standing at the foot of my bed, arms crossed. Her mask is gone and her red hair is down now, freed from the surgical cap, falling in waves around her shoulders. She's changed into fresh scrubs, feminine, pink, instead of the light blue from before.

Her blue eyes evaluate me.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her British accent pronounced in the quiet room. She steps closer, and taps a few buttons on the patient monitor, silencing the rhythmic beeping. She turns, and reaches for my wrist to take my pulse manually. I don’t think to pull away, my brain is still booting up. Her fingers are cool against my skin, and strangely intimate.

"Headache," I manage to croak. "Tired. Thirsty." My voice sounds like a dry croak; my throat is rough. "What time is it?"

"Just before 9," she answers, releasing my wrist. "Post-anesthetic headache is not unusual. The volatile agents can do that, even sevoflurane. It'll pass."

I look around, taking in my surroundings more fully now. I am in a hospital bed, or more accurately, I'm in the Post Anesthesia Care Unit. Eight recovery bays, mine right next to the doors. The other beds are still empty, their monitors dark, including the one I’d turned off when I’d checked it just a few hours ago.

I glance down at my body, suddenly aware of how little I know about what happened while I was unconscious. Quite a lot of my body is vaguely sore, maybe from exertion, but maybe from something Evelyn did after I was anesthetized. I try to recall what time Evelyn told me, a what the time on the OR clock had been, and I think it’s been more than an hour. That’s time to do quite a few things. My throat hurts, so I’ve probably been intubated. The memories are missing, but I know, deep down, she’s done something.

I pull at the thin hospital gown, searching for any signs of surgical intervention.

"What did you do to me while I was out?" I ask, my voice carrying an edge of fear as I examine my lower body, looking for incisions, stitches, anything out of place. "Did you… operate on me?"

Evelyn watches my frantic self-examination with amusement in her eyes. She tilts her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She lets me search for a minute; I can tell she’s enjoying it.

"You won’t find anything amiss this time, love. Nothing that left a mark or that’d put you out, really." She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I suppose I did start the world’s most painless IV. But I might do more next time. Wouldn't that be interesting?"

I try to not to react to how close she is, or her comment. I think I shiver slightly. Maybe in fear, but maybe very much not. I look into her eyes, and for moment, there’s only the sound of the patient monitor taking my blood pressure again.

"I'm not restrained," I observe, quietly. After being tied down in the OR, the freedom feels strange, almost suspicious.

Evelyn smiles widely now; since she’s not wearing a mask anymore, the expression is fully visible. "Do you need to be? You're hardly in any condition to cause trouble. Besides, you agreed to cooperate, remember?"

I nod slowly, though I’m still somewhat conflicted. Did I agree? I recall the moment of surrender, the choice made. It was surely made under duress, but was also driven by something deeper, my special interest, and the connection to Evelyn that I’m not quite ready to admit.

"There's water if you need it," she says, gesturing to a plastic cup with a bendy straw on the bedside table, stepping back. "But nothing to eat, and nothing to drink after midnight. You're scheduled to go back to the OR first thing in the morning."

My stomach tightens at her words. "Back to the OR? For what?"

"For whatever I decide," she replies simply. "We have a full weekend ahead of us, remember? Different induction techniques to try. And once you’re asleep, whatever I want." Her tone is light, conversational, as if discussing plans for a casual outing rather than forced unconsciousness and potentially surgery.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the movement causing the IV tubing to pull slightly. The floor feels cold beneath my bare feet. This is my chance. I could rip out the IV. I could leave now. Evelyn is alone, I'm not restrained, and despite my headache and lingering soreness, I’m confident I could overpower her now that she’s not holding an anesthesia mask. Or I could just run. I could run out the door. I could tell someone what she’s done. Or I could try to keep it all a secret.

But I hesitate. I don’t do any of that. Not yet.

Evelyn watches me, head tilted slightly, a knowing expression on her face. She's not moving to stop me. She's not threatening me. She's simply waiting, as if she already knows what I'll decide.

"Get some natural rest," she says finally, turning toward the door. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

And just like that, she walks away, her footsteps fading as she crosses the PACU. At the doorway, she pauses to turn out the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of the single patient monitor and the emergency exit signs. Then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sit there on the edge of the bed. She left me alone. Unrestrained. With a clear path to escape. I think through it all again. I could pull out the IV, find my clothes, and be gone before she returns. I could report her, or I could simply say nothing. She’s surely cleaned up all the evidence already. I could just leave.

Instead, I find myself thinking about what she said earlier in the OR. About how we’re similar. My fascination with experiencing anesthesia, her desire to administer it. Two pieces of a disturbing puzzle that somehow fit together perfectly.

I groan. My body is sore, and my head pounds. I'm exhausted from fighting and from the drugs still circulating in my system. My thoughts aren't entirely clear. At least, that's what I tell myself as I swing my legs back onto the bed and lie down again.

I'm just too tired to make any decisions tonight. I'll think more clearly in the morning. Then I'll decide then what to do. In the morning.

I roll onto my side, adjusting the thin PACU pillow under my head. Despite everything, despite the danger and the fear and whatever else I’m feeling from my complex new connection, I feel myself drifting back toward sleep. And somewhere beneath the exhaustion and confusion, a small part of me knows that by putting the choice off, I’m making the choice.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

I close my eyes and shut down again, back to dreamland.

71 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 1 year ago

Text

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader)

Red-Leg Zeff wakes up to surprising visitors.

You can read Part 1 here! Original AO3 link

Days on the open ocean were long and monotonous. It was a decent struggle to keep track of the sunrises and sunsets, but Red-Leg Zeff had developed a system, very recently at that.

Next to a parchment letter and three photographs he nailed to the wall of his captain’s quarters, he tacked up a separate piece of paper and made a tally mark for each day that passed since he received the small parcel. Each day that went by was another day of inwardly hoping to see the image of the Thousand Sunny off the deck of the Baratie. It was wishful thinking, and Zeff was a level-headed man, not one for futile hopes or daydreaming, but could you blame him? He had a grandchild and a daughter-in-law, all things considered, anyway.

The three photographs that Sanji had sent in the package were what greeted him every time he awoke, and were the last images he saw behind his eyelids as he shut in for sleep. As the days turned into weeks, and then months, and now well over a year according to his tallies, and as Zeff’s braided facial hair continued to slowly turn gray at the roots, the pictures stayed the same.

Like clockwork, Zeff rose from his stiff mattress before the sun rose in the morning, stretching his aging muscles and groaning. He gazed off across the room at the photos hung on his wall.

“Good morning, Sa–”

“CAPTAIN ZEFF, YOU’RE NEEDED ON THE BOW.”

Patty’s booming voice outside the thin wooden door sent a startled shockwave through Zeff. He jumped and yelped at the commotion. Followed by the command, a pounding on the door caused the blonde man to grumble and stomp across his small cabin towards the noise. He swung open the door, right before Patty threw his fist into the wood for the hundredth time.

“What in the fresh hell do you want? You’re gonna wake up the whole crew, you oaf.” Zeff rubbed two calloused fingertips against the bridge of his wrinkled nose.

Eagerly, with a light in his eyes, Patty waved a hand in the direction of the ship’s bow. “There’s a large vessel spotted approaching from northwest, about ten miles away. It looks like a pirate ship but we couldn’t make out the image on the sail.”

Zeff stepped into his one boot and rolled up his pants around his peg-leg, making it easier for him to walk. He firmly gripped his chef’s cap in his hand as he marched past Patty and closed his door behind the two of them, leading him out to the front of the Baratie. It took them a few moments to roam down the flights of stairs to the lower deck and dining hall, and upon opening the large double doors to the outer deck, he spotted his kitchen crew huddled around Carne, who firmly gripped a pair of binoculars in his large hands.

“What are you all doing?” Zeff’s voice boomed over the hushed whispers of the kitchen staff, who quickly turned their heads to address their captain. He pushed past the men and placed a firm hand on Carne’s shoulder, yanking him back slightly and grabbing the binoculars out of his hands, holding them up to his own eyes.

“It’s definitely a pirate ship, Captain, but my eyes are shot,” Carne eagerly noted. Zeff merely grumbled in response.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the binocular lenses, but when they did he managed to make out a fairly clear picture of a ship in the distance, now well less than ten miles away and approaching quite rapidly. Definitely a large pirate ship. It had a very odd looking nautical figurehead, almost like a sunflower he assumed, but his heart leaped into his throat when his blurry eyes focused on the primary sail which flowed outward, fully unraveled and pushing the vessel towards the Baratie.

A simple Jolly Roger, a rudimentary skull and crossbones design, with a peculiar red-banded straw hat placed on the head of the skull.

“Should we man the–” Patty began to ask, before being cut off by Zeff.

“It’s the Straw Hats. Prepare the mooring ropes and fenders, they’re going to tie up to us.” Zeff shoved the binoculars back into the chest and hands of Carne, who once again put them to his face and gazed at the sail of the ship. The rest of the kitchen staff ran to awaken the boat crew and make the necessary preparations for a vessel connection.

“Sanji?” Patty simply asked, with sudden wonder in his voice.

“Hopefully,” Carne responded, passing the binoculars to his coworker. “It’s definitely them. Look at their Jolly Roger.”

Zeff had turned his back to his two right-hand men to help the others prepare the baratie’s starboard side for the tie-up. Crew men, freshly shaken awake from their slumbers, bustled around the lower deck tossing heavy, tightly coiled ropes to each other, tying them around the deck’s bollards and laying them down to make them easier to access when the Thousand Sunny would pull up alongside. Zeff quickly found that there wasn’t much for him to do, the sight of his crew excitedly scurrying around as the news of the Straw Hats’ return to the Baratie spread like wildfire from the mouths of the men bringing a fond smile to the old man’s face.

Now within enough distance to the Straw Hats’ ship that they could hear the excited yelling of their captain perched cross-legged on the top of the figurehead, waving his hand in the air. A few of the other crew members leaned over the side of the ship, excitedly waving to the Baratie crew. Once close enough, a large, strangely built blue-haired man launched a heavy rope from the deck of the Sunny downwards towards the Baratie’s crew, who grabbed it and began to pull it taught. An orange-haired woman (Zeff thought she looked familiar) instructed the sails to be furled while the larger men of the ship helped the Baratie’s sailors moor the two vessels together. A few stragglers from the floating restaurants crew looked through their portholes at the commotion. Carne and Patty assisted the blue-haired man (were his arms made of metal?) in raising a gangway for the Straw Hats to board the Baratie, but their captain, still donned in the same straw hat that he wore when they first visited the luxury cruiser, wasted no time in launching himself off of the figurehead and landing with a hard thud on the wooden deck.

“Hey, Geezer!” His smile almost covered his entire face. “Do you have any food?”

“Luffy, seriously? Can you not wait a single minute?”

A familiar voice caused Zeff to turn his head. Through the hustle of the crews finishing their mooring duties, a head of bright blonde hair and a thin trail of gray smoke met the old chef’s view. He immediately broke out into a fond smile. Sanji was leaning precariously over the side of the Sunny, any more and he would tip over the side, a large grin on his face. Next to him was a young woman, a bit shorter than him, with a steady hand placed on his shoulder ensuring that he didn’t fall overboard. She gazed down at Zeff, and her face broke into a grin just as large as Sanji’s.

He recognized her as the woman in the photographs. She was just as beautiful in person.

The gangway was successfully tied, joining the two boats together, and the two first mates excitedly welcomed the Straw Hats aboard the Baratie. The four who had already visited almost five years prior marveled at the impressive renovations done to the vessel. New decks, refurbished dining and lounging, impressive paintwork on the outer hull. The same blue-haired man from before (his arms were made of metal!) was starstruck by the craftsmanship of the restaurant and immediately began asking questions to a few of the crewmen. A green-haired man with three swords on his hip and a shorter man with curly black hair greeted Carne and Patty with excitement, remembering the two of them from their first visit. The two women from the Straw Hats, with tangerine and black hair, quickly exited the gangway and joined their companions. Zeff watched curiously as a skeleton donned in formalwear hauled himself over the side of the Sunny, followed by a fishman. The Straw Hats were a very curious bunch, but he was filled with a giddy, child-like joy at the sight of them all, healthy, fit, and just as excited as his own crew was for the surprise reunion.

Sanji and his wife disappeared from the side of the Sunny, but quickly reappeared. Sanji was the first to step onto the gangway before turning around and taking something from his wife, who swiftly followed his lead. She looked like a natural on the water, and Zeff hummed, pleased. Sanji turned around to march down the ramp, a child held in his arms, tightly gripping his shirt in her fist. The two were the last to disembark, and immediately headed toward the Baratie's captain, who stood in mild shock as the three approached.

Sanji passed the child back to his wife so he could greet Zeff with a handshake, but he was beaten by the captain’s speed as he enveloped the smaller man in a bear hug, almost lifting him off his feet.

“Sanji,” he muttered, voice quivering. “You look incredible.”

“Hey, no crying on me now, Zeff,” Sanji returned the gesture in kind, squeezing his adopted father back and jostling the hat on the older man’s head.

The two released their warm embrace, and Sanji held out a hand towards his wife and the child in her arms. The woman stepped forward with a warm smile.

“Red-Leg Zeff, it’s an honor to finally meet you!” she said with profound enthusiasm before introducing herself. “Sanji’s been talking nonstop about this visit and how excited he’s been to see you again!”

Sanji flushed, embarrassed, but Zeff could only muster a hardy laugh. He remembered Sanji as a stubborn, hard-to-crack kid, endlessly determined and stopping at nothing to get his way, and the man who stood before him was all of that and more. He was gazing tenderly at his wife, cheeks rosy with embarrassment and adoration, a smile adorning his thin lips. Zeff was beyond proud of the man Sanji had become.

“So, who’s this little one?” he asked, cautiously approaching the child in the woman’s arms. His heart fluttered at the sight of her.

She had wavy, strawberry blonde hair and her dad’s ocean-blue eyes. A mixture of her mom and dad’s skin tone, and she was clearly developing Sanji’s facial features. The right corners of her eyebrows had a very slight upward curl. She was beautiful, and her large eyes gazed curiously at Zeff as he approached.

“Sora, this is your grandfather,” the woman said affectionately. “Say hi!” She bounced the baby on her hip.

When she came to the infantile conclusion that Zeff was indeed not a threat, her chubby cheeks wrinkled with a smile revealing a few barely there baby teeth. Zeff held out one of his thick, calloused fingers, and she eagerly reached for the man. Sanji’s wife passed the baby, Sora, over to him, and he held her like a delicate porcelain pot, like she could break at any moment. Sanji watched the action fondly.

“Her name is Sora, she’s almost two now,” he said, his voice light and airy, almost a whisper.

Zeff bounced Sora, his granddaughter, in his arms, and she released a shrill giggle which brought a smile to his face. “Sora…” He knew that was Sanji’s late mother’s name. It seemed only natural that his daughter would take the honor of bearing her name. “She’s beautiful,” he sighed, looking at his son and daughter-in-law.

Sanji looked like he was fighting back tears at the sight of his honorary father holding his daughter. His wife gently squeezed his hand, and the floodgates leaked, making her chuckle.

“He’s been a bit nervous,” she said toward Zeff.

The gruff captain stepped toward his son and ruffled his smooth blonde hair in his free hand. Sanji sniffled, picking his head up and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. His shoulders trembled slightly with the motion of his repressed crying, but he quickly shoved it down and locked eyes with the fatherly ones staring at him. Zeff didn’t need to ask any questions to know how much a moment like this meant to Sanji. A child so wronged by his family and the world, growing up with no purpose, no encouragement, losing the one source of love in his life, forced to age so rapidly to survive some of the worst experiences a human should ever have to face. To have been blessed with a crew that cared for him, fulfilling his dreams, practicing his passion, meeting one special woman who loved and supported him, and being the father of his own child, Sanji was finally content. He was finally happy, finally content.

Zeff’s voice cracked as he uttered the sentence that he knew would make Sanji crumble. “I’m so proud of you, son. Look at how far you’ve come.”

Sanji’s blue eyes welled with tears that he had been holding in since his own childhood. The commotion from the rest of the two crews faded into a muffled static as Zeff pulled Sanji’s head into his chest, holding him close. Sora’s hand lightly smacked the top of Sanji’s hair, making him laugh, but it came out as a crackled sob. His wife laughed, rubbing his back.

“I didn’t want to cry,” he uttered into Zeff’s chest, voice blank with slight resentment.

“It was inevitable,” you responded with a humorous lilt.

“I know.” He easily relented to your words, picking his head up from Zeff and placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, giving it a firm smack. “Sorry for getting your shirt all wet, old man.”

Zeff’s chest bounced with the force of his laughter. “You’re gonna pay for it, kid. You’re on dish duty.”

Sanji’s mouth fell open in a panicked retaliation, but after realizing Zeff was, in fact, joking around, his tense shoulders fell in relief. Sora reached back out toward her mom, who took her from Zeff’s grasp leaving both his hands free again. He was able to deliver a quick, encouraging slap on Sanji’s back.

“I do expect you to help prepare this feast, though. Show me how much you’ve improved since you left.” He winked at his son. “Though, I doubt you improved that much.”

“Shut up, old man! I’ll make you the best feast you’ve ever laid eyes on. A feast that could kill you!” Old habits die hard, and the family meandered towards the rest of the crew, who were now milling around the lower dining hall excited for a meal to celebrate the Straw Hats’ return, and Zeff’s new granddaughter.

Zeff clapped his hands, alerting his own crew, who frantically took their places around the ship to cater to their pirate guests. He quickly made his way into his kitchen, rustling through the main pantry for a piece of equipment he hadn’t needed to use in a very long time. He pulled out a small food processing machine, equipped with an internal blade perfect for mashing fruits and small vegetables.

“Captain, do you need anything?” Patty was rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands in the large wash basin.

“All the fresh fruit we have. The kid doesn’t have teeth yet, she needs some mush.”

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #special delivery #black leg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader

291 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 6 months ago

Text

ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴛꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 3456 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ!ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ (ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ꜱᴀᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴢᴀᴜɴ, ᴀᴅᴍɪʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛᴇᴅ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘɪʟᴛᴏᴠᴇʀ - ᴡʜᴏᴍ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀɢɴɪꜰɪᴄᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ʜᴀᴅ ᴊᴏɪɴᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ, ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜꜱʜ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀɪᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛɴᴇꜱꜱ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ʜᴇɪᴍᴇʀᴅɪɴɢᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ

In the sprawling depths of Zaun, amidst the smoke and grime, a young boy named Viktor sat on the edge of a rickety wooden dock, cradling a small wooden boat he had painstakingly crafted. His fingers were raw from sanding, his palms smeared with grease from the crude paint he had managed to scavenge. Yet, despite the hardships, his golden eyes gleamed with pride as he tilted the boat to admire the way the sunlight reflected off its varnished surface.

The newspapers he had scavenged earlier in the day were folded neatly beside him. The headlines caught his attention:

“Piltover’s Youngest Genius: Y/N Y/L/N Brings Innovation and Unity to the Forefront.”

The image accompanying the article showed a young woman, no older than nineteen, standing proudly beside her latest invention. Viktor stared at the picture, his admiration growing with each passing moment. Her story was one of triumph against odds, and in a world divided by class and opportunity, she was proof that brilliance could transcend boundaries.

Viktor longed to be like her—a beacon of hope and ingenuity.

Weeks later, the creaking of Zaun’s ancient lift system echoed through the Lanes, drawing curious eyes to the platform as it descended. Such an arrival was unusual; visitors from Piltover rarely ventured into Zaun without reason. Viktor leaned heavily on his cane as he watched from a distance, his curiosity piqued as the lift came into view.

Stepping off was a woman clad in a simple yet striking green overcoat, her presence commanding yet unpretentious. It was her—the same woman whose image had graced newspapers. Y/N had come to Zaun, and she was even more remarkable in person than Viktor could have imagined.

She moved through the winding streets with purpose, her gaze scanning the surroundings until it fell on him—a boy sitting by the dock, no older than 11, clutching a small, hand-carved boat. She noticed the metal brace on his leg, the way his weight shifted onto his cane, and the quiet determination etched into his features. With a gentle smile, she approached and knelt beside him, her eyes kind and curious.

“Did you make that?” she asked softly, gesturing to the boat in his hands.

Viktor’s cheeks flushed as he nodded, holding it out for her to see. “Yes, miss. It’s not much, but…”

“It’s wonderful,” she interrupted, carefully taking the boat to examine it. “You’ve put a lot of care into this. That takes skill and patience. What’s your name?”

“Viktor,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

“Well, Viktor,” she said, handing the boat back to him with a gentle touch, “you’ve got a brilliant mind, I can see that. Don’t ever stop creating.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to his brace and cane, but there was no pity in her eyes, only admiration. She reached into her satchel, retrieving a small leather pouch. Opening it, she pulled out a finely crafted, pocket-sized toolkit. “Here,” she said, offering it to him. “I think you’ll make better use of this than I will. Keep building, and one day, you’ll change the world.”

His hands trembled as he accepted the gift, his wide eyes meeting hers. “Thank you,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with emotion.

Before he could say more, she rose gracefully, offering him one last warm smile. As she disappeared into the bustle of Zaun’s streets, Viktor clutched the toolkit tightly, a spark of hope and inspiration igniting within him.

Two years passed, and Viktor (13) poured over every word of Y/N’s (21) new book, "Blueprints of a Dreamer: My Story of Innovation". its pages becoming worn and dog-eared from constant reading. Her story, chronicling her journey from the depths of Zaun to becoming a celebrated inventor, struck a chord deep within him. She wrote with raw honesty about the struggles of growing up in the undercity, the obstacles she overcame, and her belief in the transformative power of invention.

Inspired by her journey and philosophies, Viktor dedicated himself to crafting increasingly intricate creations, dreaming of the day he might follow a similar path.

When news reached Zaun that Y/N would be hosting a book signing in Piltover, Viktor knew he had to seize the chance to meet her again. Scraping together enough money, he made the journey to the grand hall where the event was being held.

Standing in line with the book clutched tightly to his chest, Viktor felt a swirl of excitement and nerves. When his turn finally came, he stepped forward, his cane tapping softly against the polished floor. Y/N looked up, her expression shifting from polite curiosity to a warm, wide smile of recognition.

“Viktor!” she exclaimed, standing to greet him. “You’ve grown.”

“You… you remember me?” he asked, astonished.

“Of course,” she said, her voice kind and steady. “How could I forget the boy with the beautiful boat? Have you been building more?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding eagerly, his face lighting up. “Small things for now, but I want to create something… meaningful. Like you.”

Her eyes softened as she reached for his book. She opened it to the title page, her pen poised. “You’ve already started, Viktor,” she said, meeting his eyes with encouragement. “Coming from Zaun, we know how hard the climb can be. But I see that same fire in you—the one that refuses to give up. Keep nurturing it, and you’ll achieve greatness.”

She wrote her signature carefully, pausing for a moment before adding a personal note:

To Viktor, A brilliant mind with a limitless future. Keep building, and never stop believing in yourself. – Y/N

Handing the book back to him, she smiled. “The world needs minds like yours, Viktor. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

Viktor stared at the message, his hands trembling slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

She reached out briefly, her hand resting lightly on his. “You don’t need to thank me. Just promise me you’ll keep going. You’ve got something special, Viktor.”

As he left the signing, the message in his book felt like a beacon of hope. Clutching it tightly, Viktor walked away with a renewed sense of purpose, more determined than ever to honour the belief Y/N had in him and to one day stand as an equal among the great inventors of Piltover and beyond.

As the years rolled on, Y/N’s (25) visits to Zaun became a lifeline for Viktor (17). She didn’t just bring supplies or knowledge; she brought hope—hope that the divide between Zaun and Piltover wasn’t insurmountable. Her unwavering commitment to bridging the gap between the two cities inspired Viktor in ways he couldn’t fully express. She encouraged his creativity, challenged his ideas, and always reminded him of his worth, even when the world around them sought to diminish it.

During one of her visits, Y/N found Viktor bent over a workbench in a dimly lit corner of his home, tinkering with a mechanical arm. His focus was so intense that he didn’t notice her enter until she cleared her throat softly.

“Still working on the arm?” she asked with a smile, stepping closer.

“It’s nearly ready,” Viktor replied, setting down his tools and wiping his hands. “It just needs… a little more refinement.”

Y/N examined the arm, impressed by the precision of his work. “You’re ready,” she said confidently, handing it back to him.

“For what?”

“To take the next step,” she replied. “Your work deserves recognition, Viktor. I believe in you.”

A week later, Y/N carried with her not only one of Viktor’s inventions—the mechanical arm—but also sketches and notes detailing his other creations. Her destination was Heimerdinger’s workshop, a cluttered space brimming with half-finished inventions and scattered blueprints.

“Ah, Y/N! My dear girl” Heimerdinger greeted warmly as she entered. "What brings you to my little corner of chaos?"

“Professor,” Y/N began, carefully setting Viktor’s mechanical arm on the workbench, “I’m here to discuss a recommendation for the academy.”

Heimerdinger adjusted his glasses, his sharp eyes examining the arm. “A recommendation? For a student?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied, her tone firm but respectful. “His name is Viktor. He’s from Zaun.”

“Zaun?” Heimerdinger echoed, his bushy eyebrows rising. “That’s… highly unusual. The academy’s admission process is extremely selective.”

“I know,” Y/N said, nodding. “But Viktor’s work is extraordinary. This arm is just one example. He’s entirely self-taught, and his creativity is unparalleled. With the right guidance, he could achieve greatness—and bring perspectives to Piltover that we sorely lack.”

Heimerdinger picked up the mechanical arm, turning it over in his hands. “This is… impressive,” he admitted, his tone softening. “But the council will have questions. They always do.”

“I’m prepared for that,” Y/N said firmly. “I’ll stand before the council myself to advocate for Viktor. They respect me enough to listen, and I’ll make them see what I see in him.”

Heimerdinger looked at her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “You’re willing to go to great lengths for this boy.”

“He deserves the chance,” Y/N replied. “Zaun deserves the chance. If we want real progress, we need to open the academy’s doors to minds like his.”

The professor tugged at his mustache, considering her words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I’ll support your recommendation. But you’ll need to convince the council, and they won’t make it easy.”

“I’m not afraid of a challenge” Y/N said with a small smile.

Heimerdinger chuckled. "No, you never have been"

Back in Zaun, Viktor was overwhelmed when Y/N told him what she had done. “You’d speak to the council for me?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and gratitude.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her gaze steady. “You’re worth fighting for, Viktor. And I’ll make sure they see that, too.”

For the first time, Viktor began to believe that his work—and his life—could make a difference. Y/N’s faith in him was unshakable, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep moving forward.

Months had passed since Y/N (26) had stood before the Piltover council to advocate for Viktor’s (18) admission to the academy. Despite her confidence, Viktor hadn’t heard any news, and his hope wavered. He buried himself in his work, uncertain whether his future lay in Piltover or if his dreams were destined to remain in Zaun.

One evening, whispers of a tragedy swept through the Lanes. Viktor overheard snippets of conversation: “An inventor… sabotage, they say…” His chest tightened as he hurried to find more information. A discarded newspaper lay crumpled by a vendor’s stall, and his breath caught as he unfolded it.

There, on the front page, was Y/N’s face beneath a bold headline:

“Piltover’s Youngest Genius Found Dead.”

The article speculated about an accident, possibly sabotage, but the details were frustratingly sparse. Viktor’s hands trembled as his vision blurred with tears. The woman who had been his guiding star, the one who believed in him when no one else did, was gone.

The days that followed were a haze of grief and anger. Viktor kept to himself, clutching the mechanical arm he had crafted as if it were the only thing tethering him to his purpose. He replayed every memory of Y/N, every word of encouragement, wondering how he would move forward without her.

Then, one quiet afternoon, a knock at his door shattered the silence. Viktor hesitated before opening it, and to his surprise, Professor Heimerdinger stood on the threshold, holding an envelope in his small hands.

“Young man,” the professor said gently, his eyes filled with a rare softness, “I’ve come to deliver this. It was entrusted to me by Y/N before her… untimely passing.”

Viktor accepted the envelope with trembling fingers, his heart pounding. Heimerdinger lingered for a moment before nodding and stepping back, leaving Viktor alone with the weight of the moment.

As he opened the envelope, Viktor’s breath caught. Inside was a letter of acceptance to Piltover Academy. At the bottom, Y/N’s signature stood proudly, alongside her glowing recommendation.

Beneath the printed letter of acceptance was a handwritten note, her elegant cursive flowing gracefully across the page. It was Y/N’s personal recommendation for Viktor, a final message imbued with her unwavering belief in him:

It is with great confidence that I recommend Viktor for admission to Piltover Academy. His mind is a rare and extraordinary gift, capable of innovation that transcends boundaries. But more than that, Viktor possesses a resilience and kindness that are equally remarkable. He has the heart of an inventor, the perseverance of a survivor, and the vision of a true pioneer. Viktor will not only excel at this academy but will inspire others to dream bigger and aim higher. If you give him the opportunity, I have no doubt he will change the world. Sincerely, Y/N Y/L/N”

Tears streamed down Viktor’s face as he traced her signature with his thumb. Even in death, Y/N had ensured his future. Her belief in him was immortalized in ink, a testament to the bond they had shared.

Clutching the letter to his chest, Viktor made a silent vow: he would honour her memory by fulfilling the potential she had seen in him.

“It’s because of that recommendation,” Heimerdinger continued, “and because of my own respect for her as both a colleague and a friend, that I’ve made a decision.” He paused, giving Viktor a sharp look. “I would like to offer you a position, Viktor—an assistantship at Piltover Academy. You will work under my guidance, with access to the resources and knowledge of the academy.”

Viktor’s heart stopped for a moment, the gravity of the offer sinking in. “You mean... an assistant?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Heimerdinger nodded. “Indeed. Your talent and potential are undeniable. Y/N’s belief in you confirms that. You will be given the opportunity to grow, to build, and to refine your craft. And, I trust, you’ll make her proud.”

Viktor stood in stunned silence, his mind racing. He had always dreamed of the academy, of working alongside the brilliant minds who could help him bring his ideas to life. But now, in the wake of Y/N’s passing, it felt like a bittersweet opportunity.

“I won’t let you down, Professor,” Viktor said, his voice steady with newfound resolve.

Heimerdinger smiled, his bushy mustache twitching. “I never doubted that, Viktor. Now, let us move forward. There is much work to be done.”

With that, Viktor stepped into the future Y/N had envisioned for him—one shaped by both her memory and the belief that Professor Heimerdinger had in him. It was the beginning of something great, and Viktor knew he had to honor her legacy by ensuring that greatness was realized. He would build, innovate, and strive for a future where no one would have to endure the struggles they had faced. Y/N’s legacy would live on, not just in Piltover, but in every creation he brought to life.

Jayce stood in the lab, the steady hum of machinery filling the silence. The air felt dense, as it often did during long nights of work, where every hour seemed to stretch on forever. He glanced over at Viktor (24), who was hunched over on his seat- looking down at a set of blueprints on the workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration. The passage of time had done little to erase the weight of loss from Viktor’s face, but there was a quiet resolve there now—a stark contrast to the grief that had once overwhelmed him.

Jayce walked toward Viktor’s desk, hoping for a distraction from the problem-solving of Hextech. His eyes scanned the cluttered workspace, stopping when they landed on an old, leather-bound book. The title 'Blueprints of a Dreamer: My Story of Innovation' was barely legible, worn from years of handling. Jayce knew that name well.

Y/N Y/L/N. It was a name that had been passed around with reverence in their circles. Her work had been ground-breaking, her brilliance undeniable, and her death had left a void. Jayce had heard Viktor speak of her before, with a mixture of admiration and sadness, but he had never fully understood the depth of their connection. As Jayce picked up the book, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than just a mentor-mentee relationship—it was something more personal, something Viktor had held onto after all these years.

With a soft sigh, Jayce opened the book, its pages tanned with age but still intact, as if it had been handled with the utmost care. As he flipped through the pages, he found them filled with Viktor’s meticulous annotations—scribbles in the margins, detailed equations, sketches, and diagrams—intertwined with Y/N’s original writing.

At first glance, it might have seemed like a chaotic mix of ideas, but Jayce could see the beauty in it. Viktor had clearly poured over every single word Y/N had written, adding his own thoughts, corrections, and additions. It was a collaboration in the truest sense—a melding of two brilliant minds, each pushing the other to new heights.

One page contained an intricate set of equations, all written in Y/N’s neat, precise handwriting, with Viktor’s corrections and additional variables scrawled in the margins. Some parts of the text had been crossed out and replaced with his own theories. Diagrams that Y/N had drawn in her characteristic style had been revisited by Viktor, who had added his own iterations of the designs, refining them further.

In one corner of the page, Jayce found a series of sketches—Y/N’s graceful lines depicting the framework for a new mechanical device, but Viktor had turned the page into a blueprint, with careful measurements and notes detailing how to bring the concept to life. He’d even drawn a few variations of the device, making adjustments to improve the original design.

The more Jayce flipped through the journal, the more he could see how Viktor had poured his heart into this work. There were moments of inspiration, bursts of genius, and occasional notes to himself—like whispers in the margins—reminders to never forget the way Y/N had believed in him, had believed in their shared vision. One note, scribbled in the corner of a page, read:

“Keep pushing. For both of us.”

Jayce paused at the final page, his breath catching as he saw the last set of annotations. The words were simple but powerful:

To Viktor, a brilliant mind with a limitless future. Keep building, and never stop believing in yourself. – Y/N

But unlike the clean, flowing handwriting that had once graced the page, these words had been underscored by Viktor’s own script, nearly overlaid with his desperate scrawl in the margin.

“I will never stop. I can’t. You’re the reason I keep going.”

Jayce swallowed, the raw emotion in Viktor’s words hitting him harder than he expected. It was clear now that the journal wasn’t just a collection of notes—it was a testament to the bond they had shared, and to the unwavering belief Y/N had had in Viktor’s potential. Every page was a glimpse into the evolution of Viktor’s mind, shaped by both his own genius and the encouragement he had drawn from Y/N’s words and ideas.

“Viktor…” Jayce murmured softly, his voice barely a whisper as he closed the journal.

Viktor, lost in his work, glanced up briefly. “What is it, Jayce?”

Jayce held the book in his hands, his fingers lightly resting on the cover. “She really believed in you, didn’t she?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned back to his work, his fingers tracing the plans before him with practiced ease. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before responding.

“She did,” Viktor said quietly. “And I never let that belief go. I’ve carried it with me, every day. Y/N’s faith in me… it’s why I keep building. Why I keep pushing forward.”

Jayce nodded, his eyes lingering on the book. “And you’ll keep going. For both of you.”

Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his expression softened. “For both of us.”

With that, Jayce silently placed the book back on the desk. The weight of Y/N’s memory, her unwavering belief in Viktor’s genius, felt more tangible than ever before. They stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, the absence of her presence lingering between them. Viktor had accepted her death, but her faith in him, in them, had never wavered. It would continue to guide him, and it would guide them both as they worked toward a future she had always dreamed of—a future now within their grasp.

Her belief had laid the foundation, and now, together, they would build upon it, honoring her legacy in every step they took.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #arcane angst #Viktor x Platonic!Reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis #reader insert

71 notes · View notes

slasherx · 1 year ago

Note

Gurl you write so fast like a Machine 😂, I wish I could write like that, and also good luck with your finals!

Can I do a request for A Micheal Myers with a childhood crush (female) like as a kid Michael had a crush on the reader but like after he killed they were separated for years but them micheal broke out and came across the reader all grown up if you can!

Also can you do Rz Michael, he's my favorite

Lol thats cause I have the motivation to write about slashers rn. And thank you! I got a 94% on one of them, but I won't get my final grade on the other one for a bit. I hope I pass.

Content: Michael Myers x fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, obsessive love

Notes: Even though the gif is peepaw Myers, this takes place in the RZ universe

• ───────────────── •

Michael was put away in the asylum when he was ten. Before he made a vow to never speak again, he kept asking his mother and Dr. Loomis where you were, and if you could come visit him. His mother promised to talk to your parents about it, but that she couldn't guarantee you could come see him.

And so she did. She tried talking to your parents, but your parents wanted you nowhere near that monster of a child. They outright refused her on numerous occasions, even when Michael's mother pleaded with them on her knees at their front door.

When she broke the news to Michael that you wouldn't be seeing him, Michael lost it. He could feel something in his head snap, the same way it snapped when bullies would hurt you or him. Or the same way he felt himself snap that Halloween night.

He managed to keep it cool until Dr. Loomis and his mother left, but when they sent in that nurse to watch him until they could escort him to his room, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He took his plastic fork and jammed it into her throat, cutting her scream short. He was angry. Why wouldn't you come see him? Why? Why, why, why? He didn't understand...he thought you were best friends.

• ───────────────── •

Eight years after that day, he had a visitor that wasn't Dr. Loomis. He had known his mother killed herself, his sister was dead, and Boo was probably far away in the foster care system, so he had hoped it was you.

When they sat him in the room, he had felt anxious for the first time in years. Had you changed like he had? Did you grow out your hair like him? Grown taller like him? He kept a mask on, one he made in rememberance of you. It was just your favorite color all over it.

Finally, you walked in and sat down across from Michael. A couple guards stood at the door, in case Michael tried to leap at you regardless of his cuffs chaining him to the table. He was breathing heavily - you had changed.

You had grown taller, but you remained shorter than him. Now at eighteen, you seemed very mature for your age, and Michael wanted to leap across the table at you, but not to kill you.

"Hi Michael. My parents don't know I'm here. I just...came to provide an explanation, since I feel you deserve one." You spoke, hands in your lap. "Your mother begged my parents to let me see you on many occasions, and each time they told her no. I remember one time she cried and got on her knees to beg my mother, but she just shut the door in her face."

Michael listened, quiet as ever. He was just happy to see you in front of him again. He was also surprised that Dr. Loomis wasn't here to supervise this meeting.

"And I want you to know that Dr. Loomis has contacted me since I turned eighteen, and we've spoken about you a couple of times. He told me you don't speak anymore, and that you killed a nurse while being in here." You decided it was now or never to try and break his vow of silence. "Is...is that true, Michael?"

Michael wanted to break his silence, but he knew Loomis would be on his ass if he did. So all he did was nod his head yes.

You seemed to shift uncomfortably. Your breathing increased, and he could tell you were scared. This saddened him - he didn't want you to be scared of him, he wanted you to love him. You two were attached to each other as children, why would a few murders make this any different?

"I...think I better go before my parents realize I'm not at my friends house." You started to get up, when Michael launched at you and grabbed your wrist, straining the cuffs on him.

He held you hard, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. He was all alone here. But he still killed those people, and if you weren't careful, you'd be next. The guards moved forward and forced Michael back, and a few more people rushed into the room. One rushed to you and put his hands on your shoulders.

"Ma'am, ma'am, are you alright?" The man asked.

You nodded. "Yeah, thank you." It was too fast for you to process it, but Michael was staring at you. "Please, take me out of here."

• ───────────────── •

Now outside, you saw Dr. Loomis by your car. He was pacing, clearly nervous about your meeting with Michael. Then when he saw you approach, he waved to you.

"How did it go?"

"Please don't talk to me. I shouldn't have come here." You responded shakily.

"What happened in there? Did he break his silence?"

"No, but he fucking grabbed me! Who knows what else he would have done if the guards hadn't been there?! I was crazy to even come here." You opened your car door and got inside.

"Please, wait, (Y/n). You don't know how much you mean to Michael, I-"

"Save it, Dr. Loomis. I'm going home. Stop calling me." You started up your car and peeled out of the parking lot. Memories of you and Michael as kids began to race through your head and you began to cry. How did it come to this...?

• ───────────────── •

Seven more years went by. Seven more years where Michael didn't see you. Seven more angry years. But now, it was different. Michael was standing in front of your house.

He was different now. He was more built, even taller, and his hair was even longer. You used to comment on his long hair as a kid, it was one of the reasons he kept it so long in the first place.

He could see you through the window. You lived alone now, just down the street from your childhood home. He was content watching you through the window. You were preparing dinner, when you suddenly got a call. He decided now was the time to enter your home.

Moving around to the back door, he began to pick the lock.

"Hello?" You picked up your phone.

With a click, he was in.

"(Y/n)! You need to listen to me-" Dr. Loomis practically shouted on the other line.

Michael slowly opened the door.

"Save it, Dr. Loomis. I told you to stop calling me." You were about to hang up.

Michael made his way to your living room, right next to your kitchen.

"He's escaped! Michael has escaped!"

"What?" You spoke, shock and fear tearing through your system. You put a hand over your mouth, and looked up through your window, but you saw a figure behind you.

"You're not safe! Flee Haddonfield!" Dr. Loomis begged.

You spun around to see a large man with a knife glistening in his hand. He had a white mask on, blonde hair poking out underneath it. You didn't need him to take off the mask to see who it was. Your fear skyrocketed as you thought he was going to kill you.

"Michael...?" You spoke, slowly lowering the phone and ignoring Dr. Loomis' pleas.

Michael moved towards you. He finally had you now, and he would never let you go again. He was yours, and you will be his.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

#michael myers x reader #rob zombie halloween #michael myers #slashers x reader #slashers

323 notes · View notes

crystalandparrot · 1 year ago

Text

Rottmnt x Reader

Chapter 1

Please don’t steal or use ideas without permission :)

This is an AU! The reason will be explained in later chapters, but in this AU, the yokai and mutants are fully integrated with humans. The hidden city mainly consists of Yokai and mutants with the occasional human visitor or partner.

Donatello is an independent scientist who still goes by Othello Von Ryan. He found out through trial and error that he was not made for a group laboratory. Now Donatello mainly confides himself in his lab at the lair, he's expanded of course, a man of his caliber shouldn't have to deal with such a small area. He's made great strives in the scientific community, solving some of the world's leading problems. Having won numerous awards, he still finds himself unfulfilled somehow.

Michelangelo is a successful artist, both on paper and in the kitchen. He records himself on the internet, hoping to inspire young minds to fulfill their dreams, no matter how they may look. He prefers to try anything and everything he can, gaining many new skills and discovering new things about himself. Although his desserts were delicious, the feeling of being alone only left a sour taste in his mouth.

Neon Leon. Successful actor, known for being one of the first openly Yokai actor. He inspired other Yokai's and mutants to remove their disguises and embrace what makes them unique. Leon made the world laugh with his one liners and his comical timing. His range is crazy, going from musicals to action, his talent knows no bounds. Although he has romance on the screen, he couldn't hope for something a little more...real.

Raphael (and don't skin me for this), the sweet turtle, became a guidance counselor for trouble youths. You know those kids that throw chairs? Yeah, Raph helps them. More often than not, Raphael recommends the wrestling team, which Raph just so happens to coach. Raph's helped a lot of kids figure out how to reel in their anger and get to the root of their problems. Raph's even managed to give a few select students permission to cut class and go to the weight room if they felt too angry. But no matter how many people Raph's saved (and no matter how much Raph spoke in the third person), Raph couldn't help but feel like there was one more person he needed to help.

April O' Neal. Some say she's the greatest hands on reporter of all time. With Sunita as her partner and camerawoman, the two get dirty, discovering the real problems that people won't report. April's most successful and controversial paper, "Yokai, Mutants, and Humans, oh my!" gained incredible popularity after people read just how many Yokai and Mutants were feeling neglected. Due to April's paper, the government passed a law, allowing Yokai and Mutants to come up to the surface and reveal themselves with no prejudice. It's still an ongoing battle to give everyone the fairness they deserve, but April and Sunita O'Neil fight for justice.

(Y/n) (L/n). Oh wait! That's you! You're a kind hearted soul who's just gotten a job at the School's library. You must really love the Dewey Decimal System...oh you have a nickname for it? Wonderful...You're a creative soul with a passion for helping. You have a myriad of skills, all of which may not have helped in getting this job, but they might help in getting something else. Your day starts off, relatively normally...

Having just moved back to New York after living in the Hidden City for five years was...different, to say the least. Saying goodbye to the nice old tortoise Yokai you had been staying with, you headed out, bags in hand. "Bye, Mrs. Shapiro! Call me if you need someone to water your plants!" You said, waving to the wrinkly tortoise.

"Oh, goodbye dear. I'm gonna miss you. Oh! Drop by Erin's on your way out!" The tortoise Yokai, Mrs. Shapiro, waved a long clawed hand at the you.

You nod with a smile and shut the door behind you. Heading down the street, you waved to friendly Yokai and mutants that walked past. After seeing the street clear a bit, you pulled your phone and headphones out of your pocket. Popping in the earbuds, you played your favorite playlist you found on Spotify. It was titled, 'Jammy Jams', the description being 'Songs for elite music listeners'. The playlist and many more like it, all with a theme of some sort, Studying, Building, (crime fighting?) Jogging, all came from one account by the name of Othello.

As you scrolled through the playlist, you saw the little notification. 'Othello is listening to Weird Science'. With a shrug, you tapped the notification, the song blasting through your headphones as you matched where Othello was in the song. Definitely an oldie, but it fit him...or her...or them—it fit the vibe! As you continued scrolling, adding some of the songs to your own playlists, you didn't hear the three voices yelling nor the shocked gasps of the onlookers that quickly moved out of the way.

A sudden PUSH and you were on the ground, groaning next to a stranger as Technologic blasted through your headphones.

"C'mon, Dee! He's getting away!" A turtle Yokai with dark hair in a half up, half down bun, ran in place and pointed to the direction that they needed to go. He wore an orange mask, had stickers and paint all over his shell, and in his hands sat a Kusari-fundo.

"No, no, I'm fine, Michael." The turtle Yokai next to you, (Dee?), stood up so suddenly, you thought he teleported. He wore a purple mask that wrapped around his head, his-tech goggles sitting on top. On his arms were multiple hi-tech screens and buttons that wrapped around his arms on large bands. Looking on the ground, he spotted his phone and your own, both faced down. He quickly swiped one up, and tucked it in his pocket, "May this be a lesson never to text while running!" The turtle pointed up at the sky almost heroically.

"You crashed into me!" You said defensively.

The turtle Yokai made a noise of surprise and looked down at you, as if suddenly noticing you for the first time. "I was actually referring to me." He muttered, coughing awkwardly. Without warning, two metal arms came out of his...shell? It had to be a shell, right? But it was more purple and armor like. The cold metal of the arms shook you out of your thoughts as they lifted you onto your feet.

"Oh, uh, thanks." You said, now just as awkward as the Yokai in front of you. "Don't you have to—" you pointed your thumb behind you, where the other turtle was freaking out.

"Donnie!" The orange clad turtle whined.

"Right." With a bit of showmanship, the purple clad turtle picked up your unlocked phone off the ground and handed it to you. As you took it, you noticed how he made sure your fingers did not touch. "Adieu, madam." He gave a slight bow and left, joining his accomplice in their efforts.

You giggled as he left, the whole interaction being odd. You looked down at your phone, the screen dimming. You tapped it to ensure it stayed unlocked and reopened Spotify...except, why were the apps in a different format? And your headphones were cutting out, and the background is different, and...what's the use? You know the truth, you switched your phone.

108 notes · View notes

reveryfics · 3 months ago

Note

avengers (multiple or any!!) tapping reader out ?

military graduation :3

Airmen

Sam Wilson x Male Reader

Summary: Completing your BMT was one of your proudest moments, a moment you got to share with Sam.

A/N: Since Sam is airforce and I have more Bucky fics then I can count, I figured this would be perfect. Reader is airforce like Sam. I also apologize as I had to look up what they did for airforce graduates.

TW: Fluff

The crisp white envelope felt substantial in your hand, a weight that belied the single sheet of paper it contained. Standing at attention before the stern-faced military training officer, the silence in the room stretched taut as you waited for him to acknowledge your presence and accept the visitor access request letter. A quick glance around the room revealed a flurry of activity, other graduates meticulously filling out multiple lines on their forms, a testament to the families and friends eagerly anticipating their achievements. Your own form, however, bore a stark simplicity, a single name – 'Sam Wilson' – etched onto the designated line. A quiet resolve settled within you, a certainty that one person's unwavering support could outweigh a multitude of fleeting well-wishers.

The officer’s gaze finally lifted from the paper, his eyes, sharp and assessing, meeting yours. "This all?" he questioned, his voice carrying the clipped authority you'd become accustomed to. A lump formed in your throat, a mixture of anticipation and nerves, but you managed a firm, "Yes sir." before being dismissed with a curt nod.

The memory of the previous day still pulsed with a vibrant energy, the adrenaline rush of the airman's run and the solemnity of the airman's coin ceremony a potent cocktail of accomplishment and tradition. Yet, even those significant milestones paled in comparison to the mental image you'd been cherishing: Sam's beaming face in the crowd, a beacon of pride amidst the sea of families, as the graduates marched past in their freshly pressed uniforms. The thought was a comforting anchor, a reminder of the unwavering support system waiting just beyond the confines of the training base.

The following day crawled by with agonizing slowness. Every tick of the clock echoed the mounting anticipation, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Finally, the moment arrived. You stood amongst your fellow graduates, a sea of blue uniforms, the weight of the past weeks, the grueling training, the sacrifices made, all pressing down on you. The air buzzed with nervous energy, a collective holding of breath before the final release.

Then, the parade began. As you marched, a wave of emotion washed over you, witnessing the joyous reunions unfolding along the sidelines. Families embraced, tears streamed down proud faces, and cheers erupted for each passing graduate. A pang of longing resonated within you, a quiet ache for the familiar face you hadn't yet seen. The lump in your throat tightened, threatening to choke you.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the celebratory din, instantly recognizable. "That's my boy right there!" Sam's voice, amplified by pure enthusiasm, resonated through the crowd. A wide, infectious grin stretched across his face as his eyes locked onto yours, a beacon in the multitude of blue. The relief that washed over you was immense, the knot in your throat dissolving as you offered a small, proud smile in return.

The march concluded, and the graduates were finally dismissed to seek out their loved ones. A chaotic yet joyous scene unfolded as families surged forward, embracing their newly minted airmen. Through the throng of people, you saw Sam, navigating the crowd with a determined stride, his eyes fixed on you. When he reached you, he didn't hesitate. He enveloped you in a bear hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he jumped up and down, his voice thick with emotion as he repeated how incredibly proud he was. The dam finally broke. Tears, a mixture of relief, joy, and exhaustion, streamed down your face as you hugged him back, the pure, unadulterated joy radiating from him a tangible force.

"Come on, I know you're starving," Sam said, pulling back but keeping a hand firmly on your shoulder. He led you away from the immediate chaos, a knowing glint in his eyes. As you approached a local restaurant, a popular spot buzzing with families celebrating their airmen, you stopped short, a look of utter surprise washing over your face. Seated in a cozy booth, amidst the celebratory decorations, were Natasha, Bucky, and Steve, all smiling warmly at you.

The restaurant was filled with the happy chatter of reunions, a comforting hum of pride and relief. But in that moment, nothing else mattered but the four faces beaming back at you, the people who had been your unwavering pillars of support, the ones who had offered words of encouragement and belief when the challenges of training seemed insurmountable.

Sam stopped you just before you reached the booth, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box, pressing it into your hand. "Open this," he insisted, his voice a low murmur, "before these two start making fun of me."

With trembling fingers, you opened the box. Nestled inside, on a bed of soft velvet, was a ring. It was crafted with delicate precision, the design resembling stylized wings, a subtle nod to your new journey. As you examined it closer, you noticed the intricate engraving on the inside: your initials and the date of your graduation. A wave of emotion washed over you, gratitude and affection swirling together. You slipped the ring onto your middle finger, the cool metal a tangible reminder of their love and support. Without a word, you pulled Sam into another tight hug, a silent thank you for the thoughtful and deeply personal gift.

The afternoon melted away in a comfortable haze of laughter and shared stories. Sam, Bucky, and Steve, each with their own history in the military, regaled you with anecdotes from their time, their tales a mix of camaraderie, challenges, and the unique bonds forged in service. Their stories, filled with both humor and a quiet understanding of what you had just endured, were a comforting balm to your weary soul.

As the day drew to a close, they all accompanied you back to the base. Bucky clapped you on the shoulder, his gruff voice laced with genuine pride. Steve offered a simple, heartfelt, "Be safe, son." Natasha, ever the pragmatist, gave you a knowing look and a firm hug. Sam lingered a little longer, pulling you into a final embrace. "I'm gonna miss you like crazy while you're gone," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. You hugged him back, the familiar scent of him a comforting anchor. Leaning up slightly, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, a silent promise of your return, before turning and heading back towards the base, the weight of their love a comforting presence as you faced the next chapter.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x male reader #marvel sam wilson #marvel the falcon #the falcon #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #xmalereader #marvel #requested

47 notes · View notes

honeyhotteok · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Can you pls write about when Jake was in jail with a reader who went to visit him all the time and was always by his side through those tough days?

took a minute for the ideas to marinate but i actually had an easier-ish time writing this even though i usually don't write stuff this long🤯 thank you for the sweet idea, anon, and for waiting a bit! <3

summary: jake's favorite person decides to wait for him.

"Inmate 0706. You have a visitor."

Jake walks into the tiny visitation room and plops himself down onto the chair, thinking to himself that it's probably Jerry again. His breath hitches when he sees that it's you entering and sitting down in front of him before the glass partition.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be in a place like this," he says with a half-hearted smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

You glare at him before springing up from your chair, brimming with fury. "Is that all you have to say to me? How could you hide a whole illegal gambling business from me?"

You had been holding down the fort at one of the shops on Big Deal street as usual, unsuspecting while exchanging quick goodbye kisses with Jake before he would leave the street to take care of some unknown business the past few months. To think he had been hiding something this wrong and to this degree from you, when you thought he believed the two of you were equals.

He closes his eyes, "it was for your own good-"

"Don't. Save it with the whole protecting me bullshit."

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but stops. Maybe you're right. Maybe he should just sit here and instead savor what could be the last time you argue with him. He waits for the other shoe to drop. This is it, he thinks. Inevitable, even. He did choose this life after all.

You sit back down after having gotten that bout of rage out of your system. "I just...wish you would let me in sometimes," you admit quietly.

Jake finally looks up at you, caught off guard by the shift in your tone and words. "Y/N..."

"Ugh, whatever. I'm leaving." You grab your jacket and stand. You pause at the door without turning your head. "See you next week," you mutter.

Before he can utter another word, he watches the door swing shut behind you.

"Visitor for Inmate 0706."

Jake begins making his way to the visitation room.

Jason and Brad had exchanged glances with each other throughout the week as Jake looked even more lost in thought than usual in the yard, the cafeteria, his cell - thinking about you. He heard you wrong last time, right? Were you actually coming back to visit him not just once but a second time? Yeah, no, it's gotta be Jerry this time.

To his disbelief, you're already sitting there behind the glass partition with your arms crossed.

You open this visit with another glare, albeit a less icy one. Despite still being here, you want to keep holding onto your rightful grudge and hurt so badly. But your eyes finally take in his short hair, the new scar on his mouth, the way the weight he's been carrying manifests in his eyes and body. And you find yourself unable to prevent the soft concern filling your eyes.

You let out a deep sigh.

"How's the food in there?" you finally break the silence.

Jake can't help but crack a smile at your concerned, trivial inquiry.

"It's...edible." The both of you laugh.

...

"Wait, what the hell is prison spicy chicken?"

After last being together in the outside world only a few weeks ago, the two of you begin to slip back into your usual rapport.

While the two of you still manage to chat it up and laugh together, there are still visits where you find yourself waiting to leave the room before you finally let your tears fall. Days where the ache of only getting weekly glimpses of him behind a layer of glass gets to you, peeks at the world of turmoil swirling in and around him that you find yourself helpless to truly solve.

The seasons pass, and it's getting these weekly looks of you that mark the passage of time for Jake. He looks forward to seeing what new change he can spot every visit - the haircut you usually get around the summertime, whether you had time to change out of your part-time job uniform before coming to visit.

And the weekly visits go like this. Although being separated from you does give him an extra reason to want to kill Gun - it's during these brief moments in time with you that he's reminded maybe there can be more to his life than revenge. The incessant physical training, the brutal fights every day in the prison all blur together in a black and white cut, but seeing you brings a little bit of color back into his life.

You stand outside of the detention center gates with the other heads of Big Deal, all of you anxiously trying to peer through the doors in the distance for any sign of Jake. He finally walks through the gates with Jason and Brad following behind. "Welcome back, Boss," mingled with big smiles and back pats amongst you. Jake finally stops in front of you, almost in a daze. He's seen your face every weekend for the past 11 months, but something about seeing your entire person standing before him feels like a pair of hands shaking him by the shoulders.

"Welcome back, you big idiot." You give him a light punch in the arm.

He pulls you into a warm embrace while cradling the back of your head, "I missed you, too."

"Hey Boss, the rest of Big Deal are looking forward to-" Lineman's cheerful words immediately get cut off by consecutive smacks from Jason, Brad, and Luah alike.

"Read the room," Luah shout-whispers at Lineman while giving him a second smack in the head for good measure.

"We'll see you later at HQ, Boss. Take your time." Jason waves in Jake's direction before scampering down the road with Jerry and the rest of the crew. Jake chuckles and waves back.

You smile and grab Jake's hand, "let's go get you a proper meal."

You and Jake sit outside your go-to pojangmacha waiting for your orders. His head is swimming with thoughts of how he could possibly begin to thank you for waiting for him this whole time when he least deserved it, how he can articulate this gratitude and affection that's bigger than anything he can offer you in this moment.

Fresh hot plates of vegetable tempura, fish cake, and kimbap emerge before you. He indulges in the first delicious fried food he's had in months with you. The two of you feed each other skewers of tteokbokki while easing back into the groove of your usual banter sprinkled with laughs in between.

"Oh, and this is for you."

You pull out a paper box from the bakery with a slice of red velvet cake enclosed inside.

"Ta-da! It's not much, but I hope this is a slight upgrade to the cigarette-choco pie birthday cake you had in there," you grin. You scoop out a chunk of cake with the fork and hold it in front of his mouth.

"Hey, I told you you didn't need to get me anything." He's already been madly in love with everything about you, but something about this little gesture feels like it's about to tip something over in his chest.

"Hush and take a bite already!"

Jake complies with a smile. He then moves to close the distance between you two with his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes still fixed on you. He gazes at your face with an overflowing amount of affection and presses his forehead to yours, as if to pause and wonder if he still deserves to lock his lips with yours after all this time.

As if to reply with a resounding 'yes,' you pull his face to yours and kiss him deeply, tasting the sugary sweet mild cocoa flavor still lingering on his lips.

#i reread the juvie arcs for this lol ok i could not figure out the logistics of jason and brad's juvie sentences for the life of me #so i assumed they got released at the same time as jake and that jake got out on early release so a little less than a year #but if my details on that are wrong feel free to lmk and i will happily edit it lol #anyway i think this ended up being the longest thing ive posted on here so far and ofc it's for jake😮‍💨 this man🫠#jake kim #jake kim x reader #lookism x reader #lookism

408 notes · View notes

visitormanagementsystemdubai · 2 years ago

Text

The Role of Visitor Management Systems in Dubai's Hospital Settings

In recent years, visitor management systems (VMS) have emerged as essential tools in ensuring smooth operations, improved security, and enhanced guest experience in various sectors. In this essay, we will delve into the significance of implementing VMS in hospitals across Dubai.

Efficiency is a key factor in delivering effective healthcare services. A can significantly contribute to enhancing efficiency within visitor management software Dubai hospitals through the following means:

a) Streamlined Registration Process:

Implementing a well-designed VMS can expedite the registration process for both inpatients and outpatients. By automating data collection, such as personal information and purpose of visit, hospital staff can focus on providing quality care rather than wasting time on laborious administrative tasks.

b) Appointment Scheduling:

Visitor management systems integrated with online scheduling platforms enable patients to book appointments in advance. This feature reduces overcrowding and lengthy waiting times, allowing medical professionals to allocate their time efficiently.

c) Visitor Tracking:

With the aid of visitor pass management system in Dubai, hospitals can accurately track and monitor visitor movement within their premises. This information facilitates effective resource allocation and ensures that healthcare providers can attend promptly to patients and their accompanying guests.

Also Read: The Advantages of Implementing Queue Management Software in Middle East Logistics Centres

#visitor management system middle east #visitor management software dubai #visitor management system dubai #visitor pass management system dubai #visitor pass management system in Dubai

0 notes

ikajo00 · 4 months ago

Text

Non-alien human alien #2 History

The discovery of humans

From the records in the archives of the Intergalactic Federation. Written and submitted by A. Storm.

Once upon a time, many, many solar cycles ago, the people of Earth, aka humans, sent out a device called the Voyager to explore their own heliosphere. The Voyager travelled through the solar system and then passed the limit into the bigger galaxy of the Milky Way. By this point, the device had been travelling for nearly half a century, or fifty solar cycles. Not long there after, the planet of Earth lost all contact with this device. While it wasn’t forgotten, it wasn’t treated as a big thing either. Humans at this point stood in front of a more immediate problem of trying to salvage the heating of the planet, caused by their own actions.

And then, a millennium and half went by. Humans survived, because that’s what they do, and eventually managed to amend most the damage they themselves had caused. Cleaner technology was developed, and extinct species was successfully brought back using advanced cloning technology. Which can’t be applied to humans, nor is it desired. Space exploration had been put on hold in favour of improving and saving their home world.

It was at this point the Voyager was discovered by a transport ship belonging to the Federation. Leaving junk in space is, as many are aware, illegal according to intergalactic law. Prompting the ship to retrieve the device and inspect it to see which planet had manufactured it (to issue a fine). It was then they made the discovery that would shake the Intergalactic Federation to its core. Because the device contained a disk made from a yellow metal humans call gold. Proving that not only did Earth have life, but it was also sentient. Running opposite to the established consensus that the terra planet in the fifth yellow system (Earth) had too extreme weather to sustain life. And even if it could sustain smaller lifeforms, it would be unable to form sentience.

A delegation from the Intergalactic Federation was sent to the coordinates recorded in the device. Using the information retrieved from the disk, a tool for translation and communication was established. Though some of these would later turn out to be aimed towards the animal sounds recorded, not the human voices.

Arriving near Earth, the delegation sent a message to the beings on the planet. Humans were naturally quite surprised that they had suddenly gotten alien visitors. (*Author's note. Humans use alien to describe any sentient species not originating from Earth. Moreover, humans tend to use aliens more broadly to describe anything deemed strange and not of human origin.) After some negotiation, the delegation was allowed to land in the country known as California, part of the North American Union of Independent Nations, NAUIN for short.

The delegation had believed that since humans could life and thrive on Earth, the planet was probably not as bad as estimates had suggested. They were wrong, because the planet was much, much worse than they had expected. No sooner had they landed before they were bombarded with immense heat (most galactic populations tend to prefer temperatures between 15-25°C, with some exceptions), and had to relocate to a structure with artificial weather. If that would have been all, maybe Earth wouldn’t have gained its status as a death world, but the delegation soon learned that different regions of the planet had different weathers and climates. While some were mild, most were not. Heavy winds, heavy rains, locations where it is exceedingly cold, locations where it is exceedingly hot. Places where the number of solar hours are not consistent throughout the solar cycle. On top of that, there were extreme weathers, called monsoons, tornadoes, hurricanes, and electric storms.

Moreover, Earth has active tectonic movements, as its tectonic plates are not fused. And these tectonic plates float on top of molten rock. Meaning there are volcanic activity, and earthquakes. Continental shifts that, over millions of years, move the planets continents around.

We can’t forget the most distinct feature of Earth. Water. While most life forms require liquid in order to survive, humans are made of around 80% of water. And their home world consists of mostly water. Undrinkable, salty water. Filled with plants and living things (more on aquatic life on Earth in Planet of Oceans: Earth), it surrounds all the continents on the planet. Most beings in the known galaxies can’t come in contact with saline water, as it would corrode their exoskeleton, cause chemical burn, or even melt some more gelatinous lifeforms.

Does saltwater impact humans? While they can’t drink it without treatment first, humans will actively seek out these large bodies of water. Travel on it, play in it, and explore it with an interest only matched by their interest in space.

Then, there were the other creatures living on Earth. Most of which are straight up deadly. Even the more peaceful creatures can be deadly. Size isn’t always a factor either. One of the deadliest creatures on Earth is a tiny, flying insect called a mosquito that sucks blood. The creatures themselves can’t kill, but they tend to be carriers of parasites and diseases.

The diversity of creatures capable of killing was truly astonishing. And the humans were quite quickly included in this category. Because the delegation quickly found out that while humans has invented many weapons to make killing easier, they can kill with their bare hands. Or simply make a weapon out of anything. This is not an exaggeration.

It should be noted that the Intergalactic Federation has classified humans as extremely dangerous, and humans has been designated as a special S-class predatory species. Especially when working as a group. The social structures of humans allow them to divide work to the individuals most suited for each task while the collective benefit. In fact, the humans managed to reverse engineer the technology they received from the delegation and then extrapolated from that. Allowing humanity to achieve space travel of their own in record speed of only two years. Two years after they successfully terraformed a planet within their solar system (Mars), Earth joined the Intergalactic Federation. This was ten years ago. (See Record of the Earth – Space Summit, and The Human Wonder.)

While it isn’t forbidden to visit Earth and its colonies, it is not recommended, as they all tend to be deathworlds. Humans have chosen planets otherwise deemed inhabitable as their colonies. Simply because they resemble their home planet. Meaning they are actively choosing to live on other deathworlds as well. When interacting with humans, it is recommended to first try and pack bond with humans, as humans will pack bond with literally anything. And once pack bonded, the human(s) in question will do everything to keep you safe. But break any human taboos (see Forbidden Human Practices), and you will learn intimately why humans are considered a predatory species by the standards of the Intergalactic Federation.

Captain Jonathan Vance looked up from the screen and gave Anna a Look. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, or just sigh. Having Anna on Helios had done wonders for the relationship between human and alien crew members. She was also invaluable when dealing with different representatives of alien species. But there was no denying she very much did things her own way and could be rather strange on occasion. Lovable, but strange.

“Why have you written this as if you are an alien?” Captain Vance asked her. Anna shrugged.

“It was fun”, she replied.

“Fun?”

“Yep.”

“Uh... these are some pretty extreme descriptions of both Earth and humans. Don’t you think you are overdoing it a bit? This is supposed to be an official document, right?”

Anna chuckled and got that little smug smile she had when she knew something you didn’t. “I’m actually downplaying things. This is how humans look like to aliens.”

“What? Like Earth is the space equivalent of Australia? What are humans then? The space equivalent of goblins?” Vance gave her an incredulous look.

“Nah, apparently, they think we are more like orcs. Space orcs.”

“Because we send mostly military personnel into space?”

“Nope. Because humans are considered very, very, very hard to kill.”

Anna stood and took back the screen, deactivating it. Vance watched her leave. Space orcs? Actually, that explained quite a lot.

#humans are space orcs #autism adhd #creative writing

22 notes · View notes

pinkhairedlily · 1 year ago

Text

"sakura, good morning!" shizune waves her over and gives her coffee.

"busy day huh." most days, she's thankful the hospital staff already knows her preferred brew—dark, hot, bitter.

"you wouldn't believe what just happened though." shizune sips her iced latte. "sasuke asked for your schedule."

sakura takes a beat to reply, savoring instead the aromatic notes that slowly wake her 18-hour-shift-riddled senses. "oh yeah. we agreed to discuss new chore arrangements."

"you're living together."

"he's sleeping over."

"living. together."

"should i blush?" sakura winces. "besides, it has only been a few months. well, a year."

shizune slaps her back and leaves in a giddy. "you're already blushing, lover girl."

===

"hey thanks for dropping these off." naruto grins at her through towering stacks of folders.

"we really should organize a courier system or tap into those digital things gaara has been using in suna."

"totally agree with you." he hands her a chocolate bar. for a few minutes, they pass the sugar supply back and forth, grateful for the silence and the little indulgent treat from olden days.

"by the way, sasuke has been asking some weird things."

"such as?"

"like your favorite color, favorite food, favorite music." naruto gets the last chocolate cube. he cracks it into uneven halves and gives the smaller one to her, as usual. "so i told him mine are red and shoyu ramen."

sakura laughs and pops the piece into her mouth. "back to work, future hokage-san."

===

"where's ino?"

sai hands her an apron and an order slip. sakura releases a petulant sigh, rolls her eyes, and begins to pick the flowers listed. she waits until sai settles on the presentation and prods again.

"supplier issue." he shows her a peony and a carnation.

"the peony definitely."

sai shrugs and finishes off the bouquet. "we had a curious customer earlier."

"hmm?"

"sasuke came in. he said he didn't want reds. it would be too obvious, he said. so i suggested whites."

"mums?"

"uh-uh and roses and lilies."

sakura turns pensive at this. "he must have bought them for his family." she smiles at sai and pats him on the shoulder. "you're sometimes kind-hearted, aren't you?"

sai's fixed smile fades. "sakura, he didn't—"

a customer dings the bell and sakura, already sensing sai's intention, slips out of the boutique like a true swift kunoichi.

===

"haruno-san."

"yes, i know it's midnight and i need to go home."

the guard loiters by her door. "actually, you have a visitor. he's at the wisteria arch."

"oh? but it's so late. can't this wait until morning?"

"it's the uchiha ma'am," the guard purses his lips, "he's been camping since eight in the evening."

sakura runs. she hates running in corridors, particularly when half of the people are asleep, but she manages to reach the grounds without an ambush diagnostic or a surprise checkup.

sasuke is waiting. there is a picnic blanket in a hideous shade of bright red under him, a basket, a bouquet, a bottle of wine that must be lukewarm by now.

"shizune said you were free tonight," he said.

"what's all this for?" sakura has to catch her breath. she sits across him and takes him in. gorgeous, even under the pale moonlight.

"i never got the right answers." sasuke pulls every item out of the basket. thermos for hot water, instant ramen packs, dango, a lunchbox that smells like curry, spring rolls. "i don't know exactly what you like. i don't know if you still like the food that you liked when we were kids."

"i still have a sweet tooth," sakura chuckles as she reaches for the dango.

"but i noticed you always ask me to cook curry and you never fail to look for spring rolls."

"because you cook curry the best, sasuke-kun, that's why i love it the most."

he avoids her chiding glance and hands her instead the bunch of daffodils. "i also don't know if you still like these flowers. you would pick them up in the forest, remember? trying to make me and naruto and kakashi wear these crowns of yellow blooms."

sakura laughs at the surfacing memories. "they're very beautiful, sasuke-kun." she basks for a while in the afterglow of his awkward yet patient persistence as he scoots closer to her side and slowly brushes her fingers against his in reacquaintance.

"what's with all these though? what did i miss?" sakura entangles their hands together, his thumb caressing her knuckles.

"happy anniversary."

"..."

"fuck."

"not here sakura."

"i forgot about it! fuck!"

"it's okay, let me." sasuke plants her down with a hand on her cheek. "you're busy, and there are few things in life i look forward in celebrating."

"i'm so sorry."

"i think it's me who has to apologize. i haven't nailed down everything."

"well, we've got the rest of our lives to figure that out."

sasuke hides a smile. "that's a plan."

#sasusaku #haruno sakura #uchiha sasuke #sakura x sasuke #sakura #sasuke #sssnippetaday #snippet!pinkhairedlily #team 7 #team 7 shenanigans

89 notes · View notes

hbyrde36 · 4 months ago

Text

Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:3849 | Ch 3/8 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 <-

Chapter 3: The Grim Specter of Missed Connections

For a brief moment after Steve woke up he completely forgot the events of the night before.

Thinking he was still in the hospital, he kept expecting to hear the whir of machinery or the squeaking wheel of a passing nurse’s cart. What found his ears instead was the distant sound of a lawnmower starting up, and the less distant sound of birds singing the song of their people, far too loudly and cheerfully for the way his head was absolutely throbbing this morning.

And just under all that, was the sound of someone softly humming a hauntingly familiar tune under his breath.

Eddie.

Steve’s heart leapt, so relieved to know Eddie hadn’t disappeared again overnight. He smiled to himself and managed to croak out, “I would have thought you’d hate that song now.”

Ignoring his various aches and pains, he carefully turned over to find his ghostly visitor lounging above the covers on the bed right next to him, where Robin had been however many hours ago when he fell asleep.

“You mean the soundtrack to my demise?” Eddie asked, a small quirk to his lips as he pointedly raised a single eyebrow. “Nah, those bats took enough from me, I won’t let them take Metallica too. I worked too hard at learning it.”

“I wish I could have seen you play,” Steve said through a yawn.

Eddie shrugged, mouth curving up into a full smile.

“Heard you though,” he went on, scooching himself closer, the fading trace of drugs in his system making him feel bold. “It sounded very… metal.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, one ringed hand coming up to tug at a lock of his own curls, pulling it over his face.

The urge to reach out and stop Eddie from hiding, and maybe tuck that strand of hair behind his ear, was overwhelming, but Steve held back, knowing it was useless.

“You’re awake!” Robin announced, suddenly appeared through the open doorway—which Steve definitely hadn’t noticed was open. “I thought I heard you talking to yourself in here.”

Eddie snorted, shooting a playful wink at Steve before rolling himself off the bed. He sauntered up to Robin, sticking his tongue out and fluttering his hands in her face, stopping mere centimeters from her nose.

“Not myself,” Steve replied, groaning as he sat up. Thankfully his midsection no longer felt like it was on fire but his entire body ached, and though he’d slept more in the last 48 hours than he probably had in the entire last month combined, exhaustion threatened to pull him right back down to his pillow.

“He’s here? Now?” Robin hissed, her wide eyes darting around the room.

“Yeah,” Steve held in a laugh, not so much for her sake, but because he knew it would probably hurt. “He’s here.”

“He was watching you sleep?” Robin wrinkled her nose, then cupped her hands around her mouth and raised her voice, as if Eddie might have trouble hearing her from the ‘other side.’ “Way to be a creepazoid, Munson!”

Eddie’s gaze slid briefly to Steve as a deep blush quickly spread across his cheeks, before turning back to glare at Robin, who of course, had no idea and wasn’t even looking in his direction. “Forgive me for wanting to keep an eye on the guy that almost just died!”

Steve clenched his jaw, sucking air through his teeth. As much as he found the sentiment sweet, the two of them were killing him with all the shouting. “You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry,” Eddie and Robin both mumbled at once.

The latter stepped further into the room to stand in front of him with her arms crossed, as Steve threw his covers back and carefully swung his legs off the bed.

“And just where do you think you’re going? Get back in that bed right now, Dingus, or so help me…”

He felt a little wobbly on his feet, even more so than he had last night when they got back from the hospital, but he guessed that was to be expected after hours in bed. The long-term lack of IV pain medications probably didn’t help either. In truth he wanted to sit right back down and gather himself but he hated feeling like an invalid, and he refused to give Robin the satisfaction of being right—again.

He also really had to pee.

“Unless you smuggled a bedpan out of the hospital, you’re gonna have to let me go.”

“Fiiiiine,” she whined, but only partially moved out of his way. She stayed close, hovering as he crossed the floor like she expected him to drop at any second. Thankfully, the threshold to the bathroom was a line she wouldn’t cross, not when he was actually going to be using it anyway.

Eddie didn’t follow either, which Steve was also grateful for. He wasn’t sure his ego could take his crush watching him get his dick out just to make sure he didn’t faint or something, rather than it being for purely recreational purposes.

When he emerged moments later, and she was sure he hadn’t brained himself on the edge of the bathtub, Robin rushed off again, mumbling something about idiots and antibiotics—not necessarily in that order—closing the door behind her.

“Where did you go?” Steve asked as he got settled back into bed next to Eddie, who had resumed his earlier lounging now that they were alone again. “Back in the hospital, I know you were there, but when I woke up you were gone.”

He’d meant to ask the night before, but his relief at finding Eddie there again, and safe in his house had overshadowed almost everything else, not to mention getting caught up in proving to Robin that everything he’d told her was real.

“How would you know if I was or not if you were asleep the whole time?” Eddie teased, thinking he was cute, slick even, avoiding the question with another question, but Steve could see the sudden tightness around his eyes, and he wasn’t about to let it go completely. He hadn’t really thought about the how, or the why, he’d just known without a doubt that Eddie was there, like a flame in the dark of his exhaustion and drug-induced dreamless sleep.

“I could feel you,” he said simply, hoping to leave the ball in Eddie’s court with just that, but soon added, “and you told me I, quote, couldn’t get rid of you that easily.”

“And you trusted me to stay with you based just on that?”

Steve could only nod. When put like that it made him feel a little silly, but he’d felt it in his bones that Eddie had meant it, no matter how casual the words had been.

“I didn’t exactly go anywhere…” Eddie began with a sigh. “Not on purpose anyway. I was sitting by your bed watching you sleep after Robin got kicked out and—I dunno, I guess I fell asleep?”

Until that moment, Steve would have bet money that ghosts couldn’t sleep, but he’d also be the first to say he didn’t really know shit, and nothing Eddie had said seemed like something he’d be so reluctant to talk about.

Eddie rolled over abruptly, eyes turned up and unfocused, and Steve doubted he was actually seeing the speckled popcorn ceiling above them.

“I was back there, in the Upside Down,” he went on after a beat. “I was back there, and I was alone, and it… it should have been terrifying, but I didn’t feel anything. It was creepy, like I was a zombie or something.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, at a loss. It was all so unfair. “You’d think dying would give you a free pass to skip out on the whole nightmares thing.”

“Do you really think I'm…?”

The unsaid word hung sad and heavy in the air between them as Eddie slowly turned back to face him. Steve held his hand out, letting it rest palm up on the bed. Eddie eyed it warily before gritting his teeth, placing his own hand on top.

To no one’s surprise, it passed right through, and Eddie quickly pulled his own hand back with a low growl of frustration.

“All my instincts tell me yes,” Steve said, softly. “But... I'd really love to be wrong.”

Eddie nodded, body slumping in defeat. “Is there any way to know for sure?”

“I guess we could check the journals, but—”

“You mentioned that before. What journals?”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, fighting off that old voice in his head that was screaming at him to leave it be. He shouldn’t even be thinking about those books let alone talking about them. He had to remind himself that this time there was no one around to answer to. No one to stop him from learning his own history anymore.

“That grandfather I mentioned? He was sort-of the outlier of the family. Where he resented his abilities and avoided interacting with ghosts at all costs, the rest of the Harringtons embraced their gifts, documenting their experiences helping the dead in personal journals. There’s a box full of them in the attic, at least I hope it’s still there. I found it by accident once when I was little, when my mom sent me up there for some wreath my dad had forgotten to bring down for Christmas.”

He paused for a moment, lost in the memory of that day. He could see it all clear as day, every detail. The musty smell of mold and mildew. The way dust swirled through the air as he padded across the attic floor on socked feet. How the unlabeled cardboard box would have completely escaped his attention if it hadn’t been for the young girl hiding behind it. She’d flickered like an aging light bulb, and though he could only see her from the nose up, there was something familiar about her eyes, so similar to his own when he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Steve?”

It was the concern in Eddie's voice more than anything that brought Steve’s attention back to the present, a small, apologetic smile taking shape on his face as Eddie came back into focus in front of him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, doing his best to shake off the past.

The furrow in Eddie’s brow only deepened. “We don’t have to talk about this now if—”

“It’s okay,” Steve cut in. “I'm okay, and this is important. There’s not much more to tell anyway, I’d only gotten to skim through a few of them before I was caught… and punished for snooping.”

“Jesus.”

Throwing back the covers, Steve held in a hiss of pain as he started to swing his legs over the edge of the bed again. He wondered if Robin would be bringing up pain meds along with whatever else he’d be prescribed.

Eddie sat up in a rush and made to reach for him, but stopped short, hand hovering above Steve’s shoulder. “Woah, woah, woah, where are you going now?”

“Uh… the attic?”

“Steve, stop. You need rest.”

Steve heaved a sigh, settling back against the headboard with crossed arms. “Et tu, Brute?”

Eddie blinked at him slowly, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally speaking. “Okay, we’re gonna come back to that at some point, because Steve Harrington: renowned jock, quoting Shakespeare to my ghost in his bedroom was not on my afterlife bingo card. The books can wait, I'm with Robin on this one.”

“I’m fi—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re fine!” Eddie shouted, his voice ringing out so powerfully it seemed to reverberate off the walls.

Steve snapped his mouth shut.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know that? I fucking…” Eddie's voice broke. He pulled his knees to his chest, hugging his arms around them. “Do you know how hard it was to see you laying there and not be able to wake you up? Knowing there was nothing I could do to help you? I don’t know what I would have done if Robin hadn’t called and showed up like she did.”

For the millionth time since Eddie had appeared, Steve longed to reach out, wishing he could comfort him in some way other than words.

He wasn’t always great with words.

“I wish I could hug you,” Steve whispered, letting the thought out aloud without really meaning to. He shook his head at himself. “Sorry, that’s… I shouldn't have said that.”

Eddie rested his cheek on his knee, looking over at him sideways with a sad, lopsided smile. “I wish you could hug me too.”

Steve’s stomach flipped, the winged creatures inside trying to take flight again, as they so often did when Eddie looked at him a certain way. He moved closer by inches, giving Eddie plenty of time to move away if he wanted, until their sides would have been flush, and wound one arm around the shape of his shoulders. It felt a little silly, holding his arm up there around nothing solid, but the shuddering sigh Eddie let out at the ‘touch’ was all he needed to know it was the right move.

“It’s not the same, but it feels nice.” Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed while he spoke, as if he were reveling in the sensation.

“What does it feel like for you?” Steve asked, sinking into sweet burn himself, feeling brave enough to pose the question he’d been wondering about since the first time Eddie’s being had passed through his own.

Eddie pressed closer, eyes still closed as he leaned into the curve of Steve’s arm as much as he could. “When I was little—real little, before my mom left, and my dad went to prison, and CPS brought me to live with Wayne, I used to wake up in the middle of the night a lot. Nightmares aren't really a new thing for me. I'd sneak out of my room knowing I'd find my dad passed out on the couch with a bottle clutched in his hand, and my mom sitting up by the window enjoying her first bit of peace and quiet for the day. It had to have annoyed her, me hunting her down and climbing up her legs to crawl into her lap, but she never complained. She’d wrap her arms around me and squeeze me tight. Rest her cheek on the top of my head. For a little while I'd feel nothing but warm, and safe.”

Eddie paused, his eyes drifting back open, meeting Steve’s before he spoke again. “It sorta feels like that”

Steve’s lips parted in wonder as his breath caught, his soft gasp the only sound in the quiet room. They were so close. He knew this dance, and he could practically feel the strings of fate connecting him to Eddie pulling taut. It was only natural to want to lean in that last bit more, his gaze flicking down to Eddie’s mouth, as Eddie did the same.

“Eddie, I—”

The bedroom door burst open, stopping Steve’s words in their tracks, and drawing both of their attention. It crashed against the wall as Robin pushed in carrying a large wooden tray overflowing with packaged snacks, a few glasses of water, no less than three different prescription bottles, and a plastic shopping bag hanging from her wrist.

I wish I could kiss you.

That admission at least remained private thanks to Robin’s impeccable timing. Which was probably for the best. What good would it do to tell Eddie how he felt now when it was already too late? No matter how loudly his heart pounded, trying desperately to convince him otherwise.

“Nurse Buckley reporting for duty,” Robin announced with a little bob of her head.

Steve cleared his throat, reluctantly pulling his arm back from around Eddie's form, both of them straightening and separating as if they’d been caught in a much more compromising position. Not that she’d have been able to see.

She must have felt something in the air anyhow, widening her unblinking eyes at Steve before settling the tray across his lap. He bit his lip, but said nothing, and prayed she would pick up his telepathic vibes screaming—not now!

To his relief, she did, but he could see it written all over her face that he’d have to steal some time alone with her to explain eventually. He wasn’t sure what he would say exactly, that he had a crush on their dead friend and they kinda-sorta-almost shared an ill-advised phantom kiss? But he gave her the barest of nods anyway.

“Soooo—” Robin began pointing from one orange medicine bottle to the next. “One of these every twelve hours, two of those every four to six hours, and I don’t remember what this one is,” she raised the third bottle to eye level, reading the label. “But it says one pill once a day, so you might as well get it all over with at once.”

Steve rolled his eyes. It all seemed like a bit of overkill but he reached for the first of the prescriptions anyway.

She snatched it out of his hand. “After you get something in your stomach.”

Eating was the absolute last thing he felt like doing, and he fought the urge to whine as he browsed the choices before him. “Pringles… Oreos… Nutty Bars… Is this your idea of a balanced breakfast, Rob?”

“Hate to break it to you, Sleeping Beauty, but it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, not exactly breakfast time anymore,” Eddie said, looking longingly at the array of junk food.

And holy shit, Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever slept that long in his life. He opened his mouth to say as much, but then Robin was responding to his own comment and somehow he kept forgetting that she couldn’t hear Eddie’s commentary. Clearly he was going to have to get used to carrying on two conversations at once, and fast.

“What do I look like, your personal chef?” Robin scoffed. “It’s not my fault you haven't been to a grocery store.”

“Do we even have a grocery store anymore?” Steve asked as he nibbled an Oreo, genuinely unsure.

Robin shook her head, talking around a stack of Pringles she was munching. “Bradley’s was right in the middle of one of those crack things.”

“That’s depressing,” Eddie mumbled.

“So what’s in the bag?”

“Mmm!” She hummed excitedly, brushing the crumbs from her face with her free hand before dipping into the bag. “Entertainment!”

She pulled out a video tape in a familiar green and white case, giving it a little shake. “Just making sure you don’t feel the need to get out of this bed again.”

“I still can’t believe you have your own TV and VCR in your bedroom.” Eddie said, shaking his head as Robin popped the case open and crossed the room, shoving the tape in the player that sat on the dresser.

Steve ignored the comment, his cheeks beginning to warm. He’d actually gotten them both secondhand with his own money, when he and Robin first started working at Family Video. It was nice to watch a movie curled up in his own bed sometimes, and of course, there were some videos it just didn’t feel right to watch in the open space of his living room, even when no one else was home. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, for Eddie to figure out the truth, or to think he was a spoiled rich kid.

“So-uh, what are we watching then?” Steve asked.

The screen filled with the familiar gold seal of the MGM logo with its roaring lion as Robin made her way back to the bed, taking up a spot on Steve’s other side, correctly guessing where Eddie was currently seated.

“You’ll seeee,” she sing-songed, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “It’s the last video I rented before everything went to shit. Guess I won’t have to worry about any late fees.”

The screen went black, and the TV’s small speaker began blaring the Star-Spangled Banner.

Eddie squeaked beside him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, she thinks she’s so fucking funny.”

“Huh?” Steve said.

Eddie uncrossed his arms, gesturing violently to the TV. “You work at a video store, you should know this!”

Meanwhile, Robin had her mouth clamped shut, with one hand over it for good measure, looking like she was about to bust a gut.

The anthem kept playing, as a few more credits rolled, and Steve had no idea what he was missing. “Worked, past tense. Family Video got torn in half.”

“Good riddance,” Robin forced out, releasing the first giggle.

Finally, the screen flashed again, bright white letters spelling out a single word:

POLTERGEIST

“Oh,” Steve said, grimacing as it finally hit him.

Robin cackled, finally losing control of herself as she watched the dawning horror on his face.

He looked at Eddie.

Eddie looked back.

And though he fought to keep looking put out by her choice of film, Eddie quickly broke out into a wide grin, which Steve matched, and suddenly all three of them were laughing hysterically as the camera panned out, showing a man sitting asleep in a chair in front of a snowy television set.

By the time they were quiet again, there was some creepy blonde girl walking down the stairs of the house on screen, and Steve already knew he wasn’t going to like this movie.

As if he could sense it, Eddie shuddered beside him, leaning in to murmur in Steve’s ear. “I think she’s scarier than I'll ever be.”

Steve laughed again, softly this time, and snuggled down into the covers. He didn’t understand how anyone who’d seen what they had, and been through so much weird shit could still enjoy horror movies, but that was okay. He was happy enough to just be there, nestled between two of the people he cared about most.

He managed to stay awake until the little boy started to get eaten by a tree, and the creepy little girl got sucked into her own closet. After that he found himself drifting in and out, powerless to fight against the cocktail of pharmaceuticals running through his bloodstream.

When the end credits finally rolled, in the space between dreams, he overheard Robin whispering over his head.

“Munson, if you can hear me, I have to go home tonight or my parents will kill me but…uh, could you walk me out so we can have a talk?”

Steve tried to rouse himself, to ask what she meant, what she could possibly need to say to Eddie that she didn’t want him to hear, but her words drifted away before he could latch onto them, sleep pulling at him too hard to open his eyes.

The last thing he felt before unconsciousness swallowed him completely, was a spot of warmth on his forehead, and the distinct crackle of Eddie’s energy buzzing along his skin.

Chapter 4

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @sidekick-hero @geekymagicalpotato

#steddie fanfic #ghost eddie munson #reluctant medium steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #ghost eddie

21 notes · View notes

thetruecaffeinequeen · 2 days ago

Text

Endure

Chapter 14

“Okay, she’s right in here.” Dr. Grayson speaks softly as he pushes Zayne through the door to her room, bringing him to a stop just beside her bed.

His hands quickly find hers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles, feeling her weak pulse beneath his fingertips and the crackling in her breath as her chest rises and falls.

“You’re stronger than this. You’ve survived worse.” His voice is low as he brings her hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

The door opens quietly. A nurse slips in to check her vitals. She looks to Zayne and Dr. Grayson.

“Who is this?” Her head gestures in Zayne’s direction.

“She’s not supposed to have visitors right now, Dr. Grayson, you should know that.”

Zayne doesn’t move. Keeping his head low, not wanting to raise any suspicions, knowing he’ll be ripped from her again if he’s discovered. A paralyzing fear consumes him, feeling that if he lets go, she’ll slip away.

Before Dr. Grayson can respond to her, there’s a drastic shift in the temperature in the room. The hair on the back of Zayne’s arms and neck stands on edge. It’s quiet.

“No…we’re too late.” Zayne’s voice shudders as small vapors pass over her still frame.

Then, everything changes. One shrill, high-pitched note pierces through the room.

Lights flash. Sirens wale. Her body arches once, violently, then, falls, lifeless.

“Code blue!” The nurse’s voice echoes down the hallway as a team rushes in.

Dr. Grayson tries to pull Zayne back, but his grip is iron clad on hers.

“Zayne, let’s give them some space to work.” He tries to gently usher Zayne back a couple of steps, but Zayne pulls his arm away sharply.

“Sir, you have to leave—”

“No.” His voice is firm.

“Security! We need some help in here!” The doctor calls out.

Moments later, two guards rush Zayne from behind. One gripping under his shoulder while the other tightly grabbed his arm, working to pry him back. Zayne fights to keep his grip on her hand, like it’s the last lifeline he has.

“Get him out of here!” A doctor yells, doing his best to hide his panic.

Finally, they manage to drag him back. Zayne stumbles, her fingers slip through his as he’s ripped away from her, and he could do nothing but watch as she grew further and further from him. Her fragile body disappears behind a wall of white coats and scrubs.

Dr. Grayson wanted nothing more than to follow, but he stays behind, knowing if he wants to help his friend, he needs to save her.

The two guards continue dragging Zayne past the doors, before coming to an abrupt stop. One placed his hand on Zayne’s shoulder forcing him to sit in a chair down the hall outside her room while the other retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his belt, securing Zayne to it.

“Don’t even think about trying to get up, understand me?” The guard’s voice was stern as he kneeled. His gaze shifting, eyeing Zayne from head to toe before he and the other guard walked off, standing at either side of the doorway to her room.

"Don’t do this," he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. Zayne’s hands clench tightly around the frame of the chair. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, that he didn’t notice the ice crystals forming over his hands, spreading like vines down the chair.

“Don’t you dare!" The familiar cold snap of his Evol crashed over him as the handcuffs shattered like glass. The suppressant was finally out of his system. But it was coming on too quickly. He had too much power raging through his entire body, and his current emotional state was only adding fuel to the fire burning within him.

“Calm down…she’ll be alright…you know what you have to do…” A voice called out, his voice, but not his words.

Zayne looked up, through the flurry of snowfall surrounding him, the man in black stood motionless in front of him.

Dazed, Zayne shakes his head, trying to clear the fog behind his eyes. The man in black slowly reaches for Zayne’s hand.

“C’mon, it’s time.” He says as he firmly takes Zayne’s hand in his.

Then—

The sound of weak, but steady beeps cut through the storm….a pulse. She’s alive.

Zayne slowly moved towards her room eyeing the guards posted at her door, but they didn’t move. As they pushed open the doors, the staff in the room were frozen in place. The only sign of movement came from the monitor, signaling that she still had fight left in her.

He looks to her, then to the man standing behind him, before inching closer to her bedside.

“You know, I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. Who do I have to thank for getting us this far?”

“I am called Dawnbreaker where I am from…but my friends call me Zayne.” A slight smile spreads across his face.

“Well, Dawnbreaker…Zayne, thank you. For everything.” He says, but as he turns to face him, he’s gone.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #zayne x mc #zayne angst #whump writing #angst with comfort #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #whump #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #love and deepspace fanfic

10 notes · View notes

slaymitchabernathy · 1 year ago

Text

Visiting Day

| this drabble contains sexual content ;) |

The heat is sweltering. The smell is nauseating.

Welcome to District Twelve.

Coriolanus stands tall though, taller than all the other men around him as one of their sergeant's drones on and on about how to behave today.

Because today is a special day.

It’s visiting day.

Coriolanus has been counting down the days until visiting day until he gets to see her again, have her in his arms.

When entering his second year at the University, he was prepared to be faced with exams, stuck-up professors, and of course, the many social events that he’d be expected to attend. What he was not prepared for was the opportunity given to a select ten male students to serve as “temporary Peacekeepers” for five months.

The idea of becoming a Peacekeeper, a public servant disgusted Coriolanus when he received the letter asking him to attend a meeting that would offer more explanation. Thankfully, Soarynn managed to persuade him to attend the meeting and that was where he learned that he wouldn’t really be seen or treated as a Peacekeeper

“You’ll have the authority of a sergeant,” one of their professors had explained. Professor Glass was the man who headed this program and further explained that they’d spend five months in one of the twelve Districts to learn and observe the Peacekeeper bases and report back their findings.

“We need to find the lapses in the system,” he had told them, “and we feel that we can count on you to do that for us considering you’re trusted Capitol citizens who love your country.”

Coriolanus hadn’t been thrilled by the idea of being stuck in one of the Districts for five months, but when the promise of extra credits and a diploma was presented, he accepted.

He just never expected to be stuck in District Twelve.

It hasn’t been bad for the most part. The food is utterly boring and dull and Coriolanus often finds himself longing for the foods he took for granted in the Capitol.

He and the other Capitol students who accepted the offer were also given special privileges as promised. Private sleeping quarters and showers, passes to go into town whenever they pleased and they could go unescorted.

For the most part, they sat inside and did paperwork. But they were able to observe how the other Peacekeepers went about their day, the tasks they performed. They had two months left and Coriolanus couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. Even in October, it was still hot and he was sick of the bugs and the smell.

“I know you all are eager for your little reunions,” the sergeant continues as he paces back and forth in front of them, “but do not forget that you are to serve as examples for the rest of the men. That means maintaining a decent composure. Decorum!”

They all slightly jump at the last word and Coriolanus looks to his left to find Festus Creed trying to hide a smile. Festus widens his eyes at Coriolanus and mouths, “decorum,” in a teasing manner.

Coriolanus grins and shakes his head. He knows they’re all as eager as he is to see their loved ones descend from the train and make their way to the base. Most of the boys are without a girlfriend and are expecting family. Coriolanus being without any living family is only expecting his girlfriend.

Soarynn.

How long has it been since she’s been in his arms? Smiled up at him when he complimented her? Laughed when he told a joke?

Too long in his opinion.

Soarynn was mildly apprehensive about this five-month program once he told her all the new details about it. They’ve never been apart like this and Coriolanus would be lying if he said that it wasn’t taking a toll on him. They wrote to each other every week but letters could only do so much.

He was just itching to see her again.

The sergeant continues listing out rules for them to follow during this visitation. “No taking your visitors off the base, I can’t afford any casualties or run-ins with the locals. Too much paperwork,” the man says with a shake of his head, “you’ll have six hours with your visitors. I expect them all to be back at the station at six o’clock sharp. No exceptions.”

Six hours seems like a joke to Coriolanus who is so used to living with his girlfriend, but he’ll take what he can get at this point. The sound of several trucks pulling up alerts all of them and they all stare at one of the buildings where several figures can be seen moving inside through the tinted windows.

Another group of Peacekeepers march past them in formation, momentarily blocking his view of the building. By the time all the men have cleared, he can see the group of visitors all surrounding one of the Commanders, Commander Hoff who seems to be giving a tour of sorts.

Coriolanus highly doubts that any of these families give a fuck about the base but they all nod their heads and do their best to look interested. It’s a stark contrast to see how the Capitol folk are dressed compared to those who are District.

Despite the heat, most men are wearing button-ups and trousers and a few are sporting suit jackets as well. All the ladies are dressed in expensive dresses and high heels, flaunting jewelry and handbags.

Coriolanus cranes his neck to try and see Soarynn but she’s out of his sight. She’s on the shorter side but he was hoping she might try to see him early on. He wonders how the train ride was for her if she was comfortable and well taken care of.

He heard a few snickers and looks over at the group of Peacekeepers who had just marched past them who are now watching the group of visitors, amused looks on their faces. All of these men are District-born scum who Coriolanus does his best to avoid. Even though they’ve sworn to defend and serve the Capitol, Coriolanus doesn’t trust them.

They’re District. Simple as that.

One look at his fellow classmates tells him that they all feel the same way about their newfound audience. They want these men as far away from their families as possible. But they can’t move, can’t do anything about it. Coriolanus will have to wait for Soarynn to reach him, to touch him, and relieve him from his post.

It’s almost torturous.

Finally, Hoff finishes his spiel about who knows what and begins leading the visitors towards them. Coriolanus straightens up, quickly glancing over his uniform to make sure he’s presentable. All ten of the University students were given different uniforms to wear during their time in Twelve to help the leaders differentiate them from the lowly Peacekeepers.

His uniform is black, the lines and edges crisp and freshly washed. His boots are freshly shined and his face has been shaved and washed for today.

He’s so ready.

Then, he sees her. Nearing the back of the group but he’d recognize that blonde head of hair anywhere. She’s walking with the Creeds, no surprise there. All their parents grew up with one another, but only so many survived the war. Still, the remaining survivors look after their friend’s children in many ways, which includes allowing a young woman to walk with them toward a much-awaited reunion.

That was probably the worst part about all of this, leaving Soarynn behind, leaving her alone.

She has her cat Petunia but it’s not the same and they both know that.

He can see that Soarynn despite the weather and location has dressed to impress. She’s wearing a white dress with a straight neckline and short sleeves. The dress cinches at the waist and slightly fans out, accentuating her figure and her legs. She has a coat on as well, perfectly matching the color of her dress despite the rather hot weather. For shoes, she’s chosen a bold route, sporting white high heels to match her white leather handbag. He remembers gifting her that bag, how excited she had been about it.

Her hair is styled to perfection in a side part with large, bouncy waves. Coriolanus believes it’s what the ladies call “a blow-out.” Whatever that means.

She’s a sight for sore eyes his girl.

He watches as families reunite with their sons, wrapping them in loving embraces. Some mothers are crying while others fuss over their sons who will always be their baby boys. The fathers are more reserved but Coriolanus can see how proud they are of their sons.

Mrs. Creed reaches Festus first and nearly breaks his ribs in a motherly embrace and Festus lets out a sound of slight discomfort as he returns his mother’s hug.

But Coriolanus and his attention are quickly drawn to the stunning young woman who is making her way to him at a rapid pace. Soarynn Nightingale is a picture of Capitol sophistication. She never follows trends and yet always seems to be ahead of them. She never gossips but knows everything about everyone. She’s a stellar student who also manages to attend all social events without fail. And despite being orphaned at a young age, she’s very well-mannered.

All those manners fly out the window as she begins to run towards him with a big smile on her face. Coriolanus can’t help but smile back and open his arms as Soarynn flies into them, letting out a squeal.

Coriolanus wraps his arms around her instantly and suddenly he feels whole again. Like a piece of him has been missing this entire time and now he has it again. He buries his nose in her neck, inhaling that sweet scent of vanilla that he now only catches whiffs of from the letters she sends to him.

He lets out a deep sigh and tightens his hold on Soarynn as if he’s never going to let her go. And he doesn’t plan on it for the next six hours.

When they finally pull away from the hug he almost melts looking into her blue-gray eyes. They’re so dazzling. She’s still smiling and looking at him as if he’s the greatest thing in the world, “Coryo,” she breathes and it’s enough for him to crash his lips onto hers.

They earn themselves a few whistles for the rather public display of affection. Their Capitol friends are used to them being a couple, always being seen together but Coriolanus is selective on the type of affection he shows to Soarynn in public.

Kisses on cheeks, holding hands, fetching her a new glass of champagne. It’s the little things that let other men know exactly who she belongs to without having to try too hard. And Soarynn is the same way when it comes to being in public. Grabbing his arm as they walk through museum halls, always staying by his side, carrying his mints in her purse.

They’re perfect together.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” he says against her lips. Soarynn sighs into the kiss and it’s enough to let him know that she returns the sentiment.

Neither of them make any attempt to break away from the kiss, after the past two and a half months, they deserve to be as touchy as they’re being right now. “Coryo,” she sighs, “I’ve been waiting so long for this moment.” His arms tighten around her waist when he hears those words, hears that she’s missed him as much as he’s missed her.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private hmm?” He suggests, thinking of his private sleeping quarters. Soarynn pulls away from the kiss and nods eagerly, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

꧁ ꧂

“It’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping in the barracks,” he tells her as he unlocks the door to his small sleeping quarters. It’s a shack to put it plainly. With a single twin bed pushed against the left wall and a dresser sitting at the foot of the bed. Against the right wall sits a desk and chair and on the back wall is a single door that leads to the most basic bathroom one can imagine.

Still, it’s private.

Soarynn doesn’t let go of his hand while he unlocks the door, nor does she comment on the barren room he sleeps in every night. A few of his friends had decorated their quarters with photos but Coriolanus hadn’t bothered. Not when he’d be leaving soon.

The bed is perfectly made with the sheets pulled tightly. There’s truly not a speck of dust in this room which is quite something compared to Festus Creed’s sleeping quarters. Coriolanus wouldn’t be surprised if Festus had a rat infestation.

“It’s very you,” Soarynn decides as they step in, closing and locking the door behind her. He grins down at her, “Is it very me because it's neat or because there’s no decorations?” One thing he’s learned about Soarynn is that she appreciates a good piece of decoration. She’s completely transformed the penthouse since she moved in and if she had her way, she’d do the same to this small room.

She gives him a sheepish smile, “Perhaps. Although I do recall sending you several photographs of Petunia that you could’ve hung up on your wall.”

Coriolanus knows he would be the laughingstock of District Twelve if he had pictures of his girlfriend’s cat on his wall. Even if Petunia is quite the cute feline. He scratches the back of his neck, “Well, I didn’t want them to get ruined, darling. The humidity could’ve caused the edges to curl.” Soarynn laughs and he knows he’s caught but she doesn’t seem upset. She stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek, “It’s your room, not mine.”

She has a point.

He looks down at his girlfriend and it seems he’s forgotten how beautiful she really is. With her tan skin with freckles and her soft pink lips. “How was the train ride?”

Soarynn shrugs, “It was fine. I mostly spoke with all the other families on the way here. It only took a bit over a day to arrive here surprisingly, so we arrived this morning which gave me some time to get ready.”

Coriolanus has no shame as he truly drinks Soarynn in. With her blonde hair perfectly curled, and her white dress with an open back which is perfect for ventilation on a hot day like today now that she's taken off her coat. For jewelry she’s gone with the golden rose pendant necklace he got her last year for their anniversary. Her fingers are adorned with several other gold rings that would cost a small fortune here in District Twelve.

Coriolanus tightens his grip on her hand as he thinks about how eager the District folk must be to get their hands on any unsuspecting Capitol citizen who’s paying a visit today. He can picture his sweet, innocent girlfriend being attacked on the way back to the station, ransacked for all her jewelry.

“Were you escorted from the train station?” He asks, and Soarynn nods, giving his hand a small squeeze, “Yes darling. We were kept perfectly safe.”

He wants to point out that nowhere is safe as long as they’re outside of the Capitol’s borders, but he doesn’t want to ruin their reunion. He glances over at his bed, speaking of…reunion.

“Did you miss me?” Soarynn rolls her eyes at his question and lets go of his hand, walking over to his small bed which is a joke compared to their bed in the Capitol, “Did I miss your big ego and your self-obsessed questions? Hmm, let me think about that,” she teases before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Coriolanus grins and watches her kick off her heels, "Did you miss me?" She counters, batting her lashes up at him like the little vixen she is. He takes his time walking over to her, enjoying how she squirms with anticipation.

It's been a long time since they've been together, too long in his opinion. And Coriolanus plans on making the most of their six hours together. He stops right in front of her and slowly sinks to his knees, watching Soarynn's eyes adopt a more sultry look. He gently takes hold of her foot, noting how each little toe has a fresh layer of white polish on them. Even her feet are perfect.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of her foot before pressing another kiss to her calve, slowly working his way up her leg. Her eyes never leave his as he so happily kneels in front of the woman he loves, the woman he would devote his entire life to if she asked him to do so.

By the time he reaches her inner thigh, they're both ridden with sexual tension and Soarynn takes hold of his golden curls and yanks his head up to meet her in a passionate kiss. He groans into the kiss, sliding a hand up her thigh and under her dress to find her panties already soaked.

Soarynn moans into the kiss and bucks into his hand when his fingers graze her folds, "Please," she gasps. Coriolanus smirks and brings his other hand to the back of her dress where the zipper is located, "Help me take this off, darling."

It's comical how fast Soarynn's fingers work to unzip the dress. She lifts her hips from the bed momentarily so he can slip it over her arms and toss it somewhere behind her. Coriolanus knows she has to leave this base looking somewhat decent. It would be terribly awkward for her to board the train looking like a disheveled mess.

His breath hitches in his throat when he sees her dressed in a matching set of lingerie. A white bralette with intricate lace detailing and her panties have the same fabric and pattern, with a little bow in the front. How adorable.

Coriolanus really just wants to rip her panties in half but again, she must look presentable when going back home so he settles for carefully taking them off and swearing under his breath when he sees her cunt for the first time since he left the Capitol.

She's absolutely soaked and Coriolanus is fucking starving. He grabs both her thighs and holds them apart as far as they'll go before diving in to taste her wetness, lapping at her clit and folds. Soarynn lets out a loud moan and her hand finds his curls once again, tugging on them while she whimpers. "Oh Coryo, please, right there, yes, yes, yes, please."

He wishes he could just keep her here in his pocket, that he could have Soarynn whenever he wanted, hold her whenever he wanted. Two months seems like an eternity right now.

He sucks on her clit hard and that has Soarynn squealing, her thighs nearly crushing his head but he'd happily die buried between her legs. "I'm close," Soarynn moans. Coriolanus looks up from her cunt to see the absolute vision Soarynn Nightingale is when she feels good. Her head is thrown back, her breasts are nearly spilling out of her bralette, and her skin smells like vanilla.

"Cum for me darling," he says against her cunt, his tongue delving inside to taste more of her sweetness. Soarynn whines and grinds her cunt into him, riding his face essentially. It's so fucking erotic and nasty that Coriolanus has a big, growing problem in his pants.

One final lick on her clit sends Soarynn into an orgasmic spiral and his name tumbles out of her mouth like a prayer.

Coriolanus stays down there until all he hears are soft whimpers, and he presses one final kiss to her cunt before rising up onto his feet to find Soarynn splayed out on his bed, her blonde hair creating a crown almost above her head. He cocks his head and steps between her spread legs, watching her pant as she tries to catch her breath, "So did you miss me?"

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn's giggles against his chest make Coriolanus want to hold her tighter against him. They're curled up on his small twin bed, both naked and sweaty, she'll probably have to take a shower before they leave this room. He presses a kiss to her temple, "What's that giggle about hmm?"

Soarynn props her head on his chest, those dazzling eyes catching him off guard once again. He's truly forgotten how beautiful she is. Perhaps he's taken his sweet, adoring girlfriend for granted all these years. The past few months away from each other have done him some good in appreciating all that Soarynn is to him.

"Your feet hang off the end of the bed," she says with another giggle. Coriolanus slightly sits up to see that his feet do in fact, slightly dangle off the edge of the twin bed. He rolls his eyes and settles back down on his pillow, running a loving hand over her hair, "Well most Peacekeepers aren't as tall as I am darling," he reminds her.

Coriolanus is more than proud of his height. Six feet and two inches to be precise. He loves it even more when he's with Soarynn. Loves how he can scoop her up, reach to grab things for her, to always be taller than her even when she's in heels.

"Well you're certainly the strongest Peacekeeper," Soarynn tells him, "you've gotten so much bigger since I last saw you." Her words stroke his ego and he smiles, the training he's been doing since arriving in Twelve has helped define his physique even more, giving him larger muscles. "Thank you. It's definitely been more physical than I anticipated," he admits. It's a good thing he exercised daily when living in the Capitol.

Soarynn tilts her head the same way Petunia does when she's curious about something, "In what way?" She asks. Coriolanus bites his inner cheek as he thinks, "Well, the training is quite demanding. We have to do a certain number of pushups, pull-ups, things like that."

Soarynn shakes her head, "I'd never last in the military."

Coriolanus takes a moment to look at her small frame. Soarynn is lean, she's around five feet and six inches but she's well-toned for a girl her age. She does these workout classes with her friends and they look torturous in his opinion. There are strange machines and it seems that everyone who does these classes is as flexible as can be, including Soarynn. Overall she's very fit, more than most of her friends but she most likely would get her ass handed to her after a day of Peacekeeper training.

"Well drop down and give me twenty," he says, watching her face morph from one of amusement to one of confusion. He nods at her, "You heard me private, drop down and give me twenty."

Soarynn raises her eyebrows but humors him and slowly peels her body off of his, giving him quite the view of her naked form before she stands up, stretching her arms into the air, "Do all of you Peacekeepers train naked?" She teases, “Or is it just me?”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes and does his best not to imagine having the train naked with other men. It would be traumatizing, to say the least.

“Just you,” he replies, “since you’re so special.”

Soarynn rolls her eyes and her eyes land on the desk next to her and the single drawer it possesses. Soarynn is a curious creature by nature and Coriolanus doesn’t even bother to stop her as she pulls the drawer open, letting out an excited gasp when she sees the drawer's contents.

All of the letters she’s written him.

“Oh, Coryo you kept them!”

He nods, watching as she rifles through the thick stack of letters he’s received from her. Coriolanus does his best to write her at least twice a week but it feels as if he receives a letter from her every single day, and there is almost always a picture of her and Petunia included.

“Of course I did,” he replies, “I look forward to reading them every day darling.”

It helps that Soarynn seems to have a passion for writing and can be rather lengthy and descriptive in her letters, informing him of the latest gossip and Capitol news. She’s been his little spy in a way.

“I enjoy reading yours as well,” she mumbles, flipping through several pages of her handwriting, “do the other boys get letters?”

Not as many as I do, he thinks to himself.

“They do. But mostly from their mothers.”

He’s seen the letters his friends have received and they’re all along the same lines of their mothers worrying themselves to death about their precious baby boys. “Be so careful my darling boy, blah, blah, blah.”

They usually receive letters right before dinner so they often read them out loud to each other in the mess hall and exchange any new forms of gossip they’ve found out. The boys always look forward to Soarynn’s since she actually provides useful information rather than someone’s mother talking about her lady's luncheon.

Soarynn hums and carefully places the letters back in the drawer and pulls out a few photographs that he brought with him. They’re all of her of course, Coriolanus knew he’d need something pretty to look at while being stuck in this hellhole.

Soarynn smiles softly at the photographs and traces her finger along a particular one, “Which one is that?” Coriolanus asks, sitting up in the bed. Soarynn steps over to him and sits on the edge of the bed, allowing him to hook his chin over her shoulder, “It’s the one we took after graduation.”

Coriolanus scans over the photograph and remembers that day well. It had been quite the celebration for them once they graduated from the Academy. The photograph shows the two of them in their cap and gowns, both smiling brightly at each other while holding their diplomas. “I like that one,” he finally says.

They both sit in silence for a moment, naked yet fully equal with one another. Coriolanus doesn’t know how he’s going to watch her leave, watch her walk away. How did she do it when he left?

He hadn’t been prepared to be the one being left behind this time.

“I wish you could stay forever,” he mumbles, pressing kisses to her shoulder. Soarynn sighs softly and takes his large hand in her small one, “I know. But we only have two more months. The worst of it is over.”

Coriolanus wants to point out that he is the one suffering from the worst of it but he knows that Soarynn has suffered too, just in different ways. “I’ve been terribly lonely without you,” she adds.

Coriolanus frowns against her skin, “But you have your friends, darling,” he points out. She also has her classes and events to attend. Soarynn shakes her head, “It’s not the same. You’re my family Coryo, you’re…you’re a part of me that I require to be complete.”

His heart swells at her words. They’ve both been dealt a shitty card when it comes to their families, both dead from the war leaving the two of them orphaned. But they found each other, built their own little family.

“I know darling. We’ll be together soon,” he promised, wrapping his arm around her waist, “and until then we can keep writing letters. And Petunia is family too isn’t she?” He hates to give the cat any credit but she’s a loyal pet to Soarynn.

Soarynn leans back against him and it feels so good to have her in his arms again. He knows that he should show her around the base, introduce her to people. But Coriolanus Snow is often a selfish man and for the next few hours, he wants her all to himself.

꧁ ꧂

"I think it looks attractive."

Soarynn scowls at his words as she stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She's attempting to make herself look somewhat presentable before leaving to go back home to the Capitol but after a few more rounds, her hair is a mess. "I think it looks horrendous," she retorts, meeting his eyes in the mirror's reflection.

He can't stop the boyish grin from spreading across his face as he watches her fuss in the mirror. The bathroom is far too small for the two of them but they made it work and Coriolanus even managed to slip into the shower with her. "Just put it up darling, no one's going to notice." He knows how much Soarynn cares about her outward appearance and he would too but he also thinks it's somewhat adorable at how worked up she is about all of this.

Soarynn looks around the sparse bathroom which includes a toilet, a sink, and a shower, all within reaching distance of one another. "Do you miss our bathroom at home?" He doesn't hesitate to answer her question, "Yes."

Coriolanus misses a lot of things. He misses his large bathroom with its big shower. He misses his comfortable king-sized bed with the fluffy pillows and thick duvet. He misses his living room and kitchen where he used to host parties. He misses Soarynn most of all.

Soarynn smiles and shakes her head, "You were spoiled in the Capitol." She says that like it's his fault for being born in the greatest city of Panem. He wouldn't have it any other way though. He looks down at his wristwatch and frowns, she has to leave soon, very soon.

He's going to miss his girl so much. Just seeing her in his room has brightened everything up. How will he ever be able to look at his bed without picturing her in it? See his mirror without seeing her staring at her reflection?

"I'm going to miss you," he tells her, his voice slightly hoarse. Soarynn's face softens and she turns to look at him directly, "I know darling. But...but we'll be together again soon, I promise." Neither of them hesitates to pull one another into an embrace, skin on skin.

He buries his nose in her soft hair, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla for the last time. When he comes home he's going to marry this girl, he knows that much.

꧁ ꧂

They both hold onto each other's hands tightly as they approach the train station. Coriolanus managed to convince Hoff to let him escort Soarynn to the train and he's cherished every second he's had with her since they set off for town.

"It's certainly...different here," Soarynn decides. Coriolanus nods, ignoring the looks they get from the locals, "Yes it is."

Part of him wants to jump onto the train with her and go back home but then he'd be deserting his fellow Peacekeepers, and that could count for treason. He'll just have to stick it out for two more months. Sixty days. Hell on earth.

They come to a stop in front of the door Soarynn will step through, separating them once again. "I love you," Soarynn says, looking up at him. She looks so beautiful. Her dress doesn't look too wrinkled and her hair is styled in a fashionable updo, and she can always say that she put it up because of the heat if anyone questions her.

Coriolanus offers her a small smile, "I love you too darling, with all my heart and soul." Soarynn sniffles and Coriolanus pulls her in for a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her one last time, "Promise you'll keep writing to me," she whispers. He nods even though she can't see him, "Of course I will. And promise me that you'll try to enjoy yourself while I'm away. Have a little bit of fun."

Soarynn lets out a dry laugh but he hopes his wishes for her to enjoy herself come true. He doesn't want her running around the Capitol streets at night, but he also doesn't want her cooped up in the apartment either.

They stay like that until the sharp whistle of the train reminds them that one of them will be leaving soon. "I love you Soarynn, don't forget that," he tells her, cupping her face in his hands. Soarynn looks up at him and there's a hint of tears in her eyes, just like the first time they said goodbye.

"I love you too Coryo. Please take care of yourself darling, come back to me safe and sound." He presses a kiss to her lips to show her that he intends to return to her in one piece, ready to spend the rest of his life with her.

Another whistle lets them know it's now or never. Should Soarynn miss this train Coriolanus wouldn't know what to do with her, where to put her. District Twelve only gets a certain number of shipments a month and he wouldn't be able to guarantee when the next train would come.

It's time to say goodbye.

"I'll see you soon darling," he promises, giving her forehead a kiss, "and when I do, I have every intention of marrying you and making you Mrs. Snow."

The smile on Soarynn's face makes saying goodbye all worth it.

She gives him one final kiss before hopping onto the train, waving goodbye through the window as it pulls away from the station.

꧁ ꧂

One Week Later

Dear Coryo, Mrs. Snow does have a nice ring to it. Love, Soarynn

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

57 notes · View notes