#Healing Lives for medical purposes

[neverendingford]

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[airandangels]

You can see the process of reconstructing this person from the ground up in the new Netflix documentary Secrets of the Neanderthals (I think that was the title) and, to sweeten the deal, it’s narrated by Patrick Stewart.

Or hey, given Captain Picard’s love of archaeology, you can just pretend it’s him.

every prehistoric human reconstruction has me thinking “I want to smoke weed with this bitch”

she looks like she would have been an awesome neighbor, like she would have loved menthols and called me baby

[quarterlifekitty]

König and Domestic Silk Moth Hybrid!Reader

Due to popular demand (about 4 people)

Context: in this one, I’m having König stay human and having hybrids in a pet role. As an insect hybrid, I’m making her small AF (like 2-3 ft tall). I did consider making her Barbie sized tho 👀. So this is gonna have size kink bordering on micro/macro just so you know!

König is stuck on medical leave, and pretty damned miserable. He sustained a break that’s put him out of commission for a while. He’s never spent so long in his empty home, and it’s driving him insane. He’s spent basically his entire adult life married to his work, so he’s woefully unprepared to keep himself entertained.

And despite being something of a loner most times, he misses the noise. He misses the bodies and conversation. He and Horangi have a phone call every so often, and text as frequently as the work allows, but that only takes up so much time in the day.

And it’s Horangi that suggests a hybrid.

That’s something that he could throw himself into to keep occupied, as well as giving company. And unlike a pet, a hybrid would be able to be mostly self sufficient whenever he returned to work.

(Horangi doesn’t want to say if he returns. But König is not a young man, and has sustained a serious injury. There’s a chance that even if he heals, he won’t be the same as before. Combined with his rank, it won’t be huge surprise if he’s pressured or forced into retirement if his utility is limited.)

König is apprehensive— so he doesn’t want something quite as needy as a cat or dog hybrid, where he’d have to deal with heats and noise. And Horangi happens to have an old friend, retired, who raises domestic silk moth hybrids with his newfound free time. You’re picked to be offered up, freshly cut from your thick silk cocoon.

And for König, it’s love at first sight.

You’re very pretty. Fluffy white fur, big, dark, eyes. And so small. You barely come up to his hip, and raise your arms, asking to be lifted. It’s only then that he learns domesticated silk moths are flightless, their wings are pretty but unable to fly. It makes him feel a little bit of kinship with you. Restricted movement, denied purpose.

And basically his life revolves around you from that point. König doesn’t have many involved or expensive hobbies, so he has a lot of time and resources to devote to your care. You’re something of a niche pet, so it’s a little difficult to find things made for you. He resorts to commissions. Don’t fucking look at his Etsy purchase history.

You live your life perched on his shoulders or in his arms (you’re much too small to keep up with him). He’s a little afraid of letting you in his bed at night, he doesn’t want to roll over and crush you by accident, but you keep crawling under his covers anyways. You can’t help having cocooning behavior.

He’s constantly sitting you on ledges. On the sink while he shaves, on the counter when he cooks, on his desk when he works. You’ve always gotta be within arms reach for petting purposes.

And the petting, the kissing… he’s so addicted to the contact. He’s been alone for so long, and you’re so soft.

And that just leads to him getting more and more curious about your body. You don’t mind— you love him! And he loves his little Seidenmotte.

He’s beyond delicate with you. You’re so small— he has to work you up quite a bit before he can even fit a finger into your cute little pussy.

God it makes him hard how he can pin you down by the stomach with just one hand. And you make these little pips and squeaks when he fingers you— it’s just too cute for words. He totally shares some pictures with Horangi as thanks. (Which might lead to a couple of other colorful character asking to see pictures of you).

Usually he fucks your soft, fuzzy thighs to get off. He’s so warm and heavy against your clit, his cockhead practically reaching your chest. He paints your tits with white, pearly ribbons that glisten against the fuzz of your chest.

If you’re on top, he likes watching your useless wings beat while you slide your wet little cunt over him, the ridge of his head making you shiver when it bumps against your clit. You usually end up making yourself cum once or twice, and when you’re too tired and sensitive to move yourself he’ll grab your waist and grind you against him, using you like a toy to get himself off.

You don’t spread your wings often, but when you do, it leaves a little bit of moth dust behind from the tiny scales you shed. König thinks it’s so cute to see it against his bedsheets— it’s like glittery fresh snow, proof of how excited he made you.

[loveanddeepthroat]

Unlucky Thirteen

Summary - Sylus liked the quiet girl with the poorly heart. She was the only kid in the laboratory who hadn’t come and gone before he could even remember what she looked like. When he doesn’t see her for a whole day, he knows that there’s only one place she could be—the Medical Bay. He’d been through it all before she’d even arrived at the lab over a year prior, and felt a duty to keep her company whilst her heart healed.

Word Count - 2.4k

Warnings - Child!Sylus and Child!MC as experimental lab rats. Mentions of child experimentation and non-consensual medical treatments. This theory of them being lab rats is not canon, so keep in mind that I have made this all up!

Sylus couldn’t find the girl with the poorly heart.

It was the third and final free hour of the day in the laboratory’s Playroom, and she was nowhere to be seen among the children.

Again.

The girl had been missing a few times before now—usually for further experimentation. But for all three of their free time breaks from observations and alterations meant only one thing.

She had to be in the Medical Bay.

He didn’t know much about the quiet girl, other than the fact that she had problems with her heart. There was always a big, white bandage over her chest that just peaked out over the neckline of her plain white gown, but he would never ask her questions about it. They only got to see each other during mealtime and free time, so discussing the things they were put through in between was something neither of them wanted to commit any time to. She didn’t want to talk about her heart as much as he didn’t want to talk about his eye.

In fact, they didn’t talk much at all. They just had a common denominator that seemed to draw them to each other.

Sylus had watched kids come and go from this place for a few years, hoping that one day it would be his turn to leave. That futile hope had been short lived, and it became clear that he wasn’t going anywhere when all the other kids around him dropped off like flies. 

When she came in with a new group of kids around a year ago, he thought nothing of it. She was just a face he’d forget after she would undoubtedly be released. But as those weeks turned to months—the few children she had arrived with long gone—her face had remained a constant for Sylus.

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she’d finally been freed today. The people in the lab coats were far too interested in her as of late, and she was starting to look more withdrawn each time he saw her. Much like he had when he woke from an operation he didn’t know he was having.

The more he thought about her condition, the more he hoped that she was in the Medical Bay—rather than somewhere more sinister.

He’d grown a bit of an attachment to the girl. She was the only friendly face that hadn’t left him. Even in their lack of conversation, he enjoyed her company. Felt comforted by her. They often read in silence side by side, always in whichever back corner of the Playroom was free of other kids. The less significant test subjects always delved straight into the toys and games, but the two of them had no interest in joining in.

Sometimes, if the lab coats had prodded around in his eye too much, the girl would quietly read aloud to him. He liked it when she read to him. So much so that he sometimes played on his eye problems just to hear her read for an hour.

He was used to her being absent for one or two of the three free hours they get, but this was too much for him. 

He had to get into the Medical Bay.

His head had purposely been rested against the electric heater beside the bookshelf for a few minutes as he made himself appear as clammy and feverish as possible. His cheeks burned as he pinched them repeatedly, and he put on his best nasally voice once he approached the Playroom supervisor with a little book tucked under his white t-shirt, rubbing his good eye for added effect.

“I feel sick,” he whined to the stone-faced woman in all-black clothing.

She barely threw down a glance at him, raising a lazy eyebrow. “You were fine during dinner.”

Damn.

Plan B came into quick effect. He rolled his eyes back a little, swaying where he stood. The hot skin of his forehead bumped against her hipbone as he stumbled forward dramatically, and she quickly bent down to his level, steadying him with her firm hands.

“Oh for goodness sake,” she mumbled, her frown deepening when she pressed the backs of her cold fingers against his head. She pulled out a little radio device that was tucked in the chest pocket of her shirt, speaking into it frankly with a push of its button. “Patient S013 is feeling unwell. Feverish. Permission to move from Room 11 to the Medical Bay?”

Sylus held his breath, willing whoever was on the other end of the radio call to grant the cold woman the permission he didn’t know she would need. He’d only ever been to the Medical Bay once before, and hadn’t ever wanted to return. Being examined and tested by strange scientists everyday was bad enough. He had no interest in spending time with the nurses who tended to him after his surprise surgery.

“Permission granted,” a male voice affirmed through the radio.

The stern lady grabbed suddenly at his shoulder, pushing him lightly out of the noisy room and down the silent halls. He liked when they were silent. He’d heard enough screams from children to haunt him for life.

The walk to the Medical Bay was short, and Sylus remembered to throw a few sniffles and pathetic coughs into the silent trek to keep up his charade. He must’ve still looked red faced and sickly, the nurse on duty handing him a gown to change into straight away upon his arrival.

He changed as quickly as he could behind a curtain that gave him only a sliver of privacy, tucking the book he’d smuggled from the Playroom into the inner fabric. The nurse checked his vital signs In the small triage room with nothing but a blank look on her face for comfort. Nobody around here tended to smile or show any true emotion towards the children. 

It didn’t affect Sylus at all. He didn’t know any different. Didn’t remember a time when someone smiled at him. Or when he had smiled at someone else. 

He wasn’t sure if he ever had.

The small, sterile Medical Bay was empty as he followed the nurse inside—save for the tuft of the girl's hair he could see peeking out above her blanket. He almost audibly sighed with relief to see her, but the fact that something was wrong enough for her to even be in the Medical Bay struck alarm bells in his head.

“Patient S113 isn’t feeling good, so try to be quiet,” the nurse told him. She pulled back the covers of the bed next to the girl, hurriedly ushering him to get in before giving him a syringe of medicine to take. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

He nodded, waiting for her to turn around before he took a look at the sickly girl a few feet away. The skin on her face was shiny and damp in the stark light of the strip lights above them. She didn’t look well at all, and had the thin, white blanket pulled right the way up to her chin.

The nurse administered a dose of something fluorescent yellow to her in another syringe, pressing her hand to the girl’s damp forehead with a tut. Sylus could’ve sworn that the nurse sighed a little in concern.

“That medicine should make you feel a bit better soon. Try to sleep,” she murmured to the girl quietly, moving the strands of hair that were stuck to her skin before leaving the room. 

He didn’t know what to do once the nurse closed the door behind her. The quiet girl looked so…deathly. Her colouring was a good few shades lighter than it usually was, and there was a greyish tinge to it too. Whatever was going on with her, it didn’t look good.

“What happened?” he blurted quietly.

She slowly turned her head towards him, blinking a few times to focus her eyes. They widened a little when she realised it was him.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice small and croaky.

The sound hurt something in Sylus’s chest. “What happened?” he repeated again, sitting up a little further in the bed to get a good look at her.

The girl lifted a shaky hand, pointing straight to where her heart was. “I think it’s broken,” she replied.

Sylus frowned a little. He didn’t know that hearts could break. Bones could break, he knew that much. He’d seen broken bones quite often in this place. Her heart wasn’t like most people’s—he knew that too. 

But it couldn’t break. Right?

“Are they going to make it better?”

She blinked at him a few times, and he really studied her. This was the most they’d ever said to each other in conversation, but it didn’t feel strange or wrong like he thought it might. It felt natural. Almost like they were both still here in the wake of so many other young patients’ departures for a specific reason. 

He found himself wanting to know more. He wanted to know everything about her heart—including how to fix it.

Her weary eyes glanced around the room for any listening ears, and she shifted the blanket down from her chin so she could see over it. She eventually whispered back to him, “I’m not sure that they’re even trying to fix it.” She took a shuddering breath in, wincing a little bit. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

That’s when he noticed it.

In the absence of the blanket, he saw the gnarly tail end of a stitched up incision where he would usually see a bit of the bandage she always donned on her chest. He may have been young, but he knew without having to ask what the lab coats had done to her. They’d done the same thing to him once before. Put him to sleep without warning to poke and prod into the innards of his most interesting body part—his right eye. He had no idea why they were so interested in it, or why they were equally as interested in her heart. But whatever the reason, it was mutually exclusive to the two of them.

“They’ve done that to me, too,” he reassured her quietly, trying to shift that anxious look from her tired face. She didn’t know what was going on, so he felt a duty to soothe any worries on her mind. “I woke up in here with a big bandage over my eye before you came to live here. Couldn’t see properly for a few weeks, but it got better. Like your heart will.”

The girl looked apprehensive, but seemed a little bit more settled to know that he’d been in the same situation previously. They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke. “You’ve been here for a long time.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but he answered like it was. He didn’t want to stop talking with her, hoping it was bringing her some semblance of peace. “I have,” he confirmed with a nod. “Me and twelve other kids were the first here. That’s why I’m patient S013.”

“Thirteen is supposed to be an unlucky number,” she whispered.

Sylus cocked his head to the side, wondering if she was kidding. He’d never heard of that before, but if she was right, it would make perfect sense. Patients S013 and S113 being the two most focused on subjects in the lab coats’ top secret experiments did seem a bit too coincidental in his mind.

He sure did have a lot of time on his hands to think about things like that, too. She was the one hundredth kid after him to arrive, and ended up stuck here with him for the foreseeable. Maybe whichever newcomer unlucky enough to be patient S213 would end up in their same predicament.

“We’ll find our luck one day,” he finally responded, exuding all of his confidence into that one sentence. He was determined that he’d fight his way out of here one day, and that he’d be able to bring her with him. He wasn’t strong enough—not yet. But whatever they were doing to him here, he’d use it to his own advantage once he got a good understanding of it. “Maybe we’ll both get out of here, and we can see what the world is like.”

The girl smiled. Smiled at him, even in her state. It wouldn’t have been possible to not smile back, no matter how unnatural it felt for the corners of his lips to curl.

“Yeah,” she whispered. Her blinks were slowing down, and she looked sleepy. “That would be nice. I’d like to see the ocean one day, like I’ve read about in books.”

Sylus suddenly remembered the book he’d smuggled in, still resting coldly against his stomach beneath his gown. He quickly reached down into the neckline, grabbing it out and waving it up for her to see it.

“I could read to you, if you want? While you fall asleep.” He wasn’t sure if it would help her in any way, but the familiarity of a book seemed like the best form of comfort he could think of for her.

Her tired eyes lit up a little, and her smile widened. It struck something in Sylus’s heart, and for a moment, he wondered if he had a heart problem. He’d never felt such a feeling, but he liked it. It felt like a real feeling. Not just the horrible physical feelings of aches and pains.

It was a mental feeling. A caring feeling.

He settled himself back against the plump pillow behind him, opening up the book. It was a children’s fable that they’d read many times before, and the one book he enjoyed hearing her read. He checked on her once more, making sure she was still awake and eager to hear him read.

The idea of a book seemed to wake her up a bit from her fatigue, but even so, Sylus would read the book over and over until it lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

He quietly cleared his throat reading the title aloud the way she always does.

“The Kitten Who Met The Crow…”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little story! I think the lab rats theory is so interesting and couldn’t resist this sweet little idea! I’ve been a bit slow on the content recently and I do apologise, but I’m in the midst of moving into a new apartment and the stress of that on top of the way my neurodivergent son is struggling to cope with it has turned my brain to mush. Things should settle soon and I’ll be back on the requests 🤍

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

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Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[sunnie-angel]

I just can't get the idea of soulmate!jason where you share scars out of my head. Jason is a canvas of scars. We all find them beautiful and wouldn't judge him even if we were held at gun point. But imagine you were getting those scars at the same time he was... it would be hard. Of course you are worried about your soulmate, but when you wake up with a permanent, very purposeful J branded onto your face, can you really tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed to go outside? Afraid of meeting your soulmate who seems to be either a criminal or in a very dangerous victim situation? Would you not be even a little angry that now your face is ruined? (I know there is makeup, but we are ignoring that for a second) Yes, you share these scars with your soulmate and somewhere along the line you'd find peace with them. But in the moment when you look in the mirror and find an autopsy scar... I can only imagine what you would feel. Oh, and poor Jason. He would never be able to forgive himself. He probably wouldn't even realize he has a soulmate because if you get a scar he wouldn't notice it beside all of his. This isn't a request. I just wanted to share my thoughts and hear yours. I'm asking a few different creators as well, but might miss someone because I haven't discovered them yet! Please feel free to ask for someone else's opinion as well

so full disclosure, i did already read rae's (@/heavysighing-dreamyeyes) take on this so i'm going to consciously choose to go in a slightly different direction.

how do you know that they're your soulmate's scars, other than the fact that the injuries that caused them were never yours? are they the same colour as a regular scar? do people look at a person and struggle to tell who earned what scar?

it's fun at first, in middle school to tell people fantastical stories about what your soulmate must have done to earn a scar. fought off a bear, went skydiving without a parachute, invented a new kind of handsaw. the other kids all eat it up. none of them have a soulmate leading such an interesting life after all. you don't notice the worried titters of adults, the lingering eyes that don't look at a new scar that appeared overnight and think wicked but instead go abuse.

at what age do you start carrying around proof of your own medical history so the cops don't get called on your family, your caretakers? when do you realize everyone's started looking at you - at your soulmate - as a victim? is it when your sleeves don't cover the scars anymore, when you stop wearing shorts because of the pitying looks you always get?

there's so many of them - so many of their marks on your body - that even you start to lose track of any marks that you've earned. the scar on your knee from a scrape that didn't heal right, the burn scar on the pad of your thumb from a cooking experiment gone wrong. if even you forget that they're your own, how is jason supposed to tell the difference from the hundreds he's caused? jason not believing he ever had a soulmate because he would have at least one scar by now, right? jason who is so half-mad over the life he could have lived and the lives that weren't saved, who looks at his one-sided existence as further proof that he is unloveable.

puberty is cruel to almost everyone, but to go through it not only dealing with bad acne break outs, a body you still don't know the dimensions of, and intense facial scarring on top of that? it's hard not to look at all the people around you blooming into adults while you feel perpetually doomed to be the ugly duckling. you can tell yourself as many times as you need to that it's not your soulmate's fault, that whatever is happening to them is clearly horrific, but it doesn't soothe the sting of wanting to cut up every photo from your high school prom or the curl of revulsion when you catch sight of a new mark.

jason almost spirals into a panic attack the first time he catches sight of the j carved into his cheek mirrored on yours, a stranger in a crowd. it means that he's not alone, that he's never been alone. it also means that every wound he's ever had inflected on himself has been replicated on you and that sends him into another spiral of shame.

for you and him, loving each other would be a lesson in loving yourselves. the scars that jason can trace so tenderly along your ribs is also the one he refuses to look at on himself. the scars on his face you trace so tenderly are also the ones you work hardest to hide away. both of you have to learn to love these parts of yourself through loving them on each other, because otherwise your love starts to ring hollow.

[genderkoolaid]

Though I have a UTMB prescription for my hormone treatment, I am still at war within TDCJ with trying to obtain my T injections, boxer shorts, hygiene products, razors, and basic pronoun respect. These past five years have been a nonstop battle against the horrors of prolonged solitary confinement. I've been a victim of numerous assaults during my time here. I've been punched, stomped, kicked, and spit on by officers. I've been purposely placed in a rec cage by transphobic officers where I was assaulted by four inmates. I've been denied gender-affirming clothing. I've endured broken bones, bruises, and wounds that were left to heal without medical attention because I've been denied medical treatment. It’s the luck of the draw weekly on whether or not I receive my T injections week to week, depending on medical supply, availability of staff, and the mood or personal opinion of the selected officer chosen to escort me to the infirmary. One officer doesn’t like the fact that I’m trans and refuses to take me to medical. My transition sometimes stagnates due to the inconsistency of my T injections. My body suffers silently from the weeks when I have to miss a dose of my hormonal therapy. I’ve been denied razors to shave, and when I am given razors they’re dull, causing me to get razor burn. Out of sheer malice, I am given women’s hygiene products such as deodorant, body wash, and shampoo, causing my pH balance to be off-kilter and creating irritation and inflammation. With no resources or outside support, there’s no coalition or aegis for protection or help for me to live as a trans man in prison safely.

[comfort-questing]

crow's personal ranking of idioms about dead-ness, for whump purposes

"half dead." basic and classic, and can be used both actually and figuratively ("you look half dead" ie. we all know you didn't sleep last night). 6/10, not bad, points deducted for the frequency of figurative use where nothing actually happened to a character and they just need a nap

"more dead than alive." now we are committing to at least 51% dead, which is promising. I have never heard this used figuratively in a narrative so if someone says it about a character, they mean it. they looked, and dead was the predominant impression. good whump should be expected hereabouts. 8/10.

"dead on their feet." usually used for exhaustion, but honestly, a peak descriptor of exhaustion. 7/10 for that reason alone. we've all been there.

"all but dead." ...does anyone ever say this, or did I just come up with it? -/10 since I don't feel ethical rating it if I'm the only one who uses it

"threshold of death/on death's door/brink of death/verge of death" - dated but also, classic. a solid option overall, implying suspense, uncertainty of outcome. 5/10, nothing special but no complaints really

"looking like death" - equally appropriate for emotional or physical whump, but needs more detail to follow up so we know which one is meant. 4/10 in the abstract, due to ambiguity

"inches from death." have hated this one ever since I was a small crow, because it's usually used for narrow escapes - nearly stabbed, nearly crushed by a falling object, nearly bitten by the monster. emphasizes spatial arrangements to the detriment of actual effects. 2/10 since it can be used for whump, just rarely is

"dying" as an adjective describing a character. is it foreshadowing? is it a medical descriptor? it's probably foreshadowing, or else we're going to have a magical healing deus ex machina. either way, not a thing this crow is super into... 1/10, I'm sure it has potential though.

"left for dead" mmmmmmph... this one is underrated... implying either ruthless, targeted brutality, or perhaps callous abandonment by someone. either way, whump is inevitable to follow. 10/10. whumptober knew what they were doing picking that prompt, and every year I try to find a way to live up to its promise.

"deathly cold/deathly still" ... never out of place or out of style, a clear statement that something is very wrong, a sign of escalation of the situation. equally excellent for finding a teammate in a dungeon, or for checking in worriedly on a sick character in the middle of the night. next-level whump, and especially great for terrifying caretakers. 11/10.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Wound patching headcanons with Adam, Lucifer, alastor, and vox? As in, patching their wounds? Getting all close and personal, taking care of them, kissing it better. You know, the good stuff 🫣🫣🤭

Adam

When he came back from hell, injured and bloodied, all thoughts left your mind; all you could think about was saving him.

Crying as you stitched up his stab wounds and hoped that Lute got him back home in enough time that he would live another day.

You were diligent and careful with every inch of his body as you worried that the man you loved would never return to you.

As he woke up, you felt immediate relief and held him close to you for days straight till he was strong enough again.

You let him have it once he was strong enough to handle physical activities. Your voice carried through the entirety of the angelic tower.

Once your rant about taking care of himself and the wrongness of extermination was over, he was happy to open his arms up for you.

Even though you tried hard to continue being mad, it was impossible not to climb into bed with him and hold him even longer.

Lucifer

When he had fallen, you also fell just inches behind him; you knew his wounds would far surpass yours. Where you willingly chose to fall with him, he was cast out.

Once safe and sheltered from most of the elements, you took tender care of his broken wings and tore up the body.

As you stitched him up and wrapped up deeper wounds, you sat above him, crying, hoping he would pull through this.

As he woke from his stooper, he caressed your face gently as you held his hand there, pouring all your emotions out to him.

He reprimanded you for falling with him but, in the same breath, mentioned how happy he was to have someone so devoted by his side.

As he healed, you two built up hell and gave those who had received free will a purpose.

Even though he sometimes blamed himself, he was so happy to have you beside him, fixing hell up one step at a time.

Alastor

He was picky about who got to see him so vulnerable and weak; he was not about to let others know that he could be harmed in such a manner.

When you showed up outside the radio tower, panicking after watching him disappear after a fatal blow. He couldn't deny the happiness he felt in his fleeting moments.

As you laid him down and tore open his suit, you made quick work of the large wound across his chest that Adam gave him.

You were stoic and focused on ensuring that he emerged from this alive with only a scar to tell the tale.

Once you had finished and he was doing better health-wise, you finally snapped and broke down in front of him, explaining your worries and fears.

He gently pulled you into a hug, resting his head atop yours, reminding you that he was alive and reminding himself he would be a goner without you.

When you two arrived back at the hotel, relief was felt through most of the others; however, you were happy that Alastor finally let down his walls with someone, especially since that someone was you.

Vox

Vox had suffered another beating from Alastor, something you were far more used to than you cared to admit.

He never got hurt enough that it required intense medical attention, but he did get his pride slapped around most of the time.

You sat delicately on his lap while he held your waist so you could gently fix up his screen

You were never a techy person, but you learned over the years how to replace his wiring and screens when things got bad like this.

Once he was all patched up, you sighed and rested your head on his shoulder, allowing the day's weight to catch up with you.

Worrying that you were now growing tired of him, Vox asked what was so wrong, only for you to pour out your heart and concerns he may get really hurt one of these times.

Feeling your genuine confession, he smiled softly and kissed you, reminding you that he fights for you to be safe and work free in his tower, but he would make an effort to come home scratched up less often.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Whenever Numenor experienced a plague or outbreak, Elrond came, without fail, to treat the sick and offer the people of the island comfort. He did it for many reasons– to honor the legacy of Elros and his descendants, because he sometimes considered the Numenorians more his people than either elves or men, because he was a healer who believed deeply that all life had value.

Of course, treating mortal plagues is a hazardous business– especially for a part-human medic who is just as susceptible to the disease as his patients.

Elrond, never one to be dissuaded from trying to save lives, tries to find a way to protect himself from the infection while being able to treat his patients. No one in Middle-Earth knows exactly how mortal diseases spread, but it's clear that it spreads from the healthy to the ill– through bad air, coughing, infected blood, or some other means. So, Elrond has to find a way to not make contact with or breathe the same air as his patients. While treating them.

Eventually, he settles on a set of robes that leaves no inch of his skin uncovered, along with heavy, opaque veils and a mask of his own design for his face. The mask– full of athelas flowers to purify the air– is fashioned in the shape of a bird as an homage to Melian, who was said to have healing powers. He made the main piece mask with his own hands, carved it from dragon bone– sturdy, and thought to have protective powers against against diseases and curses. The eyes are made of dark tinted glass that glows faintly– a gift from Celebrimbor.

In all fairness, Elrond did not realize how creepy the bone white mask and fully-black outfit was, especially given his general aura of strangeness ad birdlike mannerisms. He had bigger concerns at the time. That said, his outfit, which kept him from getting sick even during the worst of the outbreak, was soon adopted by many of the Numenorian healers. Over time, the story of the plague doctor shifted became part of Numenor's legend– that healers dressed in such strange outfits to frighten disease away. In that way, the odd, birdlike appearance of the plague doctors soon became a comfort to the Numenorians, rather than a fright.

As gifts for helping with various outbreaks over the years, Elrond also got several plague doctor masks that were decorated, more for style than for purpose. He wears them at fancy elvish events sometimes, just to mess with everyone. And whenever he heads off to Numenor, he always makes sure to bring his full plague-doctor regalia, just so the people there will know he's always there to protect them from any lurking plagues.

[alientee]

Christmas Cookies 🎄

This is a 18+ minors don’t interact and have your age in your bio. NOTHING BUT PURE SMUT. (Oral.M Receiving, spanking, spitting, cum everywhere) 2000 something words. AFAB reader

Sometimes you wonder why you chose this life. Your parents were gone, leaving behind you and two siblings. Not like they had a choice; they died in the omnic crisis. So you had to make a decision: die with your brothers going into the system, or live and protect them. So you made yourself useful until somebody picked you up.

Being a healer in Talon wasn’t so bad. You weren’t cut out for violence or war, and you were terribly shy. But you had to do what you needed to take care of your siblings. Plus, Doomfist and Moria were impressed with your progress in healing the troops, so you were moving up with the pay grade. You stayed in the background, stayed out of the way, and kept everyone alive, so your job was easy.

Well, your job would be easy if a certain tank didn’t take a liking to you. According to him, he had a soft spot for medics, especially sweet ones like you.Ever since you joined, Mauga has done everything in his power to get you to open up to him. Always asked Doom to bring you out in the field with him. He trusted you to keep him alive for some reason. He’d flirt with you, pick you up, drag you off with him, and even bring you dinner when you patched him up.

Sometimes you felt like he’d get hurt on purpose just to see you. He’s so huge that bullets don't affect him, so seeing him hurt made you a little skeptical. But with all the time and effort he put into you, sometimes they really would send you out on the field with him. He made you stay well hidden, or he carried you on his shoulder. Late missions had become late nights with you patching him up, listening to his crazy ideas, and telling you about his home.

You both had gotten close, but you think your shyness to speak up let it get out of hand. After a while, you grew to have feelings for him, and Mauga could tell; he was even a little smug about it. Mauga was touchy—really touchy—and overprotective; you didn’t realize what you got yourself into. To the point where other Talon soldiers would avoid you because, apparently, it was an unspoken rule that you were off limits.

And you were fine with that because people left you to your own devices. The problem was that you weren’t used to his overly sultry nature. Even after the large man had taken your virginity, (another story for another time.) You both went from being friends to him claiming you and doing whatever he pleased (with consent, of course). He never said if you both were a couple, so you didn’t want to put too much of your feelings into it.

But he made it very difficult, always being very kind to you or following you around. You decided it was best to avoid him until your feelings calmed down. You didn’t want to get so invested in him only for him not to feel the same. Your heart couldn’t take that kind of pain in your life again. So you did your best, and it paid off; you avoided him for a week. But Mauga got sick and tired of that real soon.

So here you were trying to avoid him on Christmas, thinking he wouldn’t be at work. You spent the day with your brothers so you could come in tonight. You were in the kitchen baking deserts for the team. You didn’t mind; you loved baking, plus you got paid extra for coming in today. You even put on a cute Santa dress and thigh-high socks. You already made a cake, gingerbread, pies, and even fruit muffins. The last thing left was the second batch of sugar cookies. You placed them in the oven and set a timer.

While you opened the oven, ready to put them in. You felt something hard press against your ass. The next thing you know, you’re lifted into the air. “EEK!"

You try to grab onto something, but you are set on the counter. And loa and behold, Mauga is standing right in front of you while in between your legs, smirking at you.

"M-Mauga, what the heck! I was baking.” He ignores you and starts to rub your cheek with his thumb.

“You make something for me, sugar?”

“U-um……. You can have a muffin if you want.”

He chuckles, "Nah, I think I want something else. I think you owe me a pie, sweetheart."

You quickly move to hand him a pie. "Here, take one!”

He looks at the pie, then back to you. He takes it out of your hand and sets it back down. He pushes you on your back against the cold counter. “Your funny; how bout a cream pie?"

“I can make you o-mmmh." Mauga cuts you off by shoving his tongue down your throat. He pushes your body down on the counter. He grabs at your thighs, squeezing them.

“Pretty thigh highs,” he says, running his finger along the socks. “It’s like you made yourself into a present for me.”

He starts to bite and nibble on your neck while putting his hand up your dress. His tongue licks up the side of your neck until he nibbles on your ear, and you shiver. You hated to admit it, but you missed his touch. His hands grip your ass, holding your lower half up. He scoffs and starts to rub at your covered folds.

“Lace panties, huh... I'm starting to think you really did dress up for me.”

You try to look away; it was an embarrassing position for you. And even if you told him you didn’t do it for him, he wouldn’t believe you anyway. He grips your chin,forcing you to look at him. “You miss me? Cuz it seems like you’ve been avoiding me lately.” You push him back a little.

"Mauga, you know I have siblings to take care of. I've been busy."

He looks down at you, frowning. He’s a firm believer that if there are 24 hours in a day, some of them better be for him. He slams you back on the counter, kissing your forehead. “If you’re going to make excuses, I won’t go easy on you.”

He moves back to push up your dress, rips your panties off, and leans down. “Spread those fucking legs; show me that pussy.”

You spread your legs, and he spat on your pussy, making you gasp. He slides his tongue over your cunt and starts to finger you slowly. "Mauga, we can't; we’re in the kitchen.”

Mauga hums in agreement, his tongue diving deep into your wet folds. He licks and flicks your sensitive spots, making you squirm with pleasure. Before you could grab his hair, he moved away, making you whine. Mauga chuckles and pulls you closer, his hard cock rubbing against your ass. “Thought we couldn’t do it in the kitchen?" He grabs a handful of your ass cheek and squeezes it roughly, causing a pleasurable pain to shoot through your body.

“Wanna watch your ass jiggle while I fuck you.” He throws you over, putting you on your stomach. "M-Mauga, wait, maybe we should wait till I’m done cooking.”

He paused for a moment, looking down at you. “You may not think I know what’s going on in that head of yours, but you’ve been acting insecure and putting up walls, then you started avoiding me, so im gonna show ya you can’t leave me your mine and I’m yours got it.”

You start to tremble and turn around to look at him. “I’m…. I’m yours?” He doesn’t answer; he’s still holding your body up. You realize all you can do is hold on and take what he gives you. Mauga teases you for a moment, rubbing his tip at your entrance. He starts to slowly push his cock inside you, filling you up with each inch. He slowly thrusts in and out, causing you to moan in pleasure. On instinct, you arch your back for him. “That's it, baby. That’s my good girl."

He reaches around, grasping your breast and squeezing it hard as he continues to fuck you. Mauga growls while his cock is pounding against your wet pussy. He grinds his hips forward, pushing deeper into you. You feel him playing with your nipples, pulling them roughly, and you cry out in pleasure. He pulls back slightly, then slams his hips forward again, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You scream his name as he starts to fuck you harder and faster.

Mauga smacks your ass, rubbing the cheek softly to ease the sting. "I think you deserve a punishment for dodging me; how bout I spank that cute ass, hm? Redden you up a bit.”

“Maug-ga! I’m close! Please!”

He smacks your ass harder this time. Pushing your body into the counter as his hips smack your thighs. Your body is being pushed back and forth in the air while all you can do is weakly grab at the counter. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, getting thrown around like a rag doll while Mauga bottomed out in you was bliss. You couldn’t help but moan out his name like a mantra, losing your breath with every thrust. He grips your hips, fucking you faster as he feels his balls tighten. “Want me to cum in this pussy or on that pretty face?"

“D-d….dont know Ahhhhh~”

You can barely answer him when he’s plunging his cock into you nonstop. His cock slick with your juices, making nasty squelching noises. He fucked you deeper while he whispered the dirtiest thoughts in your ear. His cock is stretching you past your limits. You make a weak attempt to crawl away, pulling yourself onto the counter.

Mauga grabs your hips, slamming you back on his cock. “Don’t you fucking run from me; take this dick.”

Mauga groans and thrusts a few more times. One more powerful stroke is all it took. Mauga started filling your pussy with his hot seed. He thrusts deep, feeling his cock twitch as he unleashes his load inside you. You can feel his cum seeping into your walls, filling you up with his essence. He keeps fucking into you while you cum on his cock, covering him in your juices.

You sigh and start to relax on the counter, catching your breath.

"You're not done, sweetheart."

You start to protest when he picks you up and puts you on the floor. He grabs you by the back of your hair, pushing his cock to your lips.

“Open wide, baby."

You open your mouth, and Mauga shoves his fat cock down your throat. You gag, tears coming to your eyes as you steady yourself, putting your hands on his thighs. Mauga growls, pushing his hips forward, his cock forcing its way into your mouth. "Fuck yes." He groans, his hands gripping your hair tightly as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. His cock is hitting the back of your throat.

You swallow his dick down to the base and begin to play with his heavy balls. Your sloppy noises echo through the kitchen.

Mauga's hips jerk violently as he feels your warm, wet mouth on his cock, his hands gripping your head tighter. "Fuck yeah, suck it, baby." He groans, his hips pounding into your mouth as he fucks your face with long, hard strokes.

Mauga's moans turn into grunts as his hips start bucking wildly as he loses control. "Mmmmh shit! Almost there..." He grips your head tightly, his cock jerking erratically in your mouth as he approaches his climax.

Mauga's entire body tenses up as he feels his climax come again, his hot cum filling your mouth and his hips jerking violently. "Fuuuuuck!" he moans lewdly, his cock pulsing with each spurt of cum, filling your mouth to the brim.

He pulls out of your mouth, spraying the rest of his cum on your face, his cock still hard and throbbing, cum dripping from the tip onto your tits. "Swallow it all, sweetie." He commands, his voice rough with authority.

You swallow all of his cum, sticking your tongue out to show him you finished.

Mauga chuckles, thinking you look gorgeous with your face covered in his cum. “Frosted like your cookies."

Just then, your timer dings.

“Cookies done, babe, go on and take ‘em out. You can frost 'em after I’m finished fucking you again."

[darkfluffydragon]

Shoving the Phantasmagoria Duo into the SCP foundation >:3

Item #: SCP-1029 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1029 is to be kept in a reinforced glass display case within a secure containment chamber at Site-221. Access to SCP-1029 requires Level 2 clearance and authorization from at least one Level 3 researcher. The containment chamber is to be monitored at all times via surveillance cameras. Testing involving SCP-1029 must be approved by the Site Director and conducted in a controlled environment. Description: SCP-1029 is a sentient orchid flower resembling a wooden staff. At the apex of the staff is a single eye, which exhibits movements consistent with those of a human eye. The staff measures approximately 1.5 metres in length. SCP-1029 displays several anomalous properties:

Healing: SCP-1029 has the ability to heal any physical wound or injury inflicted upon a living being. The extent of its healing capabilities surpasses conventional medical treatment, demonstrating near-instantaneous regeneration of tissue and loss of limbs. It has yet to be tested whether or not SCP-1029 can bring back a subject who is on the brink of death.

Compulsion: One of SCP-1029 most notable effects is its compulsion to compel truthfulness in individuals who hold it. Subjects holding SCP-1029 report an overwhelming urge to speak only the truth, often confessing thoughts or feelings they would otherwise keep hidden. This effect persists until the staff is released. Attempts to deceive while holding SCP-1029 result in discomfort or pain for the subject. Many resisted the idea of even attempting to lie while under the influence of SCP-1029 due to finding the thought “nauseating” and “disturbing”.

Sentience: SCP-1029 displays signs of sentience, exhibiting awareness of its surroundings and reacting to stimuli in its vicinity. Additionally, SCP-1029 demonstrates a degree of control over its anomalous properties, selectively activating its effects based on the intentions of those interacting with it.

Magic: SCP-1029 showcases additional unexplainable ‘magical’ properties, including the ability to emit a soft, soothing light and to create a shield. It has been observed to manifest minor telekinetic effects, such as moving objects within its vicinity. Testing is still being done to see what else SCP-1029 can do.

However, if SCP-1029 is used to intentionally harm another being, the item exhibits signs of distress. The eye appears to express sorrow or disappointment and SCP-1029 emits a faint sad chiming or bell noise. Continued misuse of SCP-1029 results in heightened emotional distress, with the staff actively resisting attempts to use it for harmful purposes. SCP-1029 has been in existence for an indeterminate amount of time, with historical records dating back several centuries and the ancient ruins by the ████████ Forest that it was found in being theorised to be perhaps even older. Dr. ██████ believes that SCP-1029 is related to [DATA EXPUNGED] Occasionally, certain individuals are able to perceive a faint apparition holding SCP-1029, adorned with a golden crown. This phenomenon occurs sporadically and seemingly at random, with no discernible pattern or trigger. Individuals who experience these sightings report feelings of warmth, safety, and tranquillity. This figure has been named SCP-1029-1 Addendum 1029-1: SCP-1029 exhibits the ability to influence the wielder’s mental state, as during a recent test where the previously aggressive subject was asked to hold SCP-1029 for a prolonged period of time, the subject’s behaviour was recorded to slowly become abnormally passive. SCP-1029 was removed from the subject before the test could further continue, and we are waiting for further instructions. Addendum 1029-1: Other SCPs are more capable of seeing SCP-1029-1 than regular people. Further testing is required to see if subjects undergoing anomalous effects are able to see SCP-1029-1.

Name: Dr.Phantasmagoria (SCP-1067)

Occupation: Senior Researcher (Level 3) Part of the Antimemetics Division

Current Status: Phantas is currently kept within Site-221 after being transferred from the Antimemetics Division by [REDACTED] due to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Phantas's eccentric demeanour and unconventional methods contribute to his effectiveness in handling anomalies. However, his propensity for unorthodox approaches requires additional oversight to ensure compliance with Foundation protocols and containment standards.

Special Considerations: Phantas's status as SCP-1067 introduces unique containment challenges, as his anomalous properties render others susceptible to antimeme and amnestics symptoms. Despite having been deemed safe and having dedicated a long period of time working as a researcher within the SCP Foundation, regular monthly evaluations are essential to mitigate potential security breaches and safeguard sensitive information both for Phantas and those who come in regular contact with him.

Additional Notes: Phantas must undergo regular psychological evaluations to ensure his mental stability and resistance to anomalous influences.

He will never be allowed to receive a higher clearance level.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Got it Bad

Poe Dameron x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a medic aboard the Anodyne, a Resistance frigate frequented by one Poe Dameron. He often comes to see you when he is injured; you assume this time to be no different, as he is reckless in the line of duty and could do with your healing touch. But you have underestimated him; he has to show you something. Will you entertain his request?

Warnings: Explicit / NSFW 18+ for: Heavy petting, cunnilingus, PiV sex, kissing, blood and injury, premature ejaculation, dirty talk, medical scenarios, and mention of death in wartime. Contains: fluff, a liiittle bit of angst, smut, humor, and “love” confessions.  

Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe Dameron! Dedicated to @allsystemsblue, because she was the one who told me to! Poe is all over the place in this, but always about consent!

Word Count: 8.1K

Divider and banner by me.

“How many times has it been, then?”

Doe brown eyes blinked once, twice, spidery lashes that may as well have been made of gossamer, or silk, gracing tawny skin with a kiss. Poe Dameron stared blankly at you as you dressed his wound, this being one of the numerous occasions that you were tasked to do so.

You were one of the many medics aboard this particular Resistance vessel that patrolled the Outer Rim. Stationed not too far from D’Qar and the principal base of General Organa herself, this reckless, daredevil pilot had a tendency to bless you with his presence after what you would call less than routine missions.

Not desiring to arrive to his superior a bloodied mess more than necessary, Poe frequently docked his T-70 star fighter in your frigate’s docking bay for safekeeping, allowing his droid companion free rein of the halls.  Moments earlier, BB-8 had been offered a recharging station, Dameron left in your expert care as his ball droid rolled off and out of sight, following closely behind a member of the maintenance crew. The conversation between the two had been amusing to witness.

“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll be right here waiting for you. Maybe. Possibly.”

BB had issued a series of complaints and reprimands in Droidspeak, causing the pilot to wince as if being scolded by his mother, or the general herself.

“All right, fine! I’ll come and find you then. No sweat.”

Satisfied, the orange and white orb had swirled on its axis, wheeling fluidly across a duralloy floor, leaving its master alone to suffer the consequences of his actions. Though Dameron did not seem to care, remaining somewhat unbothered by the gash across his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had sent Black One into a spin. Before he could regain control, Poe’s head had crashed into the yolk of his X-wing, leaving a two-inch rent in his flesh.

No, he had not been wearing his helmet.

Despite his foolhardy nature, you thought it curious. With such a varied assortment of medical personnel living and working on the Anodyne - a modified Nebulon-C escort employed by the Resistance for the express purpose of being a mobile hospital - it was a wonder of yours why Poe always chose to search you out.

Not considering yourself to be anything in the way of special, at least the skills you possessed were adequate to put him on the mend. But, somehow, this visit seemed different, even if sticky crimson coated his handsome features.

You had come to notice that Poe was spending less time talking and more time staring, a thing you were not accustomed to as his gaze was unrelenting, the commander scrutinizing every facet of your appearance. He had seemed to limit himself to the surface area of your face, wandering, probing, exploring the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, and finally the warmth in your eyes.

“Y-you didn’t answer me,” you commented, applying bacta to the injured man with a dabble of your fingers, your voice having lost its normal confidence as Dameron uttered a single, muted question.

“Huh?” he asked, as if only now realizing he was indeed a person, and that he could be perceived by others. He sat up marginally in his chair, those unyielding, heavy-lidded eyes almost vacantly looking through you, or so you thought.

You were beginning to wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that he might be mildly concussed. You were also becoming self-conscious, trying to keep the conversation on track despite Poe being so close to you with his blood staining your hands. “How many times has it been that you have come to see me these last few months? Don’t you know how to stay out of trouble?”

“No,” he answered without thought, leaning forward once more in the chair serving him for his examination. That sole syllable had been expressed in a dilatory fashion, soft and airy, only inches from your mouth.

You let out a breathy exhalation, surprised by this turn of events, yet nothing had happened.  The cocky pilot dared to bite down on a rather pouty bottom lip; he watched you intently, gauging your reaction as he dallied there, finally adding more in the way of a response. “That’s why I’m here. Again.”

“Yes, right, obviously,” you managed, trying to restore some semblance of equanimity over yourself after having been caught off guard.

“Obviously,” he echoed, the word a whisper in the all too quiet room. However, this would not last as more wounded boarded the ship at intervals, soon the medical bay filled with a bustle of activity.

Unwanted activity.

Poe glanced around, assessing the situation. You had just finished bandaging him up when his hand reached out for yours, gently clasping your wrist.

“Doc, I’ve gotta show you something. I’ve got it-- bad.”

“It?” you inquired incredulously, your own glance taking an appraisal of the room. His voice had lowered again, as if this topic of conversation was not meant to be overheard. His expression appeared serious, deep-set brows knitting together in a visual show of his concern. You mimicked him, a rather human way to show empathy in this case, though not entirely sure what for.

“It,” he confirmed, gently pulling you forward toward himself, as if you weren’t already close enough. Your breathing picked up as you posed a follow-up question, a simple one, and straight to the point.

“What?”

He did that thing again, the staring, as if you were a sheet of transparisteel and he was looking beyond it to the other side. You scanned his face, those ruggedly attractive bits of him that you had tended to time and time again.

“Um—” he paused, as if not knowing what to say, like his words had failed him, which was not out of the realm of possibility as you could confirm this uncommon pilot flew by the seat of his pants. You canted your head, expecting some sort of answer, your gaze trailing to Dameron’s fingers latched gingerly around your forearm.

You took note of their thickness, their length, his nails surprisingly trim and immaculate for being a fighter pilot, though you doubted he spent that much time on solid earth when he craved the sky; realspace; to soar among the stars. Catching yourself quickly, it had not gone unnoticed, Poe matching your tilt of the head with one of his own as he peered up at you with those unwavering, expressive eyes.

“Rash … Inya Prime … Think it might be serious,” he informed you, causing you to retract and sit up straight. You tugged yourself loose from his grasp and frowned, turning to wipe your hands off the best you could on an otherwise clean towel, wishing he would have told you this before you had gone and touched him.

“Well, let’s see it then,” you offered, swiveling back around to face him. The pilot pursed his lips before biting down again, his foot beginning to tap against the floor; the motion was almost sultry, like this whole charade was planned.

For some reason, you doubted that assumption.

“It’s … I can’t show you here,” he confessed, lowering his head as he turned it to the left and right, giving the medical bay another sweep with his eyes; it was as if he was suddenly your conspirator, Poe carrying and guarding an important secret.

“Where then?” You compelled an eyebrow to stay level, it wanting to raise of its own volition. It was your turn to stare, Poe taking up each of your hands again, regardless of the fact you had just tried to halfheartedly clean them. He placed them gently atop his knees; he held you there, and you dare not move. Then, the man bore directly into you with his hardened gaze, nudging his head toward the exit door.

“Exam room, down the hall. It’s, um – it’s private.”

You gave him a reproving look. “Why were you on Inya Prime in the first place?” you asked, your fingers twitching beneath his. You were caught between wanting to relax and to allow this to happen, or to jerk yourself away for fear of someone getting the wrong idea.

“Reconnaissance,” he replied without missing a beat.  You supposed that seemed logical enough, though Inya Prime was a small, boring, terrestrial planet of little to no interest to most.

That explained the civilian clothing, whereas most of the time Poe arrived to you in his bright orange flight suit, standing out like a ray of sunshine among the dark, depressing backdrop of space.

“And how did you get this rash?” you inquired curiously, wondering why it was he could not show you here instead, or just how bad it might be.

“You don’t wanna know,” he stated with a sense of finality, eyes searching yours, as if he was trying to penetrate your thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. You held his gaze a moment longer than expected before quickly standing to your feet; you felt the need to break physical contact, Dameron’s hands warm, rough, and—

“Fine, let’s hurry. There are others who need tending to.” It was the truth, yet you could feel your heartbeat betraying you by thumping loudly in your chest; you were sure that Poe could hear it.

“Right, let’s,” he said, standing. He walked a pace ahead of you then turned back around. He lingered, making sure you were going to follow him before he started out the door.

The man seemed nervous, slicking back a ringlet of dark hair that refused to stay in place. He ambulated somewhat awkwardly around the corner, then waited for you to unlock the examination room with a clearing of his throat. It then occurred to him he was standing in your way; he opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, moving to one side as you gave him an inquisitive side-eye, using your badge to unlock the facilities.

He nodded, just a small movement of his head, eyes darting forward as if thinking hard on something before he entered the small space. It was fitted with a table for patients to lie on - equipped with a step stool and stirrups - a cabinet filled with various medical supplies, a curtain for dressing and undressing, a scale for taking a patient’s weight, and blood pressure detection equipment, among other things. It had all those items necessary and then some, though depending on your diagnosis, you imagined you might need to prescribe him an antifungal ointment of some kind.

“All right, we’re here,” you offered with a gesture. “Now, show me this rash.”

Poe gave a jittery laugh, answering you with a nervy “heh” as he ran his forefinger along the clean sheets of the table laid out before him as if he was checking it for dust.

“Yeah, about that,” he finally spoke up, walking full circle around the bed-like object before he arrived behind you.

“You see, doc—” he began; you craned your neck, looking over your shoulder at him, wanting to know why you now felt trapped, barred to the only way out as he had sandwiched himself between you and the door. “It’s right here,” he said, placing his open palm against his chest and giving it a tap.

This time you were the one to clear your throat, tossing back your hair as you straightened up to appear more professional, or perhaps dignified, forcing yourself to not think about how you were about to come into contact with, or at least see, Poe Dameron’s bare breast.

All things considered, he was an attractive man. You had thought that the moment you laid eyes on him; the time he had come to you battered and beaten with a black eye and a sprained ankle – he had taken a tumble down the side of a rather steep hill on some backwater, jungle-planet and only made it back to his X-wing thanks to members of Black Squadron. His foot was so badly swollen by the time he reached you, it was a miracle he could walk  - or hobble – at all.

A thought occurred to you. “I should wash my hands before we begin,” you declared, moving toward the small sink stationed with a cleaning solution that was meant for disinfection as much as it was for washing away dirt and grim.

Poe looked taken aback momentarily, words caught in his throat as he gave another nod, this one more exaggerated. “Yeah, right, OK,” he shot back, as if for some reason this had been a surprise to him.

You began your task, one hand over the other as you lathered yourself, peeking back at him. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” you suggested, not able to help the way saying that made you feel, like this was anything more than a clinical procedure.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as Poe began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, getting the feeling that he was watching you, studying you, bent slightly over the basin in which you were cleansing yourself of his blood. It swirled around the drainage, leading to a reserve tank that purified and recycled what little water was aboard this frigate; you knew that every drop was precious.

Finishing quickly, you refaced him, Dameron’s broad, naked chest staring you straight in the face, though he had not bothered to remove his button up all the way; its two panels were parted and pushed off to opposing sides.

Firm pectorals were spattered with a thin sheen of dark curls, matching the scruff of a beard that had just recently begun to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running its course down to a chiseled jawline. Beneath wisps of black was smooth, golden skin - as if kissed by a main sequence star that orbited some planetary paradise - the happiest of trails leading down and beyond the waistline of his trousers.

You watched, entranced, the rise and fall of his stomach with every breath he took, in and out, slow, and almost deliberately so. You swallowed to remedy the dry sensation in your mouth with what saliva you had available, wondering if your face appeared as red as you felt it must be.

“Right, OK. Rash,” you announced out loud, purposely making an effort to look up and back into his eyes.

Again, he put his hand up, over his heart. “Here,” he repeated, “Right here. You see—”

Poe stepped forward, and you stepped back, each move he made a calculated risk, but one worth taking. “— my … heart,” he said, voice lowering an octave, then promptly continuing, “it… burns, itches, when I can’t … see you,” he emphasized. “And. You. You’re the cure, you’re the—”

He walked another pace forward, looming above you as you found yourself pressing back against the wall of the exam room. “—the only one who can make it better,” he breathily muttered, so close now you could smell the scent of the shampoo he used; it was reminiscent of citrus, but not overpowering.

“W-what—?” You felt you couldn’t believe your ears, your neck lifting back and up as you analyzed his intense facial expression. “Poe, I—”

“Shhh,” he sibilated with a press of his index to your lips. Then, he changed the subject, however momentary. “I lied to you, by the way. There is no rash, I—”

“—Yes, I’ve figured that out,” you interrupted, though your words came out weak, quavering.

“Sometimes, I pretend to be sick or hurt just to come see you. That headache last week?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “More like … heartache,” he finished, encapsulating your chin between two fingers as his lips met yours.

Your body froze; you were immobile, unable to breathe, unable to speak, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Granted, you may have imagined this moment once or twice – every guy, or girl aboard this vessel you assumed had done so at one point or another. There was more than one reason Dameron was referred to so aptly as “Flyboy,” though you tried not to let that tarnish the present moment.

The only thing you could articulate was a soft moan of acceptance, melting despite yourself against the durasteel partition behind you. Ruddy fingers traveled upward, this time tangling themselves in your hair, palm cupping the back of your head as he gently drew you into a deeper kiss.

“Poe,” you gasped against him, your own hand rising to lightly push against his rock-hard pecs; it was a mistake on your part, this simple act of touching his unclothed chest the catalyst from which your loins stirred. “What—”

“—It,” he murmured, bringing the conversation back around from when he had coaxed you to this place. “—the thing I’ve got it bad for. It’s you,” he conceded, Dameron’s tongue slithering past full lips to gently prod at yours that stood partially agape, ready to accept another kiss.

You easily allowed him entry, that warm, wet muscle dancing in a figure eight, the pattern slow and rhythmic as he lapped at your suddenly hungry mouth. But you would not let lust overtake you, you were a woman of scruples, principles, and a practitioner of medicine; there was a time and place for this sort of thing and now was not it.

“Dameron,” you began again, this time managing to put just enough space between you so that you might think straight, Poe’s eyes immediately overtaking yours with a primal, excitable energy that penetrated you to the depths of your soul. He was so eager, you thought, so attentive, the man hanging, waiting, willing, to hear anything you might have to say.

“I believe you’re concussed, I think it’s best that—”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Everything’s perfect,” he interjected, pressing his mouth against yours once more.

“—Why?” you blurted out, the question having clawed its way out of your chest. It was common knowledge that the man before you got around, not able to imagine that this meant anything more than an attempt at a quick hook-up.

“Because. I can’t. Stop. Thinking. About you. You.” He spoke your name, a tickle in your ear that sent a tingle of excitement prickling down your spine, leaving goose pimples that were undeniable to the naked eye.

“I can’t explain it. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense; you, me…” he trailed off, the butt of his thumb running over the curvilinear shape of your ear. “I watch you. Sometimes. Not to… sound creepy,” he added quickly, giving a somewhat apologetic look. “… You’re incredible. Calm in the face of danger, in the face of uncertainty. And. You’re not afraid,” he emphasized.

“Besides—” Poe bent down low, brushing his lips across yours, featherlight, causing a feeble mewl to escape before you had the time or the wherewithal to rein it in. “— what if we die. What if this is the only chance I ever get to tell you?”

He was right. What was the use of pondering the future, what could or could not be, based on the assumption that you were going to live another day, or two, or three. With the First Order threatening to undo all the hard work of the New Republic, your lot was on the run, your fierce and beloved leader the only thing keeping this small resistance group together, albeit haphazardly organized.

You feared for the general every waking moment, taking your orders come what may, keeping your head down, the only thing breaking the monotony of your day besides the constant fear of attack or death being this charming, handsome man who now held your attention, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Kiss me again, then,” you begged, any objection you may have dared to make fleeing irrevocably to leave you open and vulnerable to the onslaught of his affection sans your better judgement.

“Mn, yeah?” he coyly asked, the fingers of his hand, dormant for your short discussion, reactivating to knead the base of your skull as he gently pulled you forward, Dameron once more inserting his crafty tongue into your waiting mouth.

His movements were thoughtful, tongue writhing and contracting in a measured orchestration that seemed rehearsed, yet special to this instant. Each loop was intricate, never so much as to be distracting, Poe’s delicious kiss spurring you to action.

You lifted your hand, allowing your fingers to clutch tufts of his hair. You moaned against him, his arms instinctively tightening around you before he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Can I touch you?” he bashfully asked, hands smoothing over your back to descend in a downward sweep across your waist and hips. “Please, baby, please say yes. Please, please,” he whined, ardent pecks of his velvet lips only a bonus; you had not planned to turn him away regardless.

“Yes,” you sighed out lasciviously, thinking this entire situation was too good to be true. But why not embrace it for what it was? You deserved admiration, affection, love.

“Thank you,” he expressed with gratitude, as if you had given him his greatest wish, Poe adjusting himself accordingly as he gifted you with another lush, sensual kiss; it was tender and languid, feeling the movement of Dameron’s hand shift from the edge of your hip to the drawstring of your pants.

You were adorned in scrubs, a stark reminder of your station and position, yet you could not help that you were human with needs and urges to be fulfilled. Hell, you hadn’t even known you wanted this until it was happening, though life was anything but predictable - it was sporadic. And if Poe was anything, it was that.

You admired that about him. He had an almost childlike whimsy, taking all things in stride, even his injuries when he acquired them. He cared about others so often and so much he frequently forgot about this own ails. It was a good quality to have in a leader, and although he was often rebuked by his superiors, Dameron was an honorable commander and an even better pilot.

“Keep going,” you implored as you felt your desire building upon itself, pooling in the seat of your belly. Desperately, you wanted him to touch you, Poe inclining his head to one side as he broke apart from your pleading lips.

He made heady eye contact, the way he looked at you both dizzying and intoxicating, the man licking his teeth as he quipped a hushed “Yeah?” alongside the act of his fingers trailing to just below the hem of your waistband. They slipped down, down, two braver than the others as Poe’s index and middle finger disappeared beneath the front of your pants and past the soft, cotton layer of your panties.

Dameron groaned a sound, as if performing a task that was somewhat arduous, yet it was meant to evince appreciation for the soft bed of fluff that greeted him, all prim and trim. His breathing picked up, his probing appendages creeping further inside your undergarments; he whimpered against your throat, feeling welcomed by the warm slick that saturated his thick digits as he parted those soft, pillowy lips that lived between your hips, aligning the underside of his forefinger against the protuberance of your clit.

“Mn, you want this just as much as I do,” he teased, his words husky and sensuous, yet not at all meant to be disrespectful. He was the playful sort; you were glad it translated into other areas of his life, namely intimate moments like these, as it eased the tension you were feeling; the thought you were doing something you should not be doing; something wrong.

“Mhm,” you muttered, the interjection a dulcet susurration upon your partway puckered lips. It quickly devolved into an immodest moan as his thumb joined in, aiding in spreading your folds to allow him ease of access to your shrouded pearl.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you, his tone coated in sugar sweetness as Poe continued to cheer you on, “you’re so soft, and warm, and— ohhh,” he cut himself short, feeling embarrassed for not only the sizeable boner he was jabbing into your leg, but the fact that if he did not control himself he might very well cum in his pants.

“I—mmn. Admiral Ackbar naked. Admiral Ackbar naked," he intoned at low volume; you proceeded to laugh, though Poe did not, a look of stern determination on his face. Still, that did not stop him from pleasuring you as he gingerly thumbed that little nub betwixt your thighs, concentric circles close-knit and diligently applied as you trembled enticingly in his arms.

“Is this OK?” he rumbled in your ear, his voice a throaty purr that made you pitch ever so slightly forward with the goal of kissing him again.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your body mildly spasming as you sought after his tongue, Dameron ever so subtly picking up speed in the way he massaged your swollen clit. It thrummed beneath his finger; he tested uncharted territory, gradually inserting his index inside you to the top of his second knuckle. You were already so wet there was barely any friction to speak of, Poe once more moaning aloud to impart his satisfaction to whoever was there to listen – you.

“Oh, you feel- you feel, so, so good,” he rattled off, priming that digit to curl just inside and against the anterior wall of your sex; you gasped, though you had known what was coming, you just didn’t know how amazing the sensation would feel until he was already pushing you toward an orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you entreated anxiously, the pliant underside of his thumb continuing its mission as it stimulated your glandular bundle of nerves; they twitched faintly, pulsating under his proficient hands.

“OK, yes. Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby,” he affirmed. You were quick to answer.

“Another kiss,” you adjured, Poe indulging you before the words could die on your lips. The passion he brought to your embrace, the delicate way in which he held you, the rhythmic pattern of his tongue inside your mouth – it drove you to a quick release, Dameron sucking the heavy breaths from your lungs as he attempted to engulf you, so zealous was his appetite for your quiet, though rapturous praise.

You briefly closed your eyes to regain your composure, breathing ragged, then gazed upon his face as you struggled to recover. He pulled away to stare at you, the feeling of his forefinger sliding out of your soaked cunt something not to be ignored.

You gasped again, a tiny sound. Poe admired you with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he gravitated forward, bending so close to your ear. “I can do better.”

“What?” you questioned, confused, trying to curtail your panting breaths. The twinkle in his eye was infectious, spreading to his mouth, Poe’s pretty lips outstretching into a broad, mischievous grin.

“Wait,” he stated.

You observed as he bent forward into a crouch, sneaking along the wall toward the automated entry. Staying to its right, he was careful not to trigger its motion sensor, using the nearby keypad to lock it from the inside. This time, you did quirk a brow, Poe lowering the lights manually to off, but not before making sure the shades were closed to the rectangular window that gave you a mundane view into the hall. However, you may as well be seven feet tall in order to see out of it, and there were species that tall aboard this ship.

Overall, you felt stupid for not having done this before, yet everything had occurred so quickly. What if you had been caught by a co-worker, or your boss? You had no idea how to explain being fingered by Poe Dameron in a room that could otherwise be utilized to someone else’s benefit.

Then, the man came forward, standing to his full stature as he joined you where he had left you, haggard and still somewhat discombobulated from what just happened – that’s when he picked you up, bending at the knees to wrap both arms around your waist as he carried you aloft, your entire body remaining upright and vertical.

“Poe! What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” he endeavored to keep you silent, walking around the corner of the examination table to place you gently upon it in a somewhat forced, seated position. He immediately got to work, as he had started with your footwear, taking it upon himself to remove one shoe at a time.

“Are you a screamer, or are you a whiner?” he asked with another cheesy smile etched across his face, “because I don’t mind either, but the screaming may draw attention, and I assume that’s something you don’t want.”

“I-I don’t—”

“-know?” He shook his head as if in disbelief, though somehow not surprised. “Ooh, we’ve gotta set you straight, doc!”

You meant to argue, but with your shoes gone, Poe began to roll down your socks; it was one of the most intimate things you had experienced, watching with rapt attention as he pushed the fabric down bit by bit, replacing it with moist kisses along the top of your foot and up toward your now bare ankle.

“You don’t mind, right?” he asked offhand, Poe repeating the process on the other side; this time he enveloped your big toe, intaking it into his mouth as he teasingly sucked, mimicking a poi fish who wanted to dine on what it perhaps thought was a worm.

You involuntarily squirmed, pushing against the tops of his shoulders. “That tickles!” you declared, Poe gazing up into your eyes as a “pop” resounded upon release.

Then, with that same unapologetically severe, impassioned stare, Dameron rose to half-stand on his knees as his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the loose band at your waist. He pulled, softly but with enthusiasm, hypnotizing, chestnut-colored eyes once more drilling a hole straight down into your core as he tugged one pant leg off, then the other, followed by a move that would rid you of your underwear.

Partially naked, and on top of your own examination table no less, you instead tried to forget what repercussions might follow suit of your actions and leaned down to kiss the man again. He rose higher, forcing you to straighten your neck and back, Poe’s broad hands encasing the breadth of your face within them to hold you so, so carefully as he returned your gesture as naturally as if he was drinking water.

Come to find this was a tactic, the man releasing you after stealing your breath away a second or third time, hands sliding to lightly shove you back by the shoulders as he lay you down. At once he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you faced with a view of the ceiling directly above your head; you idly wondered if you were both getting too far ahead of yourselves.

“Poe, I don’t think we should be—” You exhaled noisily, words caught as you choked on a breath, your overactive imagination unable to be controlled as you envisioned the intense kiss you had experienced earlier being reenacted between your legs. The man had pinned you by your hips,  kissing once, twice,  - feverishly -  the inguinal groove that connected your abdominal wall to your thigh, not wasting a moment’s time in making your briefly held fantasy come true.

“Hm? Mmmn,” Dameron hummed, his response muffled by your flesh. Your body stiffened before relaxing as he licked your already soaked slit with the flat of his tongue; it effortlessly slipped between the folds of your labia, Poe toying with your clit, running circles until the whole thing delved inside your opening.

The man pulled you forward by your thighs, closer to the edge of the table; you could feel the paper bedsheet sliding beneath you as he lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth. He moaned into you, his breath hot on your skin, the scruff of his chin chaffing your legs, but you did not once complain.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, the tip of that furled muscle retracting to glide upward along your delightfully slick vulva before it once more found the nub that was begging to be touched; it was already so sensitive.

Your chest heaved as a ripple of pleasure quaked through you, Poe beginning to suck the hard bit that was the recurrent object of his focus. At that moment, you felt blessed, belting out a sound that was a cross between elation and ecstasy, the final product being nothing more than a subdued pule from downy lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you crooned, your thighs progressively closing around either side of Poe’s head as you instinctively tried to brace yourself against your coming climax.

“That’s what I thought—ooh, hey,” the pilot protested, not liking one bit the sudden fettering of his movements. He dislodged himself, then pushed down with both his hands, parting your legs again to make sure he had unrestricted access to your cunt.

Then, he had an idea. “That’s not happening again,” he informed you with an impish smirk, Dameron lifting you up by the underside of your ass as he dragged you even closer, this time making use of the equipment made available to him, though this wasn’t exactly a gynecological exam. The scoundrel picked up both your feet, one after the other, making sure each one was secured in turn, having positioned you spread eagle with your shamelessly wet pussy put on full display.

“Ohh, this is beautiful. Perfect. You’re perfect.” The man had stopped to stare at the exquisite view before him, a hungry look overtaking his winsome visage; you had barely lifted your neck, perhaps meaning to address him, before you were forced to expel a mousy squeak following a show of near desperation on his part.

Poe had darted forward. Now hands-free and having situated you in stirrups, Dameron plunged his tongue back inside of you while clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to imagine himself in binders. He tongue fucked you as your chest expanded and contracted with each euphoric breath, deep and slow, before he redirected all his energy back to your eager bud.

Then, his head joined in, bobbing back and forth as he enthusiastically ate you out like a man starved, consuming his first meal in weeks, months.

Wet sounds invaded your ears, Poe miming a hound lapping water; it only caused your clit to pulse, your right arm lowering for impatient fingers to latch onto his raven locks; you were careful not to disturb the dressings on his forehead even so, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

You held him steady; you pulled him closer, thighs trembling, though your legs still remained forced apart with knees jutting out to either side. It was the dirtiest, nastiest you had ever felt, yet at the same time Poe had made you feel alive. Alive, and not just waiting around to die.

You moaned lewdly as you gently bucked your hips, your body convulsing in rapture as his focus was laser sharp, the full expanse of his thick, skillful tongue caressing you softly from the cusp of your vagina to the vertex of your throbbing clit – over, and over, and over again.

The pattern he applied was slow and methodical, Poe’s cock beyond hard as he gently humped thin air. The man himself was groaning, speaking breathlessly against the soft flesh of your mound, even as he continued to dine.

“Baby, you taste so, so sweet. So, so, good. Mm, be a good girl, yeah? Nice and easy for me. Nice and easy…” The pilot’s words trailed off, that gentle lapping turning toward a precise, calculated stroke with just the tip, this being the very thing that drove to you the point of no return; you came again, one hand still buried in Poe’s hair as the other clasped at your breast.

“Mmmn, oh shit, oh fuck, Poe,” you cursed again, your entire being writhing in unbridled bliss as you rode out one of the most intense orgasms in recent history, this only encouraging the pilot to keep at it until you physically had to push his head away, albeit with caution.

Poe looked up at you with those emotive, gorgeous brown eyes, lips glossy with your excess; you panted heavily, looking down on what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. You took a few more moments to recuperate, then made a demand of him that even surprised yourself. “Fuck me, right now, please.”

That cocky smile faded, Dameron staring fixedly at your face. He searched each part of it, as if measuring the seriousness of your words, then sat up fully on his legs before standing completely to gaze down at you, chin glistening and damp, not noticing the red welts spattering the inside of your thighs from where his stubble had left its mark.

“Since you said please, and so, so nicely might I add,” he joked, undoing the holster at his waist with lightning speed as he let his Glie-44 blaster pistol fall to the floor at his feet.  You sat up on your elbows, enjoying the show, Poe unzipping and unbuckling his pants and belt with such wild, feral vigor, it was as if they were presently on fire.

“Mn, sweetheart, would you hate me if I said I’ve been dreaming of this?” Poe questioned, though you were unable to get a read on if he was being sincere or just full of hot air. You did not answer him, instead reveling in the desperate way the pilot kicked his boots off, witnessing his undressing between your parted legs.

They felt like jelly, still held up by the stirrups. You smiled salaciously, feeling oddly playful as you began to sway your knees back and forth to emulate the fluttering of butterfly wings; you amused yourself by fondling your overstimulated clit for his pleasure and your own, waiting ever so patiently for him to finish.

It only slowed him down; you almost laughed again, this man proving to be predictable as far as men go, spellbound by the fact you were touching yourself, and in front of him, no less.

Poe let out a laborious, rasping breath, as if his throat might be closing in on itself, pearly whites once more finding rose-colored lips as he chewed timidly on a plump bottom rung. At that same moment his pants fell down to his knees, leaving Dameron in his tight white underwear, his package so hard and compact it looked ready to burst free of its cotton prison.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he professed mostly to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear him. He stumbled forward, releasing himself of the pants that still clung to him with every step, wide, warm hands placing themselves upon your knees, one for one.

“Mn, baby, for me?” he asked in a diffident tone, Poe’s cheeks burning hot as he was drawn in by the sexy spectacle before him. After a moment or two of getting lost in his own thoughts, he scrambled for his aching prick; it felt like it was going to erupt any moment now. Already it had leaked droplets of precum, the tip wet and sticky as it sprang loose.

The pilot began to pump himself as he was glued to the rhythmic stroking of your fingers; you teased him by inserting one within yourself, Poe moaning almost instantly as he came up to you all the way by the edge of the bed, gently batting your hand away. He aligned his dick against your slit, eyes laser focused, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing to lift his head and stare at you.

“You sure? What if-”  he hesitated, wanting reassurance.

“I’m protected,” you whispered, at once your feet lifting so that you could wind your legs around Poe’s waist like a serpent coiling about its prey. You squeezed lightly, drawing him in, Poe helping on his end by gently nudging the head of his cock against the lubricious entrance to your vagina.

Dameron shook this time, his body tremulous against you as he sank deeper and deeper into your warm center, guiding it slowly, his girth spreading you open as you gasped, arms overtaking him in addition to your legs; you wanted his chest pressed against yours, beckoning the man to lower himself to the proper height so that you might kiss him, fingers once more gathering in his shaggy mane.

“You f-feel, ohhhh… Like, like. Like clouds,” Dameron stammered, commenting on your plush, tepid walls as he finally bottomed out. He was slow to retract his hips, then slow to press them forward again, “It’s like breaking atmo; that euphoric feeling you get when—”

Poe cut himself off, lips compressing against one another to form a concentrated line. He closed his eyes, his pace deathly drawn-out, tortuously so, each stroke of him inside you sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout your nerve-endings, both from without and within.

It was endearing. Not knowing of all the nuances comprising this pilot’s personality, this one surprised you. Poe had always seemed so high-strung, so exuberant; it was a change of pace to see him take his time on something -  you.

With a tilt of your neck, your mouth found his, your tongue slithering between his teeth to taste yourself on him. You sighed fervently, pulling him closer by the meat of your thighs, in turn interring him deeper within yourself.

“I won’t break,” you informed him softly, having pulled away to encourage Dameron to rise above his stupor and fuck you like he meant it. Poe gave a slow, deliberate nod of his head in return, as if trying to find his center and a place of calm before he would be able to continue.

“Right,” he finally said, intaking a sharp inhalation of oxygen as he rocked forward, pitching his hips so that they were flush against yours. He dipped back again, repeating these motions in a syncopated rhythm, and you finding it impossible to keep your mouth from hanging open as he hit his stride.

“Just like that,” you cooed silkily, your breath warm and wispy against his ear. This alone sent Poe to a higher plane, somewhere you were sure you could not reach him, causing Dameron to make a helpless, needy sound.

You felt a warm gush; a spurt of something that was unexpected this early in the game. Poe’s face contorted pleasantly into a look of ecstasy. You watched, fascinated, the pilot coming inside you after only a few pumps. Hell, you didn’t even mind; he had given you yours twice over. You felt a kind of privilege bestowed upon you; the knowledge that your pussy must be made of solid gold. That, or he really did like you.

“Oh fuck, ohh no, shit, I-I’m sorry,” Poe stuttered, his tone indicative of embarrassment. You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, dotting tiny kisses along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quell his mounting anxiety.

“What was that about setting me straight?” you teased, Poe forced to laugh despite himself as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, brawny biceps propping him up just above you, jet-black strands dangling down to brush against your nose as he sighed a dejected sigh.

“You’re just so pretty, and I was excited, you know? I- It’s- It’s been a while,” he clumsily explained, “haven’t had the time to actually masturbate, being in the middle of a war and all—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a forceful press of your lips to his. It was your way of shutting him up, aiming to put a stopper in all of his excuses; it did not matter to you.

“Poe, it’s fine,” you affirmed, cradling the antsy man’s refined jaw in the crook of your palm, “these things happen. I’m not upset. You already got me off twice; that’s more than most men for the entirety of a relationship.”

You had exaggerated that last part for a bit of dramatic flair, this particular white lie having no purpose other than to bolster Poe’s self-esteem and to make him feel better. He smiled at you, a genuine, honest-to-God smile, as if coming to terms with the fact he had no need to worry, and that he might just get a second chance one day, contrary to what he had at first believed.

“So, uh—” he started, lifting gently up and off of you; his cock incrementally eased its way out of you, the remnants of his seed thick and sticky as it flowed freely out and onto the exam table.

He scrunched an eye, as if still ashamed, Poe sucking on his bottom lip to alleviate the mental anguish he was suffering before he sheepishly asked you a question, “Now that we’ve gotten to third base, would you care to visit first?”

You propped yourself up on your forearms, quirking a brow as you rose to sit. He assumed correctly, thinking that you did not take his meaning, Poe following up to explain more succinctly. “Dinner, maybe? Or—”

Sirens began to blare, a red alert sounding all throughout the Anodyne. A voice rang out over the internal comm; Dameron and you were quickly put on edge.

“Attention, all personnel: report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your face fell, as did Poe’s. He gazed at you a moment, ignoring the awful clamor in the background as people began to race throughout the halls just beyond the door. It was as if time stood still, and you were unable to break away from Dameron’s dark gaze. The man, who was so amiable and easygoing, now looked browbeaten and worn, knowing that any minute now he would have to find BB-8 and return to his X-wing when he had wanted nothing more than to relax in your company. Wishful thinking, he mused.

You were the first to move, rushing to get up. You found a towel and cleaned yourself up, collecting your clothes from off the floor; somehow, your tunic had remained intact, though you would hold out for a future time when Poe might touch those parts of you, too. It was hard not to want to imagine him with his soft lips puckered about your nipple as his stocky fingers massaged and revered your breasts.

“Attention: all pilots, return to hangar. Repeat: all capable pilots return to your ships.”

“It was just as well, huh?” he asked solemnly, referring to the abrupt end of your impromptu rendezvous.

“Go,” you commanded, Poe’s stare lingering, amber eyes piercing you with a look that was ironically impenetrable; resolute, yet somehow somber, wistful.

He broke away, finally, and with difficulty, scrambling to adjust his briefs before throwing back on his pants and buttoning his shirt. He hitched his holster around his hips, the boots made to go on last. You observed as he hopped around on one foot, once more finding him to be endearing as you turned to rush toward the refresher, steadfast in your desire to use the sonic, if only for a moment; you needed to rinse off before returning to the med bay, as was your duty.

Poe called out to you by name; you whirled to face him. The man’s fluffy eyebrows were stitched together as he could only stare at you again. Then, he seemed to finally come-to, stepping the few paces forward that separated you.

“I’ll comm you later?” he asked more than stated, the backs of his knuckles running the length of your cheek. You could only nod, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

“Come back in one piece, OK? I don’t want to have to stitch you up again; be careful,” you urged him. He smiled that charming, boyish smile that made your heart race, as radiant as ever; his mood could change so suddenly.

“No promises,” he replied, meaning it in jest, yet you knew there was some truth to it.

You parted ways with the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hope being the only thing left to you both now. Hope that he would never have to step foot back aboard this frigate, but that if he did, it would be for some better reason, and not because he had failed to heed your warning.

---

Reblogs / comments appreciated!

Masterlist

Ao3

[maxsimagination]

The world needs more Claudia Pina content so I’m requesting literally anything for her. Maybe like she gets hurt in a game or something and ends up super pissy about not being able to go out and do stuff and see everyone at trainings and stuff so reader realizes that and has to comfort her.

𝙢𝙞 𝙗𝙚𝙗𝙚 - 𝙘.𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙖

summary: when claudia gets injured, yn is there for her. but claudia doesn’t want to rest, she wants to go out.

𖦹 masterlist

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 claudia went down i was the first one there.

it just happened to be the el clásico, the biggest women’s game in the spanish league. barcelona were winning 4-1 in the 80th minute, but not even five minutes later, everything went crashing down.

it was a corner conceded by real madrid, which mapi stepped up to take. we were all huddled around the net, some pushing and shoving to fight for the ball. when mapi kicked it, it curved perfectly, almost going straight into the net. it just needed the tiniest touch to send it in.

claudia was the one who made that header and scored the goal, but just as her head had made contact with the ball, someone else had crashed into her, causing her to fall sideways. her left knee was the one that copped the brunt of the fall, being whacked against the goal post and the hard ground at the same time.

her scream was enough to stop everything, and i whipped around to see her on the floor clutching her leg.

she was sobbing, tears flowing freely down her face, which was not a normal thing for claudia. the medics instantly rushing onto the field, barley waiting for the referee to call them. they rolled her over gently, careful not to jostle her leg too much. i was kneeling by her head, refusing to leave until i knew what was wrong.

the medics did a quick assessment to see whether she needed to come off, but it was a no-brainer at that point. she could barley move her left leg, let alone walk off the field, so the medics brought on a stretcher and placed her on it gently. she was escorted off the field and disappeared down the tunnel.

it hurt to see her go like that but i had to see out the game, for her.

the second that final whistle was blown, i was gone. running off the field and through the tunnel to find where they’d taken claudia. it didn’t take me long, there was only one medics room.

i opened the door and poked my head inside to see claudia on the bed, a brace on her knee.

“oh, mi bebe.” (my baby.) i walked into the room to stand beside claudia. she was clearly very upset at being injured yet again, after having just come back into the starting squad.

claudia didn’t say anything but i knew what she was thinking, what was going on inside her head. it was a terrible way to go down, and in el clásico of all matches.

—

three weeks after that match, and claudia was already up and walking around. it was more of a hobbling really, but if claudia heard you say that you wouldn’t live to see another day.

the first week or two was spent with claudia on bed rest, and by the third week i had given up on trying to get her to stay there.

“claudia!

please come and sit down!”

there was a grumble and some sounds of movement from the apartment before claudia hobbled into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

“you have to rest, claud. otherwise you won’t heal.”

“i don’t want to rest!

i’m stuck here, just waiting for you to come back from wherever you go. training, team bondings, hanging out. i’m stuck here, on bed rest, until you come home to help me with everything.

i’m getting lonely.”

there was a silence that hung in the room after claudia’s admission, it was almost a guilty silence. i felt bad for not noticing sooner, for doing something sooner.

“i’m so sorry claudia, i didn’t know. i promise i didn’t try to exclude you on purpose, i just had no idea that this was what you were feeling.”

i gave the girl a hug, claudia melting into my embrace almost immediately.

we sat there for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. i rubbed my hand up and down claudia’s back, attempting to soothe her.

“i promise i won’t leave you out again, mi bebe.” (my baby.)

[justwinginglife]

May I have a request for Hoshina with a s/o who have a ability to heal people? It's either injuries or even broken bones. She's a doctor (or medic) in the defense force, she didn't use ability unless its very serious. She's not even a kaiju.

Imagine when Hoshina was in life and death situation or brink of death dealing a tough opponent/Kaiju she saved him with her abilities and he woke up fully healed. She explained to him she have these abilities of hers, since she was born.

Very interesting prompt, sorry for the wait and thanks for being patient. It definitely was difficult for me to figure out how to work the healing powers into a universe that doesn’t have powers so I hope what I went with turned out okay. Also fun fact- this post could've been significantly better but it accidentally got deleted somehow and I had to start all over from the beginning and try to remember what I wrote and it was so devastating so the writing is definitely not as good as it could've been.

A Reason To Live

Your mother was a freak of nature and apparently it was genetic.

You’d been told she was already strong, already tough, already fast, like all the women on her family’s side, even to the point of being declared superhuman but it wasn’t enough for her. She’d lost her husband and all her children to the Kaiju and she’d never be able to repair that damage to herself, that feeling of never being enough, much as she tried to through lengthy experimentation and numerous scientific enhancements to her body. Eventually, the stress of being pregnant with the last child her dead husband would ever give her overwhelmed her heart and she passed on.

You were born as the result of all that experimentation and that, mixed with your already inhuman genetics led to an interesting development, one that had never been heard of before. You had the power to heal. And nothing else.

You thought it a useless power at first. You were so focused on being the failure of your bloodline. You had planned on joining the Defense Force, like your whole family had before you- anything to feel connected to them. But whatever it was that made them outstanding, you didn’t have it, you didn’t have their strength or their speed, and you were devastated at the thought that your bloodline would die with your unimpressive self.

Then, one day when you were walking home, you noticed a tourist standing on the edge of a bridge. Before you realized how desperately they were eying the murky waters below, they jumped. Unable to catch them in time, you cursed your own inadequacies again as you ran to pull their limp body from the river. As you dragged them to the bank, you realized they were still alive, but just barely. They were badly injured but had enough life in them to whisper their regrets, to murmur they actually did want to live. And it touched something deep inside you, awakened some ancient power, and you healed them like it was second nature.

Saving them made you realize that even though you couldn’t shoot a gun or swing a sword for shit, you could still make a difference. So you became a doctor, only saving your powers for the most serious of cases, but studying your ass off so hard you almost didn’t need to use your gift.

And for the first time in your life, you were content, you made peace with your strengths and your weakness, and you felt like you actually had a purpose. You almost didn’t even realize you were missing anything in life until you made the acquaintance of one Soshiro Hoshina. You had been okay just being content with your life but he made you experience more than just contentment- he made your life blissful.

You couldn't imagine what you'd do without him constantly making excuses to see you. He'd bring in officers, any officers at all, and claim they needed treatment for rug burns or paper cuts, anything he could do to see you, to be near you.

He'd bring you your favorite coffee every morning just to be the first one to say good morning to you and put a smile on your face.

He'd even wait for you to finish work so he could walk you home, saying that it wasn't safe for such a gorgeous woman like you to be alone at night.

Sometimes you were glad you were weaker than him, so you could rely on his strength. And he loved that you relied on him, he loved to provide for you, to protect you.

But on some occasions, today in particular, those familiar insecurities would crawl their way back up to the surface reminding you just how weak you really were.

Today he was hurt. Badly. And all you could do was sit and wait for them to bring him to you on the verge of death. You would have given anything to be able to fight by his side, to protect him so he wouldn’t even need your healing in the first place. Sometimes you were scared you wouldn’t be able to heal him, wouldn’t be able to save him, he'd be too far gone. Maybe one day he wouldn’t even survive the journey back to you. Then what would you do? How would you go on with your life? Could you find contentment again? You didn't think so.

He'd even smiled at you weakly when they first brought him in. He was always trying to comfort you when he was the one that needed comfort. You thought you might just die right there beside him if you couldn't see that smile again.

You cleared everyone out of the clinic, anxious to start treating him. No one knew about your powers but you didn't want to waste time trying to treat him without them, he meant too much for you to start with conventional methods. So you kicked everyone out and got to work healing him.

You thought this might be the day your powers failed you as he didn't seem to be responding. But then you heard a groan and his eyes blinked open. You sighed, the sound thick with relief.

"Love, I know you're a good doctor but this is something else." He lifted his arms and examined every square inch of skin, trying to process the complete lack of an injury anywhere.

"Guess you weren't hurt that badly." You muttered nervously, trying to figure out how you were going to explain this to him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Dearest, my life was flashing before my eyes, I think might've actually been dying. So whatever you did, you did a hell of a job."

"Well I'm just glad you're okay." You were eager to drag him away from the topic.

"You know... I saw you, out there. Out on the battlefield when I thought I was dying. Couldn't think of anything else. You're my whole world."

You bit back tears. "And y-you're mine. So don't go dying on me again, okay? Promise."

He chuckled. "Can't do that love, but I'll do my best not to die on you anytime soon. Now are you gonna tell me how you yanked me back from the Underworld?"

You bit your lip.

He ran his thumb over your lip, forcing your teeth to release it. "It's okay baby, it's just me. You can tell me anything."

You nodded slowly. "I know, I know, love. It's just... it's complicated."

He sat up in bed, wanting to give you his full attention and support.

You got in the bed with him, not wanting to look at him but not wanting to be far from him, so you snuggled up against his chest as you told him everything.

He was surprisingly very receptive to the whole situation. Even cracked jokes about being able to get into more trouble now that he knew you could save him like that, which earned him one hell of a lecture from you about staying out of danger best he could.

As much as you liked when he visited your clinic, you never wanted him to visit on a gurney. You weren't sure your heart could take anymore scares. After being so lost for most of your life, you finally found a reason for living and you'd be damned if you'd let that slip away from you.

He held you close the rest of the night and reassured you with many sweet promises that he would be careful and that he'd try not to do anything to endanger his future with you. Once you were satisfied, you fell asleep in his arms. It was a weight off your chest to finally tell him the one thing you'd been keeping from him and you slept soundly against him, knowing he now had every part of you.

He slept just as soundly, comforted by the thought of having every part of you for life.

[lovezbrownies]

I wanna make a request for Yandere Bully, Lauren if that's alright?

Scenario: every single day, since the reader transferred to her school, they always have very visible injuries on their face and body. (ex: a broken arm in a cast, a leg brace, bruises and swollen eye sockets, broken nose etc.) Reader comes to school with these injuries nearly every day.

Then, it turns out that the reader is part of an underground fight club where the reader fights and gets beaten up every single night because they're poor and need to earn money for their sick mother's treatment.

I am so sorry for the delay! Very very long one ! :3

Lauren's Masterlist + General Masterlist

Synopsis: How would Lauren react to seeing you hurt all the time?

Lauren McCanister x GN!Reader

Warnings: Physical assault, fighting, bullying, isolation, crossing boundaries, stalking, made up illness, usual Lauren activities!, slightly edited!

“Mom, how can I tell the difference between injuries made on purpose and injuries made by accident?”

“Why do you ask, Laurie?”

“Something suspicious has been happening with my darling as of late, constantly comes to school in pain. Various bruises, broken limbs, and random swelling.”

“Hm… Let’s go to the big whiteboard in the lab, the living room whiteboard won’t be enough. Bring your notebook.”

You hiss in pain, trying to sit on your desk as gently as possible to not anger the arm whose bones you’ve broken two days ago at the last fight you attended. Thankfully it was only your arm, had it been your leg you wouldn’t have been able to participate in tomorrow’s fight. The underground society’s rules are twisted, any broken limbs are okay to fight with, even if both your arms are shattered, but if it were your leg? Not a chance would they let you register another fight. You couldn’t care less if you were battered and beaten almost to death, as long as you had enough to pay for your mom’s medical bills for the month. 

Your mother’s been sick for a while, and you’re her only hope to get her better. And even if she was terminally ill with little to no chance that she’d make it into the next year you will make sure that year would be the most fulfilling, joyful, healthy year for her. Your mother’s done so much for you as you’ve grown, sure maybe there’s been a few bumps along the way but there always will be when you have a parent. Either way, you will make sure she’s treated, you will make sure she gets better, and you are sure she will heal and become healthy once more.

Since you’ve changed schools you haven’t exactly been a very social butterfly. Not making any new friends in the new one and neglecting your friends from the old one, far too busy to partake in any friendships. One individual, in particular, hadn’t stopped bothering you, however, harassing and bullying you since you joined the school. Lauren McCanister, the most popular girl in school, a jock, gorgeous, and incredibly smart. She’d chase after you and obsessively harass you until either school was over or when you finally reached your home. Lauren for some unknown reason loved to follow you home, of course, while verbally abusing you along the way.

One very strange thing about your bully is she’s far too worried about your health for her to count as a bully anymore. An everyday occurrence it is, with your broken arm and bruises scattered around your body, she’d cornered you like a Lion, “Fuck’s this? Again? What, you broke your arm when you were cooking and juggling the ingredients but fell down the oil you spilled before that? Fucking likely with how ridiculous your damn stories are, I know these aren’t self-inflicted dickhead, who did this? What’s their name? Do you know them personally? I hope you know you’re m-min- Ugh, you’re my-my um… Whatever! You’re not supposed to be hurt! Get hurt one more time I will find who did it and kill them! Good lord…” 

Excited shouts sound out, and you breathe in and out, today is another fight, and another fight tomorrow, and as many as you can until your mom’s happy and healthy again. It was almost instinct at this point, go on the offensive immediately, get a few strong punches in, go on the defensive then trap your opponent in a death grip before throwing them down to the floor where you then proceed to beat them up until the ref says signals the winner, that is you, that they’ve won. After that is all the stupid celebrations and drinks and whatnot, you prefer to leave before anyone pulls you into a celebratory party. You’d rather take the money you owe tonight and get the hell out of there.

“Hey! Rel, wait!!!” Just as you are about to go to your manager for the cash someone calls out for you. Calling out a nickname only your fellow fighters use, it stood for Relentless Pain which is the name your manager gave you after a few fights. Looking back it was two other fighters who were also under your manager. “Oh sorry, what’s up?” Dick (Dick Crusher) smirked as he and Skull (Super Skull)  neared you.

Leaning into you Dick spoke into your ear, he needed to get close so you can hear him through the crowd, “I didn’t know you had such a hottie for a girlfriend!” Confused, you gave Dick a perplexed look, Skull leaned in to speak in your other ear, “Yeah! Like super super hot! She’s blonde, green eyes, really fucking tall, but in a dominatrix hot way, ya know?” Blonde, green eyes, and tall… Only one person you know of matches that description, and no way in god’s name will you let that evil bitch know you work here, else she’d use this shit against you.

This can’t be real, first, she torments you in your personal life, and now she wants to do the same in your work life? Lauren can eat shit you won’t let her take this away from you, you needed this job, and knowing Lauren she’d do anything to ruin your reputation. You panic, grabbing Dick and Skull’s respective shoulders, “What?! No way! Give someone my spare costume and have them pretend to be me, man! She’s insane! A-A stalker or something!” Panic settles into the duo’s faces as they realize the weight of what you’ve said.

Dick grabbed your hand, rubbing it softly, “We got you man don’t worry, we’ll make sure she never knows you’re here!” Skull follows up while taking off their jacket, “Here, take my jacket, you don’t gotta worry about a thing!” You muttered a soft thanks as you put on the jacket Dick offered, immediately running out of the nightclub the underground fight club is hosted in. You didn’t want to risk a thing, so you ran home, as fast as you could.

“Hey, lady! Here they are! The Relentless Painnn!!” Moron One called out to her, extending the word ‘pain’ as Lauren turns around, finally, you’re here! Finally, she can get an explain to her what you’re doing here, why you’re getting yourself hurt over an- “Who the fuck is this?!” Lauren exclaimed as she took a good look at the wimp claiming to be her darling. They were scrawny, hunched over, and had so little muscle it almost made her laugh.

Moron Two stepped forward, hands raised in the air, “Listen, man, you told me to get my best buddy, the Relentless Pain, and I did! Now, we will-” 

“Shut the fuck up, you absolute buffoon, if you value your life and family I’d suggest you get me MY Relentless Pain, or else I will make sure you will regret the very day you were born you absolutely pathetic piece of TRASH!” Lauren cut Moron Two off as she yells at the two ridiculously dressed nincompoops, the other nincompoop cowering in fear behind them both. Her darling wouldn’t fucking cower in fear! Her darling eats fear for breakfast!

Lauren growled, rolling her sleeves up due to frustration, “I fucking saw them! I saw them on the stage and this wasn’t them! My [Name] isn’t some fucking wimp! My [Name] has a fucking broken arm and this moron doesn-” It then hit her, this wasn’t some stupid mistake, this was all on purpose, to give you the time to run away from her before she can find you. Now she is confused and furious, why would you run away from your girlfriend? And why the hell would you run away from your girlfriend.

Lauren ran out of the dressing room, the two morons calling out to her but she had better priorities than those idiots! She continued to run, bumping into several people until she finally made it out of the nightclub, there wasn’t a single soul out there, except for some person wearing a hoodie, and walking away from the club, but Lauren was sure it couldn’t be you. You were wearing your fighting clothes, not a hoodie and shorts, but then again… Moron One had a jacket on when she first met them, but when they came back they didn’t have it on…

Was that damn bastard trying to hide you away from her? Fucking idiot won’t know what’s coming, but now she has to deal with you. Lauren calls out to you, she needs you. “Hey! You! Come back here!” She yells out at you, as you look back at her slightly, you face still hidden, and suddenly… The figure books it, running faster than she’s ever seen you run! 

You couldn’t be stupid enough to run away from her right? You know how fast she can run, don’t you? Cause this little act is going to give you more trouble later on, that’s for damn sure. Lauren scoffs and starts running after you, this chase reminds her of the predator and prey dynamic, especially with how much you’ve been looking back as she nears you. It… It turned her on… Sure, she felt a little shameful, but she’s a sadistic bastard, Predator-Prey dynamics are her bread and butter!

With lust on her side, she caught up to you pretty easily, grabbing your arm and stopping fully, pulling you back into her, laying your head on her chest… Except it wasn’t you, it was some… weirdo! ”Ew!!!” Lauren exclaimed, sick to her stomach over the fact she let some rando touch her. The weirdo stuttered out a few words, “I-I-I’m s-so sorry!! I’ll p-pay the-the bill I swear!” They shuffled around their jacket pockets, quickly taking out their wallet and handing it to Lauren. Which the lady then proceeded to push him to the ground and stomp back to her car, beyond furious over tonight’s events.

Maybe she was wrong, maybe you didn’t work at the club… No, hell no. McCanisters are never fucking wrong, and she will get it out of you one way or another.

Another day, another fight. It’s been two days since the Lauren incident, and surprisingly she hasn’t brought it up at all, maybe she wasn’t there, maybe it was some other hot tall blond! But you couldn’t think of any other person who’d claim they’re your girlfriend that looks like her, whatever, as long as she doesn’t ruin your career you couldn’t give more of a shit anymore. You spent the rest of the day as you usually do, hoping to god that this time she won’t try and catch you in the fighting club.

And of course, god doesn’t listen, as one could see the predatory Lauren had pushed you into an empty classroom, she straddled you and pinned both hands to the floor, careful not to put too much pressure on your broken arm, and before you could try and recover she had used her head to point to the sole desk in the room, where a camera was recording you both. She looked so damn smug you almost wanted to beat the hell out of her for humiliating you like this, for always taking advantage of you, for making you feel miserable any time of day.

“Be careful with what you do to me, darling, there’s a camera recording every single thing, and many more that I hid-” Lauren threatened but you couldn’t sit still and let her do whatever sick thing she wanted to do! You wiggled as hard as you could, managing to get a hand out of her grasp. The moment of hope quickly is stolen away from you as Lauren captures your wrist once again, “God damn it stay fucking still!” She screamed, accidentally spitting on your face, making you wince in disgust you were temporarily distracted and the spit aided in stopping your resistance.

The woman above you panted heavily, the smug smirk that was previously on her face has been replaced by a strong grimace, her hands tight around your own, and her legs tightly pressed against yours. This was bad, horrible. You were at a disadvantage, fight back and you have no life. Lauren’s the town’s princess, and if you dare hit her you will become ruined, fired from both jobs, no money to pay for your mother’s medicine, and no way out of the town with no money and no car.

Then, a strange sound suddenly cuts through the tension. She… Lauren was laughing, wildly even, as if she was reading your very thoughts, as her laughs slowly tuned out she shifted her face closer and closer to yours, noses now touching, her hair covering your peripherals, “Tell me. Why are you always hurt? And don’t lie to me or I swear to god you’ll have more than a broken arm after this.” Why is she so obsessed with what you do in your free time? Why does she want to know why you’re always in pain? Lauren hates you for all you know, always berating you day in and day out, so why so… needy?

You sighed, trying to look the other way, yet you couldn't see anything other than blond hair flowing all around you, to tell her or not to tell her… That is the question… Then you felt Lauren dig her nails deep into your wrist, she smirked as you yelped in surprise, looking back up at her, “Answer me.” Lord, she’s nosy… Either you answer and she tells everyone, which can lead to your arrest due to how illegal underground fighting is, leaving your poor mother all alone, or you don’t answer and she does some other fucking thing to ruin your life. One can never escape a McCanister with their sane intact still.

“You want to know? Soo badly? Fine, I fight in an underground fighting club, there. You can let me fucking go now, right? Since you’re going to ruin my life one way or another anyway right? Just let me have a lick of freedom before you sick the police on-”

“God, shut up. I’m not going to do anything, jeez why the hell do you see me that way?” She literally threatened your life two seconds ago, “Why are you fighting? You don’t need the money, aren’t you on financial aid?” Lauren asks question after question and it’s getting on your last damn nerve. Is any of this necessary? Should you genuinely be putting up with this? And all for what? To not make Princess mad? Who the fuck cares you have less than a year to get out of this hell hole and you couldn’t care less if she ruins your reputation, as long as you can still make enough money for your mom.

You rolled your eyes, sighing. It was fairly easy to overtake her strength, she may be a jock but you’re an athlete. You quickly turned the table on her, her now on the floor while you stood high above her, brushing yourself off. “You found out what you wanted, why I fight is none of your business, Lauren.” And you attempted to storm off, yet the classroom door was locked shut. Looking back at the blushing Lauren on the floor, you ask, “Why did you close the door, Lauren…?” Chuckling softly the woman on the floor slowly gets up, dusting off her skirt. She walked up to you, head held high.

A smirk was plastered on, her face full of mischief. “I had a feeling you’d do something like that, so I had someone lock it after I got you in here! And they won’t open the door until I send them a voice note specifically telling them to, so you have no way out until you tell me the whole truth, silly!” Her smirk only extended to a full-blown Cheshire smile, tilting her head to the side Lauren looked deeply into your eyes, expecting her demands to be met. 

This was a bad position, cameras watching your every move, a witness outside who is also the only way out. You couldn’t attack her and get away with it, breaking open any windows would take too long, and she probably already has that solved as well. Looking off to the side you let out a scoff, “Why’re you so obsessed with me? Don’t you hate me or something? You know with all the harassment, I thought you’d enjoy me being beaten up.” You honestly expressed to Lauren, though her only response was a big scoff, mocking you for your own thoughts.

Lauren leans towards you, leaning her hand against the wall next to you she has you in her grasp. “Shut up, who cares about why I’m doing this, just tell me why you’re looking for the money.” Lauren shamelessly brushes off your concerns, a need for knowledge overwhelming her. God, I’m just like Mom Lauren thinks, “Heavens, fine, if I tell you, you’ll let me go got it?” Lauren nods frantically, ready for whatever your reasoning might be, “I- My mom’s sick, it’s terminal and I needed the money for her medicine. That’s it. Is that what you wanted, you sick freak? To know my mother is ill and dying and I’ve risked my life for her? Are you satisfied-”

Lauren immediately cuts you off, “Which illness?” Her rude interruption stunned you, with no worry or guilt she asked something so incredibly intrusive… Fine, whatever it takes to get the hell out of this room, it’s getting hotter and hotter. “Willheim’s.” Silence overtook the room, you nor Lauren uttered a single word, up until Lauren’s twisted laughter began echoing throughout the room, you looked at her, rage overcoming you.

“Aha! HA! I-I’m so- ehe- sorry! It’s just so ironic!” Your hands are clenched, knuckles white with pressure. You wish you could blow her head out, “I’m so sorry, I laughed because my mother just discovered the very cure for Willheim’s. I can have my mother administer it to your mother for free, just come over whenever you want! I’d do a-anything for y-y- Erm, my mom made it a while ago actually! Just has been arguing with Big Pharma over the price which is w-why she’s taking so long to publish i-it!” Lauren stammered out, so nervous, so needy for your approval.

It felt like a complete smack to the face, all that work and pain, only to find out your bully’s mother had the cure this entire fucking time? It was hard to even comprehend the words Lauren just spat out, with just one visit to her home your mother would be safe and healthy again. It was both a dream and a nightmare, having your mother be healthy again is the only thing you’ve dreamt of for months now, but to know it’s Lauren McCanister that’s helping her? What a nightmare.

A stinging pain came from your palms, a wet feeling covering your fingers. You’ve been clenching your hands so hard your fingernails began penetrating your skin, what a lovely day. Your face filled with disgust, you continued to stare into her eyes, hatred swirling within your own. Lauren stayed quiet, that stupid smile of hers still going strong, “...Fine.” You mustered out, shame overcoming you, pride no longer intact. 

Somehow, Lauren’s face glows even brighter, and finally, finally, she backs off. Lauren gestures for you to follow her as she walks off the the back of the room, where a bunch of pillows and blankets and various foods and drinks lie. Strange how you hadn’t noticed that before. As Lauren sat down in the middle of all that comfort she extended her arms outwards, beckoning you into her arms.

“Come here. You have to tell me where all those bruises came from and who they come from… I’ll take care of you from now on!”