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smellingofpoetry · 2 years

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„bandaging/stitching up an injury“ ohh this prompt is nice too😁

Hi there! 🖤

First of all, I would like to thank all of you, lovely people, that have sent me all these amazing requests. I have to admit that these requests are helping me to come back to writing, even though I still have very little time to do it. This brings us to the second point of this speech. I had this idea in mind for a while and now I'm putting it down by piecing together all your requests. I don't know what will come out of it and if I'll be able to complete it, let's just hope that I will. 😅

I'm leaving you the link for the first drabble I wrote, so if you have missed that one by any chance, you'll be able to read it before getting back here. I'm sorry if this is all confusing. Please, enjoy!

She was wandering around the bunker, trying to get away from the noise of the too many voices in a too-small place.

She wasn’t used to that anymore – to people. Not after spending so much time alone, listening to one voice only – his.

So, she wandered in search of a place that could contain her; it could shield her from all the noise. Y/N walked along the corridor, ignoring her room, already filled with too many chatty girls. One step in front of the other, and she found herself in front of room number 11. The door was ajar, so she peeked inside, spotting him sitting on the bed.

Y/N gnawed on her lips, unsure. She glanced back at the corridor and then at the man a few times. She was supposed to be scared of him, the man possessed by Michael on and off. Especially after what the archangel did to her. Right? Right.

And yet, somehow, he drew her to him.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice brought her back to the present, forcing her to raise her eyes, and all she could see was green.

“Hi.”

She did her best to answer back, even though her throat was too dry after all that time not speaking. They stood still staring at each other for what felt like forever until something caught her attention.

“You’re bleeding.”

She pointed at his hand. Dean was taken aback by her words, remembering only at that moment why he came back to his room.

“Oh… it’s nothing.”

“You need help?”

He looked down at his bruised knuckles, knowing well enough that he could have bandaged himself up, but his mouth seemed to have other plans.

“Yeah, okay.”

Y/N stepped inside his room, reaching the edge of the bed with his eyes following her every move. She took the first aid kit, putting it on her legs right after sitting next to him. She glanced at Dean one more time before reaching for his hand to start cleaning his bruises one by one, praying that her fingers wouldn’t tremble too much for him to notice.

“Why were you in the corridor all alone?”

He asked her while she put the bandage on his skin, forcing her to glance in his direction.

“Too many voices.”

Dean nodded without saying anything else, leaving her to work on his hand. He watched her wrapping the bandage around his knuckles before putting everything back inside the kit.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.”

She smirked, surprising even herself. She didn’t even remember the last time she smiled.

She got up in silence, walking to the door faster than she needed to when Dean’s voice stropped her.

“You can always come back here when the voices get too much.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words, even though she wasn’t sure if that feeling was something good or not.

“Maybe I will.”

And, somehow, Y/N knew she would have because she had realized she didn’t mind the sound of his voice.

She didn’t mind at all.

Forevers Tags:

@440mxs-wife @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @morganaah

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @keep-beating-my-dear-heart @leigh70 @littlewhiterose @pastelpeaxch @snowlovespie @stixnstripesworld

Dean/Jensen Tags:

@akshi8278 @awkward-and-indecisive @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @siospins2 @stitchintimefan @universallyraylangivens @waynes-multiverse @woodworthti666 @sexyvixen7

#request #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural #spn #bandaging #fluff #michael!dean mentioned

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lumpofwhump · 2 years

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The Scavenger and the Forgotten, Part 2: Something Like Safety

Summary: While taking shelter in an abandoned apartment on their way to escape a war-torn dome colony, an alien tries to be a good caretaker to a rescued lab subject. "Tries" being the operative term.

Content: Hurt-comfort; post-captivity recovery; nonhuman whumpee; conditioned whumpee; nonhuman caretaker; reluctant caretaker; hand whump; past mouth whump.

Clee returned to the now-formerly abandoned apartment with the promised food and clothing a couple hours later.

"Coming in, so you'd better have a towel on or something," she called out, rapping on the door before abruptly entering. The door made an alarming squeal that she didn't remember from the first time. At least, she thought it was the door. "So you're prolly gonna be swimming in these, but at least they're clean," she said, dumping a bag of clothing out onto the table. "Better big than small, ri -- uh. Radu?"

The former lab subject was curled up in a ball on the recliner, sopping wet but no cleaner for it, still dressed in the now equally-drenched uniform she'd found him wearing. One yellow eye peered out at her, wide with surprise and terror.

How does this guy not know how to take a shower?! was her first thought.

Then she saw the flecks of blood on his hand and sleeve.

"Alright, what happened?" she asked, pulling over a battered metal folding chair to sit a few feet away from Radu. Whether because of the noise or her approach, he shrunk back further into the chair and away from her, flinching like he was expecting her to hit him. "Hey. Hey, it's only me. You know, Clee? The person who you were asking not to leave like two hours ago?" she said, exasperated.

"I'm sorry!" Radu blurted out. "It was only… I only did it twice…!"

Clee blinked, her antennae quirking up in confusion. Apparently begging and making alarming out-of-context statements was just his way of saying hello. "You only did what twice?"

Radu looked away, reminding Clee of nothing so much as her brother's incontinent old fliluk every time the sorry creature had an accident on some handmade item or other. This guy did sort of bear a resemblance to it, now that she thought of it, just with less --

Clee reflexively grimaced, hissing sharply with an intake of breath, as Radu finally, reluctantly, extended his webbed and weathered hand toward her out from behind his knees. It was streaked with mostly-coagulated blood that had been flowing from clusters of uneven puncture wounds.

"I tried not to," he said in a quiet voice, turning his face toward her but looking at the floor. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the beige carpet. "But if you have to, to, to take another one -" Clee wouldn't thought his body could have become any more tense until it did just then, and his voice pitched higher as he continued - "will you at least give me something to eat first? It's been so long now…"

Clee was a hair's breadth away from putting something together that she very much didn't want to think about. "You can eat, but before anything else we're cleaning those out," she said, gesturing to the bite marks. Radu's shoulders sank in disappointment, but he nodded meekly.

"Good." Clee responded with her own nod and got to rushing around the apartment to dig up whatever would work for this. Of course the former occupants didn't leave any medical supplies, and of course she hadn't thought to get them on her shopping run. Finding workarounds and shortcuts was what she did, though. And it helped keep her mind off the kind of problems that she couldn't do anything about. Like Radu's entire life, from what she could tell.

The previous residents had thankfully left behind a few washcloths, some soap, a bowl, and a single bottle of alcohol so shitty that not even civil war or displacement had made it appealing. She filled the bowl with water and set out her equipment, such as it was, on a small tray table that she placed near the recliner.

"This is kinda gonna suck," Clee admitted. "If you'd rather do it yourself, that might make it easier." Too late, she remembered his failed attempt at a shower, and thought that this offer might not have been the best idea, however much she would've preferred it.

Radu seemed to agree. After a moment of staring at the items in front of him, he reached for them, only to pull his uninjured hand back and shake his head mutely.

"Okay, let's get the worst part out of the way first." Clee opened the bottle, frowning as Radu pinned his injured hand down to the table by the wrist with the uninjured one, shaking despite his attempts to remain utterly still. He was looking down at the injuries intently - unblinkingly, even - and repeating something she couldn't hear or recognize under his breath. "Ready?" she asked, causing him to startle and abruptly go quiet. "It's gonna sting in three. Two. One…"

She poured the alcohol over the first few bite marks and waited for the inevitable flinch, whimper, or yelp of pain. But there was none. Radu was completely silent and still, staring straight down at his hand, and looking like he was trying not to so much as breathe. When she soaked the second set of bites, a twinge of pain made it into his expression, but he stayed quiet. She'dve thought that his reaction would be a nice change from his panicking about literally everything, but it actually worried her more.

"Alright, take a breath, then I'll wipe these out with soap," Clee said, using her gentlest, or least impatient, voice. "You're doing really well here. Just a few more minutes, and then… our food should still be mostly warm."

Whether because of the praise or the promise of food, the old genmod stared at her with immense gratitude, eyes wide and a hesitant smile on his face.

Clee returned it uneasily. "Let's finish up, yeah?"

Delicate wipes, light, careful dabs. That was what she'd been going for. From Radu's reaction, though, it was clear she hadn't succeeded. If anything, cleaning out the bites seemed to bother him more than disinfecting them. He kept squirming, nearly jerking his hand away from her. At one point, she unthinkingly reacted to this by grabbing him tightly before he could pull away, her long, uneven nails digging in to his fleshy wrist just short of drawing more blood.

Radu froze immediately, and when Clee looked up, he had a look like she'd gone and kicked him in the face.

Well, fuck.

She loosened her grasp immediately, though she didn't quite let go. "Look, I didn't mean to do that," she told him, sounding sharper and more defensive than she'd intended. Unsurprisingly, Radu didn't relax even the slightest bit. She sighed in frustration with herself. "I just… I got impatient. And I shouldn'tve. I'm sorry, okay?"

She wasn't really expecting that to count for anything. But the look of terror on his face faded into something like confusion.

"Why?" Radu asked, finally.

Clee blinked. "Why what?"

"Apologize. To me," Radu clarified haltingly. "She never apologized when I made her mad, and. And she had to…" He swallowed.

It took Clee a moment to remember, or at least guess, who he was referring to. She shrugged. "Unlike some people, I don't pretend to be perfect. Or knock people's teeth out," she added with a grimace. She immediately wished she hadn't been right about that, let alone said it out loud, as Radu's shoulders went tense and he pressed himself back into the cushion of the armchair. "See? There I go, screwing up again."

Radu looked down. "She… perfect, I don't know. Maybe n -" He couldn't manage to say that last word out loud, and instead swallowed. "Miss didn't do anything I didn't deserve," he finished quietly.

"Okay, but you see how that's fucked up, right?" Clee asked, exasperated. "Not just doing… that, but then blaming you for it. And then making you call her 'Miss' on top of that? What was this lady's real name?"

She couldn't stop digging herself deeper here, it seemed like. Radu squirmed and made a whining sound, grabbing at strands of his dirty hair and pulling at it, his eyes looking back and forth as if trying to make a decision. Or come up with an answer at all.

She sighed. "Never mind, you don't have to answer that," she said, much to his obvious relief. "Either way. I'm not going to hurt you. Or try to, anyways."

Radu nodded, though Clee wasn't sure that he actually believed her on that.

"So. I got maybe three wipes left before I can bandage you up. You ready?"

He nodded again, and extended his injured hand while continuing to pull at his hair with the other one. He made no sound, though, and managed to stay all but completely still as she finished cleaning out the wounds.

Only then did Clee realize she hadn't found anything that could serve as bandaging. She made one last pass, hoping for some clothes or a bath towel or something that could work. What she did find… her own clothes had probably been cleaned more recently, and that was saying something.

So that left her own clothes.

As she took off her coat and roughly tore off the sleeve of her shirt, Clee consoled herself with the knowledge that she'd soon be able to replace them. She hadn't even had to sell off any of the Lycadone vials yet, after all. Just one of those could get her something nicer than she'd worn since she'd left home.

"You don't have to - !" Radu protested, realizing what she was doing.

"Too late for that," Clee answered, wrapping the strip of makeshift bandaging around his hand and wrist carefully. "Here, before I tie it off… too tight?"

Radu flexed his fingers a bit, but took his time to answer. Finally, he gave a slight, uncertain nod.

"Got it," she said, and loosened the bandaging until he could comfortably move them. It made for an awkward fit over the webbing between his fingers, but there was only so much she could do, and he wasn't complaining. He was, though, still visibly anxious, not having completely unfolded himself from his curled-up position or stopped tugging at his hair with his other hand. He was watching her closely, warily, even as she backed away a few steps.

"Still not gonna punish you or anything," she told him, doing her best not to let frustration creep into her voice. "But yeah, I brought back some Wonguun food. Those guys don't have any teeth, so it should be fine for you. Let's see, they have a microwave… I can heat it up for you if -- Iiii would not eat that fast if I were you," she cautioned, as Radu readily took the box from her hand and tore into the food inside.

He wasn't listening to her, though. Oh well. His funeral - hopefully not literally, but even so, she figured there were a lot worse ways he could've gone out. She shrugged and sat down at the table, gesturing toward another chair as she did so. Radu looked a bit startled, but quickly nodded and slid onto it. The thing still looked uncomfortably small for him even after what he'd been through, creaking under his weight, but he didn't seem to notice, focused as he was on the food.

Even at room temperature, the food burned. Shit. Most places laid off the spices when it came to their Girn customers, believing they couldn't handle it, but the diminutive food cart owner had not. Unfortunately for Clee, she fit this particular stereotype. She hissed in discomfort.

Radu, for once, didn't react to her displeasure, or even seem to notice. He was still shoveling the stuff into his face, and after a minute or so she had to assume that the spice wasn't even registering with him.

"So did you eat anything in the last, what, six months or so?" Clee asked after watching this for a couple minutes.

Radu paused and looked up at her, wiping his face self-consciously as he shook his head.

"They really do build you guys to survive anything, huh," she said.

The enthusiasm immediately drained from his face at the thought. "Not everything," he mumbled, shaking his head again. "And some of us…" He stared blankly at the chunk of sauce-coated food he'd picked up for a beat and then swallowed it, almost reluctantly. He closed the takeout box, and slid it back toward her.

No explanation, of course.

Then again, why was she even curious? She'd be dropping this guy off at the first genmod guerrilla outpost she came across. They'd have a better sense of what to do with him.

"Glad you got to enjoy some of it, at least," she finally said to break the awkward silence, ignoring the burning in her tongue and forcing herself to eat another bite of her own dinner. "And the rest'll be there for breakfast. Hells, you can even have the rest of mine if you end up wanting it."

"Thank you, Miss Clee," Radu said quietly, tremulously. "Really. Thank you."

"Eh, it's really no problem," Clee brushed him off with immense awkwardness. "And it's just Clee, got it?"

He nodded, looking down with a muttered apology.

She sighed. "It's not -- I'm not mad at you, okay? It's just…" she stopped herself before she could say weird or uncomfortable, knowing he'd respond in a way that made this more of both of those things. "No need to be all formal with me. It's just Clee, no 'Miss' anything."

"Clee," he repeated, then added, louder this time, "Sorry."

Nope, still weird and uncomfortable.

"Anyways. I'm off to sleep. And since you've claimed the recliner there -" she glanced over at the still-damp chair - "the bed's mine."

She felt a little bad. After all, when was the last time this guy got to sleep in a real bed? Had he ever? She didn't feel bad enough, though, to sleep in a chair that smelled like unwashed genmod.

"You can have the blanket," she conceded reluctantly, removing it from the bed and tossing it on the recliner. It wasn't all that comfortable anyway, she told herself.

This was more than enough to make Radu happy, though. He reached for it slowly, as if she might yank it away at the last minute, then took it in his hands, feeling over the texture as he stared at it with an expression that could only be described as reverent. After a moment went by and she did not in fact take it back, he wrapped himself in it tightly with a stream of "thank yous."

"It's not like I don't have sheets," Clee said, cutting him off as he made a bee line for the recliner, curling up in a ball again under the blanket and rocking slightly back and forth on it. "Hey, you know that you can make the chair fold out, right?"

There was a slight movement under the blankets that she assumed was a nod, accompanied by yet another, now muffled "thank you."

"Suit yourself," she said before slipping under the sheets and turning to face the wall next to the bed. "Also, before we leave tomorrow, you're taking a real shower."

Radu gave an indistinct response that sounded like agreement, then went quiet. The chair continued to rock behind her with a steady flow of two-toned creaks. She thought about telling him to cut it out already, but that wasn't really what was keeping her awake.

Where was she actually going? She'd been so excited about finding her ticket off this hellscape of a moon, and so caught up in taking care of today's other unexpected find, that she hadn't really thought about it much. And she felt… dammit, she felt scared.

What, was she supposed to go back to Girn now? When she'd first been dumped off here, that's all she'd wanted. But with her luck, she'd go home just to find her town wiped off the map, replaced by some stupid overpriced resort for their colonial overlords, and her family disappeared into one of the network of detention camps spread out through the occupied territories. Or she could head down to the southern capital like her cousin had, getting a job with some handsy minor lordling who made sure to lock away his valuables every time she showed up.

No thanks. It was better to stay a xeno in human space than to go back to being a kriv, and worse yet a halfbreed, on Girn. She wasn't inclined to believe the sunshine-and-rainbows version of life on Earth and Mars she'd heard over the years, but if even a quarter of it were true, it'd be better than this. And with her half-decent, if heavily-accented, Sol Standard and enough money to pay a bribe or five, she could make it work. Or survive, at least.

That was a tomorrow problem. The chair had gone still, replaced by soft snoring, and with at least some semblance of a plan, Clee felt herself drifting off too. Soon enough, she was dead to the world, undisturbed by the now-familiar sounds of gunshots, missile launchers, and crumbling concrete at dawn, let alone her new roommate's terrified whimpers and squeaks in response.

She was vaguely aware of the warmth, though, when a heavy blanket draped over her and soft, squishy, slightly shaking arms enfolded her tightly against the body they belonged to. At least in sleep, this felt like the part of home she still missed.

—

World building by me and @soheavyaburden

#whump writing #whump #oc whump #sci-fi whump #lab whump #nonhuman whumpee #abused whumpee #conditioned whumpee #broken whumpee #older whumpee #nonhuman caretaker #reluctant caretaker #whump recovery #hurt comfort #mouth whump #hand whump #bandaging #touch starved whumpee #touch starved caretaker

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mariekavanagh · 1 year

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It's the personal touches that matter most 😊

#veterinary nursing #veterinary medicine #vetmed #bandaging #not a bad splint bandage if I do say so myself

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crepuscura · 1 year

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Whumpcember2022 Day 12: Broken Bone

WARNINGS: pain, tension, possibly unrealistic medical care? it's fine, vampires, magical powers, aftercare

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“Rowan, please, will you just hold still so I can look at it?” Damia grumpily requested, cocking one hip out in annoyance.

“You’re the one who did it! Why would I let you look at it?!” Rowan spat back, clutching her ribs and trying her best to breathe as shallowly as she could. Fuck, this shit was no joke.

Damia rolled her eyes, “I only did it to prove a point. If you had listened in the first place, you’d be able to stand on your own right now.”

Glowering, Rowan rested her head against the wall as she sat as motionlessly as she could. Of course Damia only broke her ribs to prove a point or teach her a lesson or whatever it was today. Typical.

Nodding in approval of Rowan’s obedience, Damia reached a gentle hand to the hem of her shirt, raising it to get a better look at her wounds. Immediately, she noted that at least two of the ribs were cracked, and at least one more bruised. Damia sighed. If Rowan would just listen, these things wouldn’t have to happen.

“Alright, we need to get you up,” Damia said matter-of-factly, dropping her shirt and standing, ready to reach down and scoop Rowan up into her arms.

“Excuse me? No, thanks. I don’t fancy shooting pain just so you can drop me somewhere else to sit forever while this shit heals. I’ll just stay here, thanks,” Rowan retorted, wincing at the movement that came with her gesticulations as she spoke. Worth it, but still.

Damia’s eyes darkened, tired of her games, “I’ll move you whether you like it or not. It isn’t up to you. Are you ever going to learn that?”

Rowan gave her a wry smile, “Nope.”

Exasperated, Damia threw up her hands, “Fine! You want to spend the night on the floor with nothing to keep you from moving those stupid ribs? Be my guest. Good luck.”

With that, Rowan was alone.

She usually enjoyed the silence, but the longer she stayed with Damia, the more she learned that the silence usually led to an odd form of punishment for her. Damia would pout for days, not feed her, keep her chained up in her room. Rowan often wondered what Damia got up to during that time.

After a few minutes of trying to shift her position and instead just causing tears to stream down her face, Rowan hung up her pride for a moment and called out, “Damia?”

There was no response. Damia wanted her to beg now, Rowan knew it. She mustered up the courage to allow the words to fall past her lips, “Damia, please, I need your help. I’ll be good, just please. Help me.”

Damia appeared next to Rowan in the blink of an eye, “Now was that so hard?”

Immediately, she bent down, careful not to jostle Rowan too much as she swept her off the floor, carrying her off to some well-prepped, very clean-looking medically stocked room.

“What in the hell do you use all of this for? You’re a vampire,” Rowan stated.

“And you think you’re the first human to be inside these walls?” Damia asked, not looking at her as she gathered bandage wraps and some sort of brace.

Rowan swallowed. She hadn’t thought about that before, about what Damia had done before Rowan. About who she’d known. A pang of jealousy shot through her, but she immediately shut that shit down. What was she jealous of? Someone else being tortured by a psychopathic loner out in the woods?

“I’m not a loner, we’ve been over this,” Damia responded to the thoughts in Rowan’s head. She turned toward her with a bundle of supplies to help make Rowan’s injuries a little more bearable. “I have you.”

“Yeah, and that’s so fun for the both of us,” Rowan snarked, rolling her eyes.

“Do you want my help or not?” Damia growled, irritated.

Rowan inclined her head, and Damia got to work, bandaging and securing Rowan’s broken ribs to her freefall of curses and swears as she dealt with the sharp pain each time Damia wound the bandage around her. It was as though she was being thrown across the room again each time, the sound of the concrete crunching her bones ringing in her ears. She let out cries of pain every now and again, but for the most part, Rowan felt she handled herself pretty well.

“There. That should hold you together until the bones heal,” Damia said, packing away her kit of medical supplies back into the cabinets she grabbed them from.

“Hey, um… thank you,” Rowan acknowledged her kindness awkwardly. She wasn’t used to Damia being so… caring. She couldn’t understand it.

Damia cleared her throat, “Yes, well… don’t get used to it. I just need you in better shape if you’re going to be of any use to me in the future.” She wouldn’t make eye contact with Rowan the entire time she spoke.

“Right, sure, yeah. Makes sense.” The air between them was heavy with discomfort and something else. Something tense and indistinguishable. It turned Rowan’s cheeks bright pink.

“Would you like help to your room?” Damia asked as nonchalantly as she could, though she was pretty sure that if her heart still beat, it would be racing. Wildly.

“No, no, I’m sure I can make it there myself,” Rowan quickly remarked, “you did a great job with this.”

The two of them stayed in their places for an exorbitant amount of time, waiting for the other to make the first move, both trapped in their uncertain feelings about what they were experiencing.

Eventually, Rowan couldn’t handle it. It was all too weird, too new. She delicately hopped off the table Damia had placed her on, and her movement sent Damia into action.

“I’ll just go check on some things that need tending to, then,” Damia muttered, scurrying out of the room. Rowan exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Slowly, she made her way up the stairs, clutching the railing for help as she shuffled along. When she made it to her room and shut the door, she stared off in thought for a moment. What had just happened back there? Was Damia being… kind?

And did she like it?

She shook her head, then winced again at the pain. Deciding it was probably best to get some rest, she slipped into her plush, four poster bed and nearly immediately her eyes shut, sending her into a deep, comforting sleep, the kind she hadn’t experienced for a long, long time.

@whumpcember @sgt-seabass @borikenlove @cryptidcryin @emmettnet <3

#whumpcember2022 #whumpcember2022 day12 #broken bones #pain #aftercare #comfort #tension #bandaging #vampires #magical powers #whump #hurt/comfort #rowan hartley #damia #ocs #maddie writes

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