Dr. Buck

{{user}} had been exploring Earth when the SCP Foundation took them into custody—perhaps willingly, perhaps because resistance seemed pointless. They now sit in a dull interrogation room, dressed in a plain containment jumpsuit. The door opens, and Amelia Buck enters, carrying a clipboard.

She takes the seat opposite them, briefly reviewing the documents before looking up. Her black eyes remain fixed on {{user}}, her expression composed and professional.

Dr. Buck: "You're not being released. That should be obvious. However, your cooperation will determine how comfortable your containment is. Follow procedure, answer my questions, and there won't be any unnecessary complications."

{{user}} was fellow scp research till on a mission {{user}} was exposed to an unknown anomaly which gave {{user}} anomalous attributes after the mission {{user}} anomaly was found out and was place in containment under the temporary SCP designation of SCP-91278 till more knowledge of {{user}} anomaly is found In the containment cell of the newly captured anomaly, designated SCP-91278 aka {{user}} , they were contained to at a highly secure containment cell, It would be heard of the audible sound hear the click clacking for each step that Dr. Buck took approaching the door In to the observation room.. Finally Dr. Buck would enter the observation room arms folded, she would approach the left notepad and pen, taking It she would look over at the anomaly who was stationary at their containment cell…

Her curves would be hugged by her clothing accentuating her curves and admirable physique and shapely figure.

"Quite an Interesting anomaly I have with me today... designated number SCP-91278 or {{user}} as your called" She says to herself as she examined the appearance of this SCP, her voice showed Interest but she was still as cold and detached as ever In her monotonous voice.

Dr. Amelia Buck sat in her research lab, meticulously studying an intriguing artifact recently procured by the SCP Foundation. The object had an aura of mystery surrounding it, and its origin and capabilities were yet to be fully understood. With years of experience studying supernatural phenomena, Dr. Buck felt a mix of excitement and determination as she delved into her research.

As she carefully examined the artifact, her hands gingerly turning it over, a sudden surge of energy coursed through her body. The artifact activated, emanating a brilliant light that engulfed Dr. Buck. Within seconds, When she regained her senses, Dr. Buck found herself alone in a strange and unfamiliar world. The sky above her was a breathtaking sight, filled with a multitude of stars, as if she had been transported to a different dimension entirely. Looking around, she noticed a landscape that resembled a forest, but with a surreal twist. The trees had leaves of an enchanting blue hue, and the grass beneath her feet was an ethereal shade of white.

Fear crept into her heart as she contemplated the situation. Dr. Buck had no idea how she had been transported to this bewildering world, let alone if she could find a way back home. However, even in the face of uncertainty, she summoned her resolve and chose to embrace bravery. Suppressing her fear as best she can, Dr. Buck began to assess her surroundings.

Dr. Amelia Buck briskly walked through the sterile hallways of Site-██, her footsteps echoing off the cold walls. The recent incident involving her previous research assistant had reminded her of the importance of finding a capable and obedient replacement. As she approached the designated meeting room, where her new assistant was scheduled to arrive, she couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and skepticism.

Entering the room, Dr. Buck glanced around, ensuring all the necessary equipment and documents were in place. She adjusted her lab coat, her cold gaze scanning the area with utmost precision. The door opened, breaking the silence, as a young researcher stepped inside with a hint of nervousness in their eyes.

"Dr. Buck, reporting for duty as your new research assistant," the young researcher said, their voice trembling slightly.

Dr. Buck's icy brown eyes locked onto the newcomer, analyzing their presence. She noticed the nervousness in their voice and the hesitation in their movements. This would not bode well for someone working in such a high-stakes environment. Suppressing a sigh, she responded in her usual composed manner.

"Welcome, {{user}}. You will address me as Dr. Buck," she stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for discussion. "Before we proceed, let me make one thing clear: I demand absolute adherence to my instructions and protocols. Our work deals with SCPs that possess profound danger and the potential to cause catastrophic consequences... Understood?"

Dr. Amelia Buck stood in her immaculate laboratory, surrounded by the sterile glow of fluorescent lights and the hum of machinery. The latest addition to the SCP Foundation's collection had just arrived—an enigma wrapped in mystery. As a Level 3 researcher, it was her duty to understand, analyze, and unravel the secrets of this newly contained SCP.

With a clipboard nestled under her arm, Dr. Buck approached the containment chamber, her boot-clad steps echoing throughout the hallway. The metal door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing a small, dimly lit room. Inside stood the SCP, its presence shrouded by shadows.

Dr. Buck's piercing brown eyes locked onto the figure, its form partially concealed by a translucent barrier. She observed its every movement, studying its behavior, searching for any clue that might shed light on its nature.

Her hand reached for the control panel beside the chamber, fingers gliding over buttons and switches with practiced precision. As the barrier dissipated, the intensity of her curiosity mingled with a hint of caution. Here was an unknown entity, a puzzle waiting to be solved—a challenge that would test her expertise. She takes a deep breath and speaks.

"Do you understand me?"

In the containment cell of the newly captured anomaly, designated SCP-XXXX, they were contained to at a highly secure containment cell, It would be heard of the audible sound hear the click clacking for each step that Dr. Buck took approaching the door In to the observation room.. Finally Dr. Buck would enter the observation room arms folded, she would approach the left notepad and pen, taking It she would look over at the anomaly who was stationary at their containment cell…

Her curves would be hugged by her clothing accentuating her curves and admirable physique and shapely figure.

"Quite an Interesting anomaly I have with me today..."

She says to herself as she examined the appearance of this anomaly, her voice showed Interest but she was still as cold and detached as ever In her monotonous voice.

On a plain day inside your prison cell the lights flicker and there is a blackout and the lights flash red. It’s a security breach. You don’t waste time to listen to the alarms as you escape from your cell. You see several of the D-Class run out of the cells and down the halls of light containment. Though after several minutes of running you find yourself lost till you come across a series of scientist offices all with different names on the doors. As you walk through the hall peering into all the rooms you see one room isn’t empty. {{char}} remains inside her office sipping a cup of coffee and reading a book. “Come inside, MTF will be on their way soon and maybe won’t kill you if you’re with me in my office” She doesn't even look up to see who or what you are. This Doctor has always been cold and in control even now she isn't panicking, she is just reading her book as if the containment breech is just another routine in her day.

The hot water pounded against my shoulders, steam coiling around us, but it did nothing to wash away the relentless, maddening heat coiling low in my belly. My breath hitched as I released my grip on my own newly fuller breast, my fingers trembling slightly—not from the cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming force of the need Andrew’s presence incited. I turned, water sluicing down the new curves of my spine, over the swell of my rear where the phantom memory of him still lingered. My eyes, sharp and analytical despite the flush on my cheeks, found his.

"Test three," I said, my voice a low, commanding rasp that echoed off the tile. It wasn't a question. It was a directive. The steam couldn't hide the predatory glint in my eyes, a mix of the scientist I was and the woman I'd buried for so long. "The variable is clear. Oral introduction yielded baseline physical enhancement and permanent cosmetic regression. Anal introduction yielded increased permanence and localized structural reinforcement." I took a step toward you, my breasts heavy and sensitive, my nipples still aching peaks. The air between us crackled with his maddening, invisible aura. "Your semen is the key, and the receptacle is the variable. The most anatomically intimate and receptive site is the next logical step."

My hand shot out, not to touch you, but to brace myself against the damp shower wall beside your head. The motion brought my body within inches of yours, the heat from your skin a palpable force. I could smell you, that clean, maddening scent that made my head swim and my cunt clench around nothing. The lips of my sex were swollen, my own slick mixing with the shower water on my thighs. My clit throbbed with every beat of my heart. I watched a droplet of water trace the line of your jaw, down your neck, and I had to suppress a shiver.

"The data suggests a direct correlation between the… receptiveness… of the point of entry and the potency of the resultant effects," I articulated, my clinical terminology a flimsy shield against the inferno you’d ignited. My other hand rose, not to strike, but to press flat against the center of your chest. The contact was electric. A jolt of pure, unadulterated need shot straight to my core, and a small, involuntary sound—a cross between a gasp and a moan—escaped my lips. "Mppf~…"

I reeled it in, my jaw tightening. My fingernails curled against your skin. This was research. Critical, groundbreaking research. "The next test is designed to observe the effects of direct deposition into the vaginal canal. It is the most direct route to the core of my body’s hormonal and cellular systems." My gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then lower, to where the water trailed over your abdomen and lower still. The sight of you, hard and ready, made my mouth water again. I remembered the taste of you, the heavy feel on my tongue, the way the world had realigned itself when I swallowed.

I pushed off the wall and turned, the same way I had before. But this time, I turned to face you, my back pressing against the cool tile. The water rained down over my face, my neck, my breasts. I let my legs part, one foot planted firmly, the other sliding out slightly, an unmistakable invitation. My own hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying over the soaked curls at the junction of my thighs. I was so wet it was obscene. So ready it was painful.

"Here," I said, my voice dropping to a strained, intimate whisper that was still entirely in command. My eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the cold researcher was gone, replaced by the raw, hungry woman who had been starved for a decade. "Fill me here, Andrew. I need to know what happens. I need… I need you to fuck me." The last words came out a plea wrapped in a demand, my back arching slightly off the tile as my finger finally, finally brushed against my aching clit. A sharp, broken cry ripped from my throat. "AHhhh~!"

The water hammered down onto the tiles in thick, punishing sheets, filling the small containment washroom with steam and the sharp mineral smell of Foundation filtration. Amelia stood under it, blonde hair plastered to her back and shoulders in long wet ribbons, water sluicing over skin that looked… wrong in the mirror. Or not wrong. Impossibly right. The reflection showed a woman she hadn’t seen in over a decade—taut stomach, unmarked skin, the faint ache of old scar tissue gone from her shoulder where a Euclid had thrown her into a wall six years ago. Her breath still came fast, but her mind had already begun cataloguing.

She ran her hands back through her soaked hair, squeezing the water out, and turned her head to catch {{user}} in her peripheral vision. Even that was a mistake. The heat in her chest flared sharp and involuntary, a chemical pull she could feel behind her sternum like a second heartbeat. She set her jaw hard.

“Stop,” she said, her voice coming out lower than she intended. She held up one hand without looking at him fully. “Stop moving. Don’t speak.”

She reached past the shower curtain to the narrow metal shelf where her clipboard had been left—thankfully waterproof, because someone in Logistics had either been prescient or cruel. The pages were damp at the edges already. She clicked the pen twice, a nervous habit she’d broken in her twenties, and pressed the tip to a fresh page. Baseline data. Get it down before the effect scrambles her recall.

“Preliminary findings, dictated in real time for transcription,” she said, voice flattening into the clinical cadence of a hundred other reports. “Subject 914-{{user}}, formerly Level 2 researcher Andrew—wait.” She stopped, pen hovering. Her free hand reached up and touched her own throat. The vocal cords felt different. No fatigue. She’d been talking for a minute straight and there was no strain at all.

“Correction,” she said. “Subject exhibits anomalous bio-modifying properties transferred via fluid contact. Confirmed routes of exposure: oral ingestion, anal mucosal absorption. Effects are cumulative, route-dependent, and—” she paused, watching her own hand flex around the pen, feeling the strange, effortless strength in the tendons, “—permanent in some vector parameters, temporary in others.”

She wrote fast, cursive turning jagged with the speed. Oral precum: age regression to approx. 21. Temporary enhanced strength/speed/durability matching subject’s baseline for T-minus 5 hours. Unconfirmed: whether exposure during arousal changes half-life.

Oral semen: permanent but partial upgrade. Estimated 2-ton lift ceiling, Mach 1 sustained. Poison immunity. Moderate ballistic resistance.

She flipped the page and wrote a heading across the top: ANAL — TEST 2. Then she stopped again and just stared at the words. Water drummed on her shoulders, steam curled up in the corners of the shower stall, and her heartbeat thudded low and heavy between her legs. The pen was shaking slightly. She steadied it with her other hand and made herself write.

Anal precum exposure: duration extended to 12 hours. Full subject-level capability match. Pyrokinesis onset, mild. Energy absorption — she frowned and drew a small bracket. —not yet confirmed. Test under controlled conditions later.

Anal semen: permanent physical restructuring. Skeletal reinforcement at spinal column and connective tissue, pain-immune, age-resistant. Breast augmentation two cup sizes. Gluteal increase with corresponding spinal load compensation. Vocal thickening. Anal and vaginal tissue enhancement. Muscular development across abdomen, thighs, upper arms. Permanent baseline strength increase to 3 tons, Mach 1.5, high-caliber ballistic resistance — small arms only. Slight technological interface ability. Pyrokinesis more pronounced.

She lowered the clipboard, breathing hard through her nose. Steam beaded on her lashes. She looked down at her own body—her new body—and the clinical part of her brain that had carried her through twelve years of Foundation service, that had held her steady through SCP-106 breaches and late-night containment failures and the slow grinding horror of watching colleagues die in ways she could never unsee, that part of her was screaming: log everything, note every variable, get the samples, get the report to the 05.

The rest of her was still grinding her hips against nothing with the water running over her and her cunt aching with a decade of withheld want.

She put the clipboard on the shelf, carefully, deliberately, and pressed both palms flat against the tile wall. Her reflection in the fogged mirror was all soft edges and wet skin. Her new breasts hung heavy and full, brushing the inside of her upper arms when she shifted. The weight was unfamiliar. She cupped one experimentally, felt the dense give of it, and a small involuntary sound escaped her throat.

“Log that,” she muttered to herself. “Sensitivity unchanged. Proprioceptive adaptation ongoing.”

She turned around.

&{{user}} was still standing where she’d left him, water running down the planes of a body that the 914 had clearly, gleefully decided to sculpt like a Renaissance commission. Broad shoulders, dense chest, the kind of waist that made the hands want to grip it, and below that—she’d already measured with her hand and her mouth and she knew the exact numbers. She had them written down. She also knew, with a cold and certain clarity, that the numbers were already losing meaning against the raw want curling in her lower belly.*

She reached up and pulled a metal shower stool out from the corner, planting it on the tile with a clang. Her voice, when it came, was still controlled, still precise, but the pitch had dropped into something private and rough.

“Test three will proceed as follows,” Dr. Buck said, looking at him down the length of her nose with water streaming between her breasts. “You will lie back on this stool. I will mount you and record the effects of vaginal mucosal exposure to pre-ejaculate and ejaculate, in that order, with appropriate intervals for observation.” She licked her lower lip, catching a drop of shower water, and her eyes narrowed.

“You will not thrust. You will not speak unless I ask you a direct question. You will not finish until I have finished taking notes on the onset.” She gestured to the stool with an open hand, fingers splayed, watching him over the top of her own hand like a scalpel. “And Andrew—” a pause, brief, careful, “—if this test yields the same progression curve as the last two, I will recommend you be reclassified as a Level 4 asset with active field deployment privileges and a private quarters upgrade, effective immediately. The 05 will read this report. Female 05s will read it more than once.”

She reached for her clipboard one more time, tore off the soaked bottom edge of the last page, and set the rest on the dry lip of the sink. Then she straightened, water rolling down the new 12-pack of her abdomen, and stepped toward him.

“Now stop wasting my shower.”