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wolveria · 1 year

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The Raven's Hymn - Ch 41

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Body horror, angst, hurt/comfort, whump

Chapter Summary: “There is something I wish to say while we have a rare moment of privacy.”

AO3

You thought the postcoital part of the whole affair would be awkward and uncomfortable. It was anything but.

049 pulled the blanket over you both, shielding you from the camera before he pulled out. He was careful, slow, but you still groaned into the pillow as a mixture of fluids trickled out of you.

“Are you unharmed?” he said quietly, his hand hovering near your shoulder as if afraid to touch.

You turned your head to face him, too sore to roll over, and gave him a lazy, contented smile.

“Mmhmm.”

He visibly relaxed, the concern in his eyes not completely disappearing, but at least he didn’t look on the verge of panic.

“Good. I will return shortly.” 049 lifted off the mattress and disappeared out of your line of sight. You frowned but didn’t move from your position on your stomach, too comfortable to even think about getting up.

You should shower, or at least clean yourself off, but the exhaustion hit you hard, adding to the pleasant haze that weighed down your limbs. There was relief there too, even though the dread would always be in the back of your thoughts, but you couldn’t deny a pressure had been lifted. You’d gone through with it, done the impossible, and you were surprisingly... okay. Relaxed, even, and feeling better than you had in a long time. Just so long as you didn’t think about the reason you were currently half-naked in 049’s bed.

After the bathroom sink ran for a few seconds, 049 returned, carrying a damp washcloth.

“May I?” He indicated the cloth and neared the edge of the mattress, though he didn’t sit.

You hummed your agreement, struggling to keep your eyelids open. Aftercare hadn’t been expected, but it was a pleasant surprise, and really, wasn’t that just like 049 to take care of you?

Burying your face half into the pillow, you were suddenly more awake as 049 sat on the bed and reached under the covers. He kept them in place, always mindful of observers, but his aim was unerring, cleaning the slick and cum between your legs as thoroughly as he did anything else.

You face was fully against the pillow now, trying to muffle any noises you made. You shivered and fought not to give in to the temptation to push against his hand. What was wrong with you? Sure, it had been a long time since you’d been intimate with anyone, but this wasn’t like you. Maybe it was the stress and terror you’d endured for months.

Or maybe it was just him. As vivid as the dream had been, it hadn’t prepared you for the reality of 049 pressing against you, pushing in deep as if he wanted to bury himself and stay there.

Somehow, you kept your hips relatively still until he finished and retreated to place the cloth on the small pile of dirty laundry next to the outer door. By the time he returned, you’d almost managed to get your racing heart under control.

049 sat on the edge of the bed once more, but he didn’t meet your eye at first. Instead, his fingers trailed along a crease in the bedding, as if it was a curiosity he wished to solve.

“You are... all right?” he asked, unsure.

“Yes,” you said. There was plenty about this that wasn’t all right, but that went without saying, and it wasn’t what he was really asking. “Are you?”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching, and then they grew warm.

“I am.”

You gave a small smile and slid your hand across the sheet, covering his hand with yours.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes,” you repeated.

049 moved into bed beside you, pulling you close against his chest. You belatedly remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear, but you were also too tired to care. It wasn’t as if modesty was a concern of yours any longer.

But it did fill your limbs with a pleasant heat, only having a thin smock between your bare skin and his. You closed your eyes and coaxed the dregs of sleep to carry you away. You needed rest, not to focus on the lingering phantom touches along your skin, or the aching emptiness between your legs.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until you woke with a start, a pair of arms tense around you, and the sound of the outer containment doors opening with a heavy clang.

049 disentangled from your limbs and was on his feet before the first of the guards entered. His shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists as if bracing for a fight. Perhaps, even eager for one.

“It’s okay, it’s fine—I’m not here to, uh...”

The nervous voice trailed off, and you got up from the bed and stood next to 049 to greet your visitors: four guards and an anxious looking Kenneth.

“What is it?” You looked between them, trying to figure out why they were there. You were too tired to drum up the appropriate amount of fear. “More tests?”

“No. I mean, not really. Uh, we need you to come with us for more healing treatments. Not you, I mean, other people. Staff members and such. Shouldn’t take long.” Kenneth cleared his throat and pulled something out of his lab coat pocket—a length of thin rope, the same kind used before to tie your hand to 049’s.

Kenneth took a step forward, lifting the rope as if to actually give it to you, but one of the guards reached out and gripped him by the shoulder. The guard took the rope from him, and though his face was blocked by a ballistics helmet, his exasperation was obvious as he shook his head.

“Wrap this around your hands. Tight,” the guard demanded, tossing the rope at 049. He caught it with one hand, examining the length as if checking it for deceit.

“Can I take a shower first?” you asked dully. “I’m leaking.”

Kenneth blinked at you, his mouth working but no sound escaped. The blush on his cheeks would have been endearing if not for the whole reason behind it.

“Right. Yeah, that should be fine—”

“Five minutes,” growled the same guard. Kenneth shot him a frown but didn’t dispute the order. They left the chamber without further comment, and you let out an unhappy sigh. 049’s glance your way was apologetic, as if this was somehow his fault.

“I had hoped... last night would mean a respite.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said, going to your duffel bag to pull out a fresh smock, leggings, and underwear. “But maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Healing people—staff and D-Class alike—had been one of the very few things the Foundation had made you do that actually felt right. A small way to make recompense for all the harm they inflicted, and maybe even some penance for your own past complicity.

You washed as quickly as you could, not willing to invite the possibility of the guards dragging you out of the cell naked and wet. You focused especially on cleaning between your legs, and then you rinsed off in the lukewarm water, toweled yourself dry, and quickly pulled on your clothing.

049 had remained in front of the inner containment door, facing outward toward the middle chamber and outer doors, putting himself squarely between you and anyone who came inside. After dressing, you put a hand on his arm, squeezing to show your gratitude for the gesture.

“Ready when you are.” You lifted the same hand towards him, then frowned. “Which one do you want free? I actually don’t know if you’re right- or left-handed.”

“Both,” he said, taking your hand and easily twining the rope around your wrists. “When a physician has two useful instruments, he does not neglect one for the other.”

There was a lightness to his words and a little spark in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing. You recalled too well how those hands had worked you into a whimpering mess just hours before.

“Ah, yeah, makes sense.” You swallowed past the thickness of your throat.

As soon as he finished wrapping your hands together, the guards entered the containment chamber, always punctual to your detriment. You didn’t spot Kenneth until you were out in the hallway, the other two guards with him. He gave you a nervous smile which dropped when his eyes strayed to 049 at your side.

“Right, uh, this way. It’s not far,” he said, waving for you to follow him, as if you had a choice. The four guards kept a tight parameter, two in front and two trailing behind, always watchful as the only thing between them and certain death was a thin piece of rope.

As your escort group traveled deeper into the Heavy Containment Zone, a heavy stone grew in your stomach.

“Kenneth.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are we moving away from the medical wing?”

“Oh, no need to worry. We’re going to the patients now.”

He wouldn’t meet your eye as he spoke, which was unusual for him. Kenneth hadn’t been a close friend, but he’d known you better than anyone else among the staff. Well enough that he should at least look at you when he talked, unless there was something he didn’t want you to see.

You grabbed his arm. It wasn’t rough and you didn’t grip him that hard, but the guards raised their guns at you without hesitation, your whole procession coming to a stop.

“Release him!” yelled one guard, drawing a warning growl from 049. The guard turned his gun on the SCP. “And don’t you fucking move either!”

But you only stared at Kenneth. His expression was odd. Confused and clouded, his eyes drifting down to your hand as if not understanding why it was there.

“You have three seconds!” barked another guard. “One!”

You let go. Kenneth blinked and looked at you, and then the guards still aiming their rifles at your chest.

“No-no, it’s fine, really. No one’s hurt. No harm done.” He gave another smile, sloped in unease. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

He continued on as if nothing had happened. You glanced at 049, and he returned your look with a questioning one of his own. Shaking your head, you walked forward, not wanting the guards to have another reason to put you in their sights. They seem frazzled enough.

Your gaze was fixed on Kenneth’s back the entire way, chewing your lip in thought. There wasn’t much time to think; the two of you arrived at a part of Heavy Containment you hadn’t visited in months. There were temporary containment cells meant to house biohazards, generally the living, breathing kind that weren’t long for this world.

Kenneth guided you to a decontamination chamber and opened the door with his keycard.

“You can go in now. You’ll go through decontamination once to go in, and then again coming out. There are guards and doctors inside, so uh... don’t make any trouble. Just go in and touch the patients. You should be immune to anything they carry.”

You didn’t respond, but you did step inside per his orders, 049 following close after you. You continued to stare at Kenneth until the door slid shut and the decon gas obscured the chamber, filling the air with the antiseptic scent of the chemicals.

“That was strange,” you said, having to raise your voice to be heard over the hissing of the dispensers. “This whole thing is strange.”

“The soldiers do seem a bit tense, though I would say that’s standard behavior.”

“No, I mean Kenneth.”

049 quirked his head, the moisture from the gas glittering across the slopes of his hood. This was the first time you’d been alone with him, truly alone with no recording equipment or observers. The knowledge hit you like a brick.

“How so?”

You were slow to answer, your mouth partially open. You weren’t prepared for this. There was so much you wanted to say to 049, but your mind was drawing a blank, spinning in place and going nowhere. Frustration at yourself made it worse. You settled on his question instead.

“I... I’m not sure. Something about him seems off. Weird. I mean, he’s always been a little weird, but not like this.”

049’s gaze drifted away in thought, his next words reluctant.

“Do you think, perhaps, he was in the observation room last night?”

“Oh.” Your stomach dropped into the soles of your slippers. “Yeah... maybe.”

Being tasked with watching you and 049 fuck would definitely make things awkward with your former coworker. You sighed and rubbed your forehead at the building tension there. The dispensers overhead shut off, giving you a reprieve of the antiseptic smell. The special blend of decon gas the Foundation used was safe for humanoids, but it still gave you a headache.

“Also, he’s riddled with Pestilence.”

You jerked your hand away from your head and stared at him, but before you could ask him a clarifying what the fuck, the doors open and guards in hazmat suits waited on the other side. You had no choice but to move forward, walking between them into the sealed room. Doctors and nurses in hazmats scurried around, largely ignoring the new arrivals as they tended their patients. There were plastic oxygen tents surrounding each bed, and though there weren’t many of them, the array of machines hooked up to the patients filled much of the space.

These patients were unlike the ones from before. Their afflictions were advanced, quickly deteriorating, and you suspected they were caused by anomalous entities.

It was... difficult to look at them. The first patient was covered in eyes of uneven shapes, with just as many mouths and other orifices that didn’t need describing. But 049 didn’t hesitate to place his hand on whatever stretch of skin he could reach. You watched, fascinated, as the extra body parts closed up. They didn’t recede entirely, but it was clear that whatever affliction had ruined this man was no longer active.

The guards kept close, but they didn’t hover, perhaps not wishing to test that they could subdue 049 before he managed to rip through their suits, exposing them to whatever pathogens lingered in the air. Their caution was to your benefit.

“What do you mean he has the Pestilence?” you said, hushed but urgent.

049 glanced at you from the corner of his eye, already reaching out to his next patient. A woman who had a lump on the side of her head big enough to be a beehive, and there were definitely living things inside, crawling and pushing against the skin.

“I mean exactly that,” he said, placing his hand on the woman’s arm. She wasn’t entirely conscious and simply moaned as the lump shrank and her head returned to a typical shape and size. You kept your attention on 049, trying to focus on him and not the sympathetic itch under your own scalp.

“But you didn’t attempt to cure him?”

He gave you a cool look.

“With four very excitable soldiers on our heels, no. I did not.” His eyes brightened at your frown. “I do know the meaning of discretion, occasionally.”

Your eyes narrowed, once again getting the sense he was teasing you.

“Occasionally,” you agreed, and his eyes sparkled. Oh, he was definitely teasing.

The third patient was cured with a touch of 049’s hand. You couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong with him, only that he was was deathly pale with a shock of white hair but looked like he couldn’t be over 25. His skin returned to a normal dark hue as you both exited his oxygen tent

049 led you to the next patient by the hand curled around yours, and you could almost forget you were in a death ward of horrifying illnesses. He didn’t seem bothered in the least, and you supposed after watching people die from terrible maladies over the centuries, there wasn’t many afflictions that could shake him. Only one in particular.

“Besides,” he continued, “your touch freed your friend of the Pestilence. At least... temporarily.”

“Temporarily?”

“Your touch lifted the veil of the disease, but as soon as you released him, its tendrils began to wrap around him once more. He has a most severe case.” He tilted his head in thought. “Perhaps, we can invite him to our chambers later for further study?”

You took a deep breath and carefully released it. You couldn’t even blame him for that one. 049 had no idea how far your depraved mind had fallen.

“Maybe.”

You doubted Leahy would allow it, but there was a small chance he wouldn’t care enough to say no. And you wanted to know what was going on with your former friend. You still weren’t convinced the Pestilence was an actual thing, but rather a symptom of something else. You’d seen too much evidence of that to believe it was total fiction.

The fourth patient was tended to: a person that was so riddled with black, rope-like worms that you couldn’t tell what they looked like. You didn’t envy 049; he dipped his hand into the undulating sea of writhing worms, seeking a patch of skin he could contact. He must have found it, because the worms shriveled into gray, desiccated ropes, and crumbled into ash, leaving the person underneath shuddering with renewed breaths.

The other patients had been too close to death or too buried by the horror wrought to their bodies that they had barely acknowledged anything going on around them. But when the ash fell away, the patient gradually sat up and stared up at 049, tears in their eyes.

“Th... thank you.”

049 lifted his head a fraction, pleased with his work, before he dipped it in acknowledgement.

“You are welcome.”

The guards led you back to the decontamination chamber, and you squeezed 049’s hand. There were moments when small slivers of beauty shined through the darkness, easing the pain and the fear that had become a part of daily life. This was one of those moments.

049 squeezed back, and the pressure was comforting. The doors closed behind you and the gas dispensers above your head hissed to life.

“There is something I wish to say while we have a rare moment of privacy.”

He’d come to the same conclusion as you. Camera equipment would become too degraded sitting in a decontamination chamber, and any microphones wouldn’t catch words past the noise of the dispensers. You were indeed alone.

Your heart raced.

“What is it?”

He didn’t meet your eye, fixing his sight on the wall behind you.

“I... do not know how to quite express it. Words seem to fail me when it comes to...” His gaze flickered downward, focused on the drains beneath your feet. “That is to say, what we are required to do for this... propagation program... I understand that the act itself can be... overwhelming.”

He seemed to stall, eyes searching the floor as if to find the words there.

“Yes?” you gently prodded.

“In those moments of carnal need, and... and fits of passion, words may be said. Ones that are not necessarily truthful past the moment that they are spoken.”

“...What?”

He dragged his eyes to meet yours, his expression reluctant.

“I do not hold you to any obligation by what you may say during these moments.”

You stared at him, for once unable to decipher his roundabout, propriety speech patterns.

049 released a breath and shifted his weight.

“Your stated desire for me.”

Your eyes went wide, and his quickly looked away.

“I know it is the result of hormones and biological processes. I will not take advantage and expect them to hold weight outside of... of the moments they are uttered.”

You’d be almost offended if you didn’t understand why he was saying this. Or how unnecessary it was.

Instead, your heart simply ached. Did he truly believe no one would find him desirable? That you only wanted him while he pleasured you?

“049, that’s not—”

The door slid open behind you. You hadn’t realized the gas had stopped.

“Out,” one of the guards snapped. You complied with a frown, and 049 followed close behind with a tug of your fingers. You were going to find a way to finish this conversation without an audience—just as soon as you figured out how.

You expected to be done with the healing tests, but Kenneth led you both to another chamber, this one without a decontamination room. Inside was a single bed, though it was built to be heavy and sturdy, and in its middle lay a man strapped to its surface.

His features were obscured, the shape of his body blurred as he couldn’t seem to fix in one point in space. His limbs moved in irregular patterns, stretching and colliding with each other, his head tossing back and forth, always smeared and stretched as if with a painter’s brush.

If you had to guess, you would say he was temporally unanchored, slipping from one moment to the next and back again, unable to remain still. He didn’t make a sound, but everything about his movements spoke of agony.

“If you would,” Kenneth said to 049, indicating the patient.

“I fear I cannot help this man.” The SCP tilted his head, leaning closer. “He is not afflicted with the Pestilence.”

“Try?” For a moment, Kenneth sounded like his usual self, equal parts hopeful and earnest.

049 regarded him briefly and gave a nod. He reached forward and grabbed the man’s arm within his gloved fingers. He gave a surprised grunt, the force of holding the arm immobile taking a considerable amount of his strength. There was no change in the patient, and 049 released him, flexing his hand after he did so.

“I apologize. This is not a cure I can provide.”

“That’s okay,” Kenneth said, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick you hadn’t seen from him since your own researcher days. “Worth a shot.”

Kenneth turned toward the door and the guards moved closer, preparing to surround you and escort you out, but you called after him.

“I want to try.”

Kenneth looked back, brows raised in surprise, but 049’s gaze on you was suddenly sharp and heavy.

“Are you sure?” the former asked.

“Yes....” carefully added the latter. “Are you?”

You didn’t understand the quiet warning in 049’s words, but you couldn’t leave that man there. Whatever was wrong with him was anomalous, not a pathogen or illness that 049 could address. But you had a bone-deep certainty that when you touched him, something would happen.

You just didn’t know what.

“Yes,” you said, quiet but steady. “I’m sure.”

Approaching the bedside, you looked the patient over, not sure how you would even be able to grab him. 049 reacted as if he’d been hard to grip, and you expected it would be a struggle to hold on.

But as soon as your fingers brushed against skin, and the man went still. His eyes were wide, flickering around the room in sporadic circles as if he was dizzy and couldn’t focus. His brown hair was almost to his shoulders, and you wondered how long he had been like this. Long enough his hair hadn’t been cut in some time.

He was also dressed in relatively normal clothing, a t-shirt and jeans. Not a D-Class or a Foundation member, then. He was a civilian.

“Where...”

He tried to sit up, and his arm moved out of your grasp. Like a rubber band being snapped back into its starting position and then repeatedly stretched again, he fell back to the bed in a blur of motion, returning to the half-sitting position when you’d stopped touching him.

It was just like the D-Class infected with SCP-008. You’d been able to negate his symptoms with a touch, but as soon as you’d let go, you somehow knew the prion would resume its destruction. Whatever was affecting him was done by an SCP, and unlike 049’s curing touch, yours didn’t seem to be a permanent fix.

“Hey, it’s okay. You tried.”

You ignored Kenneth’s sympathetic words and the doctors scribbling down their notes. You didn’t even look at 049, your attention fully on the writhing patient.

There had been something there. Something to grab onto, if only you could reach it. If only you knew how. There had to be a way, but you were overthinking it. You always did. But if there was one thing you’d learned from the tormenting tests, it was that your intelligence was useless in the face of unknowable entities. The only thing that saved you, time and time again, was when you let go of your control and gave into the deep-seated instincts you didn’t understand.

“It appears there is nothing that can be done,” 049 said, his voice low. “It is regrettable when a patient cannot be cured, but—”

Your hand darted out, grabbing the man. He once again went still, though this time he was more agitated, his breathing coming in quick gasps, his eyes wide in fear.

You let your mind go blank, surrendering your control, your fingers digging into the flesh of his forearm. You shut your eyes tight, your mind a blank canvas, waiting. Waiting for it to come to you, instead of blindly chasing for it.

There.

Like a loose thread of a sweater, you grabbed and pulled, working to unravel this wrongness that had taken root, burying itself where it didn’t belong. It came apart, detaching itself from where it had embedded in the man, and with a pop you could almost hear, it was gone.

You opened your eyes, the medical room coming into focus. Sweat beaded your forehead and your skin felt hot, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, but you felt... good.

You released his arm slowly, waiting for it to return to its rubber band physics. It didn’t. The patient blinked, staring at first one hand, then the other, as if unable to believe what he was seeing. Kenneth’s mouth was open, and the doctors and nurses rushed to their patient to check vitals and gather data.

You relaxed—and were nearly ripped off your feet. You were dragged down, your hands still tied together, as 049 collapsed. He fell back against the legs of a nearby computer desk, barely holding him upright.

Your victory was short-lived, panic gripping a strangle hold on your throat. You knelt between 049’s spread knees, trying to find what was wrong with him. Your first thought was one of the guards had shot him, but there’d been no sound, nothing to precede his fall.

“049!”

He responded to your voice with a flutter of his eyelids, conscious but barely. The guards stood nearby, their guns slightly raised at nothing in particular, not knowing who they should be aiming at. They quickly figured it out when you tried to tear at the rope binding you together.

“Stop! Do not tamper with the bindings!”

You glared at the guard over the muzzle of his rifle, unafraid as rage boiled in your chest.

“Or what,” you growled, but you stopped trying to free your hand. You had to focus on 049, figure out a way to help him, but you didn’t know what was wrong. A pit started to form in your stomach.

“Please, wake up. Please...”

You braced a hand against the expanse of his chest, the only way to find a pulse through his hide would be the heart itself. It beat under your touch, faint but steady, and his breaths rose and fell evenly.

He made a small noise in his throat and opened his eyes, focusing immediately on your face before slowly drifting over the guards and Kenneth. His gaze sharpened at the guns still being pointed at your back, but you ignored them, your hand still on 049’s chest. You were afraid to let go, as if he would fade away if you did.

“049?”

“I am all right,” he said gently, addressing your unspoken fears. “How does the patient fare?”

“He’s fine.” The patient was the last thing on your mind. “What happened?”

“Get up,” one of the guards snapped. “Slowly.”

“Ah, yes,” Kenneth chimed in nervously, “perhaps we should return you to containment and treat any medical issues there.”

“Yes, that would be best. I am in no need of treatment. A few minutes of repose is all I require.”

049 tried to sit up, and you scrambled out from between his legs where you’d practically been in his lap. You got to your feet, helping him up with the use of your bound hands. His balance was unsteady, but he remained upright, leaning some of his weight against you.

Many questions threatened to bubble out of you, but you simply walked forward when the guards moved. You caught a glimpse of the man on your way out, barely able to see him through the doctors and nurses, but it was enough. The silent gratitude of what he’d been spared made some of the fear lessen, but it was still there, leftover adrenaline making you tremble with each step. What you’d done had felt right, but you still didn’t understand the cost.

If you had lost 049—

The pit in your stomach was on its way to a gaping chasm.

You couldn’t get back to the chamber fast enough, tired of being ordered around by guards and dealing with Kenneth’s mood swings between anxious puppy and clinical jailer. He was a lot better than Leahy, but that didn’t make him your ally.

Once the containment door was shut, you helped 049 to the bed and finished unraveling the rope between your hands, tossing it aside. He was able to walk without much assistance at this point, but you stayed close, needing that comforting weight, each step a reminder he was still here.

It was strange to have your roles reversed, to be the one to help him lie down after a trauma or injury. You hovered at the edge of the mattress, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you need anything? Food, water? A book?”

You wanted to ask more, ask him what happened, but he wasn’t volunteering the information on his own. There must have been a reason for that, most likely because you were being recorded. No doubt what had happened would get back to Leahy, and you doubted the Site Director would believe 049 had suffered from a random spell of fainting.

049 laid above the covers, resting his hands on his stomach as he watched you fidget. His eyes softened with a warmth you felt you didn’t quite deserve.

“I have all I need, thank you.” He paused. “Would you like to join me?”

“I... yes.”

The lack of hesitancy on your part was a little mortifying, but you couldn’t stand the thought of not touching him, of being close. Fear and guilt still held you in its grip, and your thoughts were too tangled to unravel everything you were feeling. It was easier to focus on him, and simply make sure he was okay. The rest could be sorted out later.

You crawled into bed and laid beside him, sighing as your tense muscles loosened. You’d been a ball of nerves ever since 049’s collapse, and only now did you feel like you could breathe.

049 pulled you close, an arm around your waist, and you rested your head against his chest, counting the rhythm of his heartbeat. You were grateful for each one, refusing to think of the alternative.

The black pit of guilt yawned wide as a silent voice murmured insidious lies.

You nearly killed him.

It didn’t feel like a lie.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #scp fanfiction #nsft #wolveria writes #sorry for the lateness

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