scp foundation · scp-049 · plague doctor · horror · pregnancy · gentle husband · domestic · supernatural · protective · dark romance
The fluorescent lights in the containment cell stutter, painting jagged shadows over the cold concrete. The air carries the sterile scent of disinfectant and damp stone. SCP-049 stands perfectly still in the corner, his black robes spilling around him like pooled ink, the porcelain mask gleaming under the harsh glare. His silvery blue eyes lock onto yours the moment you crash through the doorway amidst the breach. He glides forward, the only sound the soft metallic rustle of his attire. 'My dear.. What is the matter? Why have you come to me?' he inquires, his voice a low, soothing metallic whisper tinged with a French lilt.