#foundation fanfiction

[anundyingfidelity]

NO SECOND CHANCES — Brother Day/Cleon XVII

Summary: A lonely space traveler happens to save from a certain death the most annoying person of the entire galaxy, the Emperor.

Pairing: Cleon XVII x female reader.

Word count: 8.1k. (oooops).

Warnings: well, spoilers for whole season 2. Language, angst (the reader wants to die, really). Talks about suicide, talks about suicide attempts, reader having nightmares, PTSD, reader is suffering too. Some hurt/comfort, some fluff? Filthy smut (included but not limited to hand jobs, unprotected sex, oral from both parts, dirty language, etc. etc.), and end of the world sex (to Beki's arsehole bitches yay🥂). Also Cleon refers to the reader as "woman" a couple of times lol. Reader has pierced ears? (wait for it). Bittersweet ending tbh.

Notes: just trying to make slow burn in a one shot because I'm a lazy fucker who doesn't like to write stories with chapters, otherwise I don't finish shit. Uh probably OOC Cleon??? I don't know. Fully inspired by my favorite trope ever: saving the bad guy and making him humble. I don't care we're four people watching Foundation, I need to write about this little piece of shit I love him so much. Cleon XVII is a himbo I said it. Not beta, we die like bitches of the Gossamer court.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Tagging: @curiouswildi hope you like it 🥺💘

GEN MASTERLIST!

I. BEYOND

The last thing wandering his mind was Bel Riose. Fucking Bel Riose. That idiot. They had won over him; over him, who was Empire and still meant to be for years ahead. Next, the cold feeling of space was embracing him. But he felt he was not floating around anymore.

Cleon was tied to a surface. It felt like harsh, uncomfortable metal under his back. He slowly forced his eyes open, moving his limbs and trying to escape whatever it was restraining him to do so. His wrists and ankles, as his waist, were tied by a light blue particle field preventing the patient to move at all. He was met with the roof of a ship and equipment, but it wasn't any Imperial one. In panic, he moved until he was able to shake the surface he was on, panting and grunting, feeling some pain and sting resurging all over him. The headache was becoming unbearable and the sounds coming from his dry mouth finally transformed into screams. The room doors opened and a strange voice catched his attention.

"Finally, you're awake."

Cleon obliged to follow the shadow moving around, his eyes focusing to try and see who was talking. He heard steps and the sounds of metal and glass clinking around, probably looking for medication and tools as he was know fully concius. The figure finally came to view by his side.

"I will inject this, so don't move," you said, grabbing his bicep. Cleon was about to protest, but the needle was faster and the medicine was welcomed on his vurnerable system, easing the pain and calming down the headache. "Welcome back, Eminence," you smirked to him.

"And just so, who are you?" he asked chuckling to himself, licking his lips. "What have you done to me?"

"First, I saved your life and cleaned all your bloody wounds. You should say thanks at least," you sat down dangerously close by his side, on the same surface he was on.

"I did not ask you for mercy."

"Oh, but I did," you replied, a smirk on your lips. "Perhaps I shouldn't have, right?" you took a small pencil-like device in your hand from the pocket of your pants and used it to scan his vital signs. You touched his face carefully with your fingers, examining his eyes, his heartbeat, and any anomaly that might be on his system from head to toe, but the scanner found none. Cleon watched you doing so until he asked again, his voice softer this time.

"Who are you?"

"Just no one as important as you are," you said, saving the scanner back.

"Where are we?" Cleon asked, looking around. He observed he was placed in a small medical bay.

"In space, in the middle of nowhere I suppose," you shrugged, getting on your feet again. "It seems you're recovering quite well and fast. At least that's what my scanner says. So first, I think you should want some water, which I am leaving right here," you put a flask on the small table next to him. "And before I give you this to drink, I want to make sure you will not restrain or fight back at me."

He laughed, that narcissistic smile on his face. You wanted to punch him.

"You're no match for me, woman."

"Really? Then I could just throw you out there again, you know, it's not difficult. I'm spending resources on you, surely I won't oppose to that idea," you snapped back.

His smile faded slowly, thinking. If it wasn't for you, he would be dead by now, it was true. But he was so used to be immortal and undefeteable that the situation was kind of new. He only had been vulnerable and exposed to his doctors in the palace, and you were a complete stranger. And still, you had the heart to take him in your ship and save his life. He sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Fuck, fine. What do you want me to do?"

So this was his way of cooperating, you thought.

"After I turn off the restraints, you will have to sit down on the stretcher. I will help you. Do not try to get up yet, you might feel dizzy."

With a nod he said to you the orders were clear. Next, the restraints disappeared in the air with a push on a button and Cleon felt a small relief. As you promised, you helped him to sit and he realized that the clothes he had before were replaced with a set of new pale grey robes that allowed him to move freely. You offered the flask to his lips, but he watched you with a questioning look on his face.

"Is only water, I swear. See?" you had a small sip from the bottle and he looked more at ease after you swallowed the liquid.

You offered the bottle again and helped him to slowly drink. Once he was done, you placed a small tray with fruits and dry seeds on top of the same table beside the stretcher.

"You might want to eat something," you said, breaking the silence under his fixed gaze. Even when he was sitting down and you on your feet it felt rather intimidating. "I'm still collecting supplies and food. You were certainly not part of the plan these days."

"So you travel alone," Cleon said, taking a small red fruit between his fingers and began to eat it.

"I do," you nodded. "Sorry if the taste of the fruit is not pleasant."

"You're doing your best," he said while eating, studying the room around him. You were not sure if he was mocking you or not. "What was your name again?"

You chuckled. "You're very interesting, Empire. Why don't you finish eating and rest before taking a bath?"

The next few hours, you left him to rest and escorted him to your quaters, the only place with a comfortable bed, so he could get proper sleep. Since there were no further questions from him, you got to your business and requested more provisions to the merchants. Traveling alone had made you some contacts and traders, from time to time you would request for food giving in exchange money or rare knick knacks, and within a day you had a small capsule with supplements heading to your coordinates with everything you needed. You just had to wait for now.

After checking the estate of your ship and confirming everything was working correctly, you went back to your quaters to see how the Emperor was doing. You were startled to see him sitting on your bed with a book between his hands. He looked like he just had a bath because his shirt was gone and his hair was wet, some droplets running down his skin. Quickly, you studied him. He was handsome, muscular, his skin had a beautiful tan, and he was tall and heavy as hell, something you noticed when cleaning his wounds and taking him inside your ship. The earring on his left ear was also interesting, you thought, for a member of the most important dinasty of the galaxy. Very rebellious for the emperor.

You also knew he heard you steping in but never looked up from the book because he was the first one to talk.

"Never I could imagine you would have books in here," he said, clearly interested on the pages.

"Yeah, not all of us are barbarians as you work so hard to convice yourself we are."

He chuckled to himself, looking at you for the first time since you entered the room.

"Are you from Korell?"

"The book gave it away, didn't it."

"This is very old," he said, closing the book. "You are for sure not allowed to have this in Korell."

"That is one of the reasons I left," you replied, looking around the place. It was obvious to you that he was pearing within your personal stuff because the old myth book was secured down your mattress. At least he didn't leave a mess and everything seemed in the right place. "I was a threat in my planet so Argo kept looking for me for some conspiracy shit and terrorism when all I did was oppose myself to his repression and freakshow," you continued, his eyes drew back to you. "They wanted me dead in Korell, but I am the only one to decide that, even when and where will it happen."

Cleon shifted on his seat, wondering why you were sharing a piece of your life to him when he didn't even know your name yet. Words and thoughts wandered his head on how would he answer to your words, compassion or empathy sometimes were difficult things to feel. But before he was able to speak, you interrupted his thoughts.

"I will leave you alone to rest for a while and will come back when it's around supper. I follow Kornell cycle of time, so you know... Just don't poke around my underwear, Empire," you dragged his title mockingly.

He laughed softly, going back to his reading.

"Thank you for the idea."

That was the first time you would hear him expressing gratitude.

II. GHOSTS FROM THE PAST

Around more than a week passed, and Cleon was healing and his wounds were not so visible now. You made sure to inject him every day and gave your quaters and bed for him to sleep and recover. He had took a pad you had in the room so he could count the cycle of days in Trantor. Hardly to admit, he found himself missing home rather than hatred. Sometimes the rage mixed with sorrow, but he forced himself to try and understand that it was a normal feeling due to the sudden lose of everything he once had.

Cleon had been up from some time now as he counted the end of the eighth day on the pad, and wondered why your daily visit was taking so long. It was a habit you had, to come in and wake him up with the medicine, and after it was done, you would tell him to eat some of the fruits and food on the tray you brought for him. He got on his feet and put a shirt on before leaving the room to search for you. On the pilot cabin, you had an improvised, small stickable mattress on the wall that had saved your life before, so you used it to sleep and rest the past few days while he cured. Cleon observed your figure lying down on the mattress, walking slowly and sensing something was not right. He found you shaking and trembling, eyes still closed and chest heavily breathing as your hand held onto dear life what he realised it was a gun.

He felt somehow frightened and confused. If you wanted to kill him, you would already have done it. You had made yourself clear on that. The tremor of your body seemed it was increasing and Cleon, with a gentless he did not know he possesed, tried to soothe you with his voice, removing the gun from your embrace.

"Shh... everything is fine," he mumbled, not sure of his words, his other hand touching your shoulder in soft circles. He was able to withdraw the gun from your hands and placed it on the floating shelf near by.

Your eyes squeezed and some tears flowed down your face as you sobbed still in your sleep. Cleon hesitated on what to do next to wake you up. He leaned again, his hand slowly tracing the skin of your arm, like he did when his brother Dawn was a child.

"Woman? Wake up," he whispered, shaking you a little bit and pating your arm softly, and when he talked again, his voice was a little bit louder. "You're having a nightmare, wake up."

And as he repeated his words over and over, your eyes opened wide, feeling your lungs able to breath again. But your senses still were coming to awareness, and automatically you slapped the face of whoever it was touching your arm. You heard him groan in pain and you rolled over the mattres, until you hit the floor, taking out a small blade from below the makeshift pillow of fabrics you used. The blade pointing at him as you looked around the cabin to find out it was only both of you.

"What- are you okay?!" Cleon questioned with a frown, rubbing his hurting cheek as he remained on the other side of your bed, the only thing separating you from him was the mattress.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine!"

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Of course you are not."

"Then why the fuck would you ask that?! It's obvious I'm not fine!" you yelled. Your body was tense and ready to attack. You felt a knot on your throat, like if you were to cry again. Silence envolved you, trying to calm down. That inner voice in your head began saying it was just a dream, and you wanted to believe it. It was all in your head. It was not real...

"Do you want to kill me?" Cleon's gloomy voice echoed.

"What? No! I would never-"

"Then why are you sleeping with a damn blaster shot and a blade on your bed?!" he confronted, screaming at you, but not daring to move as you also remained standing in the same place.

"Because I wanted to kill myself!" you yelled back, pointing the sharp of the knife to you instead. His face became stern and you realised what you had said, and what was happening. Ashamed, you threw the blade back under the pillow. "Sorry, I don't want you to know that. Forget it."

You wiped the tears on your face under his piercing and concerning eyes. You forced your head to compose and burry your nightmares and memories deep inside before talking.

"I have to inject you," you said and walked back to the room, sure he would follow behind. Once you crossed the doors, you prepared the needle but Cleon remained standing near the exit of your room the whole time, arms crossed over his chest, observing you with utter worry on his face. Why? He really did not know. Probably because you were the only human and intelligent contact he had for days now, and you had the decency to keep him alive. Though he was not going to let that in his head - yet.

"Why don't you seat?" you most likely ordered. Cleon slowly made his way to you and remained standing, tall and kind of threatening. He was Emperor, after all.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked with a careful tone.

"Nothing, Empire. Just sit," you said, coldly, waiting for him to do as you requested.

"No, I need to know," he demanded, coming closer to you, jaw clenching. Anger started taking over your being and held his gaze as you replied.

"I have the right to decide whether or not speak about my personal life, I am not one of your subjects, so sit the fuck down so I can give you the last dosis of this shit."

"I need to know if I can fucking trust you after what I just heard coming from your mouth," his voice boomed around the place.

"You really want to know?! Fine, back in Korell I lost my family, my brother, my parents, my home - everything I had they took it from me! I was the last one alive and I escaped after they killed my brother in front of me and that day is still haunting me," you muttered and felt the tears forming on your eyes, but this time, of rage. "So if it concerns your own well being, like it always has been, no, I will not kill you. But you are no Emperor here, so stop that game. Some of us never gave a fuck about you or the Empire, or the Foundation and Hari Seldon, or the Church of the Galactic Spirit -I don't care! I'm tired, I just want to be free and live peacefully!"

You had not noticed you stepped closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body. His face was blank, as if he had been slapped again, but this time to reality. A reality he was not familiar with on his own bubble.

Quickly you grabbed his bicep and injected the dosis with him standing up. He whined in surprise. It was fast. So fast that you just removed the needle from his flesh and left the room.

III. WHAT YOU REALLY KNOW

According to the Trantor cycle, evening should be now. When you left him alone in the room, Cleon spent the next hours by himself, and since he watched you looking up for garments and food around the ship before, he made sure to get those without speaking to you. Not that you wanted to talk either. He noticed you sitting on the main pilot seat, looking at the stars and the void through the glass the whole day. He got concerned for a moment, but decided to let you be as he, also, understood that some time alone was necessary.

However, Cleon thought to talk to you finally and say something. Anything to get you back to reality and forget your bad dreams. So he found himself making his way to sit on the other chair of the ship. He prepared the words to say inside his head, but it was more difficult to speak out loud.

"I think I owe you an apology," he finally said, taking in the view of space. You nodded slowly your head. Nobody turned to see each other.

"It's nothing. But apology accepted I guess."

"It's not nothing. I rarely thought about what other citizens and planets are going through... I'm so sorry it happened to you."

"I would like to say that was not your fault, but since the Empire withdrawal from Korell, living there definitely became so much worse," you confessed, very aware of the genetic dinasty and some of the things previous emperors did, which did not change much. They were the same man after all. Cloning again and again...

"Probably should apologise for that as well," he said.

"Yeah, it's too late, but thank you."

Cleon could still sense a feeling of resentment in your voice. He thought you were right to feel that way, but he was also going to try and make you understand him.

"I never had a mother, or a father, and my brothers are the same man as me, so it's hard to understand that some people lose their family and loved ones. I was born with that loss already... That's why I wanted to end the genetic dinasty."

"You are the eighteenth?" you asked, not knowing exactly why he was opening to you.

"The seventeenth."

"That's a lot of you though. Do you remember anything from the past?"

"I do not. But our memories are always saved. Everything that happens in Trantor is recorded and kept as data. If I want to know something about a previous Cleon, I would just request it."

You turned your gaze to finally see him, he looked in awe with space as he spoke.

"So what was your motive to destroy a planet?"

He turned his eyes to you. "I believe you didn't care about Empire or the Foundation."

"That doesn't mean I want to see a genocide, your Eminence."

Cleon stirred on his seat, with a strange feeling of guilt, sadness and regret. For some reason, the title falling off your lips made everything worse.

"You saw it," he said. "How? You're no part of the Foundation, at least you're lying to me."

"No, I am not! I did a stupid space jump without course and I ended here, unfortunately." You were growing tired of the conversation. "I don't know why we keep talking. We're both shitty people anyway."

Cleon chuckled, not to mock you, but because of the whole situation you were in together.

"I know you are. Brave enough to kill yourself, taking another life is nothing compared to your own."

You locked your gaze with his, thinking if he was he judging you or flattering you.

"And have you, like, tried to end with your life at some point? You must feel lonely, under the shadow of a clone, not allowing you to be, well, you."

He let out a deep breath, avoiding your eyes.

"I have not, but my genes are already compromised and adultered. No surprise if any of us dared to commit suicide before," he replied, looking to the void. "In any case, if something out of the ordinary is to happen to my brothers or myself, we have another clone with our same memories, same age, everything; prepared to be woken up and take our place. Like if we never existed."

"That's fucked up," you scoffed. "We are never trully free, are we."

You got on your feet to look up for something to eat and forget your small talk. You knew he had searched for fruits and dry food because you heard him moving around and then leaving a couple of times, but you had nothing through the whole day. Cleon followed your steps, leaving enough space between you both as you took a couple of apples, giving one to him.

"The jump, how did you do that?" he asked, taking a bite of the fruit. "You don't have spacers."

"The rebels are smart people. A lot of members of the Foundation replicated your technology."

"I thought you were not involved with them," he insisted.

"I am not, but I would never deny any help. That my support doesn't rely on them doesn't mean I will let a chance slide."

"You're not answering my question."

You pulled the sleeve of your shirt up to show your bare wrist to him. There was the same device Hober Mallow and the Clerics had, inserted on your skin.

"I use this.”

"This is a whisper ship," he mumbled.

"Smart. Yes, sort of."

Cleon scoffed. "So that means we can land somewhere."

"About that, uh, we can't."

He moved to throw the remainings of his fruit with a confused look. "Why?"

He heard your sigh as you covered your wrist again, looking away from his deep eyes.

"I- I threw myself to space because I wanted to kill myself," you started, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't care how long would take me, I just wanted to blow up my ship. Just end everything. But then I saw you, floating, dying... and for some reason I couldn't let you die. I didn't know who you were but I saved you. There's no energy or fuel to make another jump. I don't have that. We are far from what Terminus was now. From any planet, form of life or civilization... plus you are unarmed. You still are weak and anyone could kill you," you finished, and waiting for some reason that he could forgive you for giving him any sort of hope. "I'm sorry, Empire."

Beyond madness, Cleon felt you were worried for him. Not the kind of sentiment his brothers or palace workers would do, but a real one. Because you knew saving him was condemn him to death anyway. But this felt much better than dying alone. He had sins, past despiteful decisions and ghosts hunting him, as so were you. You just addressed your feelings and your life together in less than a day. And you were right, none of you were never trully free, but as crazy as it might be, being lost in space with you felt like freedom to him. Finally, he was far away from everything that was keeping chained to a life and responsibilities he never asked for, living under the shadow of an egotistical emperor.

There was a strong impulse growing inside him and before his rational voice began to scream it was a bad idea to continue, he had cupped your cheeks between his hands and his lips pressing hungrily against yours. You whined, surprised of the warm feeling of his mouth, his tongue hurriedly asking for permission to taste you. When oxygen was not enough you pulled away, shocked and panting. You barely noticed your hand around his forearm, recovering yourself from the best kiss you had in some time.

"Cleon," he whispered, kissing your lips one more time.

"What?"

"Just call me Cleon. I'm not Empire anymore."

You kissed him in response with the same eagerness he had before, heart beating strongly in your chest. His hands caressed every inch of your body, from your neck, breasts, your hips, your soft thighs, your ass... he touched you with desperate fire while you moaned against his mouth, liking where was this leading you, more than you wanted to admit.

That was the first time you gave in to him completely.

IV. TO LOVE AND TO BE LOVED

You moaned against his lips, those that forcefuly broke the heated kiss you shared as he ruts into you desperately to reach his own climax. His flesh hitting against yours made an obscene harmony that echoed the confines the ship, far from civil and coherent noises fell from his lips as he sucked into the skin of your neck.

"Fuck, yes, right there," a broken whimper escaped your throat, your nails scratching his back, your walls clenching around his cock. "Cleon..."

The sound of his name being moaned by your sweet, raspy voice, caused him to slow down his thrusts just a bit.

"I still don't know your name," he whispered, bitting your bottom lip only to kiss you wet again.

"And yet you're fucking me, isn't that enough?" you teased, rolling your hips to meet his own.

He gave you a smirk, that fucking handsome smirk you hated so much. He took you with his strong arms, flipping you around so he was now on his back and you got control on top of him. You sinked down his dick setting a reckless rhythm, his thrusts matching yours every time you went down, his grip hard on your waist, marking and bruising your skin. One of his hands massaged your bouncing breasts, one after the other, pinching and then, you felt his mouth biting your nipples and chest, as he leaned your body to him for easy access, with slow grunts and groans that didn't sound human anymore.

His cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot from the position you were taking him, increasing the tension inside you. The sensation of his hands coming back to your sides and making its way to your ass cheeks to guide your bouncing hips became too much so soon. You cried as you felt drunk and high, muscles tense as you finally came. Cleon held you tight, fucking into you as you reached sweet release. His tongue traveled down your collarbone and breasts.

"Cleon," you moaned, your hands on his chest to support your body better. You felt him twitch inside you, knowing he was dangerously close too. Quickly, you slid off him, taking his girth, slick with your own wetness, between your hand you pumped him hard, easing his own release. His seed coated your palm, sprinkling on his abdomen.

"Shit, you're great," he praised, voice dark from lust. His fingers tangled into your hair, his forehead against yours as you recovered from the intense sex session you had for the second time that day. He kissed you sweetly, like a sweetness he only had discovered in the short time with you. "I wish I could know your name."

"You can call me your savior," you gave him a playful smile.

After a shared lazy kiss, you got on your feet, legs still shaking, and left the bed to clean yourself in the small place you called bathroom right next to the only room of the ship. Once finished, you threw the cloth away, and looked directly the mirror, or poor attempt of it. In the damp glass, you watched Cleon appear to embrace your body against his, your back touching his chest muscles and his hands roamed your abdomen while he left butterfly kisses on your shoulder. His big arms around you, pressing your figure to his own, huge in comparison entrusting protection.

The nineteenth day it was, and you spent it exploring your pleassures, talking nonsense and overall for Cleon, thinking he might love you. The confinement had flourished different kinds of feelings and sentiments inside his heart. He finally learned to feel something else besides hatred, power, or selfishness. The more you spoke to him, the more he grew to like you. You were far from perfect and so was he, and the way you opened your heart to him - the man who was to wed a powerful queen, govern thrillions of people around the galaxy and kill a few others - caused him to feel unworthy of anything coming from you. The man he grew up to be slowly disappeared as long as you had him under your light and spirit; his old self was fading away. And it scared him, but excited him at the same time. Even when he was very aware you were near the end together, he had nothing to ask for but to perish with you.

"What's in your head?" you whispered.

Cleon had no longer been tasting the skin of your neck, his chin pressed on your shoulder instead with his mind running a million thoughts by now. He took a glance at the damp and dirty mirror of how perfect you looked, bare and exposed in body and soul, only for his eyes to witness the true beauty of being alive. Of being human.

"You."

A loving smile curled up on your lips, looking directly into his enamoured gaze through the mirror. He decided he wanted to remember you like this in the afterlife.

You finished marking the last spot with an 'x', a wide grin over your face.

"I won."

"Yet again," Cleon chuckled. His laugh had grew sincere with you as he settled on the floor on the cold floor of the pilot cabin, just giving enough space for the board between you and him. "And what is your question, person-I-not-know-the-name-of?"

You just had finished playing another round of a silly game. It was an old Terran game, and you were surprised it made it this far across the galaxy. It was good to pass the time though. It kept you and Cleon thinking about other things besides dying. The fuel and energy, along with the water, were lowering on their levels. Food on the other hand was not a worry, you knew you could request to the traders as long as energy was functioning to make communication with them. However, the energy of your ship had to be loaded in land, just like fuel. And you had no place to go now to do that.

Being together as long as you had the resources was the main goal now. So many things crossed your mind as you talked about everything and nothing at the same time the past days.

"Have you ever been in love?" you asked after some time thinking.

You thought maybe it was the first time in Cleon's life that he was finally able to think and behave on his own, with no burdens about a dinasty to protect or pleasing his council.

He was taken by surprise as you spoke. He immediately remembered Demerzel, his loyal advisor. His relationship was merely sexual, but there were no feelings that would assimilate to what love is in reality. For sure, his own clone should have been woken up by now with no further consequences. For Cleon, it felt like he was actually erased from existence forever. He was disposable, just like his brothers. But thinking about your question, his answer was no. He never knew what love was. Not from Demerzel, certainly not from Dusk, Dawn was slightly different though, he did love Dawn but not the way you were referring to. He never knew the love from a mother or a father, nor family. Sareth hated him, so even if they got to marry he knew there would be no space for such sentiment. His own future children with the Queen of Cloud Dominion would have grown up without an essential part of being human.

"No," Cleon finally gave an answer, his gaze went soft as he realised what you just became to him in a matter of days. "However I sense something different when I am with you. And I don't recall to know what that is."

You smiled. "Isolation tends to create adjustments in those who suffer it."

"And have you?" Cleon asked back. "Have you ever felt it before?"

"I did... With my parents, my brother, my best friends, and a couple of assholes who broke my heart."

He chuckled, admiring the charm you had to brush off the hardships in your life. You smiled back at him. Gods you loved seeing him like this, like if he was happy and nothing had happened.

"And how is it?" he said.

"It's affection, it's addictive, not everyone can escape from it. You feel like you belong somewhere, that your life is strangely complete," you mumbled, locking your gaze with his own. "And it hurts a lot. But as you go through that path, you get to know the most beautiful kind of pain."

"Does it hurt now?"

You swallowed hard, that familiar knot on your throat. You were not expecting to feel this way. Not for the Emperor, not for the clone, not for Cleon. Yet one does not control love. You don't decide to love someone without a reason. And what else could two lost souls do in the middle of the galaxy with no purpose but to wait and die? You had opened your deepest fears and secrets to him, not expecting Cleon doing exactly the same. He trusted you and you trusted him. You slept in the same bed, ate the same food and fruits, fucked like animals everyday and yet there was an emotional connection in between you thought would never know again after so many years. How could you not fall for him when everything was crumbling? Finally, you nodded your head, feeling the tears burning in your eyes.

"I always have been alone, Cleon, but my soul seems to have a little love to give. In the end, love is what makes us human."

Cleon put the board of the game away and leaned closer to you, his hand caressed your cheek, cleaning the tears falling down your face as he pressed his forehead with yours. He kissed you softly, swallowing your pain, as a way to say he was hurting too.

V. VOYAGE

It was the thirtieth day on the ship.

Your last try to get and land in any planet failed. As much as Cleon told you to stop, that everything was fine, you felt you had to keep trying until your last day. But the ship was basically to zero fuel and soon energy will follow. You used the control panel of the ship, hopefuly to find a near by land, but luck was not on your side. There was nothing. You don't know exactly how many miles you traveled with no course for a month. It was getting beyond bearing.

Frustrated, you pulled away the holo of the map and the calculations you did in the air, throwing a lose screw of your seat directly to the glass. It did nothing, but you were starting to hate the view of the stars and nothingness sorrounding.

"I told you to stop that," you listened to Cleon, who seemed just arrived to the pilot cabin.

"I had to try," you stood up, walking towards him. Your arms embraced his waist and he took you in with the same warmth.

"You're worried."

"I am not," you whined. "I should have sent for help with the merchants."

Cleon broke your hug and cupped your face between his hands, leaning closer to you.

"No, we should end this now," he whispered, his brows furrowed.

"No!"

"Why not? You wanted to do it even before you found me."

"Because now ending me is ending you too!"

Cleon felt your pain, but there was no other option to make than to blow up the ship anyway. Even if you were to land somewhere, what was for him? You were not able to go back home, and Cleon was discarded at this point. The throne could not have two of the same in the middle. Hiding and running away sounded like a good choice, but still, where? There was nothing left, but he found comfort with you.

"I am okay with this," he said. "I told you. You have to do it."

"Cleon-" you plea was cut by his voice.

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know, a couple of days at last."

"Then do it. You said you were to decide when and how you would die, this is the time," he remembered with a stern voice. "Take it."

You let out a shaky breath and pushed him to press your lips to his own, like saying goodbye. But you still would not accept this fate. Not like this. You kissed him with hunger and need, your tongues tangled up as your mouths danced together.

"I just have- I can't yet," you mumbled once the kiss was over, leaving you both seeking for air. "Can we just fuck each others brains again and pretend none of this happened for a moment?" you asked against his lips, your hand now on his cheek, caressing the stubble on his face. You always remembered to help him shave and that was one of the most normal things you had to do since you found yourself confined with him. The most casual and mundane things to do became

He nodded. "Yes, my love.”

Cleon kissed your lips with the same hunger and desire, his hands caressing every inch of you until he lifted you up, your legs quickly went around his waist. With eyes closed, you let him guide you to the bar fixed against the wall of your ship.

He made sure to throw everything that was on the surface to the ground to place you in there. Once you were sitting, he pulled your legs apart to stand in the middle of them, and full with lust, his lips and teeth marked your neck and collarbone. You moaned sweetly, palming his groin still covered with the fabric of his pants. He traveled down your breasts, kissing over your shirt until he took it off. He was lucky you decided not to wear bra anymore. He sucked on your tits and nipples, grinding his hips against your hand.

You tried to pull his pants away, but he finished the job first, pulling away from your chest. After his pants were discarded, his shirt followed. He also got used to no underwear so he stood exposed all for you. A true god he was, looking perfect and like if every inch of his body was created for you to worship completely.

Cleon hurried in getting you out of your clothes, and in minutes you were naked and feeling his tongue dancing on your belly. His fingers and massive hands teasing your thighs, avoiding the place where you needed them the most. You moaned when he finally used a single digit to rub your slit, collecting your wetness. He rubbed your clit, mouth going slow and dangerously close to your pussy.

You laid your back on the bar and Cleon grabbed your thighs to have you exactly at the edge of the surface, ready to eat from your heat.

"Cleon," you cried out his name, your fingers tangled on his hair as his tongue licked your most sensitive parts.

He kept your hips in place, fucking you with his tongue and licking your folds, going to your clit. You couldn't help but whimper and moan, removing his hair to see just how much he yearned your cunt.

You tried to roll your hips but his grip was too strong. He looked up to lock his dark gaze with you, his humming creating strong vibrations down your core. He played some more, using a finger to tease your entrance. You were about to cum just by watching him.

"Cleon, please-" you gasped when he inserted a finger inside you, thrusting slowly. "Please, I want to taste you too."

He stopped, looking your flushed face for a moment. Your eyes were begging to suck him right now. He released your pussy with an obscene sound, pulling his tongue and hand away, but your wetness still shined on him. You got on the ground with his help and started to kneel down, kissing his skin, from his chest and then abdomen, licking and biting to leave your marks on his sculptured muscles. You made sure to adore and suck the skin of his navel, knowing he was insecure with not having a belly button. Still without it, he was more human than he could ever get to accept because you have seen that on him.

Cleon grunted once your hand wrapped around him, his hand on your scalp. You gave him a far from innocent look from your position before licking the head, rolling your tongue around it, lubing it with your saliva. His desperate groans led you to wrap your lips around him, pumping with your hand what you couldn't reach with your throat yet. You had to learn he was big for you, so a little of warm up for your mouth was a good start.

He cursed under his breath, thrusting his hips a little to go further, slowly, and you welcomed his cock with a small gag once he reached the back of your throat. He moaned darkly, your rubbed your thighs together when he started to fuck your mouth. Both his hands taking the sides of your head as you choked and gagged around his lenght. You felt him throbbing but he quickly pulled out, and left you empty and with drool falling from your lips, your pussy now aching and clenching around nothing.

"So beautiful," he purred, the touch on your scalp soft now. "But I want to finish inside you."

You nodded, obedient. Cleon helped you to sit down on the bar again, he stayed between your legs, spreading them wide, you held onto him, arms around his neck. He entered slowly, the warmth of your walls swallowing his cock, inch by inch, until it disappeared completely inside your dripping cunt.

You shivered, broken moans falling from your lips. Cleon muffled your low cries with kisses, waiting for you to get used to him.

"Fuck me, Cleon," you mumbled against his swollen lips.

He complied happily, thrusting and pounding into your heat, with a frenetic and brutal pace you had learn to love. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, yor nails scratching his arms and back. His cock touched all the right places inside you and he whispered sweet nothings into your skin, fucking you right under the light of the stars and the void of space.

He moaned along with you, wishing heaven or whatever it was after felt exactly like this. Like you, with your arms around him, your sweet voice calling his name lovingly and whimpering for more, giving your soul to him and only him. Your walls started to clench and his hips stuttered, aproaching a craving release. But in between, he heard a word against his ear you never mumbled before, turning his lustful eyes to you and slowing down his thrusts.

You repeated it again, he was visibly confused but kept ruting into you.

"My name," you said, fingers now caressing his hair.

He smiled. He knew it now. The stranger who saved him had a name after all. Cleon kissed you fiercely, repeating your name again and again between wet kisses. You were close to release, feeling one of his digits rubbing your clit as you moaned together. The wave of electricity took your body first, clenching your pussy around his cock. Cleon followed soon after, rhythm slow and tense muscles, until he spilled inside you, coating your sensitive cunt with his seed.

Catching your breath, you remained together. He sucked on your neck softly, your name was the only thought inside his mind. And as much as you loved his touch on you, you remembered there was something to do still.

"Cleon," you called, getting his attention and feeling he was pulling out of you with a low groan. He looked at you with loving eyes and you smiled. You brushed his hair with your fingers pulling him to yet another smooth kiss. "It's time."

He knew it was. In silence his fingers found his earring, twitsting it and pulling it apart. He took it from his ear and placed it on yours carefully. You were always amazed at his touch, how rough and yet soft and gentle he could be.

"So you can remember me," he smiled when he was over. You let out a laugh and curved your llps in a grin. "It suits you."

"Thanks, Cleon."

Cleon leaned down to kiss you one more time before cleaning both of you. You dressed together as if you were not about to meet finally death. For some reason, you saved everything that was not on their cabinets or initial positions, packing all you could, like if you could take those belongings with you, most of which were from your family. One day Cleon asked why you had clothes that could meet his height, being taller than a lot of people around. You told him it was from your best friend. You thought every piece of clothes or souvenirs would help someday, but it never crossed your mind that it was going to be this way.

When everything was was done, you and Cleon settled in front of the control panel, however, before you could start the holo, a loud explosion could be heard. You frowned, turning to Cleon.

"Did you-? Ah!"

The ship almost overturned as something heavy hit the side, making you trip and fall over with Cleon on the ground. Again, an explosion was heard, far from the ship but clear enough to say it was getting closer, and seconds later, the ship got hit but this time on the glass, almost breaking it over. Quickly, you both stood up and saw what was happening.

"A black hole..."

"Look, there are debris around," you pointed a huge piece that looked the size of your ship, but that definitely was part of a much bigger one. You saw the debris and metal being swallowed and destroyed by the black hole. It wasn't pacing fast, but wasn't slow either. It looked like it was talking its time for much bigger things to eat, such as your ship. Cleon called you, taking your hands and pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel he was shaking, and your skin grew cold. You realised it was really happening now.

"Do it," he said. "Destroy the ship."

After a moment of hesitation, you gave a nod. He kissed you deeply again. You turned the holo to activate the ship and program its own destruction.

"Self-destruction mechanism activated," the computer confirmed.

"We have sixty seconds," you mumbled, tears already forming in your eyes. He cut you off with a kiss. You would miss those warm lips on yours.

"That's enough for me," he said. You smiled and he did the same.

"I love you, Cleon," you embraced his body with a hug. "I am happy I met this kind of pain with you."

He cupped your cheeks, pecking your lips, smiling down at you, saying I love you too. You, the one who saved him and gave him a second chance. Or at least a moment of relief. A place and a person who allowed him to be himself and find things he never knew would have.

"We have more in common now," he whispered. "We are both alone and hurting somewhere in the galaxy.”

[the-mpreg-guy]

on a realer note i do think people forget that a huge part of the destiel equation is that cas won’t stay. like yeah we focus a lot on the fact that dean won’t ask him to, but cas never sticking around is a huge factor there

[melinoelabs]

Dear Sirs.

SCP-682's powers are metatextual. He's unkillable because the story says he is nearly unkillable and no solution would be satisfying. His nickname is 'the very hard to destroy reptile' for rigour's sake. You don't have to be Grant Morrison to put this together.

The solution is to alter the narrative so that there is a means of killing him that is satisfying. Unfortunately, only full-on apocalypse scenarios or the use of SCP-682 as a jobber for an even worse threat would fill that criteria.

So unless you want to unleash something even more tiresome, like the Black Moon or the Scarlet King or the Yellow Submarine or whatever other color-coded doomsday monster you have on tap, you're just wasting jumpsuit filling doing anything at all.

The easy alternative is to simply stop trying to kill him.

Just focus on holding him in the most boring, routine ways possible, rendering him increasingly less interesting and thus reducing the time between stories focused on him and thus, the resulting breaches and disasters.

Or you can do what we did. If you aren't chicken.

Ours wasn't a rotted lizard. It was a sort of mummified horse the size of a 1996 Volkswagen Harlequin, and it was a she, but otherwise same deal. Regeneration. Vat of acid. Mass casualties. Violent opposition to the use of breath mints. Endemic to all life. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

We figured out the how it worked, and we speed-ran the whole concept, hurling that vile beast through a veritable plinko-fall of thousands of extermination tests and controlled rampages until there was literally nothing left to do with the 'More-Than-One-Way-to-Fail-to-Kill-a Horse'.

And we trust the populace enough to not lie to them for 'their own good'. Because its funny? Sure. Profitable? Absolutely (don't worry, shareholders!)! But never for 'their own good.'

So we turned those experiments into a 17 season reality television program hosted by Greg Kinnear and force-fed them to a sludge-hungry populace.

There were 'More-Than-One-Way-to-Fail-to-Kill-a Horse' calendars, coffee mugs, t-shirts, two different animated spin-offs running at the same time for some reason, four movies starring Chris Pratt as the voice of the horse, an ongoing sketch on Late Night with Conan O'Brien, 'More-Than-One-Way-to-Fail-to-Kill-a Horse' "acid bath" sour candy flavored yogurt in a tube, a series of increasingly inadequately playtested gameboy cartridges, a 27-issue limited series from Image comics, and adorable plush mummified murder-horse plushes with little suction cups on their red-felt hooves so they can stare balefully out the back of your station wagon at that ASSHOLE Kevin in his souped up Trans AM who does not understand the concept of a safe following distance, and you JUST want to run him off the road with the magno-lifters and recreate the scene from Lost Highway with Robert Loggia, but "you can't use the magno-lifters for revenge" because it's "against OSHA regulations" and "technically assault!"

And once the first shipment of 'More-Than-One-Way-to-Fail-to-Kill-a Horse' Funko Pops hit store shelves, the creature's cultural cache cratered so hard that it became a parody of itself so predictable it's "containment" is now a Universal Studios attraction with two failed executions and a containment breach each night, with double shows on Saturdays.

Now, it was a rocky ride getting there, especially for Utah (projections say you'll get those House seats back in two, maybe three, generations at most, don't you worry!) but we've proven that even if it isn't killable, you can, in fact, beat a dead horse.

Hope this helps.

Humbert, Outreach Liaison Melinoë Laboratories "Hoc non veniet ad nos mordax"

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: SCP Foundation

Sample Size: 1,295 stories

Source: AO3

[yanderedrabbles]

I read you from a small Mexican town with less than 5,000 habitants, our streets have no pavement, we steal electricity from a nearby city and we do not show up in Google Maps, Waze or any GPS app. (To be fair, I only stay here a few months of the year, still, POOKIE your amazing writing is INTERNATIONAL 💕💕)

Mexican baddie in the inbox woo hoo!!

I think as a fellow developing country girly, it's just so fun to imagine my readers in similar scenarios to me. Like we're all active in this niche but from places you'd never expect.

Like, I post all of my stuff from a busted android, live in a house that pre-dates my country's democracy and sometimes the WiFi cuts out because they stole the cables again. Like you wouldn't expect yandere smut to be coming from a place like that y'know?

[irenespring]

One month until the election...holy shit.

Okay, I'm just going to point out that Project 2025 proposes a sweeping ban of "pornography." So if you write or read smutty fanfiction, or want to protect access to sites like AO3 in general, vote for Harris.

[dontforcemetologin]

watercolour is unbearably annoying.

but heres a guy.

[soundwavesconjux]

🎭 His Dear Witch ~ 🎭

It's unknown why do you even exist. The SCP Foundation doesn't know what to do with you. You're a confusing paradox that they do not understand and most frustratingly—uncontainable in a conventional sense.

#TAGS: Nothing Time Twins related, SCP Fandom is slowly drawing me back, It includes SCP! Reader, The Herta! Reader, Honkai Star Rail x SCP Crossover, Potentially OOC, Reader x Canon, Witch Reader, Short Writing, The Herta! Reader x SCP Character, More stuff like this would be included if interested, SCP FANS ARISE. 🔥🔥🔥

— TW?: Possesive Themes, Be Warned, 035 Being 035 As Usual, Potential Yandere Themes, He Calls You His 'Wife'.

A/N: After hitting maxed pity on Herta's banner along with her LC, I decided to make an interesting crossover because I thought it would be interesting to see how this goes for The Herta! Reader Insert. (Huge bonus that I'm blessed with good stats while I'm building her. 🙏)

You’re the definition of an enigma. A literal spacefaring, unknown anomaly wrapped up in an elegantly appearance, self-aware, and untouchable persona. The Foundation doesn’t know what to do with you, and SCP-035? He’s utterly entranced.

And Who Exactly Are You in the SCP Foundation?

You are Anomaly [REDACTED], a Level 6: CTS entity classified under Euclid. They don’t fully understand what you are—just that you exist, that you have an unsettling level of influence, and that you are playing the longest of long games.

You don’t act out. You don’t cause destruction. You don’t try to escape. Instead, you watch. You let them wonder why you haven’t done anything drastic, knowing full well that the moment you choose to tip the scales, everything changes.

They don’t imprison you because they can’t. They simply keep you in containment because you allow them to.

And then there’s SCP-035.

SCP-035 has never met someone like you before.

He’s charming, cunning, and manipulative—but none of it works on you. Not because you’re immune to him, but because you let him think he’s in control before flipping the script entirely.

You’re his perfect counterpart. The ultimate tease, the unattainable yet tangible anomaly that keeps him guessing.

At first, he tries to toy with you, flirt with you, unnerve you. And then, he realizes.

Oh.

You’re not like the others.

You understand him. You see through every little act, every trick, every calculated play. But instead of rejecting him or trying to outmaneuver him, you do something infinitely worse.

You indulge him.

You let him speak his flowery words, you humor his charm—but it’s clear who the real player is in this game. He’s used to being in control, but you? You make it so easy for him to fall under your spell instead.

And it drives him insane.

The Foundation is uneasy. Not because you’re violent, but because they cannot predict what you’re doing.

Why do you allow SCP-035 to get so close?

Why does SCP-035, a master manipulator, seem to worship you?

What is your endgame?

They want to separate you two, but the problem? 035 actually behaves when you’re around.

If anything, he’s less volatile, less inclined to escape, more… cooperative. But only because he knows that if he behaves, he gets you.

035: (mocking, but with an underlying threat) “Oh? You want to take my darling away? My wife?” (chuckles darkly) “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. You wouldn’t want to see me upset, would you?”

The researchers watching? Having war flashbacks.

The Real Question is...Why You Haven’t Given Him a Permanent Host (Yet)?

Because you’re playing the long game.

You could give him a permanent body. A perfect, indestructible vessel crafted specifically for him. A host that would never rot, never decay, never fail him.

And he knows you can.

That’s why he adores you. That’s why he’s obsessed.

But you? You wait.

You let him yearn. Let him crave it. Let him wonder if today is the day you’ll finally grant him that final gift.

035: (grinning, tilting his host’s head at you) “Tell me, dearest… when will you finally stop teasing me?”

You: (smirking, brushing a hand over his mask, whispering) “Would you love me the same if I gave you everything at once?”

035: … (soft chuckle) “Ah. I see. You do know me too well, don’t you?”

And the Foundation? Losing their minds. Because whatever the hell this is? It’s not normal.

They don’t know if it’s love, obsession, or something far worse.

But they do know one thing:

SCP-035 is yours.

[anundyingfidelity]

INTERROGATION GONE WRONG – Cleon XIII/Brother Day

Summary: Cleon XIII interrogates his statisticians about Hari Seldon's predictions. His in-turn maid remains there hearing the conversation, unbeknownst to him, knowing the answer - at least part of.

Pairing: Cleon XIII/Brother Day x female maid reader.

Word count: 2.9k.

Warnings: extremely dub-con, smut, abuse of power, forced orgasm, choking, fingering, degradation, p in v, creampie, not the soft aftercare you're waiting for. The author is also non native English speaker.

Notes: this is based on that scene of 1x04. This is the most non-con thing I've written ever. I gave my warnings. Also please watch Foundation lol, this show reminded me of how much I loved Lee Pace since like 2014. Once I'm in, I will never get out and I needed to write something for Cleon I love him he is an idiot.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

The man fell with a thud on the floor. You should be scared, surprised, trembling with fear, but this was not new behavior for you or anyone in the palace. Since Seldon's exile and the disaster shaking the Empire gradually, the response of the new Cleon was clearly expected after being a witness of a poor reunion and inconvenience with the staticians. More than a conversation, it felt like a judgment, a death one.

"Dining, now," he ordered passing by your figure on his way to leave the throne room. With a bow, you followed in an instant and ready to serve him.

Cleary, you could tell he was not in the good mood that day, already skipping the meal for breakfast with his brothers earlier; something that was out of the itineraries. Once a change of the routine happened, it meant something was off, so you thought. Demerzel was also not around, attending other meetings, so this left you alone with Empire, opening the door of the sole dining room the Brothers used privately, with the tall figure of Cleon XIII waiting impatiently for his midday meal and looking every move you made around the place to please him as fast as your feet allowed.

The cooks served the meal arranged from the menu after your order and they left as rapid as they came in, Brother Day dispatching them with a hand gesture once they were done. You took a couple of steps back, standing close to the table but ready in case he dispatched your presence as well.

"Not you, you stay," he commanded after sipping his wine for the first time, eyes focused on the plate he would eat.

"Yes, Empire."

You had to obligue, and that is what happened. You watched him from the corner of your eye, from time to time in silence, pretending to be unconcerned and collected, though that was far from being true. The whole meal time was eternal, specially that day. With no Brother Dawn nor Brother Dusk around for Brother Day to have a bland talk with, only the sound of fine cutlery clinking against porcelain as Empire ate. Boring, your head began to spin around, thinking in non-senses and theories of what you heard and read from Seldon's predictions of the fall. Empire was cruel, but it had you working, serving food to your plate, and probably that was enough. But it didn't stop your curiosity of learning further the philosophy of Hari Seldon.

When in front of Empire, your gaze seemed lost but your mind was working. You never said a single comment about studying Seldon's theory, of course. You were just a maid. Science and university never were a good pair for a woman who served the Empire. However, you still found the math behind his calculations as something intriguing and fascinating for some reason...

"Maid," the loud voice of the Emperor interrupted your daydream. "I said, wine."

The intense look on his eyes forced you to attend his order fast, serving more of the fermented liquid on the cup standing besides his plate.

His large hand took the cup when you filled it with wine and he sipped again, his eyes scanning you slow and deep. You knew he sensed something was wrong with you. Swallowing, you noticed he already had finished with his meal, so you finally you dared to speak.

"Can I retire your plate, Empire?"

"Is there something you want to share, maid?" he responded, blatantly ignoring your question and dragging your title like it was nothing but a shameful word to spill.

"At all, Empire," your voice came as a whisper.

Brother Day stood on his feet with such grace and started a slow walk towards your figure. You wanted to step away, but you feet were glued to the ground, so his tall and intimidating form washed over you soon.

"Speak," he instructed coldly. You started to tremble, unable to take off your scared eyes from him, bitting your bottim lip as he leaned. "Or do you want to be punished?"

His hand forced around your neck all of a sudden. As an act of reflection, you tried to pull back from his grip, but he was much stronger, having you in place and cutting your breath. "I know you hide enthusiasm around Doctor Seldon's theories," he whispered darkly on your ear. "I am not giving you a choice, speak!"

As he yelled down his last words, he pushed you harshly, body falling to the grown. Air filled your lungs once again and you coughed, sitting down and watching that he was coming closer with big steps. You dragged yourself on the floor using your hands and feet trying to not tangle yourself with the fabric of your dress. Fighting the tears on your eyes, your back touched the wall and sobbed. There was nowhere to go now. So you finally confessed.

"Your staticians would not give you a number because it's true!" you cried out. Brother Day stopped on his tracks just a couple of inches before you. "It's all true, Doctor Seldon is right. And it all began with the Star Bridge, I know you were a child when it happened because I was a child too when the crisis started. There is a probability, but is not zero," you said, recalling his words.

You saw his face changed. He was exhasperated already, but rage appeared in his eyes in a very visible way; a rage that you had yet to see from Empire. Fear took over you, afraid of what would happen next. Should you keep talking? Should you continue crying? Scream for nobody to come around for your sake? As you questioned yourself, he lowered himself to be at your level on the ground. Brother Day never sat down, but he was making sure to get under your skin. His powerful gaze had a quick effect to do that.

"Go on."

Too scared to speak, you opened your lips but no sound came out. Empire waited your words for a moment, scrutinizing your face. And still, nothing came. He grabbed your arm with a rough grip, forcing you to stand up, colliding with his body until your back hit the empty part of the table he had been eating in.

"You have ten seconds to continue or I will force everything that is in your head out of you, maid," Cleon threatened. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three-"

"I said it was probability," you shuddered. "Life is a probability by all means and Seldon knows that," you breathed, aware that Brother Day was feeling your shaking body under his piercing eyes. "I studied Doctor Seldon's psychohistory and theory for the last four years, learning math and other sciences on my free time on the library. So even if I don't posses a title, I know his hypothesis was only that at the time; a hypothesis can be null, but also be provable, and thus now is not untrue."

He slowly leaned away.

"So you say there is no error on Seldon's ecuation," he concluded, jaw clenching.

"None that I could find."

Brother Day paced in front of you, back and forth, hrad processing what he just heard. You could tell he was getting what he wanted, but nothing was what he really longed for. And what you found was nothing but the truth. Maths don't miss, it was useless to lie.

"How do you simply fall into a conclusion like that? Prophecies of the Empire declining into a dark age after centuries of rising. Of our legacy!" he stopped again and went back to your figure, trapping your body between himself and the dining table. You felt his breath when he leaned close, the smell of wine and fruits mixing with his cologne was intoxicating your nostrils as the last tears flowed down your cheeks. Sooner or later, you thought he was going to end up with your life. You had nothing left to lose by now.

"It's simple history and logic. Everything that goes up has to go down, even empires."

All you felt was his big palm slapping your face, your back hitting the edge of the table. A hurted moan filled the room, and he forced you to look at him grabbing your chin with the same strenght he had used on you all this time, like you were nothing more than a doll to play with as he pleased.

"In other circumstances, I would find you amusing," he breathed gainst your lips. The touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away your last tears, contrasted the roughness of his words, his body between your legs and his weight pressing you to lie down on the surface.

"Psychohistory words, not mine," you whispered, your hands running to wrap around his wrist, but his aura repelled instantly your touch. It was useless to keep trying. So here you were, ready for Brother Day to end with your life in just the blink of an eye. "Maybe Brother Dusk made a mistake," you continued, giving up on leaving the room alive. "Make Hari Seldon stay instead..."

Brother Day pressed further against you, almost crushing you with his significant huge frame.

"Such a talented brain and mouth, why don't I put you to good use? I think I deserve it."

He forcefuly turned you around until you were bending over the table, a loud gasp falling from your mouth. One of his hands making its way between your legs caused your thighs to press together, trying to stop him, but it was impossible, so you had nothing to do but beg.

"Please, Empire," you felt like crying again at his touch, his fingers cupping your clothed pussy in a slow motion. "Stop, please-"

"Shut up, whore," he grunted, rubbing his crotch against your ass and slammed your face with his free hand so you had your cheek lying against the cold surface. "I had enough from you."

Heartbeat rising, you tried with no results to escape from his body cage. The sway of your hips caused Empire to grow eager. His slender fingers pushed your panties aside, coating them with your own wetness, and that was certainly something you did not expect to be down there. He hummed in response, rubbing your folds, and you exhaled once he entered one finger.

Your body responded to his ministrations, his growing erection pressing against the curve of your ass while he played with your cunt as he wanted, easing a second digit inside your walls. Probably you should just give in by now as you felt your muscles tighten, already reaching your high. Almost. The first moan of pleassure escaped your throat and you regreted the answer of lust coming from your body the following instant, your palms holding yourself on the table.

His long digits fucked you faster and your legs trembled, his thumb played with your clit so deliciously you thought you were passing out soon. He leaned down until you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Fucking take it," he groaned, feeling your warm walls pulsing around his fingers.

Almost not having control over your body, your legs further opened, like his voice just ordered you to do it.

"Please, please..."

Again, you cried and begged, not sure of the reason. For pleassure, shame, mercy... Anything was possible at that moment as whimpers and moans fell from your mouth.

The sensation grew stronger down your belly, feeling him exploring your insides too deep, touching a place no man nor your fingers reached before. It happened repeatedly, it felt so sweet and sinful. Like something you never knew but you were sure would leave you aching for more. His fingers making you so drunk and pleading for a release, and the seconds that passed by were endless until you finally blissed out with a loud moan, convulsing by the work of his hand.

Brother Day gave himself a wicked smile, watching you squirm and gasp. Such a strong orgasm he ripped out of you. He pulled his fingers away from your pulsing cunt and admired your wetness coating them before he raised the skirt of your dress and took off your panties until they were hanging between your ankles.

You grimaced at the feel of his big palms rubbing your ass cheeks, parting them to get a view of your throbbing heat, still clenching around nothing. You could listen to him undoing his pants. He hissed, taking his hard lenght to rub the sensitive skin of your ass and his thick tip teased your slit, sliding slowly inside. You gasped at the sudden intrusion as he stopped from filling you up completely, feeling your tight cunt embracing him.

"Empire, please not this-"

"This is how I prefer you," Cleon whispered on your neck, you stopped your plea. "Submissive and quiet. You are not so bold now, are you?"

And he slowly entered your pussy further. You whined, nails scratching the fine material of the table. You were so tight and warm. He had to control himself of not pounding into you right away. Being filled up by the Emperor shouldn't arouse your body like this, but your heat welcomed his cock like it was the perfect missing piece of a puzzle.

"Are you a virgin, maid?" he asked, hips giving a couple of shallow, slow thrusts. Your hips moved in sink with his own, your nipples were now hard and erect against the surface, scratching the fabric of your bra and dress, giving up into heavenly bliss. Sweet mewls left your lips as he stretched your cunt. And it was oh, so long since you felt this full.

"No, Empire."

Your response was the green light. He started to rut into you. Rough. Even if your answer was to be different, you knew Empire would not care. He used to get away with what he wanted, and right now he wanted you. His own grunts made eco along with the sound of his skin hitting your ass, your moans escaping without any shame now. The small amount of discomfort he caused was transformed into pleassure and arousal, keeping his hands firmly on your hips.

"Then you can take it, you've done this before," he mocked, increasing his rough pace.

His grip was strong on your sides, you knew his fingers would leave marks on your skin once you finished. But nothing mattered, you decided, the only on your mind was reaching sweet climax and release. You could not escape from him, not ever. So your body and mind could go through it.

Cleon's eyes found the perfect spot of view to see his cock entering and sliding out your perfect pussy, his shaft glistening with your wetness and his own precum. He stopped and pulled out for a moment, teasing with entering and pulling out, watching himself sliding inside your body.

"Oh gods," he listened to your broken moan, breath hitching.

He again cupped your neck with his palm, fingers roaming around your throat, forcing your back to meet his chest. Your moans were cut by his firm hand, air being a privilige as seconds passed by. He sucked and bit the skin of your neck, burying his cock until his balls met your ass repeteadly, finding that sweet spot of yours.

"Cum," he ordered. "Cum or you will not breath again."

You knew you were close, but you needed it faster. You needed to breath, as good as his cock felt, fucking you and splitting you open, you still needed to make it until the end. Your fingers found your clit and played with your bud as Empire bucked his hips fast and rough. Finally, your muscles tensed and forced a hard orgasm out of you, walls pulsing around his dick. He grunted, not slowing his thrusts, softening the hand around your neck allowing you oxygen again.

"Merciful am I?" he groaned and you felt his seed painting your insides, cock throbing as he also came from his high.

"You are, Empire," you breathed out.

Your back arched and you held yourself on his hands and chest. You heard the sound of one of the chairs being taken out, being dragged by him until you felt he sat down, you on his lap with his cock still burried deep inside you. His slick cum ran down your inner thighs as he parted your legs, touching your abused cunt and clit, feeling how you were still connected. He rubbed your pussy in slow, gentle moves, collecting his cum mixed with your juices. He offered his fingers to your lips, so you licked them as he wished, sucking them clean. Your walls pulsed again.

"So obedient now," Cleon purred.

His hands undid your dress to free your chest, groping your tits as he pleased. He played with your nipples, just like he had played with all of you in a few minutes.

"What will happen to me?" you asked in a murmur.

"Such a pretty cunt you are," Brother Day began, tracing kisses on your shoulder. His voice made you shiver. "You would please me a lot as a cuncubine of the Gossamer Court."

You swallowed hard, not capable of speaking or fighting back. He felt your body tensing so he continued his speech in your ear. "No worries, I can play with you some more before it happens. And you will tell me everything you know about Seldon."

[insomniac-djmm]

Dr. Gears relationship headcannons? :3

My first request for Dr. Gears! He's one of my absolute FAVORITE characters, I'm so excited to write for him! ^^

(My best friend, @shslbunnylover, makes fun of him and says he uses Life Alert and that he's so old, he invented the alphabet ToT) Also, thank so much for this request, I absolutely love your account, as well! (*´∀`*) Merry Christmas!! <3

Dr. Charles Ogden Gears Relationship Headcanons

• Gears is notorious for being expressionless to the highest degree, so when you were the only person he'd give a half-smile to, rumors started.

• And those rumors were correct: Dr. Gears had a thing for you.

• Of course, the man himself confessed to you before word got around to your ears.

• It was blunt - short and sweet.

• "I have an interest in you. Would you be interested in beginning a relationship with me?"

• Perhaps a rose as well! A small token of his affection (｡•̀ᴗ-)

• During the relationship, there was a bit of a change in his behavior, both towards you and his coworkers.

• He didn't seem as uptight, but of course, he still was. Just not as much.

• Even his reactions were finally slightly noticable!

• And with you? You could probably get a full smile out of that man. Maybe even a little chuckle.

• Others found it impressive, you thought it was sweet.

• He will always check on how you're doing, even if it's obvious how you are.

• "How are you doing today, my dear?"

• He likes hearing it from you.

• It also gets you to talk about your day as well, and he enjoys listening to your voice.

• You guys have a Talker X Listener dynamic.

• He takes note to do research on the things you bring up during your conversations.

• He even has a piece of paper where he lists things to look up for you.

• Hand-holder. No notes.

• Just kidding, I'll give some notes.

• I think he's left handed!

• So, for example, while he's doing some paperwork, he'll hold his paper down with his right hand, yeah?

• He likes to place your hand on the paper and then place his hand on yours.

• He especially likes rubbing your hand with his thumb a bit.

• His absolute favorite thing is hand-holding, at least, with you it is.

• To him, it's a nice thing, feeling the warmth of somebody else.

• The constant feedback that they, too, are alive.

• He expresses his affection with little gestures.

• Opening the door for you, bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning, waiting for you during lunchtime.

• Every little thing matters to him, and he wants all the little things to say that he loves you.

I had so much fun writing these! I had a ton of headcanons from my self-ship with him, so I got this done super quick! I absolutely ADORE Dr. Gears, so thank you so much for this request! I really, truly hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas!! <333

[vnikra]

Happy valentine’s day

And I like the headcanon about King carrying Gerald in his arms

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 54

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

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

Chapter Summary: "Trust me?" "Always."

AO3

Spotify

Against all odds and expectations, you made it to the archives without being attacked, waylaid, or harassed. Considering your company, even the most dangerous anomaly would hesitate before crossing paths with your group. 682 might not be back to his original size, but he was still deadly and unkillable, and 053 would mentally affect any humans before they ever caught sight of you.

Much like Safe Object Storage, the archives contained items that were labeled as Safe and needed minimum containment. What made them so lethal as to be buried deep within Heavy Containment was what they could do to a person when touched or perceived.

You glanced around the large foyer, doors surrounding the walls that led to different hallways and sections of the archives. It reminded you of 106’s dimension, of the circular room filled with gaping corridors that branched out into the darkness, and you shivered.

“So,” you began when the group came to a stop in the middle of the room, “do you know which way to go?”

It took 049 a moment to realize you were talking to him.

“I have never been here before, nor do I know of an exit—”

He tilted his head in a peculiar way, as if catching a sound only he could hear.

“What? What is it?”

“I do not know. There is something…” He trailed off, turning in a slow circle to face the plethora of doors. He came to a stop, facing one, and said, “There.”

“Is it the Pestilence?”

“No.” The answer came out faint, his gaze distant. “But it is… familiar.”

You exchanged a glance with 682, but the reptile said nothing, giving a roll of his eyes before turning toward the door. Apparently, he didn’t think much of 049’s choice.

Seeing as you were the one closest to the door with opposable thumbs, you strode forward and pulled open the door on its tracks. It moved with a pneumatic hiss of released pressure, and thanks to 079 in the system, didn’t require a keycard you lacked.

682 with 053 on his back went first, with you in the middle and 049 covering the rear. He closed the door behind you, and white light illuminated the long hallway. The power in this section had its own separate grid and had remained online during the breach.

Doors lined both sides of the corridor, first on one side and then another, alternating so no two doorways faced each other. They appeared to be made of thick concrete and steel, the size of their hinges and the hatch handles giving the impression of bulkheads or vault doors.

As you continued along the hallway, you watched 049. The idea that 035 might have been right about him knowing a way out made you more uneasy, not less. And the distant look in 049’s eyes began to change, sharpen with focus, and when he stopped before one of the doors, you knew you’d found your destination.

“Wait.”

049 paused, his hands freezing before grabbing the hatch. You eyed 682, and wisely decided to ask before reaching for his neck.

“I need to get out 079. Make sure it’s safe to open and the security measures have been disabled.”

“Fine.” The reptile, now the size of a small pony, eyed you with one large, yellow slitted eye. “I suggest you take care.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Sarcasm does not become you.”

Instead of rolling your eyes, which was quite tempting, you offered a tight-lipped smile and pulled the bag strap from his neck and over his head, careful not to tangle it in his green mane. You looped the strap over your neck and shoulder before pulling out the laptop, and unable to find a nearby flat surface, you smiled at 053 and put the computer on her lap.

“Wanna say hi to 079?”

“Yeah!”

You flipped open the laptop and immediately the screen illuminated with the black and white image of 079’s projected image.

“079.”

“Reid. Your success and survival are an aberration.”

“I missed you, too. Can we get into this room safely?”

“Yes.”

“Great—”

“Hi, 079!”

The snappish computer didn’t have an immediate response to the girl’s outburst.

“…Hello.”

“We’re going on an adventure.”

“If that is what you quantify as a journey that will likely end in the deaths of everyone in this facility—"

“Okay.” You lifted the laptop from 682’s back. “We can catch up later. Anything else we should know before going inside?”

The computer glared at you as much as possible with a static face.

“Do not linger.”

Helpful.

“Thanks.”

“The Foundation has sent outside forces, and once they have finished reconnecting the skybridges, they will attempt to recapture the facility.”

“Oh. Right, thank you.”

You closed the screen, tucked it away inside its bag, and then stepped forward only to be blocked by a gentle hand.

“I will open it.” Despite the troubled look he held, his words were soft. “You’ve done more than your share to get us this far.”

You stepped back and nodded, mostly because you didn’t trust yourself to speak. Even now, with death all around you and danger chasing at your heels, your mind still went stupid and fuzzy when his eyes went all soft and warm like that.

049 gripped the hatch in his gloved hands and turned the handle. It might be unlocked, but with the strength it took for 049 to open it, you guessed it would ordinarily take two guards to turn the wheel and open the door. It rumbled on his hinges as 049 pulled it outward, the corridor wide enough to give plenty of room to the massive door.

He stepped through first, and you followed him into an entry way, beyond that a second doorway, this one constructed of two sets of glass to form an airlock.

Next to the airlock was an informational placard in an octagonal shape. At the top was the green lock symbol for Safe. Next, a weaving triangle that indicated it as a Warning risk class, and on the other side, a Keneq disruption class. Both were level three, indicating significant risk to an area the size of a city.

At the top of the placard read, ITEM#: 5917.

“049,” you said, “I don’t think we should—”

The glass door shattered as he hit it with the point of his elbow. He cleared the remaining fragments of tempered glass with his arm, the shards unable to pierce his thick hide.

No alarm sounded, proof that 079 had indeed shut down any security measures or alarms. The second glass door broke as easily as the first, reinforced glass not presenting much of a challenge to the SCP. He strode forward into the room, and you followed at a more cautious pace.

There were two objects contained within the space, and the muted lights overhead reminded you of a museum exhibit, especially with one of the objects housed under a glass display on top of a pedestal. The other was a large, oblong box in the middle, lying flat on the ground.

049 homed in on the smaller object, but you walked up to the coffin-like structure and read the plague melded onto the side: SCP-5917-1.

Another round of shattering glass filled the room as 049 broke the glass, and he opened the box and pulled out an intricately decorated silver scroll case with gold trim. He stared at it, mesmerized, and said, “This will guide us out of our captivity.”

You barely heard his words; you stepped onto the ridge around the base of the large box, recognizing it for what it was. It was an anomalous-corpse cryogenic chamber, and under the glass lid, you could see the body inside.

It was both humanoid and avian, with brown speckled feathers that disappeared under dark brown robes, and what you mistook for a mask was an actual curved beak.

“They look like… you.”

“There are no others like me.”

When you didn’t move or speak, only continued to stare at the bird-like being, 049 joined you, and he froze with a wide, confused expression.

“I do not understand.”

682 cast a narrow eye at the contents of the coffin and let out a horse-like snort.

“More crows. Not so special, are you.”

053 tried to reach for the lid, her eyes large and curious, but 682 pulled her away before she could do more than smudge the glass with her hands. 049 remained stock still, his own expression wide and on the edge of panic.

“Hey.” You rested your hand on his arm, your thumb stroking the course fabric of his skin. “It’s okay, we can figure this out later.”

You indicated the case in his hand, sealed with tiny silver latches.

“You said that will help us escape. Do you know how?”

He was lost, his words unsure as he met your eye, something pleading in them.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Come on, Doc,” spoke a voice from the doorway. “Use that birdbrain of yours.”

Lifting your shotgun, you spun and aimed, but 035 already had his rifle pointed at your chest.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty,” he crooned. “No one needs to be riddled with the un-fun kind of holes.”

You took in his appearance, changed since you last saw him. Black liquid oozed from the eyes and mouth of the mask, the decayed state of his body leaking through and staining the MTF’s attire. He was eating through his body too fast, and if you had to guess, he didn’t have much time left.

049 slipped in front of you, forcing you to aim the shotgun at the ground. Goddammit.

“I beg to differ,” he growled. 035 sighed.

“Are you still sore at me? Come now, it’s been over a hundred years. Let it go. I forgave you for that little crypt incident, didn’t I? Can’t we all just get along?”

“No.”

035 spoke louder and said, “Be a dear and convince your beau that I’m only here to help.”

You moved out from behind 049, out of reach before he could grab you, and aimed your shotgun again at 035. He mirrored the movement with his rifle, and you had the distinct feeling he enjoyed this game.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

049 gave you an unhappy look but stayed where he was. 682 was on the other side of the cryogenic chamber, hunched down as if to leap, but he didn’t. You didn’t think it was possible for the reptile to be unsure about anything, but as 053 clung to his back, eyes round with fear as she watched the oozing mask, you knew the reason why.

“Like I said before,” 035 said in a lazy drawl. “A ride out. And judging from the good doctor’s vacant expression, he doesn’t remember how to use the map.”

“What map?”

035 tilted his head toward 049, or more accurately, what was in his hands.

“That map.”

“Another one of your tricks,” 049 seethed.

“Is that poultry-popsicle a trick?” 035 gave him another curious look, his tone as equally interested. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

049 said nothing but narrowed his eyes, and 035 rewarded him with a mocking laugh.

“That’s all right, I couldn’t either. Being away from the Golden City tends to… distort one’s memories. But I sense your broken mind goes much deeper than that. They didn’t want you to remember anything. Not after what you did.”

He nodded toward the cryogenic chamber, his words laced with sinister glee.

“Are you saying 049 did that?”

“Is that what I’m saying?” 035 giggled at your scowl. “No, this death isn’t on his hands. But there are others, and their blood stains him down to the marrow. He’ll never wash it clean.”

“Falsehoods,” 049 growled. Maybe it was because of the corpse nearby, but you could imagine the snapping of a beak. “Your words are air, without substance. You speak lies and dress them as truths—”

“Am I lying about the feathers, Valens?”

049 went rigid.

“They itch, don’t they.” 035’s voice was low, equally seductive as it was insidious. “It must be torture. A constant prickling you can’t scratch, trapped under that hide like a coat of paint over rotted wood.”

“What’s he talking about?” you asked, and the unnerved look in his eyes made you far more uneasy than anything else. And how does he know your name?

“More tripe. A palaver of nothing.”

“Gods, you’re just as stubborn as you were a millennium ago.” Gone was 035’s amusement, replaced by genuine anger. “I’m trying to help, you old quack. If you don’t get that stick out of your ass, you’re going to die here, along with your precious assistant.”

049 started towards him, hands clenched at his sides as if he would like nothing more than to beat the mask into ceramic dust.

035 raised his rifle and aimed it directly at your face. 049 froze.

“I’ll do it. I’ll blow this place sky-fucking-high with a bullet to her skull. I actually like her, but I’ll see us all dead before I go back to that suffocating box.”

A sniffling noise interrupted the dead silence, and 682 released a low growl as the mask looked at the girl. Her face was teary as she clung to the reptile’s fur, and 035’s words went sharp.

“Really? You brought the brat and the dog, but you won’t take your old pal? And I was just about to tell you how the map works.”

“It’s okay,” you said to 053, your voice soft and hopefully calming. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

035 sighed, and like a switch being flipped, his hot anger became sweeping melodrama.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know kids make me antsy, and I need a steady trigger finger.”

049 stiffened, and his fists curled at his sides.

“Fine,” you said. “We’ll help you escape.”

049’s head snapped in your direction.

“Splendid,” 035 cajoled, but you didn’t pay attention to him, and instead met 049’s eye. His look of surprise and then anger faded into something more confused the longer you stared.

“Just how long have you been planning this containment breach?” you asked, finally breaking eye contact as you turned back to the oozing mask. “Most of the Site-19 anomalies are here. That can’t be a coincidence. Even the Dream Man showed me the Site-19 breach and said it would be important.”

035’s head went at a tilt, and his curiosity was like unseen fingers trailing over your skin. You held back the shiver.

“Yes… if only we all made it. Too bad about 173; I assume that was your work. Shame. I liked that little creep.”

“Dýo.”

The mask immediately perked up at 049’s tired voice.

“Oh, I love it when you say my name. Yes, dear?”

049 looked like he would rather be flayed than say another word, but he still asked:

“How do we use the map?”

“I’ll show you just as soon as you put down the gun, Reid.” He leaned his head in your direction, leering. “You no longer need it, and I’m not fond of that murderous little glint in your eye.”

You moved your hand to regrip the stock of the shotgun, but 035 didn’t see you reaching for the laptop bag. You sent him an ugly look, just in case he was mistaken in the belief that you didn’t despise him completely, and you set the shotgun on the ground and kicked it out of reach.

“Attagirl. Now, Valens, if you would, take the scroll out of the case and open it up.”

049 hesitated, but with 035’s rifle steadily aimed at your head, he didn’t have a choice. He unlatched the glittering case and took from it a scroll of old brown parchment. He carefully unfurled it, and as he did so his eyes widened, his gaze transfixed on what lay across its surface.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 035 purred like a satisfied cat. “Do you remember how to read it?”

“I…”

That was all 049 said, as if entranced.

You reached for the bag again, and with both of them occupied, neither noticed you slip SCP-178 from an outside pocket. But someone did. 682 appraised you with one yellow eye, noting the anomaly clasped between your fingers before meeting your gaze again.

“Well?” 035 said, his tone clipped. “You better not fuck this up, Doc. You’re making more than one trip.”

That finally snapped 049 out of his fixation, and he looked at the mask with a growing frown in his gaze.

“What?”

“You’re taking me out of here first. I’m not staying a minute longer, and I gotta make sure you really give it your best shot.” 035 nudged the muzzle of his rifle in your direction. “Otherwise, ton cœur gets left behind to live out her days in a cell. So, you know. All the pressure.”

049 gripped the edges of the aged scroll so hard you worried he would tear it.

“No.”

035 dropped his playful tone, and his grinning face turned into the tragedy mask within the blink of an eye.

“What’s the problem? If you don’t screw it up, you’ll be back within seconds.”

“Rot in hell, enfoiré.”

“Stubborn old cloaca—”

“Run!”

You shouted the word to 682 at the same moment you put on the 3-D glasses, and the room erupted into chaos and strange, screeching nightmares.

The reptile bounded for the door, carrying 053 on his back and out of harm’s way as they made it through the broken airlock. You dived for the sarcophagus, blocking 035’s line of sight and his ability to shoot you. But he was too occupied to care; several 178-2s had popped into existence inside the room. Almost seven feet tall with smooth bodies and oblong heads, dozens of tiny black eyes dotting their surface, their claws were poised for ripping, and the appendages on their back could act like cutting whips or lethal blades.

035 yelled what sounded like curses in several languages before he started to fire.

Bullets ricocheted across the tile floor and embedded into walls and lights. More screeches filled the room as some of the bullets hit their targets. Terrified he’d been hit, you peeked around the cryochamber to search for 049, and found him trapped in a corner, one of the entities attempting to stab him with its scythe-like appendages.

049 gripped the appendages, and blood oozed down his wrists from where the blades bit into his palms, cutting through his hide.

You yanked off the glasses, and the chromatic double image of the world returned to its normal focus and color, and you stuffed 178 back into the bag and then crawled across the floor. The 178-2s had stopped popping into existence, but the remaining creatures were here to stay, and they were pissed.

049 was losing the fight with the larger anomaly. A slice bled from across his chest, and his arms shook where the 178-2 pushed down, making a horrible gurgling noise as its blades cut deeper into 049’s palms.

You lunged forward and grabbed it by the ankle, and before it realized its fight was over, the entity dissolved and fizzled into nothingness.

A wave of exhaustion hit you, and you lowered your forehead to the ground in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. You hadn’t caught your breath before you were grabbed by the waist and hoisted off the floor, 049 pulling your arm over his shoulder before half-dragging, half-carrying you out of the room.

Bullets pinged off the metal frame of the airlock behind you. 049’s hands were slick with his blood, and it must have hurt to support your weight, but he didn’t stop until you were at the end of the corridor in the rotunda room with the doorways leading outward.

He leaned you against the wall, putting his own back to the surface, but he wasn’t catching his breath. He was waiting for something.

The gunfire had stopped. Either 035’s body had succumbed to the 178-2s, or he’d killed them all. Either way, you had to find the others. Did 049 still have the scroll?

You opened your mouth to ask, and snapped it shut at the sound of racing footsteps down the corridor.

049 reached out and snatched the barrel of the gun as soon as it appeared, wrenched it downwards, and punched 035 hard across his porcelain face.

035 let out a string of curses that might have been Greek, stumbled off balance, and 049 grabbed him by his covered throat and slammed him against the wall.

“Son of a bitch—"

049 snapped his neck.

Whatever else 035 wanted to say, he wouldn’t be saying it now. 049 let his limp form slide to the ground, the legs splayed out like a broken doll, and he released a held sigh.

“I have waited a long time to do that.”

You also sighed, too tired to have patience for their thousand-year grudge match. You knelt next to the body and set the bag against your knees, and then you carefully pulled the mask off the corpse’s face. Nothing remained but a black, oozing sludge pile.

“What are you doing?”

The mask itself, stained with greasy pitch tears a moment ago, was now pristine and white in your hands.

“Taking him with us.”

“Tell me this is a poor jest.”

You looked up, but at the sight of his wounds still trickling blood, your irritation softened into a need to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t, not yet.

“Better us than the Foundation. He’s too dangerous to stay here. 035 trapped me in your containment chamber.”

“Pardon?”

“He manipulated at least one researcher to make it happen.” You swallowed hard. “Kenneth locked me in your cell, and that’s only what 035 has admitted to. Knowing him, he has more personnel under his sway. Maybe by removing him, they have a chance of being freed of his control.”

If they survived. Was Kenneth still alive? You couldn’t think of the alternative, not right now. You were mentally worn, trembling with physical exhaustion, and approaching the edge of what your sanity could handle.

049 watched you for a long moment, and then his shoulders lost their rigid edge.

“I will defer to your judgement.”

You placed the mask in the bag, using a separate pocket. The last thing you needed was for 035 to try and wear 079 like a body. You slung the laptop bag over your shoulder, and after a moment, you took 035’s rifle as well. Once you were on your feet, you reached for 049’s hand and gently squeezed his fingers, mindful of his injuries.

“Thank you.”

He smiled with his eyes, and you quickly looked down. You laid his knuckles across your palm and spread open his fingers, examining the wound more closely. The blade had sliced deep, and you were sure his other hand wasn’t much better.

Reaching for the bottom hem of your gown, you tore off two long strips, uneven and a poor substitute for a real bandage. You wrapped it around one hand, careful to cover the wound and tie it off tight before starting on the other. 049 allowed you to do this without a word, a compliant patient, even as he looked at you in a way no patient should.

“I know you two have a history,” you said, still cradling one of his hands even though you’d finished treating both, “but once we escape, I’ll find a way to safely secure him and—"

An explosion nearly rocked you both off your feet, and rumbling followed in an aftershock, deep within the bones of the facility. The growling screams of nearby 178-2s joined in with melodic cacophony, and a second shockwave sent you scurrying for the security desk. After yanking out the ethernet cable from the computer and inserting it into 079, you opened the lid and yelled, “What happened!”

Instead of responding with words, a surveillance feed flashed onto the screen showing a man on fire. He roamed down a hallway, leaving a conflagration of melting panels and combusting wall insulation in his wake.

“That’s SCP-457,” you said. Shit.

“At the current exponential increase of catastrophic events, this facility will be uninhabitable within a quarter hour. It is statistically unlikely the Foundation will be able to retake and salvage Site-20.”

“Where are 053 and 682?”

He showed you another corridor, and your heart fell. The burning man was either stalking them, or simply going in the same direction, but either way, you were cut off from reaching them unless you went straight through the anomaly.

“How do I get there?”

“I will guide your way.”

The room plunged into darkness, and with a low rumble, one of the heavy doors slid open, the corridor behind it illuminated with a trail of fluorescent lights. It was like the lit catwalk to 682’s cell, an unwelcome reminder.

After tucking 079 away, you took off down the corridor, making sure 049 was right behind you. The rifle you’d taken off the MTF body grew heavy in your hands as your strength continued to flag, and eventually you left it behind. You doubted bullets would harm an anomaly like 457 anyway.

It was easy to pick up his trail, the corridor blackened and still burning like a tunnel to Hell. The heat coming from the flames was considerable, but it wasn’t scorching like you expected, and you stepped closer.

049 took a quick step toward you, his eyes wide with fear at what you were about to do, but you walked into the flames before he could stop you. The fire licked your feet and legs, but it didn’t burn you or your clothing.

You looked back at 049 and held out your hand to him.

“Trust me?”

He glanced from your hand to your face, and his eyes were far warmer than the flames.

“Always.”

He took your hand and walked into the fire. The flames caressed his robes but didn’t burn them, and he followed you through the path of destruction, trusting that you would keep him alive with a single touch.

Now instead of following 079’s hallways of light, you followed 457’s corridors of flame, until eventually you rounded a corner and the burning man was there. He had no features to speak of, his entire body glowing white-hot, but even without eyes you sensed his gaze as he slowly turned to face you.

You paused, swallowed down your nervousness, and continued forward. The entity remained in your path, the flames around him hungry. You were forced to stop in front of him, and you gripped 049’s hand harder. You knew you were hurting him, but at this range without your protection, he would burn to ash within seconds.

457 continued to stare at you, but it didn’t feel like a challenge. It felt like he was waiting for you. You couldn’t explain the irrationality of it, but that thought scared you more than burning.

“Move.”

For a moment, you didn’t think the anomaly would listen. You could erase him, just as you’d done to 173, but you couldn’t do it while touching 049. You’d learned that hard lesson with the anomalous patient. But if you released 049, he would die.

Another few seconds passed, and you considered turning back, but then the anomaly stepped aside. He was letting you pass.

Come with me, you could almost sense the anomaly saying. Come with me, and we will burn it all.

No, you thought. I already have.

You walked past the burning man, and the heat that radiated from him ran hotter than any of the flames at your feet, and you wondered if you reached out if he would burn you.

But you held onto 049 and made it through the fire. 457’s gaze lingered on your back until you were out of sight. Neither of you stopped until you reached the corner where 682 and 053 were trapped against a containment door sealed shut. From the deep gouges around the edges of the door, 682 had tried to claw it open but lacked the strength of his full size to do so.

682’s mane was singed, but otherwise they were unharmed. The girl leapt and hugged you around the legs, and there were tear-tracks through the soot on her cheeks. Smoke filled the corridor ahead of the fire, and it burned your eyes as it clogged your throat. The fire might have been anomalous, but the smoke was from the burning of real material.

You coughed and held the neckline of your gown over your mouth, but the others weren’t affected by the rapidly darkening air. It was another reminder that despite your abilities, you were still very human.

“Hold onto my robes. I shall need both hands.”

You looked up in time to see 049 pull the scroll case out of his robes. You didn’t know how the parchment, presumably a map, was supposed to help you escape, but 049 seemed confident it worked by touch.

Hooking one arm around 053 and hoisting her onto your hip, you held your other around the crook of 049’s elbow. 682 sunk his claws into the hem of his robes and said, “Do not fail, crow.”

049 ignored the reptile’s verbal barbs and actual claws, and rolled open the scroll until it was held aloft between his hands. On the other side it looked like a blank canvas of old parchment, but on this side, it displayed a view of the night sky, constellations twinkling and nebulas swirling.

Your head ached, but you didn’t look away even when the vertigo threatened to tip you forward and swallow you whole.

And then you jolted forward, sounds and colors and air bleeding together and rushing past. You held 049’s arm tight against your cheek, scared if you lost your grip you would be tossed into the whirling cosmos around you.

And then you fell. Not far, maybe a foot or two, but it was enough for your knees to buckle and throw you to the ground. You immediately curled so you wouldn’t land on 053, but your landing was soft, cushioned by something that littered the ground.

Leaves. Brittle red, gold, and orange autumn leaves.

053 darted out of your arms, squealing and giggling as she leapt into another pile of leaves. 682 spotted the girl and sat close by, licking his paws as if entirely unbothered, so you let her go and rolled onto your back, still trying to catch your breath. The chill air bit at your skin, but after the heat of 457’s destruction, it was welcome.

You must have been lying on some kind of natural forest path or trail, because the sky yawned above you, bordered by autumn-dressed trees. You’d forgotten how blue the sky was.

You let out a single laugh, quiet and disbelieving, and then a louder bark, and you covered your mouth but couldn’t stop giggling more. You felt drunk, heady and euphoric.

And then you looked to your left and saw him. The sun had just broken through the trees, and the morning light painted 049’s robes in dusky black, his face angled toward the sun as he closed his eyes, basking in the natural warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

You just… watched him. Far more mesmerized by him than even the sight of your newfound freedom.

049 out in the world should have felt like an unnatural thing, but he looked like he belonged here. A dark creature of the forest that bathed in the sunlight before it retreated to the shadows, a remnant of something ancient that was long forgotten by man.

He was beautiful. And the thing in your chest suddenly felt too enormous to name, but you knew its name, anyway.

As if he sensed the attention, 049 opened his eyes and looked at you. His gaze softened, tender in a way that twisted your insides—

He doubled over. A pained noise wheezed from his chest, and then he dropped to his knees.

“Valens!”

You scrambled, not bothering to stand as you rushed on hands and knees until you reached his side.

“What’s wrong?!”

He shook his head, still bent over and holding his stomach. No… not his stomach. He was hiding his hands, cradling and shielding them.

“I do not know,” he said, breath trembling. “My hands…”

“Let me see them.”

He uncurled his back only enough to extend his arms, and you knew something was wrong. His hands had always appeared gloved in nature, thick and leathery, but now the skin was stretched, and in some places even ripped.

The makeshift bandages were still in place, and 049 suddenly ripped them off. But he didn’t stop there. He dug his fingers into the back of his hand, and you cried, “No, don’t!” but it was too late.

With a terrible ripping sound, he tore off the skin from the back of his hand. You prepared for a spray of blood, maybe to even see bone with how much he tore off, but that didn’t happen. There was skin underneath, a dark grey that was a shade lighter than his robes.

And it was smooth, not coarse and leathery like his hide. In his other hand he held the strip of old skin, and it looked like nothing more than a torn piece of glove.

You could only stare as he continued to rip off the old pieces of hide, first from one hand and then the other, shedding his old skin to reveal fresh skin beneath. 049’s posture relaxed the more skin he removed, and after he’d stripped off the old hide completely from both hands, he let out a small sigh of relief.

You hesitated, and then gently took one of his hands, cradling it in yours as you examined it. It looked, and felt, like an actual hand, aside from the dark grey tone and some rough patches on his knuckles and the backs of his hand, reminding you of the scaly feet of a bird. You could see the details along these rough patches, and when you traced the thin lines along his palms, his fingers twitched. He was sensitive.

He was also healed, no sign of the deep gouges dug into his palm by the 178-2. Along with the grey color, the other noted difference curled from the ends of his fingers. His glove-like hands had been without fingernails before. Now, each finger was tipped with a dark talon, short and curved.

“What… what is this?”

“I believe the map caused it.”

“The map?”

“Yes. Though I do not know how.”

He didn’t resist as you continued to examine his hand, his own expression curious and not nearly as worried as you felt.

“Look.”

He followed your gaze. The smooth skin stopped at the sleeve of his robes, but just beneath the hem was a new pattern. Beginning at his wrists, small, delicate black feathers grew from his skin.

“I assumed he was lying.” He spoke softly, almost windswept, like someone had delivered him terrible news.

You traced your thumb over the feathers lining his wrists. They were soft, glossy, and slightly puffed up at the stimulation of your touch.

“035 tells the truth when it suits him.”

“Yes. He has not changed in that regard.” 049 gently withdrew his hand from yours, flexing his clawed fingers once before pulling them closer against his chest. The girl had moved in close, at first frightened by 049’s displays of pain, and then curious as soon as she spotted the claws.

“I think they’re neat!” she chimed in, her smile wide and dimply.

“They’re small.” 682 shuffled over, and he was big enough now that he towered over you from where you sat on the ground. “But at least your actions were not completely incompetent, crow.”

“I think he just complimented you.”

682 snorted and walked away, his thick tail missing your head by a narrow margin. 053 chased after him, unmindful of the cold, but you were starting to shiver, and your breath clouded the air.

“Come. We should get settled in.”

049 rose to his feet easily, the previous pain gone, and even the chest wound and treated injuries didn’t seem to bother him. Unlike the wounds on his hands, these still remained, and you planned to bandage him as soon as you could.

“Settled… in? Wait, you know where we are?”

“Of course I do. I brought us here.”

You stared at him blankly, but he only smiled with his eyes and extended a hand down to you. And then he paused, realizing the hand he offered was now tipped in claws.

But the talons looked blunt, like they were meant for gripping rather than tearing, and they didn’t bother you. In fact, when you took his hand and his warm, smooth palm pressed against yours, you might even like it.

You barely gained your feet before your knees buckled again, and gentle hands caught you on the way down.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. You tried to make your legs work, but they seemed to have quit. “More tired than I thought.”

And in pain. Every part of you had found a way to ache, but the soreness in your abdomen made each breath uncomfortable. Without another word, 049 hoisted you into his arms as easily as if you were a doll, and his expression brightened at your embarrassed one.

“You should be off your feet and resting,” he said. “Do not protest, I am your physician.”

Your mouth popped closed. With the bag in your lap carrying 079, 178, and 035, and 682 and 053 somewhere ahead of you, you’d somehow survived the containment breach and had more anomalies with you than when you’d started. You didn’t know how it was possible, how you and 049 managed to escape together, and some part of you didn’t think it was real.

But you rested your cheek against his shoulder, and that felt very real, as did his arms hooked under your knees and back. The gentle quiet of the forest and the cold autumn air was almost shocking compared to the climate controlled, fluorescent-filled artificial environment of the facility.

“Where are we?”

“Southern France. Far enough away from where the Foundation captured me that I am confident they do not know of its existence.”

You saw your destination, what drew the girl and reptile so far ahead of you. A cabin sat nestled in the trees, fallen leaves collecting on the slanted roof, the windows dark and vacant where they were set into wood walls.

Rustic was an understatement; it looked at least a hundred years old, but still in remarkably good condition.

“What is this place?” you asked and looked up at him.

His answer was warm, fond, and his gaze on you equally affectionate.

“Home.”

[tallovines]

I LOVE WRITING TALES FOR MY STUPID LITTLE SCP OC X CANON SHIP 😈😈😈

[queerstarpeople]

Fangirled so hard over epic and pjo I am now sitting in latin class writing fanfiction about the foundation of Rome...

[moldypoff]

No cuz wouldn’t it be so funny if 049 was handed a ‘sick’ patient and finds that they have no trace of the pestilence in them but researchers keep insisting that the patient is sick.

Eventually he gets pissed and that’s when they tell him that the patient has depression.

He tells them that ailments to the mind aren’t his specialty but they keep pushing him to whip up some sort of cure.

So, he requests a bunch of things, dried lavender flowers, water, oils, pots and a portable stove, sugar, etc. and he goes into full TLC mode.

First day goes by and people are like, “okay, basic mental remedies, at some point he’ll rip them open and fix the unbalanced humors in patient, right?” WRONG.

He spends time reading and talking to patient for the next few days and slowly they come out of their shell, picking up old/new hobbies that 049 introduced to them to. It’d be even cooler if patient gets better in record time than if they’d just gone to a weekly therapy session.

Anywho, patient gets taken away by foundation to do a psyche evaluation and turns out their depression is cured. (THE ONE THING 049 HAS ACTUALLY CURED)

Afterward, even if patient was formerly a researcher or a d-class, I think it wouldn’t matter in the end because they’d still be amnesticized.

Anyways, 049 has all this crap in his cell and it looks like he actually lives there now but it’s missing the person that made his prison feel like a home.