SCP x Fem! Reader

Another day in the Foundation. Another day of walking these sterile halls, the white fluorescent lights above casting an artificial glow over the metal flooring. It was all routine by now—the cold air, the murmurs of personnel, the lingering stares. None of it was new. You had spent years navigating this facility, earning respect—or, at the very least, recognition.

You weren't just any scientist. You were the only one who could enter any SCP containment cell and return unharmed, a feat that set you apart from your colleagues. Some called it a gift. Others whispered about what it really meant.

And those whispers had become more frequent.

As you walked toward SCP-035's containment chamber, a pair of researchers up ahead caught your name on their tongues. They weren't exactly trying to be discreet.

You stopped, turning toward them with a raised brow. "How may I help you? Because if you're going to say my name, you must want something."

One of them, a junior researcher, visibly tensed. "N-nothing, Doctor Y/N," he stammered, eyes flickering to his colleague.

Nothing? You doubted that. The rumors had been persistent these past few months—something about the higher-ups debating whether to classify you as an SCP yourself. Safe class, of course. A small mercy.

But the very thought made your stomach twist.

Still, you didn't press the issue. You had work to do.

Arriving at SCP-035's containment cell, you pulled out your Level 4 clearance card, swiped it, and stepped inside as the security door hissed open.

The Mask greeted you with a slow, knowing smile.

"Ah, Doctor Y/N. Lovely to see you again, my dear."

Its voice was like silk, smooth and honeyed with an undertone of amusement. SCPs always seemed pleased to see you—it was part of what unnerved the rest of the staff.

"I'm doing quite well. How about yourself?" you asked, pulling up a seat in front of its glass enclosure.

"Oh, it could be better, but seeing your beautiful face has brightened up this gloomy atmosphere." It chuckled, tilting slightly within its case, black ichor pooling beneath it.

"Always the charmer, aren't you?" You smirked, crossing your arms.

The conversation carried on, your usual dance of witty exchanges and veiled manipulations. SCP-035 was dangerous—intelligent, persuasive, and wholly aware of its effect on others. But it never seemed to try its usual mind games on you.

That, in itself, was suspicious.

You had just begun probing deeper into its mood when the door behind you slid open.

You turned, irritation flashing across your face. A scientist—one who had no business being here—stood in the doorway, eyes glassy, shoulders stiff.

"Excuse me," you said sharply. "You can't be in here right now."

A flicker of movement caught your eye.

SCP-035 had tensed. The black ooze around its case had begun to spread, its posture shifting ever so slightly.

The Mask was agitated.

You snapped your gaze back to the intruder. "You need to leave. Now."

But he didn't move.

Cursing under your breath, you shot up from your seat, grabbed the scientist by the arm, and shoved him out of the room, slamming the door behind you. The thick metal hissed shut.

The moment he was clear of the chamber, his body jolted, like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. His eyes refocused.

"Doctor Y/N?" he muttered, dazed. "What am I doing here?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. "Nothing important," you said, voice steady. "Head back to your original duties."

He hesitated, then nodded, shuffling away.

You turned back to the chamber door. Black ooze had begun to seep through the cracks in the walls, slow and menacing.

That had been too close.

Shaking it off, you headed to your office to store your recorder. But just as you placed it down, the facility's sirens blared to life.

ALERT. CONTAINMENT BREACH. EXIT THE FACILITY IN A CALM AND ORDERLY FASHION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

The automated voice repeated the warning over and over, its monotone calmness somehow more terrifying than if it had been screaming.

Your pulse quickened.

You immediately exited the office, moving swiftly toward the nearest evacuation route. Your boots echoed against the metal floor as the red emergency lights flickered along the walls. Other personnel were already rushing past, some armed, others barely holding themselves together.

Halfway to the exit, something grabbed you.

A powerful force yanked you backward into the shadows of an unlit corridor. You barely had time to react before a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp.

The grip around your waist was ironclad, firm but controlled. Whoever—whatever—had taken hold of you wasn't just dragging you away. It was calculated. Intentional.

Your breath hitched as you felt something cold press against your throat. A whisper, barely above the sound of the sirens, ghosted against your ear.

"I've been looking for you, Doctor."