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makeucrawl · 10 days ago

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Antidote

pairing: skinner man x fem!reader

rating: nsfw (18+)

summary: You're careful to retain your sanity whenever you can, always reaching for an inhaler the moment you become afflicted - but when a run of bad luck leaves you in the clutches of psychosis, you discover that someone has been waiting for you.

tags: dubious consent (impaired), drugs/intoxication (psychosis gas), tentacles, restraint, penetrative sex, slight body horror(?), reagent!reader, afab/female reader. crack fic

All it took was one slip up.

In your haste to evade the countless bloodthirsty adversaries stalking the halls, you'd crashed into a bundle of tin cans inconveniently strung directly across your path - and just as your current run of diabolical luck would dictate, of course someone had heard it.

With a wheeze of compressed gas and the rhythmic thump of his lolloping gait, your wrist is shackled by the bony fingers of a Pusher before you can even react. He yanks you closer unceremoniously, dispensing his makeshift medicine with giddy delight.

"Oh, baby, if I was going where you're going..."

And with that, you're firmly in the clutches of full blown psychosis.

As he makes his scuttling retreat, you're left alone in the darkened hallway. Your pulse labours in your ears, senses overwhelmed by the whispers and wails in your adulterated mind. Each ragged breath demands a conscious effort, your eyes uselessly attempting to blink away the manifesting hallucinations.

There he is. The Skinner Man.

He doesn't begin to approach you like usual, however - you catch only a fleeting glimpse before he simply vanishes. The spectre moves too fast for your bleary eyes to follow, and the reflexive whip of your head leaves your stomach churning.

Antidote. You're sure you saw one nearby.

You force a sluggish step, and then another - like fighting against the suck of quicksand, inertia made human. All too aware of the urgency of your condition, you strain to remember where you saw that inhaler. Left or right. Make a decision.

Losing a little sanity never really hurt anybody. Hallucinations can be unpleasant, sure, but a trick of the somewhat tilted mind can't actually harm you.

Psychosis, however... well, it doesn't tend to end well.

As your vision warps, dark lines spreading across the walls like inky capillaries, you press forward. Only a few feet in front of you spawns a long crimson tentacle, breaching the weathered floorboards and gently swaying. Your head throbs.

Pressing up against peeling wallpaper, you sidestep the tendril cautiously. It pulses as it taunts you, and you hold your laboured breaths as you pass it. Find that damn antidote.

Turning a corner leaves you disorientated, blinking slowly and deliberately when you're met with that ghoulish visage once again. The Skinner Man stares, one smoldering amber eye burning into you as he manifests a little closer than before.

...broken...lamb...perfect...

You hear it in your head, the distorted voice rattling around your skull as you press on once more, averting your gruesomely distorted gaze in the continued search for your little green salvation.

He's not real. Don't look at him.

But is he? Because he certainly feels real. The whispers infiltrating your mind feel real too. His image stutters as he slowly begins an approach this time, and you throw your body weight against the nearest door in an effort to evade him.

Where is that fucking antidote? You always carry one on you, unwilling to spend a second longer in psychosis than is ever absolutely necessary, but after a pretty hairy run in with a Berserker you'd decided to forgo your usual supplies in favour of medicinal relief. That's what you get for being sloppy.

...an angel...

The voice in your head is louder this time, and in an instant he's manifesting in the room with you, drawing closer as you stumble backwards. Your breaths only grow more shaky, rattling in your chest as you try to stave off the ever-growing nausea. Screams and gasps continue to echo in your mind as you reach out to brace yourself against the nearest wall, growing unstable on your staggering feet.

...you have...to suffer...

As your vision distorts further, hazy green and sprawling black, you whimper despairingly. You need to get away from him, because it won't be long until you start to wither. His presence alone is enough to harm you if you don't keep yourself at a distance, and it only took one instance for you to learn that the hard way.

...you...deserve...punishment...

The words are eviscerating, the same mantras so often replaying in your fractured mind - but they just feel so real, not simply hallucinations like usual. It's like he's speaking directly to you.

"Go away," you whimper, shaking your head as you shield your face with trembling hands - like a frightened child foolish enough to believe the gesture could somehow make it all stop. "Get out of my head."

...only...they...believe that...

The words catch you off guard and you force yourself to look back at the ghoul, lowering your hands cautiously to reveal the chilling figure before you. He's frozen in place as if awaiting a response, and though your lips part, you can't speak - you simply continue to draw shaky shallow breaths as your warping vision shudders around you.

...no...antidote...no chemicals...

"What did you say?"

Are you trying to converse with him? Have you really gone off the deep end that badly?

...stay...stay with...me...

He's not real. Just keep breathing.

...always...leave...lamb...

"Get out of my head!" You repeat a little louder, attempting to steady your voice as your aching chest squeezes in protest. "You're not real! You're just a hallucination, you're not real."

...feel...me...

A tentacle emerges from the floor just like before, and you recoil when it whips towards you, snaking around your waist before you can even blink. You yelp in shock, sluggish limbs uselessly slapping at the crimson appendage as it encircles your torso.

...I'm here...feel me...

It doesn't make sense. Absent is the typical agony that accompanies a misstep around one of these wicked tendrils, the sharp vicious strike replaced with a touch that's commanding and firm, unyielding yet strangely tender.

You blink slowly, watching in awe as the limb pulses against your body, twitching and throbbing as it tightens its grip just enough to anchor you in place. He steps closer, bony expression unreadable as you meet his gaze.

"I don't understand," you say softly, uncertainly, as you strain to focus on him through the sickly haze of your psychosis. "They said-"

...they lie...to you...

Your breath catches in your throat.

...to keep you...from me...

You're so quick to reach for an antidote the moment you lose a little sanity, but it always makes you sick. You've wondered which is truly worse.

...I love...you...

As the words rattle in your head, you feel another tentacle snaking around your ankle. You reflexively recoil, but the tendril around your waist keeps you steady as the other secures itself around your leg.

...let yourself...be loved...

If he's not hurting you, then perhaps there's merit in hearing him out. If you've finally shattered what was left of your mind, then what else have you truly got to lose? Another tentacle slithers up your back and down your arm, curling around one of your wrists with a gentle massaging pulse, and you don't even try to fight it.

No, it's just a hallucination - despite your impairment, you're sure you still have enough insight to recognise that. None of this is real, even if it feels like it. It's the sheer extent of your psychosis, you tell yourself - simply a case of your unmedicated mind indulging in its crooked stimuli.

You're not crazy, you're just a little sick.

Your free hand isn't left unattended for long as another claret limb encircles your other wrist, rich with heat and an uncanny sense of security. It should make you panic, leave you fighting for freedom, but you don't. There's something about that voice in your head, so commanding and certain, that leaves you unable to resist.

The Skinner Man closes the gap between you, his expressionless face mere inches from your own. You've never allowed yourself the opportunity to get so close to the phantom in the past, far too afraid of the vulnerability of insanity to remain in its clutches for too long - and now you find yourself awestruck by his haunting visage. Sharp arcs of undulating bone are met by voids of impossible darkness, something reminiscent of humanity but distinctly ethereal. He reaches a cadaverous hand up to caress your cheek, and it's not cold or brittle like you expect. There's a strange kind of warmth to it, something bewitching and inviting as talon-like nails curl around the back of your head.

...submit...consent...agree...

Just what are you agreeing to? You can't align your thoughts, so frayed and fragmented as you try to come to terms with what you're seeing. Your wrists remain firmly in place, and you're only reminded of it when you try to reach out and touch him. It makes your pulse quicken, a fly unwittingly captured in the spider's web.

...let me...show you...love...

So transfixed on the spectre before you, you hadn't noticed the tentacle that's been trailing up your thigh. It presses against you through the fabric of your pants, sliding against your clothed crotch with firm rhythmic strokes, and you find yourself nodding dumbly. His skeletal face is mere inches from your own as more tendrils eagerly pull the garment down over the curve of your ass, just far enough to allow one of them access to you.

...my...lamb...

The heat of the slithering limb is intense, and when it slips between your thighs and presses against your bare skin you can't help but whine aloud. Its movements are tender but decidedly purposeful, sliding back and forth against your clit and drawing out slick arousal with ease. Your thighs begin to tremble at the stimulation, your weight almost completely supported by the web of tentacles as your body surrenders to their wordless authority. With a shaky sigh, your eyelids flutter closed.

...all...mine...

When the tip of the tentacle teases at your entrance, you're overcome with an almost instinctual need - the echoes of his voice reverberate in your head, and your own distorted gasps replay in your mind when the throbbing tendril presses inside. Your eyes snap open as your mouth hangs agape, breath snatched away by the overwhelming sensation as it eases itself in with gentle careful pushes, as though you're made of glass. Perhaps you are.

His gaze is intense, scorching and unwavering, and though his expression remains frozen by unyielding bone, something about it feels almost reverent. His hands reach up to cup your face again, ensuring your glassy eyes don't stray from him as the pulsing appendage begins to thrust deeper, faster, as if reassured that you won't shatter at its touch.

...been...watching you...waiting...wanting...

The tip of a tentacle strokes at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as the other continues to meticulously caress your insides, eagerly seeking out your pleasure as it works. Another slides under the harness of your ESOP, snaking around the curve of your breast and massaging it firmly.

...an angel...my angel...

Pleasure envelops you as each scarlet limb plays its role in taking you apart. His thumbs stroke the apples of your cheeks, one tenderly swiping away a tear that's trickled from your watering eyes. Your body is tensing up, held fast by the clinging grip of those pulsating restraints, and admidst your arousal you feel a dizzying sense of of horror when he slowly unhinges his jaw. Rows of off-white teeth part as another tentacle snakes in through the base of his skull and out through his jagged maw. Frozen in place, it seeks you out, sliding in between your parted lips without resistance and tenderly exploring your willing mouth. You moan around the intrusion as it glides across your tongue, the taper of the limb forcing your mouth a little wider to accomodate it. You suck, not out of conscious choice but rather a peculiar kind of instinct - it feels right, feels good, and as your body is nurtured towards its release, you finally allow your eyes to drift shut once again.

With the seemingly ceaseless and undivided attention dedicated to your release, your pleasure finally crescendos into a shuddering climax, unfettered and all-consuming as it saturates your senses. Every nerve is alight, each cell flooded with an otherworldly ecstasy, and still muzzled by the tentacle lazily sliding between your lips you find incomprehensible release amongst the endless limbs embracing you.

...I love...you...

The words make you open your eyes as quickly as you can muster, phosphenes dancing like fireflies in your vision as you try to focus on him from beneath hooded lids. Gentle hands silently withdraw from your prickling skin, and as quickly as they manifested the tentacles begin to dissipate, shimmering and dissolving as the stain of psychosis begins to wash away. Your limbs are weak, boneless and trembling as you're released from their grasp, withering and spent as they make their reluctant retreat.

...I'll be waiting...for you...

And with a blink of your bleary eyes, he's gone.

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