i need you to elaborate more on easterman and his girlfailure reagent 👀👀
EEEEEEE ABSOLUTELY-
Continuation of this :)
Easterman lies to himself at first, telling himself it’s perfectly normal for a shepherd to focus on the weaker members of his flock. That of course he’s taken a special interest in you, you clearly have potential and just need a little more motivation than the others.
He tries to soften the blow of your failures, sending you little gifts and treats after particularly hard trials- maybe even giving you certain privileges usually reserved for his better students, more of your favorite drugs or extra downtime.
He’ll deny having any sort of soft spot for you if anyone dares to bring it up - and whoever said something is absolutely being demoted if not outright “fired”. But at some point he catches himself rewatching footage of your latest trial, chuckling affectionately at the way you sprinted through three different psychosis mines while running from an ex pop-
And normally he would be disgusted at seeing that level of incompetence, but he finds it almost… cute when you do it. The realization that he actually does feel differently about you hits him hard-
He immediately tries to distance himself, stopping any special treatment and trying not to pay attention to you at all, but it only lasts a few weeks at most. Then he does a complete 180, abandoning any veneer of professionalism and fully leaning into whatever weird fascination he has with you. He’s not one to hold himself back when he wants something, and with his position there isn’t really anyone who can do anything about it.
I mean who’s going to stop him from reviving you over and over and over no matter how badly you mess up ? And who’s going to tell him “no” when he asks that you be brought up to his office afterwards so he can kiss it better ??
posted this on archive of our own initially as it is my preferred platform, but i know that outlast is super popular on tumblr so i’m coming back to post this. i want to write for outlast more, so feel free to request something if you like :) enjoy!
In a way he resents you for it— for holding this kind of power over him. He should be able to keep his head above water, to not falter before anyone. Especially not someone so much lower than him, as you are. He curses you when he’s finished with you and he grinds himself out even more— and that’s why he takes it out on you at all, really— because of the upset he feels with himself. It’s easy to direct towards you when he’s in the position of power.
But he crawls back to this every time without fail. It’s happened multiple times, you’re not sure how, but it has. Easterman kneels before you, knees almost pained from being pressed up against the hard floor, his two arms looped around your backside as he holds his face to your stomach— his breathing his unsteady and there’s a shake to his shoulders, and his head shifts to rest closer to your womb than just your abdomen. His skull practically nuzzles into the area, and you can feel how tense he is when you place your hands tentatively, softly, on his shoulders. His response is nearly immediate; he doesn’t dare pull back, but he does mutter in a gruff tone, “Stop. Don’t touch me.”
You retract your hands fast. “I’m sorry, Dr. Easterman.” you apologize, hands hanging at your sides again, tone somewhat despondent. That makes the doctor grunt, but he brushes it off, cheek staying on your front and savouring the warmth. The room falls silent as he just embraces you, keeps himself close, as if he’s trying to physically meld his body with your own. Like he’s trying to enter in, take shelter inside of you, be one with you. You feel his mouth pull open against your clothed womb, and one of his hands that was flattened against your backside comes to squeeze at your hip like he’s looking for some grace.
“I—“ he stutters. You hardly hear him stutter. He takes a sharp breath, and keeps his eyes downcast, not meeting your gaze as he makes his next request, “I’ve changed my mind. Touch me. My head. You can hold my head.” his next demand, rather. You can means that you will.
You will do what he says, just what he has been conditioning you for. He could truly force you to do this if he wanted to, he’s more than capable of it, and he’s not above it. In a second, he could have doctors in here injecting you or gassing you with whatever drug he sees fit to put your mind at ease and make you malleable. But he hasn’t done that. You’re entirely conscious of your actions, which is almost staggering, knowing you’re above Dr. Easterman in this moment. He called on you for this, it isn’t as if you could have backed away, turned it down, but he’s trusted you enough to be you.
When your hands lift again, they tentatively place against his head. The hair pattered scarcer by the day on his skull feels thin under your fingers as you card the ends through it. You’ve not even been touching him for a second before he’s moaning again, and you can feel him try to get closer to you again, an impossible task, except for his bottom half, which moves forward, and he rests his crotch over the heel of your shoe.
“Yes, yes—“ he heaves. You know that he’s hard. If you couldn’t feel it against you, you’d be able to hear it in his tone. “You’ve been so responsive to the therapy. The shining example of what Murkoff wants, of what I want. Watching you, it’s…” he sucks in a breath, as your fingernails scratch against what they can find of a scalp on his head, “god, it’s an inspiration. You almost put me to shame. Christ.”
The own drugs lingering in his system make him sing your praises like this. It’s normal for him to shower you with his affection, a father’s love, he would say, but demeaning himself because of you is certainly not something he’d do in his right mind.
“I love you.” he mutters it at first, “You are what I’ve been missing… my research, this facility… I’ve needed you, you’re…” with a deep inhale, he pulls you in by your hips, “you are perfection.” you can’t see it from where you’re looking, but he’s left saliva soaked into the fabric of your garbs. He drools, subconsciously. Later on, he’ll curse himself for being so messy. When he gets up, clarity will hit him. He will hate himself for slobbering on you like an untrained mutt when his brain works again.
You shift on your feet and dig your heel into his clothed cock without realizing. Easterman chases the feeling. “Again.” he commands you, and he bucks against your foot. You don’t realize what he means at first. “Again!” he nearly snaps at you and your heart jumps. You catch on with his movements, and pet him more as you twist your ankle, pushing at his erection. The grown man shivers, a palm making its way to your backside and groping you, like he’s using it to ground himself. He needs the leverage. Something can’t help but stir in the pit of your stomach at the touch.
Just softly, you scratch behind his ear, and his head rolls back because of it. You’re greeted with his face for the first time since just before his kneecaps hit the floor with a thud mere minutes ago. His eyes are screwed shut and crow’s feet wrinkle around the edges of them, his lips are slick and you could swear they quiver, his typical pale skin is tinted pink from the situation. He’s fucked you before but you’ve never seen him like this. You feel a wave of something flood over you. You can’t tell if it’s only exhilaration from the dominance you have over the doctor in the moment or if it’s plain, guilty, against your better judgment arousal. Perhaps a mix of both.
“Tell me I’m helping you. Tell me I’m your everything.” he instructs, only after making eye contact for a moment. You see a flash of needing to regain control in his eyes, that’s why he commands you. You swallow thickly and cradle him as you speak. “You’re helping me. You’re my everything.”
He shakes his head, and scoffs, and rucks his crotch against you harder, like that wasn’t enough and he needs more. He has to compensate for the arousal you just took from him with the simplicity of your words. “That’s not enough. Just repetition, just the bare minimum, you wouldn’t— tell me like you mean it. Make me believe you. Make me believe the truth.” he scolds, frustration evident.
“I do mean it.” you start, “I’m— I— I’m a better person because of the therapy. Because of you. You’re making me better. I’m better every day because you’re guiding me.” you’re just rambling, saying what you think he wants to hear, but it’s working. His whole body shakes. He nods like he’s urging you to continue. You swear his teeth nip at the cloth of your shirt, like he’s teething and he means to sink his teeth into you. “I do everything for you. You, you’re… you’re all I have, I wouldn’t ask for anything different, I just, I…” you trail off and you can feel how his hips stutter, but his moans increase, low and almost contained, like he doesn’t want to admit to them.
“I love you, Dr. Easterman—“ “— no— don’t— you wouldn’t call me that, to you, I—“ “Hendrick. I love you, Hendrick.” it might not be the safest bet to jump the gun but you do. His first name. You’re not sure you’ve even said it out loud before. You wager he’d feel it was a disrespect. But this time, when it rolls off of your tongue, he nearly cries. You figured it was what he wanted to hear, needed to hear in order to get off, from the strain in his voice. You bring him into your embrace, fostering him in your solitude, and you repeat it again. “Hendrick…”
“More. More.” he’s close, you can hear it. You laud him with more pretty words. “Before you, I had no purpose, you…” he ruts and he ruts and he ruts, “you give me meaning. Everything, it’s because of you, it’s for you… you—“ his sinewy fingers find the back of your thigh, grasping at the plush of it, forehead against your womb, “because of you, I’m reborn—“
“Fuck— yes, reborn— I wish you— I wish I—“ he finished with a heavy moan, a string of curses, and heaving and panting. He’s become a shell of a man at your feet as he keeps trying to hump against the material of your shoe. His eyes are wired closed as his orgasm crushes over him, but when they open as he’s coming down, he can see a darker spot on the seat of his pants from his cum. You rock him through it. You hush him with more nurturing words that he hardly computes. His hands stroke at your sides as he’s hit by the aftershocks.
They roam upwards and push at your breast just momentarily. He feels their fullness and huffs. He sounds relieved. Finally satisfied after being so needy.
Easterman comes back down to the real world. He feels wrong. He looks at the seed staining his pants and his face begins to twist into something sour. With his face still downcast, you can’t see it, all you feel is him still shivering. You assume he’s not fully finished. You open your mouth to speak and placate him again. “Hendrick—“
“Stop. Holy mother, stop.” he says the words with vitriol. He stands. His eyes roll over you. Your wrinkled clothing and how he’s disheveled you. He’s disgusted. “Get out. Go back to the Sleep Room.”
You can’t just go yourself. You have to be brought back, escorted. You want to tell him that as he just stands there fuming, and waits for you to leave without realizing. But you don’t dare to correct him either. “Cretin, I told you, get out—“ only then does he realize his mistake when your eyes flicker to the phone atop his desk, and he presses a button harshly with a grunt, connecting him to the workers outside.
“Come fetch her. Get her out of here.” he’s holding eye contact with you in a glare, “She’s ready for her next session. Prepare the trial.”
⋆ dr. easterman x reader - he's really pathetic! and also calls you his lamb!! ⋆
word count : 703 ⋆₊˚⊹♡
The doctor was off the deep end. Everyone knew it. Whispers among the faculty, among the reagents, eventually reached you. A fun little game of telephone. Hence, why you're in his office. The head of a very much spiraling man with balding hair in your lap, nursing a cigarette to his lips like it did less harm than good.
“I can't believe it.” he says, shadows hiding his face in the dimly lit room. Various awards hang at an angle, lining the walls in achievement. They look almost mockingly down at Easterman, who presses his cigarette-holding hand more towards his lips to soothe his frayed nerves.
“All these people threatening to leave me.” He sounds hurt, almost. Almost. Easterman shakes his head, strands of hair falling past his hairline. “After all I've..” He pauses to exhale. The smoke swirls from his lips. The cherry glows a bright red. “Done.” He finishes, feeling slightly more loose now with nicotine running freely through his system. Along with his own personal cocktail of drugs that he had taken in the morning.
“Those ungrateful little..” He shakes his head again, deciding not to say what's exactly on his mind.
Easterman gets up, fixing then tugging down a couple inches off his tie to breathe. He leans back against his desk. The backs of his tweed slacks press comfortably into its carefully carved edge. “You won't leave me, right?” he asks. “I know you won't.” He cuts you off with a laugh that goes on a little too long than you wanted it to.
He's slipping more and more each day.
You were one of the very few reasons Easterman had left for him to stay sane. It was a dangerous game, playing along with him. Whatever antics Easterman had at the time, you went along. Happily. Willingly. God's favorite lamb yet to be slaughtered, as he so lovingly put it.
“Come here, lamb.” He says, tired. With a small gesture, he summons you forward, and you obey. Just like he taught you. It's enough to make him smile, really. Leather creaks under your weight as you push off the couch. You already know where this is going.
It was almost routine.
Easterman's arms wrap around your form. He presses you to his chest and takes a deep inhale of your scent. It does more to calm his nerves than the long forgotten cigarette on his table. He pauses for a beat of silence. Then he starts to speak. That charismatic, all-knowing, all-forgiving tone hitting your ears in real time, not through a radio.
“Do you know what makes a relationship, my dear? The foundations of someone like me being with someone like you?” Easterman looks down at you, harsh shadows casting his deep-set eyes in darkness. “A relationship, my dear,” he continues, his voice bordering on affectionate as he hooks a knuckle under your chin. “A relationship is more than just gentle touches like this. More than just frilly words and silly little rhymes to show how much you love me.”
He leans closer, his eyes boring into yours with unnerving intensity. “A relationship requires discipline, my dear. Discipline. Guidance. Unwavering loyalty to the strong,” his grip on your chin tightens. Easterman's thumb digs into your skin, weighing down your lower lip. “Firm hand that guides you in the right direction.” He smiles too widely as the gears in your head start to turn. The wrinkles from countless tired nights in the office seem worth it with the way you looked up at him. It's enough to make him proud, almost. But it took more than just a look in your eye to satisfy a man like him.
You'd be so lost without him. Without all the work he put in to help you. You'd probably lose your head if it wasn't screwed so tightly between your shoulders. You need him as much as he needs you.
Easterman holds you closer, his other hand on the small of your back.
“Can you trust me, lamb? Trust me to guide you?”
He already knows the answer, but he just wants to hear you say it. Straight from the horse's mouth. It just makes it that the much sweeter.
Long time no see... im literally so happy ur into Outlast omg I need ur opinions on drugs easterman x childish!daddy issues reader i need him in ways I cant explain
🗝
hey, 🗝! good to see you again. ᡣ𐭩
on the docket 𖹭 yapping about romantic and platonic yan. easterman. then I go into how some of the yan. prime assets would be as caregivers for an age regresser darling.
Easterman sees his darling as someone who is easier to manipulate than the rest. They were made for him. He's convinced not only them of it, but himself. You need a daddy. He's a daddy. A daddy that is more than willing to help guide his sweet summer child to maturity.
That doesn't mean he's perfect. Well, he is. At least that's what he tells his darling. If we're being honest though, daddy has a lot of mental health issues and struggles not to make rash decisions that could kill everyone in the Sinyala facility. So his office is off-limits most of the time.
You do your work and be good for him while he works.
He tells you not to trust anyone in the facility. So many of them are liars that are jealous of daddy and his accomplishments. They're jealous of his darling because they've gained his affection. So all these people will do is lie to them. Right? Only Easterman knows the truth.
To a certain extent he's correct. There are plenty of people in the facility that petition and work toward his downfall. He's pretty much doing it himself so he really doesn't need any help.
𐔌 . — . 𐦯
In a platonic age-regress darling way, yandere Easterman would actually be a pretty good caregiver. His darling would remind him of how vulnerable he was as a child. It inspires hatred inside him that he tries to squash. When that doesn't work he becomes overwhelmingly anxious when you aren't under his control. Can't you see? He needs to protect you! The world is so scary. You can't leave the facility. You can't leave his side.
Just sit and color.
No, you can't explore Sinyala. No, you can't interact with the reagents. No, you aren't allowed to have a job with a salary and expectations. No, you definitely cannot know what he's working on.
He'll go so far as to traumatize you (although you won't know it's him who is doing it) so that you'll regress for longer periods of time. You're his baby. He can't have you grow up yet. He can't let those bad memories come back and hurt you.
So maybe he's let you stumble into one of the trial environments before. (Only when they're being cleaned! Letting you around unrestrained grunts or busy Prime Assets? Hell no.) Maybe he's drugged you once or twice, made you run screaming and crying to him because you're having a bad trip. Maybe just maybe some locked doors were unlocked so you could see what horrors are being committed in the facility.
Nothing that puts you in actual danger. Just enough simulated terror to keep you regressed.
𐔌 . — . 𐦯
Many of the Prime Assets would make good caregivers as well.
Gooseberry and Liliya almost have a natural, otherworldly ability for it.
Gooseberry tones down her eccentric performances because they scare you. She's just overjoyed that she has a baby that she gets to protect and take care of. She may smother you but you get everything you want and need. As long as you listen to her you'll never have to worry again.
Liliya is quiet when it counts and speaks in a way that lulls you into a sense of security. She has the uncanny ability to recognize when you're regressing and will appear behind you, carrying you off to somewhere where she can take care of you. She's excellent at keeping you entertained and likes when you play with her armor. She just has to baby proof it first.
And if anyone threatens you? Both mommas will have a blood bath.
Gooseberry is better at getting you to somewhere safe before she loses it. She understands what it's like to see a dark side of someone you love. Liliya has only ever known pain and strife. She thinks—knows—you'll realize that her blade will never go against your skin. How could you be scared of her when she treats you more tenderly than one of the auction's gems?
The Kress twins are in the middle because they were never allowed to be children. They've spent so much time isolated and in the lab that forming healthy relationships isn't something they understand. They'd learn though. They'd consider it a gift to get to take care of you. If you're able to get past them being incestuous then they're awkward but loving parents, if not a bit suffocating in their affection.
Coyle and Franco would be the worst. Coyle because he doesn't know how to get and stay in touch with his emotions or properly care for children. Franco because his need to act like a child also ties into his sexual nature. So he'd have a hard time separating the two.
the pusher x reader, part 1, explicit sexual content, 18+, non-con, horrorporn, non-consensual drug use
"Knock knock...~"
The Pusher ambles forth a few more steps into the darkness past where you hide. Stopping heavy on his better leg, though in truth they're both horribly maimed; metal splints running up the length of each gnarled shin, crosswires piercing bone, screwed to the marrow.
Terror makes you still, freezes your hands and knees to the floor. But even hidden as you are beneath a desk, even quiet, his ambled footfalls slow. Sluggishly lopsided, until he's no longer moving at all.
You can hear your racing heart and pray he doesn't hear it too. And the squeeze of his filthy fingers around his pressure sprayer’s trigger, the hiss of gas it spews, makes you jump so hard you nearly hit your head on the surface above you.
He teases the trigger a few more times. Eager. Anxious.
"Did somebody make a house call...?"
Through his mask, his breathing slows to an uneven, sniffing sort of rasp, and you swear you hear him sucking down air like an emaciated beast straining to catch a scent; a scent of you. Wheezing for it.
"I know you're in here, silly rabbit..."
Your blood freezes, and you hear his Cheshire grin behind his mask, hear him limp another step forward.
"Don't be shy, bunny-rabbit... I'm a doctor. I'm here to help."
He hobbles forth another step, directionless, though closer to where you hide.
"Why are you hiding, baby?" he croons into the dark. His cadence the raspy, valve-inflected husk of a man whose throat's been chemically stripped raw over and over. Turning to and fro in the shadows, metal hinges creaking as the glassy eyeholes of his mask turn across one bared, blood-greased shoulder in his search for you. "I'm here to make it all feel better."
The fluid in the tank on his back swirls with his uneven steps. And tensely, you shift forward just enough to steal a glance around the top of the desk, careful not to flatten your palms against any of the broken glass littering the old, linoleum flooring; wide-eyed at the glowing silhouette of the opened doorway both you and the Pusher stumbled in from.
It's your only exit. The floor a minefield of shattered bottles that threaten to give away even your smallest of steps.
Sneaking out doesn't seem like an option, but you can't let him find you. Maybe you should make a run for it.
You'd have to be faster than him, which you think you could manage with his weakened legs. His whole body looks weak, not that you've ever had the displeasure of meeting him up close, always bolting the second you so much as hear him. But you can sure as fuck see him now, as you steal a glimpse through your night vision just before its battery blinks and dries out.
Pale and emaciated, he wears not much more than a gas mask and a splash resistant apron, both it and him smothered in handprints and slashes of blood. Tumors mar his gnarled skin, split open like he's rotting from the inside.
"I got bad news, silly rabbit," he synthetically rasps, turning toward one of the several desks littering the room, then to a mannequin with half its face rubbed raw with time. "Your little friends?"
He checks beneath one desk, and then another. Before—as your blood runs cold—he glances near to where you hide.
"They all abandoned you," he says. "Ran off and ditched your sorry ass." His valve-inflected voice drops an octave lower. "Left you all alone. But the party's not over, oh-no-no-no, no, no, no. The party's still on. Your friends just aren't invited."
His hyenic excuse for a laugh scrapes like sandpaper up his throat, its inflections hoarsely manic.
"More fun for us," he muses with what sounds like a stretching grin. "Right? You're a tricky little bitch, but I've seen you around. Seen you running. Seen you hiding. Seen how pretty your skin is. Not like an orchid-like a rose, like a drug, I wanna feel it." He exhales a shuddered thrum. "Oooh, we're gonna have some fucking fun, baby—so stop playing hard to get. Come on out and taste your medicine."
He's silent for a moment, before seeming to stare exactly where you hide. Like he knows you're there. Like he senses your heart.
"You gonna crawl on out or would you like the good doctor to drag you?"
origamiaround
titsay
2087
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
stormborns
germansingergirl
