Discover Top Posts Tagged with #doomguy x self insert

Hello!!! May I request s/o comforting DS after him having a bad nightmare 🥺

(Gender neutral reader)

He never screams when he wakes up. He doesn't lash and convulse. He doesn't wake with tears in his eyes. He always awakens perfectly still. His eyes shoot open wide and he's always completely aware of his surroundings in mere seconds - he's trained himself to be this way.

Move your fingers.

Move your toes.

Feel the gun under your pillow.

Breathe.

Count to ten.

Breathe.

Ignore the still lingering of screams in your ears.

Look down. There is no blood on your hands.

He's dealt with this for over thousands of years, he's got the practice down path that's its basic instinct at this point... still didn't make it any easier. He has to rub his face to wipe off the layer of sweat on him. He can still smell the odor of death that in reality he knew wasn't there, it wafts over him randomly sometimes and its always the worst after waking up.

Going back to sleep is a hopeless endeavor, never works, what he barely manages are blinks of rest before his body jolts him back awake again from the flashes in his mind. Waste of time. He's better getting and suiting up, using his gained awoken hours productively at the end of a shotgun.

ACTION UNAVAILABLE.

He gives the Mission monitor a couple more slaps to the side of the screen before fustratedly tapping away at the touchscreen controls that would bring up demonic invasion status reports, only for the message to keep flashing on the center screen:

ACTION UNAVAILABLE.

"My apologies but the Transporter is ongoing scheduled maintenance." VEGA's voice suddenly rings out through the entercom. "You won't be able to set out for another - 7.3 hours."

He gives it another slap.

ACTION-

Shit.

He feels his whole skin craw, anxious, fists drawn at his sides, teeth gritted in his mouth. Blood lust flickered at him, gnawed at his gut, made his fingers twitch. Killing demons is the one true way to make him feel better, storm of violent ways to end their cruelty, to see to it personally each one never has the chance to hurt somebody innocent as he's seen so many uncountable times before. Standing here makes him feel stuck. Trapped. He could - and should - be out there doing something. Lives being lost while he's just standing here. Unable to do anything.

ACTION UNAVAILABLE.

He feels the urge to punch a hole through the screen but it wouldn't do anything, actually would just make his predicament worse as he'd still be unable to leave and repairs would probably taken even longer, the Fortress' drones and VEGA's systems can only work so fast. But still. He can't help feeling helpless to do anything.

...he just... needed to find something else to do.

His second choice was to go to the Rippertorium to clear his head but was ultimately hit in the face with the fact from VEGA that given the Fortress' current energy capacity and the Transporter requiring a substantial amount of it to update that the lower dwellings of the Fortress have been disconnected - including the Rippertorium and its elevator. The Ai imposing the fact they weren't expecting for him to be awaken during this time maintenance would occur. To be fair, he wasn't either. Still didn't change the desire to bash his head into the nearest wall.

Reading, he tries reading. He can't recall the last time he's just sat down and read a comic book or novel... but as he sits there and stares at the pages, his mind just can't focus on the words, they blend together, disappear, his mind conjures up bloody flashes much more clear than the stories he's trying his best to follow along in his hands.

He sits at the head of the long dining room table, long, made of ancient regal Sentinel stone, couple of various books around him he's tried to look through - he's here and not in his room because he can't even bare being in the same room as his weapons without the urges and desires he can not currently fufill. It gets to a point where its all overwhelming, even for him, then one moment he's sat there with comic in hand and the next he's stood up and the entire table is flipped on its back. His whole chest rocks with panted breath as clarity washes over him, staring down at the scene he's made, millenia old stone upside down and cracked in two. Jesus you ate off that. And he ruined it. Like he ruins everything else. He collapses back into his chair and holds his head in his hands.

"...Flynn?" Your voice, while softly spoken, eventually startles him - makes him slightly tense before slowly easing back, but not by a whole lot.

He doesn't look at you, still holding his head. He supposed the commotion of the dinning table would be loud enough to wake you, another thing he feels bad about, but can't voice. The knot stabs in his throat he can't force himself to answer your call, even when you quietly make your way to his side, practically tiptoeing.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?"

He remains silent. His eyes covered by his hand. But he can feel yours on him and his whole state of being. He can't hide from you, he knows this, and a part of him is... grateful for that - another shameful. He didn't have to say anything, you'd already figured it out but... honesty with you is something very important to him. He doesn't deny his struggles, they're just... difficult to manage, to bring up, to discuss, to expose and be vulnerable. But with you...

He shakes his head. And that's all you need to hear.

You sit on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you cradle his head against your chest so that he can physically feel your each and every breath, and you run your fingers through his hair gently. You provide a calming, soothing air to him, like you being around his mind can just shut up for once and he can actually hear his own thoughts again. He likes it quiet but he doesn't mind you talking about whatever, anything really, he can listen to you as much or as little as you like but it's about you being here right now with him.

"Do you want to come to my room?" You do eventually ask, it makes his tongue dry, nervous he has to think about it but after a long considerate moment he is swayed - gently nodding his head. You slip off his lap and take his hand, tugging him to stand and leading him to your bedroom. He doesn't look at you as you guide him, just following your footsteps while looking towards the floor.

You sit him down on the side of your bed, the mattress heavily dipping with his weight, before walking over to dim the lights in the room a bit - making his eyes relax in a way he hadn't realized the strain he'd put on from squinting. You pad back on over and carefully caress at pieces of his armor, he had put on his suit expecting to go on a mission after all then never really had the strength to take it back off because... what if he suddenly needed it? What if by some miracle the Teleporter kicked back on and he could leap back into action as soon as he could? Unlikely. Very unlikely at this point. So when you lightly tug at the dull green plate to silently offer to help him strip out of it does he finally lament, you take apart one piece at a time except for the helmet that'd been pulled off and sat aside in the dinning hall, completely baring himself to you.

It's not too long after your nuzzled into his side, gently patting along his chest. He looks down at you from the corner of his eye at how you had your eyes shut, not pressuring him to speak at all, just relax. You're not completely asleep yet as he can feel you rub soft, slow, deep circles and other shapes into his skin, massaging him almost that feels really nice. Tracing over his scars and rough patches of calloused warborn skin, he can't help but to lowly hum in approval. He sits there with you until finally you shift away from his side, tucking in and crawling back properly onto your bed to lay down, all while dragging your hand along in order to invite him to lie next to you.

He hesitates. His relaxed state of mind crumbling fast to rush back to his previous anxieties. He can't sleep. He can't. He'll close his eyes and feel bloody fur in his hands. He'll close his eyes and smell familiar stench of rot and brimstone. He'll close his eyes and hear so many tortured souls begging for it to end. He'll close his eyes and see the faces he couldn't save - the faceless he can't save right now sitting here and-

"Flynn?" You are back to properly sitting up, looking concernedly at him, hand gently placed on top of his. Clarity washes back over him.

...

He strips. Slowly strips out of the dark thin layered bodysuit to where he is naked and most vulnerable as he then makes his spot crawling under the blankets with you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and brings you close, burying his face in your neck. Knowing, feeling, you were there eases him back. He could fall asleep, wake right back up in blood red flashes, but you would still be there alive, breathing, ready to chase his darkened thoughts away and he's eternally grateful for that. You make it easier for him to close his eyes again, loosing in the relaxation of your warmth. There's possibly a good chance you can even change the nature of his dreams, wipe the blood and death from them and turn them... warm and loving. Your love makes him feel protected, a feeling he doesn't get to experience often fighting to save others the way he does but you make him feel safe, truly comfortable.

Millions upon millions of lives are lost each day to demonic invasions, a very cruel fact. But there's one person he knows he can and will save; its you - he makes damn sure of it. Hell will face total utter annihilating extinction if otherwise, he promises that.

Doom Masterlist (click)

#doomguy x self insert

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#doomguy x self insert