"Wesker": highly intelligent and extremely dangerous; eyes cold as an Arctic lake; dramatic appearance; skilled shooter and martial artist; sensual & predatory mastermind; blond supervillain; forever alone and happy with that; wears leather bodysuit; don't you understand that humanity is on its last breath, mr. Bond? ; betrays his allies; makes you shiver with fear and arousal; opens his mouth only for selfrighteous laughter, detailed monologue or furious growls; hums if he impressed by something; surrounded by idiots.
"Albert": your autistic husband; arranges dishes and towels by color; remembers all what you told him since the first day you met; every day is scheduled; pedant with the softest lips on Earth; can't wear some fabric; loves touching you, but hate being touched; his toothpaste is flavorless; his right for sunglasses and gloves shall be protected by law; his voice may seem monotonous but you always see the nuances; smug bastard with the dryest sense of humor; restless workaholic; loves oreo cookies but not the cream; surrounded by idiots.
When the young, pretty Reagent Coyle once eyed appears in his trial, he makes it his mission to show who the only person in here worth going back to is.
pairing: leland coyle x fem!reagent!reader
warnings/tags: smut .ᐟ pussy inspection .ᐟ unprotected piv .ᐟ slapping .ᐟ choking .ᐟ uses of 'sugar', 'sweetheart', 'whore', 'honey' and coyle referring to himself as 'daddy' .ᐟ he's a bit mean. ᐟ leland coyle is his own warning .ᐟ it's a coyle oneshot what can i say
fandom: outlast trials
word count: 3.1k
author’s note: saw somebody on tiktok say that coyle fans are going to have a field day with the new voice lines and all, sadly they were right... wrote this instead of working on a request so i feel a bit bad but i wanted to get this out of my system... originally planned for this to be a short 600 or so word drabble but it wouldnt be a freaknation oneshot if it wasn't long...not proofread!! anyways enjoy!! xoxo
masterlist. ⋆˚꩜｡ profile navigation.
There she is. His favourite Reagent.
Pickin' his trial for the second time. Third time's the charm as the saying goes, and he just can't wait for that day to come.
He's seen Reagents come and go, bloodied and battered and broken, but when you stepped into his trial... Oh, he could feel his pants strain just a bit more around his crotch. Pretty enough to be on the runway, but somehow still stuck in this hellhole. He was starting to think it was purely for his entertainment and just that only, a gracious gift from Easterman for his outstanding work.
He knew he just had to have you the moment his eyes set on your grime-soaked form down a dimly lit hall. Too bad he had to let you go when you completed the trial and left in that damned shuttle before his glove-wrapped hands could grip onto your throat.
During that trial, he's had you in his grip, multiple times actually, you just happened to fight your way out of it every. single. time.
The way your eyes glinted with fear when you glanced up at his form towering over you, your weak fingers curling around his wrist, oh, how he missed the thrill of it! And now, here you were, shaking in your boots as you tried to make sense of the maze-like prison system. He was right on your tail, don't you worry about that.
So far so good, you thought to yourself as you pulled another makeshift lever, the mechanism groaning loudly as it activated. That sound alone was enough to give away your location to a specific sergeant lurking nearby.
"Don't string me along, honey!"
Sure enough, the crackling sound of electricity filled the hall, lights flickering as he approached. Fuck. You mentally curse yourself, the mechanism, Coyle, Easterman, and everything and everybody inbetween as you sprint out of the room you were in, heading right to the nearest hiding spot for cover.
But Coyle's fast. Faster than some of the other Prime Assets you've encountered.
Unfortunately for you, he turns the corner just in time to see you pull the storage closet's door on yourself, a smug grin creeping onto his face. His steps deliberately slow down, not to fool you --- because his lightning rod was still hella loud ---, but to play along a little. If you want to play predator and prey, then so be it, he's into that shit anyway.
"Sneaked off just when I was getting kinda worked up... You a little shy, ain't you? Go 'n hide if that's what turns you on!"
He saunters right where you were peeking out from behind the rigid metal, sighing theatrically as he walks right past.
A wave of relief washes over you at the sight, thanking the lords above for letting you avert him just this once. Perhaps too early to thank anybody?
Coyle suddenly turns back, slamming the closet door open, his gloved hand immediately gripping your shirt, and before you could even process what was happening, he plunged his lightning rod right into your stomach.
You feel your legs give in, buckling under you as a hiss leaves your lips. Coyle on the other hand, is seething with a weird mix of pride and joy. You, in front of him, barely breathing, incapacitated.
"Looks like christmas came early this year," he mutters, grinning, as he grips your collar, tugging at it harshly once as he began to drag your body behind himself, your clothes and hair seeping in the blood and dirt that soaked the floor. Your eyelids grew heavy, a pained whimper escaping you before the world turned dark.
When you came to, the setting had changed. It was still the prison, sure, but it looked like a medical room of sorts, if you weren't wrong. You feel as Coyle lets go of your collar, now having tossed you onto the awfully ramshackle reclining chair. He takes a slow step back, his eyes scanning your form as if he was inspecting his masterpiece.
"Somebody's awake," he murmurs, a lit cigarette flashing in orange between his lips, the embers and ash falling to the ground. "Y'know how long I've been waiting for this? You're one slippery whore, I'll give you that, gettin' away from me like that."
He leisurely saunters closer, his hands resting on his belt.
"You been missin' for some weeks now, doin' fuck knows what with them others. Them other Assets good? Fancy them?"
No, you did not. One was worse than the other, all leaving you with wounds that you honestly have no idea how you survived, spiced with five heart attacks per minute. In short, no.
Coyle's line of patience was a thin one. Seeing that you didn't plan on answering, he just let out a sigh, clicking his tounge as he took a step closer to where you sprawled, your body feeling heavy and like you could barely move it.
"I know you met 'em. And you know I need you to speak when spoken to. Last chance, honey," he groans, gloved hands pushing your thighs apart as he took his stance right between your legs. "Been down and dirty with any of 'em?"
Your brows furrow at his question. Knowning him, it wasn't all that surprising, assuming from the obscenities he kept shouting your way when pursuing you before. Still, why's he so up in this business? And why the fuck would he assume that you slept with any of the Assets?
Swallowing hard, you shake your head sideways.
"Use your words, sugar," he warns, tone dangerously low.
"I... haven't, I swear," you press out. The corner of Coyle's mouth curls into a proud smirk. He's glad to see you starting to play by his rules.
"Swear?"
You thought this was getting ridiculous. The question, the way he stared down at you, the way you felt your cunt pulse at how close he was to it. You were scard, you hated the man, so why the hell were you aroused by this shit?
Coyle's still as smug and awful as ever. Now with how weak you are, you really are all his. His to play with, his to mistreat. It's like having a doll, all for himself. Property of Leland Coyle. And hell, none of the other Prime Assets can do anything about it.
When you nod along, saying you totally swear (which is the truth, may I add), he just grins even harder. Why wouldn't he, when everything is going according to plan?
"Y'know, all you Reagents do is fuck me over... Ya think I'd trust a word that comes outta ya pretty lips?"
Fair point. But if he won't listen, then what can he—
Your breath hitches as he lowers himself, squatting down, his fingers slowly hooking into your pants. What the—
"Better if I check it myself, ain't I right sweetheart?"
Your eyes widened, and before you could even think of a response, he firmly pulled your dirt-soaked pants right to your ankles. You felt as your breathing became increasingly ragged, watching as his eyes trailed over your exposed skin, landing on your cunt, now only your panties standing between you two. Sure enough, a shit-eating smirk appears on his face as he notices the soaked spot.
"Perverted whore..." he mutters under his breath as he runs his thumb along your clothed cunt. Your muscles contract under his touch, the cold air brushing on your skin. "Let daddy check if you've been a good girl, 'right?"
Without wasting another moment, he hooks his fingers into your underwear, pulling it just as low as he did with your pants.
His eyes set on your already, embarassingly wet cunt, a dark glint appearing in his eyes behind those glasses.
"There… Ya see what a good girl you can be when you want to?" he whispered, blowing the choking cigarette smoke straight into your face.
His fingers touched your skin with rough, methodical movements as he examined your cunt inch by inch, thumb sliding over the soft skin first. He was in no rush. He sized you up like a trophy — or a valuable yet neglected possession — that he had finally managed to lock away within his own realm.
The tip of his index and thumb slid between your folds, not deep, just enough to pull you apart for a better view. He leaned closer, as if he really knew what he was doing, and it wasn't just a cruel game of his.
"You’re clean… or at least it seems that way so far," he muttered with satisfaction, applying firm, heavy pressure with his thumb as he examined the pulsating, damp spot. "But ya know as well as I do that I can’t trust a single word you say. Reagents all lie to save their own dirty asses."
Your stifled breathing and the involuntary twitches of your body betrayed the tension raging within you, yet the complete lack of resistance gave the man exactly the illusion he desired.
"See? It’s not that hard to do as you’re told, is it sweetheart?" he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction and a perverse sense of pride. Finally, he dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it slowly, almost theatrically under the heel of his boot. "Seems like ya really didn't go near those filthy bitches… You remained mine. My little doll."
His heavy breath — reeking of tobacco smoke and sweat — washed over your face. His hand paused for a moment but didn't pull away as it pressed heavily and possessively against your pubic bone, while his other hand began to slowly stroke your waist and then your hips, as if ritually marking his property once and for all.
He slowly drew his fingers away from your parted folds but kept his hand on your inner thigh, pressing heavily against your skin. He slowly straightened up, his gaze continuing to sweep over your trembling, stripped body.
"You're clean… just as you said," he murmured, his voice a blend of satisfaction and menace. He slowly reached for his waist, adjusting his heavy belt and gear, never once taking his eyes off you. "Now that we’ve cleared things up and you’ve learned the rules, it’s time to decide what happens to you next."
The fear and vulnerability within you were slowly permeated by a disconcerting thrill. No matter how hard you tried to suppress the feeling, your body reacted involuntarily to Coyle’s presence and his rough touch.
So, you didn't move. Coyle sensed the shift immediately. He wasn't a fool. When he noticed your body no longer tensing in terror but instead yielding to his gloved hand, the corner of his mouth curled even higher into a satisfied smirk.
"Well, look at that… You're starting to understand your place, ain't you?" he whispered, his voice vibrating deep and raspy over the metal chair.
He slowly pressed closer, his frame almost completely blocking out the light. His fingers — which until now had merely been exploring — now settled upon your inner thigh with far greater confidence and a sense of possession, their tips digging deep into your soft skin.
He relished the fact that you weren't fighting back, that the prey who had once fled so wildly was now quietly enduring, with a racing pulse, what was to come, even, in her own way, anticipating it.
Coyle slowly reached for his own belt, never once tearing his gaze away from your glistening cunt.
Your quiet surrender spoke volumes. You didn't move, didn't protest, you simply watched every single movement of Leland Coyle with wide eyes and bated breath.
"Just like that… Exactly how I like it," he murmured, his voice almost purring with suppressed satisfaction. He wasted no time. One hand still pressed firmly against your inner thigh while the other unfastened his heavy police belt.
The metal buckle gave way with a click, and the gear slid aside with a soft clatter. Coyle devoured the sight — your vulnerability and the way the wetness between your legs betrayed your illicit arousal.
Slowly, almost theatrically, he knelt onto the chair, positioning himself right between your parted legs. His heavy, uniformed body loomed over you, shutting out the outside world and the room's chill air. His scent enveloped you completely.
"You’re mine now, sugar. And no one's going to save you from me… though I see you don’t really want them to," he whispered right against your lips, while his rough, gloved hand slid slowly up your stomach toward your throat, ready to chain you to him.
You sought the warmth of his body, the weight of him pressing you against the metal, and that dirty advance was the final link Coyle needed.
When he felt your hips rise ever so slightly, as if inviting him in, a satisfied, almost animalistic growl tore from his throat. Behind his glasses, his eyes blazed with triumph.
"Oh, you little pervert…" he groaned as his gloved fingers tightened slightly around your throat. Not enough to choke you, but just enough to make you feel his power. "You’re panting for me like a starvin' puppy. Well, here. You’re gonna get it."
He didn't wait any longer. He forced your thighs even wider apart with his own knees, pinning you in place, while his free hand moved decisively to his trousers to free himself.
The sharp sound of the metal zipper echoed through the sterile medical room, and the next moment, you felt the throbbing reality of him pressing directly against your exposed, damp cunt.
Coyle paused for a moment at the entry, savoring the instant as every inch of your body tensed and trembled beneath him, caught between ecstasy and fear. His suffocating closeness and the grip he held on your throat completely shut out the outside world.
"Look at me, sweetheart. I want ya to see who ya belong to," he commanded, slowly thrusting his hips forward.
Your trembling gaze locked directly onto the pair of eyes behind his glasses, exactly as the sergeant demanded. By now, Coyle’s face was contorted with raw lust and the intoxication of victory.
He wanted to see the moment in your eyes when you finally broke, when your sinful desire consumed you completely. He kept you waiting no longer.
Once certain you wouldn't look away for even a second, he thrust his hips forward in one decisive and ruthless motion, forcing his way deep inside you.
At the sudden tension, your body involuntarily tensed against the chair. A stifled, sharp scream was forced from your throat, only to be instantly silenced by his gloved hand upon your neck. Coyle drove deep, reaching the very core of you.
"Oh, fuck… you’re tight, sweetheart, tight as a prison cell door," he rasped, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as his body bore down heavily on yours.
For a moment, he remained motionless deep inside you, savoring your tightness and the way your body struggled breathlessly to adjust to his size. His fingers tightened slightly around your throat, a reminder that even your breath was his to grant or withhold.
He saw the tears, the dilated pupils, and that perverse surrender that made this moment entirely his. Then, slowly but ruthlessly, he drove in the first heavy thrust.
With every heavy thrust Coyle delivered, merciless and confident, stifled whimpers escaped your throat. Your hands rose instinctively, digging your fingers into his shoulders and clutching his uniform in a desperate grip.
That reaction drove Coyle wild. The fact that you not only endured his roughness but judging by your sounds and the way your fingers clung to him, clearly craved it, fully unleashed the predator within him.
"That’s it… make some noise for me, honey... Lemme hear how much you like it," he rasped into your ear as his rhythm grew faster and more demanding.
Coyle held nothing back. With every movement, he sought to make you forget the outside world — Easterman, the other Prime Assets — leaving only him to exist for you.
The pressure on your throat and the heat surging within you made the world blur before your eyes as the climax loomed ever closer.
Coyle jerked your body with increasing intensity, almost like a wild beast, as he reached the peak of his own pleasure.
As waves of pleasure and pain washed over your body, you dug your fingernails even deeper into his shoulders. Overwhelmed, you turned your head aside, breaking eye contact to stare into the dark corner as you struggled to catch your breath.
Coyle noticed the lapse in attention instantly, and his reaction was immediate.
"Don't go shy on me now, didn't say you could look away, sugar!" he snarled angrily.
His hand whipped from your throat to your face with lightning speed, snapping your head back toward him with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow made your head reel and your skin burn instantly from the pain, yet the shock and humiliation only stoked the sinful thrill rising within you.
Before you could even recover, his gloved fingers clamped roughly around your throat and chin, locking your head in a vice-like grip so that your wide, tear-filled eyes were forced to meet his triumphant gaze.
"You look at me… You keep your eyes on me the whole time 'til I’m done with you," he commanded hoarsely, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Fuck... Saw you that day, and knew you were put in this shithole f' me... Divine intervention, they call it."
Your body, trembling violently and racked by intense spasms, surrendered to the explosive orgasm. Your muscles clamped involuntarily around Coyle’s cock.
That overwhelming tension instantly surged through the man as well. A hoarse, almost animalistic roar tore from Coyle’s throat. His body tensed, and his gloved fingers dug hard into your throat one last time as, with a final, deepest thrust, he fully spent himself inside you. Hot, pulsating waves flooded your core, while the sergeant’s heavy, sweat-slicked body collapsed onto you, coming to rest motionless in the chair.
For long seconds, only your ragged breathing broke the silence. Coyle slowly, laboriously lifted his head. His eyes still gleamed darkly behind his glasses, but the manic rage had given way to triumph.
The corner of his mouth curled once more into that proud smirk. After all, he had achieved everything he wanted.
"See, sugar…" he panted, slowly withdrawing from you, letting the cold air touch your damp skin again. "That's what happens when you're a good girl to daddy."
I just saw my favorite Coyle author agree to writing an Eddie dabble... Im the person on their knees BEGGING rn for Eddie losing his absolute mind over finding someone AFAB in the facility 🧎(PLEASEPLEASEPLEEEAAASE)
tags & content: SUGGESTIVE, implied future rape/non-con, talks of forced pregnancy, non-con kissing, talks of forced marriage, size difference, restraints, minor injuries, afab reader
“You’ll let me love you, won’t you, darling?”
The manic desperation in his voice makes your blood run icy cold. Panic claws hard at your chest, but no matter how much you jerk against your restraints, you won’t budge. Eddie’s hands are strong, far too strong, strong enough that the pressure pinning your hips against the wooden table hurts. You don’t think he’s aware, not with the way he’s nuzzling his nose into the soft flesh of your stomach, his eyes ablaze with manic affection.
Your legs are trapped thoroughly beneath him, the broad size of him making it impossible to buck him off. You knew the moment he got his hands on you it was over. The blood caked at your temple tickles the crease of your eye, an inconvenient reminder of the fuss you’d tried to put up when he discovered you.
Eddie had been livid one moment, unable to comprehend why you would want to run away from him. The next, he’d kissed your temple, cooing over you, trailing the blood with frantic kisses down your neck and all the way to your exposed stomach. Apologising and nuzzling his nose into any bit of flesh he could. His breath, slightly laboured from wrestling you into your restraints, puffed against your skin.
“Oh, darling,” he moans, a delirious smile on his face as he presses his cheek against your stomach, laying his head flat there. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you? How lucky you are that no other vile sluts got their hands on you first?”
Your breath hitches, wrists throbbing from the biting rope. “Please, stop—”
“Shh, shh,” Eddie whispers, slow and deliberate, lifting his head from your stomach to lean up over you. You whimper, try to shrink back into the stiff wood beneath you, but you’re completely trapped. Your chin jerks in some attempt to avoid his hand, but it cups your cheek and forces your teary eyed gaze back to him. When you turn it the other way, his thumb hooks under your jaw and forcefully drags your head back to him. “You wouldn’t hide that beautiful face from me, would you? I didn’t mean to frighten you, darling. I’m awfully sorry.”
You see his eyes, shadowed by the darkness, flicker down to your lips. You feel his grip on your face twitch, tightening, and you try to press your lips together in a futile attempt to save yourself from what you know is coming. It doesn’t work, and his mouth seizes yours brutally enough to make you gasp.
It’s hardly a kiss. It completely steals the breath from your lungs, the pressure bruising and uncomfortable. His licks your teeth and your flesh with a ragged, barely contained groan, his hips twitching slightly between your legs. You feel him mutter something against your lips, like he’s scolding himself, reluctantly prying his mouth from yours and easing his hips back.
“I only want to love you,” Eddie purrs, trailing hungry kisses back to your stomach, dragging his tongue across the flesh above your panty line. His hand presses over your stomach, large and warm, slowly massaging the space there with obsessive vigour. You shiver, swallowing down a whimper. “To plant my seed—right here. Yes, soft and warm for our children.”
You eyes snap wide, shaking your head frantically. “No, no.”
Eddie’s eyes flicker to you for a moment, before he sighs against your flesh and kisses where your womb would be. “Oh, darling. I know it’s scary. But I’ll love you. I’ll look after you, as my beautiful, beautiful wife. Don’t you worry.”
liked this? please consider supporting me on ko-fi so i can continue writing!
im the person they keep adding gratuitous & unnecessary violence & sex in movies for. im running every studio executive ragged asking for even more cock & gore in cinema they simply cant keep up
me on the first day of being coyle's attack dog calmly explaining to the reagent that i have to maul them and tear open their belly or else he's not gonna let me do anal with him after the trial
my word, this is getting ridiculous with how much i've ended up writing for eddie, but hey! when this writer really likes a fictional man he gets dissected and fucked silly for as many words as i can wring out of my free time! 👍
NSFW | Word Count: 1,722 | Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader
contains PWP, penetration, bondage (the dick slicer setup makes a guest star appearance), praise kink, hints at codependency & stockholm syndrome, breeding kink, cockwarming, working title for this one was 'the post-nut clarity from hell'
🎼: x (don't tell anyone outside of this little circle i made him a playlist, lol- 🫣)
You balled your hands into fists as they hung above your head, not sure where to look: the spot where the two of you were connecting or in that unnerving stare he was giving you.
“Don’t you like this…?” He asked, gentle with his voice despite all forces around you being hard wood or itchy rope. It was as though he was afraid if he spoke an octave higher the atmosphere itself would shatter into some sort of uncontrollable chaos, its flat pressure now above your head as you minded your own breathing. Regardless, he was knocking into your core to a point where your teeth clenched, a burn in your cunt’s muscles making you turn inside out in an enjoyment of such a pain. Eyes rolling back at the sudden angle he hit following the question, you yelped as the need for volume control began driving you insane.
“Y-yes, I do-! Ah-”
“Say it,” His hand suddenly grabbed the two beams your arms hung against for support, fierce insistence in the way his jaw squared. Your wrists flexed against the restraints, and you gasped at the call, arching your back as you found the earnest truth outside of the lines of just how ugly this situation had started.
“I like it.” You almost let drool slip from your mouth along with your words, and he seemed to bloom at that: another frantic whimper tumbled from his mouth as, for the first time, he broke eye contact to look down at your convulsions. It pricked your gall, and you corrected yourself with an irrational growl, “I love it.”
He cut you off with another groan, pulling all the way out before ramming into you again. One hand went down to hold your hips still, and it made your train of thought start to spiral with another jerk in nonverbal reply, the might held in your hands falling limp. The call and answer between the two of you was being drawn out, pressure sliding down to your thighs as they clenched the best they could around him.
You were defying your own reservations that were at this point screaming for you to stop feeding into this monster in front of you. Its tug of war was only spurring you on, and what came next even threw him for a loop. “Take the rope off.” You suddenly asked, “Please, I want to touch you.”
He took your jaw in the hand that had still been holding himself up, and with his shadow crawling up your body in a loom cast over glassy eyes he huffed, “Promise me you won’t become unruly.” A squeeze of your hip with his other hand made your breath hitch again, and you swallowed hard against the support of his forearm along the side of your throat.
“I promise.” You inhaled harshly, then spoke with a whine, “I promise, Eddie.”
There was a beat, and you saw the fight between reason to believe you’d lie drown in this momentary desire before he lunged upwards and yanked at the restraints with an elegant tug. When they freed, you placed both palms against his chest. Regardless of the gentle touch, he leaned back in straightened posture, observing as you meagerly clawed against the uneven sewing work under your fingertips. Your head fell back against the wood of the table, and you whimpered, “Thank you, thank you...”
An invisible restriction of his own seemed to snap, leaning forward again to holding your head between both hands as he pressed your entire body against the wooden table with his. “Now, where did I find a girl as good as you?” He asked, and before there could be room for an answer he began pumping into you again with straining noise tumbling from a jaw he was still clenching, unable to keep up with whatever constraints his body was under. Age, minor injuries he was harboring, the environment he had been wallowing in… You weren’t sure.
It wasn’t important. Only the moment where you were willing to agree with almost anything you'd hear. Loving him, being loved by him... It was the kind of solace that kept you blind to all else if it meant more pleasure through where he was wedged in between your thighs. You relished the warm, clammy fabric against your cheeks as the hot feeling rushed back up your spine, dancing along the wood underneath your bodies through sweat and every shifting movement that nearly took you off the table itself. You smiled against your precipice and continued speaking to anyone who would listen. “God, yes. Yes.”
“There-“ He was winding himself trying to do it all but still spoke; regardless of there being a delirium present in his gaze now and an inability to match a pace he was feeling in his gut. Still, he was smiling as he talked, “Had to be something this all- Went towards in the end. My waiting, my love's-” He strained as he kept inching the table across the floor from the steady force of each buck from his hips. You kept your lungs caved as to not interrupt him with your own noises: Breathless whines and squeaks left your half-open mouth as your stare kept on the ceiling. He went on, “And to think it’d be you?”
You keened, “Is it?”
“It is. It is, darling.” He assured you, hand now holding flat against your cheek for him to lean in and catch your mouth with his, a straight shot that had your focus snap back to him. Clashing murmurs in each other’s mouths as his hips stuttered against you, merely touching for the sake of feeling skin on skin rather than the continued movements that had been working towards a mindless itch. You cocked your head in order to brush your nose on his cheekbone, both of your tongues trying to idle by each other in an exchange of eagerness.
While it disarmed you further, making you slump against the table, it only made his shoulders come up in another tense of his entire body. You pulled away and found the words along with your breath. You needed the finish line as much as he did, eyes bored into the side of his temple.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to fill me up?” You asked, and he leaned in to speak in your ear with an eager nod. “Yes, and I will.”
“Am I going to be your bride?”
“Yes. You are going to be so beautiful.” He shivered against you at the word, these mere titles a vice for him. You smiled, then pulled your loose arms around his shoulders and pleaded softly, “Mother of your children?”
He responded by cradling your shoulders, more so to hold you in place as he suddenly found that victory stride. All the exertions were exhausting him, but you caught that sudden glaze in his eyes again as he gritted, “Oh, my darling. All I ever wanted, my beautiful girl-” It was on the verge of a sob as he jostled you a final time, the entire table screeching against the dust and blood-addled floor and your volume breaking through the niceties you had followed up until now.
The grunts were slipping into something far more exposed than you had heard from him up until this point, only broken further by your own moaning. “My groom, my husband, my…my…” You threw your head back, knocking against the wood as you set your palms on top of his shaking shoulders and announced, “Oh God, I’m gonna…?” You almost couldn’t believe it rushing up, a wave ready to crash onto the beach of this disaster of a display. “I’m gonna cum.”
“Yes, yes, God-“ He was using the name now, too – because in this rose-colored haze, he didn’t know your name. That could be fixed afterwards, a detail discarded to the floor along with the clothes you had been wearing as you left this baseless chemistry that you hadn’t been able to deny since the moment you were in the same room as him take over.
You were practically howling out your release, tremoring against his body followed by a sticky heat between your legs. He was almost sobbing with each bump up against you, pained in the release as he rode his own orgasm with a hand on top of your head; not sure whether to pull at the roots of your hair or merely entwine in a loose grip that showed his presence and even a little control regardless of how hard he was going to hold you.
He owned you now, you were aware even as you came down from your delirium. He was asking questions, kissing against the side of your cheek and head he was resting by, refusing to untangle his fingers from your hair. At every lilt in his voice that sounded like question, you merely hummed at with half-open eyes and a twitching mouth. Some came through to you, and those you gave your noises the best words you could.
“You’re going to be my wife?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m going to keep you safe. Safer than you’ve ever felt, I promise.”
“Yeah.”
“And we’re going to be a family. Just us. It's all we’ll ever need now.” A hand pressed into your lower stomach, his cock still inside your walls despite having gone flaccid. The warmth unable to escape, you responded with the air getting pushed from you in his touch.
“You’re going to give me everything I’ve ever wanted, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Your words were becoming clearer as your eyes opened fully, registering what you were agreeing to. Despite the love trying to justify itself now, find its foundation after it had attempted to get fucked into you, and smiling at him when your eyes caught him for a beat, the focus trailed down between your legs to a dormant circular blade.
Your attention was fixated as he continued to kiss your face, trailing down your neck and chest and hoping it served as distraction once he saw where your eyes had gone. The lucidity returning to something less agreeable. Less swayable by the mere notion brought on by this charmed courting as your smile became harder to give him.
i haven't actually written anything pertaining to being coyle's little k9 unit despite constantly barking (🥁) about the concept as a whole whenever it's brought up... but if there's a time to change that, it's right now.
NSFW | Word Count: 1,515 | Leland Coyle x GN Ex-Pop!Reader *
* could be the Warden, could be its own vague category; left it up to whatever fits the bill for reader in this scenario ;)
contains CANON TYPICAL/DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE & COYLE NASTINESS, objectification, oral, power dynamic, daddy kink (with a dash of 'sir' to taste), cowgirl position/lap sitting, penetration, degradation kink, mild pain play & sadomaso
🎼: x
“Been hearin’ bitches in the walls…” He spoke in a slow drawl unlike the usual raving maniac he was. Even an electrocuted madman high off his own supply had to have down time after it was inevitably pried from his half-beaten and half-dead hands.
Sitting in a chair of the prison yard’s mess hall, you were his one living companion besides stalking ex-pop in the shadows. ‘Companion’ was something that helped you sleep at night. Curled up under tables or in rubble until he came stalking back around, whistling like he was calling out a prized hunting dog. You pride yourself on that, because you liked to think you were one. Again, it all helped you sleep at this point.
You rubbed your sore cheekbone against his inner knee, whining in sympathy as you looked up through your eyelashes at him. He shook his head at you, and went on, “Half the time, can’t even tell what’s real anymore. Gotta stay sharp, gotta stay live.” You nodded at that, continuing to seek comfort against the fabric of his pants. It reeked of blood and ash, but you had grown rather fond of it. If you weren’t afraid of losing a finger or even the whole hand by doing it, you would hold his calf to your face with your other hand, trying to get even closer in a rare moment when he wasn’t using it to drive into your body or head at full force.
Alas, it stayed on the ground. Permission was needed for everything, including the mild affection you both sought from and gave to him. When you gave up life outside of this yard, outside of this haze they called the trials, and gave up the outside connection through the sleep room when Murkoff turned you loose. You weren’t a priority for the therapy anymore, but more a fodder for the Prime Asset that lasted longer than anyone would anticipate.
Who you were before this would even be surprised by your own resilience, but that’s what dogs were. They were loyal to a fault. Resilient to a cold and unkind end.
“What? You wanna lil’ treat after fuckin’ my day up now?” He then asked with a sneer. You stopped cuddling, leaning back on your haunches and tipping your chin down as refusal. He watched you for a beat, the baton leaning against the chair by his hip a thought and eliciting a natural flinch when you saw it move from your peripheral.
He snickered at that, “Hate you for some days, sad sack. …But to stay mad at that pretty little mouth? Plain dumb, if y’ask me. If that’s dumb, not usin’ it is even more sideways.” His hands going to his belt to undo it with a quick lick of leather and jingle of metal made you perk up, and you nearly burst at the seam to rock forward again. Hands back on the floor, your head was returned between his knees.
“Got nothin’ better to be doin’, now come on.” His cock fell out and onto your face in a thick slap, already springing forth with arousal as your mouth watered. Watching your face, he goaded, “There’s a good dog. Know you can’t stay away from the glove. Nobody can.”
Still, you looked up at him with a half-open mouth. You were taught not to touch him, lick him unless he gave the word. He waited until you were panting, nearly shaking from anticipation like you might when clambering after your hunt, those dirty reagents that thwarted your Sheriff day in and out.
“G’on.” He spoke it in a single syllable, gloved hand suddenly wrapping around the back of your head. You met him the rest of the way, gladly taking his length into your mouth without so much as a puppy lick and a moan against his shaft. He grit his teeth at the initial contact, “There [he/she is / it goes].” His fingers began extending along the back of your head as you moved on your own. You knew his pace, what he would otherwise demand through corporal punishment until it was Pavlov'd into you at the sound of electricity cracking.
“Teach the others to do half of what you can, and I’d be in hog heaven.” He muttered, exhaling as his chin tipped back down to watch you gag around him. Your eyes looked up for a pause before rolling back, tongue slobbering down to his tip as you pulled back just to lurch forward once more. Your palms cautiously began rested at his knees, but his ungloved hand lead them to rest right on his hips. He knew you worked best that way, a few tricks of his own in his arsenal when it came to handling you.
You pulled off, wretching for air and squeezing your legs together to give your neglected [cock/cunt] a lick of friction, rubbing your chest up against his exposed crotch and making another ghastly noise of pleasure. He lifted his hips slightly to rub against you, the feeling making him groan something foul.
“Get your ass up here,” He suddenly commanded, bracing his lap with both hands and whistling down at you. You shot to stand, straddling him with caution until he grabbed your hips to settle against his own, inserting himself with more curses under his breath. “Tight little fuck, atta [boy/girl/do it]… Good dog.”
You settled as you sniffed against his face, inhaling the rare angle and contact for as much as he tolerated before a hand was on your shoulder. Get to work, his tight expression caught you for a loop before you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to move. Slow at first, but a hard slap to your thigh made you pick up the pace to the point of pain in a matter of flinching. Stretching you faster than you were prepared for, you took the pang in your gut and strain with a taut throat and eyes that sought a pit within scuffed aviators for an answer.
It came in the form of a question: “Who’s a good dog?”
“…Is it me?” You spoke back, hoarse and quickly trailed off into whimpers at the recognition that you could still talk after the hours, long nights of not letting yourself in order to fill this role. Dog, fuck pig, sleeve. Your utterance made him laugh through another shudder, flexing his thighs against your ass as you continued to ride the length of his cock, as though it was a push to keep going.
“Damn right.” A possessive snarl on his face made you squeeze his shoulders as he put a hand around the small of your back, “My dog, good enough to be a man’s property. Locked up somewhere secure...If the damn whitecoats would let a man do so." He blew air through his cheeks as his head lolled to one side, the brim of his hat bumping the bridge of your nose as you continued to milk him with eager hops, pressing up with the balls of your feet and making the chair creak with each ministration.
“There you go now. Show Daddy how it’s done.” Surprisingly tender, you gasped again. “Yes, sir.” You whined, eyes trained to his face and seeing every tic of nerves and curl of his lips, elated at the satisfaction coming through as a ricketing groan from his marred throat and out his mutilated mouth. “Gonna b-be a good dog.”
“My good fuckin’ dog.” He reminded you, the hand trailing up your back and grasping the back of your neck again. He was nearly holding you straight as a board as you kept wriggling against him. He lifted his head and barked at you through sputtering breaths, “No one else dare looksee at the things you do for me, an’ only me! No ugly fuckin’ son of a bitch-“ He sank his nails in through the glove, making you shiver as you struggled to keep your pace – but it was made up to see the fear in your wide eyes as he finished, “Is takin’ this one away from me.”
“What would you do to them, Coyle?” You asked, still warbly in intonation. His jaw slack, he pondered that. “S’pose I’d stick the nightstick where the sun don’t shine, run that motor til there was nothin’ left but sparks-“ A giggle stifled his train of thought, melting into another lusting sigh, “Sparks and innards 'round us, and then I'd send you in to clean the mess up."
Your tongue lolled as it licked over your bottom lip, eyes downcast at where he was lodged inside of you and clenching at the thought.
“Sick mutt, that get you goin’?” He then asked with a jut of his neck forward, and when you only whined at him again, he gave that ominous grin of his. The one that came out in a flex of what remained of his tendons in the bubbly skin from the tainted side of his face.
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