Hi all!! I’m Gorey! I’m 17, autistic and still not used to a few features on tumblr so hopefully I’ll be able to figure out how to make a master list “(ノ _ <,, )
This is a 16+ blog as of 2026 (the time I’m writing this) so it would be greatly appreciated if anyone under 16 (age of consent in my country) did not interact!
I do have an Ao3 and Wattpad but I’m gonna focus my fanfics on here more than anything bc those were when I was deep in my TF2 hyper fixation
DNI: Proshippers, Darkshippers, Racists, Pedos, Homophobes, Transphobes, Ableists, anyone under 16, anyone who like defends any of these as well and anyone who justifies the actions of the characters I write about
𑣲⋆｡˚ 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𓂃۶ৎ
I write for the following fandoms!
•Outlast Trials
•Metalocalypse
•TF2 (Team Fortress 2)
•TFC (Team Fortesss Classic)
I’m much more inclined to write for the Outlast Trials but I can write for the other few!
𑣲⋆｡˚ 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𓂃۶ৎ
• Yumeships (including OC x Canon, self insert and reader!)
•Different AU’s
•Headcanons
•NSFW (I write most things but some restrictions apply!)
•Blurbs
•Full fics
•Ships (apart from Otto & Aurora, I’ll write ABOUT them but not in a romantic manner)
•Pretty much anything
𑣲⋆｡˚ 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𓂃۶ৎ
•Incest (should go without saying)
•Age regression (nothing against the community, I just don’t feel the most comfortable writing about it, I’ll add tidbits of it when writing Franco but not much)
•Age play (everything against it, that’s weird)
•Anything non consensual under any circumstance (so no drunk, no drugged, no nothing. No means NO)
•Anything that promotes violence/ crime against anyone, especially certain groups of people like women, people of colour, disabled people (again feels like it goes without saying)
•The weird fetishes like feet, scat, vore, vomit, if you’re looking for it this is the last place you will find it.
•Anything with anyone underage. Get that shit out of here
•If I feel your ask is too weird, I will not write it
Tw: these headcanons may contain themes unsuitable for some, so if any of the following disturb you, read with caution
•SH
•Murder
•Child abuse
•Disrespecting Christianity
•NSFW themes
•Drug use
•CSA
•Manic episodes
Orphanage
•A lot of people have this HC, but I HC she genuinely believes the children in all her trials, but these ones especially, are real
•An extension to this, her Futterman personality knows they’re not real but he believes he’s kind enough to Phyllis by not telling her
•She likes to practice her own sermons in the church, but instead of actually reading from the bible, she just sings and lord have mercy she sings GOOD
•She often hums “baby take a whiff on me” around the orphanage while dumping bags of cokes on the beds for the mannequins
•To add onto this, if she spots a reagent she’s fond of, she’ll imagine them snorting a line off her tits
•She gives each mannequin child a kiss goodnight, and reapplies her lipstick after every one so they all get a big kiss from mother
•But if they’re “bad” (say something she doesn’t like or she catches them praying) she’ll punish them, how? It depends on the crime, it can be from corporal punishment to having their head snapped off
•She cries after every punishment
Funpark
•This is her favourite trial environment, she loves to play the games and suck on caramel apples after drilling the reagents a new orifice
•She can’t stand the sight of her babies getting thrown through that wood chipper, and often needs a new mannequin child to cradle while they tell her pre-recorded lines about killing reagents
“And then I drilled her face in! Are you proud of me, mama? Are you proud?”
“So proud of you, my pretty baby..”
•She also likes to ramble to the bootleg Futterman like he’s one of the girls
•And he listens.
•Sometimes she’ll steal cutouts and pin up posters and pose herself like them because they’re so pretty
Toy factory
•If reagents succeed and she sees the deviant so dirty and rotten and perverse, she’ll go crazier than seeing her kids in the fun park get slaughtered
•TW: SH! This involves her letting Dr Futterman drill along her skin because she feels dirty, hoping maybe the lack of skin will make her feel cleaner
•It’ll also bring back awful memories (I HATE YOU DR FUTTERMAN I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU) and she’ll be out of commission for a day or two
•The toy factory is her least favourite trial environment, she avoids it as much as she can
•She hates listening to the deviant, and half the time wants to help get rid of him because no way her daddy is saying all of this!
•She can understand wanting to look pretty for her, she likes it even! But not like this, not her daddy. She doesn’t want her daddy to look pretty like that for her!
General
•She likes to try feed Dr Futterman but he just spits it out and calls her names
•She sings a lot during her trials, like 70% of the voices in her head are “Sunshine Lollipops and Rainbows” on repeat, she’s truly a whimsical goosey
•She LOVES musicals, her favourites are Little Shop of Horrors, Grease and Cabaret (she misses the point of Cabaret and sticks around for the music mostly)
•Bonus on that, her favourite song from Cabaret is Two Ladies
Domestic / Modern
•She loves watching those 2010 kinder egg videos where they’re themed after like marvel or Disney
•She buys a lot of lingerie but if you ask if she wants to surprise someone, she says she just wants to feel pretty (real) and most of her sets are both in full and are frilly and colourful
•Extension, she would hate if you buy her just one item from a full set, like if you’re buying the bra and panties, get the stockings and garter because she’ll pout and it’s so pitiful you feel awful
•Assuming she’s like a stay at home partner, Dr Futterman would be a little nicer to her, but would always be talking about how it’s nice she’s settled down and just needs to have kids now
•Stress induced menopause
•She’d beg for like a cat or something but you wouldn’t be able to trust her, but you see her with stray cats, being so sweet, and you maybe consider it
•Not the best cook, but a wonderful baker
•Like don’t trust her with pasta and steak or something, but give her a brownie recipe and you’re ascending
•She gives the best hugs, and likes to smother you when you’re hugging
Prime Time
•She likes how Coyle looks, but doesn’t get too close because of the smell
•She would love the warden, and would beg Coyle to meet him, but when she finally does, she just fusses over him like he’s a real dog, kissing his little cheeks and nose and calling him such a pretty boy (which is true, FUCK Coyle, the warden deserves better)
•She sometimes gets lost between insertion gates and once ended up wandering through the whole prison farm for half an hour until scientists noticed, and they only noticed because Coyle found her
•Obviously Franco LOVES her tits, but she sees it as him just needing a cozy pillow, so sometimes between trials, if he comes to her sleep room, she’ll let him use her breasts as pillows
•But when he’s not thirsting over her like she’s the finest piece of ass god has ever made, Franco can often have a good conversation with Gooseberry, sometimes she’ll ramble on about the history of taxidermy but he’s happy to listen
•Phyllis often picks him up and carries him around for a little bit if she hears one of his little “waah’s” as though he’s an actual baby (he loves it, he likes to cry into her shoulder and breathe her in) She smells like caramel, blood, sweat and a warm blanket
•She doesn’t often talk to the twins because Futterman always yells at them, but when she does, she likes to listen to their old person stories (Bonus, she’s the only one that calls them Gammy and Gampy)
•She likes to link her arm in Otto’s to help him walk around if he doesn’t have his saw or cane with him, he just needs another leg to stand on, and Aurora’s isn’t touching the floor.
•She talks a lot more to Aurora, and enjoys walking around their trial environments just talking to her about the trials themselves
•She treats Liliya like a daughter, I’d say, I see a lot of people shipping them but I just can’t see it
•Liliya, to Phyllis, is the emo daughter who’s scaring poor mother half to death with how quiet she is all the time!
•She often talks to the mannequins thinking she’s talking to Liliya
Welcome to my updated Masterlist! Here you will find the links to every single one of my works, organised by genre and character!
This will be regularly updated to keep track of this! My requests are also always open, but that doesn’t mean there’ll be a section for specifically requested fics, so if you would like to find a fic that was requested, look for fics with the ❔ emoji besides it.
One last note! Fics with multiple genres will be organised by the dominant genre, so if a fluff fic has a little angst, it’ll be sorted into the fluff genre. Below the cut is the master list itself and a key to help you all understand what different emojis mean! Have fun and happy reading!!!
The miscellaneous Masterlist! Designed for characters from Amelia or Doris to the Expop and Jäger! These will be a little more reminiscent with my older Masterlist, not as organised, but I promise I’ll get as organised as I can!
The Sinyala staff Masterlist! No fics for anyone at the moment but they’ll be divided amongst different staff members, such as Easterman, Noakes, Miss Barlow and so on!
The Liliya Bogomolova Masterlist! Like Otto and Aurora, there’s no works at the moment, but when there will be, they’ll be identifiable by the banner below!
The Otto and Aurora Kress Masterlist! There’s no current works as of writing this, but that’s obviously subject to change. And they will be identifiable by the banner below!
Basic Summary! This is a 10 chapter long Franco x Reader fic, set pre Murkoff, where the reader has disguised herself as a man to get a job guarding Franco after he lands a target on his back.
This is a Slow Burn fic, and will have separate TW’s for every chapter! And any chapters in red haven’t been released yet.
Chapter two of the Franco x Masc presenting fem Bodyguard reader
Quick catchup, Salvatore hires you to protect Franco after his murders catch the attention of other families, but because he wouldn’t hire a woman, you disguise yourself as a man! I don’t have any art for this chapter so at the end, I’ll show off my general idea of what Reader looks like!
This is chapter 2 of 10, and the entire series will be linked in my master post! Which I’m planning to remake after I post this.
Quick TW! This fic contains the following.
•Hire of prostitution
•Murder
•Abelism
•Mentions of vomit
Chapter two:
.✦ ݁˖ 𝔻𝕠𝕟’𝕔𝕙𝕒 𝕘𝕠 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕕 ⋆˙⟡
A week or so in, and you were already lost. Franco was a nutcase! Laughing and smiling one minute, a gun to your head the next, it was a miracle you were even alive still!
He was convinced it was the money that made you stay, and took every opportunity available to try make you quit. And I mean every opportunity! One time he drank so much to try throw up on you on purpose, not realising how close to a trash can he was.
Regardless, you were getting used to it. He knew how to push your buttons, and push them he did. Insults, constant drinking, more murder, god you were exhausted! You couldn’t even sit down at a bar and order a drink before he was getting into a fight and needed you to drag him out.
And that’s what would be happening tonight too, you just knew it!
You pulled up to the warehouse to pick Franco up, your shift always started around 18:30, when his own ended, and he was weirdly punctual about it, always showing up between 18:30 and 18:35. If he was late, you’d stick your head in, but it was never a long wait.
And bang on, 18:33, he slides into the car, you look up from your hands, having been inspecting your nails before you pull on your gloves, concealing your thin, hairless hands. Thank god he didn’t notice.
“Good evening, Franco.” You started, he always preferred you call him his first name, might as well skip the formalities if he won’t be too formal himself.
“Evening.”
“How’s your day been?”
“My dad doesn’t pay ya to talk to me, y’know.”
You did know, but no matter his answer, he always ended up rambling about his day.
“Of course, where do you wanna go first?”
“Millie’s, we didn’t end up goin’ there last night I don’t think.”
You nod and start driving, you weren’t all that excited about the place he chose, it was one of those undercover brothels with ladies in the back and waitresses in the front.
“God, y’know what pisses me off? There was this fink today, right? Mother-fucker just strolls in here like he owns the place and first thing he says to me, he says “Franco, got a lot on ya mind I see” who the fuck says that?! Oh my god I wanted to blast his ego over the walls and make him lick it up.”
“I can understand, who the hell does he think he is?”
“That’s what I thought! But my dad just had me leave the room so I didn’t blow a fuse on this guy. ‘Parently he was like an accountant for the coke or somethin’.”
“Still, that’s no way to speak to you.”
“I know!” He would continue to rant on and on until you finally found Millie’s, the smell of sex and shame reeked from the door as you parked up on the curb.
Before your seatbelt was off, Franco was in the door, you hurriedly rushed behind him. Sat at the bar he orders himself his vile cocktail, handing the note written recipe to the bartender, his face twisting in disgust as he reads. You order yourself a lemonade with some ice and munch on those shitty bar snacks while Franco scans the room for a lady to take back.
Eventually, the back room opens up, a real beauty walking out. She stood only a little shorter than yourself, black hair to her shoulder blades falling in waves as her heels clacked along the wooden floor boards, her cocktail dress riding up a little as she approached the both of you.
“Hiya, handsome.” Her voice was sugary sweet, warm and melted almost as she sat herself on your knee, turning Franco around on his bar stool, clearly looking for a buck to make.
“What’re two fine studs like you guys doing here all alone?”
You rested your hand on her hip to gently push her towards Franco, whom (naturally) was already starting to work out a price.
She eventually settled on a price and turned to you.
“And what about you, sweetheart? 300?”
“Not for me thanks.” You held your hand up gently, palm forward, a shake of your head selling your words.
She nodded, taking Franco back with her to do god knows what.
You just continue to drink your lemonade, make some small talk with bartenders or whoever would listen. You got the chance to think for a minute.
Here you were. Disguised as a man because the system would never want a woman protecting a man. Your heavy duty bra was a corset on your lungs, but you were still expected to run and shoot. You wondered why you even hid, but then you’d remember your father, the pride on his face and it made it worth it.
You sigh, your breath cold from the beverage in your hand. The stench of alcohol and secrets wafted into your nostrils, your lemonade made you feel clean, sterile. In a house of disease and filth.
You certainly don’t know how long it was you were sitting there, but you knew immediately you had to leave at the sound of a gunshot. And you knew immediately who it came from.
Storming out from the back, Franco didn’t spare you a glance before he was out the door, his haphazardly buttoned clothes bloodied and wrinkled. Your steps behind him fell upon deaf ears as the owner panicked over loosing one of his best women.
The night was biting at you, and the catchup to Franco was more taxxing than anything. A hand on his shoulder was enough to set him off, whipping around and nearly breaking your jaw with the butt of his gun.
“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME! The last thing we are, is friends, you don’t get to touch me!”
You coughed, a molar falling to the floor, looking up at him with a mix of shock and perseverance.
“What the fuck was that?!”
“That bitch was laughin’ at me! She had it comin—“
“No! Why the fuck did you do that?! You can’t be going around running off like that— not when you’ve got so many guys on your ass!”
He was shocked, he thought you’d be angry about him hitting you, angry about him killing the prostitute, but just walking out without you?
“What? The fuck are you talkin’ about?!” You began to rise from the pavement, clutching your bleeding jaw as your figure towered over him.
“Your dad hired me to make sure you aren’t anywhere on your own, if you’re gonna kill a woman and storm out, at least wait for me!”
“Oh please that whore—“
“Woman.”
“…WHORE”
“Come on, give her a little decency, you just shot and killed he-“
“FOR FUCKS SAKE LEMME TALK!”
You fell silent, reluctantly letting him speak.
“That lady had it comin’, cheap skank thought she could laugh at me cause I was takin’ a minute. She wasn’t even that pretty.”
“I thought she was quite charming.” The two of you were walking together now, the car long forgotten as multiple bars fell victim to making that cocktail.
The smell of it was on your tongue, nearly. It was sour, curdled like milk. You hated it, but it was the kind of hate that made you want more.
You watched Franco change that night. A lot. And soon enough, arm over it our shoulder, you two were off back to the car.
“Ya not my friend..” He slurred, his steps clashing with yours. You stay silent, focused wholly on keeping him upright.
“I don’t want you thinkin’ we’re friends cause of this. Fuck you.”
“…”
“…you’re too good to me. I hope my dad finds a reason to fire you so I don’t end up liking you.”
You sigh softly as you load him into the car, patting his shoulder firmly as you shut the door. Sat beside him, driving off, you sit in silence, the only music in the car being the hum of the tires against the road, the drunken babbling beside you left to be white noise.
The warehouse was ever working as you dropped Franco off, one of his dad’s lackeys taking him in. You drove home in silence, your curiosity of what the woman said finally catching up to you. What did she say? You wonder.
Title it pretty self explanatory, no X reader since these are just general HC’s for coyle while yall wait for chapter 2 of Pick Yourself Up
But until then, have some HC’s for Coyle! And like always, my requests are OPEN!
TW: this set of HC’s has mentions of blood, violence, sexual themes and drug usage, reader discretion is advised, and a couple HC’s are a little NSFW
Police Station
•Whenever he patrols the police station, coyle has a bad habit of trying to talk to the mannequins like they’re his colleges, and has even gone as far as to give them all their names
•He can’t whistle, so that’s why he sings instead. If he could, he wouldn’t need to smoke, that’d be all he does wandering around
•Sometimes he likes to pretend the grunts are delinquents so he can arrest them (he lets them go if they’re not combative)
•If he notices the lipstick on any female mannequins scratched, he’ll look for a body and use some blood to replace it
Courthouse
•He often finds himself having conversations with the judge and when they’re over he feels stupid for having such a civil conversation with a woman
•Aside from the judge, the only woman he respects properly is lady justice, and he always tips his hat to her when he passes her statue
•Sometimes he’ll loiter around in the courtroom and pretend he’s court security so that if a reagent wanders by he can say they’re in contempt of court
•He never has a cigarette lit when walking by the judge or lady justice, again out of the massive amount of respect he has for the legal system he so often disappoints
•He likes to write little messages in the black light rooms in blood so they show up for reagents, and they’re never serious. But they’re barely legible so most reagents ignore them
Prison Farm
•Like in the trailer, he likes to let his cattle prod follow along the cell bars behind him as he walks through the cell blocks
•If he’s feeling nice, he’ll toss a bone to the biters around the map, very literally
•He yells slurs at the mannequins who’re posed sexually in the prison farm more than the police station because the prison farm has way more
•Speaking of that, it’s also where he feels both most comfortable and most ashamed of himself
General
•The disease that affected his face is like chemical borne but has a lot of other symptoms on him, like breathing issues, also I think he would get a lot of stomach bugs for some reason
•He really likes mints, not even for the fresh breath, he just loves crushing on mints like they’re teeth.
•Obviously he likes fat men with tattoos but I also think he likes men and women with tramp stamps, especially if they’re themed after him (the warden has a tramp stamp where it’s like handcuffs with a scale hanging off them with the words “Little Justice” across the top)
•Very touch starved but hates being touched, like you don’t touch me, I touch you and if you touch me, it’s because I either demanded you to or I will kill you type mentality
•Subtly feminises his male partners out of shame. If there is a hill I will die on, it is this one. I am a firm believer that Coyle feminises his male partners because of internalised homophobia
•Most bisexual man to exist, undoubtedly, but he has a male preference I’d say
•It’s not just pistachios he likes, they’re just his favourite kind of nuts, he also likes walnuts and salted peanuts, he’s also like a crunch on those mixed nuts you only find in bars, like store bought ones don’t do it for him, they have to be dive bar mixed nuts
•He treats all criminals the same but he treats people who hurt kids in any way like 1000 times worse stemming from his own trauma
Domestic/Modern
•Loves body cam channels (this is a stolen HC, I unfortunately forgot the user but full credits to them for this)
•Talks major shit on pred catching channels but cont stop watching and laughing at them (laughing at the preds)
•Would either live back in Oklahoma to resume his police work or move close to an electrical plant
•Would also like true crime channels, listens to em like podcasts while he does stuff around the house (nothing)
•His house is always clean but you’ll never catch him cleaning. Maybe he just never needs to clean? You’ll see the odd dish or a bit of dust, and the house never smells all that good, but it’s clean at least
•Expanding on that, there’s a cross next to his door, he mostly just nods at it but if he’s having a rough one, he’ll kiss his fingertips and press it to the cross
Prime Time
•He likes Mother Gooseberry the most
•He likes to play into the father role he was given and dances with Mother Gooseberry
•Wants Mother Gooseberry, the Warden and the Snitch to all smother him
•Franco often makes fun of his cigarette belt
•As much as he hates the baby thing, Coyle has a weird urge to just ruffle Franco’s hair
•If he looses sight of a reagent, Coyle smacks Franco upside the head
•Coyle respects both Otto and Aurora but respects Otto more. Finds them both weird though
•He has a much easier time talking to Otto because they both have a history of corruption
•But he’s had a few good conversations with Aurora about science, and it’s just them yapping about electricity and chemicals
•He only really likes Liliya for her respect for religion (at least that’s how he sees it)
I promise, next post will be an introduction to my OC, AND PA HC’s to follow!!! Chapter 2 of Pick Yourself Up is set to release sometime next week I hope, and I’ll get yall some Trial Victim HC’s too
Holy shit. I just played Locksock the warden, and I had to start writing. YOU CAN’T BLAME ME DUDE!
Coyle x Male Warden Reader!
THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS SPOILERS!! And was heavily inspired by MCBushpig’s music! Specifically the 2007 album, “Wank of Death”
While I was playing the trials, I really got to reflect on how I did when writing “I’m your man” and how that compares to the trial itself, and I think I got most things right! I will obviously continue to use my play through of the trials to help me write the PA’s much better, but obviously I can actually do so much.
MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR WARNING!!!!!!!!
This is NOT a fic designed to be enjoyed, and is not intended to romanticise, glorify or justify any sort of abusive relationship! If you relate to or desire ANYTHING under the following TW’s please go seek professional help!
•Heavy smut and angst
•Physical Abuse
•Stockholm Syndrome (my first time writing it tho so please forgive me if I get anything wrong!)
•Sexual abuse (I’m not too sure if it wholly counts because the warden seems willing to the actions being taken against him? But better safe than sorry)
•Manipulation for sexual gain
•Mentions of vomit, piss and spitting on people. This is a gross one
ONE LAST TIME! This is NOT a fic designed to romanticise the actions taken against the Warden in Locksock The Warden, this is designed to be written from the Warden’s perspective on the relationship he has with Coyle! And contains MAJOR spoilers for the trial as of writing this, the day it releases! Proceed with caution and please if you can’t continue, take a break and take care of yourself! There is no shame in what you can and can’t handle 🫶
He was your everything. Your daddy, your god. Your Leland.. he was the loving hand of praise and the punishing palm of justice, and you? You were his warden. His sweetness, his pet pig. You could’ve been a governor, a president! But you didn’t mind. You were Coyle’s personal president, his favourite toy.
He made you crawl over broken glass for his forgiveness, because you would if you were truly sorry. He made you bend over his knee as he spanked you because how else are you going to learn? His threats to kill you if you squealed about your love for him were sweet nothings in your ears as the metal tongue of your scold’s bridle scraped the underside of his cock, a grunt and a mumble above about you having too many teeth, but he didn’t mind the bumpy ride.
He was no stranger to taking your teeth, but that was fine.. anything for your daddy. You’d let him take all your teeth if it meant you could hear “I love you” from those electric lips..
Those three words, those were your gospel. Your rules. Your motivation for being his pretty fat swine. That was all you were good for, yknow. Why else would he choose you?
You felt the taste of him bubble up inside you, he was everything you had, the food you ate, the water you drank. And even if it came up all over him, you’d lick it up again. Anything for him. This was everything perfect, this moment. Maybe he’d give you those pinky promise kisses when you were done, he came first after all. He was priority.
You longed for his hands to be gentle again, to rub you where he made it sore, to maybe kiss his fingertips and place them on the bell of the bridle.
Those moments made none of it matter, he could strike you a thousand times for gagging no more than once, but as long as you heard it.
“You’d make one mighty fine wife..”
Then you’d let him strike you another thousand times.
You’d grown used to the metal, but the bruise from his love in the back of your throat never got old, the numbed ache of that one spot bit and clawed itself into becoming a headache, you hoped maybe your deity above would take pity and make it all better.
But you knew he wouldn’t, your knees screamed from the weeks on cold tiles and hard concrete, your palms stung from the barbed wire left in the mud, but from thighs that burnt from the friction to a stomach that hung lower than your self respect, you knew your place as any good warden should.
There was certainly a level of acknowledgment over your sex, he knew you weren’t the woman he wanted to marry, the fat skank he always wanted. But he would just spit in your eye and call you scum. Sometimes you did it on purpose, but don’t tell him. He’ll stop if he knew you wanted it.
One time you asked if you could call him Leland, just for the smack. You tried it again when he was having an even worse day and he fed you to the dogs, letting all the inmates kick you until your bruises split open, and to make it sting even worse? He pissed in the wounds.
He loved burning them shut, y’know. Your wounds.
They bubbled and popped along the seam, sizzled and tightened on the edges, and burnt everywhere else around it. The electric leaving little scars of lightning in your skin, scars he’d kiss when he was feeling nice. Most would call it torture, inhumane. Some would call it what you deserve. Others called it harsh. You called it love. He called it control. But that didn’t matter. You loved that he loved you enough to trust you to crawl back to him like a good dog.
Even now. In the showers, as you ate his rotting meat, he trusted you enough to crawl back to him. And that was all you needed. He protected, you served.
“Can I call you Leland?”
“You can call me daddy, you can call me god. But you don’t talk with your mouth full.”
So you didn’t. This was the best mood he’s been in, in a while. You hoped maybe he’d kiss you, maybe he’d answer you when you told him you loved him. It was always a hopeless hope, but it was hope nonetheless.
You think back to one time, tipsy was an understatement, god could barely stand. He was slumped over you, commanded to stay silent as he cried. Wet kisses that smelt of cheap liquor and old beer soaked the burlap sack on your head, his tears the punctuation to his words.
“Yer so good ta me… I don’ deserve such a good dog.. so big ‘n beautiful.”
He caressed your body, his calloused hands suddenly gentle and warm as he jiggled at your fat, a giddy chuckle rumbling from his chest as he watched. He kissed you on the shoulder that night, and again on the tongue of the scolds bridle. And when he woke up, cuddled up to your nude chest with a hangover and a boner, the two of you never spoke of that night again.
You hoped it would happen again soon. You loved when he came to your pen drunk because maybe he’d say it again. It was worth the beatings, you have to love someone wholly. For who they are. You don’t deserve the best of them if you can’t love the worst.
And you loved him at his worst.
Even now, his hand a tight grip on your hair under the burlap sack you wore to rob you of your male identity, his cock a battering ram one minute, a slow burning piston the next. Sometimes you’d feel ashes from his cigarette rain down onto you, he’d stub it out on the bridle and make you give him a new one through your remaining teeth.
Maybe he’d have you take a drag and blow it onto his tip, you wanted to spoil your daddy. However before you could ask nicely, your lips still sealed around the midsection, a blare and a blast of the showers startled you. You bit. You were a bad dog.
The CRACK of his hand against your cheek, you bit your tongue to hold back the sobs, your head made a crack against the tile floor as he reprimanded you, your soft apologies unheard as he turned to yell at the filthy perverts who ruined this moment.
“YOU GONNA DIE ON YOUR KNEES! AND I DON’T MEAN PRAYIN’!”
He turned to you, his face scrunched in rage and humiliation. A kick to your side to get you crawling, another to your rump to make you go faster. A third to be his punching bag.
“You an’ I ain’t done, warden. Liars and perverts, corrupting my crime scene. Back to yer pen, fuck pig.”
You held back your apologies, responding only with what you were taught.
“Yes daddy. Yes god..”
He was your everything. Your daddy, your god. Your Coyle.. he was the rough hand of devotion and the cruel palm of animosity, and you? You were his wife. His woman, his pet swine. You could’ve been a man, a husband! But you couldn’t mind. You were god’s favourite piss pig. He was your favourite deputy.
Ok- just read your Coyle withdraw doc, and I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d react if pushed accidentally got his s/o addicted? Like they just ran into one too many bombs and now it’s his problem (it’s not- but as a man of the law he believes it’s his duty.)
✮⋆˙ 𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ˚. ᵎᵎ
Yessss I love this!!! I can absolutely see him reliving his pre-Murkoff days through your addiction, going as far as to fuel it!
PA Coyle x GN Reagent Reader
Summary: Coyle has taken notice of your persistent use of psychosis mines, and decides to make an arrest.
This is a bit of a short one bc I’ve got a few things to do today but I hope it lives up to your expectations!
CW! This fic contains the following themes!
•Drug usage and addiction
•Suggestive themes
•Public shaming
•References to ball stomping but it’s nothing literal, just for a comparison
It was all so familiar, watching you stumble around like the average drunkard, Coyle couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched. He knew you were doing it on purpose, running into those mines. Whenever a trial mate asked, you said you were just clearing them out for later. But he knew the truth.
And something he hated more than snitches were liars. You wanna lie to the law? Might as well spit in his face and stomp on his balls.
So when he caught you outside his police station, stumbling around like you just had a cocktail of coke, he knew he had to do something. Stepping outside, cuffs in hand, he felt young again. He could almost taste the lightning from his first disorderly conduct arrest.
It was a couple months into the job, before then he mostly had to do traffic stops or settle domestic disputes, but this? This was his first daytime drunk. He remembered how good it felt, pinning the guy to the hood of his cruiser, claiming he was resisting arrest. That was the closest thing to a homosexual encounter back then, he couldn’t really say the same now but he’ll be damned if anyone say it. But I digress.
He approached, his left palm up at you, hands on his cattle prod as though it were his old taser.
“ x’cuse me, kind citizen..” god this felt great from the start. He wanted to skip the formalities, get to the part where you’re bent over the car hood begging for more, and not more psychosis gas.
You turn to face him, a flash of panic split across your face as you turn and run, your steps wild and barely landing. Coyle chases after you, laughing all the way. He felt free of this place, you made him feel so alive, and as he tackled you to the floor, hand on your head, the words fell off his tongue like they were his first.
“You are under arrest! You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court a’ law! Oh sweetness it’s been fuckin’ YEARS since I’ve arrested some poor little bitch fer public intoxication! Maybe I should make you hump my boot instead of issuing you a ticket!”
He was so into it, and you, bless your heart, was just freaking out because the skinnerman was staring daggers into your soul.
But Coyle didn’t care. He was having the time of his life, loving and living in the past, just for once.
