coyle sfw/nsfw yandere headcanons for fem! reagent? ;)
This contains both sfw and nsfw. //period blood and pissed mentioned
• His trial is always decorated with hearts carved from his electric baton. Walls, floors, mannequins, nothing is safe from his obsession.
• He captures you multiple times just to rip off a piece of your clothing. Once you’re out of sight, he buries his face in it, inhaling like it’s the only air he can breathe. He can stay like that for minutes, completely lost in your scent.
• Before the trials, he stalks the area like a predator. He’ll circle the fences until he spots you. When he does, his movements become sharp, eager, almost feral. If he doesn’t find you, he loses control, and the trial becomes even bloodier than usual.
• He’s burned your name into his skin with cigarettes. To him, it’s proof you belong to him.
• He genuinely believes he’s your protector. He’ll say things like:
“I’m her guardian angel, sent from the Lord himself to watch over her. I’ll scalp anyone who even looks at her.”
• He calls you wife, honey, baby girl when chasing you, thinking your screams are playful.
• He keeps a close eye on everyone else in the trial with suspicion, ready to threaten anyone who so much as glances at you. Especially the other assets or ex-pops
“You were touchin’ her with your eyes, weren’t you—you slimy piece of shit!”
• When he finally catches you, he doesn’t hurt you right away. He pulls you close in a tight hug, lifting you slightly off the ground and pressing you against his chest. It’s the perfect excuse to bury his face in your hair and breathe you in.
• Coyle collects samples of you. Your period rags, your soiled clothing. Anything that carries your scent or fluid becomes a prized possession. The first time he picked you up, you panicked. You were scared and, in your fear, accidentally peed yourself. He didn’t mind, he treasured it. He even requests the bloodied rags from Easterman to add to his collection.
• He loves to smell you. After a long trial, when you’re sweaty, grimy, and utterly exhausted, he can’t resist. He buries his face in your neck, presses close to your pits, or leans in to inhale the scent between your breasts and thighs. To him, it’s intoxicating.
• flasher. Especially before or during the trials. There have been multiple occasions where he’s stood at the fence, jacket wide open, zipper down, cock out, moaning your name and grinding himself against the gate as you watch in horror and beg not to be pushed in.
•Worser when you see he’d branded your name right over his heart!
