#the outlast trials x reader

[letternotekisses]

my masterlist! 📌 about me

OVERWATCH

MAUGA 

CASSIDY 

HANZO

REAPER 

DOOMFIST 

LUCIO 

RAMATTRA 

ROADHOG 

REINHARDT 

GENJI 

JUNKRAT 

BAPTISTE 

LIFEWEAVER 

SIGMA 

JUNKER QUEEN 

MOIRA 

ASHE 

HAZARD

SOMBRA

OUTLAST / WHISTLEBLOWER / TRIALS

FRANCO BARBI 

LELAND COYLE 

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY 

BIG GRUNT 

SLASHERS / DEAD BY DAYLIGHT

THE TRAPPER

THE DEATHSLINGER

THE HUNTRESS

CALL OF DUTY

GHOST 

GAZ 

SOAP 

[judasbreed]

Could I request headcanons of Franco Barbi with a gn shy reader who is a new reagent and it's their first trial? :) thank u sm!

of course! and thank you so much for being my first request :D!

Franco Barbi with a Shy Reader During their First Trial

headcanons below the cut!

- Getting Franco as your first prime asset is an... experience, to say the least.

- Franco had a preference for newbies, their fear was enticing to him. He saw a new reagent like a new toy- a new piece of meat for him to gum away at. They posed no threat to him, so he could play with them all he liked.

- When you stumbled into his trial, he knew he'd hit the jackpot. He could tell you were especially frightened by him, and that was just how he liked it.

- Franco would put great care into teasing you. He wasn't worried about you completing the trial easily, so he toyed with you a-lot more than he would with an experienced reagent. He would tail you, shooting his lupara at your heels to make you "dance", or hide just around the corner to jump out at you when you walked by.

- He noticed how your face burned at the lewd comments he'd throw at you, and he loved it. He'd deem you "pretty" and "juicy", saying how he was gonna "lap you up like a dog" and how he wanted to "crawl inside of you". Seeing you get flustered just spurred him further.

- Franco didn't like sharing his toys, so he would be oddly possessive of you. Hed warn the others in the trial to "keep their filthy mitts" off of you, and if someone else happened to get too close, he'd chew them out like they owed him money. Even if it put him at a disadvantage, you were his to play with.

- In the end, if you managed to complete the trial, Franco would be livid. How could you walk all over him like that? A sweet boy like him? He just couldn't fathom it. He would throw a major tantrum at the exit gates, swearing he went easy on you. "You fuckin' snake! I'll get you next time!" he'd scream and cry, firing his lupara in the air.

- Though, if he caught you, he would take great pleasure in executing you.

"Youre a real pretty one.. can't wait to tear you apart."

[heretyc]

Outlast Trials Antagonists When You're Dying [Drabbles]

....[Shrug]. These are platonic, but can be read as romantic. All up to you.

In these, you were beaten by a large grunt. This is 100% inspired from my rebirth trial where I died because of Barbi and a grunt teaming up against me. I know the revive pills only work AFTER you die, but just pretend they bring you back from the dying state.

There's no Y/N mechanic. They each have their little nicknames for you lol. I have absolutely no idea how to write for Gooseberry so I tried my best :( She's very, um...unpredictable.

The electrical cracks against the atmosphere usually filled you with fear, but when you're on the ground with blood coating your head like a halo, maybe it brought comfort. Coyle's grumbling usually made you amused.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me, Commie?" Coyle's voice shrilled, and he stomped over to you, "Did you seriously get fucked up by a large bitch? I thought you were smarter than that!"

He looked down at you with such disgust, such distaste. He just sighed and shook his head, lighting his cigarette with his baton. "Lookie here...I'm gonna bring you the fuck back. Just stop being a dumbass...that's how you let the pinkie flag worshippers win."

Coyle stomped off down the hall, and returned with a bottle of pills. He bent down, gripping you by the neck, and poured the pills into your mouth. "Now swallow. This shit better work."

"Are ya fuckin' joking with me right now?" Familiar footsteps waddled over to your soon-to-be carcass, and you could already smell rotten cologne and bloodshed, "You, of all people, bested by a giant son-of-a-bitch?"

Barbi's laugh was genuine, and mocking in nature, "How the fuck does that happen, sweetness? Huh?" He gently kicked your head, the tip of his boot cold against your temple, "You dodge Lupara no fuckin' problem! But some fatass, who can't even fit in this shithole, does you in?! Not on my fuckin' watch." Barbi punched into something glass, and came back with a pill bottle, shaking it like you would a baby bottle, "Here. These'll help. Don't say I didn't do nothin' nice for ya." He popped the cap before bending down, and ripping your mouth open, his gloves grazing your tongue. "This shit better not happen again...you're better than this. And that's coming from a Barbi."

"Phyllis, no," the puppet screeched, "they reek of rotten teeth and a rotten mind. Don't act like a fucking saint."

"Oh, but daddy...Dr. Futterman," Gooseberry's voice sounded desperate and just a tad pitiful, "They're dying...we can't educate dead people about good hygiene, there's no market for that..."

"Phyllis," the puppet screamed, "Shut the fuck up, and then shut the fuck up again." He remained silent for a moment, before he sighed, "But you have a point. Go get the pills. Now."

"Yes, daddy," the woman fretted, and you wanted to die. Maybe shout for the grunt. You felt...so awkward right now.

The woman came back, and bent over you, "Open wide...just like taking a sweetie," The bottle was open, and she poured a pil inside of your mouth.

The puppet got real close to your face, its drill sharp and shrill as it powered on, "Make sure you brush your fuckin' teeth."

You'd strangle that puppet if you could.

[lumierexfics]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Postal Service !

Postal service rules : Don’t request any NSFW for TMC/The Mandela catalogue. Don’t request any kinks that involve bodily fluids. Don’t request any minor characters aged up for NSFW requests.

[Requests/Letters delivered : 8 out of 14]

You are beginning to make a letter for that special person, where do they live?

Detective Comics / Arkhamverse

Squid Game

Dead by Daylight

Elden Ring

The Mandela Catalogue

Ghost ( Band )

Identity V

The Magnus Archives

The Outlast Series

How long is your letter?

Couple pages, Oneshot

A page, Headcanons + Short fanfic

What envelope did you choose for the letter?

Blue Envelope, Angst

Red Envelope, NSFW

Lavender Envelope, Platonic

Pink Envelope, Fluff

What stamp did you put on the envelope?

Heart themed stamp, No AU

City themed stamp, Ex-Husband/Wife/Spouse AU

Food themed stamp, Slasher AU

Animal themed stamp, Monster AU

Bird themed stamp, Apocalypse AU

Semi-postal stamp, Hospital AU

NetStamp, Detective / Killer AU

Forever stamp, Yandere AU

Flower themed stamp, Cult AU

Ocean themed stamp, Siren AU

Horseshoe themed stamp, Wild West AU

What else did you put in the letter? (Optional)

Dried flowers : Early morning prompts

Paper hearts : Fluff scenarios

Paper flowers : Platonic sentence starters

Pink wax seal : Found family prompts

Scented letter : Levels of intimacy

One ring : Smut Prompts

Kiss stains : Inexperienced smut prompts

Photographs : Smut sentence starters

Deep blue wax seal : 20 prompts for friends with benefits to lovers

[one-alice]

We finally met!

The drawing is finally here!!! Oh I couldn't not draw one of outlast trials outfits (of course on me lol)!!! Those designs are just crazy! You're free to consider the poor girl Y/N

I got wayy to far with this one! It was supposed to be a simple sketch😩😩😩 But I like the designs too much

[strawberrybunnystuff]

How would the characters in Outlast Trials react to you coming up behind them and whispering in their ears "I want you to get me pregnant tonight"

Leland Coyle👮‍♂️

He would have his completely feral gaze looking at you like you were the juiciest rush he had ever seen.

Hunger mixed with excitement exuding from his gaze and the actions of his body. The idea of ​​having a baby was nothing to him but the idea of ​​having his seed forming inside you boosted his ego and hardened his cock. In addition to the way to demonstrate his possession of you to everyone else. Forever.

He would turn around almost instantly when you started whispering. That devouring and naughty smile on his face, he would hold your face with his firm hand and bring your face close enough to his for you to feel his hot breath.

"Ah, you finally understand who's boss. Since you asked, I won't let you down, sweetie. Get ready to be mine forever."

Franco Barbi🍼

Franco can be a bit childish at times but this definitely brought out his manly side. Turning to meet you, Franco would wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to him until your bodies were very close to each other. Franco would be smiling and so close to you enough for you to feel his "happiness" leaning against you.

"Mommy, you know how to turn the baby on."

"I'm going to fuck you and by the end of this night I'll be inside you forever."

Mother Gooseberry🤱

Your speech made Mommy Gooseberry feel adorable! Heart racing, smile elevated and eyes shining upon you. Gooseberry is already imagining her beautiful babies running everywhere, the most beautiful, miraculous babies in the world. Gooseberry will run up to you, pick you up and spin you around in the air like a ballerina.

"My dear little lamb, our children will be divine!."

🐇🍓

[outlastrabbit]

Leland has cuteness aggression every time he sees reader doing something adorable (what he deems adorable or the universal adorable that all dominant partners sees their submissive partners are doing) and gently shakes the bundle as he screams for her to stop and that he's pretty sure the law states it's illegal to be adorable and reader is casually giggling as if it's normal.

Leland Coyle With Cuteness Aggression For Reader

Ahh! He just wanted to crush you!!!

Every little silly, cute thing you did, Coyle lapped that shit up. The way you scampered around the police station? Adorable. The way your ESOP and goggles bounced around while you ran away? So cute!

Coyle was a rough man. He wanted to be gentle, but it was very hard. He grabbed your shoulders hard and shook you violently.

“It oughta be illegal for a fella to be so cute!”

Aww, he just wanted to squeeze your cute little tushy! And smack it! And hold onto it forever! He gave you little playful shocks here and there with his baton. The cop grinned with delight when you would squeal or cry out.

“Leland, stop it!”

You ran away as Coyle howled with laughter, teasing and chasing you. He gave you little zaps with the tip of the prod, eyes lighting up with joy behind his shades when you yelped.

[millie-milkshake]

The way he sits on your lap is so cute I can’t

[eyelambspider]

Spider. Eye. Lamb. || COD/Outlast Au

⤷ summary : you and him. together you'll be the ones to make it out of the trials... (drabbles/hcs)

┊pairing : könig, gaz, price x gn!reader ┊content warning : mentions of gore/death/blood, horror, pining(?) finding comfort in each other ┊a/n : ffffffuck! i love the outlast trials! (forgive me i like scary games) also: for god sakes, i'm doing chapters/scenarios for this

▹ König

Its nearly impossible for König to hide while in the Trials. He can't fit into the lockers quickly (or the barrels), so he opts to linger in the darker rooms with the burnt out bulbs.

so. he's usually wearing his night vision goggles or his eyes are adjusting to the dark. leading him to be more anxious and feeling exposed in brightly lit places.

Because of his size, König can break through the wooden boards blocking doorways with one kick if he needs to run.

Other reagents (people) in the sleep-room are afraid of him and tend to stay away. He looks too similar to the Prime Assets in the trials, with the cut up pillowcase over his head... and his height.

it doesn't help his mental health, not talking to much people in the sleep room... but the doctors seem to like him. If not only for his physical build.

sometimes, König comes to the metal door of your room and stands there, unsure how to really ask but- he likes laying with you on your bed. the two of you laying there in each others arms for nothing more than the comfort of being with another person who... knows how scary it is.

König likes to protect you in the Trials, intervening just as the grunts try to bring down their weapons on your prone form by shoving them off violently.

▹ Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz is the quietest and is hardly seen by those who roam the halls and rubble-filled streets of the trials.

he always has a lockpick on him, and often uses it to open up medical supplies for himself. always proving to be especially resourceful.

Uses bottles to throw and distract the enemies when he works.

Gaz is one of the braver subjects to be put into the trials, always taking risks and evading the prime assets and enemies by a hair.

Gaz's biggest fear in the trials is that he is too good at it. Trials become easier and easier, but it messes with his head to think that instead of getting this horror show over with as fast as possible-he's actually doing exactly what the doctors want him to do.

Is it just survival... or is Murkoff's twisted form of 'treatment' actually working?

Gaz likes talking to you.

Well, having your company. He doesn't open up about what he thinks and fears. Just sort of... sits with you and chats in the cafeteria during meal times.

And on the shuttles (from the sleep room to the Trials) Gaz likes to sit across from you, even with the TV in front of his face, and the bars on the side of his head (forcing him to watch)... he likes knowing you're right there. Likes reminding you to be angry instead of scared, "Fuck the doctors-remember that-fuck the doctors!"

You actually might be the reason he's still resisting the treatment. He tries to protect you from feeling as... as desperately terrified of becoming what the doctors want.

▹ John Price

Price hates to get paired with you in the Trials. Solely because he'd hate to see you hurt but... "its good to see a friendly face"

Price would do well in his trials, ranking a grade average 'B'.

It would be better, but he despises being apart of these sick games and 'messes up' on purpose.

(When you're afraid in the Trials) Price grabs your shoulders and forces you to look at him, keeping you grounded and giving you something to focus on other than the threat of dying. "Just get the key, alright? Its got a little black star on it. You get it and bring it back here... and we'll both get out of here. Won't let anything bad happen to ya," he assures.

In the sleep-room, Price always tells you to come and play a game of chess with him. "No buts." He knows it will distract the both of you for a while, and if you don't know how to play, he's got all the time to teach you.

(When you don't make it back to the exit) Price always waits for you, has to watch you enter the transport himself to make sure you're okay. And when you don't, he gets antsy, glancing at the red timer above the door that says you have only three minutes... "Fuck," he decides, turning his back on the exit and beginning to run back into the Trial to find you.

he likes taking care of you, gives him something else-something more important-to focus on outside of the trials.

if anyone was getting out of the trials, he'd hoped it'd be you

[coyle-and-co]

VERRRRRY quick sketches of franco and dolly, because i find it funny how drastically different he is between being in prison vs. being in murkoff HAHA and since i want them to smooch here u go

pre!murkoff dolly would used the fact he’s feminine to get what he wants from men (mostly their money) and speaks in a transatlantic accent (think hollywood)

post!murkoff dolly has none of the charm and prefers to just build bombs. He doesn’t understand that when people are hit with bombs they die

both versions would love franco for different reasons

also i’m so bad at showing their heights consistently but my personal head canon is that franco is 5ft while dolly is 6’3, so franco would see not-brainwashed-and-dumbass dolly and be like “woah big woman” when in fact its some twink with good makeup skills

#getfooled barbi!

[klownfuckery]

I love the way you write 👉🏻👈🏻 May I request some more Franco from you? Perhaps with a reader who is fascinated by him and follows him around only to panic when he spots her! (Totally not based on my behaviour ingame) Thank you! 🩷

Yes ofc 🫶 Sorry for the late reply. I’d kept making drafts for this ask and every-time I thought I was finished my brain was all like, ‘… yeah, that’s great. But what if we re-wrote it again? 🥴’

Anywho, hope you enjoy :P

.*✩Franco il Bambino Barbi/Reader ✩*.

Surviving in the Sinyala facility was no small feat, some took to their new living conditions more easily than others— like fish to water. You were not among those lucky few. If you were to continue the trend of using comparisons, you’d suppose you’re more akin to that of a sad little sardine. Flopping about awkwardly on the docks, waiting for somebody to grant you pity and mercifully nudge you back into the water.

Whereas others would brazenly leap into the fray, stun-rig ready at hand; you would creep around the perimeter of the trial-grounds. Scavenging and scouting, giving call-outs when able to. Never had you been a confrontational person, and if your teammates wanted to take a more combative stance, who were you to get in the way of that? You’d still support them, of course. Safely. From a distance.

It was during another such occasion, when you’d been helping chuck hearts at the Futterman targets. It wasn’t morbid once you got used to it, and as long as you didn’t think too long about the squishy organ in your hand— well. It was almost enough to not question where the hell a seemingly infinite amount of vital organs were coming from. Almost.

Creeping through the gloom of the faux diner to re-arm yourself with more hearts, you quickly scrambled under one of the booths with bated breath as the diner’s bell jingles cheerfully. Something, or someone, has followed you inside.

Through infrared goggles, you watch, transfixed, as the newest prime-asset, ex-mafiaso, Franco Barbi, stalks forward.

It was silly to admit even in the sanctity of your own mind, but you’ve always been a fan of those detective novellas. More specifically, their frightfully charismatic antagonists. You swore up and down, it was sheer happenstance that Franco unknowingly managed to check all of your boxes— and not the man himself.

You don’t think he can see you, at least you’d hoped so. The man’s eyesight is poor, and even poorer in the dark. You’ve used this against him more times than you could possibly count— and it was admittedly a little funny to watch the mobster huff and pout with you just a mere few feet away. One could even say he was almost… endearing like that.

Despite walking mostly blind, Franco moves with the confidence of someone who owns the joint— or more likely someone who knows nobody else could possibly lay a finger on him. That speculation is only exacerbated by the sight of his pinstripe suit. Neatly pressed— or as neat as one’s clothes can be in here. The desired look is heavily crippled by the generous smattering of ruddy spills staining the once pristine fabric. His shotgun, Lupara, hangs loosely from his hand like an afterthought. The way he carries it utterly flippant. As if it’s presence isn’t a herald of death, and just… is. Like a an extension of himself, a limb. There was no Franco ‘il Bambino’ Barbi without Lupara.

The man’s eyes seem to glow through the lens of your goggles, pupils reflective and giving a ghostly-look as he surveys the area. Lopsided grin growing, crooked teeth bared as he takes in the overturned chairs.

“ ‘S a real cozy joint,” he muttered, his voice a pleasant rasp. His tone was casual, but there was an edge hiding beneath it, a simmering promise of violence. “Real nice place for a late-night chat, don’t’cha think, Sweetness?”

His wing-tipped shoes crunched on broken glass as he sauntered further in, his gaze sweeping across the room. His grin widened, baring crooked teeth in a lopsided sneer. “You’s cozy in here, Sweets?” he called, his voice deceptively teasing, almost familiar.

You fought the pounding in your chest, the desperate thrum of adrenaline urging you to run, move, do something. The only thing stopping you was a heavy dose of self-preservation. Realistically, he’d hear you before you could take two steps, and you’d end up a gorey, painted smear on the business-end of Lupara. Not only that, but another part of you was morbidly fascinated.

So, like any other sane person in your shoes, you lay still. Crouched low to tiled floor, and watched.

Franco paused near the counter, his engorged head tilting again as though he were listening. His breath rasped in the silence, heavy and uneven. Then he chuckled, a low, guttural sound that made your stomach churn with unease. He reached out, dragging Lupara’s sawed barrel along a nearby table, the sharp scrape setting your teeth on edge. A wordless threat meant to rattle you, and holy-hell does it get the job done.

“You’re not playin’ fair, doll,” he drawls, voice taking on a mockingly hurt tone. Nasally in pitch, wobbly, as if he’s about to cry. “I thought we’s had somethin’ special.”

Abruptly, he fired without warning.

The booth beside you splinters in a deafening blast, plates clattering and metal screeching. The reverberation rings around in your skull, causing you to jolt in surprise— for a moment believing you’d been shot. In your panic, your cranium thuds against the underside of the table. Pain throbs through your skull, causing you to whip your hands clasped over your mouth, stifling the reflexive cry that threatened to escape. Above, the countertop rattles with your movement, betraying your presence.

Franco stills.

For a horrifying moment, you thought he’d heard you. Through the lens of the goggles, you watch him crouch low, one hand reaching out to grope blindly under the ruined booth. His fingers curled, grasping at empty air.

“C’mere mommy,” he mutters darkly. But when his hand fails to find you, he sorely swears under his breath. He then rises back up onto his feet, kicking at the splintered wood like a frustrated child denied dessert.

“Fuckin’ slut, givin’ me the slip.” he roars, spittle dribbling down his lip. The man’s stocky shoulders quake, panting heavily in enraged exertion. For a moment, you think he’s about to double down, rip apart every booth in a mad-rage until he found you. However, in the next moment, he’s taking a deep, stuttering breath. Already back to his smarmy collected calm in the next exhale.

With a disgruntled sigh, he straightens himself out. Wiping his mouth, gloved hand then reaching to fuss with what little hair he has left. When he’s ensured it was coiffed presentably back into place, he slung Lupara over his shoulder, meandering back the way he came.

As the bell jingled again, signaling his exit, your shoulders sagged in relief. The once palpable tension in the air melts, leaving you a trembling, boneless puddle. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Somehow, you’d slipped by him again. But you knew this definitely wouldn’t be the last.

[letternotekisses]

Hi there! I'm hopping on board with your requests, and am very politely asking if you would be willing to write some NSFW headcanons for Coyle? Please and thank you! ♡♡♡

hii ofc i can! <3 nsfw under da cut

"I'll have you on your knees..."

Coyle is very heavy on having firm control over you - as evidenced by the way he'll have you in any way he wants. A favourite of his though, is having you between his knees - baton pressed against your cheek and cock lodged deep down your throat. Sometimes he'll have his baton crackle to life and give himself a shock - combining the sensations and making you choke in surprise around his throbbing shaft.

He likes a bit of fire. Likes to watch you squirm while he fucks you - bent over one of the desks in the police station - paperwork strewn messily across the floor. He'll curl an elbow around your neck, grasping your chin and keeping you pinned in a headlock as he ruts his heavy cock into your sweet little hole, having you bite into the leather of his sleeve to ground yourself.

Likes it when you behave, but it makes his cock stiffen when you don't. Leland loves to think he's teaching you a very valuable lesson by catching you and fucking you into the tough marble floor - the slap of his pelvis against your ass loud enough to attract the attention of stray Ex-Pop nearby. But he makes sure they know just who's prisoner you are, huffing and growling into the crook of your neck as he grinds his cock in that particular motion that makes you sing like a caged canary.

After a long day, Coyle likes a long drag of a cigarette, a drink and a sweet little pussy for him to bury his face into. His beard is scratchy against your inner thighs - tickling the plush flesh as he drags his heavy tongue through your folds, not hesitating to plunge back into your sweet little hole. He'll hold your thighs open and eat you up until he's had his fix, giving a pleased and appreciative grunt every time you come undone in his mouth.

Gives you a little spark from the baton once in a while - not enough to fry you - but certainly enough to get you to squeal. He's not nice about it either, rather more pleased with himself as he grips his belt, his hand coming down to grope his hardening cock through his trousers. Sometimes he'll swoop in right after for a rough kiss, his beard scraping your cheeks as his hand comes to cup your jaw.

Coyle will handcuff those pretty wrists behind your back and have you ride him until the cows home home - or, at least until you're whining and drooling at him to fuck you proper, which he's all too happy to deliver on. Pinning you down, his chest pressed against your back - his gear digging into you as he stretches your pretty little hole open. Growling about how he'd rehabilitate you - or better yet, keep you caged up - just for him, and him only.

"Oh, sweetness." >>>

[judasbreed]

sorry for sending a double ask :( i had more ideas for my franco x reader - reagent reader has an odd infatuation with Franco, but they’re not sure why, it’s an itch in the back of their brain and they swear they recognize him from somewhere, maybe reagent reader is from NY too? Easterman always tells us to “forgot any familiar faces” that we see in the sleep room, saying that “they’re a new person now.” I think this has been engraved into our reagent and now our reagent has a blurred line between familiar faces and new faces- hence why they linger around Franco so much because they’re torn between what they’re being conditioned to forget, and their very real memories.

this is so neat! thank you for requesting :D! i deleted your first ask on accident, so if this isnt quite what you wanted please let me know!

Franco Barbi with an Infatuated Reader

Ever since your first trial together, you hadn't been the same. He had pulled you in like a moth to the flame, and dug his way in to your head, Planting a question which echoed in your brain like a mantra. "Where have I seen him before?"

"Him" referring to the newest prime asset, Franco Barbi. Not any less deranged than the other prime assets- but there was something different about him. Perhaps this was a side effect of the treatment, or something Murkhoff had planted in you when you first arrived, but it had been haunting you for weeks. You had met him before... you could swear it. By design, therapy had left your memories a jumbled mess. Any remnants of your past came to you in short spurts, and you weren't even sure those where real, but Franco... he was so vivid. Something so simple quickly became an obsession for you, and Franco took notice. You where following him around like a dog- weren't you supposed to be running from him? He didn't get it. At first, Franco assumed you had it out for him. He thought you where destroying his product for fun. You'd volunteered for his trials so often, he thought you where just making fun of him. He'd notice how you liked to stare at him, and it'd drive him mad. "The fuck are you lookin' at with that smart fuckin' mug! Do you think you're better than me?" he'd cry, making quick work of you with his lupara. However, Franco wasn't too dumb. Eventually he'd become suspicious. You didn't even try to complete the trial anymore, you just followed him around. To him, this could only mean one thing- You had the hots for him. He wasn't shocked, but it only made him want to toy with you more. He was convinced that you where totally obsessed with him (which wasn't too far from the truth). You'd give anything just to talk with the guy, Surely he'd have the answer for you, but that task was about as difficult as it sounds. Any attempt to question him was met with anger, filth, or the barrel of his lupara. He wasn't taking you seriously. The most you'd gotten out of him was info about his father, but that was only when he was trying to intimidate you. Your obsession would prove to be your demise. Your grades in trials suffered, and the doctors where growing more concerned of your progress, but you didn't really care. Nothing was more important to you than figuring out that whiny manchild. Where have you seen him before?

[heretyc]

Psychosis [Leland Coyle x Reader] [Short]

I usually go for serious gifs with fics but this one cracked me tf up + matches the vibe. This is my first time writing for Coyle, please enjoy. Fic under the cut.

Skinner Man; a constant reminder of your torture, of your willingness to do these "therapies" for a better life. The skeleton would do everything in its power to keep you on your toes, its breath on your neck and its cries shattering your ears.

After being sprayed for the fiftieth time, you could hear it. Its bones, its breaths, its laughs at your torture. All of a sudden, the snitch didn't matter so much, and you clapped your hands over your ears. Nobody truly mattered in this moment, not when the biggest threat of all was a man of bone and deceit who toyed with your brain like a child toys with their food.

You didn't seem to care, not even when a gloved hand slammed onto your shoulder, "Got you, you fucking commie!"

Coyle's shrill voice, as annoying as it could be at times, did nothing to your mental state. No panic, no nothing, and even the corrupted officer noticed how dead you looked. How...petrified you looked.

Usually, he had enjoyed those expressions. It meant he won. But as of late, he had grown fond of you. Several therapies spent playing cat and mouse.

He could even say he...liked you. Maybe. No. Coyle didn't truly like anybody, but you were tolerable, and you posed a challenge.

He liked the idea of you. The threat of you.

And you were not a threat, when your eyes were watering like mad and you kept screaming.

"Jesus Christ, commie," Coyle groaned, his eyes scanning you behind his shades, "Do you ever shut the fuck up?"

Obviously, you did not respond. You could hear it. Feel it.

"...Oh." Coyle smirked, his lit cigarette shuffling between his lips, "I know those noises. You're being fucked over, ain't cha?" He huffed a laugh, removing his hand to place it onto his belt. "Never seen this happen to you before. You're a twinkle toes, always on your guard." He snickered, motioning to your feet with his baton, crackling with electricity.

He didn't like this lack of a threat. So he took your arm, "Come on, now. After I do this, you can't say I ain't a true American Patriot, helping fellers in need, huh?"

When you finally came to, you saw Coyle, smacking his baton onto his gloved hand with a raised brow. The taste of the antidote lingered on your tongue, and for some reason, his baton was off. Maybe to be easy on your overstimulated senses. "Feel better, commie?"

"...Yeah." You didn't question the lack of fear. Hell, he never scared you. But he did crackle at the seams, and that shit hurt. "Good, good." He smirked, raising his baton as it switched on, a disgusting crackle invading the air. "Now run, you fuckin' twinkle toes!"

You didn't need to be asked twice, as you ran out of the dark room, and into the hallway, a Big Grunt just waiting to smash you in two with Coyle trailing right behind you.

"GOD BLESS AMERICA!"

[lumierexfics]

• LIVESTREAM NAME : There was supposed to be no other way out !

LIVESTREAM DESCRIPTION : Clyde Perry realizes that normal interrogation tactics aren’t working, he resorts to a different approach.

★ STARRING : Clyde Perry , Fem! Reagent Reader

‼️ CONTENT WARNINGS : MDNI 18+ , Referenced torture, Soft sex, OOC! Clyde Perry, Second POV, Nicknames used for the reader (Dollface), Praising.

<< previous [ao3 link] next >>

You were Easterman’s prized reagent— he didn’t; couldn’t let you be born into the callous world that he rightfully took you out of only to be brought back into it.

Leather straps held you down to the metal seat, your troubled breathing echoed throughout the room while the stench of burnt skin wafted through the interrogation room. Your heavy head lull back and forth, the blood with saliva dribbles down your bruised lips. Your body trembled and ached that it felt as if it affected your DNA—it must’ve been the green gas that the scientists first shoved in your face to try and reveal something from your lips.

Your tired eyes burned, dried tears dribbled down your dirty face. You stared up at the standing figure of—it wasn’t a guard rather it was a man with a suit and different color eyes which his blue eye seemed to just stare. He undid the leather strap that held you down to the metal chair—he cupped your bruised cheek, pouring fresh water down your bruised lips.

The water dribbled down your lips and he wiped it away. Your weak hands gripped him while the cold water calmed down your system that was overheating.

“Dollface.” He caressed your face. “I need some answers.”

You gasped weakly while you stared at him as he pulled away the water from your bruised lips.

“How many were in your group?” He asked.

The smell of fried skin stayed in the stale air of the enclosed room as it was overwhelming—feeling the burning slowly creep up your throat. Your head swayed back and forth in his palm, a metallic taste of blood swirled through your mouth, spitting out the loose teeth that had been smacked out by Murkoff guards with their metal flashlights.

“I…I’ve already told you—what do you want me to say?” You choked out the bloodied sobs. “Just tell me what do you want me to say!”

“The truth, Dollface,” he replied. “This all can be over if you tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say, sir,” you faltered.

His thumbs wiped away the tears from your face—it had been so long since anyone treated you with kindness as this was reserved for Easterman; only he could give. His lips softly kissed yours while he helped you sit in the metal table—Contact desire was something prohibited in the facility but it was foreign at first once more—yet you didn’t want it to stop. You forgot how addicting it could be.

His soft kisses continue a trail of fire down your neck, his hands undid the ESOP harness that was attached to your chest. He tugged off your stained shirt, softly kissing your chest and your hands ran through his hair. You tugged off of his suit jacket, his kisses continued down your neck.

“Dollface.” He rubbed your nipples between his rough thumbs. “Be honest for me.”

Your gasps escaped your lips, tilting your head back but his free hand guided you back to stare at him. His other hand that has played with your chest began to tug at the waistband of your baggy pants, his knee parting your once closed legs.

“How many were in your group, Dollface?” He asked.

You went back and forth on his leg, seemingly rocking on his leg. The broken gasps escaped your lips and his grip tightened, lifting you off his thigh for a bit to stop you from getting off.

“Dollface.” He tilted his head to match how your head was tilted. “I asked a question. How many were in your group?”

“Three,” you whined out.

He placed you back on his thigh but he didn’t let go from the back of your nape—seemingly increasing the pressure on your aching crotch that wanted him. Your eyes stared at him then to his belt buckle, it was a desire that you forgot you had due to being shown the horrors of the therapy.

“Oh—“ He seemed to have noticed your staring. “You need additional help to remember, right?”

“Ri-Right!” You stammered out.

He undid his pants, dropping them to his ankles and finally tugged down your waistband to the baggy pants to your ankles. He noticed the scars scattered over your body from the trials; recognizing the familiar injuries of the prime assets and the ex-pops. He hitched up your leg around one side of his waist, inserted himself in while he noticed the tears that dribbled down your face as he softly kissed away the tears from your face.

“Let me ask again.” He slowly thrusted in and out. “How many people were in your group?”

“Three,” you gasped out.

He didn’t like your response and continued to thrust himself in and out at a little higher pace and broken moans escaped your lips.

“Come on, Dollface.” He went back at his slow pace despite your pleas to return back to a faster pace. “How many people were in your group?”

“Thr—Four!” You gasped out; remembering her.

“Good girl.” He continued his fast pace thrusts. “Such a good girl, Dollface.”

Your gasps and broken moans escaped your throat despite your cords aching with each gasp due to the previous treatment from the guards.

“What was her name?” He asked. “Can you remember it?”

“Ammm—“ you gasped out.

“Am—what?” He thrusts deeper into you. “Come on, use your words.”

“Amelia…Amelia,” you moaned out.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl for me.”

[one-alice]

Mother Gooseberry's face covered in lipstick kisses jdhckdhJDBXKDJ IM SORRY SHE'S OCCUPYING EVERY NOOK AND CRANNY OF MY BRAIN

Oh look at the happy mama!

Sorry for such a late reply, but better late than never! Btw requests are open! I want to draw Franco too!