#transman reader

[dc-himbo]

Jason Todd × Transmasc Reader

AN: Back at it again on my bullshit. Just wanted to write some Ole J. Todd thoughts. Transman reader, but really, you can read it as anyone that uses he/him pronouns. Corruption kink if you squint. NSFW (sort of...maybe) and all that. I'll probably start posting a few drabble here and there. Also, I like using this tense because it highlights he/him pronoun usage. I know some folks find it a little confusing, but I tried to be as clear as possible. Let me know any feedback. :)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It's selfish.

The way he wants him is downright selfish. It's this yearning that calls out to him so fucking strongly he sometimes feels like he can't breathe. He has no idea how someone can be so fucking pure in Gotham and it's not fucking fair how he radiates sunshine and light and innocence.

Jason feels like touching him would mess him up. That it would leave behind dirty fingerprints and smears of back and red on his unmarked skin.

Jason hates that part of him wants to see it. Part of him wants to leave behind bruises and bites and marks. He wants to devour him. Corrupt him. Coax out every little gasp and moan and make him beg for things he didn't even know he wanted. It drives him crazy to think about. He wants him. He wants him, and it's not fair. He's fucking pissed about it.

Jason takes it out on him. He doesn't mean to... except maybe he does. Maybe it's easier if he hates him. If he avoids him. But he doesn't. If anything, he thinks it makes him more determined to be around him. He's always including him. Asking about him. Smiling at him. Listening to him.

So Jason tries. He tries and he tries so fucking hard to be worthy of him. He thinks that if he works hard to do the right thing, to be a good son and a good sibling, the dependable one, the reliable one... he thinks that if he can even be a fucking ounce of good like he is that he can maybe deserve to breathe the same fucking air be does. That his hands would be less dirty and he could touch him. That he can be more than just a quick fuck. That he can have more.

He's fucking selfish.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 7

No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attacks, nerves surrounding coming out, mostly emotional whump

Word count: 524

You couldn’t seem to stop your hands from shaking, it had been hours and still here you were, shaking. You were on the way back, the jet not far from landing. You had tried everything, you had eaten, had something to drink, had a quick nap, you even tried doing some star jumps. Nothing seemed to be helping. You knew what it was. It was the anticipation. You had planned on coming clean, on telling them everything and you were anxious. Scratch that, you were shitting bricks. You had never been more terrified to tell the team something then you were right now. But you had promised yourself that on the way back to Quantico, you would tell them. And you weren’t about to let yourself down, not today. 

Sighing, you shifted in your seat, debating trying to get everyone’s attention. You noticed your heart beating rapidly in your chest, the occasional flutter, and you’re sweating. Standing up as casually as possible, you head to the toilet. You spend maybe two minutes there, splashing water on your face, trying your best to calm down.

It wasn’t even that big of a deal, you didn’t know why you were so anxious over it. You just had to go up to them and say ‘hey, so I wanted to talk to you’ they’d ask what was wrong, and then you’d just say ‘well, I’m transgender and I left like it was time to finally tell you’ and then they’d say ‘hey no worries, thanks for telling us’ and that would be that. You knew that logically, it was all going to be okay. And yet, here you are, having a panic attack in the bathroom of the jet.  

A soft knock on the door drew you out of your thoughts. “(Y/N)? It’s Hotch, is everything okay?” He asked softly, “You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m fine-” You winced as your voice cracked at the end of the sentence. 

“(Y/N)-”

“I’ll be out in just a moment,” You said, Hotch sighed from the other side of the door, mumbling an okay before he walked away. You sighed. Now you really had to tell them. 

You spent the next minute making sure you didn’t look like you had been having a panic attack. You took a deep breath. Okay, you could do this. You could do this. You unlocked the door, sitting in your seat (ignoring the concerned gazes) before turning to everyone. The whole gang were there for this case, Garcia included. Which meant that you could come out to everyone all at once, which was both a blessing and a curse. “I need to tell you all something.”

“Is something wrong?” You turn to Hotch, noticing his eyebrows furrowed in concern and shake your head. ‘Not unless this goes terribly’ you think to yourself. 

“I’m transgender, a transman,” You say, watching everyone’s expression.

“Is that what you were worried about?” You nod and Penelope walks over, enveloping you in a hug. “Sweetie, we don’t care about that! We love you, no matter what!” You break out in a grin.

“Love you guys too,”

[nahoney22]

Hell yes! Honey getting the recognition she deserves!!! Happy 4000!!!!

I would like to request Tech x transman!reader (ftm) pleeeease. NSFW, Dom/Sub dynamics (☆▽☆)

Love you and congrats again!!

💛🤟 River

Taking Control***

Tech X Transman!reader

word count: 1.5k

You wanted attention from your man, and luckily for you Tech was eager to give you all the attention you desire.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Smut, explicit sexual content and language. Dom!Tech, sub!reader, kissing, sex, oral (reader receiving), very light spanking and choking, praises, pet names, established relationship, implied shower sex, fluff.

authors note: hope this is okay, sorry for the wait @dangraccoon 🩵 love u and thank you for the support and request!

"Are you nearly done?" you inquire, suppressing a sigh, as this marks the seventh time tonight you've questioned Tech. The frequency of his 'very soon' replies falls short of your patience.

"These matters take precedence... but, soon. I’m very close to near completion." He responds, absorbed in tinkering with a device beyond your comprehension. However, your tolerance reaches its limit.

If his actions held urgency, you might understand, but it has been days since you and Tech were alone together. With unmet needs, you face him, seizing the device and tossing it onto the control panel. He pauses, wide-eyed, then recognises your displeasure.

"I was doing it again, weren't I?"

"I adore you, but if I have to endure the word 'soon' one more time, I might just feel compelled to step outside and release a primal scream," you quip, the corners of your lips curling upwards as Tech joins in with a soft chuckle, gracefully rising from his work.

"Have I been unintentionally neglecting you?" His voice carries a hint of concern, his demeanor shifting subtly as he closes the distance between you, his hand finding its place with gentle familiarity on your waist.

A warmth spreads across your cheeks as you lean into his touch, your eyes meeting his with a mix of affection and longing. "Perhaps just a tad. But, if necessary, I'd endure an eternity of waiting for you."

"Let's set rationality aside for a moment," he suggests tenderly, his lips finding solace in a gentle kiss planted on your forehead before he rests his head against yours, his breath mingling with yours in a shared moment of intimacy. "I couldn't bear to deprive you of pleasure for too long."

"Oh, really?" you tease with a smirk, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge. "And how do you plan on achieving that?"

Tech hums thoughtfully, his lips curling into a mischievous smile before he leans in, capturing your lips with his own. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer as the gentle hum of the ship provides a soothing backdrop to your intimate moment. With nimble fingers, he tugs at your shirt, silently signaling his intention as you nod in agreement, relinquishing control as he takes the lead in removing it from you.

His hands meticulously caress your body, fingers tracing over your chest, shoulders until you were putty in his hand. “Tech,” you whine impatiently but you can’t help but be obsessed with how obsessed he was with your body.

His lips move from yours to your neck, proceedingly getting lower until his lips very delicately kiss one of your nipples, eliciting a sharp but pleasing gasp from you. “Tender,” he comments, making sure you keep your hands down by your sides, “I have been neglecting you for so long it seems.” He speaks plain before his kisses in your nipples become more common and they become more prominent. “Not to worry. I will now take control.”

He stands back to his full height and takes a hold of your upper arm, guiding you towards the cockpit and sealing the door shut behind you both. “Be good now and lay back on the deck.” He instructs and you watch in awe as he slides his gloves off, fingers flexing.

You tingle in excitement and do as you’re told, allowing Tech to take control of you. He approaches, eyes dark with lust as he runs both hands up your thighs, back down, and then back up until he toys with the hem of your pants. “So obedient, so pretty.” He cooed, looking down at you from over his goggles that had slid down his nose slightly before he slid his hand in your pants.

The gasp that parts your lips is sinful, a shock of arousal soared to your groin. Whilst his fingers work their magic, he begins whispering words of praise down your ear. “I am going to make you feel so good, there is no doubt in my mind about that.” He leans over you, watching your face intently as he pleasures you with his hand.

“T-That feels…”

“Exquisite? I am sure.” He smirks cockily, leaning in and capturing your lips leaving you breathless.

Your soft whimpering sings around the ship, fully laying back on the cockpits controls as Tech helps your shimmy out of your pants, leaving you completely in the nude.

His free hand transcends over your body, caressing every scar and bumps from surgeries and battle wounds to the freckles and moles you’re born with. Though, as much as his tenderness was sweet, the feeling of his other hand pleasuring you to the point stars were clouding your vision had you gasping for a breath. “So soon?” He tsks, watching the way your eyes start to roll back, “You are a needy boy, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Tech!, I need you.” You grip onto his arms, “I need your cock so — mmm much.”

His face grows warm, a common theme when you are being so submissive for him. “Your pleas are arousing to hear,” he purrs, looking down at his hand between your legs and then up at you, “do it again.”

“Please Tech,” you whine, legs quivering, “I want your cock inside of me. I..fuck! Fuck I need you to fuck me.”

Tech shudders in delight, his cock straining against his pants and helps you ride through your orgasm, chuckling as your body twitches in delight. “That’s it… you look so handsome and fuckable when you orgasm like this. Yes, you did so well.”

Tech wasted no time in helping you stand, your legs like jelly, and bending you over the deck. “Come on, spread those legs.” He lightly spanks you, earning a delightful squeal from you but alas do as you’re told.

“Mmm, I should have listened to you earlier. I am appalled with myself for neglecting my lover,” he sighs softly, the palm of his hand caressing the insides of your side, slowly riding it upwards. “Nevertheless, I am going to fuck you so good that you may just beg for more.” Again, another soft spank to your rear follows his words.

“Do you want this?” He leans over your body, his cock that he recently pulled free teasing your hole as he cups your jaw, lifting your head back, “Do you want me to fuck you into submission, darling?”

“Yes! Yes, please, please, please oh my fuck-!” You whimper, bucking your hips into him eagerly.

“So needy, but I would be a liar if I were to say I didn’t love it. That’s it, spread your legs further- ah, Perfect.” Tech groans as he slicks himself up with his own precum.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body becoming numb as he slowly sheathes into you. You melted at the sounds of his ragged moans, his hands tight on your waist as he grounded you. “Ooo, you beautiful soul.” His praises sounded like liquid gold to your ears.

“Are you okay?” He softly asks, leaning back over you and placing a kiss between your shoulder blades and you faintly nod before letting out a breathless sigh.

“Perfect.”

He smiles. “Yes, yes you are.” Tech slowly pulled out of you, nearly all the way, then pushed back in with a force that makes you yelp, teeth biting your lip.

He started to fuck into you slowly, matching his thrusts with your shallow breaths. Your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut out of bliss. Tech moans your name before reaching forward and placing his lips to yours, kissing you whilst sliding his tongue past your lips, circling inside your mouth.

“I love you so much. So perfect for me.” Tech begins thrusting up deeper into you, Your eyes squeezed shut again and you bit your lip, trying to mask the moans and noises you made incase of being heard. Clearly, Tech didn’t like this, as he snuck his hands around your neck.

“Don’t hide those moans for me. It encourages me to fuck you even better darling,” he cooed, eyelids heavy as he feels his own climax starting to build.

His hands grip your neck, avoiding your windpipe which creates a heat to flood through your body. “Oh Tech, fuck me harder! Please.”

He picks up the pace, hands tightening around you as his hips slam into you, almost causing you to knock your head on the control panel but you don’t care, you plead for him to keep going, sweat dripping down both of your bodies.

Your whines get louder and you look over your shoulder at the man who has you a mewling mess, his hair disheveled, face hot and eyes deep in concentration.

“You’re so tight, so good, I’m gonna fucking cum- I can’t hold back- I can’t-.” Tech stutters as he swiftly pulls out of you, white hot ribbons painting your back and rear of his own creation. His legs quake and breathing is laboured.

“You really do not quite fathom what hold you have on me,” he grins lazily, stepping back to you and peppers soft kisses over your face, jaw and lips. “Now, let’s clean ourselves up before the others get back.”

“Care to join me in the shower?” You wag your brows at him, extending out your hand and Tech didn’t think twice before leading you straight there.

Masterlist

Want to see more of Tech? Here’s some more of my Tech Works

Taglist form (will remove if inactive with my works or on tumblr as a whole 💜)

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb

[tomurderornottomurder]

any other way; eddie munson

pair. eddie munson x ftm reader

summ. strangers to friends to lovers w/ eddie munson n ftm reader.

gen. fluff mostly, angst

tw. swearing, dated language regarding lgbt topics (it's not much), reader refers to self as a woman once, internalized transphobia, implied homophobia, reader implied to be stealth

wc. 2.5k

note. i love this greasy little freak

- if you're not already into the music he's into, he will introduce you to it. if you are though he's like "you're so cool, babe." even before you start dating

- you're both big ol nerds but while you're quiet he's quite the loud mouth

- aka he, the extrovert, adopts you, the introvert, kind of

- he sees you sitting alone at lunch and practically swoops you up. he comes over and introduces himself with the offer of his hand before coming to your side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. he invites you over to his table before leading you over.

- all the hellfire kids are super welcoming and though you're quiet, they don't mind. they joke around with you like you've always been one of them :')

- plus eddie has you sit by him to check on you

- adding on to that, after you guys are more comfortable he touches you a lot like squeezing your shoulder and stuff to make sure you're good and just cause he needs to touch you all the time

- very touchy feely dude

- anyway back to the plot ish,, he really wants you to join hellfire. he brings it up whenever he can. he really likes you and he loves DnD so naturally he wants his fav person to like his favorite thing

- when u finally give in he's so happy!! like dancing around n shit like he was when chrissy recognized him :)) god he's so cute

- he'll even twirl u around n shit he's fucking adorable

- so, now that he's convinced you, you guys meet after school to fill out character sheets, come up with ur character, and for him to shamelessly flirt (not that he doesn't do that all the time already)

- dude is so fucking hyped and he really enjoys explaining everything to you, he gets a real kick out of it

- every question you have is answered and in probably more detail than you need tbh

- honestly, besides him just being fixated on DnD, he wants to spend more time with you so he goes on and on

- then you're late and he's like you wanna ride back? 👀

- you take him up on his offer and he tries not to be too obvious about it but he plays his favorite songs and is watching you to gauge your reaction

- man nearly crashes but he's good (?) at being distracted while driving

- you make it home in one piece and eddie bids you farewell, watching you to make sure you get inside safe before driving back the lonely drive to his house

- this man loves to shred on his guitar for you, does it to impress you too. it's really cute, he'll get all hyped up and be on his knees, leaning back as he does a solo or honestly just to make you laugh

- your laugh is his favorite thing in the world <3

- he LOVES making you laugh, man. he will go out of his way to get you to laugh because everyone at school already thinks he's a freak so what's the harm? (especially if it charms you)

- dude is a sucker for your approval which isn't like him when it comes to anyone else

- he's always trying to learn more about you, especially since you're quiet

- randomly asks about your interests all the time

- okay so you've joined hellfire, right? and have spent some time with eddie and on your own creating your character and familiarizing yourself with everything

- well guess what happens now,, you get the hellfire t-shirt!!!

- it does something to eddie everytime he sees you wearing it 👀

- he's a little upset though that you usually wear layers over it :( but when you see him on a DnD night as you walk into school or something, you'll pull up the rest of your layers to show it to him and he just cheeses so hard

- god, if you've never seen heart eyes irl before when you do that you have

- also he notices how you're always dressed in layers even if it's ninety degrees but he just attributes it to keeping with your style cause he'll do the same

- once while hanging out with him after hellfire, he notices you're actually talking and kind of a lot or at least more than usual

- it clicks in his head after about the third time you do this alone with him, that you're comfortable with him

- man literally almost weeps

- one time you're actually joking around with him and tell him he has stubby fingers. he looks so shocked and can't even come up with a comeback. he enjoys this side of you.

- also makes him wonder why you'd even notice that 👀 but he never says anything

- okay so whether you smoke or not he'll invite you to smoke sessions but also!! will not pressure you to go if you don't wanna :)

- "it's cool, man. you don't wanna smoke, you don't wanna smoke." he shrugs nonchalantly.

- he runs into you a lot while you're out walking your dog. eddie loves animals but he's also a bit terrified of them. so when your dog barks at him he's like it's not gonna kill me, right?

- you laugh at him and introduce him to your dog and his rocker-boy attitude instantly melts away. he's talking in a high pitch baby voice and everything.

- he often joins you on your walks. you talk about everything and nothing. he also notices that you're not dressed in so many layers and you're constantly fidgeting with your shirt.

- you two start talking a lot and hanging out a whole lot. after some time, you guys just kinda get together. like it literally just happens

- but a couple weeks in it hits you that you still haven't told him yet and it wasn't that you didn't want to, no, it's just so fucking hard. you don't wanna lose eddie.

- you try to ignore it for a while n pretend you're cis and everything is fine but it's not and eddie can tell. he doesn't know how to broach the subject and hopes you'll bring it up first

- when you do get the courage up to tell him, he comes home to find you sitting anxiously on his couch. you ask him to talk and he of course says yes.

- "eddie, please remember i love you,"

- it sounds like you're going to break up with him and eddie starts to feel sick.

- "so please," you practically beg as you look at him with soft eyes, "don't hate me after i tell you this."

- eddie can't stop the churning in his stomach, are you really about to break up with him?

- "i'm a transsexual."

- well that's not what he was expecting to hear

- "i was born a woman but i'm a man. and i love you, eddie," you feel like you have to add that in since you're dealing such a big blow. "i hope this doesn't change things between us," you continue on shakily, playing with your hands as well. "i still wanna be with you but i thought you should know." you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment expecting him to maybe hit you or something but all that hits you are his words

- "i love you, too, y/n, no matter what."

- that's like a jolt of electricity to your heart. you jump up and wrap your arms around eddie in a tight hug, head resting against his chest, and eyes squeezed closed. tears spill silently as you hold onto eddie for dear life.

- eddie wraps his arms back around you and kisses your head. "i could never hate you, sweetheart. never," he finalizes with another kiss to the top of your head.

- it's the 80s and trans ppl especially ftm ppl aren't really known about or are grouped together with gay ppl so you'll have to explain a bit further to eddie but he's very understanding and supportive

- (i personally, headcanon him as trans but anyway)

- he becomes a bit more gentle with you after this, not because you're trans or anything he just doesn't want to make you uncomfortable :')

- much like steve with robin, he keeps the fact that you're trans to himself (as he should). he knows it's your right to tell people and not his, plus he would never want to risk your safety.

- he's always careful with you at school and in public because as much as he likes showing you off, he wants to keep you safe. but if you're alright with it, he's practically got you hanging off his arm

- y'all are like the power couple of hellfire lmao and they're equally annoyed and supportive :) they'll fake gag when you kiss n shit but they're happy for y'all

- you two mainly hang out at eddie's trailer, random nature trails, or just out in the woods. besides just being with each other, y'all's favorite thing to do is bug steve n robin at family video. robin loves u two but also is constantly like i hate you guys lol

- oh my god, remember how i said he's touchy feely?? dude LOVES to cuddle. he lives for it.

- your head on his chest while he combs his fingers through your hair? yes, please!

- he loves it when you guys just hold each other, laying in his bed n watching whatever's on tv or a horror flick robin or steve recommended. he's also a little spoon big time idc what anyone says, man loves to be held but spooning isn't his main thing

- his favorite is when you lay on him whether it's your whole body or just your head on his chest or in his lap

- you have got to play with his hair while you're cuddling, laying, or sleeping together. honestly, even if you're just sitting around, any time really. with your hands in his hair, he's putty in your hands. literally moaned one time when you did it, hair pulling kink much?

- another perk of being eddie's bf is coming along to his shows. his bandmates love you but they always make fun of eddie when he's being all love dovey with u. several of them ask why the hell you're with eddie n will jokingly flirt and are met with smacks to the shoulder by eddie but it's all in good fun

- mmm eddie loves holding your hand. at first he's kinda self conscious cause he gets sweaty hands around you cause he gets nervous n shit but at a certain point, he doesn't care and he knows you don't either

- please hug this man

- he understands that you don't always want to with your chest and all but god when you do? he's in heaven. he loves bear hugs, squeeze him til he's paste and he'll be satisfied

- man is touch starved that's why he savors it so much and just like you, he'll be randomly averse to touch. you guys are great at checking in with each other about it (steve thinks it's so cute, he saw y'all doing it once outside family video then robin caught him being soft about it and she hasn't stopped teasing him since)

- when your dysphoria hits hard, eddie's  almost always on top of it. he knows you well and you two are harmoniously connected, so he's very aware of your discomfort. still there are times where you've got to tell him because he won't realize

- mans will wrap you up in blankets to make you comfortable and also because he loves being wrapped in blankets.

- if you're not already in his clothes - he's noticed it's something you do when dysphoric- he'll go through his drawers asking u which u want to wear and literally dresses you himself unless you're uncomfortable. but it's nice to have someone take care of you so you don't have to think about it :')

- if you're okay with it, he'll cuddle you and this is like the one time he's big spoon lol. or he'll have you face him so you can bury your face against him and he runs his hands through your hair and to kiss your head :'))

- dude, whatever and i mean anything that you need, eddie's gonna get it for you. heat pack? no problem. obscene amount of your favorite snack? he's on it! playing that song you love that he hates? only for you, baby ;)

- such a fucking dad. very attentive n great at bad jokes.

- may not be able to cook the greatest but he will do his very best for you, results are mixed.

- back to clothes sharing. he loves sharing clothes!! literally one of his love languages (cough cough, giving his vest to steve, cough cough). he adores you in his clothes and he finds it funny when he catches you taking his clothes. like he'll be strolling into his room and you look like a raccoon in trash before you stand frozen with an armful of clothes

- "what're you doing?" he asks playfully.

- "nothing," you respond before poorly hiding the clothes behind yourself.

- he just laughs and walks over to give you a kiss.

- don't think you're exempt from him stealing your clothes cause he will. and honestly you feel like he pulls them off better than you.

- at some point, you don't know which clothes are yours or his and neither does he

- omg he'll let you wear his rings and stuff and he LOVES it. he's smiling so big like a lovesick teen :))

- also if some of the rings are too big he's gonna laugh at you hehe or if they're too small and get stuck lol

- one day you two are just lying around on his bed. you're both quiet, doing your own things but together. he strums on his guitar lazily while you absentmindedly sew a patch onto the knee of a pair of his jeans which allows your mind to wander. your dog also lies with you two at the foot of eddie's bed.

- your thoughts wander from yourself to eddie and how he sees you and how he's with you. "hey, eddie," you look over at him.

- he turns and looks at you lazily but full of love. he can't help smiling just looking at you. "need somethin', sweetheart?"

- "just wondering," you look at him quickly before looking down at your hands. "why're you with me, ed?"

- he looks genuinely surprised you'd ever ask him that. he even chuckles out of disbelief, "what?" he looks you straight in the eye as he leans over a little bit. "why wouldn't i wanna be with you?" he takes your hands, squeezing them.

- you shrug, pouting your lip, and tears pricking your eyes. "i don't know. just maybe if i was cis-"

- "hey," he says sternly, squeezing your hands again to bring you back to him. "i can't imagine you any other way. and i wouldn't want to."

[gr4vesrot]

artist credit

Roseville, Florida. 1992.

You have always been a Wallflower. Watching everyone's life trickle by like a character perpetually stuck on the sidelines. It was easy to come to the conclusion that you didn't actually exist, not to anyone else outside of your best friend, anyways.

Things don't happen to people like you. People easily forgotten, ignored, brushed off. So how is it that you got his attention.

How, exactly, did Ghostface pick out a wallflower like you?

Ghostface ( Dead by Daylight x Transman!Reader )

Warnings: Mild internalized transphobia, homophobic slur, light gore, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Your beverage started to get warm in your hands, and that made it all the more painful to drink. The burn from taking one too many Vodka Pineapple shots sat uncomfortably in the back of your throat, and when you rubbed your tongue on the roof of your mouth, the pineapple’s acidity stung a little bit sharper. But, with your vision getting increasingly wobbly, and your mind a little hazy, you thought nothing of it when you threw the remainder of the shot back after sipping on it like a morning cup of tea. 

You mentally chastise yourself when you leave it sitting in your mouth for a second longer than necessary, and your face tightens in a sharp cringe. Besides you, your friend laughs, and it’s amazing that you could hear her over the music and the drunken slur of the crowd. You try to laugh back, but it’s half-hearted, your cheeks quickly coloring when her amusement grabs the attention of different strangers around the both of you.

“Stop drinking them if you don’t like them!” She leans over to speak into your ear, and your stomach does an anxious flip when the taller man standing next to you looks down at the top of her pretty head. Both of your hands come up to grip the edge of the bartop nervously after setting the empty shot glass down, nails digging into the surface before promptly yanking them away as if you got burned. Men don’t close in on themselves, men don’t act skittish. You try to get your shoulders to relax, but it looks more like an awkward slump than anything. The fog wrapping tight around your brain is the only thing that numbs you from assuming the worst. Everyone here thinks you’re an idiot. Or better yet— they don’t know you’re here at all. Alcohol had a funny way of making things more bearable. 

“I like them, I like them!” You manage a grin and wave her off, “there’s just… a lot of vodka in there.” You gesture to the bartender for one more, and your longtime companion groans. You both met fresh out of highschool, the first day of your very first job ( or for her, her third job within a span of three months ), and both of you bonded over being college dropouts. She had confided in you that the stress was too much for her, and with a shitty dorm-mate added on top of it, she had abandoned the idea of college life all together. You, however, tried to stick it out. Did your best to overcome and conquer, but sometimes ritualistic hazing is far stronger than your best could ever do. 

Five years later and you’re still thick as thieves. You both made a point to make time for each other one day a week at the very least. This week, both your availability had lined up on a Saturday night. Which in your friend’s mind, meant club night. She was far more outgoing than you, more willing to dance with strangers, made acquaintances everywhere she went, so bright and pretty. It felt like a cruel joke to even be able to stand next to her, and an even crueler one when your self-deprecating thoughts ( and jealousy ) were proved to be factual each time you went out together.

Something dark twisted in the haze of your mind when the man on your opposite side, the one that had been looking down at Jess when she leaned into you, ignored your presence all together in order to worm himself between you and your best friend. Not the first time it’s happened, and most certainly not the last. You were a wallflower. Watching as everyone’s life flittered by them without so much as sparing you a glance in return. Or when they did, when someone finally noticed you, the only thing they could muster up was confusion, disgust; As if you were a frog to be observed and dissected. The testosterone had helped, your voice deepened, your shoulders just a little more broad, and your curves not as feminine. But it’ll never make you taller, or the softness of your features harden into what was commonly associated as male. Not with the sporadic dosages you were taking; Insurance didn’t cover the injections, and you’ve already exhausted yourself over crying about it. Now, there was only bitter acceptance.

It would have been so much easier if I stayed a g— Your next shot burned extra on the way down, and you gave the bartender a glare when his back was turned. Was he putting way too much vodka in the drink on purpose? Or did he just suck? 

“I’m gonna go dance!” Jess pats your shoulder to grab your attention again, and when you turn, you’re all too aware of how the man who shoved between the two of you doesn’t even look your way. You frown, brows pulling together slightly and you bite your bottom lip out of worry. You weren’t entirely confident that you’d be able to keep an eye on her in the sea of people cluttering the dance floor, and as if reading your mind, she gives you a reassuring grin. “I’ll be back in a bit! I extra promise, okay? Join us when you’re ready!” That grabs the tall stranger's attention, and he looks down at you with a raise of his brows. Curiosity lingers there, his gaze flickering down to your chest for the briefest of seconds only to find nothing of what he was looking for, and back at your face again. The stare makes you entirely self-conscious, and as confident as you were with your binding, you still feel too vulnerable in a room packed with so many people. 

“Okay,” you relent, leaning in to whisper the last part, “if anything happens just come and find me. I’ll stay in the same spot.” Appreciation laces her expression when you pull back, and she laughs when you hold up your seventh empty shot glass. 

“Can’t wait till you get fucking drunk! Then maybe you’ll finally dance with me!” She doesn’t stick around to see your scoff, and the stranger is once again hypnotized as she pulls him along to the dance floor. The thought of being pressed up against that many bodies nearly makes you shudder, and you don’t have it quite in you to explain to her why the thought of dancing with that many people around would be your personal nightmare. You turn back to the bar, blinking when the rows of alcohol bottles and syrups begin swirling together. Yeah, maybe that seventh shot wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was easier to be drunk than sober in a place like this. When the bartender comes back around to pick up your empty glass, you barely register him asking if you’d want another, and you shake your head with a few mumbled “no”’s. The worst hasn’t even hit you yet, you could feel it, and you’d rather cool the flames before making a bigger fire. The earlier patrons have now dispersed and new faces surround you. Taking each of them in one by one, you chuckle to yourself when you have trouble focusing on every individual feature. It goes ignored, either because no one could hear you over the DJ, or they just couldn’t bother with some weirdo ominously laughing to himself. 

The multitude of colors across from you grab your attention again, and you could barely make out the words on the bottles. It’s when you’re struggling to pronounce the name on a bright, cherry red one that two girls immediately fill the empty space at your side, flagging down the bartender to order. 

“Are you sure we should even be out?” One of them says, a nervousness in her tone that you find solidarity in. “You know with… Uh, um.. The murders and all?” 

Your eyes flicker away from the bottle and down at the murky brown bartop. Suddenly, trying to read the names of alcohol bottles wasn’t all that interesting anymore. From Pennsylvania and now to Roseville, Florida, a predator stalked the streets at night. With a new killing seemingly every week, the city of Roseville was in a whirlwind of panic. The murderer, this Ghostface, had been nothing but the talk of the town. Front page of every newspaper since he arrived a month ago, and after the first two weeks of seeing his name and how he murdered his victims plastered on every news story and magazine, you figured it best to not send yourself on that downwards spiral. The last thing you needed was more of a reason to fear going outside. Besides, running into some super psycho serial killer didn’t happen to people like you. 

Not unless this murderer wanted an article titled Ghostface: A Passion for Hate Crimes? In the Roseville Gazette’s new piece about him. The thought of it has an amused smirk tug at the corner of your lips. Funny, in a morbid and should totally not be funny sort of way. 

The nervous woman’s friend sighed, rolling her eyes and popping her gum for dramatic flare. “What’s he gonna do? Come in here and try to kill every single one of us? We’re way safer in a crowd than at home. He gets ya’ at home.” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you wanted to try your hand at being like Jess. Friendly, likable, and sociable Jess. You turn your body slightly, facing the two women’s direction and remembering to make your posture as welcoming as possible. Eye contact, speak from your chest, don’t be afraid. A breath in, a breath out, and you ignore the tightening of your stomach. “I think he just likes the attention,” you voice your opinion, successfully earning the two’s scrutiny. They eye you with guarded looks, the nervous one’s gaze much softer than her friend’s. The one closest to you, the gum chewer, however, drums her nails across the bartop. Your palms become clammy, but you continue. “I mean— it just seems like all the news stories and articles are what's spurring him on. A total attention seeker, just don’t give him any and maybe he’ll leave you alone.” You force a laugh, and it burns much worse than vodka ever could. 

“Fag.” 

The smile is wiped clean from your lips just as quickly as your face colors with embarrassment. Shame is dumped over you like scorching hot tar, filling your throat till you can’t speak, can’t breathe, and the heat numbs your body to the point it feels cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. You’re going to be sick. There’s something heartwrenching forming in your chest that’s familiar. An old friend. Like a dumbbell weighing you down, your movements are slowed when you try to face away from them, fingers curling into the edge of the bartop again with how quickly you were shot down. The more you feel yourself drown, the louder the ringing in your ears gets. You knew it was a mistake coming here. You knew it. And the mean, petty side of you blames Jess for it. If she hadn’t dragged you along, if she knew what it was like.. 

The two women go back to their conversation; As if the word never escaped the gum chewer’s mouth, as if you had never talked to begin with. As if you were never there at all. The alcohol makes it harder to force down the humiliated tears welling in your eyes, and you’re actually thankful they no longer notice you. It’s one thing to be called slurs in public, but to cry about it right after is another brand of shame entirely. Your shoulders are slumped again, arms folding together over your chest as a means to self-soothe. You're angry with yourself for not saying anything back, for immediately losing your voice at the first sign of hostility. Not only could you not stand up for yourself, but you crumpled like a wet napkin. God, what a loser.

Like clockwork, someone comes stumbling up next to you. Too stubborn to look directly ( no way were you going to let anyone see the red rings you know are forming around your eyes ), you can tell it’s the tall guy who went off to dance with Jess by the color and style of his shirt you catch in your peripheral. The ringing was still too loud in your ears to hear what he ordered, but by the sudden shift of his posture, you could tell he was looking at you. 

Please no. God no. 

He says something, but it’s hard to make out over how overwhelmed you were. So instead, you don’t answer, and will yourself to become invisible. Strange how it works, the back and forth between your hopeless desire to be noticed, and to stay in the unacknowledged spot you were all too familiar with. 

The silence between the two of you is almost painful, but he promptly forgets your existence the moment the bartender reappears with his drinks. One you recognize as Jess’s signature order, a Bloody Mary, and the desire to leave hits you like a truck. You need to go home, you need to go and tell Jess what happened so you can both get the fuck out of this shitty night club with a shitty bartender; And away from all these shitty people. Without thinking, you move a little unsteadily on your feet right at the same time Jess’s new dance partner does, colliding into his chest face first. There’s grunts from you both, and the collision has his drinks slip from his hands and toppling down directly on top of you. The gum chewer and her friend shriek in surprise, cursing when some of it splashes against their shoes. The combination of liquids feels like thick sludge running down your hair and to your shoulders, staining the fabric of your shirt a bright red. It drips off the ends of your locks, sliding all the way down to your fingertips and creating a small puddle where you stood. 

Again, you are left speechless. Your drunken daze makes it entirely impossible to think. You slowly lift your chin up, the strong scent of what was Jess’s Bloody Mary becoming that much more powerful when it leaves red trails down the length of your face. Even without the hamster running on his little wheel to get your brain cells working, a small conscious part of you knew this was when the man was supposed to apologize. Ask you for forgiveness so he could still score with your best friend, maybe even go the extra mile and grab you a few napkins so you could wipe yourself off. But when you look up and your eyes manage to focus, he is looking completely past you, mouth babbling apologies towards the two women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone. 

You do not exist.

Serial killer be damned. You’d rather brave the pitchblack streets of Roseville then stay there another second. I don’t exist, the wheel in your brain started turning again, Ghostface won’t even see me out there. Turning in a very dangerous direction.

Like a robot, you stiffly maneuver yourself away from the bar and towards the exit, careful as not to inconvenience anybody. Your promise to Jess would have to be broken for a single night, but you hoped she would understand. You hoped that having two drinks dunked over your head was enough to warrant leaving and never going back. You leave through the front without sparing a single glance at the bouncers, and the humid Florida air only worsened your predicament. Everything felt sticky and cold, disgustingly so. And you hadn’t even realized you were crying until something wet and warm served as a stark contrast to the chill sludge of your now most hated beverage in existence. Your tears dribbled off your chin, and a pitiful whine escaped your throat. Another sob turned into an ugly snort when you tried to stop it halfway. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. 

You try to exhale, but it comes out in a stutter, and inhaling only has the same result. Your legs move entirely on autopilot to get you home, and though you were stumbling just a tad, you still had the sense to try and determine just how long it would take you to get there. 

Only a few miles. Thirty minutes at least.. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying. Men don’t cry.

You press your lips tightly together to silence yourself, and you focus on the street sign ahead as the club’s music slowly fades out from behind you. Retting LN. it reads, or at least you think it says Retting. You stop for a moment, eyes squinting up at the sign and mouth slightly parted. Left or straight ahead? You couldn’t decide. Trying to get yourself to think was like trying to connect the right wires in a generator, and you definitely weren’t a mechanic. Straight is… longer. You eye the different dimly lit stores and bars down the street ahead, swallowing hard when a group of different figures emerge from a particularly seedy hole-in-the-wall pub. 

Left is shorter. But when you turn, the pitch black that meets you feels all consuming. There’s nothing but a flickering street lamp several blocks away, and porch lights that don’t meet the sidewalk. You’ll be totally blind, minus that one street lamp. But it’s shorter. I feel sick. The chorus of laughter from the group you saw prior was getting louder now, and in a moment of drunken panic, you picked left. 

The group seemed far wiser than you. Carrying on down their path without even sparing a glance towards the horror filled shadows you decided to brave. You sway to the side, catch yourself last minute, and right yourself up again with a few low murmurs. Even you had no idea what you were saying to yourself, and anyone who’d happen to pass you by would surely think you were crazy. But the streets were empty, minus the few cockroaches you were too drunk to notice skittering around your feet. The Ghostface crosses your mind again, his mask flashing in the forefront. You spook yourself when your vivid imagination turns the mask into an actual face, morphed into a perpetual scream and his jaw begins opening wider and wider. Tearing the corners of his mouth as it completely unhinges and threatens to swallow you whole. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to think about something else. The lamp post is coming up quickly, and you’re relieved when its light seems to stretch towards you no matter how dim. Your saving grace, your angel; Its light was a God Send when even your own mind began piecing together horrors beyond what you thought you were capable of conjuring up. The gentle buzz of the lamp as you stood under it was a helpful distraction, and so were the bugs swarming beneath it in chaotic circles. Now, maybe, you can finally understand why the little creepy crawlies were so attracted to the light. Were they also scared of some mass murderer? Afraid his sadism didn’t stop at just humans, and he’d crush them under his boot a little too enthusiastically? It made sense, you concluded with a final nod to yourself, The Ghostface didn’t just strike fear into the hearts of the people of Roseville, but in every living creature that just so happened to be within the city limits. Or maybe, his influence had already reached outside the city limits. 

The rumors stated he had made his way from Pennsylvania to Florida, who knows where he’d go next once he grew tired of this dingy city. 

Having your head tilted back and your eyes fixated on the lamp for too long had you feeling even more dizzy than you already were, and you instantly regretted your mistake. Facing forward again had your world spinning, swaying side to side with a miserable groan. You were never drinking again, you’ve had it with the effects of alcohol. Stumbling when you don’t quite pick your foot up all the way, inches away from the line that divided illumination and the shadows from a moonless sky, there was a loud clatter from behind the picket fence that separated you and the yard it came from. Startled, you curse, the exclamation echoing off the silent streets. It’s followed by a gasp when your foot slips off the curb of the sidewalk, and you finally go tumbling down on your ass for the first time that night. The road’s gravel bites into the skin of your palm and your forearm when you try to catch yourself, and there’s a sharp sting against your thigh when it rubs against a few loose rocks as you try to right yourself too fast. Your mind can’t keep up to your body’s instincts, and your feet don’t seem to work right even when you finally manage to pick yourself up. 

You run with awkward, clumsy movements across the street. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. It feels like you’re choking again, your arm and palm hurts, your thigh is rubbing uncomfortably against your jeans. But it was all left ignored. You had to escape, you had to run. Run from what? You try to rationalize. It was just a noise. A raccoon, a stray cat. The Ghostface doesn’t care about a nobody like you. 

Though, none of your rationalizing mattered. Your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you down different streets and letting fate be your guide. The dark blinded you, and like a moth to a flame, you began following the flickering lights of the back alleyways subconsciously. A stupid move on your part, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stick to the shadows? It would have made for an easier escape. That is, if you even were being chased by anything. Or anyone. 

You had no idea where you were by the time you stopped, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. The muscles of your legs ached, and your side cramped with each inhale. If you didn’t feel sick before, you really do now, and a gag bubbles up your throat that turns into a short, dry cough. All that running made you absolutely parched, and your own saliva did nothing to remedy it. Leaning against the alley wall for support, you take this moment to collect yourself. There was nothing but the sound of your own breathing, nobody reaching out from dark corners to drag you into Hell, and certainly no masked killer choosing you as his next victim. Your laugh comes out as an amused sigh, your exhaustion doesn’t allow for anything more. 

The night was full of embarrassment. But at the very least, there was no one to watch you sprint around like a mad man. 

You blink slowly, giving yourself all the time you need in order to process where you are. You’ve already given up on getting home in a timely manner, and instead focus on trying to get home in general. There’ll be no more scaring yourself, no more wild imaginations, and no more brainlessly staring at street lights. Step one, get yourself out of the alleyway. “Yeah.. yeah..” You mutter to yourself, rubbing both your eyes. You’ve forgotten how sticky your face was, and you pull your hands back with a soft “ew.” Most of the alcohol spilled on you had dried, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. The top of your head still felt wet, your clothes stained far past salvation, and you smelled awful. You fucking hate Bloody Marys.

Lifting yourself off the wall, you decide to head straight. Might as well finish what you started, and there was a right turn calling your name. Further into the busier part of Roseville, the back alley’s nearly acted as a maze, but you were certain that finding the road again would be much quicker after taking that right. Where you got this confidence from, you weren’t sure. You’d never been the back alley type, not even during your edgier phase in high school. You walk with the certainty of someone who wasn’t seconds away from pissing their pants just moments before, shoulders back and posture straight. You’ve had it up to here on your metaphorical limits chart and the next fixation on your mind was a nice, hot shower. Rinse the day off next to all the red sludge dunked over your head, forget those unfortunate interactions at the bar, and carry on the next few days like nothing happened. Your hand and arm would heal, you’d apologize to Jess for leaving her at the club, and you'd rid yourself from any thoughts about Ghostface. 

You refuse to live your life filled with paranoia. Not again. 

Something strange sounds ahead, just around your chosen right corner. It makes you hesitate, but you swallow that fear and chalk it up to nothing. Nothing! Your self assured pep-talk wasn’t about to go to waste, and the worse it could be was some crazy drunk wandering around the back alleys at night. So someone a lot like you. 

If that was the case, you’d simply turn around and go the other way. 

Your hands balled into fists, determined to see it through. The sounds got louder the more you approached; odd shuffling, was that a… groan? And someone is talking. One person, or two? You couldn’t make sense of it, and now you really, really wish you hadn’t taken so many of those shots. In a desperate attempt to prove yourself, you march faster towards the corner, figuring that as long as you didn’t give yourself time to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off in the opposite direction, you’d come out accomplished. If you could face this, you could face anything. That’s how it worked, right? The gum chewer woman comes to mind, and you vow that if you could walk past whatever lurked in the shadows of this maze with your head held high, you’d be able to do the same when confronted with people like her. 

You round the corner without giving yourself a moment to think. No time to pause and really listen to what was being said. To what was being done. The heat from the alcohol leaves your body entirely, and what feels like the ice cold body of a snake coils around your limbs to make you immobile. The breath you were holding chokes you, but you can’t even manage a cough. Your hands and legs grow numb, your eyes warming with tears. 

Things like this didn’t happen to people like you. You were a wallflower. A nobody. Hardly visible to anyone outside of Jess and your boss when he needed you to cover someone on your days off. The grotesque wet noises pierce your ears and threaten to draw your attention away from the dark figure standing only a few feet in front of you. A gloved hand wraps tight around the handle of his blade, the other gripping some new, poor victim by the front of their hoodie. One last groan and spurt of blood dribbling past their lips, their legs give out and they slump in the man’s hold. But you can barely register any of this. Not when the ghastly, white mask slowly turns to peek at you from under its hood, locking the hollow of its eyes on you. 

It sees you. 

He sees you. 

Ghostface slips his knife from the fresh corpse with ease. Crimson drips from the tip of it, and he makes no sudden movements. Neither do you. A silent understanding, if you run ( run, run, run—! ) he could easily catch you as you are now. Drunk, fastened to where you stand by fear alone. He moves with such brilliance, the fluidity of a cat, a hunter. The casualness of his regard for you shows the depth of his cockiness. The black holes of his mask suck you in far deeper than the shadows of the path you’ve chosen, and this is the second time in your whole existence that you’ve experienced what true fear is. The frigid bite at your rapidly beating heart, the feeling of T.V. static crawling up your skin and to your horrified expression. You can do nothing but stand there, gaping, as a mass murderer fully turns to look at you. 

He sees you.

Read the rest on AO3 !!

[agilident]

why not

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Transman Jack Krauser x Transmasculine Reader

I usually write far more detailed things than this, but I'm currently in the ER and thought this would be a fun thing to brainstorm. I hope y'all enjoy. This is my poetry/writing blog but you can find more of my content on @toadwarts and @boipussybiohazard I definitely plan to write more of this along with Krauser dating hcs!

First Meeting

• Krauser comes back to consciousness after being stabbed by Leon. He is injured and not particularly able to move, but Albert Wesker has been keeping an eye on him. Agents are sent to retrieve his body and are shocked when Krauser is in fact alive, if barely.

• Wesker dedicates time and resources to healing Krauser, with the written contract that Krauser will now become one of his agents. Krauser is a BOW now, and Wesker has enabled it so that he may mutate at will. The Plagas could not be removed without killing Krauser, but it could be modified. When not mutated, Krauser's arm and face are still disabled--leading to difficulty with facial expressions and motor impairment.

• Krauser knows how to do one thing well, and that's following orders. Him guiding Leon to finish him off was the first decision he had made completely on his own and it failed. He is empty, a shell of a person, and has nothing to live for. He does work for Wesker and he does it well.

• Krauser has to forcibly de-mutate after a heavy skirmish. Going in and out of mutating is incredibly painful, but it was neccessary this time. He is badly hurt and finds you cutting through some allies to get home--he demands medical items, food, water. He is extremely intimidating. You look at him and his arm bleeding profusely while dangled at his side, and think of your own disabilities. You struggle with walking and have an exceptionally weak constitution. You understand the pain in his eyes that he tries to hide behind a biting tone, though you have no idea who these mysterious man in military fatigues is. You speak to him softly and get him some first aid. His cruel manner of speaking goes silent, but he is cold. He mutters something about being too far away from his rendezvous point.

• You offer him to take it easy in your apartment. He is incredulous. You suspect there is more to him than meets the eye. You tell him gently that you lost your parents to an operation by Umbrella...looking at the sudden widening of his eyes, you realize your hunch was right. You let him know that you tend to keep your head down and just work your 9-5, so he should be safe at your studio apartment. He reluctantly agrees and walks with you, insisting on carrying the groceries you had had in his uninjured arm. You get a feeling he is showing off his machismo, but for who? It's clearly hurting him. You fret, though you get the feeling that if you showed him pity you'd likely get some knuckles to the face.

• You go to give him the bed, but he refuses. Not in a chivalrous sort of way, but instead claims that he isn't soft and he'll do just fine with a sleeping bag. He keeps muttering how he shouldn't even be here. How he has no idea of what to do with civilians like you. Too normal and complacent, people like you are. He seems lost. You smile and start making something simple for you both to eat. You figure a big guy like him eats a lot.

• He's an army guy, obviously, so you want to try and find something familiar. All American. As he tends more to his arm, you fry up some hot dogs and warm the buns. You grab each of you a beer from the fridge. You bring it to him and he blinks. Doesn't say thank you, just starts to eat. The way he scarfs it down is more than enough for you. He asks for seconds, then thirds.

• "Who are you?" You ask.

• "Not important." He says. He takes his time with the beer. Looks like this guy is a locked chest, and you won't be getting anything from him soon. After he's fed and you give him some of your pain medication, you crawl into bed. You wonder if you're safe--he's an older man with bloodstains on his clothes and has hardly said more than a few sentences. He doesn't exactly scream safe... After all, he IS taking advantage of you, isn't he? Or at least he tried, before you led him right to your home like a lost puppy.

• Still. You remember what happened to your parents, and the flash of recognition in his eyes when you mentioned Umbrella. Umbrella is why you had been disabled and silenced...why your parents were dead. Maybe they had hurt him too. Maybe the world itself had. He looked like a guy carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, hiding it behind snarky remarks and a deep scowl.

• You didn't believe in fate, but when you fell asleep with him sitting straight up and staring at the wall, you felt like this was something meant to be. You wanted to help him, but you also knew...that was his choice. Not yours.

Getting to Know Each Other

• Krauser stays with you for a few days. All he says is that he cannot reach his contact. He is abrasive and mostly silent. His eyes are empty and he stares out into space often.

• Over the next three days, you slowly get him to open up. You ask him what his favorite movies are, and he flatly says he doesn't watch movies. Board games? No. Books? No. Video games? No. Hobbies? Nu-uh. You are shocked. Irritated by you, he finally tells you he hasn't bothered with anything like that since he was a child--he was too busy with his military career.

• You invite him to watch a movie with you. It's some military flick, not something you're particularly interested in. He is reluctant, but sits on the couch. He clearly doesn't know what to do when out of action.

• You watch the movie together and have to take frequent pauses for him to make some sort of commentary or get up and pace restlessly. A two hour long movie turns into four hours. You don't mind, because he's finally talking, and he's finally passionate about something. He has a sneer that most would find nasty, but you think is cute. You're receptive to his infodumps and understanding of his needing to pause, and he notices this.

• You watch more movies with him--he loves Highlander and Braveheart, movies like that. You show him sci-fi and fantasty, move on to some comedies. The Princess Bride actually makes him laugh. The two of you start talking more. He isn't sweet, but he's a great verbal sparring partner, especially when he's passionate about something.

• He shows you one of his knives and the tricks he can do with it. He seems to glow from the way you're impressed, but just acts like he deserves it. He tells you about his favorite knife, one he...gave away to a friend. You don't ask questions.

• One day, he is just gone. It was only five days, but it felt like forever, and you wanted to get to know him more. It felt like this mysterious stranger had left an imprint on your life forever.

• Three months pass. Nothing. You grieve that you never learned his name.

• You come home from work one day, struggling with your cane. Your back and leg are killing you. You almost scream when your front door swings open as you approach, and your Mysterious Stranger is standing there. He grins at you, seemingly pleased to have given you a fright, then has the decency to look sheepish. He says he remembered the spare key. He tells you that he needed a place to stay again. You're incredulous, but let it slip. Not without bitching at him for eating your food and leaving without a word. He bites right back, your home feels more alive again.

• This cycle continues. He finally tells you his name. Jack Theodore Krauser. You love it. You spend a lot of time inside, showing him different kinds of media, but slowly get him to venture outside. He almost seems agoraphobic when it comes to anything other than a battlefield or room with four walls, and it's a long process. He's not used to eating things much more than MREs and chicken breasts and veggies. You get him to try new things, to venture out to the park, to find some new clothes at the mall. Specifically at the big and tall store.

• You two have fun together. You become good friends, and still you don't know a lot about each other. It doesn't matter.

• He gets the mail one day. He's a nosy bastard and opens it...it's your testosterone subscription. You see him holding it and nearly have a panic attack! You have no idea how this army guy is going to react to the fact that you've been hiding something so big and--

• Krauser stares at the prescription for a moment, lips pursed. He shrugs and tugs up his shirt. Barely there, extremely faded, are keyhole top surgery scars. You would have to know what you're looking for to see them, especially with all the muscle he's built.

• You both kind of stand there in shock, before he tells you about his experiences as a gay trans man in the American military. How much he had to hide, the papers he had to forge... It was a hard life. He finally tells you about Operation Javier. His face is stone cold, but his hands tremble. The military discovered he was transgender then. Between that, the failure and his disability, it got him discharged.

• You put a hand to his. He's so much bigger than you, different than you, and yet...there is a thread that ties you together. Many threads. He looks at you, his glassy blue eyes hiding any trace of emotion.

• And then he leans down and kisses you. He is a sloppy, wet kisser, and you can tell he doesn't have much experience, though his passion is like a brightly lit flame.

• You make out with him and curl up in bed together, the first time he has ever deigned to touch your sheets. He tells you about Las Plagas. He tells you what he is. What he has done.

• You smile at him. You let him know that you would love him no matter what.

• He says nothing.

• He is gone in the morning.

[bubblegumfanfictions]

UPDATE: I will be writing for the top 3 votes at the end of the week! If yours doesn't win fret not, feel free to private message me with a fanfic idea and the type of reader you want me to write!

[multifandomenjoyerr]

pet peeve

Everytime I see reader x character (specifically agere content, but also in general) it's always gonna assume you're female if the canon character is male

Just say you don't believe every gender outside of the feminine identity exist on this app and be done w it. Please

[yaboyhoney]

hii!! Wifbiwrbjejr do you still take raihan and piers reqs? its fine if not!!

yup! I take requests for all canon adult Pokemon characters! Raihan and Piers are good to ask me for! They're quite fun to write about as well actually! <3

These two are my favorite Galarian gym leaders

[dc-himbo]

Jason x Transmasc!Reader - Early Morning Rambles

Don't mind me, I just need to get these thoughts out of my head. Most of these are NSFW. You've been warned. Minors dni, obviously. Just did reader because that's popular here and honestly I'd like to see myself in these anyways. Fair warning, there is use of fem terms to describe specific body parts. It's not that I don't want to use gender neutral or strictly masc terms, it's just a personal preference of mine as a TransMan. Also warning for use of pet names, daddy kink, sleepy morning sex, we gotta fuck now sex, praise....I think that's everything.

Also, I am intentionally using he/him pronouns and not using you/yours. Let's get to it.

Note after writing: Might switch to you/yours. It's not confusing for me, but I can see how it would be for others. Jason's POV. Also I got carried away. Hehehe

Jason loves lazy early mornings. He loves the sunlight streaming in from the curtains. He loves the warmth of it on his skin. He loves the way his boy looks cuddled under warm blankets and pressed close to him.

He gets caught up in it. He gets overwhelmed by the warmth and the way his body fits perfectly against his own. He can't stop touching him. He has to. He has to know he is really there and that this is real and not a dream. His fingers trace over his spine, he gets lost in the feeling of soft warm skin.

It's not enough

Fuck.

It's just...it's not enough.

He's selfish. He needs more. Wants more. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer. One arm around his waist, the other around his chest. Jason's lips press soft, slow, lazy open mouth kisses to his neck.

Pretty boy

Sweet boy

My sweet boy.

Jason still can't believe that he's the one who gets to see him like this. Who gets to touch him...kiss him. He should let him sleep, but he can't help it. He just fucking can't help it. He needs to touch you. He needs to have you.

Now

He needs him now

Jason's hands waste no time sliding down down down until he's dipping fingers in to gather wetness so he can slide his fingers over his little cock. He knows how he likes it. He's fucking memorized it. Burned it into his brain so he will never fucking forget. Slow soft steady strokes that have those little noises he loves falling from his lips as he starts to wake up.

"Jay...what are...ah..."

He never gives his boy time to get this thoughts together. To wake up fully. No. He wants him like this. He wants him soft and warm and thoughtless.

"Morning Pretty Boy." Jason loves how he moans at the praise. "Tell me what you need." He would give him the world if he asked for it. He would do anything for him. It should scare him. It does most days. But mornings like this he doesn't let that fear distract him.

His boy takes too long to answer, but Jason doesn't care. It gives him time to suck a few hickeys down his throat, to stroke his fingers over his boys cock, to dip his fingers inside his tight hole and stretch him open. Get him ready. He loves this. He loves working his boy up until he's moaning and panting and arching against him. Until he's desperate and needy. Until he's begging for him.

"Jason please. Need you. Fuck...please fuck me."

Finally.

Fucking finally.

It's effortless. Fuck...it's too easy. He wastes no time in pulling his leg up. He wastes no time as he lines up and slides inside him with a groan. Jason is overwhelmed by how good he feels. Overwhelmed by tight walls gripping him and milking him and fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His boy is cumming.

Fuck

"Love my tight little boy's pussy...'m close baby. So good. So good for me." Jason get lost in praise. He can't stop telling him how he feels...how good he is...how much he loves him...how much he loves his body.

Jason feels like he cums against his will. He slams deep, holds himself there as he fills him up. Jason isn't done. No. He can't be done. He doesn't want to be. He needs to feel his boy squeeze him again. He tell him as much as he strokes that little cock until he is cumming hard, arching and gasping and begging and saying his name like it's fucking music to his ears.

Jason loves lazy early mornings. He loves how he looks in the sunlight, all flushed and sweaty and sweet and dazed. He loves seeing his boy fucked out. He loves him. He loves him. He wraps his arms around him and kisses over the marks he left on his neck. He loves him. He hopes that will be enough to keep this for as long as he fucking can.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Other Masterlist

911:

Buck:

Buck x Spencer (criminal minds) - Warnings: None that I can think of. Word Count: 824

Eddie

911 Lone Star:

TK Strand

Judd Ryder:

Judd x trans male nephew reader - Word Count: 906 Warning: Transphobic parents, not sure if there’s anything else, give me a shout if you spot something

Carlos Reyes:

Carlos x sibling reader - warnings: home intruder, break in

Paul Strickland

Marjan Marwani

Mateo Charvez

Carlos x TK:

Tarlos trans son - Word Count: 898 Warning: She pronouns for reader at beginning as well as deadname (D/N), emotional - but in a happy, relieved sort of way.

Marvel:

Steve Rogers:

Steve x male reader - Warnings: Implied homophobic neighbours, mentions of death, mentions of difficulty dealing with death and disappearance, slight insecurities, the reader feels lonely. Word Count: 1027

Ship 1 - 100 followers celebration

Tony Stark

Bucky Barnes:

Bucky x male reader - Warnings: mentions of torture and what hydra did, etc.

Thor Odinson

Natasha Romanoff

Bruce Banner

Loki Laufyson

Peter Parker

Merlin (BBC):

Merlin

Arthur

Gwaine

Lancelot

Percival

Elyan

Leon

Morgana

Guinevere

Primeval:

General:

A mysterious onion appears in the arc - Warnings: none.

Squad trip to Dublin - Warnings: none.

Nick Cutter

Stephen Hart:

Splinter

Connor Temple

Abby Maitland

Nick x Stephen:

Victorian

Supernatural:

Dean Winchester:

You’re Perfect - Dean x trans male reader. Warnings:  mention that reader has insecurities, reader swears like twice, reader gets badly hurt. Word Count: 530

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Umbrella Academy:

Luther Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Allison Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves (platonic and familial requests only)

Ben Hargreeves

Viktor Hargreeves

Vampire Diaries Universe:

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Rebekah Mikaelson

Klaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Whitechapel:

DC Emerson Kent

DI Joseph Chandler

Kent x Chandler:

Kent x Chandler - Warnings: none that I can think of, but if you see any, let me know! Word Count: 263

[neon-lights-stardust-nights]

if i were a more petty person, i'd compile all the various ways I've seen people tag things that I cannot seem to find a way to block and filter out afab reader content of.

i'll fucking tell you though, i'm getting pettier and pettier by the fucking day.

[tomurderornottomurder]

teen dad; steve harrington

pair. steve harrington x ftm!reader

summ. steve gets reader pregnant and when reader needs him, steve's there for reader

gen. angst n fluff

tw. pregnancy, teen pregnancy, ftm pregnancy, mentions of violence, unsupportive family, birth scene (vague), coming out, probably messed up timeline (pretty vague tho)

wc. 1.5k

note. i haven't been able to write just about anything but this came to me last night and it felt good to write out. also like personally pregnancy n birth freak me out so idk where this came from??, expect a part 2, C/n = child name :)

To say things between you and Steve Harrington are complicated is an understatement. Freshman year you two were inseparable, hot on the hips, literally and figuratively. Always kissing in the halls, his arms wrapped around your waist, and your face buried in his neck. You were the 'it' couple of Hawkins High for a while. Then things went downhill. You two had your biggest falling out to date and didn't speak to each other for weeks; scathing stares across the lunchroom sent the message. And then, you discovered by some miracle you were pregnant! Only one man could be responsible and you knew it wasn't going to go well.

Steve was a lot quieter than you expected. You guess you couldn't really blame him, this was a big deal after all. You just expected more of an argument. He had asked if you were going to keep it though, and well, you didn't really know. You felt like he had taken the news a little too well or rather maybe he hadn't fully understood the severity of the situation.

Turns out, you did want the kid. Steve wasn't sure about it at first and you two had gotten into another fight over it. Steve had gotten over the fight at least -the child, his child was still something for him to process- and he came over with some flowers and other gifts, his form of an apology.

You two had tried to rekindle your relationship but it just wasn't there between your differing ideals at the time, your changing view on yourself, and Steve's blossoming feelings for Nancy. You couldn't really blame him, she seemed nice and she was gorgeous, and you, yourself, were starting to fancy someone else. 

You two were pretty distant after that, busy with your own lives among other things. The only thing that did seem to connect you anymore was your child. And Steve's fighting with otherworldly creatures and protecting other children seemed to really set his paternal instincts on fire.

Though you two had stayed distant and as awkward as Steve felt, he broke through it to at least help you buy stuff for the baby. His parents were pissed at the news, he explained to you as you both strolled down the baby aisle of the nearest department store (that was not in Hawkins), but they would help and would force him to as well. You chuckled at that and Steve found the noise quite fond to his ears.

Once (or maybe a few times, actually), he had found you trying to build baby furniture on your own. He would lean against the door frame watching you struggle only for some fleeting moments where you hadn't noticed him yet but then he'd get that ever-eating guilty feeling and he'd announce himself with a chuckle and take whatever you were working on out of your hands. He found himself reminded of why you had been together in the first place when you would endlessly protest about helping him with at least some of it, you had said. These times were few and far in-between.

To Steve's credit though, he was there at the hospital with you the whole time. It was a bit of a pain for him (which you would later laugh at), between dodging his friends' questions of where he was and your family who weren't particularly thrilled about his existence in general, it was a bit of hit or miss experience for him. To his eternal gratefulness, you were actually nice to him even while literally birthing your child, though you had been squeezing his hand so hard that even the nurses thought you might've broken it. (You did not). And it seemed Steve's presence, for you at least, seemed to make the experience better; from just having his hand to hold, to his kind of hilarious reaction to the actual birthing of the baby, he -when you weren't screaming or crying in pain- brought you some calm. Until he was handed the baby and nearly dropped it tripping over a cord. He left the baby-holding to you after that.

Steve had even spent the night much to your family's dismay but your gratitude. He wasn't exactly the best partner nor friend but you hoped, you really did as much as you would never admit it to anyone, that he would at least try to be a decent father. You, of course, understood he was a meathead and a teenager, and that he hadn't been the greatest guy freshman year but it seemed like he was changing. You just hoped it was for the better.

After some months, which had not been full of Steve liked you hoped only for the sake of your child, you had made a discovery about yourself. You had to admit how much sense it made. Alas, your family did not feel the same at all. They went even as far as calling both you and your child "Satan spawn" which later you would be able to laugh about. But for now, you stand outside your house in the middle of winter, your baby bundled up and strapped to your chest, watching as all of your stuff gets thrown out. You stand there for a good few minutes frozen in amazement before, without realizing, a torrent of tears stream down your face. You only had one place to go.

You hate this so so so much. God, your family could handle a pregnant teen but not a trans one? You scoff at the thought before swallowing what pride you had -minuscule now- and knocking on Steve's door. For some reason, you feel guilty like you shouldn't have said anything for your baby's sake and now you're about to lay it on your ex-boyfriend and the father of your kid and who knows how he'll react? Will he take your kid and shun you? Want to kill you both? Take pity on you but ignore your identity? Your impatient foot-tapping stills when the door opens.

If ever you were thankful for Steve's absent parents, it's now. You involuntarily sigh at his sight while he freaks out at yours, mainly cause you and his kid are out in the cold. Before words can be exchanged, he pulls you in by the shoulder. You sigh again at the warmth of the Harrington house.

Steve's hands are now on his hips and you can tell his mind is going a million miles an hour; it's one look of his you'll never forget. He's drawn back into the moment, his mouth moving before he can even speak. "I- What are you doing here? And when did you get a haircut?" He reaches up to touch your hair, "It's so short," He mumbles. It doesn't seem like he hates it, more just like he's surprised.

"Those are two very different questions," You point out and he seems dissatisfied. You look down at your feet before actually explaining yourself. You start out with the whole getting kicked out thing and soon enough he does it; he asks the question.

"Why?" He's bewildered. Your family definitely had been better than his about the pregnancy, so it couldn't be that, right? But what was it?

You sigh and drop your head. "You have to promise to me, no matter what, that after I tell you, you will still take care of C/n, alright?" You look up at him, holding out your pinky.

"A pinky swear, really?" His brows raise, looking at you.

"Just- Steve, please,"

"Alright, alright," He puts his hands up before hooking his pinky with yours, "I promise."

You pretty much guide him into his own kitchen, allowing yourself to sit, and having him sit across from you. You tell him that you're trans and he looks confused, even asks you what that is. You can't help your laugh, "Steve, you're making this-"

"Difficult?" He looks at you expectantly.

"No," You shake your head. "You're making it easy," You assure him. You go on to explain what exactly you being trans entails and he nods along almost too much but you blame that on your nerves. Eventually, you manage to ask, "So...?"

"So, what?" He looks straight back at you.

"Steve, you're not... mad? Or going to take C/n? Call the police? Beat me up?"

His face contorts in confusion, "No.. to all of those." His eyes meet yours and soften.

Silently, you stare at one another. Steve breaks eye contact first, getting out of his chair and walking to your side. This is it, you think, he's going to strangle me or steal C/n away. Some part of you feels like you deserve it and you freeze in place. A strange warmth fills you when Steve awkwardly maneuvers around your baby to wrap his strong arms around you in a gentle but firm embrace. You're so taken aback you don't even hug back until he whispers, "It's okay." He even runs his fingertips over the ends of your much shorter hair and says with a smile that you can just feel, "I like it. It looks really good." And with that ever intact charm of his, he adds, "You look so hot."

You snort and so does he.

[gr4vesrot]

Lavender Chapter 4 Preview

Ghostface x Transman!Reader Lavender will feature NSFW content, minors DNI.

The phone rang twice, and you heard multiple rapid-fire clicks before his voice reached your ear. 

“Jed Olsen, Roseville Gazette.” He sounds dull, automated. The tone of someone whose mind is elsewhere. In the background, you can still hear swift tapping albeit faint. A computer, you can guess, and you bite your bottom lip. Was he busy? Should you have called a little later? What if this was a bad time…? You open your mouth, and a short, strangled high pitched croak replaces any semblance of the English language and you smack a hand over your mouth to stop it. Though, appalling enough, it was already too late. The clicking on the other end comes to an abrupt halt and you both settle into silence. Your ears burn, and your nose scrunches as you mouth ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ in quick succession, silently screaming when you hear Jed Olsen click his tongue. “Anything else you’d like to share?”

You don’t answer. 

“Great! This has been lovely, bye bye.” 

“N—No! Wait, Mr. Olsen!” You blurt in a panic, your one chance nearly torn away from you. “Sorry, sorry— I just, uh.. We met yesterday.” You give him your name in case his memory still needs some nudging, steeling yourself for the off chance he’s entirely forgotten about your little exchange the morning before. It was selfish to expect to be memorable in someone’s life when he already seemed so occupied. There’s a creak ( a chair? ) on his end, and his dry demeanor changes when he repeats your name good-naturedly, causing you to shutter. Relax, be calm, be normal. 

“This is a surprise, I didn’t expect you to call so soon.” There it was, the unmasked certainty. A man so painfully full of himself. You wondered what it was like to even have a sliver of that kind of self-assurance. “What can I do ya’ for? Couldn’t get me out of your head?” He’s taking way too much pleasure in your contacting him, his tone indicating a full-toothed grin and you’re half tempted to groan in response. It doesn’t wear on your patience like it had on your first meeting, but you may have been too exhausted to care. That, or you actually didn’t mind it nearly as much as you should have. Jed Olsen was charming, he had an excuse to be so full of himself. 

“Mr. Olsen,” you rushed before he could continue. He sure did like to talk. “You know a lot about Ghostface, don’t you?” 

Your question is met with stillness; no smartmouthed comments, no typing at a computer or creaking of a chair. It’s so quiet, that you nearly assume your phone had stopped working. The silence hangs heavy, stifling the breath out of you as you’re left to wonder of your mistake. Something between the two of you has shifted, and it was difficult to pin just what has changed.  “Mr. Olsen…?” Your voice is small, attempting to soothe him if you’ve already managed to piss him off somehow. Not a second longer, and he gives you a curious hum. 

“I suppose. He is my muse.” His tone lightens after a second. However, you’re aware of the bristling on the back of his tongue when he continues, despite trying to mimic his earlier friendliness. “You called me just to talk about another guy? Pretty bold of you.” 

Your heart stutters, stumped when the flirting allegation rears its head again. 

Jed Olsen calling the man who wishes you dead his muse leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you push past it. Ghostface was Olsen’s big break, he racked up the Roseville Gazette’s sales after the first murder and has kept them going through their hot streak ever since. Despite it coming at the expense of others, Ghostface rose from the ground a self-made celebrity, and Jed Olsen just so happened to snag the tail end of his coat on the way up. If that were you, could you truly hate Ghostface the way everyone else did? “N-No I.. I need your help, I think. I really need your help.”  There’s a sudden breath on the other end that was akin to a sigh. Light, airy, and it stutters at the end. The tip of your thumb is put between your teeth, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. “Hah— On what? Writing your own paper?” Something tells you he sounds oddly excited, much too aware to know that isn’t at all why you had called him. Reporters are scarily perceptive. “Sorry boss, ‘fraid I’m loyal to a fault. But I’ll gladly give you some pointers for your column. All the dirty details you’re going to have to find out for yourself.”

Read Lavender here!

[insomanic-fanfication]

My thoughts: Women reading MNBLMNB🌹🍃

Spoiler Alert! I don't care.

I know, I know. You're expecting a huge conversation starter post, snice this post is being made on a big complex topic. Opinions can't really be summed up fully in 5 words, there is always going to be left out points.

In this post I'll express my entire opinion within this topic, as a Trans Masc/ Masc Nonbinary that loves other Trans Masc/ Masc Nonbinary and everything in-between.

Please note: With me being Autistic, there is nothing to read between the lines. The only thing that is there, are the words that I typed. I did not leave anything out on purpose, either I'm not aware of that side of the conversation or I feel that it is excluded from the topic enough, to not feel the need to bring it up.

___________________The rest is under the cut______________________

Frist a little background on myself, I've been on the internet for so long I remember YouTube's app icon being a TV. Along with that, I started to Social Transition during my 7th grade year. Besides the 2 years where I went back into the closet, I've been going by He/They pronouns for a while. I am also on the ACE spectrum and Polyamorous.

None of these things make my opinion less or more valid nor anyone else's opinion within our community, regardless of if they agree or disagree with my opinion that is based on my experiences. We need to stop treating conversations that can have many answers like math problems with only one correct answer. Especially ones that refer to a human being's experiences of life.

When it comes to Men loving men/ Masc Nonbinary loving Masc Nonbinary blogs, the main consumers of that content will be of that identity. Hence, that blog will be cratering to MLM/ MNBLMNB. An example of this, say you go to a coffee house. On their menu, they have different types of coffee and baked goods. Would it make sense to ask for a Big Mac at the Coffee house, then get mad when they tell you it's not on the menu?

It becomes a problem for women to be interacting with blogs and content directed towards male/ masculine consumers, when they start asking for changes in the content to include them. It's important for women to understand that these MLM/MNBLMNB Blogs aren't for them. We writers enjoy the interaction and support from our women/ fem presenting folks, but please don't request for a Female Reader on our blogs.

Now, before you write your comment or reblog post about, "This argument is wrong because, [Insert fandom or video games] isn't for the gays or women. So, you don't like --". That's not what I said, my point is stating, " That if a blog or store specificity says that they are catering to a specific group of people, don't be offended when you can't relate to that content or see don't what you like. When, you, yourself are not of that group".

Video games, and most fandoms don't have a specific group of people that only can have their content, most of the time being way more diverse in their earlier years before getting watered down by budget and script cuts. The best example of this, is DC comics, Night Wing, a.k.a Dick Grayson, has always been Romani. It was a huge part of his character developmental to be Romani. However, over time was changed to have lighter and lighter skin, until he was just said to be white instead.

Inconclusion, when consuming content be aware of the demographic that the content is directed towards and understand it may not relate to your own human experience or situation. It's healthy to read things outside of your own personal experience, but it's not okay to try and change it, so it fixes your own experience better. When it causes the original consumers to be excluded. ______________________________________________________________

Feel free to add to this conversation and bring your own point of views into it. I ask that you keep the conversation civil, not because it will hurt my feelings ( it won't) but because it will take away from the main point of Topic.