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parttimesimper · 1 month ago

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Night shift

After becoming a bodyguard due to the fall of your everyday life into stagnation, you find yourself having the hots for your boss. Thing is: it’s more reciprocal than you think.

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Bodyguard!reader

Content: Fem reader; Reader is a bodyguard (and a bit of a nepo); Implied transman Crocodile if you squint; Modern Setting; Boss/Employee relationship

Sexual Content: Vaginal sex; Oral sex (both giving and receiving); Throat fucking (?); Mirror sex; Pet names; Lingerie;

Minors do not interact.

Don’t like, don’t read.

English is not my first language yada yada.

You’ve been working in security for as long as you can remember. Receiving your license to practice in your early 20’s after a long and almost endless security training, your father managed to get you a job in his company. You did most stationary and rover work in private and public events, ranging from a long list of different clients which most of them you didn’t have the pleasure to meet. The thing is, being almost 40 and spending basically half of your life doing the same thing in the same places starts to get boring. You started leaving work unhappy and dreading the tomorrow where it would all repeat. So worried about the loop which was starting to form, you asked your father if there was any other area you could work within the company. He pondered the possibilities a little bit, until he opened a drawer on his desk and took a folder, putting it in front of you. You recognize the big green letters of the logo from the primary security subsidiary owned by your father. They prompt you to grab the folder and skim through it with curious fingers.

“Those are private clients looking for a bodyguard. See if anyone catches your interest.” your father said, opening the window so the cigarette smoke wouldn’t bother you. There are so many rich people faces. Some you’ve already seen in person and on TV, others you didn’t even heard about.

“Don’t I need any special training to be a bodyguard?” You ask, suspicion covering your face with a raised eyebrow. Your father shakes his head, blowing smoke from his nose.

“Nothing you can’t learn in a jiff considering all the training you already have.”

You hum in acknowledgement, your gaze wandering from photo to photo and page to page. The idea of stopping robberies and having to tackle one or two people to the ground is more than normal to you, but normally you do it on a larger scale. One single person to protect? Sounds simple on paper but to think that you would have to follow their every step like a lap dog leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You sigh, not a single photo calling to you.

“If you don’t want to, you can always stay in the office and do the paperwork.”

Staying in a closed office for 9 hours or more? No chance, you rather try your luck with the millionaires. Almost at the end of the folder, there’s this client information sheet that catches your attention. It’s this man, probably in his 40s, with a huge scar under his eyes. It doesn’t specify which line of work he follows, nor does it have that much concise information about him to be honest. Although, he looks very good-looking, and the shirt hugs his arms so nicely…

You have a small reunion with the client and the primary security subsidiary representative after two weeks so you could talk about your contract and state both yours and the client’s terms. To say that the circumstances hit you like a train was an understatement. This guy is huge, almost like he was sculpted in marble and then brought to life by some freaky demon. The first thing that called your attention was the scar you saw in the photo, which is way bigger in person. Honestly? It adds so much charm to him that you can’t imagine him without it even if you force yourself to. Especially when you finish talking and that formal smile appears on his face. You feel yourself getting hot and putting one leg over the other to try and act natural. Everything is so overwhelming about him. The clothing, the voice, the smell, the expressions, the way he gazes into your own very soul through your eyes. You want to leave the room so you don’t faint right there and then, but you try to calm yourself down instead.

This is not is not a fucking porn. Act professionally, goddamit.

Thankfully for you, the reunion took less than half an hour and you managed to reach an agreement fairly quickly. Two free days a week with a month long vacation and health insurance is actually pretty good! And the pay-check is way fatter than your previous one. Couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to turn your life around a little bit.

The thing is, this new job of yours? It’s hell.

Not that it’s bad. It’s actually quite nice! You work with a set of seven more people who are split into different shifts. Some work during the morning and afternoon, others work the afternoon until midnight. There’s also the night shift, which usually consists of two people. One watching the cameras over his penthouse and the other walking around said penthouse. You’ve haven’t been in the last one yet, weirdly. The boss - Sir Crocodile, although you prefer to call him only “sir” as it tastes so sweetly coming out of your lips - says it’s because he prefers having you around him than having your skill wasted by watching cameras all night.

Yet, “having you around him all day” does not always mean walking around all day long like a purse dog like you thought. Some days are all about paperwork or working at the side-lines. Building floor plans for different public events and impeding reunions with the country governors, working with the local staff of said places. Heck, sometimes you do the same stationary work you used to do before. It doesn’t bother you as much anymore.

But when you do walk around with him, oh boy.

You go where he goes, always behind him with a pose that strikes confidence and strength, the best you can at least. He pays for your and your coworkers’ meals when he goes out to eat, mostly in up class restaurants. Even offers a coffee or two sometimes. Where all his money comes from is a mystery to you. Despite having to admit that the casino must have its significant role on his funds, it can’t be his only source of income. The few reunions you went with him, those who did not involve government matters, helped you conclude that he must be some sort of mafia boss, or at least his syndicate is involved in some very shady business. Which is not your problem, as long as your salary falls in your bank account every month.

Still, the job wasn’t easier. Sometimes there are inoffensive threats such as way too enthusiastic admirers. Other times, you are glad you got out with all of your limbs. No one said it would be easy to work under a two-faced gentleman who people can’t see past his philanthropist facade in a suffering country. In the beginning, the purple-ish bruises on your abdomen and ankles made you flinch when you looked at them in the mirror. The random cuts scattered across your head and torso also didn’t help. Your whole body hurt the first few dangerous fights you had. How couldn’t it, considering you took crowbars to the gut and glass bottles thrown at you. Now, it still hurts when the insidious reunions break into fights, but it’s more of a normal Thursday night which you cover in ethyl alcohol as you bite down on a cloth than a rare occurrence.

Your duty isn’t the problem. Despite all the paperwork, all the wounds, all the having to keep up with the formality everyday, you would choose this cyclonic change a million times over the spiralling stagnation you were putting yourself into.

Your boss is the problem.

Somehow, his bare existence turns you on.

It’s not because the polo and long sleeve Lacoste shirts he buys - now that you think about it, 90% of his closet must be Lacoste clothing, ironically or not - leave little to the imagination as they always compliment his chest so tightly. Nor because when he sits to read the morning newspaper his open wide legs are always inviting you to sit on his lap. Nor even because the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the tobacco smoke invades your senses and makes your knees weak.

It’s just… he’s so hot… and in such a tempting proximity of your unquiet hands.

You are not a pervert or anything of that sort. Heck, sometimes you have to punch those when they start getting way too feisty for their idol’s likening. And yet, it seems impossible to control your actions sometimes. Should you feel bad about it? Not that your employee has complained about it, too… if he even noticed that it’s on purpose, of course. It’s nothing harmful, really. You would even admit that you only do it to feed your fantasies of him bending you over his work desk and having his way with you. Just a few more details you need to confirm to make it vivid.

That’s why when you shield him from mountains of journalists, your body presses against his just a bit too hard so you can feel his clothed manhood on your ass. Or your hand brushes ever so slightly against his crotch. That’s why your gaze lingers a second too much on his lips when he finishes talking to you or on his hands when you start daydreaming about his ringed fingers closed around your throat. That’s why your fingertips brush against his waist or abdomen, and you seem to blush way too much when you apologize, not because you regret it, but because you got caught.

But not everyone is seemingly oblivious to your somewhat out of line actions and the word starts spreading a bit too much for your likening. Co-workers advising you to stop over late night drinks at the bar. Some rather famous (or even important) people whispering to each other while looking at you and your boss during the usual meetings and events. Some even seemed to ask him about his so “suspicious” bodyguard who “seems to have second intentions”. Luckily for you, he seemed to dismiss them with an over exaggerated laugh the first time. And the second. And the third. It was starting to get obvious that he knew exactly what you were doing. Worry and guilt start washing over you drop by drop. What if you’re fired? You’ll never see him in person again…

And you would lose one of the best jobs you ever had, having to certainly go back to your old one.

You decide to stop it all at once, even though it is as hard as stopping smoking. Sometimes, you feel your own hand reach for him when you walk side by side, only for you to retrieve it just before touching him. You also try your best not to glue yourself to him and even give the hardest eye contact you can manage, but deep down you know it looks awkward. Moreover, you aren’t able to pay attention to half of the words he's saying, too worried your gaze is way too intense and… well… not that normal. He even pulled you to the side once and asked if something happened, as you seem to be “not as comfortable as you were before”. Cringeness crawls down your spine, attaching itself to your muscles and making it hard just to control your facial expression. “Comfortable” is not the word you would go for but somehow it fit how you felt before perfectly. Too comfortable, you might say. You assure him that everything is fine and that you just got finally used to working for one person only. It’s not like he bought it. However, it was enough for him to mind his own business instead of yours.

Although, deep down, you feel like it isn’t enough. Your preoccupied mind needs you to be erased of suspicion altogether so you can finally sleep unafraid of being fired any minute now. People need to know you aren’t interested in him at all. Especially your boss. You need him to think that you’re out of the game and the actions before were just mindless inconveniences. Way too touchy accidents. Something that doesn’t say “I’m horny for you.” Because you aren’t anymore. At least you hope so. Maybe you should start getting addicted to bubblegum instead.

But you got just the plan though.

After lunch on a Monday, when you and your co-worker are walking with Sir Crocodile to his tailor - the way he talks about them makes it feel like it is his own personal tailor -, you try to make small talk with your co-worker. More precisely, the “let’s talk about our romantic life” small talk. You make sure he hears, at least vaguely, that you have a date Saturday night with this very pretty person who you can’t really give an appearance to when asked due to lack of planning. A small, excited “YES” echoes in the back of your mind when you notice that Sir Crocodile turned his head so slightly just to look at you from the corner of eye when you started describing the many messages and calls you exchanged, leading you to be invited to a delightful 80 themed dinner that you’ve never gone to. Your eyes lock with his for a split second when you check to see if he’s still listening. However, is just enough for him to notice his “eavesdropping” and turn to look straight ahead. You continue to talk eagerly about this lovely person you invented, just until you reach the tailor shop and one of you as to stand outside. Relief washes over you, not only you managed to get the attention away from your unintentional crush on your boss, as well as you arrived before your co-worker felt too awkward talking about love lives and dates at working hours. Too bad you have to be the one staying inside, especially when it’s the day to buy new shirts.

The downside of being not interested anymore, you think. The window looks more attractive than your snack of a boss trying on clothing, anyway. And how is the store empty?? Did he buy the tailor too??

Wednesday comes by, the supposed date approaching at a steady pace. Although, it didn’t cross your mind to talk more about it anyway. Your boss thought you were going on a date and he’s the only one you need to think that. He’s the one who can fire you, anyway. It’s a slow afternoon with you and a co-worker building floor plans for an upcoming event next week, when Sir Crocodile stops by your desk. He puts his hand on your shoulder, making you look up to him immediately, his face adorned with the same disdained expression.

“I need you to do the night shift tomorrow, if that’s possible.” Oh, that’s… new.

“Oh, of course, sir. No problem.” He thanks you under his breath, just enough for you to hear his muttering, and walks away to attend his own business. If you remember correctly, the night shift goes from midnight to 9 a.m., and your day off is right around the corner, so it’s not that bothersome. Although, you never did night shifts besides the ones required by your training period, it was weird he was asking you to do one now…

“You think Andrew is sick?” Your coworker’s voice makes you snap from your thoughts into the real world, you turn to look at them.

“I don’t know, but I’m worried. I haven’t done a night shift in a long time. I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it. For half of it you do your designated path, the other half you just have to watch cameras. Normally, I’m the one covering Prisha’s days off, and I must tell you: or you’ll spend all the time talking through the walkie talkie with the other one, or you’ll listen to so much low volume music your brain will become mush.” You both share a short laugh and quickly come back to work, you feeling a bit more relieved that it’s not harder than what you do already. And yet, there’s a nagging in the back of your head that tells you something’s definitely up. Is this some sort of punishment? What did you exactly do? Didn’t he want you to walk around with him anymore? Did you weirded him out somehow? You don’t mean to imply that the evening coworkers are being punished, but him asking you out of all people is unusual. Pushing that voice aside, you go on about your day, the clock uncomfortably ticking.

You pull your car to the sidewalk in front of Sir Crocodile’s mansion, standing there looking at nothing for a solid five minutes. There are so many thoughts running around your head that didn’t let you take a nap this afternoon. The effect of the three coffees you had shows itself on your trembling hands, even more worried that you will just fall asleep standing when all the caffeine in your body exits it. Damn you, healthy sleep habits. You sigh deeply and exit your car with a new found “fuck it” powered determination, locking it and making your way to a long night.

“Byes” and “Don’t break too many legs” are exchanged between you and the afternoon team for today as your partner arrives shortly after you. You agree to take the cam duty after your break, desperately needing to stretch your legs right now because you hope it will help you keep awake for the second part of the night. With a walkie talkie in one hand and flashlight in the other, you make your way through the many paths as the night slowly goes on, your watch seeming out of battery. Great, now you can’t even torture yourself by checking the time every five minutes.

The time goes by rather slowly, without you noticing, though. At first, you and your coworker talked about many things; personal life, new TV series to watch, random inspirational quotes you read in sugar packets, until you had nothing more to talk about. You both go silent, the ambience of rustling leaves and crickets settling filling in the awkward but somehow comforting silence. At least, you know you are not alone when even the sound of your own footsteps make your brain spiral into suspicion. You’re sure that coworkers like Andrew and Prisha who do this every work day treat it more like a walk to the beach than anything, but for you who’s never been this… well… alone at your “workplace”, sure is something you don’t want to repeat so soon.

You hear your walkie talkie make some talking noise after an hour or so of giving names to the crickets and fireflies you found in between rounds, so you grab it, relieved to be reminded that you are not that alone with your bored, but paranoid mind.

“Go ahead.”

“The boss wants to see you in his bedroom.”

Uh, that’s… concerning, to say the least.

“Did he say the reason?”

“He said it’s nothing serious but for you to not take too long.”

“Roger that.”

“Clear.”

You go inside and make your way through the many hallways this gigantic house is made of. Alone once again with your own brain, you think how different it is to walk through the garden, where you have the sound of the wind and the rustling of leaves making you company, from walking through dark spaces full of silence broken by the sound of your footsteps. You gulp, starting to get nervous about this whole situation. Why does he want to see you? Did you do something wrong? And why at this hour? He should be asleep, he has a lunch for charity at the other side of the city at midday.

Now that you think about it, why do you know his schedule when it’s your free day? You need to get hobbies, holy shit.

You arrive at his room’s door, taking some deep, calming breaths before knocking. After a few seconds of no answer, you push the door as carefully, acting like it’s made of glass.

“Sir? Did you call?”

You call out for him, your answer being the rustling of clothes in the bathroom.

“Enter and close the door. I’ll be there in a moment.”

You do as said, entering and closing the door behind you. The one thing that calls your attention is the king sized bed which must be way more expensive than your own rent. The room itself is bigger than your apartment, it makes you feel small somehow. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been in his room, there was never the necessity to. Most of the “office” work you do with your co-workers mostly takes place in the living room or in the common study. There was never an occasion to be in his room. Unfortunately, you think in the dark corner of your mind. A big mirror, the length of the whole wall, takes place in front of his bed and you find yourself feeling way too hot all of the sudden. He must be one hell of a dom to have something like that right in front of his bed. Or maybe he’s just egocentric. Either way, you pull your collar to cool off a bit.

You don’t dare to walk anymore steps when you watch him slowly emerging from the bathroom, only a towel around his waist covering what is forbidden to see. Your brain short-circuits upon the sight and you are SURE your eyes are about to pop from their sockets from how open they are. Swallowing any words (and shame) you have left, you can’t physically look away as your muscles seem to stop answering. You do try to look at anything that belongs to his body except for his crotch making a oh-so-visible lump in the towel, and his hook neatly placed in the corner of the room. What atrocity or act of kindness did you commit to suffer this?

“Never had seen a man half-naked before?”

His words make your brain barely start working again, and you lock eyes with the most gorgeous, taunting smirk you’ve ever seen in your life. It screams trouble mixed with tobacco smoke and expensive cologne. A walking red flag with a mask made of desiring sharp canines. How you wished red wasn’t your favourite colour. You suffer to make out your next sentence, but somehow manage to speak.

“I… I’ve never seen my b… boss half-naked before.”

He walks to the nearest bottle of whiskey and pours himself a cup while chuckling, a chuckle so deep it sends the nerves on your knees and thighs overdrive. You refuse the drink he offers you, wanting to stay as sober as possible to remember the sight offered to you so you can touch yourself later. Also, you don’t want to do anything you might regret, probably. But you are sure this whole act is on purpose, your past actions coming to bite you in the ass. It makes you curious, thirsty for what karma has to offer you at the moment.

“I heard that you are going on a date? Tomorrow, right?” Oh… OH, the end goal of your plan took a twisted turn. You really didn’t expect him to be this affected by that.

“That’s right, sir.”

He adds a couple of ice cubes to his cup, watching them stir the liquid gently with a damned smile glued to his face. How long are you going to keep up this charade? Is it really for the sake of your job anymore? Or for you to not be caught red handed?

“I expected a pretty thing like you to be married by now. To a someone who treats you like royalty.”

The compliment catches you off guard, not sure about what to respond besides the obvious blush in your face. You swear you didn’t know these feelings of attractiveness towards your boss were reciprocated, but, damn, it put your self-esteem on the high shelf for now. An awkward laugh leaves your lips, not sure if the rapid beat on your chest is your heart giving up or the butterflies in your stomach moving their cause somewhere else. You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm yourself down for a bit.

“Thank you, Sir. You’re too kind.” There’s something that clicks inside Crocodile’s brain when you speak those words, as his smirks widens and he looks directly in your eyes. You can see now why they call him “Crocodile”, besides having him asking to be called that. There’s cold sweat running along your back as you feel like you just walked in the beast’s territory. He surely looks like a predator looking at his next meal and you aren’t so sure if you are safe anymore under these circumstances. You’re starting to get the bad kind of nervous, but his eyes shine so much in the room’s bright light that somehow your instinct is begging you to wait just a bit longer to see what he’ll do.

“Indeed. I’m so kind that I decided to give you a gift that they’ll love.”

“A gift?”

“I’ll get it for you.” You watch as he gulps the whiskey in one go and puts the cup down just to go to his wardrobe. You don’t like this not one bit and the idea of a gift from your rich mafia boss that your supposed date “will love” doesn’t ease the feeling of suspicion. And yet, why aren’t you moving away from your spot to your car to never come back? Why are you still in this luxurious place watching this hot piece of a man giving you the insane bedroom eyes since you got where?

He lets out a soft “ah!” of approval when he finds what he’s looking for, taking off a body hanger with a… lingerie?? A cute, but fucking provocative, white and gold bustier and g-string with a lace cut. He holds it in front of him while walking in your direction, a diabolical grin adorning his features. Your mouth goes agape, your doe eyes betraying your stance of professional respect. You grab it from his hands and analyse it superficially. It looks made with a good fabric. And expensive. More money than you could ever repay him.

“Sir… I… I can’t accept this…”

“Why not? It would be a shame to waste the money I spent on it. Besides, I’m certain you’ll look gorgeous with it. And your little date will love it as well.”

You lock eyes with him, after being distracted with the piece in your hand, and there’s the bedroom eyes again. Your blush intensifies and you start remembering why you invented this lie in the first place. There’s something about him that’s so stunning. Having him so close to you, half-naked like this and looking at you like that awakes something in between your legs. You find yourself wetter by the minute, not even being able to breathe properly. There’s so much space behind you and yet you feel trapped between him and a hypothetical door. That dark corner of your mind starts to spread through your brain, poisoning your already rancid thoughts. Did he think of you when buying this? Did he think of you with it on? He did think of you so… there must be something reciprocal there, right? You want to pounce on him, to get fucked by him right here just to prove your point.

You manage to breathe a “thank you” in the middle of your trance, which he responds with a deep, core striking laugh.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. But, I would appreciate it if you tried it on for me.” You snap out of it when he makes the request, your shame almost drowning in the pool your pussy is creating on your underwear.

“W-What?”

“I said,” He closes the bare distance between you and him, and you find yourself literally trapped against the door as you try to take some steps back. He gets to your level, lips barely touching as you feel his breath against your face. It smells like whiskey. “I want you to try it on. I need to see if it fits you.”

You powerwalk to the bathroom, closing the door behind you as fast as a final girl in a horror movie. You can’t seem to catch your breathing, your head swinging like crazy, and your skin so hot it will melt to the floor. What is this?? What is happening?? What is this sudden interest in you?? You swear you didn’t want jealousy when you made up that date. Just a bit of indifference, that’s all! However, what do you possibly have to lose?? You made it up so he wouldn’t see you as a creep for being too touchy with him. And yet, he seems to want the same as you still want. Maybe he just conceals it better, who knows. Fuck, is this what Prisha meant when she said he was interested in you from the beginning? The up and down looks he gives you every time? Making sure you stay close to him? Having you served the first coffee? Is this the climax of it? Is this the climax of having crossed the boundaries of your relationship a bit too far? No, fuck, this is not the time to overthink! You start to strip your uniform a bit too exhilarating, the sweat in your hands making it hard to even rip it off your body completely. You can’t just waste this opportunity. You are sure this will end up with him rearranging your organs with his cock and you can’t lose this chance.

Meanwhile, Crocodile walks slowly to his armchair, his cock begging for some release. He got you in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking proud he waited for the perfect moment to have his way with you. Not that you wouldn’t have accepted if he didn’t try sooner, but having you here alone just for him makes his heart skip a beat. Who would have thought the sensual lady he contracted to be his bodyguard would have the hots for him as much as he has had for her since day one. He sits on his armchair and waits for you to come out of the bathroom. He picked that one lingerie for you himself, imagining how sultry you would look with it on while sucking him off. A hiss escapes his throat as he pumps his shaft through the towel, impatient to see your little eyes filled with tears as he makes you cum for the third time in a row. You look so good lying through your teeth, he wonders if you’ll look as good when babbling nonsense while cockdrunk.

He stops his motions as he sees you turn the doorknob, trying his best to stay composed. You get out of the bathroom only with the lingerie on. It fits you well, although the panties are a bit tight. And he was right, you look absolutely breathtaking with it. You stay by the bathroom door, your embarrassment catching up to you a little bit too late as your boss devours you with his eyes.

“Come closer, princess. I promise I don’t bite.” The promise seems empty with the way he licks his lips, but the pet name makes you move forward automatically. Somehow, you feel powerful, having this big man almost drooling at the sight of you. You couldn’t be feeling more sexy than you feel now. And being the one man you’ve been simping for the past couple months? Jackpot. You reach him and stand between his spread legs, so inviting to be sat on, but you keep your almost non-distance. “That’s it… you look perfect with it. Give a spin for me, princess.”

You do as he says, giving him a little, but painfully slow spin. When you’re face to face with him again, he puts his hand on your ass, caressing it and pulling you impossibly closer to him. “I’m sure your little date will appreciate the show you will put on, looking like that.”

You take a deep breath, dizziness making you lightheaded and a bit more talkative than you should. But what do you have to lose? With that raging erection, you doubt that he would just send you away when “the show” is just about to start.

“I’m not one to have sex on the first date. To be honest, I haven’t had any action in quite some time.” Your burled out confession puts a surprised expression on Crocodile’s face together with a growing wide smile. His hand goes from your butt to the small of your back, while his other arm wraps around your thighs. They’re warm, and the fact that he rests his head on the top of your breasts to look at you makes everything even warmer. Feels gentle, soft, even. Although, you wouldn’t trust him to be like that for long.

“Really? Let me show you how you should be treated, then.” With that, he pulls you to his lap in a swift motion, your legs straddling his tights nicely. The yelp leaving your mouth is silenced by his lips on yours, and you don’t complain about that. Instead, you put your arms around his neck while his hand moves to hold your head in place, and his arm pulls you closer to him by your hips. All of your shyness or whatever you had besides lust is thrown out the window, letting yourself go bolder and bite his lip while giving him innocent eyes when he opens his. You suck on it lightly to not leave a bruise, even with the urge to sneak one up on his neck. The corners of his mouth curl up, and you notice his eyes gaining a dark haze to them. You’re putting him exactly where you want him to be, trying to make him do things that will live happily in the dark corner of your mind. He pulls his lip from in between your teeth and forces his tongue inside your mouth, muffling a moan that probably shouldn’t leave your throat this soon. Well, it was nice while your moment of stardom lasted.

He holds you in place with his hand behind your neck, making you nothing but a breathless liquefied mess in his arms while your tongues dance with each other. Your hands start to roam freely around his body, feeling every length of skin you can reach. From his chest scars to the most prominent on his hip, the stab scars all along his torso that you’ve wished you could’ve protected him from. You manage to swiftly pull some of his chest hair, earning you a swallowed growl from him and a slap in the ass. After what feels like a solid minute, or time enough for you to need oxygen again, he pulls away with a string of saliva connecting you.

He shoots a mischievous, lazy grin at you, glazed in dirty promises, before grabbing your form like you’re a piece of meat and switching your positions, ending up with you trapped between him and the armchair. He drops to his knees right in front of you, his head oh so close to your pussy due to your current position; legs open and up for him to see everything he wants to.

A wave of lewd, sticky horniness washes over you due to his actions and a measly “please” rolls off your tongue out of instinct. You didn’t want to sound this needy, but when your reaction makes him pull your panties to the side and immediately dive head first into your core with a maniac smile plastered to his face, do you really have a choice? His tongue does wonders inside you, your walls squeezing it in desperation while you try your best to not close your legs around his head. Although, he would probably die happy. Instead, you put your feet on his shoulders and a hand on his hair, gripping it for dear life while your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He takes his tongue out, but the loneliness doesn’t last long as three thick digits take its place, stretching you so nicely you pray that the cameras on the corners don’t record the sound as well. And you’re really praying that your co-worker fell asleep during duty so they’re not watching you being treated like a whore. His mouth settles in your clit, sucking it so eagerly you grab on his head for dear life while every single nerve in your belly is on fire. Fuck, does he have so many lovers that this is just another Friday night or it’s just talent? And how you fucking wish he had his rings on so you could be even more deliciously tortured.

You feel your whole being boil from this treatment, your legs indecisive between pushing him away and pulling him closer, fathom guilty in the back of your fuzzy thoughts for certainly leaving nail marks on his scalp. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. It doesn’t take long for something inside you to snap and a soundless moan to leave your lips as you squirt all over his fingers. Shit, it really has been a while. Crocodile doesn’t pull away just yet though, enjoying his time sucking the life out of your clit as pleasure starts turning into scorching overstimulation. With your hands tangled on his hair, you push him away from in-between your legs with the little strength you have left. He takes the hint and pulls away, putting your legs down and standing up. The towel around his waist is discarded to the side, his erection in full view for you to drool over with exciting hunger. It’s so pretty, even more when he strokes it for a bit and your juices get smeared all over his cock.

“Sit straight.” He growls, words smashed together between breathless and desperate demand. It works on you as you get closer to the edge of the chair. One thrust would immediately put the head inside your mouth and you would be lying if you said you weren’t too excited for it to happen. You’ve been dreaming so much about this moment. And he has been thinking about it too on lone nights. You open your mouth, so eager to taste the musk invading your senses that it pulls a smirk from the corner of his lips. Instead, he shoves his fingers inside your mouth, opening it wide and forcing them in every corner of your mouth that he can reach. They taste of salt and sweat and your cum and you have to do everything in your willpower not to gag when he plunges them almost at the back of your throat when you suck on them. He grabs your tongue and pulls it out, using his forearm to hold your head in place and shove his cock in your mouth, making you choke from the rough treatment and drool all over his member. His hands go from your tongue to your hair, patting your head and holding it in place so you have no intention of taking him out without his permission. “Easy there, princess. Breath through your nose. I’m not that big.”

It sounds like mockery, his words having a “You can do better than that” tone to it while tears prick at the corner of your eyes due to the sheer force you’re using not to gag again. You do as he says despite your hurt ego, breathing in and out of your nose slowly while he does nothing to move. It has been a while since you were in a position like this, never anything as derogatory as this feels right now. You don’t know if you should be embarrassed for liking the harsh treatment given to you or for not knowing you like being treated like this sooner. There’s a soft tug at your hair in the back of your head, sending chills all over your spine that make you release a soft muffled moan. Crocodile curses under his breath, the vibrations making his dick twitch with need. But he still doesn’t move, resting his forearm on your shoulder instead. It’s not like he wants to wait for you to adjust to his length, but what’s the fun in breaking you so soon? Your hands travel from his abdomen to the back of thighs, giving them a little squeeze as a sign to continue.

His hips start to move, increasing it’s pace and fucking your throat as he wishes while he keeps your head in pace. You keep your breath steady, grabbing onto his tights for dear life as you try to keep the dizziness and ache in your jaw at bay. Raw grunts and breathless sighs roam free above you, Crocodile enjoying your warmth with the domineering sensation of you taking him so well. Your eyes go up, locking with his own, half-lidded. Face red, biting his lip and sweat sticking some of his hair to his forehead. He looks perfect. As for him, if he didn’t know any better, we would snap a picture of you looking at him from that position so he could jerk off to this moment later. With his tip hitting the back of your throat and nasty sounds coming from your mouth being abused, he knows he won’t last much longer. One of your hands sneaks in-between his legs, grabbing his balls gently and massaging them. A surprised moan escapes his lips and he takes his cock out of your mouth, strings of saliva falling to the carpet or connecting his member to your lips. You gasp, your lungs relieved at finally getting some much needed air, more than they were getting anyways. His cock twitches, red, leaking and almost hurting from being denied release.

“To the bed, on all fours.” You look at him, confused as to why he just didn’t finish like he let you prior.

“But-”

“Now.” he half-barks, words laced with need that send you right to the top of the bed, all fours like he asked. You look straight ahead, being presented with the image of you, all flushed. The mirror mocks you, mocks your nearby future of being fucked like a slut and having to watch your cock drunk expression while your tits firmly bounce in a pretty lingerie. Just like your own personal show where you are the star. You put your head down, embarrassing realisation dawning on you while Crocodile joins you on top of the bed, behind you on his knees. You feel his fingers pushing your panties to the side and then the tip of his cock mellowing teasing your entrance. Your fingers grab the expensive sheets, so much so they almost rip. In one vicious motion, he’s balls deep in you, an ugly moan leaving your lips as he doesn’t even give you time to adjust before merciless pounding into you. The hand in your panties goes to your hair, pulling your torso up and close to him as you moan in both surprised pain and excitement. His forearm goes around your hips while his hand goes to one of your breasts, lifting the bra up and caressing your nipple. Everything feels too much and too little, your senses going overdrive as the only thing you can think of is how good this fucking feels. Without anywhere else to go, your eyes find the image of you and the image of Crocodile, now smiling between breaths as he locks eyes with your reflection. “Tell me, can your little date leave you looking like that? Can your little date make you moan like this? Leave you absolutely ruined like this?”

“I-” You choke on your words with a squeak as he pinches and pulls on your nipple. You try to look away so you don’t feel more ashamed than you already do. But Crocodile’s having none of it, pulling your hair again so you have no choice but to look forward at your fucked up blushing expression.

“They can’t, can they? Especially when they don’t even exist.” Oh, fuck.

“I-I’m sorry!” You manage to spit out between moans. Feeling too full and the soreness of your legs not helping at all.

“Don’t be sorry. You got my attention. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He shoots a last smirk at your reflection before biting your neck and increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your fingers grab whatever they can find of the body behind yours. Your throat is starting to get weak due to all the moaning. If you could, you would crawl under a rock and live there forever, even if you already knew that he was aware your whole date night tomorrow was fake. Do you regret anything? Maybe, but you don’t regret being such a bad liar. Especially if you knew this would be the result sooner. Crocodile’s rhythm begins to flatter, his lips pressing desperately to your neck and the new bite mark formed on your skin. The tight coil in his belly unravels with him letting go of a low moan and his grip on you getting tighter. You feel your insides fill with warmth, and try not to think of the implication that getting creampied by your boss has in the future. He looked pretty cumming, though. His hand goes to your cheek, turning your head to him and resting his forehead on yours. Breaths raged, body sweating like crazy, and kept hair absolutely ruined. It feels tender for a moment, especially when he steals a last kiss from you. You feel good and hope he does too.

He pulls out, the new panties almost smacking your pussy when going back to place. While he gets up and goes to the bathroom, you can’t help but look in the mirror. You look… messy. And a bit too much with drool down your chin. At least, there’s no too visible marks. You won’t have to come up with a phony excuse for hickeys. Crocodile comes out of the bedroom, sweatpants hugging his thighs nicely, making it hard for you to not stare at the perfect figure before you.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers at you, making you come back from the warm euphoric state inside your brain. You look at him, the dark haze he had in his eyes dissipating. He looks nice like this. Would it be a bad idea to invite him to your house? Probably you shouldn’t right now. “Back to work, princess.”

Ah, that’s right. Work.

Under the weight of your own body, your knees buckle and you have to wait a second or two to even think about moving again. Oh, man, it really has been a long time. Trying your best to feel your legs again, you walk slowly to the bathroom, Crocodile lighting up a cigar to smoke, too tired to even bother opening the window. You dress as slowly as you can while waiting for the jiggle in your body to disappear. A deep breath leaves your lips, reality dawning on you. You fucked you boss. You two won’t probably talk about this again. Fine by you. Life is made of memories and all that. Although it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Does it really have to be just this time?

Ah, man, are you getting clingy already? Shit-

The bathroom door feels heavy in your hands. His gaze also feels heavy on you as you walk as nonchalantly as possibly to the bedroom door. Everything feels heavy around you. Although, the poker attitude doesn’t last long, not when you feel somehow choked. The grip on the doorknob feels too tight and biting your lip doesn’t help containing what’s on your mind, either. You turn around to look at him, him quickly turning his sight from you to the window.

“Sir?”

He hums, the beautiful scenery outside being easier to look at than the charming shine in your eyes. “Can we… do this again? Sometime soon?” A content laugh escapes his lips, his sight finally locking with you. You, your form, your lips, doesn’t matter. You have his attention, once again.

“Are you asking me to give you more night shifts?” A smirk appears on his face, and you can’t help but give him your own kind of sassy attitude with a new found courage.

“…Maybe.”

Words: 8k

Divider here.

AO3. Photo on the banner

#one piece #x reader #fem reader #modern setting #modern AU #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #op sir crocodile #implied transman crocodile #minors dni #boss/employee relationship #parttimesimper is writing

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nahoney22 · 9 months ago

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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

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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

#tech x reader #bad batch tech x reader #tech x transman reader #the bad batch one shots #nahoney22 writes #tech bad batch #bad batch tech #tbb tech x reader

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noirsariel · 4 months ago

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Roger Barel with a Transmasc Partner

Time to hang up the pet name of "little lady" and replace it with a more suitable title of "lad".

To be frank, you're about to become very interesting to Roger. Of course, he'd like to assist with your transition, assuming you have any interest in any sort of medical transition. If you're someone with a phobia of needles, or pain, or anything of the sort, he'll ensure that your shots go smooth as possible, don't you even stress.

He's going to want to monitor your changes and he's certainly going to be there to celebrate the milestones with you. Was that some stubble on your chin? That's amazing. Your scars are looking good, you must be following his instructions well, good.

On the other side of things, he's also going to appreciate the way you lift your head when you walk, that confident step, expect him to certainly be admiring you more and more.

#And ofc if you want to mix in personal headcanons #Roger is a post op transman so he's been there and done that for it all #Definitely someone who went for phalloplasty and can talk you through what to expect #It's interesting for him to live through the process again through you #Ikemen Villains #Roger Barel #IkeVil Roger #Transmasc Reader

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shinxyy · 6 months ago

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ever find it weird how transmasc/transfem reader/character fics are usually smut fics and never really fluff or comfort fics?? kinda seems fetishizing to me!

though I'm not technically trans myself, (gender fluid and fem atm) it still strikes me as odd that the trans readers are usually, if not always being fetishized in fanfiction

#pride month #transgender #transfem #transmasc #x reader #transman #trans ftm #mtf trans #trans masc #jjk #pjsk #pjsk mafuyu

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agilident · 9 months ago

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why not

#my art #revenant apex #apex legends #selfship #t4t #trans #ya thas kinda it #sidenote dont u love having a super specific hyperfix and #you have to make and cater literally everything to yourself. ya 🦅#transman reader x transfem rev content I NEED YOU SO BAD!

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gr4vesrot · 1 year ago

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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 !!

#graves writes #ghostface x reader #dead by daylight x reader #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #ghostface x transmale reader #ghostface mlm #ghostface x transman reader

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dc-himbo · 1 year ago

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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.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x transmasc!reader #smut #red hood #red hood smut #delete later #im so self conscious about writing like this on this site #anyways #minors dni #this is also from Jasons pov #sorry if the tense seems confusing #i am trying out writing styles #let me know if you want more #if you hate it ill probably just cry #as transman want to write transman #trans reader

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answersfromzestual · 5 months ago

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Sorry you all, I kept forgetting to set it to a week...

No one will know what you voted but you.

Be honest please.

I want to know how you particular people (as in people who want body affirmation surgeries or to be transmasculine) feel in the community.

#transgender #trans ftm #Answersfromzestual poll #Answersfromzestual #poll by Answersfromzestual #ftm transition #transman #trans non binary #people who need body affirmation surgeries to feel okay #followers of the blog or avid readers only please #transgender community comfort #transmen and comfort in the LGBTQA

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bubblegumfanfictions · 11 months ago

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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!

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honeyandbloodpoetry · 2 years ago

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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.

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