Since you said you could write for male! Reader,I have a request. Maybe slashers reacting to their boyfriend coming home crying because someone was homophobic to them? (If you write for trans reader too,maybe you could make the reader ftm (female to male) and the comments were transphobic and homophobic,but that's up to you.) It could be his parents being homophobic,if you're comfortable with that,or just someone else they know or don't. Whatever you feel comfortable writing. I'm asking this mostly because I have homophobic and transphobic parents and I'm a trans man,so I love some good old hurt/comfort. Sorry if this made you uncomfortable in any way and feel free to ignore it if you want. Platonic kisses and hugs from me,I hope you have a lovely day/night!!!!
Slashers dating and comforting a ftm reader ᯓᡣ𐭩
includes : Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair & Amanda Young with ftm!reader, SFW A/N : Thank you for your request!! So sorry you have to be in those situations, please keep yourself safe and never let anyone shame you for being yourself no matter who or how close they are to you, seriously. I didn't make the person who attacked reader as their parents specifically, felt too personal and also, I imagine the reader probably wouldn't be in contact with them since their dating, you know, a slasher. ALSO! I should mention, I am a cis woman, BUT, I am part of the community and, I had and have FTM friends on which I based some of their experiences for this, so I hope I did all of you justice with this. You didn't ask to put any specific slashers, so I decided to only put the 5 of them which gave me the most inspiration for this situation, hope they're ok with you! If anything's wrong with what I wrote, please let me know :) Hope you'll enjoy!!
Thomas Hewitt
➛ Thomas hears you before he sees you.
➛ The door creaks open, heavier than usual, and your steps aren’t right, too slow, uneven, like you’re dragging something invisible behind you.
➛ He’s already turning, before you even come into the room.
➛ And then he sees your face; red eyes, wet cheeks and lips pressed tight like you’re trying not to fall apart again.
➛ Thomas freezes as something deep in his chest twists hard.
➛ He steps toward you immediately, heavy boots thudding against the floor, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know where to put them. A low, worried sound escapes him, rough.
➛ You try to brush it off. “It’s nothing—”
➛ But your voice cracks and that’s it, it’s all it takes for Tommy to close the distance in two long steps and pulls you into him.
➛ It’s sudden but tight and protective.
➛ One arm wraps around your shoulders, the other presses firmly against your back, pulling you fully against his chest like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world. His mask presses into the top of your head as you can feel his uneven breathing.
➛ You don’t even realize when you start crying harder.
➛ He doesn’t let go. Not for a second.
➛ His hand moves up, big and careful, cradling the back of your head as he presses you closer, like if he holds you tight enough, nothing can touch you again.
➛ He rocks you slightly, awkwardly, but still so lovingly, letting out soft, distressed sounds each time your shoulders shake.
➛ When you finally manage to get the words out about why your crying; what they said, how they looked at you, how it made you feel, Thomas goes still. Completely still.
➛ The air around the two of you shifts.
➛ His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough that you feel the anger and the protectiveness mixed with the terrifying promise behind it.
➛ A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest. Not at you, never at you, but at them.
➛ His hand moves to your face then, clumsy but gentle, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His thumb brushes clumsily at your tears, smearing them away like he’s frustrated they’re even there.
➛ You can’t see his expression, but you don’t need to to know exactly what it looks like.
➛ You’re his. And there is nothing wrong with you that deserves to make you feel this bad about yourself.
➛ Thomas presses his forehead against yours, the leather of his mask warm from his skin. He lets out a softer sound this time, almost soothing, almost a hum.
➛ Then he pulls you back into his chest again, somehow even tighter yet safer.
➛ He doesn’t have the words to explain gender, or identity, or the weight of what you carry. But he understands one thing perfectly; you’re his man.
➛ And anyone who makes you cry for that won’t get the chance to do it again.
Bo Sinclair
➛ Bo notices something’s off the second you walk in.
➛ You don’t slam the door like usual, don’t call out for him and your steps are too quiet, too careful, as if you’re trying to not to be seen.
➛ That alone puts him on edge.
➛ “‘Bout time you—” He cuts himself off when he finally looks at you. “…The hell happened to you?”
➛ His tone isn’t gentle. It’s sharp as usual, if you didn’t know him you would even think it was aggressive, but there’s something underneath it the moment he sees your face.
➛ Your eyes are red, your expression tight, like you’re barely holding it together.
➛ Bo straightens immediately while you try to brush past him.
➛ “It’s nothing, I’m just—”
➛ Your voice cracks and Bo’s entire demeanor shifts the second he hears it.
➛ He grabs your arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop you. His grip loosens almost instantly when he sees you flinch, but he doesn’t let you go.
➛ “What happened?” he asks again, lower this time. Serious.
➛ You hesitate, and that’s what sets him off.
“Don’t give me that ‘nothin’’ crap! You come in here lookin’ like that and you think I ain’t gonna notice?”
➛ You finally break, almost before he even finishes his sentence.
➛ The words spill out messily; what one of the tourist said to you this morning, the looks, the way their friends laughed, how it stuck under your skin no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
➛ And the second Bo understands? He goes dead quiet. No jokes, no attitude, just silence.
➛ “They said that to you?” And you nod in answer, wiping at your face like you hate that you’re crying in front of him.
➛ Bo swears under his breath, pacing once like he’s trying to burn off the anger crawling under his skin.
➛ “Bunch of damn morons… Think they real funny, huh?”
➛ You sniff, looking down. “It’s stupid, I shouldn’t even—”
➛ He’s in front of you again in a second. Bo grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.
➛ “Don’t. Don’t you start that shit.”
➛ His thumb brushes roughly at the tear on your cheek, like he’s annoyed it’s even there.
➛ “Ain’t nothin’ stupid about bein’ pissed when someone disrespects you.”
➛ His eyes scan your face, softer now, but still intense. “You hear me?”
➛ You nod weakly, making Bo exhale, running a hand through his hair before suddenly pulling you into him after a hot second.
➛ It’s not as gentle as most boyfriend would be when comforting their boyfriend. It’s tighter and more possessive than it should.
➛ One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you solidly against his chest while the other presses against your back. You can feel how tense he is.
➛ “How many?” he asks suddenly.
➛ You frown, looking up at him as best as you can with how tightly he’s holding you, managing to get out a weak, confused ‘what’ through your sobs.
➛ “How many of ‘em were laughin’?”
➛ Your stomach drops a little at the tone.
➛ “I hope it’s not the ones who’re already dead.”
➛ He doesn’t push further, but the message is clear. He wants names.
➛ Instead, he just holds you there, grip tightening slightly when you sniff again.
➛ “Listen to me darlin’, I don’t give a damn what they think. They don’t know you, don’t know a single damn thing about you.”
➛ His hand comes up, pressing against the back of your head, keeping you close.
➛ “You’re my boy, alright?” he says, quieter now. “Ain’t nobody gonna tell me different.”
➛ There’s something fierce in it, certain. Possessive, yeah, it’s Bo, but also grounding. Like he’s anchoring you back into yourself.
➛ You feel him relax just slightly when your breathing starts to even out. But the anger? It doesn’t go away.
➛ Later that night, Bo’s still tense. Quieter than usual and watching you more closely.
➛ And if you catch him staring off into space, jaw tight, eyes dark, you know he’s still thinking about it. About them, about what they said, and whether or not they’ll ever get the chance to say it again.
Vincent Sinclair
➛ Vincent knows something’s wrong the moment he looks at you but feels somethings weird before he even does.
➛ He hears the door to his room open, the pause, then the way your footsteps drag just slightly against the floor.
➛ When he looks up and sees your face, everything in him stills.
➛ Your eyes are red and your expression tight, like you’re holding everything in by force alone.
➛ Vincent straightens slowly as you try to look away while trying to move past him.
➛ “I’m fine, just tired.” you mumble, sniffling.
➛ Vincent doesn’t believe you for a second.
➛ He sets his tools down quietly, wiping his hands on a cloth as he approaches you. His movements are slow and careful, giving you space to pull away.
➛ You don’t. So, he reaches out, gently taking your wrist and rubbing circles on them with his thumbs.
➛ When you still won’t look at him, his other hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before softly tilting your chin up.
➛ Your eyes meet his and that’s all it takes for you as your face crumples, tears flowing.
➛ Vincent’s expression immediately softens somehow even more, concern flooding through him.
➛ His hands move without hesitation now; one wrapping around your back, the other cradling your head as he pulls you into him.
➛ You break against his chest. He holds you close, firm, but so gentle it almost hurts.
➛ One hand presses between your shoulder blades, steady and grounding, while the other slides into your hair, fingers threading through it slowly. He rocks you just slightly, a quiet, instinctive motion.
➛ No words, just presence, just him.
➛ When you start trying to explain, voice shaking and uneven, you feel him still for a moment as he listens. Really listens.
➛ And as the words come out, of what they called you, how they looked at you, how it made you feel like you had to shrink in yourself, Vincent’s hold tightens before he pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face.
➛ His thumbs brush under your eyes, wiping away tears carefully, like they shouldn’t be there in the first place, then he signs as he gently lets go of you after a quick rub up and down of your shaking arms.
➛ “They are wrong.”
➛ His eye doesn’t waver from yours for a second as he lifts one hand, resting it gently over your chest, then points to you.
➛ “You.” A pause. “My boyfriend.”
➛ His hand lingers there, over your heart, like he’s anchoring the words into you.
➛ His expression softens even more, something warm and certain in his eyes as he signs again, slower this time.
➛ “I see you.”
➛ No hesitation and no doubt. Simply you, exactly as you are.
➛ Vincent leans forward then, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His eye close for a brief moment, like he’s grounding himself to stay calm and not let his twin’s anger take hold of him.
➛ Then he pulls you back into his arms and he doesn’t let go until you do.
➛ Not when your crying slows, not when your breathing evens out, not even when you try to pull away slightly as you say sorry for wetting his shirt.
➛ His grip tightens just a little, a silent ‘stay.’
➛ Later, when you’ve freed yourself of his hold, he still keeps you close.
➛ Sitting beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, thumb tracing slow, repetitive patterns against your arm.
➛ Every so often, he glances at you, his way of checking, making sure you’re still okay.
➛ And if your expression drops again, even slightly, his hand finds yours immediately.
➛ Because with Vincent, you don’t need them to understand; you are his boyfriend, and he sees you, simply because he loves what he keeps seeing.
Lester Sinclair
➛ Lester notices right away. Not in an observant way like Vincent, more like… instinct.
➛ Something feels off the second you walk in.
➛ “Hey, you’re back!” he starts, turning toward you with that usual easy smile but it drops immediately as he realises his instinct was right. “Baby?”
➛ You look like you’ve been trying not to cry for a while… and failing.
➛ Your eyes are red, your face tense, like you’re holding everything together with thread. Lester straightens up fast.
➛ “What’s wrong? You okay?”
➛ You shake your head a little, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just—”
➛ Your voice breaks and Lester freezes for half a second. Then he’s right in front of you as you almost jump, not expecting him to suddenly be so close to you.
➛ “Okay, no, you are not fine. C’mere.”
➛ He doesn’t wait long, just gently pulls you into a hug, arms wrapping around you in a way that’s a little clumsy but warm. One hand comes up to the back of your head, pressing you lightly into his shoulder.
➛ “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” he murmurs, rubbing your back in slow circles.
➛ You try to talk, but it all comes out messy and broken. The words mixing together of what they said, how they laughed, the way it made your chest feel tight and wrong.
➛ Lester goes quiet. Really quiet. Too quiet for Lester.
➛ “…they said what?”
➛ You nod, wiping at your face, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—”
➛ “Hey, no, don’t! Don’t apologize! You ain’t done nothin’ wrong sweetheart.”
➛ His arms tighten around you a little. “People just suck sometimes. Don’t know what they’re talkin’ about half the time.”
➛ He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. There’s no judgment there, just concern.
➛ “Listen, you’re you, alright? ” he continues, somehow even softer now. “That ain’t somethin’ they get a say in.”
➛ His thumb brushes awkwardly at your cheek, wiping away a tear.
➛ “And for the record? You’re my boyfriend. Ain’t nobody gonna convince me otherwise.”
➛ It’s simple. Casual, even, but it lands.
➛ He pulls you back into a hug right after, like he doesn’t want you drifting too far from him. “C’mon. Let’s sit down, yeah?”
➛ He keeps an arm around you as he guides you over, not letting go once.
➛ Later, Lester sticks close. Like, really close.
➛ He keeps checking in without making a big deal out of it, by offering you something to drink, nudging you lightly and making small jokes just to keep you grounded.
➛ And every time you get quiet or seem like you’re slipping back into your head, he bumps his shoulder against yours gently.
➛ A silent ‘hey, I’m here. You’ne not alone.’
➛ Because Lester might not always know the perfect thing to say, but he makes sure you never feel alone long enough for those words to stick.
Amanda Young
➛ Amanda knows the second she sees you. She’s so used to seeing people in despair, she can almost smell it now.
➛ She doesn’t ask right away, doesn’t rush you, she just watches.
➛ You walk in too quiet, shoulders tense, eyes avoiding hers, and she’s already putting the pieces together. By the time you try to pass her with a muttered ‘I’m fine’, she’s not buying it for a second.
➛ “Come here.” she calls, voice low, but you keep walking. Big mistake.
➛ Amanda stands up fast, crossing the space between you in a few steps. She doesn’t grab you hard, but her hand closes around your wrist just enough to stop you dead in your track.
➛ “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”
➛ You try again. “It’s nothing, I just—”
➛ Your voice cracks, making Amanda’s expression shift instantly.
➛ The tension in her shoulders drops, her grip loosens, and before you can turn away again, she pulls you into her.
➛ “I got you.” she murmurs, one hand coming up to the back of your head, pressing you into her shoulder.
➛ That’s all it takes for you break completely.
➛ The words come out messy, telling her what they said, the way they looked at you, how it made something old and ugly crawl back under your skin. That feeling of being seen as wrong, of being reduced to something bad simply for being.
➛ Amanda goes very still as she listens. “I know that feeling.”
➛ She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to fix it right away. She just holds you while you cry, one hand rubbing slow circles against your back, grounding, steady.
➛ Her chin rests lightly against your head, and you can feel the tension in her jaw.
➛ When you finally start to quiet down, she pulls back just enough to look at you.
➛ Her hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes, wiping away the tears like it matters, because you matter.
➛ “Look at me.”
➛ You hesitate, but still, you do. There’s nothing but certainty in her expression.
“You’re my boyfriend.” she says. No hesitation and no doubt. “And there’s nothing wrong with you being my boyfriend. Not one thing.”
➛ Her voice is steady, but there’s something fierce underneath it.
➛ “If anyone’s got a problem with that, that’s on them.”
➛ She presses her forehead lightly against yours for a second, grounding both of you.
➛ Then she pulls you back into her arms again, slower this time, letting you settle into her instead of holding you too tight.
➛ “You don’t have to deal with that alone, not anymore.”
➛ She sits beside you, shoulder pressed against yours, one arm loosely draped around your waist. Every so often, her fingers trace small, absent patterns against your side, something grounding, repetitive.
➛ If you go quiet too long, she nudges you gently. “Stay with me.”
➛ And if your thoughts start slipping back to what happened, she’s right there to pull you out of it.
➛ Because Amanda doesn’t just comfort you, she understands, and she refuses to let anyone make you feel like that.
➛ Don’t act shocked when one of them ends up in the news a few days later, a journalist explaining the saw trap they died in.
