I'm back again!! Once again with the failing transducer and reader being exposed as a mutant in front of Kurt cause the brain worms are eating me ALIVE!
You look at Kurt praying in the evening sun and the only thought that comes is 'how can this man love me when I look like the devil. In his chapel. Praying. Like I deserve this.'
Needless to say, your prayer cuts off a little early and Kurt notices, of course he does the damn sweetheart he is. His three fingered hand comes to squeeze yours as his golden eyes search the hologram that is the face he's grown accustomed to.
"Mein schatz, what is wrong? Is there something burdening your heart?" He turns to you fully, rosary beads still looped around the fingers of his right hand. "Let me help with this, bitte."
You look into those golden eyes so kind and soft looking for a reason on your face for the pain radiating from you. Tears come, hot and shameful, knowing your true face may be one he runs from. You silently turn your head away before the tears start flowing harder and Kurt gives a soft sound of unsureness as he gently rubs over your arm slowly.
"Liebling, bitte... What is hurting you so...?" He moves closer on the pew and then his own eyes look bright with emotion. The tears you're shedding land right onto the transducer bracelet that conceals your form. You notice it too late the subtle whir stopping and then the soft sound of dissolving space as he is now rubbing over black fur.
You flinch and then get ready to teleport, the air crackling around your form and the scent of struck match and wet iron fills the air before Kurt's hand turns your head to face him. He inhales a quick breath, taking in all of your new features and then a bright smile forms on his soft lips. A beaming smile that makes him look so much younger than he looks.
"Du...bist schön. Sehr schön~" he softly says before gently leaning down to kiss you softly and reverently, like this was just another day instead of you showing him the most delicate and hated part of your neyaphem lineage. He accepts it... Calls it BEAUTIFUL. What a special man he is. He places soft gentle kisses all over your face and laughs softly before going still as your tail starts curling around his tightly, intimate and close, the spade tip rubbing over his own and his eyes go soft but also heated with hunger.
The brain worms, they will NOT leave me. Alone. A short snippet of what life would look like with Kurt and Reader if they were a neyaphem as well but wearing a transducer and it broke during a fight.
Kurt is holding the line, determined not to let the other mutants, Creed and his pack, towards the newest member of the X-men, you. The sweet looking human who has shown him so much kindness over the months you had been at Xavier's. Always making sure that even when he didn't want to take care of himself due to guilt, you found small ways to help him cope.
Then, cue to Kurt being pinned down by a stone skinned mutant as he calls for you in worry. Right as your transducer fails from a foiled attack from Creed. You teleport away in a cloud of red rust scented smoke and then stand there, solid red eyes defiant, fur black as midnight growing from scalp to toes, cropped red hair short to your scalp with a small portion over as a bang. Your spade tipped tail cracks the air as it whips side to side in irritation and your claws unsheathe with a low snickt as they gleam in the sunlight. And best of all, your pointed teeth and fangs bare as you snarl a challenge to Creed.
Kurt has never seen anything so wondrous and he nearly gets pummelled by the stone skinned mutant as he stares at you, entranced with the real you. "Wönderschön." He says just loud enough for reader to hear. You lift your head from the snarl and then blush before laughing.
"Hallo, liebling, you like my real skin?~" you tease him before teleporting to fight creed once more.
AHHHHH!!! THE LOVE I HAVE FOR HIM KNOWS NO BOUNDS!!!
So, I have very big big BIG brain worms of Kurt Wagner. What if reader was a neyaphem as well? A child of a demon from the brimstone dimension with a tail, four fingers on each hand and four toes on each foot, digi-grade legs, pointed ears, and pointed teeth. Black fur and solid red eyes. The thoughts I have for that blueberry are purely disrespectful. XD If only I could write well enough to get what is in my head out.
Just thought of something. If anyone knows how to make edits, then this would be a great idea. Edit all scenes with Victor and Logan to Dear agony by breaking Benjamin. Does anyone else see the vision?
Imagine, if you will, there was a seventh child that tried to protect the others. By the name of Ava Summers. Ava was thirteen and friends with Fritz, Gabriel, Jeremy, and Susie as she was their baby sitter. On the fateful night the children were gathered into the back room, Ava did her best to shield them and even fought Afton as he came for them and took him to his knees. She then took the kids out of that back room and towards the back exit. However, if only life could have that much hope, right as her hand touched the push bar of the door a fire axe dug deep into her left shoulder and she fell to the floor as the children stood frozen in fear. She yelled at them and begged them to run as she struggled to her feet and tried removing the axe wedged deep into her left shoulder while bleeding out at a slow but steady pace. With her body growing ever weaker, she made a vow that even if she died, her spirit would protect the kids she took under her wing. She fought with every bit of strength she could muster and she was making a good effort until the axe's sharp curved edge dug into her chest as her breath leaves her in one single breath. She collapses to the floor and clutches the handle of the axe while glaring at the yellow rabbit in front of her as she struggles to speak. "I...WILL...come...back...." As her eyes close, tears fall as she hears the screams of the children she wanted to protect more than anything. After the bodies went cold, Afton placed Ava and the children into the animatronics to cover his tracks. Gabriel's body was placed into Freddy, Fritz's body was placed into Foxy, Susie's body was placed in Chica, Jeremy's body was placed into Bonnie, and Ava's body was placed into the most volatile animatronic with the outward appearance of cartoon shark but highly modified to be child friendly that was planned to be used to promote healthy eating and drinking water as Afton was getting push back from the FDA for having low quality pizza and soda with ten times the amount of sugar allowed. In the daytime, the band would play while Ava's body inside the shark animatonic named Poppy gave children flavored water and nuggets made with hidden veggies that were somewhat a big hit.
This is just a snippet of what I have cooking for my fnaf oc and her placement in the fnaf lore.
Look at him! You can not tell me you dont wana gives hims a boop and a smooch. I would plaster them all over his face till he has to pry me off of him.
Also added some details about his lycanthropy. Use them as you see fit.
so iâm disgustingly depressed so letâs bring low self esteem reader back
john who plucks out the lonely girl in the corner of the pub, abandoned by all of her mates to get chatted up by the blokes inside. someone has to stay by the table and look after the coats and bags
and he could tell she was an insecure wreck just from looking at her, constantly fidgeting and pretending to busy yourself at the empty table. picking up your phone, scrolling for two seconds and then putting it back down. rinse, repeat, etc
but god, you were gonna be a challenge. good thing heâs always up for one. always happy to take in another lonely stray
she doesnât make eye contact with him, ever. nor does she ever reach to touch him. in fact, she apologises whenever she accidentally brushes him. looks embarrassed every time she gives some lame response to his smooth line
and the second one of your friends comes back to the table, you move away. as if youâre some warm-up act before the main performance. and that just wonât do one bit
you watch him as he follows your friend to the bar, chatting to her before making his way back with two drinks but instead of cozying up to her the way you expect him to, he slides the drink in front of you and makes himself comfortable in the tight booth. leaving you trapped between his musky scent and peeling wallpaper decorating the wall,
âthere yâgo, pretty. carry on tellinâ me about yourselfâŠâ
and for once, you actually hold his gaze for a few seconds, stunned. before inevitably shrinking back into yourself, slowly reaching for the glass like he might be pulling some kind of joke on you
he knows heâs got his work cut out for him with you, but he also knows that if he digs a little deeper, heâll hit diamond
cut me down, level me | ghoap x reader | 3.2k
cw: alcohol, jealous reader, nasty+mean ghost, harassment, nonconsensual touching/manhandling, masturbation
a/n: title from i wish i was you by creux lies.
itâs johnnyâs birthday.
you grouse the entire time you get ready. mood utterly unsalvageable even with the right playlist. the emergency bottle of prosecco in your refrigerator canât rescue you eitherâitâs turned sour and vinegary, probably like the evening ahead.
johnny texts, his message asking for your eta littered with typos. heâs sent it not in your private chat, but the one with his worse half.Â
he promised, repeatedly, that simon, the principal pain in your ass thatââheâll be on his best behavior. hand on heart, i swear.â
youâve heard that one before.
it doesnât matter what you do. by the time the rideshare pulls up outside their flat, you half-consider staying in the car and heading straight back home. cozying up in bed with your laptop feels infinitely better than the prospect of enduring lousy company.
because for all johnnyâs reassurances, you know simon. heâs the thorn in your side. the wedge between you and your best friend.
you were practically raised together after your family moved in next door. you spent as many holidays at the mactavish house as your own. even after johnny enlisted, nothing changedâyou were still the first person heâd call with news, and he was still the one you trusted to share things you wouldnât tell anyone else.Â
and then, two christmases ago, simon arrived. six-foot-something stupid, he muscled his way in, taking up more space than he had any right to, crowding into johnnyâs life like heâd always been there.Â
âsimon? itâs good to finally meet you. johnny talks about you all the time.â youâd said, hand extended, trying to make a good impression. neck craned to the man filling the doorframe. simon smirked, something flat and condescending in his voice as he replied, hand already hinging possessively around johnnyâs nape.
âi thought only i could call you âjohnnyâ. not âow you make a man feel special, is it.â
you remember how he shouldered around you without another word, greeting the rest of the mactavishes with bourbon and presents like some drab mancunian santa claus.
johnny found you seething later that evening and delivered the first of a thousand apologies. said he was embarrassed by simonâs cold shoulder, and you forgave himânot because you believed him, but because you felt sorry that his boyfriend was a territorial buffoon.
a mistake.
you know couples spend most of their time together. youâre not stupid or naive enough to think theyâd be any different, but somehow itâs worse. you can count on one hand the number of times youâve spent with johnny one-on-one since they got together. simonâs always there, lurking. thereâs no sharing with him.
youâve tried to bring it up with johnny quietly, mostly over text, since phone calls and video chats are never private, but itâs like he canât see his velcro boyfriend at his side. he doesnât question it, not really. heâll admit simonâs a bit rough around the edges, that his jokes cross the line or that his comments make your skin crawl, but he brushes them off. thereâs always an excuse, some reason to overlook it. you just hope itâs only a matter of time before johnny sees simon for what he really is and breaks it off.
a no-good interloper, pissing on everythingâ
when you knock, itâs simon who answers the door. music spills out around him, voices rising and falling in the glow of light behind his broad shoulders. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging from your shoes to your face, as if youâre a stranger. then he tilts his head in a silent well?
youâve learned that it is you who must move around him, in all contexts. you are the invader. he doesnât flinch when you cram under his thick arm braced against the door. he mutters a snide comment about the cut of your shirtâcan see straight down thatâbreath fanning over your head. your face burns instantly, blistering hot. as you pass, the bottle of wine in your hand âaccidentallyâ finds his ribs, and for a second, you feel a flicker of satisfaction.
âoops!âÂ
you flee beeline for johnny.
heâs already tipsy, the lush, but heâs at least happy to see you.Â
âthere she is.â his face is flushed from drink, and he pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your cheek. âi was just tellinâ simon itâs noâ my birthday without ye.â
you lean into him, briefly nuzzling his chest, breathing in his grounding scent. asshole boyfriend or not, how could you consider abandoning your boy?
âshameless flirt.â
âdinnae i ken it.â
he pouts when you peel away and excuse yourself, promising to find him after making the rounds.
you count maybe two dozen people spread through the house, a mix of old classmates, distant acquaintances, and soldiers. more arrive in waves, and youâre glad for the buffer. enough bodies between you and simon to keep him at a comfortable distance.
time moves in fits and starts. you drink enough to feel a buzz and resolve, half-heartedly, to enjoy yourself and mingle. thereâs no shortage of good-looking men in johnnyâs circle, and you might as well flirt a little. it seems like the kind of thing you should be doing, though your heart isnât really in it.
you meet another john, polite but pointed about the ring on his finger. then kyle, who seems interested until he asks your name and then suddenly isnât. after a couple more dead ends, you give up entirely, feeling more lousy than when you arrived. but itâs johnnyâs birthday, and itâs bad form to leave before midnight. so, instead, you decide to keep to yourself and wait it out.
problem is, you start bumping into simon.
wherever you goâthe den, the kitchen, the front steps for airâsimon appears. he doesnât make a show of following you, but you feel it all the same. his gaze finds you like a searchlight, dissecting you piece by piece. just waiting to say shit. his expression doesnât shift when you glance his way, no shame in being caught staring. itâs impossible to tell what heâs thinking, but whatever it is, it doesnât feel particularly benign. his presence settles like a weight on your back.Â
he doesnât let you find any refuge with johnny, either. of course not. birthday boy is blissfully unaware, wrapped up in his own celebration, probably thinking simonâs sudden surge of public affection and attention are gifts. from across the room, simonâs gaze is heavy on you, his arm draped possessively around johnnyâs waist, hand settling unashamedly on his ass for a grope. you catch his eye once, and without missing a beat, he leans in, planting a kiss behind johnnyâs ear, making him squirm mid-conversation.Â
it pisses you off. curdles your bad mood into a rotten one.
with an hour left until midnight, you try to avoid simon as much as possible. it probably seems petty to slip away the moment he walks into a room or to retreat into silence when he lingers too close, but you donât care. heâs stifling and unbearableâlike heâs decided to babysit you to make sure youâre on your best behavior. and thereâs no telling johnny. you wonât ruin the night for him by stirring up trouble.
at one point, you take too long at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, and he corners you mid-pour.
simon clicks his tongue, shifting his weight just enough to box you in with his chest and shoulders. âwhatâs that now, your fourth? fifth?â his voice is low, a rough-edged drawl, head dipping and chasing your ear when you try to duck away. âkeep this up, sweetâeart, and youâll be sleepinâ it off between us.â the grin that stretches his mouth feels too sharp, his eyes glinting as he leans in, the heat of him unnervingly close, his bulk a deliberate intrusion into your space.
the image his words conjure arrives unbidden, sending a disorienting jolt down your spine. you see yourself there, curled against johnnyâs chest, while another, hulking body melding to your back, presence suffocating and unwanted. the thought lingers for a heartbeat before it vanishes in a rush of disgust, leaving you like a dog with its hackles raised, bristling with the instinct to flee.
you shove past, wine sloshing perilously close to the rim as you go, his rasping chuckle drifting after you.
another hour passes in a blur, but you salute yourselfâonly a quarter-hour to freedom. problem is, all that wineâs caught up, and the door to the downstairs toilet has been locked for a stretch. you cast a casual glance around, your eyes tracking the shape of your persistent shadow, and find him finally occupied with the other john, his back turned to you for the first time all evening. itâs a quick, maybe ill-advised decision to slip upstairs, but you really have no choice. you have to pee before you leave, and besides, itâs a teensy fuck you to the man whoâs followed you all night.
the music from downstairs hums through the floor, covering your movements just enough that you donât bother to tiptoe.
their bedroom is unfamiliar, but johnnyâs presence clings to the space in bits and pieces. a framed photo of johnny in his first uniform, his mother leaning against his arm. an old rugby medal, propped against a stack of books, a few of which you gifted him. on the wall beside the bed, a collage of photos: summers at the mactavish cottage, christmas dinners with both your families, johnny mid-laugh with his arm slung casually around your shoulders in more than one.
you spot an old toy soldier from the same set johnny used to make elaborate battles with when you were kids. it sits next to a half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon you donât recognize, probably something simon probably picked out. the mixture of old and new, of johnny and simon, is dizzying. jealousy wells up in your chest. you were there for all those moments. you knew him when he played soldier in the garden, when he rolled his eyes through family holidays and snuck you out at dessert. you were the constant, long before simonâs shadow overtook everything.
you slink into the bathroom, eyes stinging and chest tightening. itâs the wine.
washing your hands, your eyes land on a half-empty bottle of cologne you donât recognize. while the rideshare app spins uselessly, you take a whiff and hum. itâs johnnyâs. you rub a fingertip over the atomizer, too paranoid to take even a quarter-spray. the residual will have to do. instead, you press a fingertip to the atomizer, then smear a trace behind your ear just as the app pings. finally.
you pull the door open, eyes trained on the appâs countdown and mind tangling with how to say goodbye to johnny. you donât notice the figure outside until you step straight into it, a solid wall of muscle. you stagger, caught off guard, but before you can register whatâs happening, he presses forward, steering you back inside the bathroom. your phone drops to the counter with a clatter. a hand smelling of smoke and salt clamps over your mouth.
âstop fussinâ,â simon mutters, clipped with irritation. his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your jaw tight as he leans back just far enough to shut the door. you batter his chest with your fists, which he swiftly captures when he swivels back. âi said stop. need to chat.âÂ
your phone buzzes against the counter, the soft vibration loud against the marble. simon glances down, his expression darkening as he spots the car on the screen. with a tap of his thumb, he cancels the ride, lips curling into something that isnât quite a smile. âsneakinâ out already? nightâs young.â
your words are lost under his palm, protests garbled into nothing. heat flushes your face, humiliation prickling your skin as you try to twist free. glaring, you tell him how creepy heâs being, how weird he is, voice rising even though itâs barely audible. for a moment, his expression doesnât shift, then something flickers behind his eyes, like a shark finding chum in the water. he leans in, his hips pinning yours, and his nose drags over where youâd rubbed the scent.
âyou little thief,â he murmurs, voice thick with disdain. his hand eases just enough to let you speak.
âi thought it was johnnyâs.â you finally say, throat tight, pulse fluttering at its base.
âitâs ours,â he sneers. âwe share. everything.â
you scoff, the sound bitter in the small space between you. âyou? donât make me laugh.â
âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
for a second, you stare in disbelief, chest heaving in shallow breaths. he still has you held against the counter, and you realize you smell it on him, too.Â
you canât have just this one thing.
word vomit comes out in a rush, spliced with the fury and frustration thatâs been building all night, no, for months, mixed with the tang of cheap pinot. âyou fucking stole johnny from me. he was my best friend, my johnny, before you. iâve called him that my whole life. and then youâyou show up, sap up all of his attention, and now he never has time for me. itâs never just me and him, youâre always fucking there.â the confession hangs in the air. it is more honest than you meant, but there is no going back.
simon tilts his head, looking down at you like heâs trying to figure something out, his hand firm under your jaw. his fingers press in, not quite hard, just enough to keep you there, and then he leans in close, his forehead nearly touching yours. you try to look away, eyes darting to the side, but he wonât let you.
ââs that what you need? johnnyâs attention?â his thumb drags over the curve of your cheek, pressing until it hooks inside your mouth. âmy attention?â
âno-awh! noâ yoursth!âÂ
your tongue brushes the pad of his thumb, a shudder rolling through you before you remember your teeth. he remembers too, yanking his thumb away just as your bite snaps shut, catching your tongue instead. you yelp, the sting immediate and hot.
he coos, low and mocking, his hand sealing over your mouth again. his weight presses you against the counter, pinning you effortlessly in place. your hands, useless against the unyielding plane of his chest, clutch at his forearm instead, desperate to free your face. then his knee jabs forward, knocking a muffled cry from your throat. the impact drives you onto your toes, the cupboard beneath you taking the blow and holding his knee steady, leaving you no choice but to remain perched, precarious and trembling, to avoid putting your weight on him.
âthis âas been my problem with you since day one. youâre a dishonest and jealous woman. canât be âappy for johnny. canât be polite to meââ
you hiss and spit at that, outrage starting and stalling. heâs done nothingâas if heâsâunbelievableâbut youâre wasting your breath, not merely because his stupid, meaty pawâs lodged over your mouth, but because itâs simon. two years in, and you know better. arguing with him is like shouting into the void. useless, exhausting. your calves burn from holding yourself up, thighs trembling under the strain, but he doesnât let up, doesnât ease an inch.
âalways whining, always makinâ our boy feel like shit with your desperate, depressing textsââ his knee slides and nudges between your legs, finding the seam of your jeans. ââalways runninâ away from us, not letting it happen, be easy...â
your face finally turns, but he only leans in further, his forehead skimming yours, settling heavily against your temple. chapped lips graze your cheek, words spilling straight into your skin, warm air puffing through his nostrils like a beast. âtrying to sneak out, makinâ me keep an eye on you all nightâŠâ you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your neck and over your scalp. this is bad. very bad. itâs johnnyâs birthday, and his boyfriend has you cornered in the bathroom. your thoughts snarl in panic and guilt. you hardly register simonâs voice anymore, his lecture breaking into shards your brain canât piece together.
until he says something that pierces the fog. growls it into your ear, close enough his tongue needlessly flicks the shell.
âiâm not âaving it anymore. you understand? you ainât leavinâ tonight.â
simon unhurriedly tilts your head back, then presses you down onto his knee. you swallow hard, a noise catching somewhere deep and undignified. if he notices, he doesnât let on.
âiâm gonna let go, and youâre gonna keep quiet. youâre gonna be a good girl, come back downstairs, and not go makinâ a scene. or do i need to spell out what âappens if ya donât, or are ya as sharp as âeâs always makinâ out?â
you donât need him to say it. the threat is there, in between your legs, and if you looked down, youâd see it between his, too. it doesnât matter what you want.Â
it doesnât matter what simon wants, either, you think. if it did, youâd probably still be in the bathroom with him.Â
heâs been abundantly clear. the only thing that matters is what johnny wants.
from where he sat you on the end of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap, you glimpse movement through the cracked door. grunting. he told you to spit in his palm before he sent you out, and now you know why. his hand sounds slick and furious over his length. your stomach clenches, eyes watering from staring unblinkingly at the rug beneath your feet. you wonder if itâs not punishment but a prelude. or worse, his idea of a favor. a demonstration. as long as youâre good and quiet. as long as you stay.
when he comes, heâs nearly silent. a word or two gnashed between teeth in a whisper. a couple more pumps. then, the flush of the toilet and his zipper.
he doesnât wash his hands. the animal.
simon lifts an eyebrow, and you scurry toward the door, though the snap of his tongue slows you. he stays a breath behind you as the warmth and noise of the party swallow you both whole, no one any wiser. instinctively, you angle left, toward the door, but his finger hooks through the back loop of your jeans, steering you elsewhere.
johnnyâs in a merry state, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, caught somewhere between shock and delight at seeing both of you settle beside him. youâre wedged in the middle on the couch, their solid thighs pressing yours. across the coffee table, the men you met earlier nod in your direction, and you return a stiff smile, pretending nothingâs amiss. johnnyâs hand lands on your knee with a familiar squeeze, his grin boyish and lopsided. behind you, a heavier arm stretches across the back of the couch, simonâs fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. the scent of the cologne mingles with simonâs musk, wrinkling your nose.
johnny leans in, his voice an exaggerated whisper slurred at the edges. his eyes, wide and glassy, flit between the two of you with an almost childlike excitement.
ânice to see ye gettinâ along. just for me?â
simon chuckles. âtold ya iâd be good, didnât i?â his fingers curl beneath your collar, resting there. an ultimatum. âitâs a joint gift. ainât that right?â
Hello Tumblr. I am risen once again just in time for the early beginning of spooky season with a big big thought for all of you. What if, and hear me out, Wesker was dating a goth/scene/alternative reader who goes all out for Halloween and even has a zombie (an actual one from raccoon City but without arms or teeth) chained in their front yard just to scare the shit out of the kids and laugh while handing out black licorice. (The evilness behind that candy knows no bounds.)
Hello, Tumblr. I have gotten a job at my local ShopRite! EEE!!~ I work part time but only for around 30 hours per week. But I am planning on getting some new ideas done and getting asks open and ready!
