Totally Unironic X Reader Oneshots

BBC Japan

For funcakeparty , who, in a text, (we're friends irl) recanted her SCP request and asked for this instead. Let's get the party started.

   It was just a normal day. You had woken up late, cried because you hadn't died in you sleep like you had prayed for, and then decided to go Hot Topic, the closest one being in Hosu. You get in your windowless white van, nicknamed the Rapemobile by your best friend (friend's name), and drove over to the mall, only running over two schoolkids on the way. You park where the corners of four handicap spots meet, and Naruto run up to the entrance.

   You breeze right by everything else and head straight towards the Hot Topic, only running over three emotions teens on the way. You gasp in awe at the sight that awaits you. Edgy crap, emo crap, nerd crap, weeaboo crap, video game crap, hipster crap and goth crap surround you, stacked as high as the ceiling will allow. You briefly wonder how anyone could possibly reach that crap, but are snapped out of your thoughts when a Japanese Giant Hornet flies straight into your gaping mouth. You swallow that bitch like a true Stacey and continue looking around. 

   After six hours and nine minutes, you've picked out ten (favorite band) t-shirts, five (second favorite band) t-shirts, a (favorite movie) commemorative mug, and a box of (favorite color) hair dye. You're just about to check out, when you spot it: a (favorite character) Funko Pop!. (favorite obscenity) You think, staring it down like a dude-bro stares at unconscious chicks at frat party. I want that more than African children need clean water! You grab it, turning it over, inspecting every centimeter, or inch, if you'd prefer that. Then you witness something that hits you like an alcoholic hits his wife: the price tag. Four hundred and twenty dollars!? You think, too enraged to even wonder why they're using US dollars in Japan. You're about to put it down when you get an idea. An awful, awesome idea.

   After glancing around the store to make sure no one's looking, you take your crap and slip into the changing room. You brush the used tampon laying on the seat out of the way and sit down. Trembling, tentatively, you (push/lift) your (pants/skirt) and panties (down/up), revealing your thotbox. But this is a very special thotbox, and that's because of your Quirk. Your Quirk makes it so that your, uh, orifices, are very stretchy. Like, super stretchy. Like, if Mr. Fantastic made gay porn his asshole would be this stretchy stretchy. You look down at the Pop!. For (character's name)! You think. You consider taking it out of the box, but then realize that would just leave more evidence, and the last thing you need is The Mall Hero: Paul Blart coming after you. So, without ceremony, you shove that entire thing into your pussy, put your bottoms back on, and exit the changing room. You consider taking the tampon, but then decide to leave it for some wage-slave to pick up. You're too Alpha to deal with that stuff.

   After paying for the other stuff, you casually stroll out of the mall and get back in the Rapemobile. You pull out of the parking lot, only running over six senior citizens on the way. You open your phone to check (favorite social media site) for only eight minutes, and suddenly you crash. Not because you were being a horribly irresponsible driver, but because a bus suddenly landed in front of you. Yes, landed. Because it was thrown. Smoke is coming out from under the hood, and the windows are painted red with blood. (favorite obscenity)! You think. Quickly, you exit your vehicle, slamming the door shut behind you. Squeezing between the front of your van and the back of the bus, you slip out into the street and see absolute chaos. You see civilians panicking. You see Heroes fighting. You see flames consuming buildings. But most importantly, you see him.

   He; well, you assume it's a he; stands at least seven feet tall, or, if you wanna be authentic, however many meters that is. His skin, which looks almost amphibian in nature, that is, hairless and slimy, is (favorite word used to describe black) black. And his face, oh his face! It looks like Josef Mengele tried to make a bird fursona, and then said bird fursona met Hannibal Lecter. It has four arms, four legs, and is wearing nothing but an XXL unikilt and a fedora, which barely covers its exposed brain. You feel yourself get aroused.

    You take a cautious step towards it, and it instantly turns toward you, alerted by the clap of your cheeks. Damn it. You think. Why did (deity of your religion) have to make me so thicc? For a few moments, it/he just stares... and then he bounds over to you. You flinch, expecting to get hurt, but nothing happens. You open your eyes with agonizing slowness, and see him standing over you. Drooling.    

   You stand there, shuddering, for a second or two, before you notice it. The bulge. "O-OwO." You say. "What's this?" Adrenaline rushes through your plaque-clogged arteries and veins. You're about to do it. You're about to frick a monster, just like you threatened your therapist. They actually live in Hosu, so they're probably dead now anyway. You lift the kilt... and immediately regret your decision. 

   The dong, which is expanded, is as big as your motherfricking body. Oh (expletive) You think. But it's too late. You've gone too far to stop now. You slowly take your clothes off and Pop! out, and lay on your (body part). As dumb as the thing seems to be, it can understand that.

      You get impaled. You literally get impaled. Your (orifice) stretches like a goshdarn bungee-cord, but you don't care. You sit in the street and get roughly diddled by a Nomu, like the teratophilliac fuck that you are. You nut eleven times, only squirting nine flaming corpses. Eventually he/it/zie nuts too, and you are literally propelled five feet, slamming into a fence, but unfortunately not getting seriously injured or killed. The creature tiptoes towards you lifts you into its lower pair of arms, and Naruto runs off into the distance. 

   Thirteen kilometers away, or, if you'd like to be less accurate, however many miles that is, a man stands atop a water tower, binoculars in his shaking hand. He clutches them with all five fingers, and they crumble into pieces.  "What the hell..." He whispers. His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. He gags. There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti. "Tomura Shigaraki, what has you so upset-" "S-Shut it, Warp Boy. How bout you make yourself useful, apperate to a store, and buy me some bleach?" The taller man is quiet for a moment, and then says: "You know, Tomura Shigaraki, there are easier ways to kill one's self." Before the periwinkle-haired man can do anything, the misty man teleports behind him and pushes him off the tower. "Nothing personal, kid."