#oh god this is actually worse than i remember

[brodygold]

Because He’s Hot

(All characters are 18+)

Jared was never one for sports. Or people in general for that matter. He was a shy introvert among shy introverts. Being gay made things even worse in his small, tight knit community. He was expected to look and act a certain way, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was a true outcast and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Being in his senior year of high school, he couldn’t wait to move away and never see anyone here again.

Sometimes though, life doesn’t give you what you want. As Jared sat outside at the bus stop on his way home, a stranger came up and sat down next to him. Grumbling to himself, Jared turned to look at him.

“Damn,” he thought. “He’s hot.”

The stranger was everything Jared liked in a guy: tall, athletic (if the shiny gold soccer jersey he had on meant anything), and had a great smile that could light up any room. His smile was so warm and welcoming, Jared almost forget he was going to tell the guy to leave him alone.

“Hey there. Name’s Brody. This bus heading to the soccer field?”

Jared gulped, not remembering how to form words for a second. He normally wasn’t one for talking to strangers, but thought he might as well answer him. Brody was hot after all.

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It does.”

“Great. Thanks man. I was supposed to catch a ride with my teammates but had something come up. You going to the field for tryouts?”

Oh that’s right. Jared remembered the jocks at school mentioning something about that. How some group called the Golden Army was in town holding tryouts to get people to join. There was no way he’d be caught dead around that group though. Right?

“I’m good, thanks. It’s not really my scene.”

“That’s alright bro. What is your scene?”

Jared paused and looked away at that. Well he tried to at least. Brody’s perfect smile was still drawing him in. God, those lips looked so kissable.

“Don’t really have one…” he eventually squeaked out.

“Well, if you want to, we’d love to have you, bro. We could be your scene. You could be a real bro.”

The idea almost made Jared laugh. Him, a bro and a jock? Who knew this handsome man was also funny? Still, a thought creeped into his mind. If he tried out, he could avoid his annoying parents and see this stud even longer.

“Might as well. What do I have to lose?”

Brody clapped Jared on the back. Jared blushed at the contact. “That’s the spirit bro! I got the perfect thing for you actually.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a golden jersey, shimmering in the sunlight. He held it out to Jared, who took it in his hands. It was so soft, almost melting in his hands.

Was he really about to put on this jersey just because some guy told him to?

Yeah, because he’s hot, Jared thought as he put it on over his hoodie.

He felt a tingle as soon as he put it on. He didn’t notice how his hoodie and ripped jeans vanished and turned into a pair of black soccer shorts, leaving him slightly chilly in the crisp fall air. Nor did he notice his skinny arms and legs becoming filled with muscle or his chest becoming two pillow pecs. His shaggy hair become a perfect sporty cut, the color turning from blonde to brown.

He was too busy staring at Brody and his smile. He certainly didn’t notice Brody’s eyes glow bright gold, drawing him in even more.

Jared memories and mannerisms disappeared the more he stared. The quiet, nerdy, outcast of a guy turned into a true social butterfly, hanging out with his bros any chance he got, on or off the field. Even the name Jared felt like a distant memory, being replaced with Jackson, a perfect name for a hot jock.

Brody’s eyes finally stopped their golden glow, a knowing smile on his face.

“You ready for tryouts, Jackson?”

“Hell yeah, Captain bro! Let’s go!”

Jackson felt so pumped for tryouts and knew with Brody by his side, the two could accomplish anything.

Why? Because they’re hot!

[ashtonisvibing]

dancing with old friends

OKAY, third time's the charm with trying to post this! maybe tumblr's trying to tell me something-

ship: darkstache/damien x wilford (if not outright shown it's heavily implied. also obviously there's wilford x celine, but that's just canon so-)

notes: i originally wrote... a lot for this- i've now tried to post this twice before, so i'm not writing that all again. just be aware that this oneshot is a few years old and so it probably isn't good. i mean i think it's pretty alright, but maybe my taste is shit lol

don't expect me to write other oneshots after posting this, i haven't written stories since i wrote this, so they'd probably all be shit-

The Manor held several rooms that were unknown to many of the egos that lived there; each of them locked away for... reasons. They held old memories that did not want to be resurfaced. And no one questioned it. After all, the request of them never being opened came from both Wilford Warfstache & Darkiplier. Although it was more of an order than a request with Dark, who had pretty much threatened Yandere when he asked why.

There was one room in particular that was locked up. It was a gorgeous ballroom, one that looked like it had come out of a fairy tale. Many dances used to be held there back in the day with various friends. It was once filled with laughter & joy; now it only contained dust & cobwebs.

For whatever reason, Wilford had decided to open the room again. No one else was around to question why. He honestly didn't know himself. He had just been wandering around the manor when he came across the old oak doors. Both him & Dark held a skeleton key that could open any in the house, which The Host was gracious enough to make.

Wiford took his out from under his shirt; he had hung it on a piece of string so he would always have it with him. He took it off from around his neck, inserted it into the lock, & turned the key. A clicking sound echoed slightly down both ends of the hall. The interviewer glanced around to make sure no one else was around before entering the room.

It wasn't as grand as he remembered, but perhaps that was just because everything was covered in dust. There were windows across the opposite wall, which each had red silk curtains draped over them, blocking out any sunlight that could enter. Around the room were white marble columns connecting the ceiling to the floor. Off to the side was a piano, which clearly had not been used in forever.

Wilford walked across the floor, hearing his footsteps echo in the quiet room. Truly Mark, his old friend, had decided to splurge with this room, seeing as it was more castle like than the other rooms. And of course he always insisted his guests move to this room so they could dance at least once during the party.

The interviewer remembered many dances he shared with Celine. The lady could definitely dance, he knew that. Those were truly wonderful nights they shared together.

He hadn't noticed he was starting to cry until he felt a teardrop fall down his cheek. He quickly wiped the tears away & shook the memories from his head. No need for troubling himself with the past like that. Those were happy times. That's all they were. Happy times...

"So, you've finally decided to enter here." Wilford turned around to see the body behind the voice. Dark was standing a few feet away. How he got in so quietly wasn't that big of a concern; Dark always had a flair for mystery.

"Just wanted to relive some old memories, I guess." Wilford chuckled. The demon across from him hummed in response, conveying no emotion. While yes Dark had the memories of both Celine & Damien in him, he never bothered with being so sentimental about them, his focus always landing on taking control of the YouTube channel he was practically adored on.

"If I recall correctly, you & Celine shared many dances in this room." Dark walked closer to the other man.

Wilford nodded his head in response. "Yes, we did. I remember how much fun we had, being the most lively dancers in the whole room. Everyone would clear the floor just to watch us." He chuckled & gave a sad smile. These were memories he had not touched in a long time, & while it was nice to revisit them, it brought a pain in his heart to think of his lost love. And yet he knew, in some crazy & messed up way, she was right next to him, along with his best friend Damien, all wrapped together with some strange... entity in one of his old friend's body.

They were both silent for a bit, just basking in the feeling of being in a room they had both sworn they would never open. And neither man knew why they were even in there.

After some time Wilford saw Dark offer his hand from the corner of his eye. He gave the demon a confused look, questioning what he was suggesting. Dark merely scoffed but kept his hand where it was.

"Dance with me."

The interviewer was a bit taken back by what Dark had asked. He was always extremely reserved, keeping to himself with his emotions in every way possible. He never talked with anyone else, unless it was about something that person was doing. Even Wilford, whom he considered a close colleague, barely knew anything about what went on inside that mind of his. And yet here he was, asking Wilford to dance.

Of course he didn't refuse. Once he fully processed the situation, which took mere seconds to be processed, he took Dark's hand & let himself be led to the middle of the dance floor. This was going to be strange for him; he was always the one to lead the dance, but the demon automatically assumed the lead position & placed a hand on the other man's waist, Wilford placing his free hand on Dark's shoulder. A smirk flashed onto Dark's face, but the interviewer did not know why. That is, until he noticed his cheeks felt a bit hotter than usual, indicating he was blushing. He tried to push it away, but to no avail.

"I do believe that to dance you need music along with it." Wilford suggested a bit quietly. If he had to admit it he did feel a bit nervous about doing this. He didn't know if he would trip up, or if Dark would trip up, or if something happened that would cause this to become a wreck.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to guide you completely, since it seems you can't dance without the aid of something else." Dark chuckled, causing Wilford to merely roll his eyes at the joke.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to guide you completely, since it seems you can't dance without the aid of something else." Dark chuckled, causing Wilford to merely roll his eyes at the joke.

"Then let us dance, my friend." With that Dark started to slowly spin with Wilford, stepping in time to invisible music. It was definitely strange, being lead around the room instead of himself leading, & the demon was a bit slower than he was used to, but the interviewer eventually got the rhythm of the dance & stepped in perfect time. After a few moments Wilford started to notice the blue shadow behind Dark glow brighter, almost drowning out the red shadow. Wilford smiled at this, something Dark didn't see with his eyes closed.

'Hello, old friend.' Wilford thought to himself. Dark smiled, a genuine smile, & opened his eyes, which were now a dark brown instead of their usual black & red.

"Hello, William. It's been a while, hasn't it?" William let out a soft chuckle.

"Yes it has. Far too long in my opinion, old friend." Damien gave a small smile, one that held both joy at seeing his friend, & sadness at how they departed, & their current situation. One was trapped in an old friend's body with a demon & a vengeful spirit, the other had slowly but surely lost his mind. This was not how the two men thought they would end up.

The both of them continued to spin in a small circle, William's head resting against Damien's chest. Neither cared if this seemed strange. Or, perhaps, even scandalous. They just needed to feel the comforting warmth of a friend. And it seemed a dance had been needed as well.

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[beautifel]

seems like my heart does nothing but break lately

[dredshirtroberts]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[heartshattering]

Feeling like I want to give up again...

[hauntingblue]

Strong world is the nami and luffy twins manifesto written by oda this is my one piece.

You see luffy's finishing attack with his giant hammer being fueled by lightning which is nami's main weapon with her clima tact and she even made the guy steer the islands towards the cyclone so even if the lighting isn't produced by her the lighting is provided by her either way so luffy AND her finished that guy and even luffy attacked after nami announced how he will lose which also means nami knew and trusted luffy to end him after that and of course he did and

Oh my god luffy making nami explain herself about the message he left on the tone dial and being pissed that she didn't trust him to save and protect her but he got so mad and didn't hear the whole message and she asked luffy to save her omg....... she knew after all that they will come and win..... I love this ending I am going to walk into the sea now goodbye.

Why are whitebeard and ace on the ending credits I already cried. Watching aces part again cause he looks so good. Hello alive dead wife

[themyscirah]

Started thinking about the Amanda Waller + Ben Turner relationship again.... fuck, I'm gonna need a minute

[lesbiangiratina]

… there are 2 testament centric chapters id love to scan even just for my own enjoyment but the thought of taking these books apart makes me sad. Maybe if i just. Squish it down hard enough itll look okay. I just want to have new testament images

[cryptablog]

Bro I just saw a post talking about 2018 having incest in it and I almost freaked out until I saw they meant the concept artists.

Yeah those guys are disgusting freaks but the SHOW doesnt have that yknow?

And in that same BREATH they said that was why 2012 was better because it has no incest.

...

..

..

pause for comedic affect

*AHEM*

BABYGIRL. THIS YOU????

Its not even just freaky background artists. THIS IS A PLOT LINE. HOW DID YOU FORGET ABOUT THIS.

You niggas will just say anything huh.

[love-my-self23333]

What are we going to do. It’s so much worse than we realize. I don’t think the average person, including myself, understands the extent of what we’ve done to this planet and all it’s inhabitants. I’m trying so hard not to lose hope but I just don’t see a light at the end of this tunnel.

I’m not saying that those working in conservation and sustainability, those actively working to change policies that effect the environment, those living as close to a low-waste lifestyle as they can with their position in this stupid, broken system aren’t making a difference and should give up. It’s imperative that we do not give up.

But I also fear that, this is such a widespread, deeply interconnected global crisis, that we as a species collectively will be not able to create the kind of unanimous upheaval needed to save the planet. The climate crisis is here and I don’t think anyone truly recognizes the complete extent of our impact on this plant as a species.

We are all lacking in ability to see this, as we cannot access that perspective. I believe that our planet and all its beings are suffering more than we can possibly comprehend or understand. We are all animals of this earth, despite our species-wide insistence that nature is somehow separate, is the Other. I think the true and full reality of what the planet as a whole is facing is a macrocosm we do not have the ability to comprehend.

We as a species are not omnipotent despite our science and knowledge and creativity and as the weird fucking animals we are, we simply do not have the capacity to recognize our situation in its full reality. We simply cannot. I don’t think our evolved brains and bodies are capable of fixing this.

And that scares me. I don’t know what we are going to do. Genuinely. What the fuck are we going to do.

There are so many beings that are suffering right now, humans and animals and plant-life alike. I don’t know how to hold all this grief. Where do you put it when it eclipses all you see and think and feel? We are losing so many lives every single day. We are losing precious species and ecosystems that we aren’t aware of. The few precious wild spaces and habitats are being destroyed every single day. We are losing human lives in more ways than we can comprehend. There is so much suffering and loss and pain and it is absolutely immense.

What the fuck are we going to do

[hecksupremechips]

The most validating thing about having a brother in law is sometimes I’ll make a comment about my parents being kinda horrible and he’ll just be like "DUDE FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT IVE BEEN THINKING THIS THE WHOLE TIME BUT DIDNT KNOW HOW TO ADDRESS IT"

[cryolyst]

i just watched panther chan's performance of sahā w jeremy and my god i love her vocals. like jeremy isn't a bad singer or anything and obviously it's her song so ofc she's got an amazing grasp on it but. her power. her range. the contrast in their voices. she sounds so good aughhh

[grechsblog]

Look upon this wretched thing and weep.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.

Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.

Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”

You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.

Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.

“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.

Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.

“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.

Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.

It’s a…oh fuck.

“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.

The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?

“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.

No. No no no.

You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”

Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”

“I was drunk.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”

Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.

“I tried.”

That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.

You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”

This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”

It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.

Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”

You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”

He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”

“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.

This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”

“What?” you ask, flustered.

Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“John,” you snap.

Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.

“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.

Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.

“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”

“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.

“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”

You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.

But Price is quick.

With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.

“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.

Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”

Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.

You don’t want to admit it.

Not out loud. Not yet.

But you will be back.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.

You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”

Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.

This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.

“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”

“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”

Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.

Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.

“You remember anything you said to me last night?”

You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.

Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.

“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.

Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.

Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“What?” you breathe.

“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.

Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”

“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”

Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.

When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.

He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.

Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.

Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

“Both of you can fuck off.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Ghost.”

“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.

You frown. “Are you injured?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.

“You keep rubbing your neck.”

Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.

You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.

“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.

“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”

Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.

You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”

“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.

Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”

A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.

Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”

You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.

“You don’t know that.”

Ghost shrugs. “I do.”

His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.

“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.

“Do you remember?”

No. I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.

“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”

Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What the fuck is that?”

Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.

Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.

The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.

Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”

That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”

Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?

You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”

Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.

“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”

Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.

“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.

“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.

You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”

You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.

taglist:

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@hantheconqueror

[yanderenightmare]

All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure. 

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist