acursedworldofaus

[acursedworldofaus]

the flesh is unwilling and honestly, the spirit isn't too keen on the idea either

[acursedworldofaus]

Death to the USA! Death to the empire- may we see its collapse in our lifetime and its very bones ground to dust.

[acursedworldofaus]

[acursedworldofaus]

[acursedworldofaus]

[acursedworldofaus]

Dragon’s Blood (Part 1)

Yandere AFO x Oblivious (AFAB) Reader

CW: implied non-con, implied somnophilia, implied trespassing, implied stalking, implied impregnation/breeding if you squint.

Gray dawn light streams through your window. You turn away from the unwanted brightness, trying to eek out another morsel of sleep by burying your face in your pillow, noticing sleepily that it smells oddly sweet, spicy, and earthy, somewhat like dragon’s blood. The scent is like a ghost of an echo, though, and the more you chase it the less you smell, as if you imagined some phantom fragrance. You write it off as residual imprints of smells from your shop in favor of pretending you aren’t conscious. Unfortunately, hiding only works for a few minutes before the uncomfortable feeling of wetness between your legs drives you to the bathroom for another early morning shower. Ordinarily, you would shower once before bed, but now you find yourself showering twice a day: once after work, and once before to prevent yourself from walking around with slick fluids caked onto your thighs and labia. If you don’t, it’ll congeal, dry, then flake. 

Gross.

You glare at yourself in the mirror after you strip naked, wondering what the hell happened for your brain to have weird wet dreams every night this month. You keep waking up soaked with damp panties. The weird splotches dotting your skin from your collarbone to your ankles haven’t gone away either. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were bruises, but that can’t be it. How would they get there after all? You sure as hell haven’t fallen recently. Maybe you have a blood disorder you don’t know about? Which, now that you think about it, isn’t random bruising a sign of that?

You decide to go see a doctor if it doesn’t change anytime soon, quickly washing away the night’s slimy residue before getting ready as normal and heading into work at your tea, herb, and spice shop. You grab a cinnamon roll along the way and make tea once you arrive, then sip and nibble as you prepare for opening. Hours pass normally as your regulars drop by for their orders. One of them, a gentleman by the name of Shigaraki, always comes by for something or other. He stops by today as well, all smiles and easy conversation, smelling faintly of something sweet, spicy, and earthy that seems oddly familiar, no doubt due to how often he visits. As per usual he has his charisma cranked to the max, and flirts with you nonstop as you package his latest order, aka the most recent tea you recommend he try.

“I can’t help but notice, Tea-chan, that you seem to be glowing today,” he comments in his lilting tone, just shy of purring.

”Really? I certainly don’t feel like it,” you murmur. “I haven’t slept properly for this entire month. I keep waking up feeling tired.”

And it was true, too. On top of waking up uncomfortably wet, you keep waking up feeling bone tired. Perhaps another thing to look into? All together, each individual observation sounds like a symptom cluster you really may be sick.

”Really,” Shigaraki-san insists. “You look even more beautiful than usual.”

His complement makes you blush. You finish wrapping up each canister and transfer them all into a colorful paper bag emblazoned with the shop logo. Your hands brush as you hand it to him, and he accepts it with a winning grin. His red eyes gleam like rubies in the brightness of afternoon sun, while his white hair shimmers with a golden tint. A halo of light surrounding his head lends to the illusion of an otherworldly being clothed in human skin standing before you. Something stops you from labeling this hypothetical supernatural creature as angelic. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then thank you, Shigaraki-san. I appreciate such kind words even if I don’t feel they’re true.”

”I’ve told you that Hajime is fine,” he says, waving away any future attempts at distance or formality. “And of course they’re true, Tea-chan, whether you believe them or not.”

He’s tried getting you to use his first name without an honorific for his last three visits, but it feels too informal, too forward. 

“Fine, fine,” you relent, reddening further. “H-Hajime. Thank you. Please take care.”

Triumph flashes in his eyes followed by amusement and affection before his features smooth out and return to normal. He tips his hat to you in lieu of a verbal response then departs for who knew where.  It’s not as if he shares much about himself besides once telling you he helps people with their Quirks. You assume he means he’s a Quirk counselor. It explains his bespoke suits considering how much those counselors make in a single week. 

You put him out of your mind as ninety-six year old Takeda-san hobbles in for an herbal mixture meant to help with arthritis pain. You have a duty to your clients to keep your head clear so you can meet their needs. You dole out teas and herbal remedies for upset stomach, for anxiety, for ear ache, for sleeplessness and headaches. You shove all thoughts of how handsome Hajime is, how good he smells, how soft his skin looks, and countless others down until they quiet, at least until closing. Unbidden memories of him spring to the surface as you lock up at sundown, ready to make the journey back home.

[acursedworldofaus]

Okay but the idea of Enji going after his nanny because Shoto isn’t born yet so he’s still desperate for his masterpiece is living rent free in my head rn.