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curtins · 2 days ago

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🌿 I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA! — gojo satoru sfw!

prologue. → green was the color of life, and gojo satoru, in all his contradictions, carried life in the way he loved recklessly, laughed shamelessly, and held you like the universe began and ended with you. 🌿 🤍 part of the cookbook (@antizenin)

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

but green is the colour of earth. of living things, of life. and of rot. — unknown.

warnings+. sweetness and established relationship, there's angst in this i genuinely couldn't help it, reader wears a dress in a scene, mentions of injury!

word count. 4k! song inspiration. luther — kendrick lamar, sza

a/n. i'm doing the sukuna shibuya bow from making another predictable twist and ending. but i actually rlly loved writing this, this fic is gonna stay with me i fear <3 gif made by me!

mp3. if it was up to me, i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy. i'd take away the pain, i'd give you everything

most people think of gojo satoru in shades of blue.

not the soft and wistful kind that paints summer skies, or the quiet ripple of a lake at dawn. no, they think of an unearthly blue. sharp and electrifying, the kind that stings your eyes and lingers even after you look away.

the shocking azure of his cursed technique, like lightning bottled and ready to shatter the earth. or maybe it's the endless stretch of his eyes, the kind of blue that is so bright, you may burn yourself if you look too long.

to everyone else, gojo is blue. bold, and unrelenting and impossible to ignore.

but to you, gojo satoru is green.

it took time for you to notice it. green doesn't always shout or demand attention. it waits quietly in the background, sometimes content to let others take the stage.

but once you saw it, it was everywhere. it bloomed and took over your life.

the café smells like freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of jasmine blooms sitting in a vase by the window. it's a quiet day, the kind that only seems to exist when gojo has finally managed to wrangle some rare time off.

your boyfriend sits across from you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, grinning like he's thought of something utterly brilliant.

"okay, hear me out," he says, holding up a hand like he's about to make a groundbreaking declaration that will shatter the earth and bring world peace, "you're the oolong one for me."

you pause and scrunch your face, mid-sip in your tea, "please don't."

gojo leans forward, his grin growing wider ever still, "no? how about this? you're simply tea-rrific."

you bury your face in your hands, as an elderly couple looks at the two of you oddly, "you're unbearable."

"tea-rrific. like terrific," gojo laughs, wagging a finger like a professor lecturing his class, "get it? because -"

"oh, i get it," you cut in, shaking your head but still smiling at your entire world of a boyfriend, "i just refuse to reward bad behaviour."

but you should know better than to think you've tampered down on the relentless force that is gojo satoru. he is relentless in all things, especially when he decides to make you laugh. he's launched into an entire string of tea-related puns, each one worse than the last.

chai think you're amazing! we're a matcha made in heaven! leaf me alone, i'm on a roll!

and somehow, somewhere between the chai and matcha, you start to notice the green.

the delicate stems and leaves of the jasmine says slightly as the café door opens and closes, catching your eye. their soft green isn't loud nor is it attention-seeking. just quietly present, a backdrop to the white blooms that adorn their head.

it is the kind of colour you don't realise you've been missing until it's suddenly there.

you glance at the window, and the trees lining the street are the same, their leaves dappling the sunlight as they sway in the breeze. even the café walls, painted in a muted, sage-like shade, seem to glow just a little in the sunlight. a backdrop to gojo's charming antics.

he's still in front of you, his hair gleaming the same dewy shade as the jasmine blossoms. so animated as he explains why leaf me alone was an under appreciated pun.

there's green in him too, you think.

not in the obvious sense for gojo satoru is far too outwardly vivid to be defined by something as soft as the green akin to your matcha. but it's still there, beneath the flash of his grin and the sharpness of his humour. in the way that he leans closer to make sure you're still smiling.

in the way he somehow turns the whole world into a quiet garden on days like this.

"okay," gojo says, leaning back to cross his arms over his crisp white tee, "i'll stop. but admit it, i brewed up some great ones."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "fine. one of them was acceptable."

gojo gasps, clutching his chest like you've delivered a fatal, cleaving wound, "one? one? i give you comedy gold, and the love of my life repays me like this!"

the jasmine leaves quiver again as your knee knocks up, shaking the table, "you're impossible."

gojo smiles softer this time, tipping his head as though you've delivered the greatest compliment in the world, "yeah. but love me so matcha!"

the strongest sorcerer in modern history is cracking himself up again, and you can feel the warmth of the colour green around you. in the leaves, in the dappled light, and the man across from you who somehow makes the world softer, and sweeter. and full of life.

there's a matcha-green hoodie in gojo's closest. it's oversized, cozy and worn just enough at the cuffs to feel like a bit of a secret. something loved so well that it holds pieces of him in the quilted fabric.

it's nothing like the sharp navy and indigo of his uniform that he wears on duty, where every line is a untouchable warning. no, these clothes are the opposite for you. it's familar. it's gojo's off-duty self, the one that the rest of the world doesn't get to see.

gojo only really wears it at home, when he's padding around barefoot with tousled, snowy hair brushing over his forehead as he pretends to tiptoe (and fails spectacularly) to let you sleep in. it's the kind of green that somehow makes the mornings softer, as if the day dances quietly around you too.

it's also the green of the evenings when he drapes himself over the couch in your apartment, long legs dangling over the armrest while he beckons you with a lazy smile.

the fabric is impossibly soft against your cheek as you settle into his broad chest, and his arms loop around you like they were always meant to belong there. it smells like him too, a little like cedar and a little like pine. and you think it might be your favourite place in the world.

one time, you stole it.

you hadn't planned it. you had been cold, and it had been right there. before you knew it, you had been walking around the house in its oversized embrace.

when gojo had caught you for the first, his grin stretched wide, playful and wicked.

"hey, well," gojo had drawled, leaning against a doorframe like a cartoon cat that had finally cornered the mouse, "look who's going through other people's closets."

you tugged the sleeves further over your hands, "it's comfortable. you take my shit all the time."

"it's cute on you," gojo says, sauntering closer and placing his large hands on either side of your face, "but you know...no one looks cuter than me."

you snort and turn your back on him, which only encourages for the six-foot-three man to chase after you. and even though he claimed he needed it back, he didn't get it for a week.

maybe because you refused to give it up, or maybe because every time he saw you in it, he just shook his head, grinning as if he’d been caught in the middle of something he didn’t mind losing.

when gojo invited you back to the family estate, you had braced yourself for grandeur. looming gates, and endless halls. the suffocating weight of tradition.

and yes, the grandeur had been there. but what lingered most in your memory wasn't the vastness or the architecture. it was how beautiful it was.

there were several shrines that lay nestled among the estate, hidden away on plots of land. this one had been worn soft by time, covered in moss and nestled among the larger stones.

spring had woven itself into every corner of the estate, from the blossoms swaying overhead to the long grass brushing against your ankles as you walked.

gojo stood a few steps ahead of you, glancing back as if to make sure that you hadn't disappeared, hadn't been swallowed up by the earth. he was dressed in far more traditional robes for once, navy linen lowing and rippling as he moved.

but there was something endearingly out of place about him here, like a bird perched on the wrong branch.

"spring makes it look nicer than it is," he said, running his fingers over the soft, white edges of his undercut. you can hear the underlying vulnerable note in his seemingly casual voice.

you didn’t reply right away, too caught up in the way the sunlight filtered through the cherry blossoms, scattering dappled green shadows across the worn stone steps. when you reached the base of the shrine, you paused, taking it all in: the moss, the blossoms, the breeze, and him.

"it's beautiful," you said finally, and he gave you a lopsided smile that felt more honest than any grandeur could ever be.

he waited for you at the top of the steps, his gaze steady and warm as the spring air. for a moment, he looked like he belonged here, a part of the ancient garden itself. like a carven statue created by loving hands, forever memorialised as something not quite human. but you knew better.

he didn't like this place — this house that felt more like a museum than a home, this estate heavy with the weight of a family name he wore like armour. since arriving, he’d been quieter than usual, his usual spark dimmed by old memories and expectations, and constantly bowing servants who called him lord and master gojo.

but now, as gojo watched you walk through the long grass, something shifted. his shoulders have relaxed, his hands hung loose at his sides. and then, so softly you almost missed it, he says, "i want to marry you."

you froze, the words catching in the breeze between you.

he wasn’t looking at the shrine anymore, or the blossoms, or the sky. gojo satoru was looking at you, his blue eyes calm and unwavering, like he’d found his answer in the very place he’d been avoiding.

"i know it's not much right now," he added, his voice low and rough around the edges, as though he wasn’t used to baring this part of himself, "and i don't care what the elders say. but you're the only person i want."

at the edge of the jujutsu high campus, there's a vending machine of incredible drinks. its green paint had faded, and chipped from the years of stubborn sun and countless coins clinking into its slot.

it hums faintly, blending into the scenery like a reliable friend that carried you through your own years of high school.

somehow, it's become your spot. not officially, no. there was no grand declaration, no conscious agreement and treaty. but after his classes, he always ends up here.

and so do you.

it starts the same way each time. gojo satoru saunters up to his fiancé with that unmistakable grin, white hair catching the light as if he was trying outshine the sun itself.

you watch as he slides a coin into the slot with theatrical position, with his finger hovering dramatically over the buttons. like he's choosing between life and death, instead of commercial canned drinks.

"one iced matcha," gojo announces in a tone meant for a training arena, and not a quiet campus corner. his hand arcs in an exaggerated flourish as he offers you the drink, "for the love of my life."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you, "flattery won’t get you anywhere," you reply, accepting the can and cracking it open with practiced ease.

it's a dance you've done a hundred times, but somehow it never gets old. he leans against the vending machine, towering and smug, watching you take a sip like he’s waiting for something.

"don't even think about it, satoru" you warn, holding the can just out of his reach.

but it’s gojo, so of course he thinks about it. he grins wider — how is that possible? and in one fluid motion, he leans in and steals a sip before you can react.

"i will get revenge, always so difficult," you weakly huff, but your fond smile gives you away.

"difficult to resist," he counters, winking like it’s a challenge, "besides," gojo adds, holding the can up to the light as if inspecting its soul, "it tastes better when it’s yours."

you snatch it back, pretending to glare at him, but he’s already leaning closer, his hand brushing yours as he reaches to press another button.

"second round?" he asks, as if this isn’t already part of his plan.

the vending machine hums again, green and steady and familiar, as it delivers another drink with a satisfying clunk.

green had grown to be more than just a colour. it had been a thread that stitched its way through your love story. quiet and constant.

so when the day came, when your heart thudded heavier than ever before and your hands shook just slightly as you smoothed down the expensive fabric, it only made sense that the colour of vitality and new beginnings was everywhere.

the first ceremony itself had been steeped in tradition, from the elegant folds of your formal robes to the rhythmic chants that seemed to echo on in your head. you were grateful for its beauty, but it was the dinner afterwards that felt like yours truly.

the reception was tucked away in a corner of the sprawling grounds, where the tables were adorned with white lilies so luminous they seemed to carry their own light. they sat in vases of muted jade, the colour rich and soft, like the grass after a spring rain. the candles flickered in delicate green holders, casting shadows that waltzed across the tablecloths.

gojo was, of course, the first thing you noticed when you stepped into the space. he wasn’t wearing robes anymore; he’d swapped them for a sleek black suit that fit him perfectly, save for the ever-so-slightly loosened tie (because he couldn't help himself). his hair, as untameable as always, gleamed in the low light.

and then there was you, in a flowing green dress that felt like you’d stepped out of a dream and into his orbit. the soft fabric caught the candlelight, shifting from deep emerald to pale sage as you moved, shimmering. you thought about how this colour, the one that reminded you of leaves and tea and moss-covered shrines — had always meant life to you.

gojo's grin when he saw you was wide enough to rival the moon, and he made a show of adjusting his tie like a movie star spotting their co-star for the first time, with an awfully cliché wink.

"you clean up nice," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief, and then something more love-struck, "my beautiful wife. i must be the luckiest man on earth."

"and you’re just realising this now?" you teased, the soft fabric of your dress whispering as you stepped closer.

dinner wasn’t a grand banquet, but it was perfect — just your closest friends, a table overflowing with warmth, and gojo stealing glances at you as if you’d disappear if he looked away for too long. between bites of food and sips of something sweet, he leaned over to whisper ridiculous commentary in your ear about your guests: how much wine nanami had thrown back, or how shoko had situated herself perfectly near the food.

but then, in quieter moments, he’d reach for your hand beneath the table, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your skin.

the night blurred into laughter and soft music, of digital cameras and drunk speeches. the green hues around you shifting like memories folding into themselves. you caught sight of the lilies swaying gently in the breeze and thought about how gojo had insisted on them when you’d been indecisive.

"white lilies mean devotion," he'd said, smirking like he knew something you didn’t.

"and green?" you'd asked.

"green's for us," he replied, "or for you. i know you like it so much. an' it's cute when you're sentimental."

by the end of the night, gojo's tie was completely undone, and his jacket hung over the back of a chair. he pulled you onto the dance floor despite your protests that your feet hurt, practically yelling in their strapped heels.

"then i'll carry you," he said dramatically, dipping you halfway before breaking into laughter when you yelped.

the two of you swayed there, in the gentle green glow of the reception, his arms wrapped around you and the world falling into place. your husband smelled faintly of the lilies and something warm you couldn’t name. you're sure if you put pen to paper, like a poet of old, you might be able to name that feeling.

"you know," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, "i've been to a lot of ceremonies, but this one’s definitely my favourite."

"oh? why's that?" you asked, resting your cheek against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"because this time, i got to marry you."

you used to love the colour white. it had been the colour everything pure. everything soft that made you feel safe. the brightness of it had brought a clarity to the world.

it was the colour gojo's unruly hair, glistening in the sun like a crown. you had been so enamoured, watching him run slender fingers through soft strands. to you, white had always been perfect and radiant in all of gojo's unbridled glory.

but the winds of the snow storm must have shifted.

you still remember that day so vividly, as if your mind could never forget it no matter how much you wished it could. the white falling on the streets of shinjuku, covered with layers of freshly fallen snow. pristine and untouched.

but there had been a sickening crack of flesh against pavement, the wet thud that only those who've known death too closely can identify.

you had seen it before you'd even registered the horror of it all. the red, the bright crimson that bled into the snow. staining it, warping it. turning it into something so vile. the ministrations of ryomen sukuna.

gojo's body, cleaven and unmoving. the garnet staining his snow-white hair as it pulled from under his spine. the quiet calm that had settled over his face, as if he had seen something so wondrous in his last moments.

that snow, once so untouched and pure, was suffocated by the iron scent of blood. and at that moment, when you had lost him forever, was the moment you knew that white would never mean purity again.

the colour of white, the colour of christmas eve — no longer held any softness for you. it wasn’t the gentle lightness of his hair; it was the cold, hard truth of loss. it was the memory of blood seeping into that pure snow, the last thing he saw before his life was ripped away.

now, you avoid it. you avoid white whenever you can, as if by doing so, you can erase that moment from your mind. you keep your house warm and cozy, perhaps almost unhealthily so, with shades of warm and soft earth tones, and you dress your daughter in colours that remind you of life, of what was still worth living for. but white? it's a shadow, a reminder. so, you avoid it.

but then, one afternoon, a few months later, your daughter tugs at your hand, small and warm, a soft giggle escaping her as she skips ahead of you. you can’t help but smile at her, at how much of gojo satoru is in her — the way she laughs without hesitation, the way her energy fills up every room, every corner.

you're walking down the street, the air still crisp from the tail-end of winter. it's one of those moments when the world feels ordinary, but in the best way possible. sunlight filtering down between reconstructed buildings, the bustle of the city in the background, your daughter's little chirp bubbling in the space between. you're lost in her, in the joy she brings.

but then, you stop.

you don't mean to. you didn't even notice where your feet were taking you until it happens. your gaze drops to the ground, and there it is.

that spot. the place where it all happened. the very spot where the white had been stained with merlot, the place where gojo's life was stolen from you. the pavement looks the same, the cracks just as they were before, but there's something different now.

a tiny green plant, barely noticeable, growing through the crack in the concrete. the leaves are soft, a rich shade of green that seems to pulse with life. it's small, fragile, but determined, its roots pushing through the cold, unforgiving pavement.

you swallow, the lump in your throat almost choking you.

"satoru..." you whisper to yourself, but your daughter’s voice pulls you from your morbid, breaking thoughts.

"look!"

you glance down, seeing her kneeling beside the plant, her tiny hands reaching out to touch it with wonder in her eyes.

"it's pretty, isn’t it? can i pick it?" she asks, her voice light and innocent.

you nod, tears welling up in your eyes that you refuse to let fall. you hold your breath, trying to steady your heart. it's absurd, you think, how something so small, so simple, could make you feel so much. how something as insignificant as a sprout could make the weight of the world feel just a little bit lighter.

nitrogen, iron and phosphorus are all found in human blood. and hey! they're also needed for plants to grow!

you hear the voice of teenage shoko, kicking her legs back as you tried to finish your homework, right before yaga assigned you another detention. but now the memory comes back to you, sickens you. tears at your heart.

you crouch down beside her, your fingers gently brushing against the plant’s leaves.

"yeah, it's pretty," you whisper, voice barely audible. “best let it rest where it is, yeah?"

you've taken a deep breath and stand up, your daughter tugging you along as she continues on her path, unknowing, innocent. entirely unaware of the memory of her father, lauded as a hero and as a sharp weapon by all those who knew him.

most of those who knew him.

but you glance back at the little plant, the green leaves waving in the soft breeze, and for the first time in months, you don’t feel the crushing weight of grief.

you just feel… a little less lost. and for the first time, the colour green feels like something more than a memory of gojo satoru.

more of a promise for the future, for those who lived on.

#wikicollabs:cookbook #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo satoru angst #gojo #works #HEYYYY. two fics in one day wtfff

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flwrkid14 · 24 hours ago

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A Ghost of a Chance: Tim Moves to Amity Park

Tim Drake never expected to end up in Amity Park.

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d move to voluntarily—not if you valued normalcy, peace, or, you know, not being attacked by spectral entities on the regular. But when Danny asked—his voice soft, eyes hopeful—Tim couldn’t say no.

Amity was Danny’s home.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be Tim's too.

-------------------

At first, it wasn’t bad. Tim had seen worse. Gotham had prepared him for everything, right? But there was something about Amity Park that made the shadows seem deeper, the nights colder. The constant hum of the town’s protective shields, the flicker of green in the sky—like the city itself was watching.

Danny blended back in seamlessly, slipping into old routines like he’d never left.

Tim… didn’t.

The ghosts were different. Gotham’s rogues, at least, followed patterns. There was a rhythm to crime, a predictability to chaos. Ghosts didn’t play by those rules. They came and went as they pleased, driven by grudges older than time. One day they’d fight beside you, the next, they’d haunt you.

Tim couldn’t get a read on them. Couldn’t strategize. Couldn’t feel useful.

And the more time passed, the more he felt like he was sinking.

-------------------

The bats haunted him too. Every time his phone buzzed, he half-expected to see a message from Dick or Bruce, maybe even a snarky text from Jason. But it was always quiet. No calls. No emergencies. The silence felt heavier here, like it pressed against his chest.

Danny had Amity. He had the support of people who knew him. Tim was just... there. A shadow on the edge of Danny's world. Everyone knew Danny—Phantom, their hero. They didn’t know Tim. Didn’t know who Danny was to him. More than that, they didn’t seem to care.

Tim couldn’t shake the feeling. Replaceable. At least when Jason had thrown that word at him, Tim knew there was always something he could work on to feel needed. A case to solve, a system to hack, a mission to plan.

With Danny, there was... nothing. No crises to solve, no skills that set him apart. No place where he fit.

Danny didn’t need him.

And maybe that was the worst part.

-------------------

They started drifting. Danny would leave in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts Tim didn’t understand. He’d wake up alone in a bed that felt colder by the day. The quiet wasn’t the comforting silence of the Cave or the stillness of a stakeout. It was empty. Lonely.

Tim wasn’t built for this kind of stillness.

One night, he followed Danny. Watched from the shadows as Danny fought a ghost—a brutal, violent storm of green energy and ice. Danny won, of course. Danny always won. But when he turned back, hair white and eyes glowing, something flickered. Something inhuman.

Tim realized, he doesn’t need me.

He confronted Danny that night. “Tim, you can’t follow me out there.” “Why not? You think I can’t handle it?” “It’s not that—” “Then what is it?” Danny’s eyes softened. “This place… it’s dangerous. The things I face, they’re not like Gotham’s criminals.” “I know danger, Danny. I’ve lived with it my whole life.” “That’s not the point.”

Tim’s voice cracked. “Then what is?”

Danny didn’t answer. And Tim didn’t press.

He stayed because leaving felt like admitting defeat. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, he wondered if love was enough. If Amity Park would ever feel like home. If Danny’s ghosts were more than just spectral enemies—if they were the distance growing between them.

He’d jumped too quickly, left too much behind, trusted too blindly. Maybe he’d wanted to believe that leaving Gotham meant he could start over, that he could belong to something simpler. Easier.

But it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t easier.

Tim missed the bats. Missed the chaos, the noise, the feeling of being needed. Here, he felt like a shadow—an echo of a life he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back. And if he stayed too long, he wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of him. He'd become just another ghost haunting Amity Park.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #brain dead #dead tired #but make it angst #dc x dp #it's hard to move to someone else's home where they are already so integrated with the community and you're barely trying to fit in #especially in such a tight knit community like Amity Park #Tim really left Gotham for this #open ended #in this idea I actually think they should have a very deep emotional talk and get on the same page on where they stand in their relationshi #because clearly they're not on the same page if Danny is trying to take Tim away from being a vigilante while being one himself

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ttodorokiii · 3 days ago

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hiii i hope you're having a great day!!! i was wondering if i could request yandere dragon king bakugou who kidnaps the reader? thank you so much in advance!

warnings. yândèrè, kïdnáppíng, óbsèssïón.

note. Thank you so much for your request. I hope you have a great day as well.

•••

You don’t remember how it happens. One moment, you’re walking through the forest, the next, you’re trapped. The air is thick with the scent of burning wood and sulfur.

You look around, your heart racing in your chest as your eyes fall on the towering figure before you: the Dragon King.

Bakugou stands there, his crimson wings unfurled like the wings of some ancient, malevolent force. His hair crackles with static, sparks flying off his spiky locks as if they were caught in an eternal storm.

His golden eyes burn with an intensity that makes your throat tighten—fierce, unrelenting, and full of something that feels like rage, but worse. Much worse.

“You thought you could run?” His voice is a low growl, guttural and raw. It shakes the very walls of the stone chamber. His body radiates heat, the air around him shimmering like it’s about to ignite. “You really thought you’d get away from me, huh? You belong to me now, and I don’t share.”

His gaze locks onto you with such possessiveness, it almost feels like he’s stripping you bare. His feet move toward you with predatory grace, every step heavy with that dangerous, fiery promise.

“You don’t get to decide,” Bakugou sneers, pulling you roughly toward him.

His lips curl in a cruel smirk, his golden eyes blazing with something dark, something obsessive. “I decide. And you’re mine now. You’re gonna learn that. You’ll learn to beg for me, just like everyone else.”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer until your bodies are nearly flush. The heat from his body is suffocating,

almost like standing too close to a furnace. His breath is hot against your ear as he growls, his voice laced with something possessive, something dangerously unhinged.

“You think you can just wander around and leave me behind? No, you’re gonna be mine—whether you like it or not,” he hisses, his lips brushing against your neck, sending an involuntary shiver through your spine. The sound of his growl vibrates deep in your chest, a sound that promises pain if you defy him.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up into those burning eyes. His other hand moves to your waist, holding you so tight you can’t move, can’t escape.

“You’ll never get away from me, not again,” he says, his voice thick with dark satisfaction. “I’ll make you love me. You’ll beg for me, just like I told you.”

You feel his other hand slide dangerously down your back, fingers trailing along your skin like he’s marking you, staking his claim. His breath is hot against your cheek, and you can feel the fire of his rage searing into your skin.

There’s no escape. He won’t let you leave. And deep down, you know you’re already trapped, tangled in the web of his obsession.

“I’m not letting you go,” he growls again, and this time, you hear the promise of destruction in his voice—he means it. “You belong to me now. Forever.”

You are so fucked.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #yandere bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #bakugo smut #bnha smut #mha smut #katsuki smut

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furiousgoldfish · 2 days ago

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I want to talk about a situation that happened when I was a kid, and even though this particular instance did not traumatize me (that I know of), it still deals with traumatic themes, such as physical abuse, attempted murder and severe neglect, so be careful if you're reading on! I'll explain at the end why I'm talking about it, and also psychoanalyze what I think was going on.

When I was about 6-9 years old, I had a strong conviction that my father was going to kill me. He would lock me into the basement and hurt me, and even though the injuries weren't lethal, I could feel the intent, he was out of control, not watching where he was hitting, if he was going to break my bones or not, it was erratic, terrifying. I love how I prefaced this with 'oh this didn't traumatize me' and then I started with that, but it's just the context to the actual story. That first part did probably traumatize me, I remember little of it.

Since I felt that my life was in peril, I decided, logically, that I needed to kill him before he kills me. It was justified I would defend my life with all I had. So I sneaked into the basement room, and searched for something that I could use for a weapon, next time he shuts me in there. I found one, memorized where it was, and then I was ready.

It came soon after, the event of me being alone with him in the basement, him out of control, attacking me, and again, I felt like I was about to be killed. So I grabbed a metal pole hidden next to the fireplace, used my full strength and hit him on the head with it. He fell down, and stopped moving.

I panicked then. He looked dead. I let myself out of the basement (I knew where the key was) and yelled for mother, telling her that I killed him, but I had to, because he was going to kill me. When we got back to where he was lying down, blood was trickling out of his nose. But my mother wasn't panicking like I was, she could probably see him breathing. Then he sat up.

I was even more scared then, because if he wasn't dead, then he knew I just tried to kill him, and would come after me even worse. But he didn't. He didn't even look at me. He wiped his nose, seeming completely calm, rage from before completely gone, talking only to the other family members, who seemed concerned about him.

I was told, that it's good for me that I didn't kill him, because had I done that, I would have been imprisoned for murder for the rest of my life. And other than that, everyone ignored me. Nobody talked to me, or had anything to say about the entire event. Father ignored me as well. I was not punished. Nobody was even mad at me. Nothing else was done.

The 'you'll go to prison forever if you kill him' line worked on me, because I didn't know the law, I didn't know that we don't incarcerate little kids; I was underage. They lied to me. So next time when he got me close to that feeling of 'I'm about to be murdered', I had no way to defend myself. If I killed him I would go to prison. I had no choice but to just let him do whatever and not retalliate in any significant way. Sad and painful.

Thinking back later on this event, it was bewildering to me that I was not punished whatsoever for a murder attempt, despite getting punished for bullshit like 'talking back' or 'having an unpleasant face expression'. This was common; I could be severely punished for leaving a door open, but when I did something big, like hurt a sibling, or threaten someone, or hit my father with a metal pole in the head, there was no consequences whatsoever, nobody would have even talked to me about it. I wondered if this was just because they loved that shit, they loved watching me grow into the same violent, brutal and sadistic person they all were, because then they could go 'you're no different than us', and be right. But, unlike them, once I knew something I did hurt another person, I wouldn't do it again; I did horrible things just because I was a kid, and all adults around me were horrible, and I mimicked them, as kids do. They wouldn't punish me for mimicking their awful behaviour because they approved of that, and they didn't care if my siblings were hurt because they loved hurting children anyway.

This also reinforces the theory that punishment is just an excuse to hurt a child, because these were the legitimate reasons to invoke consequences, but they never did, punishments were dished out when they felt like torturing someone and at that point, any face expression could have been an excuse enough. They didn't care about raising a kid or teaching them right and wrong, it was all just self-serving acts of sadistic pleasure.

But to let a murder attempt fly? I thought about it more today, and realized that maybe, they were shocked I did that. Maybe it was an unpleasant surprise to find out, that under severe stress, I would make an attempt at their lives. Maybe finding out that I just tried to kill one of them, made them not want to immediately try and do more violence to me. Maybe they were concerned that I injured their family member, and were more preoccupied with that. Maybe the logistics of 'this child just attempted to kill someone' made them slightly less secure in their 'beating children is normal and good' culture, maybe it signaled to them that beating children could be, in fact, a little dangerous. Of course this didn't make them not wanna do it, they just needed to persuade the child to take it and not retalliate, thus 'you'll go to prison if you do that', and afterwards they felt comfortable again, sure that justice is on their side. To make things more sinister, beating children was not even illegal in my country during that time, so what they were doing to me wasn't punishable by law. But if I retalliated, I was a criminal, according to them.

Hitting children did become illegal by the time I was 9, but conveniently nobody bothered informing me, and I would live many more years in belief that violence towards me was normal, necessary and completely legal, hell I believed that even killing me was legal, because everyone was acting like it very much was and were threatening it left and right.

So the reason I'm thinking about this event, is that I just got some great news. My father has colon cancer. He's currently hospitalized about it. I don't know what stage it is, but the mortality rate for it is high. He might die. He might die.

I am overjoyed. I am hopeful, I am thrilled, I could not be more happy about this. What I started with that pole in the basement, might get finished. If he dies I am free. If he dies, my version of what happened is the only one to exist. I would be safe.

I think my reaction is interesting. Because I know other victims of abuse feel some sort of grief, some sort of pain and guilt for their sick or dying abusers, especially when they're parents, because of the parental bond, and trauma bonding, and victims generally having a lot of empathy and humanity towards abusers. Not me! Apparently my father managed to never even develop the basic parent-child bond with me, and I was ready to kill him by the time I was 6. What kind of shitbag human do you have to be so that your small child tries to kill you with a metal pole and when they hear you're dying, it's the best news of their life? That's such inhumane stuff that all my basic child instincts of attaching to my caretakers got overwritten by the necessity of protecting my life. You did it so badly you messed with human DNA there! Biological instincts voted against your parenthood! Self defense murder was invoked against you. You are ruled out as a bad parent and a life threat by my tiny child instincts.

#tw violence #tw physical abuse #tw child abuse #tw murder attempt #tw assault #abusive parents #toxic parents

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izzabela · 2 days ago

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dost thou do combinations? i present thee with;

soapgaz x reader

messy boy whose kept on a leash by handler kyle only letting him loose to mess with a pretty thing (you)

MDNI - perv!reader, established!soapgaz x fem!reader, threesome, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, perhaps coercion? TA!soapgaz x failing!scholarship-award!reader

there's nothing worse than the world ending- actually, there is.

losing your scholarship because of two classes. not only that, but being so close to graduation you can just feel the diploma already in your hands, these two classes were going to kill you if you couldn't lock in.

one of them is a non-pathway-related course, military conflict 1421. where you can never understand why a certain conflicts cause a war or America to come in to "save the day". after all, it's not illegal if the military does it.

the other was organic chem (need i say more?).

both of your classes had TAs though, and no one really talked to them (good enough for you, you need all the help you could get).

approaching the TA for mil-con was a lot easier for you than expected.

"Kyle Garrick," he introduced with a kind smile, chocolate eyes peeking through the slits of his eyes as he offered a handshake. "everyone calls me Gaz though."

you're not good with people, much less boys, and you're surprised that it was so easy to talk to him.

after lectures every tuesday and thursday, you two would have the office of your mil-con's professor to yourselves. it didn't make you think any different, after all your grades were slowly going up!

but sometimes he'd leave lingering touches after you got a question right. other times, he'd leave you little kisses on your fingers and in the palm of your hand.

you scored a 100 on your latest test, and he gave you a sloppy kiss on your shoulder. (he's just being nice though, you think).

then there's the TA for o-chem. a stark contrast to the calm, collected, and charming man that was Gaz.

"John Mactavish," he barks, pearly whites on full display. "e'ryone cols me Soap tho'."

despite the obnoxious laughs and boisterous voice, he was a damn good tutor. he broke down why certain chemicals looked the way they did, how to draw their structures, etc etc.

but every tutoring session, mondays and wednesdays, he pulls you in his lap. "Ta help with reinf'rcin' the learnin'," he said, pecking your neck.

and i mean, if Gaz did it, then who's to say the other TAs didn't? besides, you were really soaking everything he was teaching! (or maybe it's your cunt lapping up the dampness of his pants).

his rewards were great too: As and Bs on homework got you kisses on your cheek and face, perfect scores on quizzes earned you lap-grinding, and perfect scores on tests allowed makeout sessions.

by the time finals roll in, crash, and pass, you saved your scholarship and grades! graduating suma cum laude, you walked the stage with pride as you accepted your diploma (the boys were watching, equally as proud).

and who's to say the celebrations needed to end there? you got a text as soon as the ceremony concluded from an unknown number.

Congrats love, we're so proud of you

^Gaz btw

gave me yer number, remember?

you're not entirely sure if you did, but it's plausible since they were the key to your success. ensue the long text chain, he invited you over to their place (their? maybe it was a typo, you thought).

knocking on the door, it's slightly ajar as you hear the ambient noise of the tv mindlessly drone on in the living room. you don't want to be a bother, but Gaz hadn't come get you from the door.

besides, it was open!

as you walk in, the sight of Soap, your beloved o-chem TA was grinding on Gaz's clothed cock, fully naked, while Gas has him choked and smirking like a fucking maniac. You watch as Gaz spanks his arse til it's beet red, Soap's eyes rolling so far back he's seeing stars, watching his hips move automatically.

it should disgust you, tear your eyes away from a clearly intimate moment between lovers. except, you can't help but feel hot, bothered, and unforgivingly wet downstairs.

Soap's head moves to the side a bit and notices your little figure outside the door, squirming in place as you look equally short of breath. he turns to Gaz and motions over to the door, and Garrick....

"Here she is, our pretty graduate," he croons, and you follow his voice like it's a siren's song.

you're not sure when you got your shoes off, or when you dropped the flowers and grad cap, but all you know is that it smells like heaven in here.

and you don't want to leave.

Gaz fills you in on how he's just punishing Soap for all the naughtiness he's put you through this semester. something about his rewards systems for your on-on-one tutoring.

"He can be touched, jus' not allowed t' touch back'," he whispers into your ear, taking your wrist and guiding it to touch his exposed pecs, hard nipples, and pickled skin lined with goosebumps.

you're not sure when you got undressed, Gaz is surprisingly good at being thorough and quick, but warm hands roam your body while equally warm lips pepper you with kisses.

"ach, bonnie please," Soap begs, and something inside you begins to trail to his leaking cock. he tries to reach to your head, but Gaz's got your neck first,one arm there and the other over your belly to keep you away from whatever plans he has.

"no touching, dog," Gaz commands, and Soap whimpers (you swear you can see dog ears on his head go flat).

you meekly ask if you can, your fingers missing his cock by a centimeter, and Gaz decides, "why not? been good for us all sem."

and that's enough for you to begin stroking him, watching Soap's face warble into pleasure and frustration. yes, he's getting his fix of a handjob in, but it's not fun when he can't touch. so why not help him out with your mouth?

while Gaz is busy worshipping your body, your mouth sinks over his cock like a powerful magnet. the smell (is this what men smell like?), the taste, the sensation of your throat getting stimulated... is this what you've been missing?

asyou bob up and down, Gaz whistles, patting your ass like a good pup. spreading your cheeks, he sees your dripping cunt and feasts like a thanksgiving turkey. the noises are sinful, but the ones coming out of your mouth and onto Johnny's cock are equally as awful.

do all tutors do this after tutoring? if so, you'll be in tutoring all the time!

and when Gaz is finally done with his meal, mouth and nose covered in your lovely juices, he grabs a condom to go over his cock. you leave Johnny's cock and turn around in surprise.

"'s alright," he coos into your mouth, tip just egging your sloppy cunt. "focus now, love, i got'cha..." and when he says "got'cha," all the choirs were singing to rejoice his coming home.

you fit so well for him, his cock just burying itself nice and deep. but you're also incredibly, fucking tight.

"w-wait!" you cry out, but it falls onto deaf ears as his cock makes its mark inside of you. hitting your spot so well, symphonies left your mouth as the pounding of your cunt directed the salacious moans leaving you.

"Christ, Gaz. Think ta lass has no' don this bef'r" his accent thickening at the thought of you being unclaimed, unmarked- free for the taking.

and when you hum in reply, eyes prickling with tears, Johnny chuckles while Gaz snickers behind you. Gaz hushes you though, telling you it's okay, and that they'll take good care of you (obviously, he's got his cock in you, so who's to say they won't take care of the rest?)

as Gaz is hitting your spot so well, symphonies leaving your mouth as the pounding of your cunt directed the salacious moans leaving you.

all of this made Johnny harder. his pretty lass, getting fucked by his best mate and boyfriend, watching her tits bounce up n' down n' up n' down, and Gaz's gaze dark and hooded as he left marks, bites, and ownership over you.

Gaz then pushes your head onto Johnny's cock, finally giving him reprieve for being such a good pup and being so patient. he's able to put his hands on you, ofrcing you to go the pace he needs, while your throat can just barely keep up.

you can feel their hips snap faster, the pace in their fucking grow needier as their highs came closer to them (insane, since they thought this was heaven already). and of course, they can't leave you behind, so Gaz goes to rub your pretty pearl while Soap's caressing your cheek, saying nothing but pretty praises to get you to squeeze onto his boyfriend tighter.

you squeal on Johnny's cock, and the vibrations on his cock make him cum immediately. Gaz can see his man spent, so why not match?

"c'mon, pretty, let's see all that hard work pay 'ff hm?" he chides into your ear, but you can only muffle out hums and hmms in response for being stuffed full in that talented mouth.

you're bucking your hips though, which is great because Gaz adjusts his pace and slams into you perfectly. as he does so, Johnny manages to sneak past your shoulder, bringing Gaz's face to his as their tongues collide and lips meet.

you're not sure what got to you first, your tutors making out so desperately right next to you, or the fact that they're making out while your clit gets stimmed to infinity and beyond. either way, you've come so hard you're at the edge of the universe.

"go on love, i kno' yer achin' fer it," Soap chides, kissing your cheek and wiping your tears simultaneously as Gaz bucks into you harder and harder and harder until-

"Christ!" he cries, staying inside as he empties himself into the thin (but powerful) plastic wrap, trying to get a feel of what it would be like dumping everything of his inside of you.

"Happy grad, dove," they whisper simultaneously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

that was a shit end and i'm so ready to be stuffed like a turkey today!

#cod soap #soapgaz #soapgaz x f!reader #cod smut

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