Lapis

18+|dark content| MINORS DNI

[tsumutiny]

Dark content blog. Minors & ageless blogs dni.

Lapis, 22, she/her

잡아줘 내가 떨어지기 전에

───𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

001 MASTERLIST 🎧

about me , rules , tags 🐇

info post , random thoughts , misc asks , reqs 🦢

차라리 밟아줘 너의 발이라도 닿게

───𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊

Guests | Gojo, Toji, Naoya

Third in the triangle| Satosugu

Depravity | Heeran’s Love song

All Rights Reserved © tsumutiny. Don't copy or modify the work

[tsumutiny]

Will u make part 2 of guests

omg hi babe. I’m sorry but I don’t really think I’ll be posting a second part to Guests. Yea earlier I had some ideas for the same and I even had some rough drafts but that was like six months ago lol. As of now, I really feel that Guests is as good as it is, a second part would maybe ruin it.

thankyou and love you sm for actually reading my works and taking interest in them despite this account being as barren as it is.

On a positive note, I might start posting some other drafts I have.

[tsumutiny]

what I would do for ADAM AJSHSHSK The way I gasped when I first saw him. HES SOOOO MY TYPEEE he an ex racer, works in the mafia, READS, is smooth with his words and that silly goatee plus that delicious age gap😭byeeeeee goddamnnn I want that man so bad. (Also hot take, he Lowkey has a more charming personality than the ml)

[tsumutiny]

╰─GUESTS

tw. noncon, manhandling, violence, blood, mentions of gun, mafia in general.

wc. 4.3k

-an. Uploading things on tumblr from your phone is the worst human experience ever LIKE WTF genuinely

Toji Fushiguro, Naoya Zenin, Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

Your husband loves you. For nearly five years, he hasn't missed a single chance to murmur soft I love yous in quiet corners of your life. His smile, god, that smile is the most lethal feature on his ethereal face. Not that his ocean blue eyes don't already make him look like something carved out of myth like a Greek god, but it's the way his lips curl, just slightly, the most endearing thing ever and it makes your heart swell.

Maybe that's why your home is cluttered with Polaroids—dozens—snapshots of him grinning at you. One from a museum date. Another from just last month, champagne in hand at his promotion party.

You never gave it much thought, until a friend once mentioned that everyone has an aura. You had laughed then, but now you swear, you swear, that every time he looks at you there is a hint of faint white around him. Maybe he is a god. A private deity, the kind who shines for you alone. Soft eyes, pretty lips, delicate fingers. You remember your wedding. How his snow-dusted hair fell across your forehead as he leaned in to kiss you. The vows came later, eyes locked, breathless with belief.

"Be there for each other," he'd said, squeezing your hands, "in both good and bad times."

The altar's soft white glow had made you cry.

And maybe that's why he's still with you now. Maybe that's why, as your husband lay crouched and bound in your own home, blood slicking his nose, those ice-blue eyes gone so red you can't bear to meet them. There's terror in your veins—thick and hot, surging straight from your trembling heart.

This is the bad, and he's still here for you.

"You son of a bitch that's my wife—"

SMACK.

A sickening crunch follows the blow. A whimper escapes your throat, ragged and raw, as you watch your husband's head snap sideways under the force. His face is already a swollen mess of bruises and broken skin, yet the strikes keep coming.

You don't understand. You can't. You don't seem to. Why Three men stormed into your home like it were theirs, tied your husband down like an animal, and now one of them is pressing the cold steel of a heavy glock against your temple. Your voice cracks as you plead again, the words splintering in your throat, knowing they mean nothing to them.

One of the three, the biggest, is lounging on your sofa. Your sofa. The one you picked out to surprise Satoru when you both moved in. He sits there like a king surveying a conquered kingdom, legs spread, palms resting against his thighs, perfectly relaxed. Everything about him is wrong. He's massive, bigger than the other two by a head at least. Even sitting, he commands the space like he was made to fill it.

His muscles stretch the fabric of his shirt, veins rising with every minor shift. When he leans back, ink creeps out from under his collar, tattoos that vanish down into places you can't see. When you first saw him—woken by shouting down the hall, finding him seated in Satoru's spot on your bed—he looked even bigger, like something that had always been there, waiting, simply choosing a moment to reveal itself.

His cold verdite green eyes have been hovering over you and your husband for the past fifteen minutes or so, never uttering a word. He didn't need to. His silence echoed louder.

Your husband looks like a battered deer before him as the man passes a menacing smile at Satoru's beating, the healed streak at the corner of his lips twisting the space around him into something more sinister. You swear he is the sole reason you've been so plaint this far. It's the only reason you haven't tried biting the man who is digging his fingers into your arm, and at least grab a knife from the kitchen.

"Your husband speaks a lot, doesn't he?" The man behind you places his free hand on your shoulder, leaning close until his breath brushes your ear, so close that a sudden wave of shiver starts to run across your body. Disgust curdles in your chest, not just at him, but at yourself and at the pathetic begging whisper that slips from your lips: please.

"She's getting scared, Naoya," the third of the trio chuckles, the sound too light and amused, grotesquely at odds with the sight of your husband's face, swollen and bloodied. His eyes glint with sick pleasure. "You know we don't hurt sweet little things like her." He says it as though it were mercy.

Behind his shoulder, you see Satoru spit blood onto the floor. Thick, dark, and bubbling from his lips. He's barely conscious—face swollen, breath shallow, eyes unfocused—but even through the haze, he finds the strength to rasp out words. "Stop it, Toji," he croaks, voice like gravel torn through a sieve, "leave my wife out of this."

And in that moment, something inside you splinters. In all the years you've been with him, never once have you felt the aching need to fling yourself into his arms, to cradle him, to soothe him, to shield him. Yet now, watching him crumble on the floor, you feel it with a ferocity that terrifies you. A primal, desperate urge to hold him, to protect him, to make sense of the nightmare unraveling before your eyes.

Because your Satoru has always just been a man— ordinary job, ordinary life, unremarkably human like the rest of the monotonous world. He takes the bento you pack every morning, drives to and picks you up from your job, sends silly emojis, spends his day with you. Everything about your relationship is normal, filling your life with a comforting repetition that you've always wanted with him.

So how? When? At what point did this secret life begin? If not that, then what explanation exists for the monsters tearing your world apart tonight? Your stomach twists, you're starting to doubt everything you've built. Was this love a lie? Is this marriage a fragile illusion?

Another ripple of laughter emerges among them at Satoru's meek voice, followed by Naoya's big hand tracing a line down your shoulders to waist. He squeezes your skin over the thin fabric of your shirt, rubbing soft circles mocking the way your breath hitches in a shallow gasp. His palm is an exact opposite of your body: hot, and you hate how it tingles.

Visible weariness seems to slowly capture your husband's body, maybe it's the remnant of midnight's sweet still clinging to his lashes, pooled with fright from the sudden invasion.  Invasion—yes, that's the word. And yet, the way he speaks to them, the casual familiarity in their exchange, makes you wonder if guest is closer to the truth.

"Ya wanna help him?" The blond behind you doesn't stop. His breath scalds your ear, reeking of something metallic and sour. Repulsive. His voice carries that singsong mockery, the kind predators savour before strike. "Aww, look at him," he coos. "Poor hubby's bout to pass out."

So are you.

Your legs wobble. Your eyes won't stop darting between Satoru— crumpled on the floor, barely conscious— and the other two men sprawled with sickening casualness. They are not concerned, not even slightly about his weak state, or the blood. The gun pressed to your forehead could shift to his skull in a heartbeat, and you know they'd laugh, amused at how far the pieces of him scattered.

So you give the faintest nod, Naoya's hand slides lower, fingers curling at your waist. Claiming and testing. "How?" he murmurs, giving your body a slow, deliberate squeeze. You don't know. If you did, you wouldn't be here with your heart pounding in your ribs like a wild animal caged. Married to a man you no longer recognize, with a stranger's hand tracing your spine like it belongs there. You wouldn't be begging for answers from someone who plays with human lives like dice.

You force yourself to speak. To sound polite so nothing you say ever pisses anyone off into shooting your husband or you. "I don't know," your voice is low, and then, even quieter, "I don't even know why this is happening."

That truth hangs heavier than the gun.

He pinches your sides, with much greater pressure than before and you yelp, a line of tears almost in row. "Aww, dumb baby wants to know why we are here."

"Do you think that even matters?" The third guy laughs, stroking his fingers over Satoru's face, his lips busted, nose bleeding and red-blue patches on his cheek. It twists your stomach. You want to bend his fingers backward, so that it doesn't touch his skin again. "No." You reply instead, aware of your position right now. Naoya places a hand atop your head, ruffling your hair like he thinks of you as a dog. "Your wife seems to be the smarter one in this marriage." You shiver as his breath touches your neck.

"I wouldn't disagree on this one Gojo," the noiret is intimidating as hell, even these few words from him make you turn stiff. He was the one who had grabbed Satoru's neck like a plastic toy, leaving him coughing for seconds. Hadn't it been you crying and begging, you'd be sitting here with his lifeless body, "You really thought disappearing one fine morning from all the shit around you, would make you a better person?"

Toji is absolutely shadowing the entire room with his fierce personality. Even though he's comparatively shorter than Satoru, he still looms larger. It's as if you're choking on the feeling of an emotionally condense air. "Did you tell your wife?" His veins bulge out of his neck as he speaks, all this hatred for your husband. Why and how in the world Satoru knows him? "Seeing how clueless she's looking right now, bet you haven't." He lets out a throaty laugh looking at you, thick eyebrows raising.

"Toji..", Satoru warns, speaking quite firmly despite the ruin his body is, "that's enough."

There is something. Definitely has to be. Your husband is giving his all, clawing to keep it buried and you can't help but question the five years you've spent with him; be unsure about the two years you've spent living under the same roof. You severed ties with your family for a year just to marry him. Endured silence from your mom who warned you about him, to keep seeing the red flags.

She had kept on repeating how he didn't earn good enough to even have kids, how having no family or even relatives sounds very suspicious. Yet you moved cities just to give him a chance. And all he did was to craft you a sun? This massive, bright fake sky so you could just be blinded by its shine. Mistaking the glow for truth.

But you're still not angry. You're just agitated by the fact that you're willing to give him a chance to talk this. You'll listen and let him speak because despite the cracks and splinters, or even blatant lies, you still love him so much.

Only if he makes it alive though.

"No, it's not enough. Don't you think your wife deserves to know everything." A shiver rises up your back when you see Toji getting up to walk towards you with a slight pull at the corner of his lips. He's faking this sugary tone, trying to look like a saint. "Don't you think I'm correct, y/n." Your eyes widen at the sound of your own name. He knows it. The realization slams into you. These men didn't just stumble into your home; they studied you, followed you, stalked every detail of your life before tearing their way inside. The thought chills your blood. If they've already gone this far, what else are they capable of?

He reaches out a hand to swipe a few hair strands away from your cheeks, causing a crawling, nauseating tingle to run across your entire chest and legs. It makes your muscles so painfully tense as you hold your breath in fear, only to take the next one when Naoya lowers the gun from your head down your back, dragging the metal slowly to create a shiver.

"What do you want, Toji?" Satoru spits the blood dripping down his nose onto his thighs. Maybe it's just this messed up situation or your mere empathy for him, regardless, you can feel a metallic taste spreading over your tongue too.

Toji runs a finger along your neck, "remember your dad's promise, Gojo? Are you going to make up for all these years?" His feather light strokes are slowly turning into a chokehold. Your senses are so stimulated trying to stay sane, your knees start to feel weak.

"Leave her out of this and I'll give you want you want." Now that the older guy is so close, you can point out more than the infamous slash across his lips. faint scars scatter his skin like trophies, each one whispering violence. "And what's that?" His blade-cold fingers slide down your throat, pressing until the muscles flex beneath his grip. Not crushing, not yet. But when you stiffen instinctively, he feels it, and like a predator savoring weakness, he tightens without hesitation."You'll come back? Bring back all the time that's gone?"

Your hands grab his arm in desperation for oxygen, mouth gaped open like a fish to get something into your lungs. You claw at the back of his hand. You want to speak, to beg, but every breath dies where your breath should be, when the blood flow seems to be cutting from the rest of your veins.

"Leave her," you see Gojo, brokenly struggling to get to his feet, "fucking stop that right now!" He growls, his vocal cords sounding raw, but Toji just snickers. Tears sting your eyes as everything seems to almost collapse inside your body— burning your lungs. You'll die if you don't breathe or try to do something, anything. Digging at his arms, you mumble softly, voice barely audible, "please..", airless vocal cords.

And then it happens. Fast. Brutal. His grip disappears. You collapse to the floor, hacking, choking, your throat flaming as air rushes back into your lungs in violent gulps. For a long, hollow second, there is no sound, no one else in the world but you and the gasp that finally, blessedly, drags you back from the brink.

"Toji, you fucker_", Satoru forces the words out, burning through the last shreds of strength left in his body. "I said fucking leave her out of this." He sounds like a man already halfway at the gates of death and still clawing at whatever shred of control he thinks he has.

Toji clicks his tongue, distaste curling his features, while Naoya saunters toward your husband. Without pause, he drives a fist into Satoru's face and shoves him onto his stomach, yanking his head back by the hair before straddling him with casual ease. "He talks too much," Naoya sneers, fingers twisting deeper into the roots. "I wanna smash this ugly face into fucking mush." There's no bravado in his tone anymore, just raw, unfiltered malice.

Fear coils around you like ice water. It's the kind that seeps into the marrow, leaving your limbs aching, "please... don't..." you rasp, voice thin, broken, still dragging in shaky gulps of air.

"Say that again."Toji crouches beside you, eyes gleaming with something sharper now. You don't understand, but you obey, clinging to the hope that your words might mean something. "Please...please don't hurt him." The words tremble from your lips as you force yourself to meet his gaze, dark, so merciless. And something shifts. You don't know it, but that small act, that plea, feeds him. He drinks in your submission, the fragile desperation in your eyes. It swells his pride, stokes his ego. For Toji, seeing someone beg(even if it's someone he can just crush into mush with no effort) is almost sweeter than breaking them.

"Very well." His lips curl into a sickening grin as he leans in, patting your head like you're nothing more than a trained dog. The urge to drive your fist into his jaw flares hot in your chest, but you smother it down. You can't, not with your husband sprawled there, breath shallow, his life strung between Naoya's fingers.

"Maybe I'll give him a chance, yeah?" Toji drawls. You nod instantly, desperate, eyes locked on Satoru. His are closed, his body slack, but pain still flickers across his face. A jagged clarity is already settled  in. You understand what this might this entire situation might be, still, none of it matters. You'd do anything for your husband.

"Then you'll have to do exactly as I say, can you?" he murmurs, his smile widening. Your eyes widen. That word. That tone. It makes your stomach churn, sinking like poison under your skin. You're not stupid. Not a kid. You know exactly what this is, where it is steering towards. His smug grin. Naoya's leering smirk. The way the room seems to cave in around you. You shudder because this isn't just fear anymore. It's revulsion.

"Say yes, doll," he murmurs, voice low and poisonous. His hand, deceptively warm, presses into your back, forcing you forward towards Satoru on aching knees. The floor bites into your skin as your breath stutters, ragged and uneven.

Up close, he looks worse. The swelling distorts his features, dried blood clings like rust, and his chest rises in shallow, fragile motions

You catch Naoya loosening his grip on him. For a moment, you think he's hesitating—maybe as confused as you are, but then he moves with mechanical calm, propping Satoru upright against the wall like a discarded mannequin. His body slumps, head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyelids fluttering, but close. This feels like a stage being set. You grab his arm, softly holding his head into a better position.

"Why don't you kiss your poor dog of a husband," he sneers, "he already looks dead enough, might as well help him already." Your eyes widen, disgust coiling in your throat, rising sharp and sour. You'd known, deep down, you'd known they were building toward something vile. But this? This strips the breath from your lungs. It's disgusting.

You freeze, not even flinching as Toji watches, drinking in your paralysis, his grin widening into something feral. His eyes never leave yours. "Go on, girl. I thought you wanted to save him," Naoya taunts. He sits on the floor—legs splayed, knees bent, hands loose on his thighs—mocking you with that smug stare.

You still don't move. Can't move. Maybe if you hold out, they'll get bored. That's what you tell yourself. But the truth is, the thought of performing this grotesque little scene for their entertainment, especially with Satoru, who is too far gone to even register it, makes your skin crawl. "Go ahead," you glance at the third one, his brown hair catching the light overhead, casting a ghostly glow over his already pale face. But you can't. Your body locks up. Tears begin to well in your eyes as your teeth grind together unconsciously in fear. "Please," is all you can whisper.

"Now you're just overreacting. It's not like you haven't kissed him before," he laughs. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want us to force you to do that."

"I don't_", you choke again, stomach twisting as the words leave you, your husband's head felling ten times heavier in your hand.

"Alright, I'm coming." Toji rises, and it's like the ground shifts beneath you. Panic hits like a freight train. You seize Satoru's hand tighter, gripping it like a lifeline. "No, no, no— I'll do it," you sob, voice cracking under the weight of dread.

"Good girl," he says, settling back down with a scary grin. "Don't make it any more difficult than it already is." You hesitate, frozen in place. With nothing else left, you lean toward Satoru. His face, still so unbearably beautiful beneath the bruises, makes your chest ache and your throat tighten. You want to cry, scream, tear the world apart. Instead, with trembling fingers, you wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. Then you press your lips at the spot, just a ghost of a touch at the edge of his own, before pulling back instantly. The revulsion crashes over you in a violent rush. You feel sick to your stomach.

"There you go," Naoya grins, his voice making you shiver, "It wasn't that hard now, was it?" No words leave your lips as you bite down on the lower one. Revulsion coils inside you, spreading cold through your veins until even your fingertips tremble. And yet, buried somewhere in the back of your mind, a smaller voice refuses to quiet, repeating over and over that all of this, every sickening moment, is for you, and for Satoru.

For a few seconds you feel as if you're speaking to the brunet with your eyes as the room seem to fall silent, until Toji breaks the moment by swiftly moving beside you, slipping his hands under your thighs to pick you up. "I've something better in my mind," you start pulling back against him, looking around at the two men with big, shocked eyes, but his hold is firm as he drops you onto Gojo's lap, your thighs straddling him as your head knocks against his shoulder.

Your husband shifts softly beneath you, a low groan echoing right into your ear, you feel better that he's not totally unconscious, just even the thought that you're not completely alone into this makes you feel better, but before you can ease yourself out of his lap, not wanting to cause any more pain to him, Toji's heavy hands push you down by your shoulder.

“Cum on his cock," the words slither from his mouth, and suddenly every drop of blood in your veins turns to ice. You jolt back from Satoru's torso on instinct, as the words send a disgusting shiver all over your skin. It's not like you hate him, it's just the words made your skin crawl to hypersensitivity. This man is a menace, a disgusting pervert. You shake your head immediately, attempting you get up from, but Toji's grip on you is unyielding, his fingers biting into your shoulders with enough force to make you jerk from the pain as he shoves you down toward your husband's crotch.

"Stop— you're insane" you cry, your voice splintering halfway through the shout, desperation bleeding through. "So much for being serious about saving him," Naoya's low murmur slithers against your ear. His presence behind you makes you jolt from the suddenness, and before you can recoil, his hands are already roaming across your back, a mockery.

"Please... this is too much," you whisper, straining against his grip, legs wobbling as you try to summon the last of your strength to rise. But the weight of his hands digging into your back, paired with the press of his chin against your shoulder, floods your nerves with unbearable sensation. They force you down harder.

Satoru lets out a weak groan beneath you as you're crushed against his thighs. "Stop—you're hurting him," you cry, your voice cracking, every word scraped raw from your throat. But Naoya only drags your body forward and back with cruel precision as you feel yourself getting rubbed over Gojo's core.

"Shhh, it's fine. Here, I'll help you," he sneers, his breath hot and venomous against your ear, setting a soft pace with your body. "No... please—this is so sick," you rasp, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes. Satoru's trembling hand reaches for your waist, a desperate, feeble attempt to stop you. It's too much, far too much, and you're powerless. So you do what you know you can do best. You beg. "Please please he can't do it," you scream, the words breaking into sobs as though desperation alone might be enough to save him, "I can't do this."

Toji's grip loosens on your shoulder before you're forcefully shoved forward, your cheek colliding with Satoru's chest. "Should've shot this one moments ago," he mutters, irritation dripping from every syllable, enough that you don't need to turn to picture the scowl twisting his face. In an instant, the cold barrel from earlier is pressed against the back of your head again. You squeak, fear shattering through your throat. Every nerve in your body is suffocating.

Your husband shifts weakly beneath you, broken body and mangled face writhing in agony as he tries, futilely, to seize control of the moment. But now it all hangs on you, and the weight of that realization makes your chest twist and stomach tighten with so many tingling sensations. You've never been the one to make choices under this kind of pressure, and all you know is you don't want to die.

Excitement and fear often blur, tasting the same— thick and suffocating until you realize too late, that this isn't thrill at all. It's panic. Bitter, choking panic clawing up your throat with a violent gasp for life. Or maybe everything feels like this when a piece of trigger junk, with enough power to end your family in a second, is pressed against someone's head.

“Please,” you whimper against Satoru’s chest, knowing you can die regardless of what you do right now,“I’ll do it, just_just I don’t wanna die”

Human is a very simple animal.

[tsumutiny]

now that we know Jaekyung is bi, can I WRITE some jaekyungxreader filth? Also I dunno I just wanna write for jinx since I don’t see a lot of stuff on it here PLS

[tsumutiny]

I love him so muchhhh. (He has a breeding kink lmao)

[tsumutiny]

╰─THIRD IN THE TRIANGLE

tw. Polyamorous relationship, smut, married satosugu, toxic relationship, angst, objectification.

wc. 1.4K

-an. i wanted to add some threesome but didn’t know how because WHA-

It's almost midnight when they get back home. The cold of Tokyo's December making your bones hurt, but you've learned now not to ask where they'd been. The apartment always smelled different when they came back— smoke, blood, sometimes perfumes. Geto was always first through the door, shedding his coat with swift comfort. Gojo followed, slower, eyes hidden behind those handsome shades even in the dark. They never acknowledged you until they needed something, and it was never food. Never conversation.

Tonight is no different.

Geto drops his bag by the couch without a word, black eyes skimming past you like you're a fixture, a furniture, maybe. He looks tired, but you know better. Just not tired enough to want you. Not unless it's been days. Not unless he had a bad week, or some curse really fucking him up. And when he does call for you, always in his detached commanding voice, whatever he does to you, it's solely for his own pleasure, his own relief. You never forget it. Satoru at least smiles. The tilt of his lips so pretty, so handsome, but you think maybe it's like a reflex, not kindness.

You don't bother begging for their attention like a dog that you used to once, brightly, stupidly, but then you think of how Satoru rubs your back to sleep, his soft voice in your ears. How he smiles at you, even though it says everything and nothing. Sometimes it curls just enough to make you cry in his arms for hours as he kisses your head. Sometimes it looks like pity. But only for a second. It never stays long enough for you to be sure.

You move aside to let them in, clutching your sweater tighter. No one asks how your day was. No one cares that you still wait besides just Gojo patting your head.

The only time they come to you is when one of them needs to forget. And when they need to forget, you become something useful again. Hands, mouth, body. Not mind. Not opinion.

Suguru is colder about it. He doesn't whisper soft words in your ears when he takes you. Doesn't hold you warmly after. Just hands that bruise and lips that don't linger. He never stays after, immediately leaving you sore and silent, the bed colder than before. Suguru absolutely loves seeing you fall apart for him, loves seeing all the things he could do to you, but does that mean he loves you? You doubt that.

At least Gojo pretends better.

He'd stroke your hair, kiss you longer than the last time, repeat broken compliments like sugarcoated apologies. "Good girl," he’d breathe against your neck, even though you think he doesn't mean it. Not really. But he stays the night, washes your body after and then wraps his arms around your body full of warm lies, and for those hours, you let yourself imagine he feels something. Anything.

Wanting to kiss him continuously, snuggle your head into his chest.

They talk to each other loudly and so cheerfully, laugh at inside jokes, coo sweet names. When at the dinner table, they'd trade looks you never seem to understand. You think, in this triangle, you're just the point at the top. Necessary to keep the shape, maybe, but never at the equal plain. Never together.

You don't even know when it started, or why you stay. Maybe you like the pain, Geto had said once. Maybe you think he's right. Or maybe you think that being wanted sometimes is better than not being wanted at all. At least your raven boyfriend fucks you like he means it. Litters marks all over your body like it matters to him— like who you belong to matters to him. Isn't that why he always leaves a mark where you can't hide it, on days he knows you have to go out? Just beneath your jaw, marks that don't fade fast enough. You like those days.

When he groans a bit harder while slamming you down on his cock, grabbing your body so possessively, fucking you into forgetting who he is. Isn't that the point?

But tonight, as Suguru disappears into the bedroom without so much as a glance, and Satoru pats your head, giving you that tired, almost genuine smile before following him to their room. You wonder how long until even that smile disappears. Until those charming blue eyes stop crinkling at you.

It always hurts.

You get remembered of the bite Geto left on your shoulder last week compared to his eyes right now. But they are always like that around you— cold, indifferent, lacking any spark. And the knife seems to cut deeper when you see him kiss Gojo, call him, "his baby"— something you're not allowed to.

You once called him "Sugu", too dumbed out by his dick inches inside you, it had earned you a slap. Harsh and embarrassing. Since then, you never slipped again. It's always his name: Suguru.

—"Suguru, please, ngh, it's too much," you moan, nearly sobbing when he bends you over the kitchen counter, his thrusts always a brutal reminder of his love for you. Unyielding and devoid of compassion.

—"Suguru, no, I'm just going to meet a friend", you quaver in his arms when he finds out of your plans, "you wanna leave us, yea? That's what you want, don't you? You filthy whore. Never satisfied." He grunts, his fingers closing around your neck.

Satoru isn't any better, sure he's completely different— he acknowledges you, is gentler, more attentive, but he also never lets you forget that you can never be like his husband. That your pussy is only of any use when he is not around.

He pats your cheeks dry after Suguru fucks you a little too hard, but he's also the one who starts cursing Geto's name with each thrusts when he's close to filling you full. Theres no low he hasn't reached to make you feel nothing more than a breathing sex doll. Even sending a disgusting voice note to Suguru while he made you ride him, "Sugu, fuck, you feel so good. Keep letting me fuck you, baby." He had moaned into his phone and it made all your body go cold. Eyes instantly filling with hot tears. It made you feel so repulsed in your skin.

He lets you sleep in his arms, but he never lets you touch his ring— the delicate band of gold that sits on both of their fingers. But his husband sometimes likes to fit his ring onto your finger when he makes you rub your clit for him. He'd sit you on their bed, telling you to part your legs while he'd put the ring onto your finger, and you know it's a cue to put on a show for him. "Look at your tiny fingers, can't even fuck yourself without the ring slipping." You know you're messed up, and you won't deny how close you feel to them when the band rubs on your clit.

Sometimes, you really do forget you're nothing to them. You let yourself believe, just for a moment.

But then you see their hands—fingers laced, casual, warm—and it yanks you back. Out of your little world. Straight into theirs. The way they don't go out on dates with you, they way they tell you it'll ruin their reputation as teachers if someone gets to know of you. Though you want to argue how plenty sorcerers have done far worse than just having a second partner. But are you even it? Their partner? The photos around the house tell you otherwise.

Big frames, small ones, Polaroids curled at the corners, glossy prints tacked across the apartment walls like memories made flesh, but none of them have you in it. It's always them. Wedding day, grinning in that stupid sunlight. A date night from a few months back, wine glasses, soft lighting, a kiss caught mid laugh. Random snapshots.

Just not you.

Technically, sure, you're in one. A black-and-white Polaroid stuck to the fridge like an afterthought—you're crouched, patting the tiny stray Geto brought home. You remember that moment, clear as anything. Screamed when the kitten let you touch her, grinning like a fool, eyes flicking up to Suguru. Beaming at Satoru when he clicked the shutter. You were so loud, so happy.

But that's about it. You're alone in the frame. No one's in it with you. Besides you.

Just you, like a fool, trying to catch the eyes of two older men who never quite look back that often.

[tsumutiny]

╰─ DEPRAVITY

tw. noncon, manhandling, coercion, sacrilege, mention of domestic abuse, baby trapping(?)

wc. 4.2k

-an. HEERAN LOVE SONG. Yato Yato Yato my love. The way I kept thinking of him.

Yato(Heeran’s love song) x fem! reader

The woods are quieter than usual tonight.

Maybe it's the cold. Maybe it's the full moon. A soft hazy mist spreads across.

You hear him before you see him—like breath pressing against your nape, like the wind learning your name. The trees sigh. The shadows lean. And then, like a ribbon unfurling from the dark, he steps into the clearing. You've seen him before. Too many times for it to be chance. You've seen him around Queen Soru, heard about all the ruckus he has been the reason for in the village market.

You had grown hearing stories from the old shaman—your father's friend, half-blind and always smelling of smoke and herbs. He spoke of monsters that wore shadows like skin, yokai born from grief and blood, cursed to wander between realms. One in particular haunted his tales: a creature who devoured human hearts, not for hunger, but for longing—longing to feel, to become, to be human. A monster so twisted and hideous, the mere sight of him could make a man's soul wither.

The first time you saw Yato in the village, the shaman’s eyes went wide with recognition, or terror, or both. He began to tremble, hand rising, a crooked finger pointing straight at him. His voice cracked like dry branches as he cried, "He's the one!" again and again, louder each time, until his words blurred into sobs. but since he was getting old and had the record of forgetting things, people just dismissed his claims.

They said he's too ethereal, too handsome to be a yokai. Yes, he was very mesmerising, you'd lie if you said he didn’t make you shy away, but he was always around the queen or at the edge of the village where you often went to gather wood and mana stones for your grandmother's business. That's where you met him first while wandering around.

Of course it was all very strange to you. Once in a while you'd engage in some very small conversations, sometimes lending him your mana stones, often just ignoring his presence like he did. He once told you, he found your hair ribbons very charming— intricate details, patterns and beautiful shade of dyed colors. You gave one to him the next day, since he too had long and luscious hair. Ever so more Shiny than yours. A red ribbon with hand-drawn golden vines. And after you taught him how to braid his hair, many a times you'd catch him with very loose braides, hair tied with the ribbon.

He comes closer often always at the same edge of something. Sometimes your vision, other times your thoughts, but right now he’s as real as cold seeping into your skin. His eyes—those unnatural, liquid-gold eyes lock on yours. They shine so bright under the moon.

"Shouldn't be out here," he says. His voice is low and rough, like gravel dipped in honey, and it coils around your ribs before you can stop it. "Why are you even out at this hour?"

You think it once slipped your mouth, when you were crouching by the river, washing the shiney ores, that your father had left a couple of years ago in the search of a Shinto god's shrine. Claiming he'd become the official shaman of the empire once he found it. It was so peurile, even you couldn't believe it once he confessed his plans at the dinner table. Since then, your mother's unraveled. Irritable, bitter—she's renounced the gods entirely, refuses to join any ritual or festival. The villagers whisper it's the work of a yokai. That she's cursed. That her anger is just the demon, lashing out through her. An outcast, that's what she is now, trying to release her anger through her abuse.

To be truthful, all you'd said was, "He's gone," when Yato asked why your father never helped with the dangerous task of gathering mana stones in the jungle. The rest, you're certain, he pieced together on his own—whispers carried through the village, or his curiosity.

You don't answer him, just sit down under a tree that you've marked with a blue ribbon, placing an old lantern beside you. when you were new to the jungle, you wrapped the delicate blue to not get lost in the depth of the trees. He steps closer anyway, tall and silent and pulling the night with him. His dark locks fall around his shoulders like ink, wild and untamed. There's something ancient in the way he moves. Something too fluid to be human and looks down, "a little too bold, aren't we?" A corner of his lips lifts, but only so subtle.

"Go back home," you mumble as you shake your head, closing your arms around your knees. The fumes of the burning kerosene settling in your chest. "you're always in the jungle."

His bold eyes shine down at you as his lips turn up to a smirk, putting a strand of hair behind his ear as he crouches in front of you. "Too much talking, aren't you afraid of the monsters that rome the hills at this unholy hour? I'm sure you've heard of them. I’ve told you about them.” You remember that hot evening when you had gone down to the river to wash your feet. The sky painted in amber. That’s when he appeared— sneaking up behind you and nearly making your heart leap out of your chest. “If you’re this scared of me,” he’d said with a grin, “what would you do if you saw a real monster?”

That was when he told you about the yokai world. You were been stunned, not just by the strange stories he shared, but by the knowledge he seemed to possess.

You look into his mesmerising eyes before you open your mouth to speak something, but then you immediately close your lips again. Instead you just nod, wandering your eyes around instinctively to look for anything just in case.

"You're not scared, are you, little girl?", he laughs. You're not, you immediately voice out. "You should be," and then he gets up, his body unfolding into his tall stature. He dusts his front-open hanbok and lazily begins to walk away into the jungle. He'd love to see if you could survive this. At first you're unfazed by his departure until the darkness of the jungle starts to settle in, which although comes in very quickly. The silence of the surrounding causes a tingling inside your stomach, every rustle of the tree leaves making you restless.

You’re a fool.

"Yato," you speak,  just softly enough for it to reach him, "please stay?" He turns back to you immediately at the call of his name. His sharp eyes are crinkled in an almost condescending sort of way, but you feel there’s a swirling storm, unreadable and intense, behind them. He has a frown on his face. You open your mouth to say something further, you don't know what, albeit.

You wouldn't believe it, but there's something about you right now that unsettles him, deeply. It Unveils something in him. It's the way you're sitting there, bathed in the soft, warm glow of the kerosene lantern, its light brushing over the fear etched into your face. Your small frame curled in on itself against the cold. Those big and exhausted eyes looking up at him. You look utterly defeated. Coming out into the jungle in the middle of the night. It's nothing short of a suicide attempt, he'd say. There's a bruise just above your collarbone, peeking through the neckline of the pale pink cotton dress you clearly wore to bed. And right now, when you called his name, you screamed at him—on every celestial plane—just how breakable humans really are. And he thinks... maybe you need him.

He grabs you by the wrist and starts hauling you deep inside the woods, not bothering for the lantern, leaving it under the tree. You whimper a little at the abruptness of his actions. "What are you doing?" He wouldn't lie, his head is as jumbled at you right now. He tells himself that he loves Soru, that he has never felt as whole and welcomed as with her, but right now, he's not sure about anything. You're just a human, you don't treat him with love, you're not her. But he concludes, that you're someone he would definitely consume. He'd tear you open and eat your insides.

⊹

He takes you to an old, mold covered house at the very edge of the village forest. It’s so ancient you can smell the cold, damp wood before you even step inside. Does he live here? you wonder, the question lingering as he leads you down a narrow hall and stops before a room. The space is covered in faded Hanja script etched across the floor, scrawled along the walls. Dozens of yellow ofuda hang like warnings or prayers. It reminds you of the old shaman's practice room back in the village.

He looks down at you before pushing you over a very huge, from what you seem to understand, a talismanic scroll, filled with intricate line drawings of figures you've never seen before, a type of hanja you're unable to read. "Yato what is this?" You ask, filling up with a a sudden sense of fear brewing under your skin, but he just pushes you under his body weight, pining your knees with his legs. He's heavy, all those muscles under his hanbok flex as you kick your feet to get off from his hold.

"Stop. Wha-", you whimper as he locks your jaw in a tight grip, pushing your head to the other side, revealing the bruise above your collarbone. "She hit you here?" He speaks with a stoic face, dragging his fingers softly over the reddish mark before pressing it. You hiss at the pain and shake your head— realising what is happening. Eyes filled with fear, you use your hands to push him off of you. It feels so helpless and dreadfully trapped that you can't move your legs even an inch under him, almost bringing you to tears. You pinch his arms but he just gives a small inhumane smile.

He slots himself between your legs with slow, deliberate ease. His touch isn't rough, but there's a weight to it, a quiet force that leaves no room for resistance. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before trailing lower, lips brushing the side of your neck. His hand stays firm on your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep you still. You try to push him away, hitting his arm in a panic, but it's like striking stone. No reaction. Not even a flinch. The strength in him is terrifying. He's not trying to hurt you. He just... is.

You claw at his forearm out of instinct, nails dragging down skin, but he doesn't budge. Doesn't even blink. Then his breath deepens. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales slowly, like he's memorizing you through your fear. You don't know if it's desire or hunger in him or something stranger. But you know this: he's not human. And right now, you feel more fragile than ever.

When he lets go of your jaw, you feel sudden confused tears run down your face— being overwhelmed. "No", he whispers as he wipes your tears and pulls down your dress around your shoulders. "Yato..please", you sniffle as you shake your head. There's a speck of distaste on his face before he speaks, "you said you want me." Your eyes widen while you try to run the entire night in your head. When did you say that? He slips off his hanbok, the cloth pooling around his hip bone, settling in soft folds over your legs. His chest is pale—Milky white. Strong muscles running down into a sculpted body. Etched with strength.

This time with both of his hands he pulls your night gown apart at your bosoms. The feeble stitches of the cotton cloth not standing a chance against his strength just comes undone. It rips apart down to your navel. Exposing a scatter of faint bruises. A shriek slips your mouth forcing you to immediately push him away, "nonono." You repeat, slapping at his chest, as if it would make a difference. Even if nothing changes.

"You're so beautiful"

The words fucks up with your brain, making you shiver. A warm tingle burns in your stomach and before you can respond his hand slides down from the tear at your navel to settle between your legs. He locks both of your knees in a tight hold and forcefully pushes your legs into the air, bending your back in a painful arc. You shout for him to stop only for your words to fall into deaf ears. It hurts and you're scared. You haven't moved a way you like in the past couple of minutes.

You whimper as he starts to rub your pussy over your cover. His movements are slow and agitating, making sure to rub the texture of the cloth on your clit. While your eyes feel hazy from the hot tears formed, you try to take a hold of whatever comes in contact— ripping apart parts of the huge scroll underneath. In no time, like the paper, your panties come undone too, resting in his grip at your ankles. With your skin exposed to the cold air, he starts with a gentle pressure, coaxing your skin apart, feeling it yield to his will. It catches your breath and makes you squirm in his hold. He teases your sensitive inner folds, tracing the contours of your sex with the pads of his fingers. You see his gaze suddenly intensifying, pupils dilating as his eyes stay locked onto your face, making you go crazy.

He trails his fingertip along your slit collecting the dewey essence that coats your tender flesh. Bringing to his lips, Yato tastes you before brining his fingers back to rub against your sensitive spot. Calloused thumb making fast circles over your clit, applying just the right pressure to make you whimper and cry. "Yato please please", you repeat constantly upon feeling your eyes shut with sudden exhaustion. You swear it's not you, but he can feel your hips softly push up into his thumb, his eyes shining with triumph.

Upon your growing desperate pleas, he leans in to catch your mouth into a searing kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste the sweetness of your surrender. It takes away your breath and it goes on until you find yourself scratching his back harshly. Enough so that you definitely feel some skin in your nail beds. As he breaks the kiss, you see a soft smile on his handsome face, grabbing your cheeks ever so tenderly to rub the skin with his thumb.

"Such a sweet little girl," his fingers slides past your parted lips, diving deep into your mouth— the taste of your hot liquid on his fingers, captures your tastebuds. You protest with your hands grabbing at his arm, but there's something that doesn't let you pull on it.

"Delicate bunny." His deep, gravely tone washes you over, warming your body as he lets his free hand rub your head. Ruffled hair fall to your face and he looks into your eyes while tucking them back. It doesn't feel real to you. Theres a sudden warmth in your chest. It makes your eyelids heavy.

His thumb inside your mouth presses on your tongue as his other hand continues its ministrations on your sex. It's almost overwhelming and you barely manage to get a muffled moan around his invading thumb. Eyes riveted on the lewd sight, he feels his own arousal straining against the confines of his hanbok.

In a quick deliberate motion, he withdraws his thumb, glistening with your spit. Eyes locked on yours he hauls your body closer to his heat. Fast movements of his hands entirely getting off the long wrapped cloth from his body. And there you see it. Your breath hitches as reality rushes back in, carrying with it such a bad taste. For a moment—just a few stolen minutes—you'd forgotten where you were. Completely forgotten what was gonna happen to you. That brief flicker of affection, however limited, had almost made you feel warm. Welcomed, even.

It's big, thick veins running along the shaft and they seem to throb every time it twitches. "No..no what the fuck", you start to back up, supporting your body with weak legs. You can't do this, you almost let yourself fall prey to those messed up seconds of affection. But Yato's not in for it. He tsks loudly, and pulls you back under him, the scroll underneath crumpling with the force. Your feet go cold, as you see the red bulbous head between your legs.

You shake your head and with any strength left in your body, you push him away. Racking your legs on his chest and using your nails to dig into his hands. And that's when you realize, your doom isn't looming. It's already been written, quiet and inevitable, waiting for you to catch up. He's like a pillar—immovable, and now you're more certain than ever that he is the yokai the old shaman warned you about. Not once has your resistance made a dent. Every struggle, every desperate push, it all bounces off him like you're nothing but a breeze. Nothing touches him. Nothing hurts him. So your body just gives out. It suddenly loses any energy whatsoever.

Big, hot drops of tears form in your eyes as sniffles escape your mouth. You look into his eyes, he's sitting back on his knees, simply watching you. Judging. Measuring whatever it was you just did. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he leans in and begins to stroke your head. "Shhh... my poor baby," he murmurs, voice low and almost tender. "It's going to be okay. Don't worry." His fingers trail down to your cheeks, brushing gently, reverently. "You're such a strong girl."

It doesn't soothe you. It does make you feel very warm in your belly, but it doesn't make anything better because you know if you moved your eyes even the slightest bit lower, there it would be, his angry dick. And all of this disgusts you. "Yato why?" Is all you ask, while he pats your head, "because you need me", he replies. Hands come to hover at your breasts, sliding down the linen cloth keeping it secured, in quick seconds, he pulls the fabric away. Exposing your skin to the cold night air. In total contrast to the situation, he gently cups your skin— like a new found toy, there’s curiosity in his fingers as he squeezes the supple mound.

You mewl at the touch of his cold palms as they collide with your peaked nipples , a jolt of energy coursing through your body. Without hesitation, he lowers his head and takes your breast into his mouth—greedy, insistent, like a starving infant. He suckles hard, drawing out fragmented moans from your lips. His free hand moves to the other breast, squeezing with a firm hold.

”pardon my depravity, doll.” He whispers into your ear, his hot breath causing your body to shiver. Before you can process it, he has already shifted your hips, angling them closer to his reach. His hand moves with practiced ease, drawing tight circles over your sensitive spot, sending jolts through your body with each motion. The pleasure is so consuming, that you barely register the moment he presses the broad head of his cock against your entrance. It’s not until the stretch begins, sudden, that you truly realise.

It’s really big, unlike what you’ve heard amongst the hushed talks of married women in kitchen. The stretch hurts, a sudden burning sensation causing you to writhe under him. It fights to settle inside you, in your deepest corners. You shut your eyes, reaching for a sliver of mental distance, but it only makes everything sharper. You feel him, the heat of his skin dragging along your walls, every ridge and vein like raised lines against hypersensitive flesh. The moment slows, stretched thin with sensation. You can feel yourself being filled—completely and it steals the breath from your lungs.

He leans down to press his forehead to yours, looking absolutely feral. beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and muscles bulging and flexing as he pulls back and snaps his hips into yours. Hard and fast, making you whimper with every thrust. You can't help but cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin as his cock reaches further in.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you squeal, eyes pull shut tightly as his hands clamp down your waist for a faster pace. Your thighs wrap around his hips for some sort of support— anchor, as he plunges into you relentlessly. Each time he bottoms out, it creates a quick force in your bladder, making you hiccup. You feel like you’ll pee, and you’re disgusted by how good that feels with the pressure against your cervix.

His thrusts are hard, steady, each one tying your stomach into a tighter knot. And then there’s his breathing, those quiet, breathy moans he tries to hold back. They slip through anyway, soft and raw, and they make everything feel hazy, feverish. Your skin burns hotter with every sound, every movement, as the tension coils deeper inside you

“I can’t..Yato please”, you’re left a begging mess when you see him pushing down your belly, the exact spot you saw his cock poking out. You’re sure he could feel himself moving inside you, quenching some weird fetish of his, because he’s not stopping. Every time he goes in, his cold hand pushes the spot. And you’ve realised that his body temperature hasn’t increased at all. He has remained cold since he put his hands on you.

Within the next few seconds, you feel a weird high—new and delicious. It feels so good, you try to catch it by very softly bucking your hips up, trying to meet his thrusts and his palm on your clit. Chasing the pleasure, you’re shaking, and your pussy is clenching around him violently. Tender drop of tears and sweat mix together as they fall, as they mix around your neck.

“Let’s see if a monster like me can really put a child in a fragile little thing like you, yea?” He grunts, snickering, a new sense of darkness flashing in his eyes as his thrusts go wilder, almost bouncing in your place. Tits bouncing and thighs shaking. You’re so blissed out, so thoroughly unraveled, that his words don’t register at first. They float past you like a whisper in fog, until they land. And when they do, your eyes snap open, wide with realization. “What?” you breathe. “What do you mean?”

The question barely makes it out, tangled in a bitten off moan. Dread coils low in your stomach, but you’d say you’re a masochist the way your body betrays you. Your core throbs, tight and wanting, and there’s a strange tingle deep in your womb. “Yato wai-”, he doesn’t let you finish. He fastens his speed, as he catches your lips in a brutal kiss, puncturing the delicate skin of your lips and mixing the kiss with saliva and the metallic taste of your blood. You manage out a muffled yelp in pain, but you can’t protest much because of his weight.

“I’ll make sure you become a mother,” he grunts, shoving his sweaty hairs from his face, “gonna cum.” You see the smears of your blood on his lips, shaking your head. You hate it, you hate yourself, but you’re feeling so good, you don’t say a word, just let his cock hit your gummy walls and the spot that makes you wanna pee. He moans loudly, sinking in to the hilt, hitting your cervix. The last few thrusts are deep and almost punishing as he licks the blood off your lips.

And then you feel it. You moan in broken strings of sobs, your pussy convulsing and womb tightening . His fingers don’t stop, abusing your raw clit. It’s so brutal, so good— you cry in ecstasy. “Fuckfuck,” you find your nails digging into his back, not feeling your legs anymore “ohmygod, cumming.” You breathe loudly, trying to catch some air as you reach your high with a squeal. Your toes curl so hard you feel like you’d pass out. Head fuzzy and muffled.

“God?” He laughs, kissing the puncture he left on your lips before filling your spasming core with hot ropes of cum against your cervix. He kept thrusting with his moans against your ear, almost overstimulating.

And then the room goes silent again. Filled only with voices of fast breaths being inhaled and exhaled. Wet bodies still connected to each other as slowly cold took over. You twitched mindlessly with your eyes closed, feeling the mix of your body fluids roll down your body onto the paper beneath you. Pressing your belly down at where you meet him, he pulls out of you. The hot liquid rushing out of your spent hole making you moan softly.

He rises slowly, eyes never leaving yours—dark, unreadable. With practiced ease, he ties his hanbok back into place, a few crinkle here and there on the cloth. One hand rakes through his raven hair, pushing it back from his face as he watches you, still breathless in the aftermath.

Right now as he looks down at you, ever so vulnerable, flushed red and soft, he feels a sense of pride in his chest. You look like something he should keep. Something that needs to be owned. He can’t lie, he had thought of ripping your chest open to consume your heart like so many times he has done before. Swear, you’d look so beautiful, getting used for a bigger purpose. But as you lay in front of him, defenseless with hazy eyes and rosy cheeks. He thinks you’re worth keeping around. Definitely there must be some purpose for you.

“Your mother’s right. There is no god.” He announces, voice low and walks out of the room, locking it from outside.

After all, he does want to know if a yokai can create life with a human.

[tsumutiny]

fuck it I’m going to write yato. (Here) i can’t stop thinking of him

[tsumutiny]

> Gojo Satoru’s wife

wc: 700ish

cw: noncon, crying, exhibition kink, degradation, mentions of breeding.

-an: idk what i be thinking

Cocky and impassive husband, Gojo, who slides his hand down your pants during a meeting and quickly whispers how you won’t get to cum for a week if you let out a single sound. He's a narcissist, craves public attention; an exhibitionist, the rush of touching you in public gets his blood hot all the time and what could be better than sliding the thin cloth of your panty to stroke your pretty bud between a meeting with his superiors.

Things go excruciatingly slow with him, and always start with his hands softly traveling up your thighs to grab friskily at your hips. The stealthy fingers digging over your clothed skin always cue towards his boredom— that he can't take those old men making phoney conversations trying to look smart, so he does what he likes. He drags the hot of his palm all over your body hidden under huge desks.

You know Satoru's a tease and on top of that you know of his callous disregard of anything, so he parts your thighs to stuff his hand between your legs, being awfully aware of every corner of your body. Rubbing your clothed sex right atop your clit until you're frustrated. Until you fully give into his ministrations and softly plead him to touch it.

When your parents first introduced you to him, revealing the news of your marriage to the pride of the Gojo clan, the first to inherit such techniques in hundred so years, you thought of him as some stern moralist. Until you found yourself moaning into his shoulder as he fingered you. All within an hour of the meeting. Then, it felt exciting—marrying a powerful, handsome sorcerer. Now just a shameless fool with no regard for the higher-ups whatsoever and that's what makes the situation right now all the more humiliating.

You bet on your shredded bits of self-esteem, if you get caught, he wouldn't even stop blatantly scissoring your cunt. “Satoru," you whisper his name digging your canines as hard as you can into your lower lip and yet he looks at you with eyes devoid of any emotion. Like you don't matter, like what would be made out of you doesn't matter.

As his index finger traces our pussy before stopping right at your clit. Eyes consumed with fear you search for any emotion on others face, any flicker of recognition, anything that would signal at their awareness of this promiscuity. But not a single person seems to be sparing a glance at you, it's almost as if they feign a mask of mutual naivety to enjoy the show Gojo is putting. A young girl, almost a trophy, getting reduced to her place.

Satoru flicks your pearl, rubs it infuriatingly slowly while looking directly into your eyes every time you shiver. Even with his glasses on, you know he’s staring— searching for any emotion in them.

You don't like it, you've told him multiple times. "They probably think of me as some cheap whore", you screamed into his face last week, tears running down your face, stomach churning from the sheer disgust you held inside. “They wouldn’t dare”, he grunted as he finished inside you, letting his head fall on your belly. Yet again, here you are sitting in the same abhorrent setting. You swear while biting your tongue that today you'll leave him. Go back home, never return.

"Washroom," at first you don't even hear his voice amidst your betraying body's reaction to his fingers until he pinches your thigh softly, "wait for me there."

You can't do much. Even though you grit your teeth so tightly it almost hurts, you know you can't do much. Denying is not in question. The prodigy son of the Gojo clan definitely has never faced a rejection.

With wobbly legs and little to no shame you get up from your place. Literally anyone in their right mind can tell what's happening, and it makes you want to throw up, shout and cry, but like an obedient wife you don't meet eyes with anyone and walk out of the room, digging your nails in your palm. A true walk of shame.

As you sit on the toilet seat, wiping away tears, you wait like he told you to. Wait for him to come fuck you over these filthy seat—like so many times before, eyes crinkled in that same cruel grin. Evil. Evil man.

[heavensghost]

words from anything by adrianne lenker

[tsumutiny]

╰─♡ FOOLED pt2.

tw. noncon, dubcon cunnilingus, manhandling, objectification, implied gangbang(?), Slap.

wc. 4k

-an: OMFG FINALLY! IM GONNA CRY. pt3 coming soon too.

One←

After Bokuto helps you sit on your hips and your eyes are unable to produce more tears, you try to fall asleep, thinking maybe it'll all pass. Your head is heavy, but strangely, sleep seems to be the last thing that would happen right now.

The belt around your wrist doesn't feel cold anymore, instead, it has started to dig into your skin. A similar feeling to the unbearable itch of a burnt wound. You haven't met eyes with any of them within the past many long minutes, it sickens you to do so. Just the thought that these two sit with you during classes, that one of them has helped you several times regardless of his image yet they are the one responsible for this situation, scares you.

How can the human brain do such things?

"You can relax", Bokuto puts a hand atop your exposed knees, making you flinch instinctively, "I told you I won't let anyone hurt you."

But why in hell are you even here?

You feel betrayed, don't know if you are even allowed to feel it since he wasn't your bodyguard of any sort, but all the times he stood up for you against even his friends made you a little selfish. It's probably why you can't accept the grave situation you're in right now. One caused by him.

"I know this all might be really scary for you", He continues, caressing your leg. "But your trust in me is all that matters. I'm sure you'd choose me over them, right?"

The chill of the room seeps into your bones. You wish you could put an end to his words, but since the beginning, your will is the least bit of concern. The thought of who all might be 'them', drops your stomach. Atsumu? You definitely know it's him. He even told you to wait, didn't he? Hajime? Oikawa? Or who_Hinata!?

Bokuto lifts your face to look at him, brushing his thumb on your chin firmly, "And I know you're such a good girl, you'd do what I tell you to, hmm?" His eyes appear like hot sun, burning your soul, "you want to do that too, right? You want to show them you belong to no one, but me, right?"

You don't remember ever leading him to believe what he's saying right now. You never even asked him to 'save you', it was him who came to you acting like a knight. "No...no what are you even saying", you try to force your chin out of his hold, but it just makes him pull your face towards him harsher, "you don't understand. I don't want this." You speak meekly.

"Yes, you do." His grip loosens and travels down toward your neck. He smiles when he gives your throat a squeeze. "Tell me, do you like it when they embarrass you?" He asks, "do you like it when they grope you like this, yeah?" A sob is pulled out of your mouth as he takes a painful hold of your breast. Pressing it into your ribcage in the process.

You deny immediately.

"Yes baby, exactly", he madly grins, "you don't."

"And did you like it when they tried to see up your skirt", with his other hand, he pushes your dress higher on your thighs. When unable to achieve what he wanted, he shoves his hand inside your dress, " tell me. You know, Hajime still has that photo of yours."

You squeak, irritation and helplessness start to build in the form of water in your eyes again. You try to shut your thighs to no avail, he's just too fucking strong compared to your scared, jiggly legs. "Bokuto, please", you whimper.

Inside your dress, you feel him cup your cunt with warm hands, sending unwelcomed tingles up your belly. "No..no. I didn't like it." You shout, embarrassed because even though you've been trying so hard to ignore him, it doesn't change the fact that Akaashi is still in the room—standing right beside you.

The silver-head looks smug, a satisfied smile on his face. Almost like how you feel when your pet responds to your command. He removes his hand instantly and soon cold air fills his spot, touching your covered skin, but your freedom is only a matter of seconds before your thighs are abruptly pushed apart to slot his fingers over your clothed slit. Your dress tightly bunched around your pelvic bone gives him all the access he wants.

"Oh god, look at you wearing this cute cotton panty. You realise how crazy you're making me each second," he looks up from between your legs. You shut your eyes tightly, body becoming hot. "you really came to a club in these! This is why I can't think of anything pure when I'm near you.", he moans near your skin and you jolt.

"Enough", his choice of word is so bold, tears start rolling down your cheeks, "please, let me go...swear I won't tell anyone." You can't shut your legs, you've made up with the fact. Maybe talking to him might have an effect.

"But I want you to," he doesn't move his eyes from the spot he's caressing—softly dragging his finger up and down. You buck your hips to inch further away from his contact, but his free hand, now wrapped around your ankle, abstains you from doing so.

"You should tell everyone", He softly pulls your panties sticking to your skin, pinching your sensitive flesh in the process. You whimper loudly, grinding your feet on either side of his body over the bedsheet. It's sending a burning sensation in your womb, causing you to raise your hips almost on his face. "Yeah? Want me to do it?" He takes it as a cue to push the layer of cloth between your legs aside. You shut your eyes as tightly as you can and move your face away from his view.

Standing by the bed, Akaashi softly pulls your face towards him. Abashed, you instead plant it on his stomach. With Bokuto between your legs and your face in the noiret's shirt, it becomes all too hard to focus on reality. You don't give the calloused fingers prodding your bare skin a thought, what shames you more is your traitorous body turning hotter with every second.

"Stay," he commands as if you're an animal to be tamed, "just like that and I'll make you feel so good." It sounds so taboo to you, your body hair stands erect in response. A moan slips past your lips. "Wait," before you even have time to say something, he's pushing a thick finger inside your pussy, filling the warm space without notice. You gasp loudly into Akaashi's shirt as your sensitive walls around Bokuto's fingers spasm violently.

He keeps it halted, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It would have been easier if he didn't act like he cares about this even in the slightest. The finger makes you feel full— the exact feeling of something sitting inside and when your hole involuntarily clenches, it's almost as if you can feel his skin and the ups and downs with your walls. It's just for a few seconds, but your closed eyes tick the time longer in your head.

"Pretty pussy's too fucking wet", he laughs and pushes his finger further in than your average reach. Too much— the frustratingly slow push and pull is too fucking much. He should either stop or just get it over with, because the leisurely long-drawn ministration makes you feel all of it. Few pumps later, he's adding another finger to enter you. Your moans are not the only things you are hating right now, it's the lewd clicking sounds echoing in the rather silent room, a clear sign that you feel good.

"Bokuto", you clench the bedsheet behind your back, trying to wriggle your wrist out of the tight hold, "my hand hurts, please." You must have stained Akaashi's shirt wet by how much your tears and spit keeps rolling out.

"Want me to remove it?" He questions, fingers digging in your hole erotically slow. Curling them between your sensitive spots and grinding at your reaction. "Yes. It hurts." You utter sotto voce while feeling Akaashi rub your head in slow strokes.

"Can you cum for me, baby? I'll gladly do it then." You sense Bokuto lying stomach down and getting closer between your legs, hands only leaving your body to make a comfortable position for him. He grabs your thighs to inch them apart even more lewdly, making you pull your head out of Akaashi's hands around you. You could have been there longer, at least it gave you that con feeling of being protected.

That's when the man in front of you tenderly places his tongue over your clit. You squeal from the sudden new sensation, shuddering and almost closing your legs around his head. "oh my god," his tongue hastily flicks over your nub, deliciously connecting multiple nerve endings in your pussy and stomach. It feels so obscenely good, you can't help but get an urge to feel something under your touch. Your hands tied behind makes you so frustrated, "please, untie it."

He doesn't seem to care, only focused on what he wants. Your moans change into pleasured cries as Bokuto wraps his hot lips around your clit, sucking like he expects something to come out of it. His sucks are long and hard, enough to make you shake like a possessed woman— toes twisting painfully, legs dragging over the bed, and body arching so much your hands dig into your back.

"Too much," you cry.

Bokuto chuckles against your opening and adds two long fingers into your dripping hole again. You roll your hips rapidly against his motions as you feel every hair on your skin rises at your building orgasm. Beside the bed, Akaashi leaves in a sudden hurry. Your vision is blurred, and you think your hearing is reducing to the same because even though you couldn't hear his phone ringing, in your peripheral vision he's definitely talking on it.

Bokuto doesn't spare any attention to his friend, he keeps at his prodding. It feels like you're about to pee, every time he pushes against the spongy spot, it's almost like your bladder is filled.

"Bokuto please...wanna touch you," as your body slowly gains a weird type of high, you feel scared to lose it at the same time. He grins, his eyes still in a drunken stupor, and sits up to reach behind you in haste. Must have been the pitiful look on your face. In quick seconds the numb feeling of your blood obstructed at the same spot goes away like a miracle. You purse your lips seeing your wrists raw, covered in a vague red-purplish band.

"You already becoming that dumb, baby?" He speaks near your lips, before pushing you back against the headrest and grabbing your ankles far apart. The feeling of seeing your hands being able to move, gives you a liberating feeling, almost as if you're breathing more freely.

How ironic.

In an instant, he's back at sucking your clit and pushing several fingers into your clenching hole. You shout from the sudden stretching of your walls. Did he push his entire hand in? It hurts, but not so bad when he's nursing on your nub like he's a starved baby latching to its mother. "Yesyesyes", you pull his hair at the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers mixing in your fluids. It's so lewd, it gives you shivers.

You mewl loudly, throwing your head back when Bokuto nudges your sensitive bundle of nerves with his teeth. Licking wet long stripes before biting it softly, in the meantime his fingers don't stop curling inside your pussy. You've never felt this hot and dumb-headed.

"Gonna cum," you squeal.

"Ya already got the bitch cryin' and mewlin?" suddenly there's a new voice—loud and very familiar—penetrating from the other side of the door, you know who it is. It drops a stone in your gut, heavy and painful. Swayed with pleasure for this long, you had almost forgotten what Bokuto had said earlier.

Shit, shit. You can't do this, you shouldn't let him see this. You'd rather dissolve into nothingness right now than let Miya Atsumu see you like this. His repulsive smirk crosses your thoughts constantly.

All of this conscience and yet you can't stop either. Not like you could stop the ripped man who has almost all the control over your senses too.

"Bokuto, wait." You can, at least, try.

But the chance is already gone.

Called man pinches your clit so harshly, your eyes roll back and your legs snap close against his wide shoulders. String of broken cries and moans fall out of your mouth unconsciously. You curl your fingers deeper into his scalp to support you through your spasming orgasm, there's a part of you that's pulling his hair to hurt, but Bokuto doesn't stop— between your orgasm, he's still tapping the overly sensitive nub with his thumb.

It's also the moment when the door opens and your eyes meet doom, like finding yourself standing at the edge of a mountain— you wish you were not here, but now your legs are slipping.

There's not one, but five men entering the room and almost taking up the entire space. As chill as your spine has gone, you can guarantee, it's nothing compared to what you are feeling in your stomach. Your orgasm hasn't even fully ended, you're still in the middle of crying and, now, pushing the man between your legs away.

"Shit", Atsumu mumbles under his breath. Your blood runs cold, the men in front of you make your head spin a little. This is not what you expected. "Stop," you've managed to detach the man from you, "no." You back off, pulling your dress down, but it's too late, they've already seen everything they could.

Their awfully familiar faces are disgusting. Just a few hours ago you promised to never again associate with them for your remaining college year, only to look look straight into their eyes as you came with tears rolling down. It must be the devil himself mocking you.

"You're late_" Bokuto looks at them as he grabs your ankle to massage it softly. "Wait," you loudly interrupt him. Your chest feels like it's about to cave in. Internal havoc collapsing your heart to drain down into your stomach, "listen to me."

"Shhh it's okay, I told you something, didn't I?" He pinches the skin of your ankle. It doesn't hurt, his hands are gentle, but you can't stop this feeling from rising in your throat like bile. It has captured your entire body and has left it cold and almost motionless. You're not a fighter, quite the opposite. Have always tried to flee and hide. Give up, even. But this new feeling—the urge to fight back, regardless, punch and kick possesses you like cold ocean waves-harsh and sudden.

You know what is going to happen. You know why you're here, and just the thought makes you so sick, you can't help, but try to play with your luck.

"Stop this!" You scream at Bokuto, his hands running over your skin. "Get your hands off of me now!"

When you find sudden amusement writing itself on his face, you pull your leg away from his hand with a kick to his sides, "let me go!" And you do get away from him, enough to not feel anything touching you. In the same moment, you get acknowledged by the fact that the room has gone silent, enough to make your ears ring.

But the moment is way too short for you to decipher the silence. It's one second you try to get away and achieve a speck of success and another you find yourself getting pushed into the bed by your neck-crumpled into nothingness. The weight of the volleyball player on your calves, securing your position is nauseating. You shake your body in physical agitation like a fish desperately trying to live in its last moments, doing your best to get him off you, but he's the cocky prodigy and you're someone with a shattered confidence for years.

You halt your movements and let the hot tears wet his bedsheets, "Bokuto, stop. Please, why_why are you even doing this?" You can't even hear your own words coherently.

"It's okay baby, I know you're scared," your dress is way up your thighs, even past your hip, displaying you in the room so shamelessly and you don't know if the hand soothing your bare back would ever be able to give the warmth it ever gave you, "but all of this now is going to happen because of you."

His hand slithers up your skin as you feel his torso getting closer to your back "You know how much I praised you, doll? Told them that you always listen to me, that you care about my feelings." His fingers dance along your neck as he whispers into your ear, "shit, I even told them you're such a good girl you'd obey me regardless of what I do, and this is how you act. As if I'm some monster."

"Shut up."

"I'll make you, and I'll also make you realise how much you want me," His voice is a hot breath over your sensitive skin, raising the hair on your body, "but for that, you need to stay still, or you'll compel me to do things you surely wouldn't like. You know I would hate to hurt you."

When he gets up, your legs are numb from his weight and render you unmoving from your position. As if he seems to understand your stiffness, he flips you over to meet his stoic gaze. Silver eyebrows furrowed and jaw tough. He looks like he's trying to subdue his anger.

"You're going to be good, okay?" He repeats looking directly into your eyes before he stretches your underwear's band and leaves it to pop against your skin. The burn is more sickening than embarrassing, as it was intended to be. Everything feels disgusting. Just like a bug getting crushed into goo under ignorant feet. You recall his face, smiling at you in class as you look at him now with puffed-up eyes.

"Me first," Iwaizumi speaks in between the heavy silence, running his warm hands over your thighs, causing you to jerk from the sheer abruptness of it. When you see him replacing Bokuto, you wonder if he was standing this close to the bed from the start, "always wanted to know what she has that makes her such a fucking prude." He pushes your legs apart to slot a finger over your slit, slowly bending down to meet your eyes while his knee presses down into the mattress to support him.

Hovering right atop you, his stature is intimidating— broad shoulders sculpt down into muscles that don't seem to hide behind his clothes, encompassing you under him. "Shouldn't act like this when you're so wet." He throatily chuckles when you turn your head away from him and drags his fingers over your covered hole leisurely.

He softly fixes your hair sticking to your forehead behind your ears trying to act as if he suddenly cares about you, but if he did, you wouldn't be here like this. He wouldn't be squeezing your cheeks to make you look at him. You knee him in the chest to get him off you, but his fingers wrapped around your jaw don't move an inch. Your voice is a burden in your throat— unable to process words but stifled whimpers between your scraped cords.

"You're so pretty with these red eyes tearing up. So fucking cute because you know what I'm going to do." The way he opened his mouth was like that of a viper with pointed fangs, ready to pour his venom into your blood. He parts your thighs, slithering his body closer to you. You can feel his knee grinding against your pussy.

You your tongue harshly to suppress any reaction coming out of your throat, punching his chest in the process, but he's almost unfazed. He chuckles as he gets off you and sits on the side of the bed. Feeling as if all the air enters your lungs when he does so, your head clears. It feels like a chance so get up immediately forcing your legs to fetch even an ounce of energy.

And you do. You do find yourself being quick enough to get past bokuto, but the mere fact that you cannot, in this reality, compete with even a single man present in this room, let alone all six of them. So as it should have been, with barely a small pull by your arm, Hajime sits you on his lap like you weigh nothing. You don't even feel his muscles flexing.

"Hey!," Bokuto gives you a look with his head tilted. His grim eyes remind you of his words again, but you can't focus. You can't even keep your eyes open because the way Hajime sits you on his lap, facing rest of the men, and your legs wide spread over his thighs, it's enough for you to feel like a display. An object.

"Don't you think you're way deep in this shit to be acting like that, woman?" You hear Atsumu making a comment, his voice entering your system like a sandpaper rubbing against your skin. You don't even dare open your eyes to look at him, already know he would be mocking you with those dirty lips.

Hajime slides your dress up, meanwhile, his calloused fingers running along your thighs creating a wave of shiver over your skin. You know all those 6 pairs of eyes are you on. Their breaths running harder as your legs are pulled apart more and the dress rides up around your waist.

He puts his thumb over your wet underwear, right atop your clit. Putting pressure that gradually increases. You shake your head, but he slides his head near your neck, halting your motion, his thumb creating slow circles over your nub. "Toru", he calls the setter's name near your ear, his hot breath spreading over your skin, "come here." The name makes you shout your eyes open.     

You stiffen your muscles in petrified instincts and hold Hajime's wrist. Meanwhile, the setter listens to him like he's bound to do that. In a swift, he's already kneeling between your legs on the bedside and puts his hot hands over your thighs to part them.

"No-", you shake your head and his eyes widen in horror as you push him back with your feet to his face. For a very brief moment, it makes you feel better seeing your sweaty feet on his cheeks, but it's just a fleeting moment because Hajime makes you remember what you did.

He slithers his hand up your face and makes his palm strike against your cheeks. A startling slap that make you jerk and rings in your ear. It's not harsh, but definitely painful, embarassing too. His fingers even digged into the skin of the impact area. You let out a squeak from the abruptness of it as water builds in your eyes. You immediately dig your nails into the back of his hand.

"Iwaizumi." You hear Bokuto's stern voice as he comes forward the moment you feel Oikawa's hand grabbing your ankle. "you can leave." He gets you down from his lap and you hear a string of long sighs from Hinata and Aakashi. "What the fuck was this?" Bokuto enunciates, his golden eyes widen with his angered tone,"I never said you could do this!"

Hajime's face hardens, and he rolls his eyes with a loud tsk. "Atsumu could have done worse." The mentioned guy snickers, with his tongue sticking out. "I mean you gotta keep 'em in check."

"Exactly."

The same instant you feel the bed dip around you as Bokuto gets up with his teeth gritting.

[tsumutiny]

Few things to take away about these characters after reading Gokurakugai

1. Tao is MOMMY. I don't want anyone's opinion. I've decided she's mommy and i want her. Idgaf what I have to do for it I'm serious

2. Alma! This cute baby is giving me major Itadori Yuji vibes and I'm living for it. I mean, we all love a golden retriever guy, don't we?

3. This man (I don't even know his name shit) already gives me the 'psycho killer who smiles like the sun' vibes and OMFG I WANT HIM TO KISS ME SHUT UP plus his smile is so fucking beautiful omg. Just something about hot villains in suit makes me want to run marathons.

4. DAMN JUST MARRY ME ALREADY. I don't care what he does for a living. Babe, I'm earning for you. Fuck this man gives me Yuta Okkotsu vibes jshshsjsjj

5. "_but I'm a murderer"

"I can fix you"

He's babygirl but a little too psycho to be with humans lmao

6. Oh lord Jesus imma do something I shouldn't

Thanks for listening to me.

[tsumutiny]

This video call thingy in nightbringer will be the end of me. Idk but is it just me who finds it cringe???OMGGG IT LOOKS LIKE THOSE BAD ANIMATED GAMES WHERE YOU ARE GIVEN LIFE CHOICES PLSSSSS

[tsumutiny]

Hello! I recently followed you and I was wondering if you're working on a part 2 for Fooled? I really enjoyed reading it and would love to see more of your work :) Also hope you're having a good day <3

Hi! AWWW this makes me so happy to know that you enjoyed reading it. Thank you so so much bb♡

Tbh I've been really busy these months and so updating takes longer than usual, but I swear I haven't totally gone from here. I'm working on part 2(will probably post it within this week) and some other fics too, hope you'll look forward to them too.

Have a good day too bb♡

—

Here

[tsumutiny]

please warn your fucking works properly. if it's noncon then actually say it is rather than hiding it in the tags at the bottom. not everyone wants to read that shit, especially if they don't know its non-con.

Hi anon. Yup, I understand that's a must for nsfw blogs and I always do the same. If you're mentioning this work. Tbh since it didn't have any noncon in it, I thought it'd be okay to add it in the tags because the next part was going to have it anyways.

Thanks for letting me know. I'll do the same.

[tsumutiny]

idk what just happened but I wasn't able to see 'fooled' since last night on my timeline, maybe it has something to do with tumblr's community label. Anyways I'm posting it again.