#thotbubbles

[exquisink]

Imagine hating on me but i spend my free time maladaptive daydreaming about getting raw dogged by fictional men

[yanderejustforyou]

LET THE WORLD BURN

Geto suguru x reader

apart of my Sick and Twisted playlist

Worship, Dark romance

Dont mind me just getting some thoughts on paper - just got into jjk and i want to write something idk yet but heres something.

The heavy, humid air of the Shibuya back alley usually carried the scent of stale cigarettes and urban rot, mixed with the bitter tang of curses hanging thick like soggy rags soaked in bile. Suguru stood still, eyes closed, tracing the faint, restless spirits drifting near the corner like threads of smoke.

Then you stepped into the frame, and everything shifted.

His alpha instincts flared without warning, a primal recognition that sent electricity through his veins. Beta. Pure, untainted beta.

It wasn't a sound, not even a sight. It was your scent that unmistakable beta soft, sweet, smell like crushed peony petals kissed by the first drops of rain that made his alpha blood sing. It cut through the stale decay of the alley and wrapped around him like a claim. His pupils dilated. His chest tightened. Every nerve ending in his body screamed recognition, possession, mine. The relentless, gray noise of his life—the endless "LET THE WORLD BURN" static—was sliced through by one simple, clear frequency: you.

His eyes opened slowly, finding you, your brow furrowed with tender worry, your small hands clutching a paper bag of groceries you’d insisted on bringing him.

“Suguru,” you said quietly, voice low and soft, edged with concern. “You shouldn’t be out here in the rain. Come inside.”

He didn’t move. His gaze was locked, caught in the quiet gravity of you. He was deep in it. Deep into you.

He let you lead him beneath the awning, let you fuss over the damp cuffs of his white robes. Stoic on the surface, he watched as you pulled a small thermos from the bag and held it out.

"I made your favorite tea," you whispered. "It’s still warm."

He took it. The ceramic was warm, steadying. He sipped.

It wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t the sludge he expected. It was sharp, floral jasmine, bursting sweet and clear on his tongue, a taste he hadn’t known he’d missed. The sensation hit him so hard his hand trembled.

He stared at the tea, the conflict plain on his face, thankful for the kindness, but tangled in something darker. The world was a weight, full of poison and rot, but this moment was different. It was a reminder of something fragile and alive.

He met your eyes, dark and deep.

"Thank you," he said, voice low and rough, sincerity threading through the words.

For years, Suguru’s world had been nothing but rot and bile. Every curse tasted like a rag wiped across vomit, the very essence of the “monkeys” he was meant to protect.

Then there was you.

Watching you smooth the damp fabric of his robes. You didn’t smell like fear, or greed, or decay. You smelled like peony petals and rain—a sanctuary he never thought he deserved but would never let go.

Is it in you? Are you into it? He was hooked caught in a worship so twisted it felt like salvation.

When he drank the tea you offered, the world cracked open. For the first time in forever, no residue of filth remained. The jasmine was pure, a sharp sweetness that felt like a holy rite. His sanity was anchored to the girl standing in the rain.

“You’re the only thing that doesn’t taste like a lie,” he thought, his stoic mask slipping as he saw your eyes fill with that soft, painful worry.

If he had to watch the world burn to keep this one spark alive, he’d light the match himself.

The jasmine’s sweetness still lingered when the basement door creaked open behind him. He didn’t look back; he knew your heartbeat by now, steady and familiar. But today, it was frantic, staccato with terror.

You stood frozen. On his mahogany desk lay maps of Shibuya, smeared with harsh red ink, and jars filled with shriveled, monstrous remains, the trophies of his harvest. You’d finally seen the blueprint of his “perfect world”—a mountain of monkey corpses.

“Suguru...” your voice cracked, thin and fragile. “What is this?”

He turned slowly, calm like a god presiding over a funeral.

“It’s salvation,” he said, voice smooth and low.

You stepped back, dropping the grocery bag. An orange rolled across the floor, bright and cruel. You turned to run, lungs burning for air, for anything but him.

But the door didn't just close. It dissolved into swirling black shadows. Before you could scream, he was there tall, blocking out the light. His alpha presence crashed over you like a tidal wave, suffocating and absolute. The air itself seemed to thicken with his pheromones dark, intoxicating, laced with the metallic edge of his power. Your beta body responded before your mind could resist, muscles going pliant, breath catching in your throat.

He caught your wrists, pinning them to the door with inhuman strength, but his touch was sickeningly gentle. His forehead pressed to yours, and he inhaled deeply—that peony-and-rain scent of your fear mixing with your natural beta calmness. It made him dizzy. Made him ravenous.

"Where do you think you're going?" he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, that peony-and-rain scent like a lifeline against the rot in his mind. "You're the only thing stopping me from setting it all ablaze. You're mine to keep."

"You’re a monster," you sobbed, shrinking away.

His eyes darkened, a flash of raw, unhinged pain flickering before settling back into worshipful stillness. He sank to his knees, still holding your hands, burying his face against your stomach.

A king kneeling before his altar.

"Then be a monster’s goddess," he choked out, grip tightening just enough to erase escape. "I’ve got my taste back. I’ll burn every last one of them before I let you leave."

Do you try to reach the last shards of his humanity, or play along, hunting a way out?

Your breath came uneven, chest tight, heart slamming against your ribs—but your mind… your mind was still working.

Even now.

Even with his forehead pressed to you. Even with his grip tightening.

The scream died in your throat, replaced by cold, precise calm.

You didn’t fight him.

Not physically.

That would be useless.

Instead, your hands still trapped in his shifted just slightly. Not pulling. Not resisting. Just… existing in his hold.

Your voice, when it came, was shaky—but not breaking.

“…Suguru.”

His name. Soft. Grounding. Familiar. He stilled. Just barely, but you felt it. The smallest pause in the storm.

You swallowed, forcing your breathing to slow, forcing your body not to react the way his presence demanded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

Not a lie.

Not the truth either.

Something in between.

Something survivable.

His grip loosened just a fraction. His head tilted up slowly, dark eyes searching your face like he was trying to carve the moment into memory.

“You’re afraid,” he murmured. You didn’t deny it.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

Honesty. Just enough to keep him anchored. His expression twisted pain, devotion, something unsteady flickering beneath the surface.

“But you’re still here,” he said, almost like he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded slowly.

“I’m still here.”

His breath hitched.

That was the opening.

You shifted slightly closer not enough to trigger him, just enough to guide. Your free hand (because he had loosened just enough) came up hesitantly, resting against his sleeve.

Not affection.

Not submission.

Control.

“You said I’m the only thing stopping you,” you murmured.

His eyes sharpened. Focused. Hooked.

“I can’t do that if you trap me,” you added softly.

There it was.

Not defiance.

Not rejection.

Logic. Framed as devotion.

He froze.

But then his jaw clenched, the iron resolve hardening like stone.

“No,” he said, voice cold and final, stripping away the fragile hope you’d offered. “There is no getting through to you. Not this time.”

His hands tightened around your wrists, not with anger, but with desperate need an anchor against the abyss threatening to swallow him whole. His eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding light.

“To keep my sanity,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “I’m not letting you go.”

The air thickened, the shadows pressing in as his presence overwhelmed you, a prime alpha's unbreakable will fused with Suguru’s dark power. You felt the weight of his claim, suffocating yet impossible to deny.

Your breath caught, heart pounding fiercely against his grip.

He moved like lightning, faster than thought, faster than fear.

One moment you were standing, wrists caught in his desperate grip. The next, he'd yanked you forward with inhuman strength, spinning you so your back crashed against his chest. His arm locked around your waist like an iron band, crushing you to him, and his other hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head to the side with brutal efficiency.

Your neck—exposed. Vulnerable. Offered.

"Mine," he growled, the word barely human, and then his teeth sank into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

The pain was white-hot a searing, tearing agony that ripped a scream from your throat. His canines, sharp, longer and crueler with alpha biology, punctured skin and muscle with surgical precision. You felt the exact moment they broke through felt the hot rush of blood welling up, spilling down your collarbone in thin rivulets. The metallic taste of copper flooded the air between you.

But worse than the pain was what came after.

The cascade.

Your beta body recognized the claim before your mind could process it. A shockwave of pheromones exploded from the bite site his alpha scent pouring directly into your bloodstream, marking you from the inside out. It hit like a drug, like drowning, like falling. Your pupils dilated so wide the room blurred into shadow. Your knees buckled, and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.

No. No. Fight it.

But your body didn't listen.

Your scent shifted involuntarily, that peony-and-rain sweetness flooding the air with a new note: claimed. Sweeter. Richer. Laced with his dark, smoky alpha musk until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. Your heart rate slowed, syncing to his. Your breathing deepened, matching the rhythm of his chest against your back.

Surrender. Chemical. Absolute.

He groaned against your neck, a sound of pure, feral satisfaction, and bit down harder. You felt his tongue lap at the blood, tasting you, sealing the wound with his saliva another layer of the claim, another biological lock snapping into place.

His alpha pheromones intensified, darkening from smoky cedar to something almost black, thick and intoxicating and utterly possessive. It wrapped around you like chains made of scent, drowning you until all you could smell was him.

"Perfect," he rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and reverent. "You taste like salvation."

[exquisink]

oh suguru knows you love it deep.

his cock is just the right fit for you. thick enough for your spongy walls to fit so snugly around it while you suck him in needfully. long enough to brush against your g-spot with just the slightest nudge. sometimes he brings out those ribbed condoms you love so much for the extra texture (or the extra torture, pick your poison). sometimes he just lets his cock sit in there for hours while you adjust, sighing contentedly like the perfect little slut you are for him and only him.

"please, deeper," you moan, mouthing at his jaw. he chuckles.

"anything for you," he purrs, tip of his veiny cock brushing against that right spot as he jerks his hips just a bit. it doesn't take him much work to make you feel good. really making you feel good takes no work at all; if it's work then that would mean it's a chore and this is far from that for him. this is practically therapeutic for him. a necessary asset to his daily routine lest he spirals out of control from any of his typical stressors. you calm him. you ground him.

you need this just as much as he does and he's much obliged.

[exquisink]

18+

you can’t be convinced that satoru gojo is anything other than some unhinged hormonal schoolboy when it comes to you.

the slightest things turn him on. you chew on your hair while you’re working? bedroom time. you make him a snack? bedroom time, you’re the snack he prefers anyway. you wear the baggiest outfit? bedroom time. sees you in your bed hair? yeah you guessed it, morning sex. you look lost in thought while doing chores? aw fuck yeah bedroom time

you wear your apron? do you even have to say it anymore? gojo’s sex drive is through the roof 24/7 365, and you don’t hate it, of course you don’t, but damn the least he can do is make sure you still have feeling in your legs (and by extension the rest of your body) by the time he’s finished with you—

[exquisink]

*dreamy sigh* 18+

handsy gojo pushing you against him and making you rub his erection through his slacks.

handsy gojo trailing his fingers up your thighs during lectures.

handsy gojo fondling your cute breasts and pinching your cute little nipples. sometimes biting them through your shirt.

handsy gojo nosing into your neck, inhaling your favorite perfume, nipping your supple skin and leaving little marks behind he hopes you don’t cover up with makeup.

handsy gojo grinding his knee into your clothed pussy until you’re wet and needy and leaking through.

handsy gojo pushing your ass into his lap when you’re wearing those tight leggings he loves so much, making you grind, baby, grind.

[exquisink]

18+, f!reader, fingering (f!receiving), references to choking

geto has noticed a small habit of yours… maybe it’s in his head, but he finds your gaze landing on his fingers during some of the most mundane parts of the day. probably zoning out. probably daydreaming. you have casually mentioned that you love his skinny, veiny hands, and he can’t for the life of him understand why. sometimes he catches you tracing the visible veins on his hand and wrist and all he does is observe. wondering what in the world you must be envisioning in that pretty (filthy) mind of yours. then again, who is he to complain when his girl finds the smallest things about himself to compliment him on? he hasn’t thought twice about them before.

but when things begin to pick up in your relationship, that’s when the pieces of the puzzle click together in his mind. yes, he has long, slender fingers… so perfect to stuff your tight little cunt with, you’ve said out loud without thinking once, and is that why he has occasionally seen you drool at the thought of being stuffed with them?

the furthest he’s gone is two of his fingers knuckles deep, but what of three? four?

it gets even better when he takes his free hand, gliding it up your stomach and torso until it cinches around your neck, and you practically keen.

“fuck, that’s so hot,” you babble as his hands constrict around your neck, but it’s snug, not tight.

“and you’re perfect,” geto replies. even if he doesn’t get it, it turns you on, and that’s all that matters

[exquisink]

f!reader, grinding, pining gojo, possessiveness

thinking about… you being utterly oblivious to what you do to gojo. he has always had it bad for you and in his head, he thinks there’s absolutely no way you can’t tell. he doesn’t hide it. it’s obvious to literally everyone else practically ad nauseam. but you don’t know. it infuriates him that you don’t know that just you glancing his way sends his body on overdrive. you don’t know that the sweet sound of your laugh shoots him all the way to cloud nine, especially if he’s the cause.

you don’t know, that night of your birthday party with everyone at a huge night club he is kind enough to pay for, that the way you move awakens every part of his body. makes his dick so fucking hard he has to tuck himself away into a dark corner because these leather jeans he chose to wore do NOT hide a damn thing. yet you persist, swaying those gorgeous hips of yours to the bass of the song reverberating through the lively room, capturing the eyes of various men he wishes he can hollow purple for daring to look.

because goddammit even if you don’t know it yet, you’re his, and you should be dancing for—with—him. only HIM.

he makes a beeline for you the moment he catches an opening, pulling you into him, your back flush against his front. a light gasp leaves your plump, juicy lips because you can feel something hard brush against your thigh, and a large, calloused hand slides dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“why don’t you dance for me, princess?”

his arms cage protectively around the dip of your waist; his nose brushing along the curve of your neck, inhaling your perfume—fuck—

“—all you had to do was ask, satoru.”

“you don’t know what you’re offering,” he growls into your ear, punctuating each word.

you grind your hips into his growing hardness, and he chokes on a gasp.

“don’t i?” you mumble, “stop torturing yourself.”

[exquisink]

yandere gojo, obsessive gojo, batshit crazy gojo is the best flavor of gojo

satoru “i can’t take a fucking hint” gojo who takes your “you’re not my type” as an invitation to keep pursuing you because he finds your feeble “resistance” to his irresistible charms oh so adorable

satoru “i can’t take a fucking hint” gojo who makes a point to spam your phone with thousands of texts and voice memos and videos of him waxing poetic about you, or jerking it to photos of you he's taken without you knowing. he's thinking it might sway you but all it does is make you bite your cheek so hard while debating blocking him but you know that’s not going to stop someone this fucking annoying.

satoru “i can’t take a fucking hint” gojo who shoos away any potential competitors and you are aware of it. annoyed to literal tears because you seriously do not want to date this guy who thinks he’s some hot shot in his world. you just want to go about your damn business yet here he is shooting daggers and yet another suitor who just wants to take you out on a proper date. but on the night of said date the man has mysteriously disappeared/fallen off the map… hmmm, who’s the culprit you wonder?

satoru “i can’t take a fucking hint” gojo who takes your “i have half a mind to call the police” as a means to challenge your boundaries even MORE. all “and what are they going to do? Cells can’t keep me away from you~”

satoru “i can’t take a fucking hint” gojo who breaks into your home and ties you up to your bedpost, smirking playfully as he secures a choker around your neck. “tired of waiting, princess. i want to play.”