#i hate tagging so much

[cupidsworstcrime]

Virgin!Jason Todd x f!reader

inspo - @theclockonthewall

smut below the cut

contains some somno , marked with a heart banner

Jason’s mouth was hot on yours by the time you reached the hallway of his apartment. His jacket hit the floor before the door even clicked shut. He’d spent the entire evening being smooth—leaning close when you talked, his voice low and rich with promises. His hand on your thigh under the table, that cocky grin whenever you got flustered. He’d acted like he knew exactly what he was doing.

But when your back hit his bedroom door, and you whispered, “Take me to bed, Jay,” something shifted.

He hesitated.

Not in a dramatic way. He didn’t jump or pull away. He just froze for a breath too long—lips parted, his hands still on your hips, pupils blown wide.

You smiled, soft and curious. “Jason?”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah. Yeah—just…” He finally opened the door, leading you inside. The lights were dim. The air warm. His room smelled like leather and cedar and maybe a little nervousness.

You turned to face him, walking backward until your knees hit his bed. “You okay?”

Jason looked at you, then down at his hands, flexing them like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go. That cocky, sharp edge from earlier—the one that called you baby in a voice full of gravel and sin—had dulled to something… so much more raw.

“I’ve never…” he started, voice low. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks tinged with red. “I’ve never done this.”

You blinked. “Never?”

He shook his head. “All talk. I mean—I know what to do. But I just... haven’t.” He forced a breath out, almost like it hurt to admit. “Wasn’t the right time. Wasn’t the right person.”

Your heart thudded. You reached out, curling your fingers around the hem of his shirt, gently tugging him closer. “You’re doing fine, Jason.”

He met your eyes, breath shallow. “You sure?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I want you. All of you. Doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.”

His hands found your face slowly, reverently, as though you were something precious. The bravado was gone, stripped bare along with the layers of clothing that fell away.

Jason hovered above you like he was afraid to break you.

His fingers ghosted over your thighs, callused and trembling. “This okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, dark lashes casting shadows under his eyes.

You nodded, then cupped his face. “More than okay. Come here, Jason."

He kissed you again—sloppy, too eager, but you loved it. His tongue swept into your mouth like he was starved for it, and when he settled between your thighs, he let out a shaky breath that hit the hollow of your throat.

“Fuck,” he murmured, eyes darting down where your bodies met. “I… I want to do this right. I just—don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, tugging him back down to kiss his jaw. “It’s not about perfect. Just follow what feels good, yeah?”

Jason nodded like he was memorizing instructions, then reached between you both, trying to line himself up. You felt his cock nudge against your entrance, and his hand slipped once, then twice. He cursed under his breath.

“Here—let me,” you said gently, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. He stuttered out a gasp, hips twitching into your grip.

“Shit—fuck, sorry—too fast?” he panted, cheeks flushed deep red.

“No,” you said, grinning a little as you guided him to your entrance. “Just sensitive?”

Jason groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’s okay. Breathe, Jay. Go slow.”

And he did—pushing in with a gasp, your name falling from his lips like prayer. His hands gripped your hips too hard, but you didn’t mind. The stretch had him stuttering, his mouth open in awe and disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You feel—fuck, it’s warm, it’s tight—I don’t…”

He bottomed out with a broken sound and didn’t move for a moment, his chest pressed to yours, muscles trembling like a live wire.

“You okay?” you whispered, running your hands down his back.

Jason nodded slowly. “Too good. Gimme a second or I’ll—fuck—I’ll finish before I even start.”

You kissed the edge of his jaw, letting your legs wrap around his waist. “Take your time, baby. I’m right here.”

When he started moving, it was uneven. A little shallow at first, uncertain. You guided him—hands on his hips, whispering what felt good, what you liked, moaning his name when he got it just right.

And when he finally lost control, hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, he whimpered against your neck, body shaking.

“I—I didn’t mean to be so fast—I—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss. “You were perfect.”

His eyes were wide, glassy with emotion. He brushed a hand down your side like he didn’t believe you were real.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, pulling him closer. “You’re mine anyway.”

It started with a kiss—slow and searching, after he’d cleaned you up and curled into your side like he never wanted to leave.

You thought he might fall asleep right there, nuzzled into your neck. But then he shifted, pulling you closer, hands wandering again. And you could feel him growing hard against your thigh, already twitching with need.

You smiled against his cheek. “Jason…”

“I know,” he mumbled, eyes heavy, voice even heavier. “But I… I need you again.”

He didn’t even wait for you to tease. He climbed over you with new focus—less nervous this time, but still fumbling a bit, like his body couldn’t decide between collapsing or worshiping you.

His kisses were wetter now, tongue clumsy, breath warm and needy against your skin. He moaned when he slipped inside again, still sensitive, still twitching.

“Oh my God—you’re still—shit—you’re so tight, I—fuck—”

You giggled softly, running your hands through his hair. “You sure you can handle it?”

Jason groaned like it hurt. “No. Not even a little. But I want to.”

And he moved. Slow at first, then desperate, hips stuttering like he was chasing something just out of reach. You could feel the tension in his thighs, in his trembling arms as he tried to keep himself up, fighting the way his body kept jerking at every squeeze of your cunt.

“Shit, shit—too good—I’m not gonna last—oh God—wait, wait—” he gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder.

You cupped his cheeks, kissed him through it, let him rock in and out in shallow thrusts that made his breath hitch every time.

“You… you gotta finish too—” he whined, mouth dragging over your jaw. “Please—I want you to—wanna make you feel good, too—need to—”

“You are,” you whispered, your nails scratching lightly down his back. “You’re doing so good, Jason.”

He whimpered at the praise, hips grinding in a little deeper. “Can’t think—can’t—fuck, I just wanna stay here. You feel so good, baby, so warm—so wet—can’t stop, I can’t—”

You felt him starting to fall apart again, hips stuttering harder now, the sound of your bodies slick and messy, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex and his needy, filthy little whimpers.

“I’m gonna cum—I—please, I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around him. “Cum for me, baby.”

And he did—with a soft sob of your name and a frantic snap of his hips, burying himself as deep as he could go before collapsing onto your chest, body trembling from the overload.

His voice was wrecked when he mumbled, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear…”

You stroked his sweat-soaked hair. “Still got breath to talk. You’ll live.”

He kissed your shoulder, a little out of it, voice slurred. “Round three in twenty minutes?”

You laughed, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll be asleep in five.”

He was.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not just the morning light spilling through the curtains, or the soft sheets tangled around your waist—but his mouth. Hot and slow and greedy, tongue slipping against your folds like he’s been dreaming of it all night.

Your eyes flutter open with a gasp, hips instinctively shifting—and there he is.

Jason.

Curled between your legs like he belongs there, arms wrapped under your thighs to keep you open, nose pressed right against your center. His hair’s messy, dark and white strands falling into his eyes, and his expression is something between reverent and wrecked.

“Jason—” you breathe, voice still rough from sleep.

He pulls back just far enough to glance up, lips already slick. “Mornin’.”

You almost laugh, but it melts into a moan when he licks another stripe up your cunt, slow and careful, eyes fixed on your face.

“Didn’t mean to wake you yet,” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse, “just… wanted to try somethin’. Is this okay?”

“God, yes,” you manage, threading your fingers into his hair. “Best alarm clock I’ve ever had.”

He grins against you, a little crooked, a little cocky. Then he goes back in.

And for a man who claims he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he feels amazing. A little clumsy at times, but so goddamn eager, trying everything. Long, wet strokes with his tongue. A gentle suck of your clit. Light teasing, then deeper pressure, then a low groan when you start to shake.

Every time you gasp, his hands tighten on your thighs. Every moan earns another desperate lick, another experimental flick of his tongue like he’s learning your body note by note.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles into you, eyes fluttering shut like he’s in heaven. “Taste so good. Could stay here forever.”

Your hips buck at that, and he groans, the sound vibrating through your core. You just know his cock twitching against the sheets, untouched. This isn’t about him right now. It’s about you.

“Jason,” you whisper, barely hanging on, “fuck, you’re—so good at this—”

“Yeah?” He looks up again, lips shiny, eyes wild. “You’re close?”

You nod, breath hitching—and he dives back in. No hesitation. Just tongue and lips and soft, filthy little praises hummed into your skin until you're writhing, clutching his hair, shattering with a cry.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs shake.

Doesn’t stop even when you’re whining, overstimulated.

Doesn’t stop until you’re pulling at his hair and gasping his name.

He finally comes up for air, lips red and chin wet, looking absolutely ruined.

“Better than pancakes?” he asks, breathless.

You laugh, dragging him up for a kiss. “Jason Todd, you’re a goddamn menace.”

“Your menace,” he murmurs, already hard against your thigh.

You barely get the words out before Jason's hands are firm on your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn't keep you right there. There’s no teasing smile this time—just dark, heavy eyes and his cock already rubbing against your slick entrance, soaked from your release and the way he licked you clean.

"You keep lookin’ at me like that," he mutters, voice low and guttural, "and I’m not gonna last."

"Who said I want you to?"

That’s all it takes.

He snaps his hips forward and slides in hard, a deep, perfect stretch that knocks the air from your lungs. The moan that rips from your throat is almost a sob, but Jason just groans like you were made for him.

"Fuck—" His head drops to your shoulder, panting. "You’re so wet. You got me so fuckin’ hard, baby. Thought I was gonna blow just eating you out."

And then he starts moving. Really moving.

Not slow, not careful—he’s not the nervous virgin from last night anymore. He’s a man possessed now, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back in, rough and needy, hips smacking loud against your thighs. He watches the way your tits bounce, the way your nails dig into his arms, and grins.

"You like it like this?" he pants, voice breaking as he fucks into you. "This what you wanted, huh? Been so fuckin' sweet to me—teaching me—now I just wanna ruin you."

He catches one of your legs, throws it over his shoulder to go deeper, and you scream his name, vision going white.

Jason keeps talking. Filthy, frantic, his voice unsteady and wrecked.

"God, baby, you feel so good—can feel you squeezing me, fuck—fuck—you gonna cum again? You want me to fill you up?"

Your brain is static. You can’t even answer. Just nod, cry out, take it.

He leans down, mouth on your neck, biting softly as his thrusts get rougher. Sloppier. Losing rhythm.

"Shit—shit—I’m gonna—baby, I’m—"

You cum with him, clenching hard around his cock as he slams into you one last time, hips grinding as he spills inside you with a choked groan.

You’re both shaking.

Breathing hard.

He collapses on top of you, still inside, still panting.

"...so that was round four?" you gasp.

Jason chuckles, voice muffled against your skin. “God. Don’t tempt me with five.”

firm believer that after Jason's first time, he becomes an insatiable sex demon.

[gillanfryingpan]

I hate those frickin monkeys

[hilacopter]

You guys seemed to enjoy the last batch of shitposts so here are some more, fresh from the oven

Sorry for the low quality on some of these, imgflip is trash

[abyssblooded]

⠀✦✧⠀Abyss Incarnate

Abyss Incarnate — A term for those who are the Abyss embodied in flesh; the Abyss in a human/physical form; the ultimate or most extreme form of the Abyss.

Original -Incarnate flag by @cannispouse

⠀✦✧⠀Notes:

Image ID needed.

There is no one way to use or identify with this term.

This is a self-indulgent flag using my own perception of "Abyss".

Please do not repost this anywhere without my permission.

Please tell me if this has been coined before.

[alphabetboyluvr]

something borrowed | jjk

VIBES | first loves, a lil angst, a lil... infidelity (don't scream at me!!), no smut (a little teeny lips to kitty moment but no actual smut) jungkook's nose be doing things (smelling <3) cause when is it not?, mafia au

SOUNDTRACK | moth to a flame - swedish house mafia, the weekend ; mirage - elina

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) was in a tiktok hell hole of moth to a flame edits, and this is the product of it loool. posted on wp first!!

WORD COUNT |  2.8k

GLOSSARY OF TERMS | all relating to korean gangs 

Gyeongsang - the ancient name for what is now known as the Yeongnam district of Korea. It includes Daegu, Busan, Ulsan, and both Gyeongsang Provinces. It's essentially the South-East of the country.

Honam - the district of Korea which includes Gwangju and both Jeolla provinces. Essentially, it's Yeongnam's counterpart - the South-West of the country.

Pa - the term for a 'mob' in Korean, often affixed to regions or identifiers of specific gangs

Jopok - a term for someone involved in a gang 

THEY SAY you never forget your first love; that it's some sort of earth-shattering, universe-bending, life-debilitating experience. You learn from it; how to behave, how to act, how to break a heart, and - sometimes - how to heal one, too.

They're a funny thing, first loves.

Virginities are given and taken in all aspects of life; sex, declarations of affection, scathing remarks in the midst of arguments.

Jeon Jungkook has all of your firsts, and you all of his.

It had been a too-hot summer, and you'd been rebelling.

Fresh-faced, and terribly bored of the confines put in place by your father, Jungkook had seemed like a safe bet. 

Jungkook had always been a rebel. You made no change to that.

You'd gone to Busan looking for trouble. Like father, like daughter. He usually went there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies who didn't know their left from their right; to remind them that what Honam-pa may lack in their underground history, they made up for in their sheer moxie.

You'd gone there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies, too, just in the literal sense. You were on the cusp of nineteen, and still being held prisoner to Honam-pa hierarchy, or so it felt.

An easy target was found in the form of a boy skimming rocks against a settled bay. Leather jacket and a face of thunder, Jeon Jungkook had wanted nothing to do with you. Heard the tone of your dialect and knew you were one of them.

"Ain't no place for Honam bitches," he'd told you. Had made you laugh.

"And who are you?" You'd replied, voice condescending, eyes innocent. "Too scrawny to be Jopok."

He had smirked. Shook his head. "Yeah, and you're too vapid to be asking questions like that in a city that ain't yours." The pebble he sent hurtling into the ocean skipped once, twice, three times before sinking. He turned to look at you. Sighed. Figured you were at least a little bit more interesting than pebbles. "What's your name, Honam?"

As you stand in front of a mirror, seven years since that summer, you know Jeon Jungkook will be getting all of your lasts, too.

You're smoothing down a dress; white, lace, and everything a girl dreams of.

Well, everything a girl who wants a traditional wedding with all the bells and whistles wants.

You've always considered yourself an elopement kind of girlie; last-minute charity shop dress for you, and second-hand tie for your groom, in a city worlds away from 'home'. That's what you would have liked.

But you're Honam's Princess. 

This was always gonna be the way.

You'd never expected yourself to have a Gyeongsang-pa groom, but sometimes life works out in funny ways.

"It's bad luck," you say quietly as Jungkook approaches the doorway. It's a little before noon. Nuptials are at two. You've sent away your ladies in waiting, favouring these final moments alone.

"To see the bride?" he questions. He's not even started getting ready yet. Still in a pair of sweats and an old shirt that you remember from that very first summer. You wonder if he's wearing it deliberately now; if it makes him feel like he's young again.

He'd been so fresh-faced back then. His broad back hadn't yet been tarnished by a dragon, and his eyes had seen far less violence. His hands, too.

You nod. "Remember? I told you. You shouldn't see the bride on the morning of the ceremony."

Jungkook just shrugs. Pushes the door to, and walks further into the room to stand behind you. It's warm, but his presence gives you chills. It shouldn't do. Not when you know him as intimately as you do.

His fingers reach up to toy at the vintage clasp of your necklace. He asks, "Something old?"

You're silent as you study him in the mirror. He's not aged a day. Not really. Not in his eyes. The scar on his cheek looks a little deeper from his face filling out, and he wears his hair differently - he doesn't subscribe to the Gyeongsang-pa standard of short sides, long top anymore - but his eyes are just the same.

"Something old," you nod.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and lets the very tips of his fingers trail down your spine, until they reach the fabric of your dress.

"Your Grandmothers," he says. "I remember it."

You don't hide your surprise.

"What?" he smirks, when he notices the tiny little hum of confusion you do. "Was that first summer. You left it in my car once. Was karma for you chatting shit about your sister inheriting the opal ring."

"It was too small for her fingers!" you immediately protest, still standing by the fact it would have been cherished by you - though you do have an opal ring, now. 

It normally sits snug on your fourth finger, awaiting a dainty silver band to keep it company, but it's off today. Symbolic. Your wedding band is to be threaded on first, held in place by your opal forevermore.

"The necklace suits you," he offers. 

Thinks it really does; a small silver chain, links twisted with a single teardrop pearl resting on your chest. It goes back generations. Is a status symbol. Losing it in Jungkook's car had left you terrified for you both, no matter who would have found it - Gyeongsang-pa goonies or Honam-Pa. Would have been fucked either way. Fraternizing with the enemy was one thing - but fucking them?

Your father would have had Jungkook's head on a butcher's block within an hour of finding out.

Funny, how things change.

He strides over to the dresser, where a white shoe box sits open. Tissue paper sprouts from the packaging, and nestled inside are a pair of heels that he thinks are befitting of you. They're white, to match your dress, with ornate silver leaves trailing up and around the heels. You'll be a good few inches taller with them on, but he'd still dwarf you if he were to stand across from you.

A little taller than he was that very first summer, Jungkook is far more confident, too. Not in a brash, false bravado kind of way, but in such a way that he's learned his worth. Knows where he is in the pecking order. Works so much harder than you ever will, and yet will never be of equal status. Not in Honam Pa, not in Gyeongsang-Pa.

He sits on the chair beside the mirror and holds a shoe in each palm. His legs are spread, smile arrogant, as he taps the shoes together.

"Something new?"

"Careful," you say, not looking at him, tweaking a little bit of your hair back. "Yes. Something new."

He raises one of shoes, and nods to where the skirt of your dress pools on the floor. "May I?"

"Shouldn't even see-"

"See the bride, yeah, yeah, I know," he says softly. "Next time I see you, you're gonna be one of us. Let me at least spend a little time with you while you're still Honam."

"You've always hated that I'm Honam," you remind him.

He doesn't deny it.

"Just let me help you get ready for your party," he says, stern but gentle. He's always been like that with you.

He calls it a party, because he refuses to call it a wedding. Wedding is too romantic. Too foreboding.

You don't want to smile. He's so abrasive at times, so frustrating. You wonder how you ended up here; eyes full of adoration as you nod. "Alright then, Prince Charming."

You lift your leg just a little bit, but Jungkook knows your body, so doesn't give it a second thought as he reaches down to leverage it up. He strokes at your ankle, the heel of your foot, the arch. Smiles to himself when you shudder a little when his fingers ghost across the tiny ticklish section.

"Don't," you smile. "I'll fall."

He just shrugs. "I'll catch you."

That's the thing about Jungkook; he always does. Trusty, dependable, reliable. 

Sure, maybe occasionally he would be the one to tie your laces, but he would always catch you.

You've no laces on now. Any falling? All of your own doing.

Jungkook doesn't let the sentiment linger. Asks, "Something blue?"

You look down at him as he slides the second shoe onto your other foot, and wonder if showing him really will be pushing your luck - but hey.

He's already seen the bride.

What harm would it do if he sees a little more?

He holds on to your ankle for longer than he really should. Strokes his thumb across the top of your foot. Smiles. You press the pad of your now-heeled foot into the tiny space between his spread legs, keeping it elevated, and give him a look that grants him permission to explore.

Both of his hands stroke up your raised leg, smooth and silky, the fabric of your dress moving to reveal what's hidden beneath. He reaches your knee. Leans forward a little. Presses those lips you know so well against your skin. Keeps stroking upwards, hands spreading across your thighs before reaching a roadblock. Chiffon and lace intertwined, a baby blue garter is hooked around your leg.

Jungkook's lips trail from the top of your knee to just shy of the material that stopped him from venturing further.

"Something blue," you whisper.

He nods. Lets his nose rest against it. You've sprayed it with your perfume. He fucking loves your perfume. You've been wearing the same one since he met you, and it always gets him a little heated at times he shouldn't be. 

Isn't his fault though. He thinks you conditioned him. 

And yeah, maybe you had sprayed it in his car vents on more than one occasion, and maybe you had deliberately layered a pheromone-infused oil beneath it that entire first summer. Not your fault he happened to like it a little too much. Not his fault the scent always takes him back to those stolen moments with you.

Jungkook's teeth sink into the material. Draw it back. Let it ping against your skin.

"Kook," you whisper, as if your hands aren't in his hair.

His hands push further up your legs. Both of them, now. They reveal the lacey white underwear you purchased especially for the big event. It's a matching set.

"Thank God it's not a Church wedding," he husks, a sigh exhaling. His breath tantalisingly chills your now-wet folds. So inconvenient. "You'd burn the second you stepped inside."

Jungkook's lips trail further. Leave little evidence. He's learned how to do that over the years. Has left no traces of himself, well, ever.

There's hustle and bustle in the garden out of the rear window. A traditional-style wooden screen preserves your dignity; hides your Gyeongsang-pa goonie from sight.

The venue wasn't your choice. It's Gyeongsang territory, for a start. Your father had said it would be good. Would help with the treaty. Very little about your 'party' has been planned by you. Like most of your life, your father has an iron vice on proceedings.

Your underwear was the one thing you had total control over. Had even considered wearing none at all, as a bit of a 'fuck you'.

Jungkook pauses. Takes in the sight of you. Grips the flesh of your upper thighs. Curses to himself. 

It feels like he's staring at your lace-covered cunt for an eternity before his lips finally press against it. Your grip in his hair tightens.

You'll need to change your underwear before you walk down the aisle. That's fine. This underwear was never intended for anything other than this, regardless.

Because while yes, the groom shouldn't see the bride ahead of the ceremony, it's not like that matters here. Jungkook was always going to see you before the wedding.

His lips are slow as he withdraws, and simply says, "Something borrowed."

The implication is heavy; heart-stopping. Cataclysmic.

"By you?" You whisper, as his deep dark eyes meet yours.

He looks so pretty in defeat. It pains you - but you both know this is the least painful outcome for you both.

Jungkook shakes his head. Let your dress gather by the floor. Smooths it over. Reclines into his chair.

"By Min fuckin' Yoongi."

Neither of you speak for a moment. Hearing his name, especially uttered from Jungkook's lips, makes your blood run cold. For so long, you've avoided the topic.

It's impossible, now.

See, it doesn't matter if Jungkook sees you before the ceremony.

He's not your groom.

Yoongi is.

He's your counterpart; the son of the Gyeongsang-pa King. A marriage born out of a sacred treaty between the gangs; the promise that together they'll obliterate Sudogwon's unruly mobs that have been making their way south in recent years.

"It's not too late," Jungkook whispers.

But it is, and you both know it. You've come too far to back out now.

Negotiations have been made. Peace treaties signed. Deals across clans finalised.

You're Honam's Princess, but one day you'll be Gyeongsang-pa's Queen.

Jungkook will only ever be a pauper chasing after the big boys.

So you'll say your vows and exchange your rings, and Jungkook won't object.

He'll sit quietly, like a good boy should, and watch you seal your fate.

Will watch Min Yoongi slide a wedding band onto your ring finger.

Will smile to himself when notices your engagement ring holding it in place a few months from now.

Will remind himself of the old tales that go hand in hand with opal engagement rings. If the legends are anything to go by, you'll be a widow within four years. He can wait that long. Has waited far longer, already.

And if, by four years, his time still hasn't come?

Kings can be overthrown. Jungkook is as Jopok as they come. He'll fight dirty.

For you?

He thinks he'll fight to the death.

"You're too good for Gyeongsang," he tells you, neck stretched, the crown of his head resting between his shoulder blades. You're scratching at his hair, looking at him.

With a smile, you shrug. "I'll still be Honam. For you, I'll be Honam."

Jungkook nods. Closes his eyes. Leans into your touch.

"My Honam girl," he says quietly, and it makes you wish that you had just run away with him that very first summer. You'd suggested it after you first thought you had lost your necklace. Thought it would be the only way to keep one another safe - until Jungkook found it between the seats.

You'd thanked the God that you don't believe in at the time. Clutched the necklace over your heart, head tipped to the heavens, all while Jungkook looked only at you. Lucky, he'd said, unaware that it was the worst possible outcome for you both.

You should've run.

Should've fuckin' run.

"Go," you whisper, knowing it's too late for any of that now. "We've got a party to attend, and you can't show up in a pair of sweats."

He likes that you don't call it a wedding, either. Nods. Also knows he can't be caught sneaking from your room. There'd be hell to pay.

Jungkook gets to his feet. Kisses your cheek. Tell you how pretty you look. Slowly walks to the door, then turns to look at you one final time. Spares you from a final remark that could make you feel even worse about the situation.

"Kook?" You call, just because you can't bear to let him leave. Not yet. It's too soon.

He hums a response. Doesn't open the door just yet. Waits for you to speak.

"I wish we never met."

Jungkook looks at his feet. Smiles. Nods. 

"Me, too, babe."  And then, just because he needs it to be known, "I love you."

You don't turn to face him.

"I love you, too."

[iambadatsocializing]

Sooooo I was messing with (writing) prompt generators annddddd

RUIKASA????? THAT YOU???

Idk about you, but it gives me major ruikasa vibes?

This was the first one to show up as well

Generator

[maydayintheforest]

You know what,,, I’m in a good mood, will be taking stex and/or ninjago doodle requests

Ships are fine as long as they’re not Lloyd x any of the main five ninja or Harumi !! Nothing explicitly nsfw

[cinnamon-st1ckz]

what do you think

[jingaling0]

congratulations, Damien!

why are we congratulating Damien again

[conniesanchor]

𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖑

ik i have a million requests to work on rn, but this is the only way im going to get out of my writing slump, so enjoy.

summary: peter shows up bloody and bruised, and you’ll always be there to help him.

you were used to peter coming through your window. he was your boyfriend, and you loved him. you just didn't love when he showed up covered in blood. not because you hated what he did, you loved how selfless he was.

gently tapping on your window (with the rhythm he always used in order to not scare you), he smiled at you when you noticed him. rushing over to let him in, you saw the bruises that were normally across his torso, were on his face this time. when you opened the window, he immediately fell into you. his head in your shoulder and his arms around your waist.

"pete, baby. let's go to the bathroom, get you all cleaned up." you grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom. you pushed him to sit on the toilet and then opened the medicine cabinet to get some neosporin you got, especially for him, because you know that he hates the alcohol.

peter rarely talked when you were cleaning him up. this time was different, though, neither or you knew why, but you knew it was different. "im sorry, honey," he started. "i know how this makes you feel all the time and if you never want me to go back out there, i won't."

you paused, lifting his chin up so he was looking at you, "peter, i love you. okay? all of you. your selfishness, your love for this city, all of it. i love what you do," you mumbled. "nothing will ever change that. i hate it when you get hurt, but that doesn't mean i want you to stop doing what you love."

"i love you more than i love saving people."

smiling, you resumed your previous actions, "and im very glad, but im not going to make you choose, okay?" he nodded. "suit off, please."

even in his state of exhaustion, he still found it in himself to smile at the request, "you first."

"in your dreams, parker." he didn't move, though. leaving you to peel the spandex from his body. "stay there," you spoke gently, moving to go get him clothes. when you returned, his eyes were open. he had retreated from his previous spot on the toilet to now where he was standing in front of the mirror.

you could see the look of defeat in his eyes. the way they looked at the scars that were spread across his torso. your heart broke every time you saw him like this. "baby? wanna get some clothes on?"

the boy turned his head, almost as if you scared him. he nodded, taking the sweatpants you got him. seeing the way he looked at himself in the mirror, you wished you would've gotten him a shirt too. "i’ll go get you a tank top too, okay?"

he shook his head rather quickly, "it's okay." short, flat.

"okay. wanna come to bed? or do you wanna eat something first?"

"bed, please."

you smiled, grabbing his hand and leading him to your already made bed. lifting the covers so he could slide into them, you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. you ran your hand through his hair before retreating to your side of the bed and covering yourself up. peter immediately pulled your head into his chest.

even when he was hurting, he still wanted to hold you. when you tried to return the favor, he would shake his head and kiss your hairline.

"i love you, spidey."

"i love you more."

[alittlerainandroses]

[cupidsworstcrime]

stalker!kyle going through reader's things and finding her sketchbook, only to realize they are full of drawings of him.

-🛸

Oh em gee.... <333

He didn’t mean to find them.

Well—he didn’t mean to find them tonight. He’s been through your apartment before, always careful, always surgical. He’d comb through your drawers, your laundry, your laptop, your books—devouring every thread of your life like it was scripture. But the sketchbooks? They were stacked in a milk crate, barely hidden under your bed. Not exactly locked away.

He opens the first one with idle curiosity and stills.

The first few pages are abstract—warm-ups, maybe. But then there’s a profile sketch. Sharp brow. Cropped hair. A beard he doesn’t have anymore but used to.

His breath catches.

Another page: him, again. Closer this time. The ink captures a furrow in his brow he’s only ever seen in his reflection. The precision—the obsession—is uncanny.

He flips faster now, frantic, as more of him fills the pages. Some drawings are from behind. From across the street. From places you shouldn’t have had unless you were watching him before you even knew his name.

Some are dated—months before he ever spoke to you. Before he accidentally bumped into you at the café. Before he saved you from that creep in the alley. Before you ever let him into your life.

Kyle sits back on his heels, the sketchbook trembling in his grip.

You’ve been watching him.

You saw him first.

And fuck—it does something to him. Makes his pulse spike. Makes his stomach flip in this sick, intimate way.

All this time, he thought he was the predator.

But now? Now he’s not so sure.

[ieatpastaatnight]

Finally starting to replace some of my placeholder assets with some actual art...

[cupidsworstcrime]

Soap’s never been one to back down from a challenge, especially not one as filthy and flattering as this.

Simon’s lounging back on the hotel room’s couch, jaw wired shut and bruised to hell, watching with dark eyes while you squirm under Johnny’s mouth. He’d insisted on staying—said he couldn’t stand to miss it, even if he couldn’t do anything but grunt approval and adjust his sweats.

Soap’s palms are firm on your thighs, holding you open like he’s been given a sacred duty. “Told me it was a goddamn emergency,” he murmurs into your skin, hot breath making you twitch. “Didn’t think Ghost meant it literally.”

He laps at you slow and thorough, like he’s got something to prove. Every flick of his tongue is deliberate, practiced. When you whine his name, hips jerking up, you swear you hear Simon groan around his bite guard.

Later, when you’re wrecked and boneless across the bed, Simon scribbles something on a notepad and holds it up.

“Next time, I’m watching from under you.”

saw a video on tiktok of a guy wearing a shirt that said “eat your girl out or i will” and immediately thought of soap. would definitely take him up on that offer.

You know not exactly what you said but that’s making me imagine Simon, getting his jaw broken severely on a mission, contracting Soap to eat you out while he heals cause he “cant stand the thought of pussy that sweet going uneaten”

[cloud-ya]

outcast of the village

[everwalldigan]

Dick, on the phone with Roy: I just think that Bruce actually hates me and doesn’t stand to be around me ever

Bruce, standing behind him wearing nightwing socks, nightwing cap, nightwing pants, “father to worlds best son” t-shirt, trying to hide a huge reprint of a picture of him and Dick he brought for Dicks new apartment behind his back: