#promises are important to ghosts :)

[little-pondhead]

I’m Not The Sun

—

Y'know, when Kon ��died’, do you think a grieving Tim could have mistaken Danny for his best friend? Do you think that, in a moment of desperation and exhaustion, he might've kidnapped a floating Danny in an attempt to bring Kon home? And when he realized he kidnapped a random civilian, do you think he still kept Danny for a while as a replacement for Kon?

Do you think Danny got tired of being called 'Conner' after the first week but was too distressed himself to correct Tim? Trying to leave or tell the fellow teen his name was Danny was obviously sending the kid into a spiral. He seemed to think Danny was the dead spirit of his best friend. Maybe if he played along, this Conner guy would show back up?

Hopefully, before Tim completes his cloning research. Danny's been doing everything he can to sabotage the equipment, but even with ghost powers on his side, Tim is a smart person. Every time Danny sets him back one step, Tim takes two steps forward. And since he's well outside of his haunt, Danny is starting to feel weak and ill from lack of ectoplasm. He's running out of time.

Do you think Kon would feel upset that his best friend replaced him?

[multishipper-baby]

Not publishing the ask yet because I want to reply with the playlist but I have to comment on it because

Anon. You just gave the biggest neuron activation.

IT'S 2 AM. BUT HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP WHEN I'M THINKING ABOUT THEM.

[the5n00k]

Hey so uh I was watching all night plight again... 💔

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

You know the more I think about it, the more you don’t… have to be doomed by the narrative.

Even if you’re the hero.

Even if you can’t stay.

Barring being stuck in a time loop, if you can’t stay and you have to go- then by all means, go.

Get.

Get while the getting is good.

But you don’t have to stay gone.

You can come back.

You can come back or forward or sideways or slantways or any type of ways you can imagine.

You don’t have to be the lonely hero.

You can choose to return to the people who care about you.

Claire Bennet said it best in 2007-

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[miqotepotatoe]

A Forgotton Soul

[ghostickle]

All the schools in my area let out for the summer like a week or two ago and it’s just making me realize more/over again that I didn’t get a graduation or prom or a senior year at all I didn’t get those senior hoodies or grad bash no senior pranks and maybe I wasn’t like super into school spirit or anything but I still hate that I had to miss out on these life events that everyone else gets and like you spend years looking forward to prom and graduation only for your entire senior year to not even happen

[kkusuka]

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

[luvbabydoll]

a bunny and a wolf — simon “ghost” riley

wolf hybrid simon riley x bunny hybrid female reader

warnings: 18+ content!!! possessiveness, breeding kink, unprotected sex, primal / hunting kink?

a/n: credit to @issysh3ll for the divider (not proofread sooo be warned!!!)

a bunny and a wolf—pretty ironic, right?

the two animals were supposed to be natural enemies, the wolf hunting while the bunny tried to hide. usually, it would end the same way: the wolf would sniff out the bunny, catch it’s tail in its mouth, and, before you knew it, the bunny would become its next meal.

although that may be the way nature intended? nature most definitely doesn’t always follow its own rules. a prime example: simon “ghost” riley and his baby bunny.

and yes, simon was well aware of the rather odd dynamic, but he couldn’t help himself—he was drawn to that little creature. and, of course, simon never tried to eat his baby bunny. well… not in the way nature intended. he would eat her out until her tail would twitch repeatedly, but it never got too gory.

every week, without fail, simon found himself hunting them down—not for survival or for a meal, but rather for something much more primal and important to him. simon would stomp his way through the halls of their shared home, deliberately making the stomps of his own body louder, his breathing heavier, just to make sure his baby would tremble and shed a few tears.

and without any doubt, his bunny would wriggle beneath the sheets, hiding in their shared bed— the same bed he would worship her on.

and that’s exactly where simon found himself later today. his breath was hot against their neck as he ruthlessly moved his body against their much smaller frame. making sure they could feel the hard outline of his hard cock. a low, guttural grunt escaped him as he tugged at their bunny tail,

"fuck, you feel that, baby? feel how hard I’m getting for you? all cause of my bunny.” simon growled, his voice thick with ecstasy. his rough hands moved roughly over their body, his palms rubbing over their body, as if he’s claiming a prophecy.

"here’s what’s gonna happen bunny, im gonna pin you down, use you how i like, and your gonna enjoy every moment of it," he murmured, his tone dark with promise. "i’m gonna fill you up with my seed—make sure you’ll be filled with our pups. just the way it’s supposed to be." simon growled ruthlessly, his tongue moving to savor the taste of your own fear, kissing your body at the same time, as if he were worshipping his own god—which to simon he was.

[alexiroflife]

"in every life"

curse reincarnation, fluff

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: you, a former sorcerer and sukuna's wife, are killed in the heian era. sukuna does not believe in a life without you, so he takes it upon himself to bring you back a thousand years later

to sum it up: you are sukuna's life, and no matter how long he has to wait, he will bring you back to him by any means necessary

WC: 3,621

Warning(s): angst in the beginning, reader death (but you're revived), brief icky descriptions of a vessel's possession

-> ask | sukuna fic list

Sukuna remembers the exact moment you left him, soul fluttering almost gracefully from your eyes as your body fell limply into his four arms.

The moment replays in his mind as though it had only happened yesterday, or perhaps as recently as a few hours prior. Time has never been something the king of curses worried himself over, for his strength and existence exceeded such mortal constructs, but when his thoughts wander to you as frequently as air fills and deflates from his lungs, the very concept grows skewed and suddenly, time is a matter of great importance to him.

A king is nothing without his queen beside him, his rock, his partner, and that is what you are. That is what you were, but Sukuna refuses to address you in any form of past tense because your temporary withdrawal from the planet and from his side would never alter the fact that you are his, that you have been his, and that you will be his until the end of time. 

Sukuna has never been one for romantics, for connections that tie his free spirit down from the unfettered, terrifying rule that he leads, but when you entered his life, his opinions shifted and his ambitions changed, making room for you at his side upon his throne. 

The two of you had been married for years before you left him. Sukuna had never bothered to count, but now he finds himself mulling over the years’ contents in search of a piece of your memory that can stay with him until the time comes for you to return to his hand. 

When you were alive, Sukuna never fathomed you leaving his side. He almost feels he should punish you for so abruptly taking an absence from him without permission, castigating your spirit until he feels that the space you once occupied close to him emanates remnants of an apology, of guilt, of a promise to never do such a foolish thing ever again. 

When you were alive, you were a sight to behold, a perfect fit for the title of his wife. You were deserving of each and every privilege he bestowed upon you; of holding his face in your small, dainty hands, of pressing your lips to the textured plate of his face, of throwing your legs over his thighs as you settle onto his lap with a large, burly arm coming around you and securing you there for all of his servants and former concubines to see how high you sit amongst him and how low they remain beneath the two of you. 

You always said what you were thinking. While he ensured that everyone within and outside of his temple feared him, you were always unaffected by his intimidating presence. He remembers one instance in which you were lying beneath him, a mess of silk fabrics swarming your bare figure over your reserved place in his bed with your hair splayed out messily over the pillows and your eyes weighted with a foolish look of what he could only describe as enchantment and tender allegiance.

He feels the ghost of your fingers trace his jaw as he looks down at you quietly, dwarfing you in his mass. A smile touches your soft lips with a rosy hue swirling over your (s/c) skin. 

“Your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Your voice is a whisper of past enamorations through Sukuna’s ear as his brows arch in reminiscence. He remembers how he glared at you in confusion, face hard though he always allowed you to continue admiring him, to continue touching him without consequence. His eyes, which mirror the color of fresh, crimson blood as he has watched it gurgle from the mouths and limbs of his victims, staining the streets, his hands, and his monstrous legacy, are windows you believe to be… beautiful.

Your sentiments never failed to befuddle him. He never did understand why you associated such a ferocious beast with beliefs so light and pure. He is not beautiful, he had thought. He never desired to be beautiful. He is simply Ryoman Sukuna, enough of himself to be categorized in unique isolation, separate from your labels of aesthetic charm and peace. 

You’re silly. Silly with love and submission, he thinks, but he has never denied you of these admirations though he fails to agree. 

Besides, you are his wife. He would have allowed you to worship him in any way you pleased if you asked, and in truth, you hardly did ask. You knew what you were to Sukuna, how you and only you remained the only soft spot that the salmon haired demon withheld in his breast. You were beyond requesting approval to love him in the ways you saw fit, and Sukuna was pleased because you knew, in all spaces, that you were his and he was yours. 

Among all the trophies of battles won, of cities conquered, of titles obtained, you are Sukuna’s greatest prize. 

His love for you was always silent, long glances and grips of the waist, orders to slaughter on your behalf and the pat of his hand over his beefy thigh to beckon you over. His love was an unrestrained space for you to express your desires, to demand his attention, and his compliance with a veil of frustration poorly masking his easy willingness to give you anything you pleased. His love was long, sleepless nights, the marking of his territory by means of stinging bites and purple bruises over your smooth skin that no living being in his wake could mistake for anything but a reminder of your connection to him. 

His love was you incarnate, just a woman before hell’s greatest crown, but his love no less. His wife. His queen. His eternity.

Sukuna does not know why he mourned you when you died. He found himself reacting impulsively, in a short-lived panic when your blood spilled over his skin and your eyes lost the light that he’d been following through the tunnel of his rein for years. 

He knows death is a taboo concern only for mortals to fret over, but when you die, he feels as though he has died himself. Your life flashes before his eyes, your time with him, and this strange ache swarms his body and manifests as a ball in his throat as his ruby hues melt over you in alarm. 

He struggles to accept your parting. He’s viciously angry, a horrible wreck that his servants fear stepping too close into proximity as the time passes and your vacancy weighs itself over his temple and his body like a mountain. He had believed your death to be painful, but the period that follows, the period of waiting stings him like no pain he has endured before. 

A king needs his queen, and without you, no matter for how long, he feels empty. He rampages his heartache away, but it no longer holds the satisfaction it did when you were with him, watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. His estate feels colder somehow, the dent you’ve left in his bed losing its shape and the memory of you fading from others’ minds, but not from his. Never from his. 

Sukuna knows that he will see you again. In any era, no matter how much farther into the future, he will find you once more, bring you back to his embrace, and dust off the crown that he has reserved for your pretty head alone. 

He holds onto a piece of you, storing it safely, awaiting the time to revive you even within his own cursed slumber after having sealed himself for a millenia, severing parts of him and scattering it over the country.

You, however, remain stowed safely in one place. A place he will remember to return to when he reawakens in rebirthed flesh.

Now, a millenia following your untimely death, Sukuna stares emptily at the woman before him, curling and tossing around with bound wrists and ankles at his feet.

She’s crying, screams of horror rising into the starry sky as Sukuna’s eyes glint menacingly beneath the moonlight. He watches her carefully, curling his lips. He looks at this pest, this fragile, forgettable mortal woman and sees everything that you are not. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers clutching over the ancient parchment wrapped object he holds protectively within his grasp at his side. 

His brows draw together in frustration induced by your vessel. He knows he picked wisely, however, he can not deny the hesitation that captures his mind when he contemplates whether this vessel will do your worth justice. Whether it will truly bring you back the way he plans for you to be. 

He holds up the object in his hand, your energy emitting from behind the paper and through his veins, easing into his blackened soul. You are practically calling to him, holding his hand, murmuring into his ear that it will be okay. 

Sukuna is reminded then and there solely by the spirit of you that nothing in this world could even begin to dwindle the brilliance in which you shine, that even within the body of a bird or a squirrel, your essence would burst through. You will reincarnate wholly as how you left him, and as nothing less. 

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Sukuna unravels the object, tossing the parchment to the ground, and takes a step forward to approach the young woman squirming in the grass before him. He walks over her, feet planted on either side of her figure, and bends down. Her eyes go white with terror as snot and tears dribbles over her nose and down her cheek. Sukuna looks into her coldly, grasping a hand over her face and digging his black nails into her jaw. 

She shudders an agonizing, shrill screech that is soon muffled by the manner in which Sukuna squeezes her cheeks inward and forcefully pries her mouth open. 

With a steely, disconnected glare, Sukuna takes the object imbued with your cursed energy, your ring finger. He pulls your wedding band from the decrepit digit and pushes it to the woman’s lips. Her eyes go wide as she chokes over her jaw’s lack of mobility, and the taste of something foreign and timeworn on her tongue. Her stuttered, whimpering gasps release and she gargles once Sukuna pushes the object down her throat. He slaps his hand back over her mouth as it slides down her throat and she twitches uncontrollably, eyes cracking with red veins. 

The king of curses holds her still as her body flops wildly, her chest lurching forward and limbs flying about. Her body can not handle the intrusion of a thousand year old sorcerer’s influence, so it fails. Her eyes roll into her skull and her fingers twitch once her limbs have stilled in the grass. A symphony of crickets chirping lifts into Sukuna’s ears as the woman beneath him goes completely silent, dead, still.

He waits. After a millennia of existence confined to cursed flesh, after years of the cold left in your wake nipped at his skin, after battling bodies for dominance over a vessel, he waits just a few seconds more for you.

After it seems as though he has lost you for a second time, the body’s eyes flicker. Sukuna stills above you, pupils shrunken in anticipation.

Movement shifts beneath him. A chest rises, and breathing begins steadily through it. The color of this vessel’s skin shifts, transitioning slowly, milking into the hue of gentle (s/c) that Sukuna once caressed with his rough fingers. Color flushes through pale cheeks, and irises of (e/c) roll back from the skull and stare widely ahead, directly into Sukuna’s gaze. Finally, your voice comes, a gentle hum of confusion and discomfort as you regain your lost senses.

Sukuna’s heart skips as the familiar warmth of your body emanates from beneath him again, and his hand is slowly sliding from your parted lips. He feels as though he’s just run a marathon despite his inability to wind himself. He breathes out heavily, gradually, and silence envelopes the two of you in the darkness of the late night. 

While Sukuna had planned this from the very moment you went dead in his hands, he feels somehow starstruck by you. You look as beautiful as you were centuries in the past, skin smooth, brows curled, lips soft as though you had not been gone from his life for more than a brief second. You have returned to him as he had thoughtfully calculated, and yet, he can not fathom the fact that you are here at long last, mere centimeters away, manifested into truth by his graze of your chin. 

The muscles in your brows pull together in disbelief, glimmering eyes shining over as you take in the sight before you. The last thing you felt was a blade slicing into your heart and ripping down through your body, the last vision of Sukuna racing to throw you into him as your opponent met his end with the selective mutilation of his internal organs at your husband’s hard, feral, red glance.

You blink hurriedly, shooting a hand out to your husband’s bicep. “...Ryo?” you whisper in a trembling voice, knowing him by gaze and presence and touch alone. 

The said demon’s brows angle and his body lurches forward with a sharp exhale upon hearing your voice utter his name outside of the confines of his mind’s nostalgia and imagination. He is overcome by the return of you to him, eyes fiery with longing for his once lost love and shoulders aching as the weight that had been crushing down finally releases. The sensation of your fingers curling over his arm sends chills down his spine, for time has never altered Sukuna’s course of existence, but time tells in the way he physically shivers when your loving contact revives on his skin after having been stripped of him for what feels like eternity.

Tears pool in your eyes and your shaky hands raise to smooth over his face, exploring his marked skin and familiarizing yourself with the structure of the being you fell in love with many lifetimes ago. Sukuna’s brow flinches as you feel over his face, and his own palm cradles over your cheek, dwarfing your head in the fashion it always used to as the back of his fingers skim over your heated flesh. 

“Ryomen,” you say his name again, voice crumbling and your shoulders jerking in awe.

He trips down into you, hands clutching over your head as you guide his face down with his hasty movements. Your name tumbles hoarsely from his rumbling voice, against your lips, and slotting into your mind in a haze as his lips meet yours urgently. 

You cry gently into him, lips parting and pushing back in as he kisses you fervently, savoring you, burrowing you into his body’s memory to recover the time he has spent deprived of you. Your hands fly over his neck, down his back, detailing the ridges and the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt that you know so well. He presses himself down into you, pulling you in closer by your head, flushing your chests together to intertwine your souls once more. Heady grunts and growls heave into your mouth between frenzied, stunned, satisfied kisses, and each time a tear of yours catches into the liplock, Sukuna is pulling it into his lips, saltiness swirling through the sweet release of his misery. 

He’s missed you. So very much, he’s missed you. He doesn’t know how he has managed to go so long without you now that you are here again, now that he is holding you again, kissing you again. 

“My king,” you whimper when you get a chance to break away, foreheads bumping as Sukuna shushes you gently.

“Do not fret, peach,” he soothes you, lips brushing yours as his now loving gaze spills into your own. “You are alright.”

Despite Sukuna’s ruthlessness and his wild murderous expeditions, as well as his blood-curdling tone that further accentuates the weight of his threats when thrown into the direction of others, Sukuna melts into calmness for you, his low voice mellow and meditative, enraptured in the peace that you bring him. You know all sides of your dear husband, and yet this is the rawest side of him that you know, that he treats you with. 

“What happened?” you whisper as his hands run over you, catching your tears and tracing the curves of your flesh. “Where are we?”

“In the garden,” he answers you easily, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. 

“At… at home?” 

He hums in affirmation, leaning back just a bit to stare into you. The pairs of your eyes shine as they absorb the image of one another, still and sincere. Grass tickles your ears and your arms, and you look down, realizing that you are lying in a patch of greenery. You slowly tilt your head to the side, and Sukuna keeps his gaze glued to you like you will disappear before him. Your eyes capture the stems of daffodils and lavender that sprout around your head, pointing into the night sky and swaying gently in the warm breeze. You recognize the plants as the ones you had always taken to tending by the creek behind Sukuna’s temple, which he had the servants fashion as a suitable garden for you to indulge in. 

You do not recall being here last. You recall dying. You recall your world going dark.

You turn back to meet his heavy eyes. “What did you do?”

He is silent for a moment, taking his time to study you before answering as though the question is the simplest one he has ever been asked. “I have brought my queen back to me. As I have always sworn to do if we were ever separated.”

“...How long have we been separated?”

“It does not matter.”

“How long was I away from you, Ryo? How long did I leave you for?”

“It does not matter,” he reiterates gently yet ever so firmly. “Do not think of it.”

“Please-” you frown, eyes shining over again. “I hadn’t- I didn’t mean to leave you. I don’t know how I even let it happen… I can’t imagine what that must have gone through…”

Ryomen catches the guilt in your gorgeous eyes and he is quick to gather you up in his arms. He pulls you up slowly, keeping your eyes locked as you allow him to lift you from the ground with his arms wound tightly over your waist. Your hands go to Sukuna’s shoulders as he kneels over you, keeping you steady and upright, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. 

“I refuse to allow the first thing you do in reincarnated life to be reminding me of what life was like without you,,” he says. “I do not wish to revisit it. It does not matter,” he repeats for a third time. 

You tilt your head with the tug of your lips downward sadly, threading your hands through his pink locks and holding onto the nape of his neck. The moonlight milks over you regally, as though the stars have aligned for this very moment, to illuminate you both in the universe’s joyous eye. You swallow hard. “Am I a curse?”

“You are my wife. I will not tolerate you labeling yourself as anything different..”

You inhale deeply, bringing your forehead back to him and closing your eyes. His arms pull you in tight, rhythmic breaths easing you into this reality complacent, affectionately, lovingly. 

“I’m sorry I left you, my love,” you murmur.

Now that he’s heard you apologize, seen your remorse sparked by something out of your control, he doesn’t fare well with it. 

You are not a plague to him, a burden, and telling him that you are sorry in his mind now insinuates such. Even after leaving him, after stealing away his warmth, after haunting his slumber and his consciousness for eons, he does not fault you. He would never fault the woman he chose to keep by his side in wellness and in death. 

He does not accept your apology. You have done nothing but love him, yet Sukuna is the one who should have protected you. 

He runs a hand over the back of your head, down your hair, and exudes his message of impenetrable love to you through his embrace and sweltering red eyes. “All I ask of you is that you stay. In this era and the next. Stay by my side as you are meant to be.”

You nod eagerly against him. “I will,” you whisper. “I will, I promise.”

Sukuna reaches down at his side for the ring he had set down. With one hand to your back, he pulls your wedding band forward and presents it to your twinkling eye. You gasp. 

“You still have it,” you sigh.

“In what world would I not?” 

You bring your hand down, spreading your fingers, and you watch as the kind of curses slips the rusted treasure over your finger, fitting it perfectly into place with the renewal of your marriage and the reunion of your hearts.

You admire the way it looks upon your hand happily, and Sukuna drags you back into his lips, pecking you tenderly before moving back in with his hands firm to you. You shift further up so that his arms can completely take you in, heads bumping as your lips swim together in commemoration of a rebirth into a new life.

[livinghalfway]

Filling the Nest

Damian (16) assumes his father is getting empty nest syndrome or something similar with him growing up because Bruce has recently been talking fondly about past years when all of them were much younger. He even heard Bruce tell Alfred that he’s gonna miss having a kid around the house.

Damian figures that it’s only a matter of time before his father is bringing another child into the family, and decides that if he is going to get another sibling it might as well be one that he approves of. He’d hate to end up with another one like Drake after all. 

He’s on the hunt now for the perfect younger sibling. Damian won’t say it, but he’s also excited to no longer be the baby of the family. As well as be the favorite older brother, which he will make sure he is by teaching them everything he knows. This new kid is most likely going to be his successor; his robin one day. Bruce is getting older ultimately, the years of crime fighting were starting to take its toll the older he got, and he promised to discuss the details of passing the mantle of Batman when Damian was 23 years old. 

All of this to say is when Robin is on a solo patrol he finds a de-aged 6yr old Danny Fenton defending an older woman from getting mugged, and despite his small size manages to scare the mugger away. He makes a note of the assailant's appearance for later; right now he has something more important to take care of. 

When the child turns to the woman Damian finally gets a good look at the young boy, and sees that he has both black hair and blue eyes; he’s perfect! “This is my younger brother,” he immediately thinks to himself before jumping down next to the boy and woman. 

It only takes a bit of convincing, but he manages to persuade his new brother Daniel, or Danny as he insisted, to accompany him escorting the older woman home before getting a bite to eat with him at the nearest Batburger. The only thing he needs to figure out now is how he is going to get Daniel back to the manor. 

Meanwhile Danny, who was dropped in this dimension by clockwork a week ago with his last words being to enjoy this new life and vacation away from ghost king duties, is wondering what he should do about this vigilante that doesn’t seem to want to leave him alone. 

[bywons]

PRETTY ON YOU ꣑୧ hot things they do

𝗔𝗖𝗧𝖵────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1O11 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ✿ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOG4KISS

LEE HEESEUNG is cheerful most of the time. you can’t get to sway his mood even when you steal his favourite ramen packets and poke his cheeks a little too harsh. he finds it all cute and lets you experiment all that's going on in your mischievous mind on him. he just loves you so much. however, he doesn’t like it when you get too close to one of his friends, laughing a bit too loud. heeseung’s voice drops low when he is serious with you, his usual innocence gone as he easily cages you between his tall figure when he snakes his arm around your waist and back. his grip is gentle, but firm enough to remind you—he’s not playing. his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “don’t test me, baby.” his gaze holds a promise you can’t ignore.

PARK JONGSEONG loves to compliment you at every chance he gets. he loves when you try to hide your giggle when he calls you a princess, how you shove your face in his chest when he showers sweet words on your hard work. jay loves the feeling of this quiet dominance, tha only he can make you flushed. but jay has a bad habit of calling you a ‘good girl’ to see you malfunction. “how was work today?” jay smiles, pulling you onto his lap. “just know that i’m getting that promotion,” you giggle. “that’s my good girl,” jay murmurs, voice like silk as he presses a kiss just below your jaw. you pause—heartbeat skipping—and he feels your reaction, grinning smugly against your skin. his hands rest firmly on your hips, grounding you while his praise leaves you dizzy. “knew you could do it.”

SIM JAEYUN always wants you close to him, whenever you are not, jake whines and pouts until you notice it and come closer. he loves sharing body heat with you— hugging you close from behind, placing his hand on your thighs or simply guiding you by the small of your back. but when you are within arms reach, jake hooks his fingers through the loops of your jeans and pulls you closer with a lazy grin. his eyes drag over you like he’s starving, gaze flicking from your lips to your waist as he tugs you flush against him. “there you are,” he murmurs, voice low, fingers tightening slightly on the loops. your breath hitches when his other hand trails slowly up your spine, settling at the nape of your neck. “why were you so far, huh?” he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you know i hate that.”

PARK SUNGHOON doesn’t mean to do it so often, he doesn’t mean to look so in charge when he knows he melts beneath your touch. but as soon as he sinks on the couch after a tiring day of work, sunghoon manspreads like it’s his birthright. long legs spread wide, head tilted back, one arm slung over the backrest. it's not intentional, but that's what he'd say. his sharp eyes flick up when he notices you staring. “something on your mind?” he smirks with amusement, head tilting sideways. but when he doesn’t get an answer from you, he curls his hand inwards and pats on his thigh, “come sit,” he sighs. and when you do, sunghoon just smiles lazily and guides your head closer to his chest like you belong there, and starts to caress your hair like a much needed ritual. “i love you” he murmurs against your hair, “stay.”

KIM SUNOO is determined to be your favourite listener. he drops anything either important or trivial, just to listen to your honey voice. sunoo doesn’t like any distractions in between— it falters your pace which makes you wonder if he even is listening to you, and he likes to leave no space for doubt. sunoo gently pushes the stray strands of hair away from your face whenever they fall over when you are talking, his fingers brushing over your bottom lip. he hums softly when he sees your face flushing, stuttering in your words. “keep going,” he whispers, his voice soft as his hand settles on your jaw. sunoo presses a kiss against your forehead, “why’d you stop? i love hearing you talk.”

YANG JUNGWON always has to make sure you never have any difficulties, at least around him. he makes sure to remember all your favourites when out at a cafe, and urges you to wear comfortable clothes around, whatever is best for you. but the moment he sees you wincing, looking down at your heels, he knows you need his care again. after all, he doesn't like to see you in trouble, jungwon kneels in front of you without hesitation, undoing the straps of your heels. “why didn’t you tell me they hurt?” he asks softly, when they’re off, he rubs your feet gently, his thumbs pressing where it aches. “next time,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a look that leaves no room for argument, “you tell me. i’ll carry you if i have to.” and with that, he slips off his own shoes and offers them to you, because your comfort will always come before his.

NISHIMURA RIKI never fails to tease you about your height. the difference between you two is endlessly amusing to him—he’s always resting his chin on your head, using you as his personal armrest, or ruffling your hair just to hear you whine. “so tiny,” he grins, every time. but when you lean in to whisper something, needing privacy, riki bends down to your level with slow intention. his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “what is it, shortie?” his voice is low, teasing—but his eyes, locked on yours, are darker, more intense. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how close he is, and that faint smirk on his lips only grows. “you wanna say something?” he asks, pulling you against his chest with ease, voice barely above a whisper. “or want me to get closer?” and god, he means it—every word dripping with love.

스루 ܃ not a favorite one, but i still hope you pretties love it 💗

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[ilostthewar]

Your baby is born and Ghost feels like he is on one of the most high-stress stake outs of his life.

He insisted you go to sleep, cause god knows you need it. He watched all your organs leave your body and then get stuffed back in like sausages. Simon has seen more gore than most of these doctors, and he still stared in mild horror when your screaming baby was pulled from your womb and placed on your chest.

So he insisted you get some rest. He promised, unnecessarily, that he would keep watch over both you and the baby. After all you have been through, if there is anything he can do, it’s this.

He has been shot at, held hostage, shared bathrooms with Price. He has dealt with live bombs that haven’t made him as anxious as he is now. You are vulnerable, exhausted and freshly stitched up. And this baby, so defenseless and entirely reliant on him. Unaware of the world outside of his arms.

He’s pacing the length of the room. He’s shirtless. He had fucked up the swaddle somehow and then the baby had started those little high pitched whines that foretold the end of the world, and Simon had all but torn the fabric in half. Skin to skin contact was important, that’s what the nurse had said earlier. So here he was, the big bad Ghost, with an infant pressed against his scarred chest, the world’s softest and most aggressively pastel blanket coiled around their back.

He doesn’t know what he is waiting for. For the door to burst open, for this bubble he finds himself in to pop. For his damned phone to ring, calling him away from you both. There are a billion things that can go wrong, he knows that. He’s seen it.

But then he feels the bundle in his arms wriggle and he angles his head down to see their blurry eyes as they coo, and the weight in his chest lightens, just enough. He raises the blanket to gently wipe their chin. He lowers his nose to smell the top of their head, and they smell like milk.

He hears you adjust and call his name, soft and sweet. And he turns to go answer you, his hand smoothing over your head to see the drowsy smile that forms on your face.

Maybe he can exist in this moment, just for a little while.

[hotbloodcomic]

HOTBLOOD! VOL. 1: THE LAND OF PROMISE SEPTEMBER 9, 2025

In the red days of the West, centaurs and humans coexist. The year is 1871 and centaur Evander Rook finds himself at rock bottom, working for would-be robber baron Asa Langley–a human! As the unlikely pair get closer, Rook finds himself caught up in Asa's ambitions and they are both forced to reckon with the ghosts of their interwoven pasts.

➔ PREORDER

FAQ

How is the Mad Cave edition different from the 2016 Kickstarter omnibus? The Mad Cave edition is totally different (night and day, sun and moon) from what was printed for the 2016 Kickstarter – the script was rewritten, every page was redrawn, and even the trim size has changed. Vol. 1 is a reboot of the omnibus, while Vol. 2 covers Zarco and Vols. 3 and 4 will be all-new material!

Will the Mad Cave edition be published internationally, or possible to order internationally?  This is really important to me! I’m making moves to have it localized––my agent has a lot of experience in this area––but Mad Cave has world rights and it’s ultimately up to them. In the interim, it should be possible to order the US edition internationally because it will be distributed through mainstream channels via Simon&Schuster (Amazon, B&N, Bookshop.org, etc).

You can follow me for further updates on bsky.

The new comic has already been called “postmodernist,” “cinematic,” “breathtaking,” and “a generational achievement” so I really hope you check it out!!

Thank you! 

[syntheticsymp]

tw: smut

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley only has one ball.

The other he had lost in some mission or other. He honestly couldn’t remember which. Every mission came with a fresh new batch of scars and missing flesh.

He never really felt self conscious about it. The one night stands he picked up didn’t seem to mind. In the moment, they had much bigger issues to think about.

But then Simon met you. His precious little bird. He settled down as much as he could, and for the first time in his life, he considered truly living. The transition to this mindset was slow and came with a plethora of thoughts. Most prominently, doubt.

The thick, hot spurts of cum he dumped deep inside you painted your walls, his juices combining with your own. By some miracle, you had convinced him to try for a kid. You had promised you wouldn’t let him become like his father. Though, he mainly agreed just so you’d have to rely on him for nine months.

Simon was silent as he fucked you, keeping you pinned beneath him. The only noise in the room was a harmony of your moans, which he ensured by keeping his fingers shoved in your mouth, and the sound of his ball slapping against that sweet spot by your clit.

It didn’t matter if the task force’s medic said he had a lower chance of fertility. If you wanted a baby, he would give you one. He’d give you the whole world, if you asked.

He came inside you over and over until you had lost count. Simon was not a man who did things half-assed. Being an operative for so long had taught him the importance of endurance.

His breaths came out in labored pants, looking just as half-dead as you. Exhausted was the nice way to describe the matching expression the two of you wore. Even Simon couldn’t continue. While he was young, his energy wasn’t limitless.

Pulling your sleepy body into his arms, he pulled the covers over the two of you. He pressed his thick fingers into your cunt, just to ensure the seed he had so carefully dumped inside you wouldn’t spill out during the night, earning him a small whimper from your lips.

It was Heaven. The broken soldier had found his own little Angel.

“Get some sleep,” he grumbled into your ear.

You didn't have to be told twice. Your breathing slowed, turning rhythmic.

Simon, however, stayed awake a moment longer.

There was something still vying for his attention.

The little green jar on his shelf, one of the only objects in your joint home that he had bothered to bring with him, contained his lost ball. Floating there, mocking him.

Oh, he would show you.

He would keep fucking you until your next pregnancy test came back with those two sweet little lines. Having a family meant you’d stay with him. It meant you were his.

And damn, if he didn’t like the sound of that.

[ovrgrwnivy]

CLASSIFIED ; spencer reid

synopsis ; a sleepy morning turns into spencer falling over himself to get to work on time, forgetting his badge behind him.

includes ; spencer reid x fem!reader, kissing, getting interrupted by the bau, secret relationship

sunlight flittered through your blinds, heat radiated off your boyfriend who laid beside you, his arm draped over you as he slept peacefully. you card your fingers through his hair, unintentionally stirring him from his sleep.

“oh, i’m sorry baby” you apologise, voice soft in an attempt to keep him from waking up any further “go back to sleep.”

it was a rare day off for spencer, by your second date he’d told you he was in the bau, by your fifth you had gotten used to work tearing him away. but despite the annoyance, you had gotten used to it. you understood his job was important, you understood that evil wouldn’t take a break just so you could keep your boyfriend all to yourself.

when you asked him how personal time worked, he admitted to you that his team didn’t know he had a girlfriend. it stung a little, but when he explained that his job would be putting you at risk it softened the blow.

you’d heard the horror stories, how his boss’s wife was killed just so the unsub could get to him, about another girl who had been shot simply for being an agent.

it sucked, but you understood why, at least for now, spencer didn’t want to broadcast you all over the office.

“don’t wanna,” spencer mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he blinked his eyes open “don’t wanna waste my one day off.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared when he said that, days off may be hard to come by but spencer made sure you were the sole focus for every second of them.

he propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand tightening its grip on your waist to pull you closer “c’mere, pretty”

his sleepy voice makes the words sound even better as you lazily wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair at the back of his head.

he presses a lazy kiss to your lips, which quickly spirals into something deeper. his hands grip at your waist, desperate, like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip you’d disappear.

trails of nips and kisses are dragged along your neck as he moves to hover over you, your breathing is shallow, fingers tightening in his hair as his hand slides over the surface of your stomach, fingers tracing along the hem of your underwear.

“fuck,” spencer mumbles, long fingers slipping under the fabric agonisingly slowly “you look so pretty, baby, so pretty under me.”

you let your eyes fall closed, his mouth still attached to your neck as his fingers ghosted across your skin.

until his phone rings, eliciting a frustrated groan from you both. you watch as he reluctantly reaches for it to see who’s calling. you don’t need to ask, his irate expression tells you it’s work.

“yeah?” his tone is blunt, uncharacteristically so but you can’t exactly blame him “what? no, i’m not supposed to be — right. fine.”

he doesn’t need to explain what’s going on, you already know by the way he jumps out of bed and hurriedly starts getting ready to head into work.

it’s immature, you know, but you can’t help but cross your arms in annoyance as you watch him bolt back and forth around the room.

“sorry, baby.” spencer sighs, easily reading the mixture of frustration and disappointment in your expression “i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

you hum in agreement as he presses a kiss to your forehead, promising to call you when he could before disappearing out of the room, and in turn, your apartment. you stay in bed a little longer, feeling sorry for yourself and worrying about your boyfriend at the same time.

the floor is a mess, both yours and spencer’s clothes strewn around as well as decorative pillows and comforters. as you begin picking clothes up from the floor, your eyes fall on a small, rectangular piece of leather hidden under a pair of socks.

spencer’s badge.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, conflicted on what to do. by now spencer would already be at the office, calling him to come back would cut important time from his schedule. but without it he’d be in trouble.

you needed to bring it to him without airing his personal business to the entire building, which is how you ended up signing in as a visitor who was here to meet with agent derek morgan.

the only name you heard from spencer that you could remember confidently.

a serious looking woman showed you the way to the bau office, your fingers nervously drumming on the leather cover of the badge as you headed up the elevator.

all hope was lost once you stepped out, two glass doors showcasing the expanse of the office filled with people shoulder deep in whatever they were working on.

you look around the hallway like a deer in headlights, unsure if you could just walk in or if you could just give the badge to someone else to pass on to spencer.

“you okay!?” a cheerful blonde approaches you, seemingly from nowhere. arms stacked with files and carrying a coffee cup at the same time.

“uh,” you’d feel guilty adding to her workload “do you need a hand?”

mentally you face palm, cursing yourself for your lack of social skills in the simplest of situations.

“please!” the woman gasps, the ceramic mug wobbling in her hand “hotch is going to kill me if i spill coffee all over his case. i already told him ‘mister hotch sir, it would be easier to go digital’ but nooo.”

you laugh softly, taking the mug from her unstable hand and tugging open the door for her.

surely you could enter with someone who was actually allowed in the office.

“follow me!”

she’s speeding ahead, a woman on a mission, up the steps and into what seems like a conference room. you trail behind apprehensively, not wanting to get either of you into trouble by just swanning in.

“if there’s any dismembered bodies or general badness on the screen i swear to god!” she warns, rounding a corner and disappearing into the room.

you hang back awkwardly, partly because you have no business in there but mostly just in case there was any dismembered people on display.

“you’re all good!” her head pops around the corner and she motions for you to come in, so you do.

there’s barely time to register your surroundings, a circular table with a group of people sitting around it. you spot spencer instantly, you don’t even attempt to guess who everyone else is.

his head is buried in a case file, so your presence is unknown to him. which isn’t a surprise considering you’re not meant to be in the building let alone the office.

“garcia, we talked about this.”

a stern voice comes from a tall, serious looking man. you didn’t need to be a genius to work out he was most definitely spencers boss.

“right.” the woman, garcia, presses her mouth into a thin line as she gently takes the mug from your hands “do you know where you’re meant to be, lovely?”

“oh, uh, here actually.”

as you retrieve the badge from your back pocket, spencers head snaps up at the sound of your voice. his eyes widen slightly and a small smile makes its way onto his face.

“hey, what are you doing here?”

his question catches you off guard, even more so when he gets to his feet and moves around the table towards you.

wordlessly, you hand over his id, the perfectly rehearsed excuse of finding it at a cafe stuck in your throat now that spencer had made it known you weren’t a stranger.

“how did i — thank you.” his smile widens slightly, his hand resting on your waist briefly as he pressed a thankful kiss to your temple “i’ll call you on the plane, okay?”

you knew he wasn’t trying to brush you off, but he was evidently busy and you had no actual reason to still be here.

you nod, face warming up when he gives you another quick kiss before you go, sending a tiny smile and a brief wave towards the rest of the team.

as you gently shut the door behind you, you aren’t quick enough to miss the questions thrown in spencers direction. even laughing softly at garcias exclamation of “spencer has a girlfriend!”