#phantom training mask
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DPXDC Prompt #86
Danny and Damian are twins but they never get split up. Their life growing up in the league of assassins was rough and unforgiving. Damian was older by a few minutes but Danny was always seen as the lesser twin in Ras eyes. Danny is seen more as a tool to improve the heir instead of his twin. Talia eventually has enough of one of her babies being seen as inferior and she takes both of them to their dad, Bruce Wayne when they turn 10. They become the Robin twins and train under Batman.
4 years go by and Jason is visiting the manor talking about how his new neighbor Jasmine Fenton (He totally has had parents that had a lab and sounded like they were very close to becoming rouges especially since they’re apparently building a portal to another dimension. They decided to raid the house and investigate the lab. Red Robin and Batman were investigating the computer and files. And both Danny and Damian were investigating the giant hole in the wall. Damian is looking at the circuit board panel on the wall and Danny investigated the giant hole in the wall. Oh no he tripped.
#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc#dc x dp#danny fenton#danny phantom#poor danny#writing prompt#Portal turns on with Danny inside but his family is here to listen to his screams#They we’re trained by the league so if Danny is screaming the pain is 10 times worse than whatever they’re thinking#danny and damian are twins#Everyone else is horrified#Good thing the Fentons carried hazmat suits and Danny put one on before investigating#he was still wearing the domino mask though so those colors get inverted#demon twins au
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In another universe Christine and Erik skipped town and they live happily together raising Gustave...
#poto#phantom of the opera#lnd#love never dies#christerik#erikstine#christine daae#erik poto#the phantom#gustave de chagny#i just be ramblin#Hey am I still hung up on Erik's dream in the book of just. Putting on a mask and getting married to his beloved and raising a kid and#having a normal domestic life?#MAYBE#Maybe I imagine a future where this worked out somehow#Where Erik has everything set up to live his perfect normal life#And honestly putting on that perfect mask turns out to be bittersweet as he doesn't...love it as much as he assumed#after all he'd only wanted to be accepted and to live normally rather than be feared (a wish to cover one's features out of a desire for#connection rather than a genuine hatred of them)#So I imagine Erik and Christine staying somewhere private or going on a private walk under the moonlight#and after such a long day‚ Christine tugs off the mask#And she looks him in the eyes and loves him‚ kisses him#Oh to be able to spend time with your family‚ the only people you can remove your mask around#And for them to accept you wholly as you are‚ love you as you are‚ even after hearing for so long that this kind of life was an#impossibility for you#Erik teaching Gustave how to play instruments and how to train the instrument that is one's voice#the two watching Christine sing on street corners as she used to do with her father (perhaps even playing for her)#They make me emotional....
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The ultimate duo, actually
Do NOT repost my art without asking/without credit.
#social's art#my art#twawb#train whistles and wedding bells#twawb mask#twawb phantom#theyre family btw#phantom has adopted this little boy#he means everything to her#and she’s the only one mask openly likes lmao#linked universe au
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I think I haven’t shown my Zelda collection here so here it is
In total there are 105 items here, 30 of them are from Japan. If you count you will count like 100 or Less, that’s bc some items are a bit hidden, there are 3 Zelda shirts in my closet and I have the Hylian shield and the Master sword.
there are only like 2/3 things that aren’t exactly The legend of Zelda, but have something to do, those are: the train I have next to spirit tracks and to things I don’t know the name that are used for four swords (adventures)
also I think the rarest thing probably are these two
I think they are the rarest bc it has a not for sale so it’s probably a thing they made for something. It’s the music from twilight princess and the 2nd one is just a mix of music from every game to wind waker
#Yeah I can see why people think I have autism#You should see my fathers room#The legend of Zelda#echoes of wisdom#twil princess#The adventure of link#a link to the past#ocarina of time#majoras mask#wind waker#four swords#four swords adventures#Phantom hourglass#spirit tracks#skyward sword#links awakening#hyrule warriors#breath of the wild#tears of the kingdom#a link between worlds#oracle of ages#oracle of seasons#minish cap#links crossbow training#Tloz#I think I have everygame#But the story#I’m still learning it#I went crazy In Japan#30 items omg
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Coach Wagner (https://www.instagram.com/p/CO8PbzSpDuk/) (https://www.instagram.com/p/CVOLbBBLHzH/) (https://www.instagram.com/p/B6locxKJ6I-/) (https://www.instagram.com/p/CRHKSXVJALD/) (https://www.instagram.com/p/B33mfmmJTqS/)
#michael wagner#coach wagner#coach#austria wrestling team#austria wrestling#wrestling#wrestling training#training#weight training#cycling#phantom athletics#wrestling tights#compression tights#compression#men in tights#grey#shirtless#mask
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ooh, containment breach on reddit. a raoul vs phantom post is on r/broadway instead of r/box5. how will the general audience respond?! OP is pro Raoul but whining about team Phantom and I feel like team phantom slinks off from fights it doesn't expect to win but rallies nicely when victory seems likely. which. now that I type that out makes us sound like cowards. but like. it's strategic cowardice. maybe.
#I think the general audience self selecting for posting on r/broadway probably swings pro raoul#the even more general general audience swings (mildly) pro phantom imo. it is on his charisma that this IP chugs along. it's ALL on him.#the story balance i mean and how compelling or not the core narrative is. also the bitchin' branding with the iconic mask.#the 2004 film of course has quietly done a lot of pro phantom work over the past ~20 years. sorry to all the classically trained peeps.
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i am a failure and embarrassment to loz fans everywhere
#libra.txt#person who has only beaten two loz games (oot3d and albw)#there's not enough time or money in the world........... alas#i know nothing abt!! most of them! i am a fake fan i'm sorry!#the adventure of link sounds SO GOOD and i wanna see how the first one goes#and i've never seen past the. uh. first dungeon? temple thing? in minish cap#i mean okay i've played tfh and watched a full playthrough of it#and i have almost completed botw (just gotta fight the calamity) only have one golden bug before i finish tp#two fights and the bug quest for sws#spirit temple in totk and a handful of sidequests#and i've finally started majora's mask! and i own link's crossbow training. lol#but the oracle games....... the cdi games........#oh and i HAVE watched alttp and fsa and la remake#so. those help ig#oh and i'm playing ww!#but spirit tracks and phantom hourglass.........#so many games. not enough time money or energy#and i struggle with no commentary stuff and i'm picky abt other commentary and ugh!!!#SO. SORRY RAVEN. AUGH [covering face with hands]#and again i'm really tired so i'm sure there are others i'm forgetting#my family also poke fun at me for gaming. sigh. don't mind being called link though. lol
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ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!
part one | part two
🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader
🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, inexperienced!reader, first time blow jobs, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, riding, jealous ghost, some communication issues!
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
The problem with sleeping with a man like Ghost, you’re coming to realise, is that now that you’ve experienced the reality of sex (and good sex) you can’t stop thinking about it.
In the week following the night you’d spent together, you swear you can feel his phantom touch on your hips, your thighs, your back. It feels like he’s carved a space for himself inside of you, something you’ll never get back – not that you want it back in the first place.
Realistically, you know that the whole ‘loss of virginity’ thing doesn’t have as much to do with how you’re feeling as the fact that it was Ghost who had taken it. You had long bullied your hymen out of the way with your collection of silly dildos, but nothing could have prepared you for the scorching hot heat of Ghost’s massive cock splitting you open, or his clever tongue licking at you, or his thick calloused fingers rubbing torturous circles into your clit and fraying your nerves apart.
The worst part is, you don’t know if anything is ever going to live up to the way he made you feel again. You’ve tried to replicate his touches, his rhythm, the way he had split you open, but your fingers are too small and none of your dildos can imitate the way he had worked you stupid. To your immense dissatisfaction, you don’t even come close to coming again.
It feels like something inside of you has cracked open, and you don’t know how to stop all of this new yearning, how to stuff it all back inside and pretend that nothing has changed.
The problem is that while you feel as though you’ve been changed from the inside out, you don’t think Ghost feels the same way. Maybe the most infuriating thing is that Ghost seems entirely unaffected. Other than a couple of lingering glances and knowing stares, there’s no indication that he had done anything more intimate with you than grappling at training.
All you can do is attempt to follow his lead, to be as casual as possible.
It’s harder than it sounds.
You find your whole body straining towards him when he’s close to you, though you try to keep cool. You fail miserably. You can’t even look in Ghost’s direction without thinking of his big fingers hooked inside you, rubbing at your clit, squeezing at your tits. You can hardly look him in the eye without thinking of the way he looked when he was squeezed between your thighs with his mouth on your cunt, the way those big brown eyes watched as you writhed on his tongue.
And yet, you can hardly tear your eyes away from him. You look at him in a completely different light now. He’s the first man to take you, the first one to touch you so intimately, the first one to make you come. He’s still your lieutenant, but it’s like all of a sudden your eyes have been opened to a new aspect of him. He’s no longer just your untouchable superior, the man who’s always so cold and distant behind that death mask – now he’s the man who was gentle with you, the man who kissed you sweetly when he took your virginity, the man who gave you the first, second, third orgasm of your life.
But despite the way you had been offered that new little glimpse into Ghost, he still remains an enigma to you.
You can feel his eyes on you throughout the week, though it’s never at the same time as when you’re looking at him. And maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems as though he’s gotten freer with his touches, too. A big palm on the small of your back as he steps past you, a quick squeeze to the shoulder. It’s subtle, and you can’t be sure that he’s actually touching you anymore than usual.
But other than the subtle glances and the light touches, Ghost doesn’t make any genuine effort to approach you again. He still treats you like just another member of the squad, no different to Soap or Gaz.
If anything, he gives them more attention than he gives you, delivering his deadpan jokes and exchanging quips during training. You end up standing to the side, sending infrequent glances their way in the hopes that he’ll give you something.
You’ve never been the fittest or the strongest, but your level of distraction in those few days following your night with Ghost is absolutely mortifying. You’re slow, you’re clumsy, you mess up everything.
You don’t think you can be blamed when you’re working in the same space as Ghost. You can hardly bring yourself to look his way when he’s lifting weights, unable to handle looking at the flex and curl of his muscles under his long-sleeve black workout shirt. It clings to him, letting you see every little shift of muscle and tendon beneath that stupid top as he works, and your mind very unhelpfully provides a slideshow of memories of him between your spread thighs.
You know it’s obvious. You glance at him, then glance away, then back again. Your eyes linger, bright and too interested, before you’re able to hide it. You wonder sometimes if your yearning is obvious on your face; you hope not.
But if Ghost sees it – any of it – he gives no indication.
If you have to be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re disappointed. You had hoped that– well. You’re not sure you can bear to admit what you’d hoped, even just to yourself. It feels silly to admit that maybe you had hoped that Ghost wouldn’t be content with just being your first, that maybe he’d want to be your second, your third. Silly. Almost blasphemous.
You don’t technically have to show up to training, so after only two days of your awkward and uncertain pining in the gym, you stop showing up. The role you fulfil as part of the 141 is a non-combat one, so you know you won’t be missed in their ongoing training. You’ve mostly been working in communications; maintaining secure communication channels and ensuring that information is transmitted accurately and securely. The boys rely on you in the field, and you feel like you owe them a certain level of physical fitness just in case things go frighteningly wrong when you’re out there with them.
There’s just something so mortifying about the whole situation. It feels as though Ghost had peeled back the layers of you and taken a peek at your soft unprotected insides. You’d been vulnerable in front of him in a way you’d never been in front of anyone before, in a way that you can hardly stand. You had thought that you’d been okay with it being a one time thing, but you weren’t exactly doing a whole lot of thinking at the time.
So yeah, every time he glances away from you, or when he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction at all, it feels like you’re being rejected anew. It’s…. It’s not ideal. But you’re a big girl, and you’ve dealt with repressed desire and stifled yearning for years now. At least now you have a real experience to add to your reserve of imagination the next time you try to get yourself off.
It’s fine. You convince yourself that you were being ridiculous in the first place. He’s Ghost, after all. You feel a little foolish for even having the brief hope that something more might happen between the two of you.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚
You manage to keep to yourself for most of the week, and the rest of the squad is kind enough not to say anything about it. But when Thursday comes around, you realise it’s not going to be possible to avoid Soap and his persistent insistence that you join them all in the moderately-sized cantina for drinks that night.
Truthfully, it doesn’t take too much persuading to convince you to go. Avoiding training with the squad had resulted in a week of isolation that had left you lonely and wishing for some social interaction. Besides, you’ve never quite been able to say no to Soap, and so you’re dragged to the little cantina for the second Thursday in a row.
To your absolute bewilderment, you find yourself in the exact same position as you had been in the last time you shared drinks with the squad, exactly one week ago.
Despite hardly speaking to you all week, Ghost had so confidently taken a seat next to you on the same fucking squishy little couch that you had shared last week. You end up partially squashed into the arm of the sofa, with Ghost’s massive hulking body brushing against you with every slight movement.
It’s galling to admit it, but you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t say much other than a soft murmur of a greeting when he first settles down beside you, but then he throws his arm around the back of the couch in a move that’s unexpectedly intimate.
You try not to read too much into it. While Ghost may be fairly aloof and menacing to those that don’t know him well, to you and the squad he’s always been subtly territorial. His eyes flick around the room semi-regularly, never at ease even in the middle of base. When Gaz goes to get drinks, Ghost’s eyes follow him until he gets back as though he’s expecting something to happen in the few minutes and couple of feet that he’s gone. He does the same when Price steps out for a smoke, and when Soap steps out to the toilet.
So the arm behind you (technically resting on the back of the couch rather than your shoulders) doesn’t actually mean anything. The curious look that Soap sends you doesn’t mean anything either, and you studiously ignore it as you force yourself to relax at Ghost’s side.
You drink the vodka soda Gaz hands you a little quicker than you mean to – maybe it’s because your nerves are already set on edge, but the alcohol goes to your head. Quickly.
It’s a pleasant floaty feeling, and it eases some of the anxiety that’s been bubbling thanks to the heat that sinks into your skin from his side pressed up against you. By the time you drain your glass, you’re leaning against his side. He doesn’t react, for better or worse; you wish he would give you some indication of where you stand, whether he likes you bundled up by his side or if he’s just tolerating it.
When Ghost’s eyes finally slide over to you from behind the dark pits of his mask, you nearly jolt. His gaze is lazy and half-lidded, but he reaches out to take the glass from you. His gloved fingers brush over yours, and you can’t stifle the embarrassing little judder that runs down your spine.
“Slow down.” He murmurs, setting the glass aside. “It’s still early.”
You had been hoping all damn evening that he would just look at you, but now that you finally have his eyes on you it feels as though you’re pinned down by them. You try not to squirm, once again remembering the way those dark eyes had watched you so darkly as he had hunched over you, rutting into you until the tears were streaming down your cheeks.
Your mind goes blank under his attention and his closeness, the ambient noise of glasses clinking and loud voices laughing and joking and muffled old eighties tunes fading to nothing until the sound of Soap’s loud voice brings you back to yourself.
“Let the lass drink, LT.” He crows, grinning, and you realise that he already has another couple of drinks in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed him leaving for the bar. “She deserves to have fun tonight. Don’t you, bonnie?”
“Sure.” You agree easily, relieved by the distraction and already reaching for the new drink. You’re still all fidgety and distracted, eager to drown yourself in it. “I deserve fun.”
It feels as though Ghost’s gaze is burning right into the side of your head, but you fixedly ignore him. He’s so intense, you’re pretty sure that you look like a dazed idiot under the weight of his attention. It’s the most he’s looked at you all week, and you attempt to hide your face behind your glass as you take a sip of your fresh drink.
He’s drinking too, though he’s foregone his usual whiskey in favour of a dark lager that he’s barely touched. The glass is sweating with condensation, and he swipes a thick gloved thumb over the fog on it absent-mindedly as he watches you.
You watch Gaz and Soap as they joke with each other, trading jibes and jabs and stories that you hardly even hear. It feels a little as though your ears have been filled with cotton wool, as though everything around you is just distinctly muffled. You feel like you’re on another planet, awareness tethered only by the hot, hard line of Ghost’s muscular body pressed against your side.
Over the last week, you’ve tried very hard not to be a stereotype.
You’ve heard men laughing about girls they’ve slept with who’ve become too clingy, who’ve wanted too much, and wasted their time searching for something that those guys aren’t willing to give. Maybe it’s because you’re so conscious that Ghost has taken several of your firsts, but you’re so determined to not be that person.
Ghost isn’t exactly a big talker anyway, unless it’s the odd sarcastic comment or ribbing with Soap, so it’s not like you’ve talked about the situation. You had just awoken the morning after with a deep ache in your core and a sore back, though the pain was soothed by the warm embrace you were all wrapped up in. You had been nervous, but you needn’t have been. Ghost had given you nothing. He just rubbed your back with one shovel-sized hand and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder (through the mask, so you don’t know what to make of that) before he rolled out of your bed to pull his trousers back on, grunting that he’d see you later.
So, you don’t talk about it. Not with him, and not with anybody. It feels like so much has changed, yet everything stays the same. The deja vu you’re experiencing from sitting on the couch drinking with him like this is overwhelming, and experiencing him staring at you like this after a full week of distance is making you feel hot and fuzzy and stupid.
While Soap is in the midst of a loud and enthusiastic retelling of a story from his basic training days, you build up the courage to glance up at Ghost. He’s already looking at you, as though anticipating your attention.
“You’re staring at me.” You mumble, your fingers clenching compulsively around your chilled glass.
Ghost shifts, and you feel the thick muscle of his bicep roll behind your head. He grunts in quiet agreement.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t say anything else, uninterested in justifying or explaining himself. It’s like he thinks that he doesn’t need to; he just keeps watching you, his light blond eyelashes drawing low over his eyes as his head tilts.
Self-conscious under his intensity, you glance away again. Soap is still talking, but you can’t focus. Despite the fact that Ghost is big and warm and so frustratingly attractive beside you, it’s hard to ignore the subtle prickle of irritation that’s growing under your skin.
After all, he had taken your virginity and then proceeded to act as though nothing at all had changed between you for the rest of the week, and now he’s sat next to you with his gaze that heated? What the fuck?
The second drink goes down even easier than the first thanks to your awkwardness. You’re not sure what to make of his attention – you’ve spent the whole week keeping a sense of distance, determined to stay cool and casual. The last thing you want to do is freak him out by seeming like an over-eager idiot that’s gone and fallen in too deep with him, unwilling to lose whatever meagre respect Ghost has developed for you since you started working with the 141.
“I’ll get the next round.” You blurt suddenly, pushing yourself up off the couch.
It’s too abrupt to be casual, and you pointedly don’t look at the half-full glasses in your squad mates’ hands as you hurry away. You probably could have played that off better, but you need a moment to collect yourself away from Ghost’s relentless stare.
You take the opportunity to breathe at the bar, rubbing at your eyes and sighing. The bartender is busy, so you just stand there for a long moment, mentally chastising yourself.
God, this is just embarrassing. You’re a grown fucking woman, and here you are getting so ridiculously flustered over your lieutenant. You never thought that you’d be the type to turn into a silly little mess over the first man you ever sleep with, but maybe it was inevitable. The little embers of that crush you had been harbouring on Ghost since you joined the team have been fanned into a full on flame and you hardly know how to handle yourself.
It takes a significant effort to keep your attention away from the table; you can’t help but want to look, to see if Ghost is still looking your way, but you keep your eyes to yourself.
When another body appears at your side, you jolt in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be followed, and your first thought is that it must be Soap. But when you glance to your side, you find a stranger standing closer to you than you expected.
Well, he’s not a total stranger. You know him to see around the base, sandy-haired with a too wide smile. You think he might be a second lieutenant, but you’ve never actually had any dealings with him and you can’t think of a name… Daniels, maybe?
“Hello there,” He says, and even with those two words his intentions are unmistakable. His tone is suggestive, as is the way his eyes scan over your body. “How you doing?”
It’s far from the first time you’ve been hit on by men; it comes with the territory of being a woman in a male-dominated environment. They look at you like they want to eat you sometimes, in a way that sets your teeth on edge. You’ve always danced around the subject of intimacy, embarrassed about your lack of experience and too anxious to actually seek out anyone to change that. What happened with Ghost was unexpected, and just about changed your entire outlook on sex and physical pleasure for life.
Your first reaction, as always, is to shut him down or ignore him. But something makes you pause, and glance back at him.
He’s sort of cute. A charming smile, at least. When he sees you looking back, he only smiles wider and steps closer.
“Let me get this next one for you,” He says, gesturing at the bartender to catch his attention. “What’re you having?”
“Uh..” You hesitate a moment, biting your lip. “Vodka soda.”
He orders, then leans against the bar and turns to face you fully. His gaze is appreciative, and for once you don’t shy away from it. You so rarely return male attention that you hardly know what to do, but you manage to muster up an awkward smile.
When the bartender returns with your drink, you feel a momentary pang of guilt. You had almost forgotten that you were meant to order drinks for the table, and you send a swift glance over your shoulder.
The boys are still engrossed in their conversation, hardly even noticing your absence. All but Ghost.
The lieutenant has half-turned, his arm still slung over the couch where you had been sitting as he stares. The realisation that his eyes are still on you has your spine straightening, self-conscious now about your posture and your body language.
You look away swiftly, and try not to feel guilty. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. He hasn’t spoken to you all week despite the fact that he’d nearly done your back in fucking you.
Your experience with Ghost may have been a one-time thing, no matter what you might have been hoping for, but there’s no reason that it has to be a one-time thing for you with anyone else. Even with your stupid vibrators and dildos, you haven’t been able to come close to coming in the week following your night with your lieutenant. You’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re not capable of coming without someone else’s hands on you.
“I’ve seen you around, been meaning to talk to you,” Daniels is saying, and in your distraction you almost miss it. “But it’s, uh… it’s a little difficult to catch you alone.”
You almost scoff, but you manage to swallow it back down. You know exactly what he means; the 141 sticks together and looks out for each other, but it also sometimes feels like you have a couple of overprotective guard dogs. They take watching you seriously, probably due to your non-combat role on the team, and you’ve never discouraged it because you like the way they make you feel safe.
“Yeah, the guys can be a little protective.” You laugh a little weakly. “But don’t mind them.”
Even now, you can feel Ghost’s dark eyes burning into you from across the room. You wonder how on earth Daniels remains so unaware of it.
“Mm,” Daniels leans in, his white teeth glinting. “Can’t blame them, I suppose. Why don’t you come and join me and some of the lads at our table for a bit? Spend some time with some new people.”
You shift on the balls of your feet, thinking. Admittedly, you’ve never been big on socialising when on base, other than the usual minor exchange of pleasantries. You hardly even know what to do in the face of a man’s interest in you now.
“Oh, I’m not sure.” You demur, reaching up to scratch absently behind your ear. “I don’t think the boys would appreciate me abandoning them for the night.”
Daniels’ smile widens, and you feel your cheeks heat. You feel clumsy with your socialising, as though you’re stretching muscles you’re not used to using. Since you had joined the 141, you hadn’t done too much mingling outside of the squad; they’ve been your only friends and confidantes, ribbing and supporting you in equal measure. In the face of a stranger in the on-base cantina, you find yourself floundering.
“I think they get enough of your time,” He murmurs, leaning against the bar in such a way that his body is angled towards you. “C’mon, I’ll buy you another few drinks and we can get to know each other, huh?”
Maybe the vodka was a bad idea. It’s lowering your inhibitions, making you actually consider his offer. You’re pent up from a week of unsuccessful touching yourself, and you crave physical intimacy.
If you can’t get a repeat performance from Ghost, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if you looked elsewhere, with someone who might be interested in more than a one time thing.
You glance down at Daniel’s hands where they’re wrapped around his beer glass. They’re big, with strong slender fingers and calloused knuckles. Nice hands, you think, but you can’t help but compare to the enormous thick paws of your lieutenant. Still, you think they’d do the job.
“Well–” You start to say, your tone wavering and uncertain as you consider his officer.
But you don’t get to give him an answer before a massive hand settles on your shoulder. It makes you jolt, startled, recognising Ghost by touch alone. It feels as though it sears straight through your clothes, and your eyes widen.
For a moment, Ghost says nothing at all. He just stands at your shoulder, so close that you feel the muscle of his chest and stomach brush against your back, and stares at Daniels from over the top of your head. The glare isn’t even directed your way, and yet you find yourself wilting from it.
“On your way, Sergeant.” Ghost drawls, lifting his chin and gesturing at him dismissively.
Despite Ghost’s obvious intimidation factor, Daniels doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. He huffs out a short breathless laugh instead, as though he can hardly believe what he’s hearing.
“We’re only talking, Lieutenant–”
Ghost doesn’t even respond. His glower just intensifies, until Daniels trails off and his mouth snaps shut. You get the impression that if anyone else tried to intimidate him just by staring and posturing, Daniels might actually square up and fight. He seems like the type to make poor decisions while drinking – maybe you were going to be one of them.
But as it is, Ghost has an intimidation factor unmatched by anyone else you’ve ever known. It goes beyond his giant hulking physique and skull mask and low gravelly voice that can sound like a clap of thunder when he’s angry. It’s like he has an aura, something that radiates off him in dark waves saying ‘Don’t fuck with me’. Any sensible person would back the fuck off when faced with his full, unwelcoming attention.
And sure enough, Daniels is no exception. He raises his arms to his shoulders and gives Ghost a mocking sort of smile before retreating backwards. To your mortification, he doesn’t so much as glance your way even as he turns his back on you.
Irritation settles over you like a blanket. It makes your skin itch and your teeth grind, and you turn to scowl at Ghost.
“What the hell was that?” You demand, and your voice comes out sharper than you had technically intended.
Ghost’s head tilts, and those sharp dark eyes find you from behind the mask. The eyeblack is beginning to fade in patches around the inner corners of his eyes – bizarrely, it serves as a reminder that Ghost is just a man, not just a massive wall of muscle with a terrifying glower.
“What was what?” He says. His voice has dropped a notch, deep and rumbling into you even as you step away and turn so that you’re facing him head on.
“You– I was just–” You flounder for a moment, searching for words as you gesture uselessly with your hands.
You’re indignant over his interruption, and your frustration grows as you find yourself unable to articulate yourself. Where the hell does he get off interrupting you talking to another man? He hadn’t spoken to you all week, and now he feels confident enough to cockblock you?
“Mm.” Ghost grunts. “What were you doing?”
Your jaw clenches. “I was talking. Is that a crime now?”
Jesus, you sound like a brat. You don’t even know where this insubordination is coming from; he’s your lieutenant, regardless of that one night you had spent with him. You’re being too bold talking like this, but it’s like you just can’t help yourself.
His eyes darken, lashes blocking out his irises as his gaze narrows at you. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, to keep your spine straight and shoulders back despite your impulse to crumble.
“Watch that mouth, doll.” He warns, his voice low, and you feel your stomach tighten at both his words and his tone.
But your self-preservation instincts are still missing.
“You can’t ignore me all week and then get annoyed at me when I–”
He cuts you off as though he’s not even listening to you. “Not here. Come on.”
And with that, he wraps one big hand around your upper arm and begins leading you out of the cantina. He’s not harsh, and he doesn’t drag you or anything, but judging by the tense set of his shoulders arguing with him would be a really bad idea right now.
You’ve pissed him off, and you don’t want to make his mood worse so you allow your feet to move automatically as he leads you out of the room.
You can feel eyes on your back as you leave, and you feel yourself grow squirmy with embarrassment. No doubt the rest of the squad is watching you get hauled off by Ghost right now.
Oh god, the Captain is watching you get hauled off — how mortifying. You pray they didn’t catch your little exchange with Ghost at the bar, but you have a feeling that hope is in vain. The 141 are close-knit and protective over each other, but they’re also terrible gossips.
“Let me– Sir, let me go–” You start to complain, testing his grip. His hold on you is iron-clad, and yet still somehow gentle enough to avoid bruising.
When you realise where he’s leading you to, you stop complaining very quickly. You had figured that he was just going to drag you into the corridor outside and give you a talking to, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until you realise that he’s leading you all the way back to your own damn room
“What are you doing?” You demand in a hiss. You’re so incensed that you swear your hair is standing on end.
After all that, is Ghost seriously hauling you back to your room like you’re a bold child? Is he angry because of your insubordination at the bar?
A cold trickle of anxiety enters your stomach, and you steal a worried glance at his face. The hard-shell mask he uses on missions has been traded for the softer black woven balaclava that he usually wears when he’s not in the field, but it doesn’t make him any easier to read.
He doesn’t answer until the two of you have crossed the threshold of your room, the door shutting behind you with a firm click.
Now that it’s the two of you, alone once again in your tiny shitty room, you find your indignant confidence waning rapidly. He’s just so big, the huge masculine frame of him making you feel more ridiculous than ever for your momentary flash of brattiness. Even worse, having him in your space like this is only making your brain go into overdrive, as though your body remembers what happened the last time he was here like this.
You decide that the best defence mechanism to prevent yourself from looking like a fool is to cling onto those last little dregs of anger.
“You’re unbelievable.” You snap, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me all week! And then as soon as another guy speaks to me, you’re over to me like a light. I mean, what the fuck?” And then, remembering the chain of command, you add a very sullen, “Sir.”
Throughout your mini little rant, Ghost has just watched you. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t know how to read, unable to get a feel for what he’s thinking through that inscrutable mask.
“‘S not true.” He grunts after a moment, and you realise that his eyes have creased in a way that suggests he’s frowning.
You feel like you’re going to explode. “Yes, it is! Daniels was barely speaking to me for two minutes before you scared him off–”
Bizarrely, your words make Ghost snort. You hadn’t even realised how tense his shoulders were until he relaxes, and you stare at him in confusion as he steps past you towards your bed. Your anger fizzles out, leaving behind self-conscious confusion as you watch your lieutenant settle down so that he’s sitting at the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide.
“His name is Davidson.” He says, and his voice is missing the somewhat dangerous edge it had only moments earlier. “And that wasn’t what I was talking about.”
Embarrassment flares, though you try to stifle it. So you didn’t know the guy’s name – whatever. You would have learned it by the end of the night, you’re certain. You open your mouth, defensive and prickly, but Ghost speaks again before you get the chance to.
“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He says, watching you like he’s trying to figure you out. When you just blink at him, he sighs. “Jesus, sweetheart, just sit down for a second. Tell me what I did wrong, yeah?”
You’re left feeling a little wrong-footed, hesitating in the middle of the room. You had expected him to be a little angrier than this, to chide you for your behaviour. Or maybe you had expected him to be cold, or dismissive.
Slowly, you take a few steps towards the bed. He watches you approach, those dark eyes watchful and sharp, but says nothing as you nervously perch on the bed beside him.
Despite the fact that this is your room, you’re stiff when you sit next to him. Your brain is in overdrive, providing you with very unhelpful memories of the last time Ghost was on your bed and flooding your body with mortifying heat.
“You’ve barely spoken to me since we–” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, averting your gaze and staring at some point past his shoulder. “Since last week. If you wanted to keep it professional, that’s– that’s fine–”
Ghost’s spine straightens, but he doesn’t speak yet. He just watches you, and lets you flounder awkwardly as you struggle to articulate yourself.
“I don’t want to make things awkward, I just–” You’re tripping over your words, wincing when they come out all clumsy. “I’ve never done this before, so I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t understand the point of sending Dan– Davidson, whatever, away like that if you’re clearly trying to keep things between us professional–”
Finally, Ghost speaks, though it seems like he’s suddenly developed incredibly selective hearing.
“He’s a wanker. Chases around any woman that stands still for too long in that damn cantina every time we’re in there.” His voice is a low earnest rumble, but you’re too agitated to properly hear him. “He didn’t have anything to offer that you’d be interested in.”
“That’s not–”
“Besides,” He cuts clean across you, but so gently, so much so that it surprises you. “I think we long surpassed professionalism when you asked if you could use my cock like a dildo.”
Blood rushes to your head so fast you feel a little light-headed. Right, so he’s decided to cut straight to the chase then. You swallow, and your dry throat clicks audibly.
“Right.” You say. “Yeah, that– um… that’s made things awkward, I suppose.” A brief pause, and then you sheepishly add, “Sorry, LT.”
Ghost just watches you, his brown eyes inscrutable beneath the fan of his pale eyelashes. Under the dark fabric of the mask you see his jaw flex, as though he’s considering his next words carefully.
“C’mere.” He says.
You had been expecting him to say more, and you hesitate a moment before reluctantly shuffling over a few inches. Though he had invited you to move closer to him, you’re suddenly so conscious of crossing any possible boundaries.
You had never slept with anyone before, and you don’t understand what’s expected of you now. How are you supposed to act, now that you’ve had a one-night stand with your lieutenant?
“Haven’t been ignoring you,” Ghost says, and he reaches out to place a hand on your knee. The touch makes your eyes widen, gaze darting down to stare at his thick fingers where they wrap around the underside of your knee. “You jokin’? Been watching you all week. Thinkin’ about you all the time.”
That’s a bold enough statement that all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You can’t deny that he’s been watching you – you had felt his eyes on you regularly, but always from a distance. But…
“You never–” You start to say, before swallowing again so you don’t say something stupid. “You haven’t spoken to me.”
“Spoke to you during training, before you stopped showing up.”
That’s a little galling, and all you can do is scowl.
“Stop that. You know what I mean.” You snap defensively.
Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think Ghost might be confused behind that stupid mask. His head has tilted just slightly to the side in the same way as it usually does when he’s trying to figure something out.
“I was trying to give you space, doll.” He murmurs. “It was your first– I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Wanted you to make your own choices.”
The uncertainty in his voice is unexpectedly endearing, but you’re not ready to let go of your irritation with him just yet. Admittedly you’re losing steam, but you struggle to straighten your back and affect a scowl nonetheless.
“I didn’t want space.” You say, and it comes out a little more childish than you had intended it to. You try not to cringe at yourself. “You just– we never talked about anything, you just woke up the next morning and left and then all week you hardly spoke to me.”
You curse your inexperience even as you speak, feeling like a total idiot. You just wish you knew what was expected of you, what Ghost wants. Was he put off by the fact that he had to guide you, fumbling and clumsy, through an experience that was absolutely mind-blowing for you but probably sub-standard for him?
And oh, that thought makes dread curl in your belly. What if Ghost wasn’t impressed with your… performance? You had no idea what you were doing, only that the way Ghost had touched you felt so good, so much better than you’ve ever managed to make yourself feel with your fingers or toys. And when he had brought you to orgasm, you had lost yourself completely. You hadn’t made any attempt to return his attention, too lost in all the new pleasure you were experiencing.
There’s a pause, the silence between you stretching taut. Ghost doesn’t rush to reply, instead apparently thinking hard before he speaks.
“I go for a run in the mornings.” He says at last, his voice low and rumbly.
It takes you a moment to process that.
“You– what?”
Ghost shifts, and the cheap standard issue mattress beneath the two of you squeaks. “That morning, I… went for a run.”
He must realise how that sounds – maybe the expression on your face tips him off – because he hurries to add on to it. “Creature of habit, love. I didn’t– I don’t do this often either. I stayed the night, we cuddled. I thought–”
He stops rather abruptly, and doesn’t finish so you don’t quite know what he thought. Your confusion has gotten the best of you, and you’re staring at him in agitated confusion. God, he’s bad at communicating.
“Should have stayed.” He says gruffly, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds a little chagrined. “Thought we were fine, until you started avoiding me. And then I thought you just needed time to yourself.” He gives a jerky shrug, clearly out of his comfort zone. “‘Cause it was your first time. Dunno.”
Oh. Well.
Now you’re the one blinking at him. That’s… not what you had been expecting.
While you thought Ghost had been giving you the cold shoulder, he had thought that he was being considerate. Jesus. You’re not sure how to even begin processing that.
“I didn’t need time to myself.” You say, and you sound pathetic.
There’s a beat of silence during which you feel thoroughly examined. Ghost hardly even blinks as he watches you, his scrutiny making you sweat.
“No,” He rumbles after a moment. “Apparently you didn’t.”
You roll your eyes, honestly a little irritated with him. Even after it’s been made clear that your miscommunication has caused issues this whole week, he’s still so hesitant to just fucking talk to you.
“Right, well–” You start to say, a little sharp.
He grabs at you before you can retreat, his enormous hand comically large around your wrist. He’s not holding you harshly, his grip just loose enough that you could break out of it if you tried. But instead of pulling away, you allow him to tug you closer. His free hand reaches for your hip, and quicker than your tired mind is able to follow he’s tugged you up into his lap.
“Jesus–” You blurt, grabbing at his shoulders for balance.
Ghost is built like a brick house, all thick and sturdy with all that solid muscle. He’s broad too, and your legs are forced wide as he encourages you to settle in his lap. You try not to let your reaction show on your face, but Ghost is watching you so carefully that you’re certain he can read every micro-twitch anyway.
“Last week wasn’t enough?” He asks, and if you’re not mistaken he sounds hungry. Maybe you could even delude yourself into thinking there’s an undertone of hope, too.
But maybe that’s a step too far. This is the Ghost, after all. He’s veritably a human weapon, every inch of him battle-scarred and solid beneath the heavy clothes and thick mask. You’re pretty sure that any kind of yearning you hear has been prescribed by your own imagination. But you can’t help yourself.
You shake your head, your breath catching in your chest. No, last week wasn’t enough.
“Then why bother with that idiot at the bar?” Ghost asks, his big hands folding around your hips. “If you wanted to be fucked, you could have just asked me.”
You swallow thickly, your throat clicking audibly. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to speak so bluntly, but it’s typical of Ghost to get straight to the point without beating around the bush.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that with me again.” You say, your voice edged with insecurity.
There’s a long moment of silence during which Ghost just stares at you. It’s borderline uncomfortable, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Even with the mask acting as a barrier, he’s still so intense.
“What made you think that?” He asks, his voice low.
You find yourself quite abruptly aware of the position you’re in. You’re sitting perched in your lieutenant’s lap with your legs spread wide, after a week of pining after him like an embarrassing little puppy. You’ve been craving physical contact, yearning desperately for that same kind of pleasure he had introduced to you ever since your night together.
“You’re difficult to read.” You whisper awkwardly, shifting. You’re hyper-aware of your weight in his lap; even though you know he’s strong, the thought of being too heavy for him is a little mortifying.
But his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you securely in place across his thighs.
“You think so?” His voice is low, a little rough, and the gravel of it causes a little frisson of heat to trickle down your spine. “You been trying to read me? Can’t have been doin’ a very good job, darling, since you’ve been avoiding me all fuckin’ week.”
Your breath comes out tremulously, and you pray he can’t hear the shake in your voice when you speak. Judging by his darkening gaze, he hears it loud and clear.
“I just– Didn’t know if you would want me again.” You whisper, feeling foolish and inexperienced and clumsy.
Ghost watches you, his dark eyes flickering over your face, before he finally hums. Then his grip tightens around your hips and he pulls you so that your clothed crotch grinds against him. You gasp, your eyes widening when you feel the thick ridge of his cock in his tac trousers, unmistakably hard as your clothed cunt slides over him.
“Feel that?” He asks, his voice dropping into that deep, hungry register that you’ve been hearing in your dreams all fucking week.
“Yeah.” You choke, fighting the urge to grind on him like a fucking slut. If your hips twitch, just a little, you think you could be excused.
You are already intimately familiar with his cock, considering how eagerly he had fucked you open on it a week ago (several times, too), but the way it fills his trousers makes it seem ridiculously big and you wonder, a little wildly, how the fuck it ever fit in you in the first place. It presses against the seam of his trousers, right between your legs, and then Ghost grinds up into you and you swear your vision sparks out for a moment.
“Oh!” You blurt out in a wavering whisper, clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, god.”
“Still think I don’t want you?” He grunts. His hands are like fucking shovels, and he takes a grip of your ass and squeezes until you squeak.
Your head is swimming. Your trousers are too tight, the crotch of them pressing into your clit, and you feel like you can't get enough air in your lungs.
“I don’t know.” You say stupidly.
It’s like your cunt knows that Ghost is near, because you’re fucking drenched. You can feel your underwear stick uncomfortably to you beneath your clothes, slick and wet as you feel the shape of Ghost’s cock press into you.
He sighs beneath you, his big palm stroking over your ass affectionately.
“You think too much, doll.” He mutters, his finder squeezing into the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a stress toy. “Way too fuckin’ much.”
He’s probably right. God, you want to stop thinking. Want to return to that stupid, dazed, fucked-out state of mind he had sent you to when he had stuffed you full.
Hesitantly, you grind yourself down onto the thick bulge beneath you. It feels good, that familiar pleasant little spark jolting up your spine as you hump yourself against him.
“Yeah,” Ghost grunts, his voice thick with unmistakable want. “That’s it. You’ve been wanting this, havent’cha?”
“Yeah.” You admit, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “Yeah, I want it.”
But Ghost hears. Of course he does. He lets out a low sound that has your thighs squishing closed around his hips, overwhelmed and running far too hot.
He has you on your back so quickly that your head spins, and you end up staring at the ceiling for a moment in bewilderment, trying to figure out how you’d gotten there. Ghost is already leaning over you, his dark eyes intent on your face as he settles between your thighs.
You think you should probably be embarrassed about the ease with which you spread your legs, eager to feel his bulky body between your thighs. But you’re already running hot, your chest tightening with want, and you find yourself mercifully relieved that he’s here. The miscommunication between the two of you is going to be solved, Ghost wants you, and you’re about to get what you’ve been craving all week.
He pulls your own pants off effortlessly, leaving you in the underwear that you’ve fucking ruined. You try to shut your legs, face burning hot with embarrassment as you try to hide the sight, but Ghost doesn’t have any intention of letting you hide yourself.
He pushes your legs back open, then presses his masked face to the inside of your thigh. You’re not sure what he’s doing; you remember, with a little thrill, the feeling of his red hot mouth against your pussy, but you don’t think that’s what’s happening here because he’s still got his stupid fucking balaclava on.
“Did she miss me?” He asks, his words muffled by both the mask and the pudge of your thigh.
“What?” You ask breathlessly, thinking for a moment that Ghost is talking about you in the third person.
But then he nuzzles his masked face against the sodden seat of your knickers, and you realise that he’s talking about your fucking pussy.
“Oh my god, you weirdo–” You choke out, but you don’t get any further than that before Ghost is tugging impatiently at your underwear, trying to reveal your cunt.
He hushes you, almost absent-mindedly, and you hear him take a breath when he finally manages to get your knickers off. He tosses them aside, his dark eyes focused intently on your bare cunt now that it’s been revealed. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to try and hide again. He’s touching you so reverently and looking at you so hungrily that you’re not brave enough to try to deprive him of the sight.
“My fussy girl,” He mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear him. “Have you been touching yourself? Using your toys this week?”
You shiver, a little embarrassed. You have been using your stupid toys, but they haven’t been working. No matter what you do, you can’t replicate the feelings that Ghost had managed to elicit in you with such ease, and you have a sinking feeling that he knows that.
But the mention of your toys reminds you of something else, too. A recurring thought that’s been practically haunting you, that’s had you imagining Ghost up above you and around you as you’d sucked experimentally on your dildo, sliding it into your mouth just to see how much of it you could take.
“Wait–” You say, and though your voice wavers, Ghost sits back immediately, eyes on your face. It’s like he’s just waiting for your word, an order, a direction. Something in your belly warms, and you take a breath.
“I want to try something.” You tell him before you can lose your nerve. “Sit back down.”
He sits at the edge of your bed, his bulky frame moving far more gracefully than you’d expect for his size if you hadn’t already seen him in action. He’s almost patient, until you catch the way the fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh as he waits for you to do something.
Since you’re already stripped from the waist down, you see no point in remaining clothed on top too. When you pull your top and bra off, Ghost makes a low appreciative rumble deep in his chest that you swear you can feel run down your spine.
“Promising start.” He says, and you want to smack him.
You shoot him a little scowl, before deciding to just ignore him. You’ve fancied him for an embarrassingly long time, probably since the very first time you had laid eyes on him upon joining the task force, and now he’s sitting on your bed, willing and hard and admitting that he wants you. It takes your breath away a little, especially the way that he doesn’t seem put off by your inexperience at all.
Slowly, you sink to your knees in front of him and watch his eyes widen beneath the balaclava. It’s somewhat gratifying to see his surprise; like you’ve finally got one over on your big bad lieutenant.
“Very promising start.” He says, and this time he sounds a little husky. “D’you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”
The answer is, very obviously, no. You have no idea what you’re doing, you’re learning as you go along. But Ghost hasn’t judged you yet for your clumsy fumbling exploration, so you can only hope that he’s willing to put up with this too.
“Sort of.” You say evasively. “I’ve seen it in porn, and I’ve… I’ve been practicing.”
Ghost’s groan sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and it’s rough enough to have you glancing up in surprise from where you’re trying to get his stupid trousers unbuttoned. Your hands are unsteady and unsure, and it’s slow-going.
“Yeah?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath himself. “Which one?” “What?” You’re a little distracted, not paying full attention to his question as you tug at his trousers. You’ve finally got them unbuttoned, and you pull impatiently in an effort to get them off. Ghost lifts his hips to help, though your eager impatience seems to amuse him.
“Which one of your toys’ve you been practicing on?” He asks, the barest undertone of a groan in his voice. “The pretty little pink one?”
You feel embarrassed heat prickle in your face because yes, it had in fact been that one you had been practising with. You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that you’re apparently so predictable that Ghost can guess which dildo you’ve been sucking at, imagining it was him.
“Maybe.” You mutter evasively.
Ghost lets out a low chuckle right as you manage to wrangle his cock out of his briefs, and then you have to pause for a moment because oh. You had known, of course, that he was big. You had felt him for days after that first time, like a fucking internal bruise that ached at you every time you moved. He was bigger than any toy that you owned, you know that, you’ve felt it, and yet now that it’s in front of your face it seems so much bigger than you remember.
You’ve watched porn with so-called ‘monster cocks’ and it isn’t like that. It’s just… bigger. Than average, that is. At least, as far as you can tell, because it’s not like you have enough experience with dicks in real life to have any idea of what average really is.
Ghost must recognise the momentary flash of panic that crosses your face, because he reaches out and strokes a gloved thumb over your cheek. The fabric is rough against your skin, but you relax at the feeling anyway.
“You don’t have to.” He says quietly.
“I want to.” You insist, swallowing that swell of nerves.
Now that his cock is bobbing in front of your face, you have to fight the sinking feeling that you’re in over your head. But you’re not willing to back down; not when you’ve been thinking about this all damn week, and especially not when you’ve got the man that stars in all of your fantasies sitting on your bed with his legs spread.
You shuffle forward a little, and try not to feel intimidated at the fact that Ghost’s thick thighs twitch when you reach to take hold of his cock. He’s so big that it feels like he’s dwarfing you beneath him, his bulky form enveloping you in shadow when he leans forward to make sure he has a good view of what you’re doing.
You stroke experimentally over his cock, your fist a little clumsy. Despite your frenzied and very pleasurable tumble with him before, you had never actually gotten the chance to touch him in return. You had been too overwhelmed by the sheer onslaught of sensation he had delivered upon you to even think about returning any favours, and the fact that you’re getting the opportunity now to reciprocate and explore fills your tummy with butterflies.
“Grip it harder, love.” He grunts, shifting his hips so that he can fuck his cock into your fist. “It ain’t gonna break.”
“Shh,” You admonish him, glancing up with a frown. “Let me do it myself.”
Ghost snorts quietly, probably finding your determination silly, but he still his hips and lets you go at your own pace. His dick is big, and you stare at it with some level of wonder as you stroke your fist over him. You can’t help but compare the feel of him to your dildos, only because they’re your only real point of reference; his skin is velvety soft and hot to the touch, yielding despite how hard he is, and you admire the slide of his foreskin pulling down over the crown.
It’s not the size that really catches your attention though. No, what you really notice is how fucking perfect it is. Pretty and pink, flushed more red towards the tip, the head shiny with just a hint of smeared pre-come. It curves, slightly, to the left, and it feels nice in your hand. You feel a little light headed as your eyes dart over the pale blond downy hair that covers his thighs and the base of his cock.
You gather your courage, then lean in and lick tentatively at the rosy pink crown of his cock. You had been a little worried about the taste, having no idea what to expect, but you needn’t have been. He‘s a little salty, but nothing inoffensive; he just tastes like skin, and you relax a little in relief.
He groans, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling. You pause, hoping for some sort of direction, and as the moment stretches out he looks back to you and tilts his head.
“Thought you wanted to do it yourself?”
Bastard, you grumble in your head, before steeling yourself. You know that your grip on him is clumsy, that your stroking is unpracticed, and you can only pray that he doesn’t mind.
You take his cock into your mouth, jaw hinged wide as you try to avoid using your teeth, and attempt to suck with no finesse. You go too fast, try to take too much too quickly, because all of a sudden the head is tickling the back of your throat and you’re coughing, choking, and sputtering.
You pull back, blinking rapidly as your eyes sting with tears and drool drips unattractively down your chin. You go to wipe your face, but Ghost catches your wrist before you can.
“Slow down,” He murmurs, pulling your hands away from your face so he can look at you. “You in a rush?”
“No.” You grumble, and your voice comes out a little hoarse from the choking. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Even though you’re quite certain that Ghost already knows that, it’s a little humiliating to admit.
Ghost just hums, his eyes tracking over your petulant expression and the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in thick globs above your tits.
“Don’t matter, love.” He rumbles, reaching out to thumb at your chin. You think for a moment that he’s wiping you clean, but then he just ends up smearing your spit all around your mouth. “Play with it as much as you want to. Don’t think too much.”
You swallow, the sound a little too loud in the quiet of your room, before nodding. This is what you wanted – the chance to touch him, to explore his mouth with your hands and mouth just like he had done with you before.
You readjust your grip on his cock; it looks so stupidly big in your hand. You can tell that he notices too, because he lets out a gruff sort of groan before he reaches out, one hand winding around the back of your neck to cup at the base of your skull.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He breathes, his eyes locked onto you.
His eyes are dark, almost completely blacked out by the thickness of his pupil, and he stares down at you with an air of such anticipation that you couldn't dream of keeping him waiting. Gripping him in your hand, you give an exploratory sort of stroke — the skin is velvety soft and smooth, and he lets out a short groan of appreciation when your fingers caress the head of his cock.
You start moving your hand again, adjusting your grip and stroking him off. You wish you were better at it, or at least more confident, but Ghost doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He just grunts quietly, flexing his hips once before apparently remembering what you had said and going still.
It takes a moment before you work up the confidence to bring it anywhere near your mouth again, but finally you lean forward and press a gentle little kiss to the head of his cock. You’re rewarded with a quiet puff of laughter, and his thumb strokes a soothing circle into the back of your neck.
Encouraged, you dip your head and lick the tip of him properly. He tastes salty on your tongue as you take him carefully into your mouth. This time you just suckle at the head, not wanting to push yourself too fast. His taste isn’t nearly as strong as you had been expecting; you hardly notice, really, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue and the feeling of being encircled by his big thighs.
It sounds stupid and maybe a little paradoxical, but you feel safe like this; Ghost towers over you even sitting down, and when you’re on your knees for him like this with his thick thighs bracketing you and his clean musky smell in your nose, you swear you never want to leave this moment.
You let out the most pathetic little whisper ever when you suckle at his cock, your tongue licking insistently at the underside of his glans. Ghost is always fairly stoic beneath that mask (other than his occasional bursts of humour and arrogance), so managing to pull out the soft but heavy breaths from his mouth when you suck at him makes pride swell in your chest, warm and syrupy sweet. It also makes something else twist in your belly, tight and hot enough to have your thighs squeezing tight together.
You used to have so many stupid, virginal plans for what you’d do the day you got your hands on some real, non-plastic cock, but everything you’ve ever heard about dicks and oral sex immediately flies right out of your head. You have no technique, and all you do is suck, gracelessly, trying to get as much of Ghost in your mouth as you can. You’re making loud, embarrassing slurping noises, and you’re certain that you’re drooling.
Judging by the grunts above you, Ghost has got no complaints about your technique (or lack thereof). One of his big hands reaches down to cup your face, fingers probing, testing at your jawline as it works.
“Fuck,” He snarls, tilting your chin up so he can see the way your lips are wrapped around the tip of his massive cock, “Knew you’d be good at this. Look at you, messy little thing. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”
That makes you shiver, an electric jolt that shoots right to your clit. You’re not sure what feels better; whether it’s his fat cock in your mouth or the hot wanting intensity in his eyes or the low filthy praises he’s growling.
God, you want to be good at this. You’re definitely no natural, but you fight so hard to push past your uncertainty to make this feel good for Ghost.
You’re pretty sure he’s lying about you looking gorgeous, though. You’ve never felt less sexy than you do in this moment. Your eyes are streaming over-stimulated tears, your brow is scrunched in concentration, you’re gripping onto Ghost’s thick thighs for both balance and emotional support, and it’s taking everything you have not to choke on him again.
Who the fuck gave him the right to have a cock like this? Complaining about it feels borderline blasphemous, especially when you have first hand experience of just how good he is at using it. You’re making a mess of yourself, slobbering all over him in a way that’s definitely a little gross, but you’re surprised by just how much you’re enjoying this.
You get a little too eager, because you take him a little too far down your throat and gag. You pull off quickly, choking lightly and still gasping for breath. Maybe your brain is a little oxygen-deprived, because you feel stupidly hazy.
You take a moment to recover, nuzzling dazedly into the curls of his pubic hair. Blond, of course. God, that shouldn’t be cute but it is.
The thick length of his dick might be intimidating (as proven by the ache in your throat right now), but the velvety balls nestled below seem almost paradoxically vulnerable. You’re fascinated by the sight of them; you might have been amateurishly familiar with cocks from your dildos alone, but his balls are entirely new to you.
You spend some time lavishing them with tiny licks and kisses. Ghost hums in surprised pleasure, the sound swelling to a rumbling purr when you start caressing his thighs and hips with a tender, shy touch.
Encouraged by his reaction, you return to his cock. It’s jutting proudly up, flushed a lovely pink colour, as though it’s just waiting for your attention once more. It’s already covered in a lather of foamy spit from your attention before, and when you sink your mouth down on him once again you do so with a bit more confidence.
“Like a pro, baby.” Ghost grunts appreciatively. A calloused thumb rolls over your cheek, under the fan of your lashes, and wipes away the moisture that’s gathered there.
You most certainly are not sucking his cock like a pro, but you appreciate the encouragement all the same. It’s nice to know that you’re not doing a horrific job, at least.
You spare a glance up, half-expecting Ghost’s eyes to be closed. Instead his gaze is avid, sharp, practically electric through that thin window of his balaclava. He’s watching you closely, taking in every detail like it all might be snatched away from him. It’s too intense, and you look back down, focusing on his dick again.
An outraged, possessive noise escapes you when Ghost forcibly tugs your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth. It twitches a little once it’s been removed from the wet heat of your mouth, all shiny wet and pink, and you lick your lips. God, you want to get back on that, and you don’t understand why he’s taken it away from you.
Ghost lets out a low, breathy chuckle, reaching out to thumb at your spit-slick lower lip before reaching for your elbows and bodily hauling you back up onto the bed.
You practically bounce, falling back on the mattress and squirming to try and get your bearings again.
“No,” You say, and to your bewilderment it comes out on a sob. “I wanted you to come on my face–”
You can tell that Ghost’s expression does something strange beneath his mask because his eye twitches and he takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t put his cock back in your mouth. Instead he reaches back and pulls his shirt off, and you take a broken little inhale because last time he had fucked you, he’d hardly gotten undressed at all. But now you’re being blessed with the sight of scarred pale skin pulled taut over the thick swell of muscles that turn to a softer belly, that pale trail of curls starting just below his belly button.
“Next time.” He says, and it comes out on the ghost of a groan. “Fuck, love, next time.”
He’s quick to hook his hands under your thighs and haul them apart. You just about have time to spread your legs before he’s muscling his way between them. He tugs impatiently at his balaclava, tugging it askew to reveal his mouth, then he presses his nose into your humiliatingly slick pussy and starts sucking at your clit like it’s a hard candy.
You shriek, your thighs clamping shut around his ears as you writhe, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt vibrate in the best way, and he’s so brazen about it that it just about takes your breath away. You don’t even know if he can see anything, considering his mask is completely lopsided and his eyes aren’t lined up with the holes anymore, but he’s working with such enthusiasm that it doesn’t even matter.
And honestly, his enthusiastic pussy-eating combined with the sheer visual stimulation he’s providing is really doing it for you.
You’re probably going to get a crick in your neck from the way you’re craning your head just to watch him hunch over you, that tongue of his peeking out from beneath the edge of his mask just to lick you. He’s built like a fucking god; thick muscles, soft tummy, and cushiony pecs. It might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Oh god, fuck–!” You choke out, your cunt clenching down hard as Ghost slides a finger into you.
Of course, Ghost’s fingers are also thicker than average. A single one of them feels like what would have been two of your own and you gasp a bit at the sudden stretch. You open up easily, your body welcoming him greedily and bearing down hard around his digits. Maybe it’s because you’re used to controlling the depth, speed and angle of penetration completely when you’re playing with your toys, but relying on Ghost for pleasure feels so damn exotic and exciting. Now you can only tilt your hips and go with Ghost’s pattern of movement; a bit harder, a bit deeper than what you would have done on your own.
He pushes another finger inside and it’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. It makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep, and then he sucks at your clit again, hard.
You’re honestly taken aback when your stomach tightens up and a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over you. Your back bows off the bed, you cover your mouth with a balled-up fist, your chest heaves.
It’s exactly as good as you remember it being the first time, maybe even better, and the noises you make are broken and pathetic as you whine and cry.
Ghost licks you through it, big long laves of his tongue punctuated by sweet little suckles on your clit that feel almost fond. All you can do is lay there and take it, your head spinning a little as you catch your breath and try to figure out how the fuck he managed to make you come so damn quickly when you’ve been failing so spectacularly for a week.
You’ve barely finished coming, still shaking with the aftershocks, when he climbs up your body. At some point he’s shucked his trousers off, and the fact that he’s naked sends a little zing of excitement through your tired body. Or at least, as naked as Ghost tends to get. He’s still got the damn mask on.
He’s breathing heavily; his mouth is slightly ajar, mask tucked up around his crooked nose as he settles on his haunches between your thighs. He’s still staring hard at your cunt, his eyes glued to the way your clit is still twitching. He’s still so damn quiet, and you have no idea what he’s thinking.
When he reaches out to thumb at your clit again you whine. You’re sensitive, and his thumb is calloused and rough. You wiggle, lift up your leg and press your foot to his broad chest to stop him. You may as well be pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.
Ghost just exhales a quiet laugh, capturing your ankle in his massive fist. He turns his head and kisses your ankle; the gesture is unexpectedly tender, and makes something in your chest tremble dangerously.
He uses his hold on your ankle as leverage to raise your leg, spreading your thighs out wide until your hips ache. You feel so exposed, the lips of your cunt parted ever so slightly, and he’s quick to press his cock against your still-twitching clit.
“Oh, look at her,” He breathes, low enough that you have to strain to hear. “Shite, she missed me, didn’t she?”
His hand is steady as he strokes his cock, dragging it through your sticky folds. The pretty pink head catches on your clit each time, and you let out a quiet whimper. Ghost doesn’t even notice; his eyes are zeroed in on your spread pussy, watching how you flutter around nothing.
“Fuck, she’s been waitin’ for me all week,” He coos, his cock notching at the entrance of your cunt and pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch as his thumb rolls against your clit. “I know, baby, been waitin’ for you too.”
Jesus, you feel like you’re gonna die. You’re taking all these big deep shivering breaths, still trembling a little from your orgasm and eager for him to just fuck you already, but his filthy talk in your ear is sending you spiralling. You’re so wet it feels like you’ve sprung a leak; you can feel moisture running down your ass and under your thighs, and you burn with both mortification and desire.
Ghost presses his cock in a little further, and your back arches as you groan. Despite the orgasm and the fingering and the fact that you are so fucking aroused right now, the stretch is intense.
“Yeah, she’s beggin’ for me.” Ghost is still talking – at this point you think his words are meant just for himself, because they’re low and a little slurred, his eyes glassy as he stares at the way his cock spears through the slick folds of you. “Listen; it’s like she’s talking to me.”
For a second, you have no goddamn idea what he’s talking about. But then, in the silence, you hear the squelch of your drippy cunt as he squishes his cock against it in shallow little thrusts, barely even pressing the tip inside.
“Oh god,” You whine, high and needy. “Just– stop teasing.”
The bastard laughs, all low and gritty and a little breathless.
“It’s not teasing, lovie.” He says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your jawline. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week straight. I’m just reacquainting myself.”
Then he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a move so sweet that it honestly takes you aback. Every complaint in your head flies out the window, and you turn eagerly in an attempt to deepen the kiss. His mouth is so hot, his lips plush and hungry and a little salty. It occurs to you that you’re tasting yourself in his mouth, and your body draws up tight and tense in response.
“Simon,” You breathe, intending to tell him to get a move on and just fuck you already, but you don’t even get as far as finishing the order.
He groans as though the sound of his given name is a signal, and before you know it you’ve got a huge wall of muscle hunched over you and around you as Ghost holds himself up by his elbows on either side of your head. You feel his cock prodding at the entrance of your cunt and your legs fall even further open, until your hip joints ache.
When he starts to push in, the stretch burns in a way that makes your mouth fall open as you choke on the air in your lungs. You’re wet and pliable and eager, your pussy sucking hungrily at Ghost’s dick in an effort to take him deep quickly, but you had almost forgotten what this felt like. You can’t stop the way your cunt tightens eagerly as he rocks in an inch.
He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “C’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.”
“Wait,” You gasp, reaching down to place your hand over his belly. “Wait, oh my god, you’re too big–”
His stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he's putting in to keep from rocking into you all in one go, and you spare a moment to admire his patience and his sheer resolve to make things good for you. But even though he’s obediently paused to let you catch your breath, he chuckles quietly at your reaction.
“It’s only the tip, baby.” He murmurs, cooing softly to you like you’re something easily spooked. “You’ve taken it before. This pretty little cunt of yours is so hungry, gotta let her have it.”
You nod, hesitantly. He’s right; he may be big, but you’d taken him before. Only last week. And you had been a virgin then. Well, technically. Not physically, maybe, since you’d long stretched out your hymen on your dildos, but mentally. Though at least last week you had stretched yourself out on your vibrator, and then Ghost had spent so long opening you up with his mouth and fingers.
Ghost rocks forward another inch, and the stretch makes you squeal like a fucking stuck pig. It’s mortifying. How the hell did he ever manage to fit that fat cock inside you?
You slap at his belly hard, writhing away.
“No, nope, not gonna fit.” You wheeze.
Ghost pulls back, and you can read the disappointed slant of his mouth and he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. Now that you get another look at it, you take a deep breath. It’s still well-lubed with your spit and the pink cockhead is shiny with your slick.
It’s big, but you know you can take it. You just… you need better leverage.
Your jaw clenches in determination. “I need to be on top.”
There’s a moment of silence as those words settle between you, as though Ghost’s brain is buffering. Then his lips start curving up into that semi-familiar smug smile, and he rolls the two of you over so that he’s laying on his back in your bed with you perched clumsily atop his thighs.
His cock juts up proudly, practically bobbing as it leaks prespend down his length. He settles back, folding his arms behind his head as he watches you – the position makes his biceps bulge in a way that is very appealing and also most likely unintentional.
“Go on.” He encourages, as hungry and wanting as you’ve ever heard him. “All yours, gorgeous.”
All yours, your brain repeats, the words echoing around your skull until you’re certain that your head is empty but for that. You want him so much it makes you feel dizzy.
You shuffle forward until your pussy is hovering over the blood-flushed head of his cock. The cute pink blush has started to darken into a red that looks painful, and you take a little breath at the idea of helping him out with his little problem.
You lower yourself down so that the tip of Ghost’s cock is lined up with your entrance and begins pressing in, stretching you wide and slipping in inch by inch. You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open.
Though you’re the one controlling the pace, it still seems overwhelming, all-encompassing. You can feel your cunt stretching wide and taut around the width of him, fluttering as Ghost groans in dazed appreciation.
You glance up at him, to see that his eyes are a little unfocused, missing the intensity that they’ve had all night. His gaze is flickering from the way your cunt is sliding down on his cock to your breasts to your face, so fast as if he’s trying to take it all in before it disappears.
His oversized hands come to rest on your hips, and you half expect him to pull you down impatiently on his cock. But he doesn’t, they just rest there as though he needs to ground himself. His stomach is tensed so tight you know that his abs will be sore in the morning, and to your delight you can see a lovely pink flush climbing across his lightly-haired chest.
You keep your eyes on his half-masked face as you slowly rock your way down onto the length of him, your breath occasionally hitching. Though he doesn’t rush you, you can feel the way his fingers twitch on your hips and the way his jaw grinds, and all those little tells only increase your excitement.
You’re so full you feel like you’re about to break in half, and Ghost’s gaze on you feels like a physical weight, but you don’t stop. You wiggle clumsily, trying to take him deeper and unintentionally pulling gruff groans out of him every time your body tightens.
Then, finally, you take him to the hilt. He groans, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your body sits perched on his lap, little tremors rocking through you as you adjust to his size inside.
“That’s my girl.” Ghost says, and the praise comes out on the edge of a growl. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”
Tingling heat is growing alarmingly quickly in your lower belly and at the apex of your thighs, and you tremble over him as you use your grip on his shoulders for leverage. The soft sounds of pleasure that are pulled out of his throat every time you roll yourself against him send sparks through your entire nervous system – you’ve never heard Ghost sound so soft and wanting.
One of his hands reaches between you, one big thumb settling right over your swollen clit. You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you try to rock your hips against his hand even as you try to ease the feeling of his girth inside you.
“Would you have gone back to his quarters?” He asks, and the seemingly non-sequitur is too much for your dazed, cock-stupid mind to keep with.
“Huh?” You breathe, tentatively rocking your hips and moaning softly as his cock hits just right inside.
“The guy at the bar.” Ghost clarifies, his voice deep and a little irritated. “The one who was all over you. Would you have gone back with him?”
Oh, you think a little wryly. You should have known that he’d be a big possessive bastard.
“I don’t know.” You say, but you’re barely paying attention. You’ve started to rock for real now, and it feels good. Your rhythm is barely more than a slow grind – you think, distantly, that you should be lifting yourself up and down and fucking yourself properly, but grinding so that he hits deep and your clit rubs up against his pubic bone just feels so fucking intense.
“Waste of your time.” He grunts, his grip tight on your hips as he watches you hump lazily. “Jesus, look at the way you’re sucking me in. Cunt’s so fussy, she was just waiting for me.”
The worst part is, you think he might be right. You had been touching yourself every night this week, trying and failing to recreate the high he had brought you to. The touch just wasn’t the same, and no matter how close you got you just couldn’t fall over that damn ledge.
“Yeah,” You whine, hardly even aware of what you’re agreeing to. The sweet ache of the stretch has almost disappeared now, and you hump back onto his cock with abandon. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely.
You tip forward, grabbing clumsily at his shoulders for balance as your face smushes against the cushiony softness of his pecs. God, he’s so strong, it’s like your body weight is nothing to him – he just accepts your whole body leaning into him, humming in satisfaction.
Tentatively, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.
“Simon,” You gasp, and it comes out in a whimper that’s far more pathetic than you had intended. “Am I– am I doing good?”
He’s gritting his teeth – you can see the tense line of his jaw as he tilts his head back, watching your face as you bounce stumblingly on his cock.
“Like I said, lovie, you’re a natural.” He says, exhaling harshly through his nose. “Gimme a kiss.”
When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, but you whine desperately.
“There.” You moan into Ghost’s mouth, the two of you sharing air as you pant against each other’s lips. “Oh god, please–”
The muscles in his thighs ripple as he lifts his hips to meet yours as you bounce down, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking into you from below. The strength in his hips almost bodily lifts you every time he fucks up, though you almost thwart his every thrust as you try to grind on him again, trying to get his cock to hit just right again.
Fuck, your legs are tired and your knees are aching, but you can feel that glorious build up in your tummy again. Ghost has taken over most of the heavy lifting now too; instead of relying on you to bounce up and down, he’s drilling into that one spot inside you that sends liquid heat shooting up your spine.
Your mouth is hanging open and you’re pretty sure that you’re drooling all over his lovely, soft chest, but it just feels so good. You don’t understand how he does this, how he makes it feel so good for you. You think, a little wildly, that maybe your cunt was made for him.
“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight,” Ghost grunts, and his chest rumbles beneath your smushed cheek. “Gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Go on, cream on me.”
You didn’t actually think you were that close to another orgasm, despite how good it feels, but maybe Ghost knows you and your pussy better than you know yourself because you feel yourself go tight and gushy, nonsensical gasping and babbling spilling from your lips. The soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock fucks up into you is obscene, enough to make your nipples go tight and tingly.
Then his thumb rolls hard against the swollen bud of your clit and you’re gone. You think you might actually scream, but it’s muffled against the now drool-covered expanse of his thick, bulging pecs.
You let out a choked out wail as your orgasm rips through you like an electric shock, leaving you trembling madly in its wake. You swear you come apart completely, unravelling at the edges as you writhe in his lap, grinding wildly even as he continues to fuck you through it.
You don’t get even a moment of reprieve, because Ghost keeps going through the waves of your orgasm. He pulls you up to kiss you, sloppy and dirty, and then starts thrusting for all he’s worth. You’re put in mind of bull-riding, and your thighs clench hard as you try to stay seated as he bucks against you.
It's the most unravelled you’ve ever seen him. Ghost is always cool and in control, always meeting everything with smug, arrogant confidence. To see him glowing with sweat, his mouth lolled open under his rumpled balaclava as he snarls and grunts and fucks into you like an animal feels like a drug so heady you know you’re already addicted.
This is not the lazy rhythm of before; he’s uncoordinated and frantic, kissing you hard and messy as he shoves his cock up into you so hard that you’re sure it’s going to leave a permanent impression inside you. Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for. You take it easily, split open and pliant and soft and wet.
You’re oversensitive and shivery, breathing hard and whimpering on every other thrust, but you don’t complain. It only takes a handful of thrusts before Ghost finishes with a bitten off snarl, his jaw clenching and head tipping back as he pulls you off him just in time for his cock to spurt several thick ropes of creamy cum between you. Most of it lands on your belly, dripping down onto your pussy like icing on a cake, but some of it spurts onto Ghost’s own soft belly too.
It makes a mess, but you don’t care. You feel so dreamy-floaty happy right now, your limbs floppy and rubbery as you slump down onto his chest. He catches you easily, and lays you down gently onto the bed.
You grumble when he moves, but you remember this part from last time. You don’t bother opening your eyes; you know he’ll come back.
Sure enough, he returns within moments, and you feel a warm, wet cloth wiping at your belly and inner thighs. You part your legs, pleased with the feeling of being looked after. When you blink your eyes open again, you see that he’s pulled the mask back down to cover his lovely, talented mouth. You try not to be too disappointed over that. His eyeblack is smeared too; it gives the impression of total debauchery.
“You alright, love?” He asks, and you realise that you’ve just been staring blankly at him.
“Yeah.” You mumble, stretching your body out like a cat. Now that you’ve been given a moment, you can feel all those little aches flare to life between your legs, around your hips, and up the base of your spine. You wince, but don’t complain.
To your delight, Ghost climbs back into bed with you. He’s a little too big for the standard issue frame, but you’re more than happy to roll on top of him and cuddle close to conserve space. He seems similarly happy to have you all laid out on his chest, because he presses his masked face to the top of your head and inhales slowly.
“Are you staying, this time?” You ask quietly. You think you know the answer after your conversation earlier, but you can’t quite help the little pulse of insecurity.
“As long as you’ll have me.” He says, low in the quiet of the room. His tone is thick with significance, like he’s talking about more than just staying the night, and his fingers are sure and steady as he traces absent-minded little patterns down the length of your spine.
You swallow, heart racing, and rest your cheek against his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his own heart soothes you, and you bite your lip. He’s so solid, reliable. You’d trust him with your life, with anything.
You glance down, your eyes curiously seeking out his now softening cock. It’s laying in a bed of his blond curls at his crotch, and it looks so unthreatening when it’s flaccid. You admire the shape of it absently, feeling a little thrill of excitement at the sight of it. You can’t lie to yourself and say you don’t feel a little possessive, either.
“Are we dating now?” You ask quietly. You’re not able to look him in the eye when you ask it, so you keep your face turned down. You don’t think you could handle seeing his expression if his answer is no.
There’s a pause. His hand halts the sweet patterns he’d been drawing on your back.
“Was that a question for me, or my cock?” He asks. He seems to be aiming for his usual sort of dry humour, but his tone comes out a little guarded, as though he’s actually not sure.
You raise your head, stifling your insecurity, and make eye contact with him. Those pretty brown eyes, so warm when they’re looking at you like this.
“You,” You say.
There’s another pause, and then his hand starts tracing its way over your bare back again.
“Yeah,” Ghost says, and the corners of eyes crinkle. “Stuck with me now, lovie.”
#okayyyy here we go!#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod smut
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thinking about crushing on johnny and not realizing you needed permission to approach him. (18+, dark content)
you haven't seen him here before. he's new, and he's fucking beautiful, and you wish he would just look over here so you can find out what he looks like when he undresses you with those blue eyes.
he's hunched over a pint in the back, and he laughs with friends of his. when he smiles, you lean over, resting your chin in your hand when you admire his wide smile and nice teeth. he hasn't shaved today, but the five o'clock shadow suits his pretty face. you want to reach over and run your fingers over the curls of his dark hair that fall over his face. his hairstyle is a little grown out, but the sides have been kept short, with the longer pieces falling over the back of his neck and along his forehead effortless.
he probably rolled out of bed to come here, and he still looks good enough that you want to take pictures of him like this. you want to know what it feels like to kiss him. you want to cup those plump cheeks and kiss his soft mouth, and just hearing his laugh even from this far away, you know he's full of life and fun and--fuck.
you need to go over there before he leaves. before you regret it.
you slip off the barstool that you were seated at, brushing off the front of your jeans. you fix the straps of your bra, satisfied with the bounce of your tits on display, and when you look up again, he's looking at you.
those blue eyes are trained right on your figure, and you suck in a breath when you see his gaze drop, moving up, lingering on your hips and the way your cleavage looks in that shirt before settling back on your face.
he grins, right at you, wide and knowing, and you swallow hard when he winks. he picks up his drink and takes a long sip, and you're transfixed on watching him swallow and the bob of his adam's apple when you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight--someone's behind me.
you jump a little when someone hums behind you. a voice you don't recognize, a stranger, but you can feel the warmth of them at your back, and it unnerves that they remain utterly silent for a few agonizing moments.
you see blue eyes watching, looking over your shoulder, and you think maybe he knows you're uncomfortable, that he'll do the gentlemanly thing and come to your rescue--please come help me--but instead he sees something, and something flashes in his eyes. he looks, suddenly, like a puppy being scolded, and there's a pout on his lips as he averts his gaze to his drink and turns his body just that much away from you.
"y'like johnny, luv?"
you turn sharply, stepping back, and you nearly trip into the chair at your side when you see what's behind you. a hulking, masked man, large and imposing, staring down at you with his eyes narrowed accusingly.
he's wide. broad shouldered and tall, and even though he wears layers that cover what you guess are solid muscle hardened by laborious work, he is not made any smaller. all you can see of him are his dark eyes, but even those are terrifying because there is nothing in them at all.
you wonder, for a moment, if maybe he's not real. you have to be seeing something made up. a phantom. some kind of ghost.
you steel yourself after the initial surprise, and then you frown. your voice is a little shaky, but you say with as much force as you can, "excuse me?"
the narrow of his eyes softens just a bit. he tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, and even though his eyes only flicker once, you know his gaze dropped. he takes a peek down your shirt, and you want to roll your eyes.
ghost or not, all men are the same.
"johnny." he nods his head behind you, and when you look back, the pretty one is looking at you, soft eyes shining as he stares at the pair at a distance to him. you notice his foot tapping on the floor, his leg shaking a bit. he's fidgety, nervous maybe, but you don't know why. you turn back around and face the big man again.
"do you know each other?" you ask, raising a brow. you don't know this man, either of them, but it strikes something sour in your mouth at the thought of some man trying to keep you from another--fucking strangers, playing hot potato with a woman? gross.
he snorts, and his shoulders shake a little, as if he laughs. "could say tha'," he murmurs, glaring right down at you, taking a step closer. you move your head back, feeling cornered, but you try not to panic. the bar is full of patrons, the music is lively--even someone as terrifying as this one wouldn't try anything with a room of witnesses, would he?
"look, i don't--"
"think he fancies you, too, sweetheart." his voice is so gravelly, deep, he's saying it with the low of his chest. and you can't tell if he sounds jealous or curious or excited, because he keeps his emotions in check, but at the thought of that pretty boy liking you, you keen. you turn your head again to look at him, catching his blue eyes again, and you smile. all glittery, all soft, and he smiles back, and you want to bounce on your feet.
your head turns back quick when you feel warm hands on your face. your giant has put a few of his fingers on your chin, and he turns your head back to face him, clicking his tongue.
"don't look at him, look at me," he mutters. you blink, not sure how to decipher his mood, and he steps even closer, leaning into your space. "johnny's mine."
your heart drops in your chest. you swallow hard, and you blink again, and you know your eyes are glossy from embarrassment and shame. of course this pretty man is taken--of course he is. it isn't fair, and it upsets you, but your lip trembles a little.
"fuck, i--" you gasp a little. "fuck, i-i'm sorry. i didn't..." you bite your lip. "i-i swear, i-i--"
"johnny's mine," he growls, and you tense when you feel the warmth of his breath through the mask, against your mouth. "and 'm not one to share. but johnny's been such a good boy..." your eyes flutter a little when his hand falls from your chin, smoothing over the soft skin of your neck as he grips you there gently. he clicks his tongue when you lean into him, almost instinctively. "'n you're a pretty prize. just how he likes 'em."
"huh?"
"all soft...such a nice arse," he sucks on his teeth, humming. "can see your tits so nice, luv. wanna see more of 'em."
your eyes widen, and he laughs, and it's insane and cruel, but your legs come together anyways, and you squeeze them there. you're wet. you know you are.
"he likes a sweet pussy, too, luv, got one of those?" he's closer now, growling into your ear, and you close your eyes.
"i-i...i--"
"fuck, haven't even gotten you home, and you're already so dumb," he mutters. he lets go of you, gripping you by the shoulders and turning you around. you stumble in your boots, swallowing, in a daze, and he urges you forward. "go on. sit next to johnny, sweetheart."
your legs move on autopilot, and you shuffle your way over to the table, and as you get closer, the chatter quiets just a little. johnny perks up a little when he sees you, and he moves over in the booth, giving you room, and you greet the table a little shyly before taking a seat. johnny is warm, too, radiating triumph. you smile wide, but just as you get comfortable, big hands grip your waist and lift you. you squeak as you're seated right on your giant's lap, your legs bracketing his big thigh as your back sits flush against his chest.
"got yourself a bird there, ghost?" one of them chuckles. he's stunning, all dark-skinned and wide smiles, and you know he must be their good friend because he doesn't question the way ghost has simply carried you there, sat you down with them, when supposedly he was already with someone else.
ghost hums, and you suck in a sharp breath when his hand wraps around your waist and tugs, forcing your ass right up against his middle. you put your hand over his, your fingers stroking the back of his hand. this isn't right, you know it isn't, but something feels good about it. you're normally worried about being too big to sit on anyone's lap, but he's a fucking bear, and you know he can take it.
you know he can take it.
"you like it, johnny? like what i brought you?" ghost asks, and he asks it like you're not there. you turn your head, and your eyes linger on the way ghost has his arm strewn along the edge of the booth behind him, around his shoulders. his gloved hand reaches up, and you swallow when you notice him playing with the ends of johnny's hair, the curls you know are soft, that would be nice to tug on. johnny smiles, and you see him up close now, and his lips are soft--and by the look on his face, he does like them sweet, and you know he eats pussy like they're last meals.
you know he does.
you hold in a soft sound when you feel a warm hand on your thigh, wrapping around the meat of it and squeezing.
"ohh, i like 'er, LT. like 'er a lot."
next part
#whats wrong with me LMAO#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x you#john soap mactavish#simon thoughts#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish x you#john soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x you#dark!simon#dark!soap
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this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au
Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.
By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.
Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.
Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.
It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.
Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.
He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.
Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.
It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.
Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.
He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.
The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.
They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.
"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"
When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.
By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#danyal al ghul au#danyal al ghul#dpxdc prompt#dpxdc au#dc x dp crossover#dp crossover#demon twins au#so turns out putting an assassin child in a normal family does not actually fix the child. it may just make them worse. had this thought#today and had to extrapolate. i have a whole ass post in my drafts explaining my idea for this lmao. my thought was basically:#'damian would be the better off twin because he'd have actual proper support compared to danny bc the bats know damian's background and +#+ as a result can actually address the league's teachings properly and help him dismantle the lessons that have been ingrained in him +#+ as compared to danny who would be with a random family - regardless of affiliation - who would only be able to help with surface level +#stuff if danny even ever lets them see that. danny would need to dismantle his own mindset on his own if he even thinks he has to.'#jazz is not a reliable or licensed therapist. that is a child. she's not even implied to be a good one. psychoanalyzing people doesn't make#you a good therapist. it just means you can psychoanalzye people. and therapy only works on those who think they need it. danny would not#think he'd need it and any attempts from jazz to psychoanalyze him would just result in him shutting her out and doubling down on his belie#tldr: starry made another au exploring the psychological effects of growing up in the league and he calls it:#'whose the more adjusted twin? Damian or Danny? Lmao Damian ofc. Danny got screwed over'#rip to damian you have your work cut out for you trying to peel back all of your brother's protective layers. that's an iceberg waiting to#be explored. o7 to you champ your brother got the short end of the stick. danny has so many things to unlearn that i didn't go into here#its an actual demon twins au too! would ya look at that.
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A DC X DP IDEA # 35
Who will he be tonight? that’s the question.
Imagine dis…
It's been a while since I last posted here and even though I am late on the trend the song would not leave my head ( due to my gremlin of siblings) and you are now here to suffer with me.
MWAHAHAHAHA
…
Bruce was stressed, not because of his nightly duties nor his exhausting job as the CEO of Wayne enterprise. He got his license to foster children by the skin of his teeth through legal channels, he was so close as to use his privileges as the richest man in Gotham to get his license also to be able to foster Richard “Dick” Grayson.
Apparently despite his playboy persona aka “Brucie Wayne” just entering its social debut almost made him almost impossible to foster Dick as the social worker that had been assigned to him is also one of the few social workers in Gotham that takes their job seriously.
Bruce knew that his budding playboy persona, the carefree “BRUCIE Wayne” should be buried, he could replace this mask of his with his philanthropist self but he couldn’t just immediately change it would and will raise whispers on why, but what could be the reason?
Just as he continued scheming a knock broke his train of thoughts and entered Danny Nightgale, the calm and efficient secretary who had worked before with Lucius Fox ever since he had been hired. Danny, from Bruce’s file on him, son of two leading ecto-biologists in the world, a quiet kid who grew up in a city from nowhere, had a bad accident that left him with a slow heartbeat, discovered that one of the last two purple back gorilla is female and thus avoiding total extinction. Doesn’t have much media presence due to their hometown being the home of the former ghost hero Phantom who had vanished the moment that the anti-ecto acts had been re-appealed…
…
Bruce approached Danny with a pitch and handed him a nicely drafted contract. The agreement was straightforward: pretend to be Bruce's adoring partner in public. It was the only way to change the public's opinion, to show the world a stable, dependable, responsible Bruce Wayne who was ready to be a foster and maybe a father.
…
As years went by this arrangement had been beneficial to both parties.
Danny now saves more money, and despite having one of the highest salaries being paid all went to his rent to the nicer parts of Gotham. It had so many insurances as well security measures to ensure the tenants are safe, but the downside having most of his paycheck going to the rent itself. Now he has a permanent house that is large and free food that is made by the greatest cook that ever existed.
Bruce is less embarrassed about putting on a show for the public, he seems to take on the air-head mask whenever his supposed “lover” is around and near him, turning him into a bumbling mess whenever the “love of his life” is around him. He also secretly took great pleasure whenever those annoying journalists asked nonsense questions which he answered in his most obnoxious voice spiel away how world peace is attainable if all just gave their own Danny’s.
…
Each generation of Batkids saw how Bruce had a crush on Danny yet kept fumbling himself and reminding himself that all of this was just part of the contract. Sure each kid knew of said contract that was made for Dick’s sake but said the reason for said contract wanted to rip that thing ages ago and into pieces the moment he wanted to call Danny Dad.
Though each child that resides in that manor noticed some inconsistency within Danny’s schedules, not only that they have just recently discovered that while Danny loves to chat there are still personal things that he hadn't delved into aside from the information that was already in his files. Of course, there is also his weird avoidance of the vigilante group of Gotham, especially Batman, despite being proven to the public both in and out of Gotham that Batman is trustworthy, Danny still held wariness to said vigilante.
You’d think that after years of exposure around the Wayne’s Danny would have already discovered the cave all on his own. But it seems that every time are inches away discovering their secret an emergency or urgent priority was flaring from the Wayne enterprise that only he was needed to solve the said problem.
After weeks of Tim’s continuous intake of a very worrying amount of pure caffeine, espresso shots, and 10 different brands of energy drinks they have finally connected the dots.
Danny is a secret FBI agent planted in Gotham to catch Batman and his group in the act of breaking the law and to disband the whole spiel about being a hero and vigilante. Sure the JL and the sudden rise of heroes and vigilantes that popped up around the world that are not government affiliated made those who sat at those red velvet chairs nervous as they don’t have any active say or word as to what crimes to focus on and so on. There are reasons why Amanda Waller is still in power and still allowed to roam free with funds after funds to continue her work despite being continuously caught by the JL.
Now it is up to them to change Danny’s mind and abandon his mission so that they can finally stop seeing Bruce act like that “Brucie” persona, that they thanked the gods had been immediately vetoed, towards Danny.
…
Alfred sits down in one of the manor’s libraries with a cup of tea in one hand a book in another with another small pile on the side with a teapot ready to refill himself another cup.
He sighs at the drama that seems to unfold to his eyes only.
Ever since Master Danny had been integrated into this household he had found more free time than he could ever imagine. The young man would always find ways to outpace Alfred when it comes to housework to the point it had become their little game to this day. As much as he supports his ward/son, Master Bruce needs to gather all emotional intelligence he has left and confess to Master Danny.
But that wasn’t the live soap opera that it seemed to unravel.
His grandkids are set and believe that Master Danny is a secret agent who is here due to a mission related to the vigilante group stationed in Gotham.
Alfred adores all of them, he did but sometimes he wonders if the title World’s Greatest Detective is to be added to his arsenal of titles.
Alfred knew that Master Danny wasn’t just an ordinary secretary but he was also the Ghost King of the Infinite Realms, how did he know of this?
He simply walked in on Danny changing from his human self to that otherworldly creature that looked too regal to be a normal being, and so clues that were the littlest of things that he had always chalked up to the angle of the light seemed to begin clicking in place.
Alfred was a bit miffed when he learned that Master Danny might have been cheating when it came to their little bouts of cleaning the manor but he now stayed quiet as Master Danny still didn’t know of the quote “furry brigade” unquote are the Wayne’s, and based on Master Danny’s past rants he will have his little laugh when the truth comes out, but until then he will drink his tea in peace as the drama in Wayne manor seems to unfold.
…
PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.
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Only the best Kings wear pink! Pt 3
When Jason started to wake, he kept his eyes closed; his training kicking in to assess his surroundings. He could hear…giggling children?
He thought back on what happened and reassured himself that he had not passed out on a playground.
He could feel someone poking his cheek before someone else, an older woman, shooed the children away.
“Dear sir, feigning sleep will do you no good.” Announced a gentle voice.
He opened his eyes to see a woman draped in a medieval a large amulet around her neck, she had her hair tied back in a simple braid. She could definitely be considered attractive, he chose to ignore the glowing green skin for now.
He swiftly opened his eyes, it didn’t take long to realize his mask had been confiscated, which definitely didn’t help his mood any.
“Where am I and who are you?!” He demanded in a gruff voice.
“You’re in King Phantoms personal healing quarters. Sir Frostbite has informed me that you will make a full recovery from your overindulgence of distilled ectoplasm.” She giggled. “Must have been quite a wild night to still be feeling the effects this long, you must connect me with your supplier!” She chirped as if he understood a word of what she was saying. She straightened her back.
“As for who I am, I am Queen Dorothea of Maddingly. A pleasure to make your acquaintance ” She giggled a little as she gently held out his hand.
“Red Hood.” He answered, taking the hand. (Stranger or no, Alfred would kill him if he forgot his manners)
“The please is mine.” He grunted. He felt unusually calm considering his situation. Truth be told he couldn’t remember how he got there.
Then he remembered.
Lian. Roy. The summoning.
Jason jumped from the bed, much to the amusement of the Queen as he stumbled over his own legs.
“Where’s Lian??!!” He shouted at the Queen.
She only raised a single brow in amusement. “I can take you to the little princess now, though you may want to use the rest-“
Jason glared. Queen Dorathea giggled.
“Very well Sir Hood. The little princess is in the garden with her father having tea. Shall we?” She gestured to the door.
Then she started gliding out of the room, barely waiting for Jason to grab his guns and follow after her.
The traveled through the gloomy halls, though he could hear echos of children laughing. It should have been comforting.
It was creepy.
When they finally exited the castle, Jason was greeted with a bright just off-Lazarus green sky. Glowing children and various creatures roamed the gardens as he passed. Some carrying trays, some just stopping to smell the roses? All paused to greet the Queen.
Finally they came upon several arches and tables with little girls and boys talking in the most exaggerated fancy voices he had ever heard. He would have laughed if he weren’t listening for one particular little voice.
“JAYJAY!”
Jason spun around just in time to be tackled by the little cannonball. He allowed himself to be knocked to the ground, basking in the little girl’s laughter.
“Uncle Jay! Uncle Jay! Are you gonna have a tea party with us???” She chirped, beaming up at her uncle.
“Who?” Jason looked up to see Roy standing a few feet away, holding back laughter as he snapped pictures with a glowing green camera.
A boisterous laugh came from the table behind his friend where he found the so called Ghost King….wearing a princess crown??? (One of those pink cone ones with the ribbons)
“What on earth?” Jason muttered.
The king snorted. “I see the younglings managed to break into the medical wing.”
Jason frowned. Roy took more pictures.
The Queen giggled. “I did try to warn him.”
“Warn me? What??”
The large ghost approached Jason with some kind of disk. He had no chance to protect himself if the ghost attacked with Lian in his arms…
The King knelt in front of Jason and turned the platter to face him.
“Personally I think you look adorable.” He gave Jason a wink as Lian giggled.
Not that Jason noticed as he looked at his reflection in the platter to see his face covered in heavy glittery pink blush, his eyelids with a dark unflattering blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick circling his lips.
That plus the little bows in his hair left him quite a sight.
Jason took a deep breath as he carefully got to his feet. He handed Lian to the Ghost King who dutifully snuggled the little monkey.
He turned to Roy. He didn’t hesitate, he took off after his dear friend, intent on prying the camera from his cold dead hands.
Roy booked it, the two performing impressive acrobatic feats from one tea table to the next as the fought for possession of the blackmail.
The King let out a booming laugh, turning to the little princess.
“Who should we help, daddy or uncle Jay?”
Lian tapped her chin, thinking carefully.
“Both?” She replied, tilting her head.
Danny grinned. “Both is good”
He released the little monkey as she raced to tackle her uncle Jay while Danny valiantly picked up the young archer by his armpits.
———
Clockwork sipped his glowing green tea. Entirely too pleased with himself as he enjoyed the sound of laughter returned to the infinite realms.
All was as it should be
#danny phantom#ghost king danny#dc x dp#jason todd#roy harper#lian harper#Queen dorathea#clockwork#ghost king tea parties pt 4#it’s done!!!#this ended up much longer than planned!
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Train Whistles main character height lineup for y’all
Guys… Warriors…. He’s so small… just so tiny…. Y ALL
#my art#twawb#train whistles and wedding bells#linked universe#linked universe au#Lu au#twawb wind#twawb Phantom#twawb Spirit#twawb Warriors#twawb Tetra#twawb mask#Social's art
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Hero EMT/Field Medic Danny Au
Like maybe due to all his scraps and bumps as Phantom, Danny ends up getting EMT and Field Medic training or starts studying to be one. Cause hey this will be helpful later he just knows it. Plus he could go into medical engineering (or what ever the field is called that invents medical devices) with hi Fenton Mad Scientist smarts and hyoerfocusing on healing others instead of hunting Ghosts.
A few decades or centuries down the line, Danny is now ghost king and retired from Phantom. His advisors believe he needs a vacation. And ooh look what Clockwork found- a universe with heroes. So off he goes to DC universe.
Except, his core is demanding he help some way..but there are so many heroes. Perhaps instead of being a hero, he could help the heroes.
Que Danny slapping on domino mask, tying his hair back, grabbing his old modified Fenton field medic uniform and the Patented Fenton Medical Bag (which is like the Mary Poppins bag but for medical supplies). And h doesn't even bother going Ghost. He can use his powers in human form but he does so sparingly- like lifting a building off a trapped hero or civilian, icing a wound to stop the bleeding until h can get them some where safe and duplicating himself to help in disaster relief. Suddenly there are reports of a mysterious masked meta field medic showing up at big villain battles or the aftermath of another invasion and running disaster relief and helping civilian and hero alike. Many young heroes tell their mentors of a masked medic who helped patch them up. So on ad so forth.
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dc x dp crossover#justice league crossover#dc x dp prompt#Field Medic Danny#medic hero danny au
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