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velvetures · 1 year

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Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being “too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant’s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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halfagone · 7 months

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One of the things I love the most about AUs where Danny moves to Gotham City is how easily he fits in. There are AUs where Danny makes a statement and gets noticed for the great guy he is and I enjoy those too, but I love the AUs where Danny fits in as if he's always been here. Where he doesn't stand out, doesn't make a statement.

There is something so quietly compelling about this transition in Danny's life. Danny has always stood out in a negative way. His parents are the town hacks, his sister is a genius that he'll never compare to. Friends who create rallies for their respective causes and actually makes people listen. Even amongst the outsiders, Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

Danny likes Paulina because it's safe. Anyone would have a crush on the most popular girl in school. That's expected, that's normal. Of course he wants to be popular, what kid doesn't want to be popular?

The A-Listers stand out, not because they're particularly special, but because everyone else has set the standard that only they can reach. They present these kids as what every student should be, and everyone else is just failing to reach their level.

Danny has always striven for normalcy but the only way to achieve it is to fundamentally change who he is and he can't. No matter how hard he tries he can't be that person. He can try, and god has he tried, but he can't change who he is.

And then Danny moves to Gotham.

You can use all sorts of reasons for the move. Maybe this is a scenario where a reveal goes sideways and Danny has to flee. Maybe he has a bad breakup and he wants a fresh start. Maybe he's going to college out-of-state. Maybe he received a promotion at work and his boss wants him to manage the new Gotham branch.

No matter what reason you use, it all leads back to square one. Danny is in a city where he hardly knows anyone, but has heard all the horror stories for. The crime here is nothing like he's ever experienced before. At least with the ghosts, Danny knew they were coming thanks to his ghost sense. He doesn't always get the same courtesy with Arkham breakouts.

But he adapts. It's his specialty. He adapts to new powers and new enemies all the time, he can adapt here too. Human crime might not be his specialty but he knows how to protect himself. And for once he doesn't stand out for it.

Danny is paranoid and hypervigilant? Don't worry, most people here are. They have to be. Danny has scars on his knuckles from fighting ghosts? That's not the mark of a troublemaker, that's the mark of a survivor. Danny keeps a metal baseball bat by his front door? Okay, maybe that's a little strange; most people keep their weapons by their bed.

The point is that all these habits ingrained in Danny's psyche aren't out of place in Gotham. Here, no one thinks strangely of his behavior because they've all developed habits to help them survive. There is a different normal here in Gotham, a different standard, and for once Danny can reach it.

For once Danny is normal and he didn't have to change himself in any way to achieve it. It's proof that there was never anything wrong with him. He just didn't fit in with Amity Park anymore, but there is a place out there where he can.

Gotham City might not have been the home he grew up in, but it's accepted him more than the one he left behind. On the outside, this community might seem rough and harsh and brutal. But these people understand Danny better than anyone else could, because they know what it feels like to fight every day just to survive.

And I think there's something so cathartic about leaving one home, and all the fears that come with that, only to find a better one you never thought you could have.

I don't know. It's just so personal to me.

#dpxdc #halfagone rambles #character analysis #dpxdc au #danny fenton

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azulhood · 7 months

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Jazz was, at her core, a pessimist.

Oh sure, she wanted the best outcomes and strived to always see the best in people. But listening to her parents talk about and share crime scene photos of someone who was brutally murdered and who may haunt the place they were headed to while true crime podcasts played instead of road trip tunes as they traveled to whatever graveyard had caught their interest had dulled young Jazz's faith in humanity.

Jazz still had memories of a young her standing in an abandoned insane asylum (or abandoned hospital, or old house, or graveyard, or whatever place they dragged her too) holding a small torch with shaky hands and begging to leave because she was terrified "Can we go? Please? this place is scaring me" only to be told "In a minute Jazzy, we down want the ghost getting away."

They had settled down after Danny was born, choosing to stay in one placed instead of traveling all over the country. She still expected them to unexpectedly announce that they were going on the road again, she had plans in case they did (saying she'd stay behind with the van to take care of Danny was better then both of them getting used as ghost bait) But surprisingly they didn't.

And Jazz was thrilled. Sure, she and Danny were known as the kids of the towns crazy ghosthunters, and sure, she basically had to raise her brother since her parents would rarely leave their lab let alone focus on something not ghost related, and yes, she did have to carefully plan out how to use the family's money so that none of them starved.

But no more sleeping in cheap hotels or their van, no more making friends at playgrounds that she'd never see the next day, no more countless hours spent in places where people died, no more English lessons while on the road. She went to school now, she had friends that she saw more than once, she had a home that wasn't filled with cockroaches and the sounds of a argument from the room next door. She had a semi-normal life.

In this time of normality, she relaxed, she let her guard down. Then Danny died and only came back halfway.

And Jazz was back to being that little girl who was scared of ghosts, only this time she was scared for a ghost.

Danny didn't tell her at first, and even though it hurt she understood, and so while she waited for him to tell her, she planned.

She took job after job, from mowing someone's lawn to working at a checkout. Money had been put aside in bags filled with clothes and a pair of new id that she had gotten from Tucker, ("Just in case our parents get classified as supervillains and we need to flee" She said not giving anyway that she knew of Danny's ghostly problem, Tucker had made the id anyway even if he thought she was joking and did not in fact have a plan should that situation happen) One of their neighbors was willing to let her buy their old car despite her family's driving history. A safe house (more like safe apartment) was bought in the only place that was willing to let a teen buy property, Gotham City.

Danny fought numerous enemies until the only enemy that was left was telling their ghost hunter parents that their son was half dead.

Compared to her, Danny was an optimist, seeing the best in everyone without even having to try like she did. Believing that the best would happen like if he didn't, he would break into a million pieces and not know how to put himself together again.

Even though he was scared Danny believed that their parents wouldn't react badly, Jazz hoped they wouldn't but was prepared if they did.

And finally, after many nights spent wide awake in case her parents tried to rip Danny apart molecule by molecule while she slept, the shoe dropped. Their parents loved them, but their work came first, it always came first. Jazz loved her parents, she truly did, but she loved Danny more. And in the end, that made her choice of driving all the way to Gotham with nothing but their go bags all the more easier.

And that was how Jazz and Danny ended up as the neighbors of one Jason Todd.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #jazz fenton #Jason todd #Jack and Maddie were traveling ghosthunters #and that gave Jazz trauma #They did have a youtube ghost hunting channel that had many comments worrying if Jazz was okay #Another way this could go is if the ghosts of the haunted places the fentons visited saw them and went #“we can be better parents then these two”#and just adopt Jazz and then later Danny #I realize now that this whole thing is kind of a slightly scrambled word vomit and probably doesn't make much sense

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radiance1 · 4 months

Text

Tim, officially, does not have a new caretaker.

Tim, unofficially, does have a new caretaker.

A large, large man with long flaming purple hair that was capable of touching the floor if it didn't move like fire with sharp glowing green eyes and a neutral, if a bit of a resting bitch face, expression on his face.

Comparatively, he was not dressed oddly. Nothing but a white compression shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of black sandals. The only thing odd about it was the sword constantly strapped to his waist, though Tim ignored it when he saw the man using it to chop ingredients.

Fright, he called himself, and Tim never asked if it was his actual name or not. He was just glad someone came over as constantly as he does.

He doesn't know where the man goes at night, after making sure he's tucked into bed and asleep, but he never pried. Mostly because he wasn't supposed to know that, and he doesn't want Fright to catch onto the fact that he was constantly sneaking out at night either.

So they'll both keep their secrets.

===

Fright Knight was at a loss with himself.

His master, Pariah Dark, had been once again released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and he wasted no time to return to his side. Even with his previous betrayl.

The events that followed were unexpected.

His master did not continue his eons long war with life. Though it had long since turned silent with his imprisonment, it was still brewing under the current of 'peace' that the Ghost Zone fell into.

Fright Knight knew that well.

So, what exactly was he supposed to do when his master returned to his time as naught but a humble farmer and started to rebuild the bridge he had long burnt with the Master of Time?

He felt... conflicted.

Of course, reconnecting with the Ghost of Time was a good thing, and he has been subject to witness just how much passion they had for each other during days long past.

But his master picking up a life that was not one honed through blood was always an odd thing for him to experience. Two peas in a pod, as some would say they were.

War and Fear.

Where War went, Fear followed. Rivers of flowing blood with storms of fear promised was something too tempting for him to resist.

Fear was a sword, and he was War's blade.

So it was not something easy for him to adjust to when War settled down into peace and sought prosperity instead of his namesake. Of course, he, as always, adjusted regardless of the situation and followed his master in his newest endeavor.

It was much harder to preserve a life, than it was to end it. They both came to realize. On his master's part, farming was something he pondered over and donned for a brief time eons ago, the new methods of today clashing wildly with what little he knew of the activity before War sung to him again. For Fright Knight, he had not a single nail's worth of experience in the act, never having had an interest like War did and as such, never learned.

It felt rather odd to use his blade to cut gifts from the land, but if he replaced them with images of enemies long since snuffed, it wasn't exactly hard.

He could not stay there for long; however, it was just too... different, from what he was used to. The Ghost King knew this and told him he was free to be left to his own devices so long as it did not affect the rules the Master of Time had set for them.

Or rather, War. But as Fear was in his service, he was not exactly exempt from said constraints, either.

So he wandered, keeping to his 'human' persona he was told to set for himself here. He was thankful that these beings called Meta's existed as no one gave him more than a second glance.

Though if that was more something to do with his height he did not know.

He came upon a city, one of shadows and filled with curses in numbers that even made him pause in slight bafflement. Lady Gotham, the city's spirit, brushed against him as soon as he stepped foot within her haunt, and it did not take long for them to reach and accord.

Fear was allowed to stay, so long as he did not do anything she did not permit. He was fine with said rules, after all, what was another constraint compared to those set by Time itself?

He had a favorable view of this city, just the ambient fear alone made it worth stepping inside. It was better than War's attempt at peace, though it was nothing due to the being itself he was just... used to being surrounded by fear.

Then he met a human child by the name of Timothy Drake. A meeting by chance and nothing else, but he did need something to do by Lady Gotham's suggestion.

So he became the boy's 'caretaker' though if he were a good one was something he could not comment on.

He did not need sleep, his new ward did, so when night fell, he always stepped out of the city to go back to his master and reappeared the next morning.

The thing about his new master's attempt at peace, was that he was quite willing to give away the gifts he received from the land. Which was helpful, considering he had no idea how to acquire money in this new age.

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

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Fingers crossed for an update of Passion for Fashion 💖❓ sorry for the bother but I've just become addicted to reading that Au lololol I've read it over and over again for like a hundred times now

"Give me a spin," Dan demands, keeping a critical eye on the suit pants as the man did as he was told. He clicks his tongue in sharp disapproval before falling into a crouch and fidgeting with the hem.

Danny thinks the suit came out looking fantastic for a stupid theme like question marks. The client was also a rather exciting guy, randomly spewing riddles at them as Dan worked on his outfit and Danny cooked them lunch.

Edward Nigma had shown up on their doorstep with a cheerful greeting at five a.m. Danny wanted to tell Edward that anything before nine a.m. should be illegal, but Dan was happy to welcome him in.

Dan had forgotten to sleep again and didn't realize the early morning start. Danny was getting rather tired of the ghost rushing about with an insane amount of energy, only to crash when his human body could no longer sustain his habits.

After letting Edward get comfortable on the half-buried couch of clothing, Danny wandered back upstairs to his bedroom. It was the only room—besides the bathroom—where there wasn't a bunch of fabric and sewing instruments thrown about. He crashed on his bed and didn't wake up until two more hours later.

By that point, when he had done his morning routine and wandered downstairs, he found Edward sitting crosslegged in a ring of paper. The paper had multiple sketched designs of various suits.

A little to his right was Dan, whose hand was nothing but a blur as it raced across his sketchbook. Danny could make out that he stopped, ever so often, to switch out the coloring pencils for shades of green and purple, but doing it at such a speed that he doubted regular humans would be able to tell.

It meant his drawings were done at an insanely fast pace. He wondered if his Obsession made it possible not to burn a hole through the paper. Was there a way to test that? Ghosts did have an effect on their environments just as the environments had an effect on their forming.

Edward was comparing two papers in his hands with a critical eye. He looked up as Danny stumbled down the stairs- he had never been a morning person. He held up the designs for Danny to see, asking, " What is the most dangerous thing to give a man in a crowd?"

Half asleep, Danny didn't miss a beat in muttering, "Power."

Edward seemed pleased by his response, putting the left one back into the ring of papers before shifting around to face a new side of the ring. There, he ran his fingers over the designs, muttering, "It needs to be powerful."

Right.

"I'm making breakfast if anyone-"

"No need. Edward ordered us some. Your burrito is over there somewhere," Dan cut him off, turning to the next page without lifting his head. "It's part of my commission."

"Free food?"

"For a week"

"Nice"

Edward glances at them. "I can keep feeding you if you answer more riddles."

Danny takes a big bite out of his bean burrito, savoring the explosion of flavor that dances over before nodding his head. "I promise I'll try to answer as many as I can but I'm not the best at them."

The man frowns, turning away back to this pile of papers. "If you're not going to play my game, you don't need to waste the air you breathe in."

Both Fentons freeze at that, snapping their heads in Edward's direction. Now, correct him if he is wrong, but that sounded a whole lot like a threat to Danny. He made eye contact with Dan, tracing the youthful human face that held the same bloodlust as his adult form.

Was Edward aware he had just issued a Ghost Challenge to the one Fenotn, the least human, thus the one with the least humanity of them all, madness cured or not? Is he aware that Dan was putting down his drawings, his teeth more sharp, and his hands curled into claws?

Danny sprung to his feet, mouth open in a shout just as Dan was about to leap-

Ding Dong.

The front doorbell cuts through the air like a knife through hot butter. Dan's ghost instincts all but vanish as his eyes light up in joy. He goes through with his leap, but it's only to go over Edward's form and roll to a stop on the other side, heading towards the door. "My second client!"

Danny breathes a sigh of relief, flopping back down in his seat. He ignores Edward, savoring his food with a deep hunger. Clockwork had sent them over with enough funds to survive, and there were no bills they needed to cover (if there were, no one had bothered to come collect from the Fentons or cut their services), but that was a limit to how loose they could be with their spending.

Danny thought eating out was a luxury he would miss out on until he returned home. Of course, he got a coffee or something occasionally, but that made this free food all the more tasty.

"I was thinking something more eco-friendly," The redhead woman from the runway told Dan as she scanned the room with a hint of distaste. "Are you aware of the damage to the Earth these fabric stores cause?"

Dan eyed her with equal distance. "Are you aware of how little I care about that?"

Edward snaps his head up with a gasp. "Did he really say that to Ivy?"

"I thought her name was Pamela," Danny asks, which causes the green woman to snap a glare at him. He shrugs helplessly at her rage, reminded of Sam in a heartbreaking moment. "Miss, look around you. Do you honestly think ants like us have any say with the fabric companies?"

"You could stop giving them business!" She hisses as Dan rolls his eyes.

"We bought almost everything from a second-hand store or a discount store. The poor don't get to make eco-friendly decisions. They make ones that help them stay off the streets." Danny explains gently, making sure his voice is not dismissive or condescending. He thinks back to nights when he had to talk Sam down from doing something crazy- like setting a building on fire for them and cutting down the oldest trees in Amity Park. "You have the means to make a change."

Pamela raises a brow. "I do make a change. Permanently."

"Oh, that's great. How many trees have you replanted?" Danny asks, smiling widely. It's odd how she reacts to his question, body still going in surprise.

"What?"

"I mean, I figured you would be focusing on healing the earth instead of causing it more scars by engaging in human wars, right?" Danny tilts his head, aware of Edward's flabbergasted look and Dan's apparent boredom with the conversation. "You're different from the big corporations who don't care who or what they hurt to reach their end goal, right? "

Pamela opens and closes her mouth before she snaps her back straight. "That wouldn't save the Earth! Humans are a plague!"

"Humans can also be a cure if the right ones get started." Danny counters quickly. "I mean, what have you done for the rivers around Gotham? The water that flows through there affects the plant life just as much. Also, plants and green help lower depression, and Gotham needs help. Plant some pretty flowers and gardens, and watch the neighborhoods flock to them. If you can convince the people to love the plants as much as you do, they will join you in keeping them safe."

Pamela's eyes narrow. "Don't you dare lecture me about how to save the Earth."

Danny shrugs, stepping away from her. A sudden strong perfume fills the air, causing his nose to wrinkle. It smells like his grandmother's house and is not welcoming. "Wasn't a lecture, but if you take it as such, there is no point in talking about it anymore."

"You're going to die for me," she suddenly says, popping out her hip and smirking at him.

"That's nothing special, Danny would die for a pizza." Dan cuts in

"I would die for an extra cheese pizza." Danny corrects, pointing his finger at his counterpart. "You would die for less."

"Oh, to be dead. In the arms of the most handsome EverBurning to ever live." Dan sighs dramatically, leaning into three pieces of cloth behind him, one hand on his forehead.

Danny threw his hands in the air. He's sick and tired of hearing about the ghost they knew for only ten minutes. "Killer Croc is never going to give you a chance, Dan. Move on!"

"We could have been forever if it weren't for my age!" Dan hisses right back, "You wouldn't understand! It's not like you or Samantha turned five!"

"Who's fault do you think that was? " Danny yells back, stepping around the wide-eyed Edward to snare into Dan's face. Pamela has taken three steps back, looking confused more than anything, mouthing Killer's name with clear disbelief.

"I wasn't the one that messed up the timeline!" Dan hisses, switching over to Spanish. Sometimes, the fake twins found themselves doing that whenever they got too emotional.

"You destroyed the world!"

"As it was foretold!"

"What does that even mean!?"

Ding Dong.

Once again, the doorbell cuts through the tension, making Danny huff. He pushes past Dan, who punches him in the arm but doesn't stop him from throwing the door open. Outside stands Tim Drake, with a bouquet of flowers and a nervous smile.

"I'm here for the suit," Tim says, holding out the flowers. "I know you said I didn't have to pay you, but I thought it was rude to not offer anything-"

"Buy me pizza." Danny cuts him off with dead-set eyes. "Double crust."

Tim startles. "Oh. Sure?"

Danny can feel his face stretch out into a grin. It lights up his whole face—Sam and Tucker had told him many times before—and he just knows it makes him appear lighter and friendlier. Tim's face goes very red as Danny takes his flowers. "It's a date. Come on in. Dan can get your measurements for the resize, and I can get ready in the meantime."

"Okay." Tim follows after him in a daze, stumbling over the fabric rolls Dan had stacked against the wall. He tries to avoid tipping but tangles himself in the string of cloth examples, still strung up everywhere. Danny quickly reaches out to steady him with a laugh.

"Yeah, this place is a bit of a mess," he tells the other. "It's slightly better today since Dan has some guests."

He leads Tim back into the living room, surprised to find that the awful smell has disappeared, Edward is currently being measured by Dan in his underwear, and Pamela is flipping through Dan's designs with a thought frown.

Huh, maybe Dan managed to calm her down. How? He's unsure, but that ghost always seemed to have the oddest people skills.

Tim gulps loudly when he finally spots everyone. "These are his guests?!"

"It's one of the Waynes." Edward cheers, arms held out to his sides as Dan places the measuring tap from his armpit to his waist. "Tim Drake, right? I had you in one of my riddles three months ago!"

"That's funny. I induced his father with pheromones around the same time." Pamela speaks up, giving Tim a friendly smile. It's the most welcoming expression she's worn since she got here.

Also ew, why would she tell someone she hooked up with their dad to their face like that?

Tim pales dramatically, reaching out to clutch Danny's arm. He pats it gently, hoping to comfort him from such a bizarre comment. "Dan, when you finish with Edward, can you message Tim for his adjustments. We're going on a date."

Dan glances over at him. "Whore"

"Just because I've gone on dates while Killer didn't even give you the time of day doesn't mean you can call me names, Dan."

"Whore but affectionately," Dan says after a long pause, and Danny nods.

"That's better." He pats Tim again on the shoulder- aware of his strange fidgeting with a ring on his finger that imitates a strange faint beeping. "I'll go upstairs to get ready. Who knows, maybe we'll find Batman."

Edward and Pamela laugh as if Danny said a funny joke and Tim's face aging a few more nervous lines. "Maybe"

He leaves Tim to take a seat next to Pamela. She leans over to show Dan's designs for her Leaf theme act and asks for his opinion. Tim fidgets even more with his ring as he answers her, voice shaky and cracking.

She seems highly amused.

His pale face stands out among the sea of handing red glimmering fabric around his head, and Danny is startled for a second by the idea that he is pretending to be scared, much like an actor before a red stage curtains.

It takes a particular skill to pull off an act that good. Almost an inhuman amount. One could even claim it was.... Bat-man-like.

I have a lead, Danny thinks with glee as he quickly climbs the stairs. He is careful not to step on bundles of yarn that Dan has stacked there. I finally have a lead!

He's going to charm the pants off of Tim to get him to tell him everything about Batman.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #passion for fashion #Part 7 #Tim is pretending to be a sacred civilian #Dan and Danny bicker but no one else is allowed to say bad things about them #Ivy tried to dose them in pheromone only to come off smelling like old lady #Dan is in fact bitter Danny's dating life is taking off #Edward almost got mauled and he didn't know it

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flamingpudding · 10 months

Text

How to human

Nightwing was sure he was being watched. He had been in the hero business long enough to recognize that feeling. The little irk, whisper in the back of your mind and the little hairs standing up. He was being watched. A part of him felt honored. He had gotten a little stalker like Tim had been to Bruce once. So, on some days, he made sure to do some extra flips and air acrobatics. No, he wasn't showing off to watchfull eyes, shut up little wing. But whenever he turned to the direction he felt eyes on him, he found nothing. He was worried that he was getting as paranoid as Bruce, but at the same time, he swore that someone had started watching him during his patrols, especially whenever he was in Gotham.

Red Hood grew more and more frustrated as the days passed. This wasn't his first time dealing with little stalker but usually, the street kids of crime alley knew when and when not to follow him around. The kid that was currently following him? The little shit was reckless af. Red Hood going to bust a drug deal? He felt that freaking kids eyes on him. Getting into a fight that ends with a shot out? That little shit was still there watching instead of leaving. But the kid was good, Hood had to admit that. Whenever he turned to scowl the little shit, they were gone. They avoided him the moment he puts his attention on them. But just the kid wait, he will get them one of these days. He was not having as much fun as his brother with his little stalker.

Spoiler preened at the attention she was getting. She had a little stalker! Not Red, not Orphan, not Signal, not Robin but her! She had a stalker of her own. Like Nightwing and Red Hood! There was a little kid interested in her and following her around during patrols. She probably shouldn't, but she did end up teasing the other about it. It most likely wasn't good either, considering all the things that could happen during their patrols. But aside from that it was an interesting feeling to have a little shadow that somehow can avade you. Just like Nightwing and Red Hood whenever she turned around or tried to actively look for her little stalker there was no one. But she knew the kid was there. Compared to the idiot boys Spoiler had gotten some cookies from Agent A to lure out her little shadow. Saddly the kid had been a no show but they did take the cookies when she had looked away for a moment. And a giggle told her that they liked them. She was at least making process in getting to k ow her stalker.

Danny, Dan and Ellie, after decades of having lived among ghosts in the ghost zone when realizing they didn't age like their human family, ended up spit back out to the mortal realm. (Clockwork had gotten fessed up with the Phantom trio and decided HE needed a vacation from them and Frostbite mentioned sending them to the morals would be good for their halfa health. So the decision was made pretty quickly, let the humans deal withvthe ghost kids for a while. He will force the trenchcoat magican, that liked to poke around too much, to check up on them sometimes.) The problem was, they kind of forgot how to be human. So what did they do? Follow around the one human that caught their attention and learn how to human again from them. To bad that the humans that caught their attention happened to be vigilantes and they only ever seemed to be the most interesting when they dress up at night.

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amaltheas-garden · 2 months

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AND ANOTHER THING

this episode, despite not having the laughable plot points from 2x03, has run into some irreconcilable issues with the source material, but not in the typical "this event didn't happen in the text" way, but in the "these themes are in direct conflict with everything asoiaf stands for" way.

asoiaf sets itself apart from most fantasy because, in a genre chalk full of stories with divine, predetermined heroes destined to save the world, kings-to-be whose causes were always righteous and whose wars were always glorious, decided to flip the script. grrm wanted a story where no one's actions could be excused by vague notions of serving the "greater good", where divine purpose and prophecy held little weight compared to the very real damage done to actual people, because at the end of the day, nothing can justify the violence inflicted onto innocents in these endless quests for power.

the dance of dragons is a very easy story to comprehend when the rose-tinted glasses this fandom insists on seeing the Targaryens through are removed. it's about two siblings growing up in a time of peace and prosperity, going to war over daddy's throne, and everyone either dying or becoming a hollow husk of who they used to be. thats it. thats what war does. it kills you, or strips your humanity away bit by bit till you're hardly recognizable as a human and might as well be dead anyways. if there is one theme grrm wants readers to walk away with, it is that the price of war is NEVER one worth paying. I'm sure Rhaenyra thought that, sitting on the throne, haunted by the ghosts of her dead sons, and I'm sure Aegon II thought that, to broken to even climb the stairs of the IT, wishing only for his brothers, and sister, and children back.

while having Rhaenyra only willing to go to war over something "more than a crown" certainly paints her in a noble light, introducing a catch all justification for anything she does going forward to place herself on the IT is ridiculous. hotd essentially saying Rhaenyra actually HAD to go to war to save the realm from certain destruction years down the line because she was gifted special knowledge of her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror's prophecy (the Song of Ice and Fire *eye roll*) is a level of propaganda the "biased maesters" of f&b could only dream of.

#hotd critical #anti team black #hotd #hotd s2 #fire and blood #asoiaf #f&b #rambling instead of going to bed even though i have work in the morning #even though the septa Rhaenyra plot was silly at least it gave us rhaenicent crumbs #this episode just made me mad lol

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evilminji · 6 months

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You know that Post about Danny becoming the False Villian, Expose?

To train all these kids, who are running around with shitty priorities and the self preservation instincts of lemmings? Because they were arrogant. Didn't listen to the concerns of those they "protect". Didn't listen to the concerns of a fellow Hero. So now, they WILL learn, at the hands of a "Villian".

Cause he TRIED pointing things out nicely.

Was met with a brick wall of condescension and dismissal.

THAT post.

You know where he would not only do that, but go APESHIT into it? Because he is a Hero and holy SHIT these kids are gonna get themselves killed? Gonna kill somebody ELSE? Have fucked up priorities and live in a fucked up system they do not even question?

Boku No Hero Academia.

Why the FUCK are you posing for the cameras? Why the absolute FUCK are you beating that man down on the worst day of his life, instead of TALKING him down? Why are you jumping too conclusions and splitting up and playing for the crowds? Why. The ABSOLUTE AND UNFORGIVING FUCK do you seem to ASSUME that every innocent soul, that doesn't look default generic human, is the AGGRESSOR in every situation you arrive at?!

Danny would have a conniption. Just a full body rage seizure, as his Ghost-y lil brain LIT UP with the BURNING NEED to fix everything, everywhere, at once. Right. Now.

But do they listen?

Ha!

Cool, cool cool cool cool..... he's gonna burn the entire country dow- No! That way lies Dan! Breathe, Fenton. Just.... Breathe. You can fix this.

The older ones may be set in their ways, but the younger ones are still learning. They can get better. BE better. They're kids. They just need opportunities to grow. And they WANT to be Heros, right? All he has to do is show them HOW. Poke their weak spots and point out their mistakes.

He can do that!

And just? Out of NO WHERE? This foreign villian decends upon Japan? What's worse, seeming to TARGET HEROS STUDENTS. Young, just debuted, Heros. Everyone freaks out. Older Heros closing rank, where they can, to try and Protect These Kids(tm).

But they can't be everywhere at once.

And this menace? Seemingly CAN be. Can make copies of himself. Use Ice. Fly. Energy beams. Intangiblity. Invisibility! What monster are they DEALING with?! That plays the flamboyant fool, dispensing deadly peril, only to then turn around, and in chilling sobriety absolutely destroy seasoned heroes?

That LECTURES them while doing it.

He's undermining the people's faith in the system!

(But should they have faith in it? Doesn't he have good points? Aren't they getting stronger, faster, better heroes for facing him? Where did he come from? Hasn't anyone else noticed that not a single civilian has gotten hurt, at his hands? That he annihilates any true villians foolish enough to think he's on their side?)

(How many "thugs" and "minor villians" have these guys not noticed, they wonder, who have just... disappeared. Come into contact with this guy and then? Stopped. Turned up somewhere else, weeks later, healthy again. Smiling with illegal lifestyle support gear, a new job, a new life, and better future. Finally free of the violence.)

Amity may be at peace by the time Danny turns 20(-ish? Maybe? Is he? Clockwork! How old IS he? You've sent him on so many of your weird timebend-y missions he lost count!). But? Danny is a Heroic Protector Spirit. His Obsession has demands. And his Human sides Space Obsession will never really be quite strong enough to support him.

You know, since it can't die.

Just because it HAS a Soul aspect to it, doesn't mean it'll ever come into practical use. So? The more powerful Heroic instincts it is! And honestly, he wasn't even planning to STAY. Just check the place out. You know, compare his options. But... *twitch*

They Are Doing It Wrong.

So now he lives here!

.....it's awful! They don't even have any space exploration! No studying, no stars, no futuristic moon base! Nothing! And he doesn't even SPEAK Japanese! In human form? He has no idea what anyone is saying! At least the Sorta-But-Not skeleton Ghost guy across the hall is helping. Dude might be taller then his DAD. Seriously ecto-starved though. It's like he somehow GAVE all his body's ecto to someone else!

How's he supposed to heal like that?! Guy really needs to learn how to take care of himself.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

#dp x bnha #dpxbnha #minji's writing #dpxbnha prompt #dp x bnha prompt

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blvdprn · 4 months

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— GLOOMY STALKER

idia shroud x dom!male reader

somebody has been following you around, but every time you look behind you all you were able to find was an empty space. that is until you cornered the perpetrator and he had nowhere else to go.

nsfw — handjob, grinding, consent IS there it just wasn’t mentioned, stalker!idia, self-deprecation (it’s idia guys), popular!reader, reader is kinda into it, semi-public?, no actual sex

wc: 1,024

Again, just like every other day, the feeling of eyes following your figure accompanied you everywhere. It’s been weeks since this started. The irritation on your face whenever you felt the unknown presence made your friends concerned, worriedly asking if you were alright. You always made sure to tell them “Yes, everything’s fine, I just haven’t slept well.” At some point, they knew that was a lie, but they kept asking the same thing, hoping you’d tell them the truth.

One day, you had the great idea of separating yourself from your friend’s side. Your lack of presence goes unnoticed, for a short while, that is. And while they were running around like headless chickens trying to find you, you were already far gone, almost sprinting to an abandoned hallway —one that held rumors of ghosts haunting it.

Hiding behind an old, and dirty human-like metal armor, you waited until you were able to hear the footsteps of the one you were excited to catch. With their back turned toward you, all you could see was that they had their hood up, blocking their hair from view. They were also skinny and quite tall, but their hunched shoulders made them look smaller.

With them looking the other way, they didn’t notice you inching closer. Now, with you a couple of feet away from them, you could hear their heavy pants, almost like they weren’t used to running a lot.

‘Unathletic.’ You noted.

Hurriedly, you took long silent strides, slamming your left hand over their mouth while the other arm wrapped around their waist, dragging them back into the quiet corner.

Turns out, the somebody was the resident's gloomy house warden. He’d been following you around like a lost puppy, either by looming over your shoulder or by watching you through the hallway cameras. That would explain why he followed you in here. He didn’t know about this place, seeing as there were no cameras for him to use.

For weeks, he tried hard to get rid of his crush on you. Often spying, he hoped that he caught a slip in your persona, thinking about how nobody was that perfect. Sometimes, Idia wanted you to catch him, to reveal an awful side of you so the one-sided crush he had would forcefully fade away with the humiliation you would surely show him. After all, he was nothing but a gross otaku. An ugly loser virgin that was nothing compared to you.

This is why when he ran after your silhouette, the last thing he expected was for a deity like you to do something out of a hentai.

Which is what brings you to now, hand deep in somebody else’s pants, his face buried into your shoulder.

Your dick was hard, begging for some attention. Right now though, you were too busy making the third-year moan in pleasure, seeing as he’d never experienced something like this with somebody else.

“Mmh…” Idia let out, biting your shoulder with his sharp teeth, making you hiss at the pain.

“Tch,” you clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Don’t hide your moans, you don’t deserve it after what you did.”

He whined in embarrassment, reluctantly releasing your shoulder from his shark-like teeth. Instead, he tried to stop his sounds by thinking of something else, but that quickly failed when your thumb rubbed around his tip.

“Ah!”

You huffed. “Pay attention to me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Mmm— ‘M sorry..”

Your remaining hand then went inside his pants, grabbing the base of his cock. Rubbing it up and down, the other twisted at the top, your wrist aching a bit with all the movement.

“Ngh! Ohhh!” With Idia’s face in clear view, hood down, you could see the way his hair changed from blue to pink, eyes rolling back a bit.

‘Shit, he’s so cute.’

Not being able to take it anymore, you pulled out your hands and released his dick. Grabbing him by the waist, you turned Idia around so his face was against the wall, back arched towards you.

“O-ow.”

Quickly, you resumed what you were doing.

With Idia’s ass facing your direction, you pushed your hips against it, instantly liking the way his round ass and both of your pants created delicious friction. Rolling your hips and grinding, you saw the way Idia struggled with deciding on what to do. On one end, all he wanted was for your hands to jerk him off until he couldn’t cum anymore. On the other, he wanted and craved the way the outline of your dick just barely rubbed in between his ass.

Gosh, he couldn’t believe this was even happening. How could someone like you do this with someone like him? Were you not disgusted?

“What did I say about paying attention?” you groaned, increasing the pace of your thrusts and hands.

“S-sorry didn’t mean to.”

Hips shaking, you knew Idia was close, the twitching of his cock and the way his hair flared up gave it away. As if it wasn't enough, his moans and whimpers also grew in volume, and you saw how Idia’s nails scratched the thin wallpaper in front of him.

Your grinding against him turned rapid and damn near savage. One of your hands slid down, playing with the heavy set of balls below his dick. Not even five seconds later, Idia let out a pleasurable scream, feeling his orgasm come from the set of skilled hands that were still working.

With Idia’s hot cum all over your palms and fingers, you rutted your hips against him. Letting out a fat load inside your underwear, you could do nothing but wish that it was instead inside your stalker’s hole.

“HaaaAh— Please, it h-hurts!”

‘Oh shit.’

You forgot that you were still fisting his dick.

Hands instantly letting go, you had to wrap your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t collapse onto the floor. All you could hear were his loud gasps, echoing around the empty hallway.

Later on, you’d come to hear about a new set of ghost rumors. Ones that contained weird noises coming from the hallway you two were in.

notes: idia is so cute i need to give him a sloppy handjob and hear him cry about it. 😕

#twst idia #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst smut #idia shroud #twisted wonderland #idia shroud smut #twst x reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland idia #top male reader #male reader #dom male reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x male reader #x male reader #male reader smut #disney twisted wonderland

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bluerosefox · 1 year

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Daughter of Phantom, Lady Gotham.

I love Lady Gotham stuff in the DCxDP stories, like a lot, so what if, hear me out (Long post is long, I rambled again)

Lady Gotham is Danny's daughter.

How? How about Danny is hurt (his parents? GIW? Vlad?), like badly, to the point even his core is damaged and the time needed to heal would take years, like a lot of years. Like it was bad that even his Rogues were shocked and shaken. They eventually get him to the Realms but are unsure what to do next. So they're scrambling trying to figure out how to save him.

So when CW appeared he asked to handed the Core because he knows what to do, where to hide him so he can heal they don't question it, everyone in the Realms know CW, the Ancient of Time itself, has a soft spot for Phantom. He opens a portal to a different world, not Danny's he can't run the risk of GIW finding him, to a just beginning world, the new world will help speed up his healing, and with Frostbite's help they set up a healing chamber deep, deep in the ground. Once they made sure everything is set up and safe, they place his core inside the healing pod and return every so often to check on him.

Over time though, above on the surface of that world it's timeline starts. Animals, creatures, humans, aliens, magic users, etc etc begin and with it, because even as a half healing core, Danny's power and ectoplasm starts effecting the area he's resting in (Ghost King Danny? Young/New Ancient/Eldritch Being? Or just an OP Danny?) (Clockwork and even Frostbite showing up every so often doesn't help either, it explains why Gotham is so cold sometimes or why time seems... off)

Anyways due to Danny's power (along with bits of Clockwork and Frostbite), magic of this world, and people beginning to build a small town on top of the land it gives birth to the namesake of the town.

GOTHAM.

CW foresaw her 'birth' and finds her sitting in front of Danny's healing pod. He always knew Gotham would eventually form, the belief/love her people have in her would had given her a form eventually he just wasn't expecting her to form so soon (this is why Danny remains his favorite person, he always did something CW never really see's to often) nor was he expecting her to become Danny's daughter. Gotham looks a bit like Danny, dark hair, blue eyes, pointed ears, sharp teeth, glowing star like freckles, but she also reflects her people, the ones that call Gotham home so her image shifts sometimes. But he can see small hints of maybe himself and Frostbite in the shifts.

She is 100% Danny's daughter via spirit/ectoplasm. If anything CW and Frostbite are like many times removed family members when it comes down to ectoplasm.

She's silent for a moment before she asks if "You and the other come here often to see him... The one sleeping is he my father?" Which CW does confirm, he explains why Danny is healing and who he and Frostbite are and why they show up to make sure he is doing better. How his healing will take many, many years. She goes silent again before saying "Teach me how to protect him. I am new and young compared to others... and yet I already know if anyone desires him for the power he gives, they will stop at nothing. He is my father and I am his daughter, I need to keep him safe just how I know he would keep me safe. This much I know."

CW agrees.

She learns, from her father's allies (CW, Frostbite, Pandora, etc etc) how to defend and fight. How to protect what she loves. She watches over her father and fights off demon's, monsters, sometimes an alien that senses the slumbering power, evil magic users. Etc. She watches over the town and people who named her as well, falls in love with the humans who call her home as well and defends them as well.

She even gets the blunt force of a curse a powerful old entity that tired to place it on her father after she had just banished it from her lands. It's an old powerful curse that CW or Frostbite can't rid of because it would weaken her far to much that they run the risk of her fading, the only way to get rid of it is if she had a family member feeding her ectoplasim to help sustain her. (Her aunts can't because Jazz isn't ghostly enough and Danielle can't because hers is limited due to being a clone (like she has enough for herself but does need to visit the Infinite Realms during her travels to get more ectoplasim to filter in and out). Danny is their only chance because he's constantly filtering ectoplasim in and out and even creating it because of how he died with a portal opening up at the same time)

The curse slowly starts eating away at Gotham, makes it hard for her to have a solid corporeal form because pain (when she has to use this form to fight off others she has to bare through the pain), her appearance starts changing (eyes turn from sharp ice blue to glowing yellow, skin turns deathly sickly pale, her star freckles slowly blinking in and out, hands become inked claws, her dark hair is unkempt and spills like an oil sludge down her body and face) and because Danny is still healing himself he can't help her and she can't see him all too often anymore because she doesn't want to run the risk of the curse effecting his healing core, she does get updates from the other ghosts that visit him and then her. She still defends him though, outside of his healing chambers should on the rare chance something finds it way down to him.

Eventually due to Danny's and Gotham's natural ectoplasim filtering on the lands, visiting and powerful ghosts, Gotham fighting off powerful beings trying to use her father for power, and the curse on Gotham herself, the town that had been built on the ground above by humans becomes the very city we all know.

Its a whole mixed bag do to so many factors, that's why Gotham is the way it is.

Gotham does her best to keep her people safe from well... everything but due to the curse and the fighting off another person/entity/demon/magic user/etc coming for her father's power, she can't always do much by the time one crisis is over and a new one pops up, she's slowly breaking down the longer it takes.

That's why she has a soft spot for her Dark Knight and his family and allies, they help her from the pain from the curse by trying as both the Wayne's and as the Batclan to fix up her city self, its not enough to really fix her fully but it helps with the pain that eats at her.

She does her best to give them tiny blessings though, but due to her duty of protecting her father she can't always do much (she wept when news of Jason, her second Robin, her rough around the edges bookworm, had died came to her. She couldn't protect him because he was out of her reach. Its why when Joker returned she made it very hard for him to really gain his foothold in her again but had to stop because CW told her if she kept making it too hard for the clown he'd go running off to 'play' with a different hero and that... that timeline would lead the world to ruin. She begrudgingly stopped but when Joker had taken her third Robin, her tiny Tim the one she loved watching shadow her knights, she did everything she could to keep him sane from the pain he had been put in, and lead Batman to the warehouse to save him. Also it turns out her heartbreak over Jason's death, her curse acting up, and her ectoplasim sparking off at the same time it helped bring him back from his grave not fully but somewhat, she was so shocked that she didn't have time to send hints to Bruce to get him when he was taken by Talia and once again out of her reach. She tried hinting it to Bruce that Talia had taken him but by the time he would check on the League, Talia would had moved him)

Gotham, depsite being young in the eyes of many other powerful beings and entities has held her own and kept those that wanted to use her father for power packing. Despite being cursed that is slowly eating her alive she still holds onto the hope her father will awaken and she will finally get to meet him. (She hopes she made him proud, he is a protector spirit core after all and she had been steadfast with keeping him safe all these years).

Things however take a turn for the worse when Gotham awakens from some sort of powerful slumber (she doesn't know what happened?! Did something knock her out?! When did she fall asleep?! Was it magic? Did the curse do it? Did someone or something-) And discovers someone or something had managed to steal her father slumbering core. (So close to healing, so close to awakening according to Frostbite, just a few more days he says. Just. A. Few. More. Days)

She tries to go find him but is suddenly hurting more, her curse has progressed even worse, she can barely stand, let alone fight whoever had her father. And she knows her father's friends won't be back to see her until far later.

And then all of Gotham shakes and shudders when her rage, panic, and terror are felt that early morning.

-×-×-

Deep in the Batcave, Batman and the others are searching for whatever caused that strange almost magical but not (ectoplasm) shudder that morning.

They were expecting a full scale attack. Magical, alien, maybe even all the Rogues in Gotham working together. An all scaled war. They were looking for any signs of it, maybe to by some miracle stop it before it becomes to late.

They however weren't expecting a strange sick looking woman with yellow glowing eyes, oil ink like hair covering her face and body, clawed hands like they had dipped in ink as well, star like freckles blinking in and out on her body and face, sharp ears, breathing heavily and coughing every so often to appear in the cave. Like she had sunk out from the shadows in pure silence. (Even Cass did not hear her)

Nor were they expecting her not to even flinch when they trained their weapons onto her. Instead all she did was laugh, a raspy low laugh, but it held warmth and mirth.

"Now, now my knights... No need for that. I come needing help and you are the only ones I will ever trust with this mission..." her voice was soft but harsh, talking seemed to hurt her though for she had to take deep breaths and suppress a cough. Her eyes trailed across them all, despite her sickly look her eyes gleamed with a motherly warmth in a strange sense, something all of them could feel "I can not hold this corporal form for long. Long story short I am cursed, have been for a very long time and whatever happened to me earlier this morning has aggravated it even more and thus I can not stay in the world of the 'living' to do much. My father, the one I have been protecting since my creation from all sorts of terrible and dangerous things, for should they get a hold of him it could spell the end of life itself for he is that powerful, has been taken from his healing chamber. I do not know who or where but I know he still remains in the city, that much I can sense."

She coughed and took a shuddering breath "But alas I can not go to his aid as I once has been able to, this is where you all come in. I need you to find my father, find his core. Bring him to safety. I had fought so many to keep him safe, to make sure he heals in peace for so long, and he... So close. Just a few more days he needed... then I could had finally had met him."

She lightly muttered those last few words, eyes looking lost for a moment before coughing hard.

"Who are you." Batman, Bruce Wayne, stonely demanded but for some reason he couldn't help but feel like he knows her, like from a foggy memory, and by the looks of his family they all could sense the same thing.

The woman, or whatever she was, merely smiled, sharp teeth bared in it as she looked him right in the eyes and said.

"Gotham, my dear Dark Knight. I am Lady Gotham herself. Its wonderful to finally meet you despite the circumstances."

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #batman #danny phantom dc #Lady Gotham #Lady Gotham is Danny's daughter #his ectoplasm her towns people belief and love in her and the natural magic of the world gave 'birth' to her #danny is sleeping for a very long time #CW made him rest on a different world so he didnt have to run the risk of the GIW finding him or 'sleeping' well past his love ones time #this got long but its my brain being weird and coming up with a new AU #none of the bats was expecting Lady Gotham #she needs their help though #she has always wanted to speak with them but her duty in protecting Danny and her curse made it hard #Bruce has questions #like so many #Lady Gotham feels like 'mom' to her favorites #who has Danny?#idk someone #this... this got long #this is what happens when I'm fully allowed to ramble I've been let loose and been allowed gremlin hours #Lady Gotham takes after his human half when she was 'born'

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lovifie · 5 months

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Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

All Chapters

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), panic attack, mentions of guns and war (this is COD so), mentions of cheating but it just three idiots not knowing what poly is ❤️

Soap gets thrown into action ridiculously quick, barely passing the psychological evaluation and he is ready to go back to war. It had costed you multiple fights with Price, even with Laswell, to try and keep him from going back.

It didn't matter how many times you debated it, or how solid your arguments were. If the psychiatrist decided that Johnny was ready.... He was.

Even if she contradicted herself, even if you said Johnny had forgotten half of his experience, even if you said he was still in physical rehab.

All of that didn't matter.

And no matter how hard you fought it, barely a couple of months after you returned to base, Johnny was putting on his uniform to leave.

Price wasn't the only one you argued with, the frustration of feeling like you were sending Johnny to the slaughterhouse caused you to be irascible and, even if you didn't mean to, to lash out at anyone who would disagree with you.

Even if Johnny was the one who was opposing you.

"Lass, I don't want to go away being in a fight with you." He began to say as he strapped on his vest.

"Then don't leave." You replied from the door frame and your arms crossed.

"Baby... We've been over this, please.... I have to..." She said, hands raised and voice soft as if speaking to a frightened animal.

And that's how you felt, like a dog being promised by his owner that he's not going to abandon him as he walks out the door with a target on his forehead.

Just like Johnny, you had also had sessions with the base psychiatrist; but unlike him, you had not been given a pass. You were more than ready to be discharged, but if they clared you, then you would have the power to say that Johnny was not ready to return.

So the amnesiac who two months ago could not walk was prepared to return to the battlefield. And you, whose only psychological damage was to see him dead, were bound hand and foot as you watched him go to almost certain death.

"No! You don't have to, Johnny! Don't you realize what they're doing!!!?" You burst out, once again, uncrossing your arms to express your displeasure with the situation.

"Of course I realize! I have amnesia, I'm not an idiot!" He responded in the same tone as you, causing guilt to build up in your opinion. "I'm still capable of making my own decisions so you don't need to make them for me anymore! Don't you realize I need to feel useful!"

Johnny didn't want to yell at you, or lose control and say something he didn't mean; but he was still human and frustration had gotten the better of him too.

Ever since he saw how Ghost had left you in your room, the fact that you had been together obvious; Johnny hadn't been able to help but compare himself to the blond.

At first it was physical, the time immobilized had left him thinner. When Gaz showed him a picture from before the accident he doubted that he could ever be as wide as he was before... Almost the same as Ghost.

But not now.

Now he was shorter, weaker, more inexperienced... He had nothing to beat him with, to compete for you. And Johnny knew it.

Besides, he was sure that you must have felt him as a burden. A big baby you had to take care of so he wouldn't choke if you didn't cut his food.

So when he was asked if he wanted to come back, he didn't think twice. Later, when he told you about it and saw how your expression changed to one of absolute panic, he regretted not asking you before agreeing. But his pride was hurt when he saw you arguing with everyone you could to keep him from going.

This was not your first discussion on the subject, and every time it ended you both felt like idiots; for hurting the other indirectly and for knowing that you were not able to convey your own feelings to each other.

And Simon has been the scavenger vulture that has taken advantage of each and every one of those discussions.

As soon as he realized that you had argued, Simon would go from one to the other.

"I'm worried about him too, love. But Johnny's still Johnny, nothing's going to happen to him, you'll see." He would say to you.

"I understand you, Johnny.... It's normal that you want to go back to the battlefield.... It's where you always shine the most..." I said to him.

And so on and so forth.

Simon wasn't looking to fuel any enmity between the two of them, it didn't make sense when he was the one who wanted to join the pair. But when he saw the small chasm that the argument created, he only strove to shape it into his own form; to pull the two of them into him once inside.

It was a turning point on his relationship with Johnny. In no way enough for the blue eyed man to like him, but now he answered when he talked to him.

He had managed to catch Johnny with his guard down a couple of nights ago, after what seemed like the biggest argument between the two of you. You didn't even let Simon in your room. But Johnny did.

They spend the greater part of the night talking, it was obvious that Johnny has been wanting to rant and would rather have somebody to do it that simply talking to the void. He had to do his greater effort to not take more than Johnny was giving him, to not get closer as he spoke; even if he mumble and could barely hear him. Not to hug him when he saw his eye shine with unspilled tears when he talked about making you sad. Not to lay him over his lap and beat his ass black and blue when he confessed some of the things he had said to you.

He pulled back, he stayed on a safe distance. And the next day he got his reward when Johnny finally spoke to him first.

“Morning, Lt.”

Like a ghost of his life before the accident.

It was your turn now.

The night before the flight to his new mission.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult mission, and even though he new there was always some risk, he wouldn't have allowed Johnny to tag along if he knew there was an actual threat.

He also knew that you couldn't see that, and he understood perfectly why. He just neded to think about how much time you were alone with an unconscious Johnny, everyone would have gone crazy in your situation.

Stranded, injured, taking care of an unresponsive person, that person being a loved one… he knows he wouldn't have been rescued. But you turned off that part of you brain, focusing on keeping Johnny alive and yourself by correlation.

Fear and despair are human emotions, and you can't have those if you turn yourself in a machine. And Simon knew that well.

He agreed with the psychiatrist up to a certain point, you had developed a link to Johnny during your stay that needed to be broken. Focusing on keeping Johnny alive kept you sane, when losing your mind or asking for help meant your death or Johnny's.

But that risk was no longer there, therefore you should have let go of it; but the rope is already under your skin to do so and now you panic even at the thought of it. The suppressed feelings too mixed and too tight inside of your mind to make sense.

That's how you found yourself now, curling on Simon's lap, hyperventilating as you cry your eyes out. The rope keeping you hanging over your feeling finally snapped, and you fell right onto his arms.

And if it weren't for the heartbroken way you were crying, Simon would have been happy to be the one you had looked to for relief.

Simon didn't try to talk to you, knowing you wouldn't even hear him over the sound of your cries, he simply hugged you and stroked your head; while you cried on his shoulder, his shirt getting wet with your tears, drool and snot. Completely crumbling after finally facingyour long neglected feelings.

The fear of dying in the tunnel, the pain of injury, the anxiety of a possible ambush at any moment, the constant tension that Johnny will suddenly get worse. All out, back into the world.

It's when you're choking on your own saliva, coughing and breathing tightly together causing you to gag, that Simon moves his hands to your arms, gently pushing you to see you better.

But his heart shrinks when he notices your hands gripping his shirt tightly as a whimper escapes your lips. Still, and with as much willpower as he can, he pulls your trembling hands away from the clothes, with them quickly grabbing his hand instead.

You are still hyperventilating, your head is lowered and Simon can only see the tears falling as your whole body trembles.

"What’s that sound?" Simon suddenly asks, and your too-curious-for-your-own-good nature betrays you by making you fall for his trick.

Because your cries gradually diminish in volume, to try and hear whatever Simon is talking about. But the short moment when you're just hiccuping, trying to breathe normally to hear better, is all Simon needs.

He grabs the tissue from the bedside table, bringing it up to your nose to blow your snot. A confused expression comes over your face, would he really blow your nose?

You take the tissue from his hand and do it yourself, asking him for a couple more before finally feeling your face dry from tears and so on.

"I'm sorry" You whisper, with Simon quickly quipping to you before you can finish.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It was about time you got it out, love." He tells you, helping you to lean against him again.

You snuggle into him, your head resting on his dry shoulder and your hands pressed to your chest, making it easy for Simon to wrap his arms around you.

He knows you still have a lot more to release inside you, but he also knows it's not the pain you can vent in a single crying session. But the first step has been taken.

And more importantly, the next morning when you say goodbye to the two of them before they leave for their mission, you talk to Johnny again.

"You be careful, okay? And no more head banging, Johnny." You mutter, moving Johnny's head so his forehead rests on yours.

"Of course, bonnie. We'll be back before you miss me." Johnny replies, giving you a kiss on the cheek, right next to the nose wetting his lips with the single tear that escapes you.

In addition, once on the plane, Jonny watches him for a while before speaking again.

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

"Yes, last night."

"Thanks.”

Once on the battlefield, Johnny's attention is once again focused on Ghost. On the intimidating, terrifying lieutenant who at every turn turns around to make sure Johnny is still behind him, without a scratch.

Johnny is aware of the void in his memory of the last few years of his life. But he remembers perfectly the years of his adolescence when he doubted so much about his sexuality. How his eyes would run after every pretty girl he passed in the halls of high school. And at night, when he can't sleep; he still remembers the awkward erection when the captain of his rugby team tackled him during practice, leaving Johnny pressed against the ground.

It has been many years since Johnny came to terms with the fact that he preferred not to put labels on something he didn't fully understand.

So when in the middle of a surprise exchange of gunfire Simon grabbed his arm hiding Johnny behind him to make sure he didn't get hit and his eyes were fixed on the small space of exposed skin between the glove and the sleeve, and Johnny watched him for longer than would be considered normal.... He was not really surprised.

Johnny can see what you see in Simon. Especially because of the way he treats him, even if Johnny doesn't know. Simon cannot help himself.

In his Johnny the one at stake.

With anyone else, Simon wouldn't hesitate to let his nasty nature called Ghost, which he has cultivated to keep people away, shine through. But not with Johnny. Nor with you.

At least not when his goal is to find his niche between the two of you.

So Johnny sees for the first time, what if he were able to remember, he saw between the cracks of Ghost's mask after years.

And just as it happened to him before the accident.... Johnny can't help but feel the butterflies when Simon looks into his eyes.

"You alright, Johnny?”

Against all odds, but still not surprising to either of them, the mission ends up lasting much longer than they both thought it would.

This ends up working to Simon's advantage, as it continues to push Johnny towards him.

Their relationship continues to mutate by leaps and bounds, as the day before they boarded the plane Johnny could barely look him in the eye without hatred in his pupils.

This is why, when they finally start to mobilize to return to base and the two of them are assigned to return in a single car with no one else; that Johnny deviates from the road and parks on the side of the road.

"Can I ask you something, Lieutenant?"

And Simon questions for a moment if there really is anything Johnny could ask him that he wouldn't be willing to answer.

"Go ahead."

"Before the accident... What was the situation?"

"Elaborate."

"Between us... and with her."

And Simon knows perfectly well what Johnny is referring to, the scotsman is neither stupid nor blind.

"What would it affect how things were before the accident?"

"Everything!"

"Give me an example, Johnny."

"Whatever." Johnny backs off, jerking his hand to restart the car.

Except Simon is quicker and takes the key out of the ignition and out of Johnny's hand.

"Explain yourself, Johnny."

"No, whatever, we're late."

"Until I get there no one leaves, we can be as late as we want to be. Explain yourself."

Johnny puffs, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more if possible.

"I feel at a disadvantage, okay?" Johnny admits, glancing at Simon for a second before looking ahead again. "I feel like everyone is aware of what's going on and everything that happened before the accident. And that everyone's talking over my shoulder as if instead of amnesia I was stupid. And I have feelings that don't make sense for me to have in such a short time, and the only thing that makes sense in my mind is that they were already there before the accident!"

The two remain in awkward silence for more minutes than is desirable.

"Do you have feelings for me, Johnny?"

"No!"

One more awkward silence.

"For her?"

"...I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't want to admit it?"

"I don't know!"

Simon is frustrated with myself, and is aware that Johnny must be equally frustrated. Two grown men too stubborn to admit their feelings.

Simon huffs, pondering his next move for just a few seconds before removing his mask. The move catches Johnny's attention and he turns to look at him, just in time to see Simon grab his face to crash his lips against his.

It's a peck. Nothing more.

But it's enough to make Johnny look at him like he's just grown horns on his head. Simon can practically see the smoke coming out of Johnny's ears, but he also sees his eyes stare for a millisecond at his lips again. And that's all he needs.

"Do you want to talk about feelings or do you want to show them to me, Mactavish?"

Johnny only needs a second to unbuckle his belt and grab Simon's vest to pull him closer to him.

Johnny knows this isn't the way, that they should talk, clear out everything, lay the groundwork for the strange triangle they're excluding you from for now by doing it this way.

But after the time spent together on the mission, every glance, every brush, every word exchanged. Johnny knows this isn't the right way to do it, but he knows it's the easiest. And for now, that's enough for him.

Johnny moves over the console to reach Simon; it's an awkward position with the gearshift lever digging into his thigh. But when Simon's hands travel to the back of his thighs and he sits him on his lap it all fits together like puzzle pieces.

It's an aggressive kiss, with both wanting to take the lead; teeth clashing, drool sliding down the corner of their lips and one's breath colliding with the other's.

It's Simon who gives in, letting Johnny enter his mouth, savoring the taste of the cigarette he smoked just before starting the car. A horrible taste that tastes like glory coming from the blond's mouth.

Despite the multiple layers of clothing, Johnny can perfectly feel Simon's cock harden under his weight. Johnny lowers his hand to Simon's belt, unbuckling it carelessly; parting the kiss to look down at what he's doing.

That moment Simon takes the opportunity to speak. "You're not going to let me fuck you, are you?"

Johnny laughs softly, shaking his head at the same time. "Didn't you ask me to show you my feelings, blondie? I'm going to show them to you, just as good as I showed her."

"Can't fucking wait." Simon declares pulling Johnny's hair to kiss him again once he manages to unbuckle his belt.

Johnny slips his hand into Simon's boxers, wrapping his hand around his member and pulling it out of the confines of the garment. Simon moans at the not very gentle maneuver, Johnny's calloused hand moving up and down against the dry skin making him groan.

Johnny notices the lack of lubrication and spits a heavy blob of saliva onto his tip, Simon sighing in relief at the much desired wetness.

"Now imagine if instead of my drool it was her pussy juices, Simon." Johnny murmurs, licking Simon's neck making Simon groan letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"That's a fucking dream, Johnny." Is all he manages to reply.

Johnny laughs, unbuckling his own belt with one hand as he continues to massage Simon's length with the other. When he manages to get his own member out he also positions himself as close as he can to Simon, cock against cock. Needing to use both hands to encircle both members as he moves them up and down, bringing them both fully to life; noticing how they harden between his fingers.

It is impossible for him not to move his hips against his hands, both moaning in unison at the friction between their cocks. The little droplets of cum that are born from their members helping to increase the mess of fluids.

It's only when Johnny decides that enough is enough that they change positions. Simon takes off his pants, limiting himself to removing one boot so he can stick one leg out; and Johnny tells him how he wants him to lie on the back seats.

The man is too big for the car seats, with his head resting on the hand rest by the door and his knees bent to fit. Johnny kneels on his chest, trying not to drop his weight on it so as not to suffocate Simon. With the hand he has on the base of his member, he moves it so that he slaps Simon on the mouth.

"Careful, Johnny" Simon warns him, trying to let Johnny know that he is in control for as long as Simon wants.

Johnny smiles, winking at him. Perfectly aware of the danger but unafraid of the consequences. "We don't have any other lube, Lieutenant. Ye better blow me good."

Simon grunts, parting his lips so Johnny can enter his mouth. Johnny begins to move his hips, slowly so the Brit can get used to the width of his member. Johnny moans as he feels the warmth of his mouth around his member, the muscle of his tongue caressing the underside of it causing a shiver to run up his back.

Johnny looks over his shoulder, dropping his eyes to Simon's member, taking a moment to admire it in all its splendor. It's long, easily over 7 inches, uncut, lying flat on the part of his abdomen exposed by his wrinkled T-shirt, slightly tilted to one side by his own weight and with a healthy amount of mouthwatering veins that make Johnny's mouth water.

But today, Johnny has a different mission. He slips two of his fingers into his own mouth licking them as he makes eye contact with Simon while continuing to move his hips; driving deeper and deeper into his mouth.

The hand that was at the base of his member moves to Simon's head, grabbing his hair and holding it still. The other, once satisfied with how wet his fingers are, moves it to between Simon's legs, brushing his member with his forearm as he does so and begins to press into Simon's tight entrance with his index finger.

Johnny notices him tense up for half a second at the sudden pressure before letting his body relax under Johnny's caresses and he pushes in to the first phalanx of his first finger. Moving his hand and hips in tandem.

Simon's jaw soon starts to ache, especially when Johnny begins to thrust forward; Simon's nose brushing against Johnny's pubes.

And yet, Simon moans when Johnny slips a second finger into his ring of muscle. They are both aware that Johnny's fingers are not enough to accommodate Johnny's girth, but in their perverted minds it only adds to the kinkiness.

Johnny finally pulls away from Simon's mouth, a trickle of drool connecting his lips to Johnny's member still. Mouth empty, Simon is free to moan as Johnny opens and closes his fingers inside Simon.

"I didn't know you were a singer, Lieutenant."

"Johnny... Shut the fuck up..." Is all Simon can reply.

Johnny pulls his fingers out, making Simon sigh, and moves to stand between Simon's legs, as comfortable as he can inside the cramped vehicle.

He thinks about it for a second before moving his hands under his officer's knees and moving them towards his head, easily folding him in half; the sergeant's strength taking him by surprise.

But what really surprises him is feeling the sergeant's wet tongue at his entrance, making him moan pathetically at the contact. It's a couple of mere licks, nothing more, before Johnny breaks away licking his lips; then spits a fat glob of saliva at the entrance.

The sergeant lowers his legs, sitting back up and Simon slightly blushing at the ease with which he has moved him to his surprise.

"I'll take it slow, okay?" Johnny suddenly says, a touch of gentleness amidst the strange scuffle that lets his true feelings show.

Johnny pushes forward slightly, both of them hissing at the tight feeling. Johnny's hand find their place on Simon's hips, with Simon's hand finding support on his wrists.

“Fuckin' hell, Johnny…” Simon moans whe Johnny has barely gotten past the puffy tip.

“You are going to choke my dick off, Simon” he moans, throwing his head back.

Slowly but steadily Johnny bottoms out inside of Simon, feeling his insides pulse around his length in a vice-like grip. Simon has never felt this full, feeling the weight of Johnny's shaft all the way back on his column.

Johnny slowly starts to move, painfully slow lo let the other finally adjust to the invasion. The moans and whispers growing in volume as Johnny starts to pick up the pace of his thrust.

And is not long before Johnny as a steady rhythm, hip slapping against his, Simon's cock slapping slightly against his abdomen with each thrust. Is when Johnny starts to snap his hips harder that Simon needs to move one his hands from Johnny's wrist to the door of the car to avoid getting a concussion with the hits of his head against it.

Simultaneously, and completely unaware of it, their minds travel to you. How would you fit in between them; would you ride Simon while Johnny rides him? Would you sit on Simon's face while Johnny rides Simon? Would they both fuck you senseless?

Johnny's free hand moves to Simon's shaft, grabbing it hard and tugging, forcing a whine out of Simon. “Shit! Johnny, that's- that's too much! Fuck!” Simon moans loudly, the double stimulation enough to make him throw his head back; hitting the door with the lack of strength left on his body.

“That's too much for you, Lt?” Johnny asks between grunts and moans. “And how will you handle her riding you while I fuck you?” The mental image making both moan.

“Once we are back… I'm destroying your ass, Johnny.” Simon manages to say through gritted teeth to avoid a moan from scaping his mouth.

Johnny chuckles at his threat. “Are you asking me on a second date, blondie?” He says, he bends down to kiss Simon again, and right before crashing his lips together he whispers “I can't fucking wait, Si.”

The new angle Johnny hits when bending down has Simon seeing white dots on his vision, and when Johnny tugs at his shaft again, thick ropes of cum spur on his abdomen pooling in his navel. He clenches down around Johnny's lengths, making him moan loudly and he barely manages to pull out before combusting over Simon stomach as well, the seed of both mixing together over his skin.

The car windows are fogged up as Johnny sits in the seat opposite Simon. Grabbing bandages from the first aid kit in his backpack so Simon can clean himself. Johnny readjusts, putting away his dick and buckling his belt; watching as Simon does the same once he manages to pull his pants back up and buckles his boot.

“About… about how we felt before the accident…” Simon breaks the silent, looking ahead. “We were never together… and I can't talk on behalf of her or you, but for me… I knew I felt things for…” Simon sighs, struggling to choose the right words. “I knew I used to feel things for the two of you… I still do.”

Johnny doesn't say anything, being able to tell that Simon still has more to say but needs a moment to regroup his feelings.

"Especially with you. The tunnel accident... It wasn't your first brush with death, Johnny. A couple of years ago, on a mission in Mexico, well, in Las Almas.... Things happened, and you and I got separated, we got... Uncommunicated... From each other and from everyone..." Simon narrates, recounting a mission that doesn't tug at Johnny's memory strings in the least. "On that mission I thought... I thought I'd lost you, Johnny. And it was in that moment that I thought I'd lost you that I realized they weren't just friends' feelings..."

Simon laughs dryly, rubbing his face with his hand before continuing. "I almost declared myself back then.... And several times after that but.... But then the tunnel thing happened and..."

The sentence is half-spoken, but neither Simon needs to say more nor Johnny needs to hear it.

"And... And you think I loved you back, Simon?"

"I'd like to think you did, Johnny.”

Taglist: @waiting-so-long @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadowbat @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn

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lunarw0rks · 1 year

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i’ve never seen anybody write for simon riley better than u 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 can i request him + manhandling idc if it’s headcanons drabble ANYTHINGGGG ur writing is just too good

A/N: thank you so much, I'm always doubtful about my characterization lowkey, so this means a lot <3 I think about manhandling!ghost several times daily.

Summary: Ghost manhandles you.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), strong language, smut, rough sex, manhandling, p in v sex, fingering, size kink, creampie, established relationship, fem!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.3k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Manhandling // Drabble

With Simon’s rough and rugged line of work, the last thing he wants to do is exert himself even more, especially at his partner’s expense…

… Right?

Well, that’s not always the case.

Sometimes, he can’t help himself; his full strength is used on them with ease, the shock of it all. The power of his large, calloused hands and bulging biceps. And most underrated, his toned thighs, the force of his knees to pin a squirming hostile.

IT STARTS SLOWLY; the things you’re used to, like a grab of the jaw or a slight tug of the hair, all verbatim of what his hands normally do during foreplay. The first time he wanted to be rough, to manhandle, he told you beforehand. Since it’s such a rarity for him, why not use the element of surprise? The hand on your jaw, the scalp grip, the lack of words in between kisses, you’re just expecting his routine intimacy. But then… it felt different—abrasive.

Your back finds the wall or the back of the couch, his hold caging you there—not that you have a choice, or care to at this point. That other side of him can be so… exciting to see after months of him teaching you like your body is glass bound to shatter.

❝Keep your hands there, dammit, or stay fuckin’ still,❞ the grumble catches your attention because you hadn’t realized how much his digging fingers were making you squirm, all before they even reached anywhere remotely sensitive. In return, your hands remain on his waist, holding onto the fabric of his tee for dear life.

In truth, you’re too intrigued to disobey, and it’s abundantly clear that this side of him had the ability to make this experience tortuous.

NOT GOOD ENOUGH; No, not you—the couch isn’t good enough. In one swift motion, you’re over hiked over his shoulder like a wounded soldier. Only, his supporting hand is gripping your rear and not the legs of a maimed person, as he’d been trained. The shriek you let out, charms him, to say the least, not that his expression would show much of it. Your view is of the curves of his back, head bouncing against it as he takes calculated strides up the steps, as if there isn’t the weight of a grown person literally on his shoulder.

You hear the hinges screech, the same way they do even when you try to open the door quietly, but it’s clear that’s not a concern of his right now because it shuts and locks just as quickly. A tedious habit of his, even when not engaging in intimacy, even when he sweeps the house before bed every night.

Your back hits the mattress with a few bounces because you’ve been tossed. The small gasp you let out, it’s nothing compared to the resonant, growling chuckle that escapes him.

❝Don’t be a prude now.❞ The humor ends when he speaks. ❝I saw the way you were lookin’ at me… you’re enjoying this.❞

His fist finds the t-shirt you’re wearing, one of his, thrusting it upwards and over your head. It’s like your body is moving for you, how you raised your arms when he removed the shirt, but in your head it’s only a thick fog of lust.

NO TIME TO PREPARE; Simon knows his size, and he’s well aware of how harsh he is. He’s not a barbarian—a little foreplay is the humane thing to do.

His tongue is too intimate, and caressing your figure is too slow. After a few seconds of contemplation concealed by his lips on yours, he’s come to a decision. Hands, it is. Similar to the shirt, he nearly shreds the bottoms. With this cloud of his aggressiveness, he’d shred any clothing in his way. There was no time to tease, either. The sooner he can bottom out inside you, the sooner his frustrations will fizzle.

You’re clothless now, aside from the panties, though they were ripped off before you could catch up. ❝Simon,❞ he doesn’t raise his head, but the hooded stare is enough to shut you up. It was more of a moan than an alert, like you were already void of your full articulation.

If you really wanted to stop, for him to slow down, you wouldn’t be grinding your hips against his fingers.

Simon was only rubbing your inner thighs and you’d already said his name once, so imagine his amusement when he runs his thumb along your clit.

He has to stop himself; he’s not there to massage it like he normally would, he’s down there to prepare you for his size. Though, the hypothetical sight of you circling it yourself while he pumps his fingers, it would be enough to make him finish in his jeans.

Whether you do or not is up to you, it’s your body about to be misused, not his.

His head moves from hovering over your sex, to back over you, only he’s nipping at your cleavage and not your upper lips. There’s no warning; you feel it before you can beg for anything. His middle and ring finger, easing its way in, before he wastes no time curling them against your walls.

Still, with one hand occupied, his strength prevails. The unoccupied one is on your shoulder, keeping you pinned so only your hips have any range of movement. ❝Already a mess for me.❞ His mouth is slightly agape, like he wanted it there instead of his fingers. It was true—the methodical, sticky noise, especially when he went faster and it gathered more on the area. After only a minute of this, it had dripped down the length of his fingers, already a small pool on his charcoal gray sheets.

IMPATIENCE; sure, you could try and fight his grip, but you’re only tiring yourself out more. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to touch him, to do something other than lay there and writhe—good luck. He had already pictured this, when he was kissing you downstairs, what position he was going to put you in. Hips controlled, hands free; the opposite of the one he just fingered you in.

Lucky, or unlucky for you, he was aching for release.

His fingers, once pumping in and out of you, removed just as quickly. With skill, he unbuckled his belt and was left in his boxers and t-shirt—eyes commanding, watching you ache for him impatiently. It was almost humorous, him being in charge and hasty, but you’re the one clenching around nothing.

Simon was never one for conversations, and he sure as hell wasn’t now—not when his cock sprang out of his boxers, throbbing and athirst. The tip of it, already slick with pre-cum was futile against the amount of wetness already soaking your core. At least he knew he wasn’t going to break you entirely, only immobilize you for a few hours at most—the thought of that only encouraged his ravishment.

IRON GRIP; for only a few seconds, one hand is on his length, lining it up. He groans lowly, a string of curses escaping his lips when he slips in with ease. The stretch alone could make him finish, how his size is crammed in, despite the warm-up he gave you with his fingers. But it’s not a slow entrance, it’s deep and forceful, so satisfying he would go forever if he could. ❝So fuckin’ tight,❞ he says, yanking your body towards his length, as opposed to using his own hips to pump himself. But that isn’t enough—you’re moving around too much, you can’t help it, he fills you so well.

Rather than harsh words, another command telling you to stop moving, he uses his strength again. For a second, he debated on putting your own panties in your mouth, maybe a hand there instead, but he wanted to hear every desperate exclamation increase the more he used you.

Before, he was only being rough, and it was nothing compared to how ferocious he’s being now. Both hands find your hips, lifting them off the bed, thrusting your weight on his length with all his force. Shoulder blades and above are still on the mattress, while the bottom half of you is lifted. The angle of it, how he’s lifting you, he’s hitting spots so deep inside—so rarely stimulated. And he’s hitting it with such force, a constant, repetitive pound kissing your g-spot. ❝Take it all for me.❞ As if you have a choice in the matter, he’s already bottomed out.

Even if he wasn’t finding that unparalleled spot, the sight of his eyes half-open, the grunts that sound like growls, even just the pure feeling of him inside you would be enough. From his perspective, it’s just as arousing; the mouth agape, your back stuck in an arch, how you pulse around him with each thrust, the sticky mess coating his cock and lubricating his forceful jerks.

FINISH ME; his movements have gone from calculated to sloppy, but the speed has only decreased a thread. The sound of skin meeting skin, each grind of his hips followed by the sound of your wetness, it’s inching him closer to his finish. And you, that spot deep inside you abused and built up in your abdomen like a funnel cloud—it wouldn’t be long now, not while he’s drilling you.

When he’s hitting that spot, there’s no need to press down on your stomach, to stimulate the clit that’s been throbbing this whole time. It’s like ecstasy, making your eyes roll slightly, each muscle from your pelvis to your toes tighten and tremble. If it weren’t for his large hands holding up your hips, there’s no way your legs would’ve been able to support themselves, and they sure as hell won’t be able to after he’s done.

❝Be good ‘nd cum for me,❞ his chest heaves only slightly, fingertips leaving marks where they’ve been digging for minutes straight. It’s more of a beg than he lets on, because if you keep whining like that, he’s going to finish before you. But you’re so close; he’s seen it several times now—the babbling, the shivering, the pleading under your breath—as if he’s going to stop now.

Within seconds of his relentless movements, the arousal his voice gave you, you were there, dissolving into the pleasure building brick by brick for minutes now. It comes like a sledgehammer, leaving you shaking against him while a string of reaction phrases breath through your lips. ❝There it is…❞ A small chuckle leaves his lips, but you’re too lost to notice.

He’s slowed only a little bit, as if to hold off his own release until yours has finished. He can’t be too distracted and miss it, otherwise he’d just have to start all over again—in his mind, he’s unsure you could even handle that, the sheer size and force he would use to do that.

The feeling ripples through you, his thrusts only magnifying it for you. Your hands find anything they can, first a futile attempt to reach him, but the angle makes it difficult. Then, the sheets you could’ve ripped from the mattress if you tried. Without any of your own control, you’ve tightened and pulsed around his cock repeatedly, so much it would’ve been difficult for him to keep moving if you weren’t so drenched by now. You could swear everything muffled for a few seconds, and if your eyes hadn’t tightened shut, there probably would’ve been black spots.

For him, the sight of it was something he would never pass up; downright sexy for him to watch, motivating his own climax to the point of no control anymore. The bulge of his cock visible on your stomach, he can see himself twitch. When he’d once been thrusting your hips onto him, he had stopped now, his own hips tensing as his head leans back slightly.

❝Fuck.❞ It’s a simple phrase, but his heavy breathing clouding the words says enough. Still, your hips are raised and at his mercy, shivering until he decides he’s done. His abs tightened a few times, spilling every last drop deep inside. He can’t help himself, he sneaks in a few slow thrusts afterward, savoring the feeling of your pillowy walls clenched around him—only until he knows he won’t hold back if he doesn’t pull out this instant.

AFTERMATH; his thumb traces your hips in a soothing manner, letting them down slowly until you’re resting on the mattress again. ❝Shouldn’t have let me do that, or I’ll want to do it again next time.❞ He lets out a deep snigger, pulling himself out slowly. He finds the waistband of his boxers, pulling them up to a normal position again. Then, he finds the throw blanket that ended up tossed onto the dresser, an action he must’ve done in the heat of it, due to his lack of memory.

❝Do what? Make me finish?❞ you ask, breathless and flushed. The quilt is draped over your shivering frame, like an unnecessary apology for the abuse. It seemed no matter how many times you insisted he could be rough, or how many times he was, he fussed over you.

When your tone came out slightly snarky, cocky even, he scoffed. His mind flooded with those images again, biting on his bottom lip with every ounce of his restraint. ❝Don’t get cute with me, love, that’s not what I meant.❞ His menacing nature would once send a chill down your spine, but after that, you’re hoping he’ll do it again, despite the ache in your muscles.

He finally finishes his sentence once he’s leaned in for another kiss, breath on your ever-gasping lips, ❝I’ll always make you finish.❞

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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