#dannyphantom.exe

It was a chilly October day, and you were watching the latest episode of Jujutsu Kaisen with your roommate, Danny. As the credits started to roll, you heard gentle snoring, and when you stole a glance at the loveseat across the room, you spotted him sprawled out. One tattooed arm was dangling off the armrest, and his messy black-purple hair was in his perfectly chiseled face as he slept.

You bit your bottom lip and turned off the TV. "Danny," you hissed. A louder snore met your words, and you bit back a laugh. Best to let him sleep— it's not like he did it often.

Danny was a Twitch streamer, TikTok star, and YouTuber, which meant he was chronically online, even late at night. Sometimes, you had to knock on his door and remind him to sleep, to which he'd quote some sort of meme at you and begrudgingly shut off his computer.

You stood up, picking up the blanket you were snuggling under and made your way across the room. Careful not to wake him, you gently draped the blanket over him and smiled. Something about him sleeping was so cute and wholesome. If you weren't worried about him waking up and freaking the fuck out when he saw you staring at him, you'd probably watch him for ages.

Sliding into the kitchen, you put the snacks back you'd taken out for your anime marathon and sighed. You were exhausted. So exhausted in fact, that you might follow Danny's lead and take a nap too. Just a short one. Nothing crazy.

You walked back into the living room, swung by the linen closet in the hallway, grabbed a blanket, then headed back to the chair you were sitting in. You were just about to drift off, when you heard a soft groan. You looked over at Danny, who'd shifted in his sleep and was now facing away from you. You giggled and rolled your eyes, before slowly falling asleep.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

You woke up to a repetitive thudding noise against the wall. You glanced at the loveseat. Danny was gone. Groaning, you sat up and rubbed your eyes. The clock read 11:17 in luminescent green numbers.

Fuck. You slept a lot longer than you meant to, and your joints ached from sleeping in an awkward position in the chair.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Oh the joys of living in an apartment complex. Everyone had to hear everyone else do everything. You pressed your ear to the wall; it sounded like bass music. Double fuck. The neighbors were having a party.

You opened your phone to text Danny the bad news, then saw a notification from Instagram that he had posted a new picture. Curiosity got the better of you, and you clicked it. Your mouth fell open in a silent O and you felt something in your stomach knot.

Danny was in a public bathroom, phone camera pointed at the mirror, a smirk across his lips. He'd lifted his shirt up just enough to show his stomach muscles, tattoos lining his arms and chest. If the pose wasn't sultry enough, the caption was. It practically reeked of sexiness and swagger, as though he had meticulously planned what it said. But you knew better.

"Can't sleep? Neither can I… but that's because I've got something on my mind..."

Below the caption were a bunch of thirsty comments. "Daddy!" "Omg, a tear just went down my leg…" "My best friend would love to see the rest of what's under that shirt… okay, it's me. I want to see." "DM me!"

You closed the app quickly. Fucking hell. Did people not realize that Danny was a real person too? And why were you low-key boiling with rage? Was it the comments? Or was it the way Danny put himself out there like a piece of meat in a lion's den? And why was there that knot forming in your stomach?

Irritated, you threw your phone across the room, and it landed on the loveseat where Danny had been sitting.

The thudding bass from next door seemed to pulse in time with your rising anger. Why did Danny have to post that? And why did it bother you so much? You weren't his girlfriend. You were just roommates. Friends, even. But the thought of all those strangers drooling over him made your skin crawl.

You stomped over to the loveseat, wincing at the aching of your joints. You picked up your phone, opened Instagram again, and hovered your thumb over the comment section, itching to type something scathing and make these people wished they'd never even heard of Danny Phantom Exe.

What would you even say though? 'Leave him alone', 'Danny hates being called Daddy', and 'I hope your grandmother sees these comments', all flashed through your mind, but you rolled your eyes. That would only make it worse and draw unwanted attention to yourself. Besides, Danny was a grown man. He could do whatever he wanted— even if it was posting a suggestive photo and pissing you off to no end.

Biting your lip, you looked at the photo again. The longer you looked at it, the more you saw the appeal, especially those brown eyes. They practically screamed at you, taunting you. Daring you to get close enough for him to—

Fuck. Now you sounded like those thirsty ass fans. You shifted the way you were standing and decided to scroll through his other pictures… because that was a great idea after the reaction you had to the first one.

Dozens and dozens of mirror selfies stared back at you. Some had his friends— Arny, Julia, Lena— but most of them were of him and only him. A lot of them were also taken in your shared apartment bathroom. You swallowed hard and then winced when you saw one that really made your stomach do flip-flops.

Danny was standing in the shower, his hair damp and plastered to either side of his head. He had a beige towel wrapped around his waist and a stare that made even the hottest person you knew seem obsolete in comparison. The caption read: "Wanna join me?"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Your face was bright red; you could feel it. You had to literally shake yourself to get a grip back on reality. Danny was a human being. You would not succumb to lust like everyone else in this damn comment section.

Frustrated you tapped the screen and meant to swipe the picture off.

Instead you accidentally clicked like on the photo.

Oh fuck.

Panicking slightly, you looked at the date the picture was posted. Two years ago. Yep. Danny was going to think you were a creep.

Double fuck.

You could practically see his reaction now: the cocky smirk he got when things went his way, and the sultry British accent he pulled out every so often to mess with you… "Darling… did you really like an old post from two years ago… shame on you."

You swallowed hard again, heart hammering in your throat, your ears. God, why did that sound so very very appealing to you?

Your legs were starting to shake. God, fuck, why? You weren't even doing anything, just standing there clutching your phone with your mouth agape like an idiot. But the image of Danny's smirk, the phantom sensation of his low voice curling around the word "darling"— it was doing things to you. Things that made your breath hitch and your knees feel weak. You needed to get out of this room. Now.

You threw your phone back down on the loveseat, not caring if anyone called or texted, and practically sprinted down the hallway towards your bedroom, shutting the door harder than intended. The thumping bass from next door vibrated through the floorboards, a jarring counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of your own pulse. Leaning back against the cool wood, you slid down until you were sitting on the floor. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the image of Danny freshly out of the shower burned bright behind your eyelids— the damp blonde hair clinging to his temples, the way his towel sat low on his hips, the water droplets tracing paths over his chest, that look in his eyes… possessive. Inviting.

"Wanna join me?"

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Was that the bass or your heartbeat ringing in your ears? You weren't sure. You squeezed your thighs together, desperate to alleviate the agony racing through the lower half of your body, but all it did was make it worse.

On legs shakier than a newborn horse's, you stood up and walked over to your bed, the palms of your hands pressing against your eyes so hard that you saw spots. You sat down, breathing heavily.

A soft creak cut through the bass. Footsteps padded down the hallway toward your door. Your breath hitched. You froze, pulse hammering against your ribs as the knob turned slowly. The door eased open just enough to reveal Danny silhouetted against the dim hallway light, his hair still tousled from sleep. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness of your room. "Hey," he murmured, voice thick and raspy. "You okay? Heard you slam the door." His gaze drifted to where you sat crumpled on the bed, and for a heartbeat, his expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in those eyes before he masked it with casual concern.

You scrambled to your feet, cheeks blazing. "Fine!" you blurted, too loud. "Just... neighbors. Loud." You gestured vaguely toward the wall, avoiding his stare. The scent of his cologne—cinnamon and something faintly vanilla—drifted into the room, tightening the knot in your stomach.

Danny lingered against the doorframe. "Right. Loud." He echoed. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a brick-shaped device, and waved it around. "You left your phone in the living room… I tried calling you and didn't get a response. You really should keep the sound on."

Your face flushed darker. Boy, at this rate, you'd be mistaken for an extra of Bob the Tomato on Veggietales or something.

"I... uh... was asleep," you mumbled, shifting your weight. "Thanks." You stood up and reached for the phone.

Danny handed it to you, concern still etched into his pretty features. "You sure you're okay?"

"Fine." You managed again with a weak smile.

Danny looked like he didn't believe you, but he shrugged. "Okay. I'm going to try and do a livestream. If you need me though, don't hesitate to walk in, okay?"

"Why? So I can watch you rip your shirt on stream again?"

Danny laughed. "That was one time! Besides, I'm just playing Resident Evil this time." He glanced at you like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Instead, he knocked on the doorframe twice and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Whooooooooosh. All the air you'd been holding in finally came out. As well as all the thoughts you'd been suppressing. Can't sleep… neither can I… wanna join me… tear down my leg… DM me…

Biting your bottom lip, you slid a hand down your pants, just over your underwear. Sure enough, it was damp. Fuck.

You couldn't believe it. All it took was a couple shirtless photos of Danny and now you were soaked. Great.

Your heart was hammering as you slid off your pants and then your underwear. The strong scent of your arousal filled the room, and for a terrifying moment, you wondered if Danny would be able to smell it across the hallway.

Sliding one finger in was easy, so you switched to two. Gently, you thrust them in and out of yourself, curling them just so, but to your frustration, it did nothing to help you. You tried moving them faster and faster, pressing your thumb to your clit and that did work. You let out a soft gasp, and imagined it was Danny doing this to you. His fingers inside you. His thumb doing firm circles on your clit. Over and over, faster and faster, until you felt your legs begin to tremble, and a low heat surged between your thighs. You gasped again, biting hard on your cheek to keep from moaning. God.

Then the door opened.

Danny was there, holding his phone. "Hey, did you like an Insta post from two years ag—" he stopped when he saw you on the bed, legs spread wide, face flushed, and fingers buried deep in your cunt. His mouth fell open for a moment, and then he swallowed hard.

Meanwhile, you'd never been so embarrassed in your entire life. You removed your fingers, closed your legs, and threw a blanket over yourself. "D-Danny! Don't you ever knock?!"

Danny was still staring at you like he couldn't believe what he just saw. "Were you—" he cleared his throat.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Danny’s eyes—usually so sharp, so quick to dance with mischief—were wide, unblinking. The glow from his phone screen cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the slight part of his lips. You could see the exact moment his brain caught up with what he’d walked in on: the flush creeping up his neck, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "Were you—" he started again, voice rougher than before, then cut himself off. His gaze flickered down to the blanket you’d yanked over your lap, then back to your face. There was no smirk now, no playful tease. Just raw, stunned disbelief.

You scrambled backward on the bed, pulling the blanket tighter. "Get out!" you hissed, voice trembling. "Now, Danny!"

He didn’t move. Instead, he took a half-step forward, his free hand rising slightly as if to reach for you, then freezing mid-air. "I… I just came to ask about the notification," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes darted to your nightstand, where your phone lay face-down. "Saw the like pop up on my end. A shower pic from 2022. Bit random, yeah?"

The casual mention of the photo—the one still burning in your mind—made your humiliation coil tighter. You wanted to vanish. To dissolve into the mattress. Instead, you glared at him, heat scorching your cheeks. "So you barged in? Without knocking? Again?"

Danny finally seemed to snap back into himself. He ran a hand through his messy hair, the movement jerky. "Door was unlocked. I called your name. Twice." He paused, and that familiar, infuriating spark flickered in his eyes. "Didn’t exactly expect… this." His gaze dropped pointedly to the rumpled blanket.

You followed his look and flinched. The damp spot on the blanket was unmistakable. So was the scent—musky and sweet—hanging heavy in the air between you. You yanked the blanket higher, covering it. "Just go," you whispered, voice cracking. "Please."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. The bass from next door thudded on, a relentless pulse that seemed to sync with the frantic beat of your heart. Then, slowly, Danny’s expression shifted. The shock melted away, replaced by something darker, more intense. His eyes—usually warm brown—looked almost black in the dim light. They traced the line of your throat, the rapid flutter of your pulse there, then drifted lower, lingering where the blanket met your bare legs. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. Not the playful grin he used on stream, or the cocky smirk for his selfies. This was different. Predatory. "Right," he said softly, his voice a low purr that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Loud neighbors. Couldn’t sleep." He took another step into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. The sound was final. Ominous. "Funny. Neither could I." He didn’t look away from you as he slid his phone into his pocket. The deliberate slowness of the movement felt like a threat. "That picture," he continued, taking another step closer. The space between you shrank. You could smell the faint cinnamon-vanilla of his skin, mixed now with something sharper, more primal. "The shower one. You liked it." It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. A statement of fact that hung in the air, charged and heavy.

You pressed yourself back against the headboard, the cool wood a shock against your overheated skin. "It was an accident," you breathed, the lie tasting thin and pathetic.

Danny chuckled, a low, humorless sound. He was standing right beside the bed now, looking down at you. The dim light caught the edge of his tattoo peeking from under his sleeve—a swirling pattern you’d never bothered to decipher before. "Accident," he repeated, rolling the word around. "Right." He leaned down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside your hip. His face was inches from yours. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of mint, brushed your cheek. "Funny how accidents happen when you’re scrolling through years of my photos late at night. Alone." Your breath hitched. You couldn’t look away from his eyes. The playful Danny was gone. This was someone else. Someone who saw right through you. "Tell me," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "When you touched yourself…" His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and devastating. The silence in your bedroom crackled, thick and electric. Danny’s gaze—dark, intense, utterly unreadable—locked onto yours. The predatory edge in his smile hadn’t faded; if anything, it sharpened. He leaned closer, his hand still planted on the mattress beside your hip, trapping you against the headboard. The scent of him—cinnamon, vanilla, and now something raw and male—filled your lungs. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat drowning out the distant thud of the neighbor’s bass. "Were you thinking of me?" he finished, his voice a velvet rasp. His breath ghosted over your lips. "When you touched yourself… was it my name on your tongue?"

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The blanket felt like a flimsy shield, and the damp spot beneath it—a glaring testament to your shame—seemed to pulse under his scrutiny. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the image flooded back: Danny in the shower, water sluicing down his chest, that towel riding low. The fantasy had been so vivid, so real.

His free hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. The touch was startlingly gentle, a contrast to the hunger in his eyes. "Look at me," he commanded, soft but undeniable. Your eyelids fluttered open. His face was inches away, all sharp angles and shadowed intensity. The playful streamer, the meme-quoting roommate—gone. This Danny was a stranger. Dangerous. Magnetic. "I saw the like," he continued, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "Two years old. Buried deep. You had to scroll… and scroll…" His thumb drifted lower, skimming the line of your jaw. "Why that one, darling? What about it made you…" His gaze flicked pointedly toward the blanket. "…react?"

"Stop," you whispered, voice trembling. "Just go, Danny. Please."

He ignored the plea. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, parting them slightly. "Tell me," he murmured, leaning in until his lips almost brushed yours. "Did you imagine the steam? The water on my skin? Or was it the towel?" A low chuckle vibrated in his chest. "Wondering how easily it might… slip?" Heat flooded you, shame warring with a traitorous pulse of desire. You turned your face away, but his hand cupped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. His eyes were black pools, reflecting the dim light—and your own terrified arousal. "Or," he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to vibrate straight into your core, "was it the thought of joining me? Getting on your knees right there on the wet tiles? Taking me into that pretty mouth while the water ran cold?"

A whimper escaped you. Your thighs clenched involuntarily. He saw it—the subtle shift, the tremor. His smile turned triumphant, cruel. "Ah," he purred. "There it is." His hand left your chin, sliding slowly down your neck, over the frantic flutter of your pulse, then lower. It paused just above the edge of the blanket, hovering over the swell of your breast. You froze, every nerve ending screaming. "You liked the idea. Didn’t you?" The accusation hung in the air. The bass next door thumped—thud, thud, thud—a relentless counterpoint to the deafening silence between you. Danny’s eyes held yours, waiting. Daring you to deny it. Daring you to admit it. The air crackled, thick with the scent of your arousal and the raw, terrifying promise in his gaze. His fingers flexed, poised to push the blanket aside, to claim the truth written on your skin.

And you were willing to let him.