“Hmmm…” Satoru holds your hand up, twisting it this way and that and carefully examining it, pitch-black glasses discarded on the side to allow his azure eyes to show. He hums, a deep rumble in his throat as his long, pale fingers trace the back of your palm, gently tugging on your pointer finger, then your pinkie, and your ring finger.
His eyebrows furrow in faux concentration, lips in a pout, and then he nods once to himself. “Alright. Looks promising!” He says out-loud to himself, like a child inspecting their new toy.
You’re so used to his antics that you don’t even bat an eye at his out of the blue examination of your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips as you watch him. You had been walking past where he sat on the couch, only for his arms to wrap around you and pull you sideways onto his lap, no care for what you had been doing prior. He then proceeded to grab your hands with no words, silently beginning his very serious yet sudden inspection. Not like you put up much of a fight, though.
“Satoru,” you say. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “Everything okay, baby?” You ask, raising your eyebrows as your smile grows wider with the way his arms tighten minisculely over your midsection at the pet name. You love him. So, so much.
He grins, pearly white teeth winking at you and he ardently nods his head. “Yes! Everything’s great in fact, my dear sugar plum.”
You shake your head, and his attention is momentarily taken from your hands to you, dramatically sighing. “Not that one either?”
“No, Satoru. Try another name.”
“Aw, okay. Anyways!” He intertwines your hands together, affectionately squeezing. Your arm that’s wrapped around his shoulders moves so that your other hand is in his hair, running through the soft snow-white strands, causing his eyes briefly flutter shut at the kind touch. “…Hmm.”
You grin, always happy to see the little ways you affect him. “Anyways…” you prompt, dragging it out and successively reminding him of what he had started to say.
His eyes snap back open, and he gets back to his original task. “As I was saying, you have really, really nice hands,” he murmurs, gently swaying your locked hands, then placing a soft kiss on the back of your palm. “I love them.”
“Thank you, Satoru. I love your hands too.”
“I know, they’re pretty amazing.”
“I’ll smack you.”
He glosses over your threat. “Buttttt…” His grin grows a bit shy, timid— well, as timid as he ever could be. Leaning in for a kiss, you meet him half-way, and your heart leaps as your lips touch, even though this definitely isn’t the first time he’s kissed you before.
When you part, he leans his forehead against yours, his hand that’s not interlocked with yours smoothing over your back, under your t-shirt and fervidly rubbing against your bare skin.
He winks, and your mouth dries. “I think it would look even better with a ring on it.”
942 notes
·
View notes
Ok so
There is this trope about ghosts not reaching maturity until they've been ghosts for several centuries
There is ALSO the trope that ghosts fight as a sort of way to communicate
With the power of these two tropes combined-- I give you this strange headcanon:
Ghosts become mature adult ghosts after 500 years.
Danny and his usual troublemakers are all in the same "daycare".
He's just the youngest + most unique ghost so they like playing around with him the most. In other words, it's the ghost version of older siblings ordering their younger siblings around
As far as ghosts go,
There are blobs, ghost animals, shades (those are ghosts as we know it) and ghosts (aka Infinite Realms Beings) etc etc
The blobs and etc are, well, blobs and etc
But ghosts need a while to fully grow up and be considered adult
And so, if these ghosts are children, they need guardians or caretakers at the daycare right?
Correct
Baby ghosts are under the care of the nearest authority (Ancient or Leader or etc etc)
Except baby ghosts usually stay near where they were born and Danny and Co just so happen to be near Pariah Dark
Pariah Dark is asleep
But Fright Knight is there!
Except Fright Knight is also sealed
And it's one thing to wake up the ultra powerful megalomaniac tyrant kinda parent figure but not really you're supposed to have and another to drag your oldest adult sibling out of their room to touch grass
In other words, the surrounding authorities just went eh the babies can contact fright Knight if anything happens
But then Danny defeats Pariah and inherits his authority
So he technically becomes the caretaker of baby ghosts in the area while being the youngest baby ghost himself
Hence the other ancients visiting and *playing* with him to see if it's ok to leave the babies with this other baby
And since they're ghosts who don't have human guidelines or morals, decide that since he's that strong it should be fine to leave it alone
Besides he has Fright Knight! Good 'ol Frighty will definitely help out this new baby kid ghost with doing everything!
Meanwhile, Fright Knight waiting for Danny to come claim the crown and ring: ...
Cue Danny's rogues coming up to him to show him shit they accomplished
Youngblood : Phantom look at this cool baking soda volcano that spews out real lava!!
Danny: It does WHAT
Youngblood: Look!
Danny: NO
Ember: Hey Babybop wanna listen to the new song I wrote? It compels humans to start cults based on my name!
Danny: Ember, no
Ember: I think you mean Ember YES
Skulker: Ghost boy I have skinned an alien and brought you a pelt turned into a coat
Danny: ...you did WHAt
Skulker: It is nearing winter time and one must always be ready for winter time
Danny, having an existential meltdown after seeing his parents and Vlad get it on together: Desiree what the actual fuck??? Did you do????
Desiree: I merely fulfilled a wish
Johnny: Hey Phantom look we got matching tattoos to celebrate our anniversary!
Kitty: Wait what did you just say?
Johnny: uh, we got tattoos for our anniversary?
Kitty: ...our anniversary is in TWO MONTHS. THAT was for my DEATHDAY.
Johnny: ...oh shit
Danny, about to soup them both: Man, get good
Lunch Lady: Phantom have you eaten your proteins today?!
Danny: uh... Yeah?
Lunch Lady, already throwing meat at him: EAT MORE
Danny:
Box ghost: WITNESS! THE GREAT BOX MECHA!
Danny: oh come on seriously
And on the other hand,
Walker, dumping ten piles of paper in Danny's room: Phantom, here are the latest forms that need revisions
Spectra: What do you MEAN you're not allowing me to open a beauty salon in order to dig into other girls' insecurities and maintain my own beauty?! That's why it's called a beauty salon!!
Cujo and Wulf who are both the best boys and favorites, with smug faces:
Fright Knight still waiting for Danny to accept the ring and crown:
Plasmius: What the heck is this weird feeling my ghost side keeps making me feel??
Plasmius: is it... Is there perhaps a ghostly way I can adopt the little badger??
293 notes
·
View notes
DP x DC Writing Prompt #8
The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.
"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."
"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."
"You own a sedan?"
"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."
Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.
Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.
"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."
Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.
"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"
Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"
"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.
"Get to it then," she demands.
Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.
"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."
Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.
"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."
Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"
"Thank you."
"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'
"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."
Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.
"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"
"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."
"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.
"So what can you tell me?"
"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."
"But he's not."
"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."
"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.
"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.
"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"
"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"
"You're being more sarcastic than usual."
"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."
504 notes
·
View notes
january blue || josh kiszka x reader
Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Cabin Fever Masterlist
Summary: You're sick, and Josh takes good care of you.
Pairings: Josh x Reader | Genre: fluff, h/c, sickfic | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: none!
A/N: Here's another one of those self-serving fics that I hope you like :) Also this is lowkey an ad for Netflix's “The Greatest Night in Pop” because that was a great documentary. Anyhoopla I hope you like it! ♡
“Sweet baby, when is your birthday again?”
You pulled your blank gaze from the waiting room wall, frowning a little as you looked over at Josh. It took you a second to think of a response; the fluorescents overhead were harsh, and everything seemed unnaturally bright under them. Josh held the pen poised and ready above the intake form, waiting for you to tell him your birthdate.
The uncomfortable vinyl chair creaked when you turned towards him. “You don't know my birthday?” you asked, unsure if you should be surprised by that. You were surprised, but you were also rather disoriented, so maybe it was a normal question for an attentive boyfriend to ask.
He cracked a smile, a welcome bit of tenderness in the cold, stark doctor’s office.
“I do,” he said. “I was only teasing.” He jotted it down along with your other details, taking care of the task for you as you sat in the waiting room together. It was sweet of him to do it and try to take your mind off things while he did, and it made the appointment seem a little less daunting.
“What are your symptoms?” he asked, writing down the ones he already knew. “Earache, sore throat, congestion?”
You nodded, covering your ear with your hand, careful of pressing too hard. “Dizziness, too. And a headache.”
“My poor baby,” he said sympathetically. He finished up the intake form. “Okay, honey. You’re all set.” He returned the clipboard to the front desk, taking your hand when he came back to sit next to you.
“What do you think?” he asked. His hair was a golden halo of soft curls, and it didn’t surprise you that even the awful atmosphere of the doctor’s office didn’t dim his warmth and cheerfulness. “Do you wanna read one of these magazines that have been here since the eighties? There’s probably some older ones if that sounds too modern.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “I think I’m okay, thanks.”
He smiled. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
He pulled out his phone to answer a text from Danny; you rested your head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the persistent ache and the vaguely panicky feeling you always got at the doctor.
Josh gave you a quick smooch on your forehead. You smiled.
“What was that for?” you asked.
“Danny said to give you a get-well kiss,” he said. “So there you go.”
You cuddled closer to him. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course, baby.” He pocketed his phone. “Thanks for asking me. I would have been sad to find out you went without me.”
You raised your head to look at him, a bemused smile crossing your face. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I know you don’t like the doctor, and I like to be with you for things that make you nervous, if I can. I’m glad you know you can ask me for help.”
Your smile was wobbly, then. “Aw, Joshy. I love you, you know.”
He gave you a sweet smile. “I love you too, baby. Hopefully we’ll be in and out, and then we can spend the rest of the day cuddled up on the couch. Sound good?”
“Sounds wonderful,” you said with a sigh.
You lost track of time in the waiting room, sucked into the weird vortex of discomfort and the smell of antiseptic, but eventually your name was called. Josh went with you, and though you might have felt a little embarrassed to be a grown woman with a personal escort to the doctor, you just didn’t have the energy to care. Besides, there was nothing wrong with having Josh with you, and you were glad you didn’t have to do it alone.
He waited patiently while you got your vitals checked, making jokes about your pulse being a little high with white coat syndrome. When the nurse left you alone in the room again, he gave you a thumbs up.
“You’re doing great, baby,” he said with a sweet smile. “I bet you’re the best patient they’ve had all day.”
“I do my best,” you said. You fidgeted on the table, the paper crinkling under you. “Can we get coffee after this?”
“Sure, honey. Whatever you want.”
You gave him a teasing smile. “Whatever I want, huh? Could you strip naked right now and do the hula for me?”
He laughed, and the warm sound of it took the edge off the chill of the sterile room.
“Maybe not whatever you want,” he corrected. He stood and came over to the exam table, giving your thigh a comforting pat. “But I think I can handle coffee.”
You winced and tilted your head as you felt a sharp pain go from your ear all the way down your neck. Josh gently covered the spot with his warm hand, and you leaned into his touch.
“There’s this new documentary on Netflix,” you said, trying to distract yourself from the ache. “About the night they got the supergroup together for ‘We Are The World’.”
“I saw the trailer,” he agreed. He slowly ran his fingers over your fevered skin. “You want to watch that when we get home?”
“Sure. We can make a roster of who should be in the next version with you guys.”
He smiled. “Okay, baby. I’d like that.” A sympathetic frown tugged at his features when you grimaced again.
“I'm sorry you don't feel good, honey,” he said. “I know a jacked up ear isn't very fun.”
You breathed a laugh. “I shouldn't complain. Your whole eardrum exploded, so mine’s easy in comparison.”
He chuckled. “Are we in a competition for worst ear injury? That's kinda weird, even for us.”
You leaned your head against his, thankful for the way he comforted you and made you smile without even trying.
He pulled back when the door handle turned, and gave your hand a squeeze before he took his seat again. The doctor gave you a quick exam, confirming an ear infection secondary to a sinus infection, and prescribed you a round of antibiotics.
Josh got you squared away at the desk before you left, and you were content to let him do the talking as the pain started to catch up with you. He led you out to the car, getting you settled in the passenger seat before he got in himself.
“Still feel up for coffee?” he asked.
You curled up in a pitiful little ball. “Yes, please. But maybe I’ll get the Medicine Ball instead.”
He kept one hand on your thigh as he drove, and you half dozed with your hands wrapped around the wonderfully warm Starbucks cup. He ran into the store to pick up your prescription and a few other things, and though he’d promised to be quick, he was gone longer than you’d expected.
“Where did you go?” you said, an irritated, petulant tone creeping into your voice. “The Bermuda Triangle?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said sincerely, putting the bags in the back of the Jeep. “The pharmacy line was super long. I guess I should have taken you home and come back out for your medicine.”
You softened, feeling a little guilty. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be grumpy with you when you're running around doing everything for me.”
He touched a hand to your cheek. “You don’t have to apologize, baby. I know you don't feel good. I understand if you’re grumpy.”
You held his hand and kept it pressed to your cheek for a moment. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, baby. Let’s get you home, okay?”
At home, he got your medicine and some painkillers into you before he ran you a bath. He sat on the edge of the tub, brushing your hair back from your face.
“I think you’ll feel better if you have a nap, baby,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “Do you want to eat something before you lay down?”
You shook your head. “I don’t really have an appetite.”
“I understand. I’d like you to try and eat a little something, though, just so the medicine doesn't make you sick. How about some soup?”
You looked up at him. “Can you do the spinach and rice one Jake makes?”
He nodded slowly. “Uh... yes. I think so.” You laughed when he pulled out his phone to ask his brother for the recipe.
He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Let me go get it cooking,” he said. “You enjoy your bath.”
You gratefully sank into the warm water, letting it soothe your aches until you felt all jellied and tired. Still, you were reaching the edge of your tolerance for the consistent pain; you knew the Tylenol had to be kicking in soon, but until it did, you were steadily getting more outdone with feeling so miserable. You hardly spoke when Josh came to help you out and brought you warm pajamas, and he watched you with worry as he steered you to the couch.
You winced when the pain spiked suddenly. “Oh my god, ow.”
Josh pulled back from you. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No. My stupid ear.” You gingerly pressed your hand to it, close to tears with frustration and discomfort. You looked pitifully up at him. “It hurts, Joshy.”
“I know, baby,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
You shook your head, unable to think of anything, even if there was anything he could do. He just pulled you close and held you in a safe, steady hug, and it was exactly what you needed.
“My sweet baby,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”
A few tears spilled over, and you buried your face against his chest.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said in a small voice.
“Honey,” he soothed. “You’re welcome. You don't have to thank me. I wish I could do more to help.”
You hugged him tighter, resting in his warmth and closeness. “You’re perfect, Josh.”
He rested his head against yours and rocked you gently. “I love you, my sweet girl.”
When the uptick in pain finally subsided, maybe because the medicine had finally kicked in, you let yourself be settled on the couch in a nest of pillows. Josh covered you with every fuzzy blanket he could find until you were practically buried in them.
“Joshy,” you giggled.
He smiled. “There’s that sweet laugh,” he said tenderly. “I missed it. What’s got you so tickled?”
You tried to lift your arms under the blankets. “I’m gonna be trapped in here.”
He chuckled. “It’s my master plan. Keep you wrapped up in blankets so you can never escape me.”
“I don’t want to escape you.”
“Just making sure.” He held your face in his hands and gave you kiss after kiss after kiss, each one sweet and gentle and joyful. “I love you very much, you know.”
You gave him a bashful smile. “Yeah, I know.”
You had dinner — Josh had replicated Jake’s recipe perfectly, which he insisted was thanks to his twin’s detailed instructions — and watched the documentary about the recording of ‘We Are The World’. The two of you spent a while listing people you wanted in your supergroup to play with Greta Van Fleet.
“I want Noah Kahan and Gregory Alan Isakov,” you said.
Josh nodded sagely. “I see the vision. We should get Labi Siffre too.”
“Can we go back in time and get John Denver?” you asked.
He smiled. “Yes. I’m making that executive decision. Because I want to grab the original lineup of Fairport Convention.”
“So... we’re doing a folk rock version, then?”
He hummed in agreement. “And we make friends with everybody, and it’s the number one single in the world, and it’s your favorite song that we’ve ever done.”
You laughed and cuddled against him when he pulled you close.
He ran his hand up and down your arm. “I'm glad you’re feeling a little better, honey.”
You gave a contented sigh. “Me too.”
It had started to rain when you got home, and there was still a gentle, steady drumbeat on the roof that matched the hazy blue wash against your windows. Josh held you close and told you about what they’d worked on in the studio, and before long, the warmth of his voice and the sound of the rain worked as surely as a lullaby to pull you towards sleep.
Josh brushed his thumb over your cheek. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he said softly.
You tilted your face up for a kiss, and he obliged you. He was all love and gentleness and warmth, as he always was, and you melted into his touch.
“You love me lots, don’t you?” you asked.
“Yes, baby. Lots and lots.”
“Oh good,” you said, cosy and sleepy and content in the safety of his arms. “I love you lots too.”
gvf taglist:@malany-gvf@spark-my-nature@eearevee@madneedshelp@demonrat444@josh-iamyour-mama@honeyandsweettae@mydarlingdanny@gretavandann@sacredjake@myleftsock@joshskittytickler21@hellowgoodbye@watchingovergvf2@fearfulspirit@mywaysoon@carbondancingthroughtime@caprisunsister@eraofstardustchords@sacredthefran@shesawomaninadream@serendipiti@demonrat444@wildflowerxx-x@tearsofdanny@iluvjoshkiszka@jordie-gvf-admin@demolitionndann@hi-hi-hello11@wildbluesorbit@nessie-glorpa@laneygvf @jazzyfigz @musicspeaks @amythestars @missharvestmoon @readyforthegarden
@gvfrry@ohhey1293@the-chaotic-cow@mountain-in-springtime@xserenax-13@stardustjtk @brooke-gvf@weightofdreams-gvf@jakeydoesit @hayley1623@doodle417@finestoflines@brokenbellz@bowievanfleet@s0livagant@strugglingtodoshit@s-u-t@kay-jordan@gretavanfleas@jakeyboiiiiiii@gretavansteph@gretavanbitches@myownparadise96@luverleaver@weightofdreamz@greatervanfleet@maedesculpaeusoubi@jakekiszkasbestie@pineapple-photographer@baguettejuliette@alexxavicry@levi-wants-ur-bones@carlybubs@cowboysamkiszka@dannyandthekiszkas@jordierama@slutforsteve@starshine-wagner@quartzzzzzzz@edgeofdreams@writingcold@lostoverseer@catharu77@mackalah@jaketlove@haileygvf@blacksoul-27@ur-m0ms-blog@hi-hi-hello11@wildbluesorbit @nessie-glorpa @laneygvf@madneedshelp@dreamsingxld
181 notes
·
View notes