Prompt #5
Of all things that could have been made more difficult after he died, Danny never thought it would be having any luck dating. Sure he could predict that the disappearing every day for at least an hour to go off fighting one of his rogues could certainly cause some strain—but that’s within the normal expectation of being a half dead hero, or any hero really for that matter. Man, he wanted to know why the majority of the world painted major heroes as these absolute studs when it had to suck complete ass when they would have to run off to go fight some big bad every other day.
Imagine being mid anniversary dinner and boom—aliens are invaded and your night is ruined for the fifth year in a row. There couldn’t be anyone, regardless of secondary gender, who could stand that unless they had the patience of a saint and enough willpower to power Las Vegas. Personally if he was a civilian and had to deal with constant missed dates, he’d probably have the hard talk with them.
However Danny wasn’t a civilian and his issue wasn’t accidentally standing his date up. No, that would be something he could reasonably fix with a serious talk. The problem he was having was the one thing he couldn’t take a wrench or a gentle approach to. It was his scent.
Something he didn’t even really have before the portal. He, like everyone else around him, had assumed he was just a beta. Faint hints of mint and snow being brushed off as the sometimes mild scent of a few ‘lucky’ betas. Then he died. The first week after was hell for reasons more than just settling into his own body again and not phasing through everything. Inactive scent glands suddenly waking up and producing pheromones, instincts that had mildly impacted him now so strong it made it hard to communicate, and Ancients he wanted to forget the mortifying whininess towards his friends whenever they had to go back home or school.
When things had finally settled and he could actually think without his everything being overwhelmed, he couldn’t help the sharp disappointment. Danny knew other omegas—Sam was one—and he knew what their pheromones were supposed to smell like. Soft, dainty, comforting. He wasn’t.
Frost—sharp and cold—accompanied a bright mint lightly blanketed in ozone, the faint whiff of oil spiced with cinnamon. The weirder part was that he could identify a note that shouldn’t have necessarily been possible. Nostalgia. It had thrown him for a loop and puzzled him for so long until he finally met Frostbite. The yeti had been the first to tell him that ghosts had emotion in their pheromones. Feeling intertwined with scent. Then he promptly started lecturing him on taking care of his infant ghost core and Danny had justifiably clocked out until the doctor of the far north was done.
It didn’t get any better when he defeated Pariah Dark and accidentally took the mantle of Ghost King. His pheromones became so sharp, that they held the ability to rival the dominance of an alphas. There wasn’t a whole lot of people in Amnity who were chill with their partner being able to ‘dominate’ them—his dad, Jazz, and Tucker were unfortunately the only few decent alphas he knew. The problems of living in a small town.
He had maybe hoped, when he and his friends had gotten their acceptance letter to Gotham University, that he could try his luck in the dating scene. Of course he was then immediately reminded that Fenton Luck did not give a shit where you were. Time and time again, he met alphas who either gently or rudely brushed him off because they didn’t want an ‘omega who made them feel less like an alpha’. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
Despite this, Sam and Tuck still encouraged him to cast his line in the dating pool over and over. He loved them dearly but he seriously wondered if they thought that if he DID meet an alpha who was alright with his pheromones, would they be so accepting of him being so close to another alpha and even living with them? Danny was unfortunately aware of how much of the alpha population were assholes excluding the obvious.
Though he thought this, he couldn’t stand their disappointment whenever he said he’d give up or their incessant prodding, and kept trying. Even if it just ended the same every time. At least he usually got a free meal or coffee out of it. Once the other guy felt so bad he had bought him a full custom kit of a space rocket.
It was actually after one of these dates that he was currently walking home from. Same reason as always—his pheromones were just too strong and it made his date feel emasculated. Danny wasn’t too bummed though. The guy seemed like a massive douchebag and he would rather put his own head in a toilet than date Dash 2.0, as if his entire high school career wasn’t painful enough. So now he was tugging on the sleeves of the oversized coat he had stolen from his father and made a sharp turn into an alleyway to cut down the walk.
Apparently this was the Worst Idea Ever. Immediately he felt something hard jab into his lower back and his entire body seized as electricity raced through him. Normal tasers weren’t even supposed to be this strong—but the damage was dealt and Danny was already on the ground jerking sporadically. In his pained haze he could hear his attacker make a panicked noise and the hushed mutter of ‘I didn’t turn it up that high’ before apparently whatever conscience they had evaporated into thin air and they knelt down to pat for his wallet.
Great, first he had a shit date and now he was being robbed, he thought slightly manic. Then he caught something despite his stiff muscles and normally sluggish heart racing faster than it should. A faint chill in his lungs that left his lips via a cold mist, then a sudden thud. His attacker was gone in a matter of seconds—the sound of bone on brick his only tell of what happened. Then warm hands were on him and suddenly he was leaning up against a wall.
“Hey kid,” Rude—Danny knew his growth was stunted after he died but he didn’t look that young, he chose to ignore the fact he was in a jacket five times his size.
“Look at me kid.” Now they were making demands after insulting him. Double rude. Despite his dissatisfaction Danny furrowed his brows and with far too much effort, opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus before he recognized the person in front of him. His first thought was that he was going to have permanent bragging rights over Tucker and Sam, the second was ‘oh fuck that’s Red Hood.’ Red Hood, who was currently holding his shoulders and speaking with what could be debatably concern beneath the voice modulation.
“Good job kid, you’re alright now.” Fuck, he must have smelt the undercurrent of worry in his scent.
“Not a kid.” Was his intelligent and clever response. He could almost feel the doubt in the other’s gaze. Again, rude.
He fumbled around his coat pockets, more slapping than anything. His movements must have seemed panicked or erratic enough that it had the vigilante trying to calm him down like some sort of frightened animal. The grip on his shoulders tightened as he suddenly smelt the hint of sandalwood, before a flurry of warm pheromones hit him. The scent of new books, of a campfire, that sandalwood, childhood memories, and a stuffed animal washed in fabric softener blanketed him.
The shock from earlier must have fried whatever brain cells he had left after his incident, because he tilted forward to bury his head in the guy’s collarbone. He could feel his core let out chirps of ice crackling and in response the low warble of raging fire answered back weakly. Danny didn’t notice the man stiffening, too absorbed in trying to inhale a scent so different but similar to his own—something interlaced with feeling. Those hands on his shoulders moved to awkwardly pat his back, however the man made no effort to move away.
Danny wasn’t sure if he had hit his head when he collapsed, the vibrating certainly pointed to yes—that was until his lagging brain managed to recognize the vibrating was coming from the vigilante(was he considered a vigilante now? Most sources point to yes but he has seen a lot of people saying the guy was still a crime lord) he was currently nuzzling into. It took him another moment to realize that the other was rumbling—but in a really weird way. It sounded more like the guy was trying to imitate how an omega purrs, though Danny wasn’t complaining as he all but melted with his most likely fried brain.
“Are you able to call your parents kid?” The urge to bite the vigilante crossed his mind as he was called a kid, again, despite his very eloquent denial. It wasn’t like the other was even giving him a chance to prove he wasn’t some random teen who got jumped. He would have eventually got his wallet out of his pocket. Wait—his wallet!
“‘allet,” Danny mumbled into the guys admittedly impressive chest. He could feel a wave of confusion emanating from his pheromones and core, brows scrunching when the member of the supposedly greatest family of detectives couldn’t piece together what he meant from his clear instructions.
“‘ocket, ‘s my ‘allet.” Red Hood seemed to finally realize what Danny had been telling him, moving a hand away from his shoulders (no Danny did not whine pathetically when he did) to rummage through the seemingly bottomless pockets of his dad’s coat. He paused for a moment before pulling out the beaten up wallet. He watched with half his face smooshed into the vigilante’s collarbone as he flipped open the wallet with one hand to look at the license that Danny had for once remembered to put in the little plastic window.
The soothing rumble-purr tapered off and Danny couldn’t deny he really did make a rather pathetic sad sound before it seemed to rev back to life almost immediately, although Red Hood was definitely tensed.
“Ok, not a kid.” Danny’s core gave out a series of happy chirps at the acknowledgment that was met with a fond grumble from the others core. Now that he had finally corrected this grievance, his sore and tired body finally completely drooped—going boneless against the vigilante who patted his shoulder roughly to keep him awake. Danny mumbled something and snuggled against the human wall as he pushed his feelings of comfort towards the wave of concern he felt from the former(?) crime lord.
The last thing he remembers before his eyelids finally fluttered shut was the muffled sound of cursing and firm arms curling around his body to lift him up.
When he comes to, he’s on his bed with a headache pounding against the walls of his skull like a landlord when their tenant is two minutes late on rent. It didn’t even occur to him to wonder how he got home—the whole events of the previous night feeling more like some weird dream. Danny figured he should probably stop getting experimental with ectoplasm at night when he has the snackies. The walk home from the failed date was probably so uneventful his brain tried to fill it in with something worth remembering.
That was until his morning brain finally picked up a faint soft scent. It took him far too long to notice the over sized jacket he was wearing was definitely not his dad’s and smelt far too nice for it to be the poor thing that was probably soaked in his own scent from the rarity of it ever meeting the washing machine. It felt nice too—and was definitely the jacket of his savior from what was apparently actually last night.
Danny closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before exhaling, accepting that he had just embarrassed himself in a proportion unfound by those before him. He just prayed to the ancients that he really did pass out for the remainder of the night and didn’t wake to say some shit that would have him wishing the portal really did do him in. As he slid the jacket off his shoulders—with far more hesitancy than he should—the faint sound of crinkling paper caught his attention.
Fishing in the deep pockets, his fingers grasped a scrap of what felt like receipt paper before pulling it out. In bold red lettering was a number. A small red bat doodled next to it.
