Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.3
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“Aquaman.” Batman swept into the room, beelining straight for the suddenly apprehensive Atlantean king.
“Batman. What can I do for you?”
“Phantom. Does he pay taxes?”
“Pardon?”
Batman makes a low noise that had Aquaman’s danger senses buzzing.
“Does Phantom have to pay taxes. Towards Atlantis.”
“No…? Why?”
“He wanted money, in exchange for… information, of a delicate sort,” Batman said, diplomatically avoiding the topic of Phantom bargaining for the identities of corpses in exchange for a measly $100 dollars per identity. Like a flea market dealer, that one was.
“You encountered Phantom again?” Aquaman perked up.
“Yes. Gotham’s bay is… polluted.” Batman paused. “With victims. Of murder.”
The entire area quieted as heads turned towards the Dark Knight.
“Yes, I am… distantly aware of Gotham’s waters.” By that, Aquaman gets green around the gills whenever he turns his awareness in that direction. There’s a reason he doesn’t enter Gotham, and the Dark Knight’s ban is only half of that reason. “Ah, but you’re correct. For what purpose would Phantom need mortal currency?”
“Hn.”
“Maybe he needs some stuff?” Flash zipped to a stop next to Batman, feet tapping as he dug into the pile of snacks cradled in his arms. “Us mortals are always coming up with new things, maybe he wants to try some games or something?”
Batman tilted his head down, seriously considering Flash’s suggestion. “It’s plausible.”
“Barry, Barry, Barry. He’s old as hell, right? He probably wants to try the new booze!”
“Hal, my man!” Flash fist bumped Green Lantern, who came up. “You’re back! What happened to John?”
“Dunno. He got called somewhere that way,” Green Lantern waved a vague hand towards the left. “Had to deal with a politician or something from that area.” He shrugged, swinging an arm over Barry’s shoulders to put him in a headlock and stealing a chip.
“Huh. Anyways, would our mortal alcohol even work on a demi-god or something?”
“We should ask!” Hal turned towards Batman. “You should ask if he wants to go for a drink, spooky!”
“He’s a child.”
“He’s been around for more than a millennia, Bats.”
“Informational gathering, right, Hal?” Flashgot out of the headlock, quickly munching on his snacks to stop Green Lantern from stealing them.
“Totally. Yup.”
“…Fine.”
“Wait, are we just gonna ignore that Gotham’s waters are full of bodies?”
“Yes.”
——
“What?” Danny asked, mind half on the bags he’s dragging out of the water and the other half on the essay he has to submit in about four hours.
“Green Lantern wanted to invite you out for a drink.”
Danny turned to the stoic Gotham knight, who had his wrist computer out to log the bodies’ info the moment Danny gave him the information. Some of them even told Danny who murdered them, so Batman could start building cases with solid leads.
Danny’s only twenty. He’s not legal yet but he doesn’t want to give any clues to who he is. How is he supposed to…
Ah!
“Can’t.” Danny shrugged. “I’m not legal. I died when I was fourteen so…” Danny trailed off, speechless at the drowned puppy face Batman was giving him. What the fuck.
“Anyways, fork over my payment.”
Batman wordlessly hands him a wad of hundreds.
“What do you need cash for?” Batman suddenly asked.
“Huh? Isn’t it obvious?” Danny tucked it in. “Material things, obviously. I need a blanket,” because holy shit, Gotham is damn cold this time of year. “Anyways, see you same time next week, litterer.”
“I don’t litter.”
“Tell that to the batarangs I found under the water,” Danny grumbled. “But I’ll stop calling you that if you get a signature from Poison Ivy. I have a friend who loves her.”
“An alive friend?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”
Danny snickered and disappeared. He’s gotta cram that essay.
——
“There’s a possibility Phantom might be homeless.”
“Batman, I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of Atlantis, please stop giving me headaches. It’s time like these I wish I stayed a lighthouse keeper.”
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one night (fruit) stand — bnha, todoroki shouto x gn!reader, fluff, "love" as a pet name, fruit puns sorry, pro heroes, aged up, no quirks mentioned for reader, 2.2k words
written for andie's pretty boy summer collab!
"This is for you."
The low, measured tone is a welcome respite from the joyful chaos of the farmer's market, but you balk as you look up from a basket of oranges — straight into the eyes of your one night stand.
"Wait," you say. Your brow wrinkles. The man — tall, ridiculously handsome, way out of your league — merely blinks his dichromatic eyes and lowers his hand slightly. He sets the cold can of milk tea on the table and reaches up to tilt his bucket hat a little further up his head, revealing a shock of red and white hair that looks vaguely familiar. But that's not the only thing — "You have the same bucket hat as one of our regulars. But he said it was exclusive."
"I do have the hat," the hottest guy in the world says. "I'm Todoroki Shouto. Do you remember me?"
You feel the flush burn in your cheeks and up the back of your neck as hazy memories from last night leap unbidden to your mind. There was the warm buzz of alcohol in your veins — the intimate, cozy izakaya — a flash of a charming smile and mesmerizing dichromatic eyes — your quietly giddy giggling as you twined your arms around a smooth neck to stretch up on tiptoes for a kiss — stumbling into a door, tripping over shoes in the genkan, wrapping your legs around a trim waist as your partner groaned into your mouth —
Of course you fucking remember Todoroki Shouto. That was the best night of your entire life, and he was the cause of it. But why is he standing at your farmer's market stall looking like the world's hottest model for bucket hats?
You left his beautifully rumpled bed this morning way before dawn, yanking your clothes back on and mourning the loss of his strong body curled up around your own, positive you'd never see him again. You know for a fact that he doesn't have your number or any contact info.
But now he's here. At your farmer's market stall. Wearing a disconcertingly familiar bucket hat.
Maybe it's one of those new trends? You don't keep up with heroes and wouldn't recognize their branding if it smacked you in the face, but at the very least you know that when a hero starts rising in the rankings, their merch starts popping up more and more often. The hat looks like it could be one of those — it's a solid black with orange on the inside (that clashes terribly with Shouto's hair, except he still looks unfairly good), a thin line of orange along the edge, and an embroidered… grenade… patch centered in the middle.
Why anyone would walk around wearing a grenade bucket hat, you don't know, but if it's hero merch then it makes more sense. So Shouto must be a fan of this rising hero — a huge fan, to get an exclusive hat like this, but — wait, he's staring at you and gosh, his blue and gray eyes are so gorgeous and when his lips quirk in that little lopsided smile your heart feels dangerously like it'll leap out of your chest.
"I take it you remember me," he says, still in that even tone but with an edge of laughter this time.
Your face heats even more and your hands clench around the basket of oranges. "Sorry, sorry," you clear your throat. "I just… wasn't expecting you."
Shouto nudges the can of milk tea closer to you. "I wanted to see you again," he says carefully. You glance at the can and blink. It's your favorite drink to pick up from vending machines. Did that come up last night?
"And you came here to… give me a drink?"
He nods. A light breeze ruffles the collar of his shirt. His smile tugs a little bit higher on his handsome face.
Well, then. That smile is dangerous.
Shouto waits patiently as you get called to deliver the basket of oranges you're clutching for dear life. He hovers at the side of your stall, looking woefully out of place in his bucket hat and crisp, clean clothes. You can feel a streak of dirt along your cheek and your clothes are all dusty, but every time you glance back at him, he's looking at you steadily and completely unabashedly.
It's embarrassing, but you can't deny the little thrill that shoots to your toes every time you meet his gaze. "Todoroki-san, you really don't need to wait here," you say, slipping back to him during another lull in customers. "Thank you for the milk tea, though! It's my favorite."
Shouto blinks slowly as he observes you. The scrutiny does nothing to help your nerves — it takes two tries to pop the can open, and Shouto looks endlessly amused the whole time. "I would like to wait for you," he says. A pause. You bring the can up to your lips for a sip. "And you may call me Shouto. I appreciated the way you said it last night."
You choke on your drink.
The way you said it last night — gasping into his ear, moaning into his steadily fraying kisses — oh, jeez. "Ah, fuck," you blurt out, eyes widening with horror at the stray flecks of tea you've splattered on his shirt.
"It is alright," Shouto says. He pats at the small spots delicately with his sleeve and then seems to deem it unimportant. You blink as he looks up at you from beneath messy bangs. "Are you feeling… well?"
What a question. What a look. Does he know how lethally attractive he is? You take a very careful sip of your drink. "I'm… sore."
Shouto hums in response and carefully begins rolling up the sleeves of his button up. You watch, mesmerized, as the corded muscles of his forearms and biceps flex with the sure movement. You take a slow sip of your drink with wide eyes as he finishes and sets his hands on his hips. "Let me help."
Jeez, the shoulders on this guy. You can't help staring at the breadth of him as he comes around the table and into your space. A breeze of minty cool air washes over you with the movement and suddenly your brain catches what he's said.
"W-wait, Todoroki-san," you yelp, setting your can down and reaching for him. He continues bending for the large crate by your feet, hefting it up with barely any effort at all, and you're caught standing there holding onto the edge of his shirt. "Todoroki-san, you don't need to help!"
"Call me Shouto," he says. You gape up at him uselessly. "I would not want you to injure yourself because I made you sore."
"I — you — Todoroki-san," you huff, tugging even harder on his shirt. Shouto pouts and moves to bring the crate to the small truck parked behind your stall. You're forced to follow him, wary of accidentally messing up his shirt even more, though you feel a little dazed with his pout etching itself into your brain.
"This goes here?" Shouto asks. You nod wordlessly, still processing the cutest fucking pout you've ever seen on a grown man. "Would you like to hold my hand instead, love?"
Whoa, what?
Shouto sets the crate in place and dusts off his hands before reaching down to very gently detach your death grip on his shirt. You should get your hearing checked. You're clearly hearing things, because the hottest man you've seen in your entire life couldn't have possibly just called you 'love'.
"Love?" you repeat.
Shouto's lithe fingers squeeze around yours briefly. "Would you prefer a different pet name? I recall you mentioning that you liked that one."
You snap your jaw shut. "I… did…" you say slowly. But you said that to your regular, the other bucket hat wearer, the guy who always came wearing a face mask for pollen and dark sunglasses and that exact same bucket hat that you've… never seen anywhere else…
Several things fall into place at once. You stare up at Shouto with slowly mounting horror.
"Todoroki-san, are you… Helpless Produce Guy?"
Shouto laughs. Oh. Oh, you're so stupid. That's the laugh that's plagued your dreams every day for months as you've nursed your silly crush on the worst grocery shopper you've known. "So that is what you call me."
"I've never met someone more hopeless about buying fruit and vegetables," you say blankly. "I remember teaching you how to choose carrots the other day. I can't believe this. I've been teaching you how to pick watermelon for ages and I never knew your name or face. Just that bucket hat."
"Oi, Icyhot," a rough voice suddenly speaks up from behind the two of you, and you spin around to find yourself face to face with a spiky blonde guy who is undoubtedly a hero if the huge, bulky muscles are any indication. He's wearing a face mask and sunglasses, but he's got several reusable tote bags stuffed to the brim with leafy greens and potatoes and apples hanging off his arms.
"If you don't finish flirting with your new partner soon, I'm not gonna teach you how to make my famous curry recipe," the newcomer says. Shouto seems unfazed, simply tugging you closer with your intertwined hands. "Didn'tcha say you wanted to impress 'em?"
"I believe they are impressed," Shouto says evenly, glancing down at you with the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. "I am helping because they are sore."
It's just the slightest emphasis on "sore", but it makes you itch to kiss that stupidly handsome smug smile off his face. "I'm fine," you say.
"Gross," the other man says decisively. You snort as he spins around and stomps off to look at a particularly enticing basket of celery stalks.
"Sorry, Todoroki-san, I promise I don't call you 'Helpless Produce Guy' that often," you say.
Shouto squeezes your hand. Warmth tingles up your arm and melts your heart into giddy mush. "I don't forgive you." You gape at him. He tugs you a little closer. "I will not forgive you until you agree to call me by my name."
Is he serious? The slight wrinkle in his brow makes you think… yes.
"That's… I don't know if I can," you blush.
Shouto hums. "Then you may call me your 'boyfriend' until I can remind you how to say my name."
Holy moly. This guy.
"Alright, boyfriend," you cannot say it without ducking your head. Almost immediately, his long fingers tip your chin back up. "Are you secretly a five star gourmet chef and you've just been acting like you've never seen a basket of strawberries before?"
Shouto cracks a tiny grin that pierces your heart. "I assure you, the produce help was invaluable. However, I frequent your stall the most because I find you… lovely."
Oh, dear.
"I do not wish for our relationship to remain limited to your stall at the farmer's market," he continues, as if he isn't blowing your mind with every word out of his perfect mouth. "Hence, why I could not help but approach you when I realized we were both at that izakaya last night."
"And you… knew it was me. Even though I didn't have my work apron."
"You were telling your friends about Helpless Produce Guy," Shouto says drily. "I had a feeling I knew the subject — but yes, I would recognize you anywhere."
"Jeez, Shouto," you breathe. Those dichromatic eyes widen a fraction before narrowing as you take a step closer to him. "I didn't realize… where are your sunglasses and mask?"
He pats the front pocket of his button down assuredly. "I am prepared."
You cast a quick glance around. Your coworkers are handling the stall well, and fruits are practically flying off the shelves as Shouto's friend gives a lecture to a captive audience about the importance of fresh fruits and vegetables in a healthy diet. The two of you are tucked out of view, mostly hidden behind the truck.
"And this…" you gesture between the two of you with your free hand. "We're… dating?"
Shouto nods solemnly, but there's a sparkle in his eyes. "Yes, my love. You make my heart beat berry fast."
Your lips twitch before you can help it. "No."
"I think we make a good pear," he says. "I find you very a-peel-ing."
You burst into giggles and Shouto tugs you into his firm chest. The sturdy, steadily increasing heartbeat beneath your ear isn't quite loud enough to drown out your own rapidly leaping pulse.
"If you were a fruit you'd be a fineapple," he says into your ear. You shudder lightly at the low, even tone but snort at his deadpan delivery, soft as it is. "Is this okay? You said once that you liked these puns."
"I do," you nod. "And I'd love to date you. Since you have a peach of my heart."
"Good," he murmurs. You tip your head up to look at him and beam at the gentle blush rising on his cheeks. Shouto leans down to press a careful kiss to your lips, drawing back after a moment with a shaky breath. "I was running out of lines."
"Don't you mean you were running out of limes?" you snicker.
Shouto stares. And then, still with that soft, deadpan tone — "Every day with you will be mangonificent."
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“This reminds me of playtime back home,” Diana’s smile is pearly and smudged with blood, and Bruce struggles not to stare.
He won’t point out that she just ripped an alien apart with her bare hands and way too little effort.
He wants to. Anyone would have words faced with gods, but he doesn’t trust his conversation skills.
“Hn.”
“Boy, you’re a chatty one,” Green Lantern is positively insufferable.
He’s whip-smart, dangerously brave, selfless and tactical when needs be, but insufferable all the same, “ Also, cool boomerang.”
Defensive, Bruce grips the gadget a little closer to his hip, “It’s a batarang.” And it was my son’s idea. Of course it’s impressive.
The brunette snorts, Diana chuckling alongside him, both entirely too bright for the gore on their clothes, “Oh yeah, that sounds so much better. But you obviously know how to handle it, I’ll tell you that much,”
inwardly, Bruce frowns. Why would he design a weapon he couldn’t use?
“Yes, your combat skills are impressive! You must do your tribe proud,”
Involuntarily, his head lowers in embarrassment. The cowl feels ten times hotter now, and he wants to snarl at Superman for tugging at the pointy ears. His smile just blinds him too much, that’s all.
Aquaman picks body matter out of his hair, beach sand blonde, sending The Flash a smirk Bruce assumes is teasing.
He can’t quite tell. They’ve known each other for 10 hours, 20 minutes, and 32 seconds, and an odd, familiar energy had settled. “At least you’re not the only nerd in class.”
The Flash is young; Bruce notes the eagerness in his footsteps, the reckless courage, the perseverance to fight for the world and against it;
More than anything, he notices pride sparking a light in his chest.
“Not a nerd!"
"Whatever, speedy,"
"This nerd saved your well-conditioned ass! But anyway, DUDE, – I mean, can we talk about the tech? Just, – I need to know how you designed that utility belt, because holy FUCK, -,”
There’s a full minute of just animated hand gestures, plentiful explanations, queries, and Bruce of course pays attention to all of it.
The Flash, – Barry, as he accidentally revealed five minutes in, too lost in excitable rambling to notice, – stops, frowns,
“Uh, dude? I mean, obviously, the whole,” he gestures to the entirety of Bruce, “Man Bat thing, that rocks, but isn’t it easier to just use your powers?”
Superman’s fingers snap, “I was wondering about that! Why didn’t you?”
But there’s an underlying hint that the man already suspects it; It makes Bruce’s teeth grind anxiously, looking around expectant, curious eyes,
“I don’t have superpowers,” the truth spills in a rush, and Bruce doesn’t take it back in time.
They share stunned looks between them, but sky-blue eyes, peppered with a ring of brown in the left one, those stay on him. He’s uncomfortable with the appreciative gleam.
Superman smirks, “We should do this again!”
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