hi! you can call me sven, i’m 21 years old, college student with a problem with daydreaming hoping i can get it off my hands if i materialize it some way
i’m a pisces and an infj (guess it checks out), aqui también se habla español!
about this blog.
just me trying to do something with my obsessive daydreaming
i write for male reader and occasionally gender neutral reader, i'll abstain from writing female reader stories since i am not familiar with heterosexual relationship dynamics tbh
i'll be writing nsfw but i need to get used to it and put my mind on it, i'm just not used to it, but i'm eager to do it at least once. But i believe it's important for you to know i will be doing cis male reader exclusively for nsfw as i cannot put myself in the place of a trans man when it comes to sex and i'd rather abstain myself from writing about it than reinforcing or creating harmful beliefs or narratives around sexuality for transgender people in general.
i accept requests, but i'm kind of a busy person so either expect the request to be done after a big while or a short work :p
i do not condone racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism or any other form of discrimination towards anyone and i wouldn't like to portray this in any of my works.
i'll write for the DC universe (specially the batboys, superman, and green lantern pls pls pls don't think twice on requesting them), haikyuu, invincible, and genshin impact (these for now)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ₊˚‧ ۶ৎ ˚. Damian is a new resident, and you already seem tired of the endless on-call shifts.
⋆˙⟡ — wc:7.1k, no use of y/n, just “you”, M!reader; Dami is a surgeon and you’re a nurse.
⋆˙⟡ —
Damian didn’t get flustered by a broken arm or a dislocated neck, much less did his hands tremble when suturing wounds larger than his forearm. He’d seen it all—and nothing at all—ever since he could remember; the League of Assassins had taught him how to treat a serious wound before he’d even taken his first math class, so yes, it made sense that nothing in the college study hall was intense enough to turn his stomach.
Even when he began his residency as a surgeon, nothing seemed to faze him much; he could calmly eat gummy bears in the back of the room while watching a cardiovascular surgery take place right before his eyes.
His colleagues didn’t seem very happy with him either; the guy was way too smart and nothing came too hard for him, and he made it painfully obvious—with the nerve to say, “You shouldn’t have eaten a heavy meal if you knew seeing blood would make you sick,” like a know-it-all, after watching his colleague’s blood pressure drop in front of half the residency program while observing surgery on an entire leg.
When he entered Gotham City Hospital, he already had a stellar reputation: perfect grades, flawless clinical work—and, to top it off, he’d already volunteered there a few years earlier. He was practically perfect at navigating any medical field,
except for one thing: he didn’t know how the hospital operated.
Patients were a piece of cake; diagnoses were already memorized; surgeries? He could do them with his eyes closed.
Even so, he didn’t even know where he stood. Ever.
It wasn’t the theory—because Damian Wayne could probably recite three entire surgical anatomy textbooks from memory without making a single mistake. Nor was it the procedures, or the pharmacology, or the possible intraoperative complications of a six-hour cardiovascular surgery.
It was the damn building.
Too many hallways. Too many elevators. Too many wings with absurdly similar names.
Wing C. Sector C2. Critical Care Unit C.
Who the hell had designed such nonsense?
Damian held a tablet against his chest as he looked at the sign in front of him for the third time, his jaw clenched, his expression permanently irritated.
He was supposed to have arrived at the general surgery area seven minutes ago.
Instead, he was standing in front of pediatrics. Again.
He thought he had an exceptional sense of direction—nothing ever escaped his notice—but it seemed he’d been going in circles, passing through doors he no longer even knew what they were for.
It wasn’t like him to be so disoriented, but he attributed it to the hospital being poorly managed and fatigue playing tricks on him.
Fresh out of medical school with honors, he was starting his surgical residency at a massive hospital in Gotham City. He had a reputation even before he arrived: son of Bruce Wayne, prodigy, absurdly high IQ, perfect academic record. He knew anatomy, pharmacology, procedures, protocols. He could recite every artery in the human body from memory.
But he doesn’t know how to ask for a damn map to find out which wing is the surgery department.
He ran his hand over his face, not wanting to be grumpy but already angry at life. He didn’t even know where to go—there were hallways on both sides, behind him, and on the other side of the pediatrics door, he could see more and more meters stretching ahead.
“Pediatrics is closed at this hour.” Suddenly, a voice snapped him out of his cloud of frustration, and even though the voice wasn’t that loud, the silence in the empty hallways made everything seem too close.
He turned his gaze toward you, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not looking for pediatrics,” he snapped, almost offended.
“You’ve been standing right in front of it for ten minutes,” you murmured as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
Damian chose to ignore that completely, taking a second to look at you. You were wearing a blue scrub over a white shirt, Crocs, and small clips holding your hair out of your face; you looked as if you’d just come off an exceptionally long shift, given your tousled hair and tired expression. You were a nurse, he assumed.
“I’m looking for surgery” he hesitated before saying, because mentioning it was more embarrassing than it was supposed to be.
You looked at him for several seconds, trying to figure out if it was a joke, smiling crookedly out of sheer disbelief. “For surgery?”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Are you new?”
“Does it matter?”
“Then you’re new.”
“I repeat,” he said in his most serious, measured voice. “Does it matter?”
You thought for a second, looking at him more closely this time… his neat appearance, his intense gaze that didn't really give anything away. It was the “Wayne” on his badge that finally made a light bulb go off in your head after it had been fried for the entire shift.
“Wayne?”
“…Yeah.”
“You’re one of the new hires,” you pointed out casually, surprised.
“Could you focus?”
“Oh, right, sorry—surgery room!”
“Mhm.”
You seemed to take a breath before blurting out, “It’s upstairs, Ward H, main hallway, black door. Which room are you looking for? There’s A, B, C, preoperative prep, post-op recovery—” Damian just blinked silently.
“Okay, I get it.” Damian barely nodded, ready to turn and leave immediately because that interaction had already been humiliating enough for a single early morning. But before he could take even two steps, your voice caught up with him again.
“wait!” You raised a hand, stopping him. “You shouldn’t go up that staircase.”
Damian turned his face slightly. “And why’s that?”
“Because the main elevator’s been broken since yesterday, the secondary one gets stuck on the fourth floor, and the west staircase leads straight to the ICU, not the surgery.” You watched him for a few seconds, amused to see how his irritation seemed to grow in real time.
“…This hospital has terrible architecture.”
“You’re not the first to say so.”
“It’s inefficient.”
“That too.”
Damian exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly holding himself back. “Then I’ll assume there’s a less absurd route.”
You smiled slightly. “Yep.”
He waited. You didn’t say anything. You just kept looking at him. Damian’s expression hardened a little more.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“The route.”
“Ah.” You put both hands in the pockets of your coat, leaning slightly to one side. “I’ll walk with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
Silence.
“…
“You don’t know how to get there.”
“I know exactly how to get there.”
“You’ve been staring at the pediatric ward for ten minutes.”
“I was analyzing the building’s layout.”
"Mhm."
The reply slipped from your lips with an almost offensive calm. There was no explicit mockery in your tone, nor any exaggerated gesture that betrayed amusement, but there was something about the way you accepted his obvious lie—as if it weren’t worth arguing about—that irritated him more than if you’d simply laughed in his face.
Without saying another word, you simply turned on your heel and began walking down the hallway. Your steps were slow, weighed down by the exhaustion of an overly long shift, your crocs barely scraping against the polished floor as you moved forward as if you knew every centimeter of that building even with your eyes closed.
Damian didn’t move.
He stood motionless in the middle of the hallway, watching you gradually walk away under the white, artificial light that flooded every corner of the hospital. He immediately felt the tension settle in his jaw again, stiffening every muscle in his face, while a deeply rooted part of his pride began to churn uneasily inside his chest.
He didn’t have to follow you.
He could have simply turned around, found another route, looked for a map, or asked at the front desk. It wasn’t that complicated. It was a hospital. A building. Nothing more than a physical structure with a logical layout. Eventually, he would have found the right wing.
Or so he wanted to believe.
Because when he looked up once more and was confronted again by that endless line of identical hallways stretching off in different directions, Damian felt his conviction begin to waver at an alarming rate.
Unfortunately for him, his feet found themselves walking behind you without even having a choice.
⋆˙⟡ —
The silence in the hallway was broken only by the rhythmic echo of your weary footsteps and Damian’s strangely silent and precise footsteps behind you. He kept a safe distance, as if the physical space between them were the only guarantee that he wouldn’t completely lose his temper.
“This wing is one of the older parts of the hospital,” you remarked without looking back, gesturing vaguely toward a section of walls with slightly yellowed tiles. “The layout makes no sense. If you take a wrong turn in Block B, you end up in the maintenance basement.”
Damian let out a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a genuine complaint.
“And hasn’t anyone thought of tearing it down or, at least, putting up some decent signage? It’s administrative negligence.”
You stopped in front of a reinforced glass door leading to a small inner courtyard, an oasis of silence amid the chaos of the hospital. You watched Damian’s reflection in the glass; he was walking with his shoulders so stiff that it looked as if he were about to engage in hand-to-hand combat rather than head to his new post.
“Welcome to public health, Wayne,” you said, finally turning to face him. Your exhaustion was obvious, but your eyes sparkled with a mischief he found both curious and irritating. “We don’t have smart floor plans or digital maps here. You’ll learn in time.”
Damian raised an eyebrow, stopping less than a meter away from you. His gaze swept the room with disdain before locking onto yours again.
“And you’re one of those people who ‘knows’? Is that your main job? To be the human GPS for lost residents?”
“Only for those who seem arrogant enough not to ask how to get to the surgery room,” you replied, shrugging with a wry smile, “and I’m a nurse—I have my degree just like you,” you exclaimed, trying not to let him belittle you.
Damian blinked, processing the information with an almost comical seriousness.
“If I were in charge of this department, the first thing I’d do would be a total purge of these structural flaws. Efficiency is the foundation of survival, especially in surgery.”
“Well,” you muttered, reaching the freight elevator—the only one that usually worked at that hour—“when you become the medical director, let me know. In the meantime, try not to complain too much in front of the nurses on duty. They’re the ones who decide whether you’ll have hot coffee or dirty water in your cup.”
Damian fell silent, processing the implicit threat with an expression that shifted between indignation and a budding sense of respect for a field he was beginning to realize he did not, in fact, master.
The elevator was somewhat cramped and looked more rickety than those in the Tower of the Titans, or at Wayne Enterprises, or Bruce’s mansion, or…
The doors closed with a metallic clang, and all that remained was silence—the beep from the small screen indicating the floor change—and the two men standing awkwardly in front of four narrow mirrored walls; as if it weren’t annoying enough to see your back, now he could see your face.
Once the elevator doors opened again, you didn’t say a word and simply stepped out, now walking hurriedly toward the nearest hallway on the left. Damian would have complained that you were suddenly walking so fast, but of course, your shift probably wasn’t over yet, and you weren’t at your workstation.
You were wasting your time guiding a big guy whose pride was bigger than he was—all because he was lost.
Damian walked behind you, pulling his jacket collar tight with a sharp movement, still feeling the strange magnetism of that metal cubicle that had forced him to keep you in his line of sight.
But suddenly you spun around on your heels and looked at him as if he’d dragged you there himself; you walked even faster than before, but in the direction you’d just come from.
“Actually, I don’t think you need to follow me all the way to the door,” you said without looking back, your voice a little more tense and hurried as you hurried past him. “If you turn right at the end of this hallway, you’ll see the gold ‘Operations’ sign. You can’t miss it!”
“Do you have any other urgent business?” he asked, his tone trying to regain that icy authority that used to characterize him, though it sounded slightly out of place in that run-down hospital.
You turned around, and this time, the exhaustion that had built up over the past twenty-four hours seeped into your gaze, softening the defensive posture you’d been maintaining just a little.
“Actually, yes,” you replied, with cutting honesty. “I forgot to sign off on the patients’ discharge from Room 402. And if the shift supervisor catches me giving you a guided tour instead of doing my job, he’s going to take away what little coffee I have left for the day.”
Damian stopped in front of you, and for a microsecond, his expression softened, shifting from utter irritation to genuine curiosity. He noticed your dark circles under your eyes, the way you were leaning slightly against the counter to support your own weight.
“You’re late,” you declared, pointing down the hallway leading to the surgical wing. “There it is. Floor H. Black door. You can’t miss it.”
Without waiting for a reply, you spun on your heel and strode purposefully toward the elevator, leaving Damian standing in the middle of the hallway, his gaze fixed on your back. For the first time all night, he didn’t have a retort ready. He stood there, watching your figure recede and disappear as the elevator doors closed, feeling a mixture of annoyance at your audacity and a strange sense of unease at having been, for the first time in his life, someone who was following another instead of leading the way.
He quickly snapped out of it, frowning again as he refocused. “All right, black door,” he nodded to himself, taking the path you’d indicated.
⋆˙⟡ —
The subsequent meetings had become routine. Damian, with his chronic inability to accept that anyone else might know the layout better than he did, began seeking you out under the pretext of “workflow consultations.”
At first, that was all it was. He’d show up at the nurses’ station with that stiff posture that screamed superiority, waiting for you to tell him where the lab, the supply room, or the radiology wing was—which, for some reason, always seemed to be on the other side of the hospital.
“If you get lost again, I’m going to put a sign on your back that says ‘gets lost easily,’” you told him one afternoon while reviewing a medical record, without even looking up.
In any other situation, that simple joke would have made him snap back, but for some reason, when you said it… it didn’t bother him as much.
“This building is a maze designed by incompetents; it’s not my lack of a sense of direction,” he replied, though his tone had lost that icy edge and taken on a much softer, almost confidential one. “And if I’d rather ask you than read the updated floor plans, it’s because your information is, unfortunately, more reliable than the signage in this place.”
That need for a tour became the perfect excuse to walk alongside you through the hallways. It was no longer just a tour; you began talking between shifts. He learned that you preferred strong coffee because you hated mornings, and you discovered that when Damian fell silent after surgery, it wasn’t out of arrogance, but because he genuinely hoped the patients would pull through—and although he trusted his own hands, he knew the world was sometimes unfair.
It was always you who showed up when he was waiting in the chairs in the hallways, lost in his thoughts and worries, and you’d hand him a cereal bar to boost his blood sugar. Once you gave him a yogurt bar—the kind he later found out you saved exclusively for yourself because they were the most delicious. He didn’t say anything, but he appreciated the gesture more than many other things there.
He wasn’t openly sweet to… well, basically anyone, but sometimes he’d treat himself to a visit to your medical wing when he had free time, stepping in to cover a patient or two so you could have a hot cup of coffee instead of a cold one from running around here and there.
⋆˙⟡ —
Several months had passed, and the hospital had fallen into a stifling and equally boring routine.
The night shift in the surgical wing was never quiet, but that early morning the atmosphere felt particularly tense. The cause was, inevitably, the presence of Damian Wayne. He was no longer lost; he had become a surgeon as brilliant as he was relentless, whose mere entrance into a room seemed to displace the oxygen.
You were in the break room, trying to let the caffeine kick in, when the door slid open with a metallic clang. Damian walked in, removing his latex gloves with precise, almost methodical movements. He paused when he saw you, his gaze scanning your face with an intensity that, far from being clinical, felt inquisitive.
“The patient in Room 230,” he said, his voice retaining that cold cadence, though lacking the hostility of the first day. “The postoperative recovery is taking longer than expected. Your report was… accurate, but too brief.”
You set the cup down on the table, feeling his gaze fixed on you. He didn’t come too close; he remained in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, occupying the space with a confidence that forced you to be conscious of your every move.
You set down the cup, feeling your personal space shrink dramatically as he stood beside you. The scent of antiseptic and his cologne—something woody, expensive, and distinctive—enveloped you.
“My report was fine, Wayne,” you replied, tilting your head to look at him.
Damian took a step further into the room but stopped next to the small central table, without invading your personal space. Yet his presence was so magnetic that you could feel his warmth as if he were right beside you.
“I expected more,” he replied, turning his head slightly to meet your gaze. His dark, piercing eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary. "Your note suggested a more… instinctive observation. Almost as if you’d anticipated a reaction before it happened."
You shrugged, keeping your posture relaxed even though your pulse was racing.
“I’ve been working here for a long time, Damian. Often, these are recurring patterns—you just know how the body will react.”
He fell silent, watching you. It was a long silence—the kind that would feel awkward with anyone else, but with him it was different. You could see him processing your answer, his fingers drumming rhythmically against his own arm, a gesture that revealed he was thinking about something much deeper than the post-op in Room 230.
“I see,” he murmured finally. There was no mockery in his tone, but rather a note of acknowledgment that made your skin crawl. “I suppose that, in this hospital, intuition is an underrated asset. Although, in your case, it seems to be your primary tool.” You almost rolled your eyes.
He turned around to pour himself a cup of coffee, with his back to you for a moment. That brief moment of vulnerability allowed you to observe him: the line of his shoulders beneath his white coat, the way his posture always betrayed a latent tension, like a spring about to snap.
“Anything else, Doctor?” you asked, noticing that your own voice sounded softer than you intended.
Damian paused with the cup in his hand, not turning around yet. In the reflection on the door’s window, you could see his eyes drifting toward you.
“No,” he replied, his voice dropping a couple of notches, becoming more… natural. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware of what you wrote.”
He turned then, and for a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the distant beeping of the monitors in the hallway. There was no physical closeness, no double entendres; they simply stood there, looking at each other across the room, with an electric tension so thick that any movement felt like an electric shock.
“What were you doing?” he asked suddenly. And you looked at him with utter disbelief etched on your face, lowering your gaze to your cup before casting another incredulous glance at the other man.
“…Drinking coffee?”
“No, before the break. I didn’t see you in the hallways,” he said in a suspiciously calm tone. He was also looking at his cup, but you didn’t know if it was because it was really that interesting or if he was just avoiding your gaze in the face of his own trivial question. “You’re usually always running around.”
In any case, you didn’t react much—or at least you tried not to. “I was monitoring a pregnancy. The woman’s water hadn’t broken yet, and she was having a lot of contractions,” you murmured in a low voice, suddenly feeling exhaustion wash over you.
“I notified obstetrics because her blood pressure was sky-high,” you added almost regretfully, taking another sip of cold coffee before lowering your gaze, a nearly audible sigh escaping your lips.
Damian didn’t respond right away. He stood there, cup in his hands, steam rising and dissipating into the stale air of the room. His jaw, usually tense, relaxed by barely a millimeter. He wasn’t the best at dealing with emotions—neither his own nor those of others—but he knew and understood that healthcare work was exhausting, both physically and mentally, and right now, you seemed to be both.
“Gestational hypertension needs to be monitored,” he said finally, looking up. “Your decision was the right one.”
You looked at him over the rim of your cup. His voice had a firmness so characteristic that, coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cold. But coming from him, in the dim light of that room at three in the morning, it felt almost like an anchor—frustratingly real.
“I know,” you replied, setting the cup down on the table with a sharp thud, exhaustion gaining ground over your composure. “But the hospital is overwhelmed, Damian. The patient was young and a first-time mother; she was scared, and the on-call obstetrician took forty minutes to come down because he was dealing with an emergency delivery. I was there, holding her hand, trying to keep her from panicking while her blood pressure wouldn’t go down.”
You let out a long sigh, your shoulders slumping. The vulnerability you’d been hiding beneath your name tag and navy-blue uniform seeped through your voice, and out of sheer stress, you simply ran your hands over your face. They were warm from holding a cup of (ironically cold) coffee, and the heat from your already tired face seemed to do nothing but make you feel even hotter.
Damian also set his cup aside—a rare, unconscious gesture his body made after seeing you do the same, completely forgetting about the coffee. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. The distance between them finally felt like a bridge rather than a barrier.
“The system is flawed,” he said, his voice dropping a notch, becoming unusually low and intimate. “We’ve already established that. But you can’t carry the incompetence of the rest of the building on your shoulders.”
He fell silent for a moment, looking at you with an intensity that forced you to hold his gaze, even though fatigue was weighing down your eyelids.
“If you fall apart,” he continued, and there was a flash in his eyes—something that looked like a spark of genuine concern buried beneath layers of control—“you, who see a hundred patients an hour, who never stand still, and whom I always see running through the hallways—believe me, none of your little friends will know what to do.”
He paused, as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, looking away toward the room’s door, his sharp profile silhouetted against the light from the room.
“You’re exhausted,” he concluded, returning to his clinical tone, though he couldn’t quite hide a hint of.. something. “You should try to get some sleep, even if it’s just twenty minutes. Hand your ward over to one of your colleagues for today—you’re too shaken up.”
“I’m not shaken up—I’ve worked worse shifts,” you insisted stubbornly, looking at him as if even suggesting a break were a complete lack of respect.
“You’re shaking. You can’t even calibrate a needle in that state,” he said, his voice completely serious.
“Johnson can give the injections; I still have other patients.”
“All the patients in your ward are stable.”
“What about the new admissions?”
“The emergency room is empty today; there’s enough staff to cover the shift.”
“And the girl—”
“I’ll monitor her if that’s what worries you.”
“Alvarez has her file.”
“Then I’ll send Alvarez a request to forward the file to me. Done.”
It was an almost desperate attempt to get you to stop arguing with him, because if you kept pushing back, he was very tempted to tear his hair out, walk away, and leave you to yourself.
But for some reason, he couldn’t. He was a doctor, and if you kept getting this worked up, you’d soon be his patient.
“Why are you insisting so much? I’ve been here longer than you.”
There you went with your stubbornness again.
“Are you going to keep arguing?” He raised an eyebrow, undeniably starting to get irritated.
“Are you going to keep insisting that I give up my post?” you retorted in the same tone, mimicking his expression. “It’s illegal for you to incite me to be negligent, and I could tell the inspector to give you a warning and—”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, I definitely would.”
“Doesn’t your head hurt from being so stubborn?”
“Doesn’t your head hurt from acting so superior?”
“You’re stressful.”
“So are you.”
The vein in his forehead throbbed, and he found himself squinting in sheer annoyance; and if the door to the break room hadn’t suddenly swung open, he would have lashed out in a way that might have made you jump up on the table in anger at him.
The door swung open with a metallic screech, and a nurse was about to enter. More astute than intelligent, she sensed the tension in the room like a dense cloud, seeing them both leaning over the table in deep conversation. “sorry” she murmured, slightly uncomfortable. Damian quickly slumped back in his chair with a feigned and practiced indifference, looking at the new visitor with an expression that gave nothing away.
“The patient in 305 is asking for more medication; he says the pain is unbearable,” she announced, casting a quick glance your way before offering a polite smile and hurrying out of the room as quickly as she’d arrived.
The spell of the argument was broken, but not the tension. You stood up so abruptly that the chair screeched against the floor. Your head was pounding, a rhythmic throb just behind your temples that confirmed, much to your chagrin, that Damian was right: you were exhausted.
Damian didn’t move from his seat. He stayed there, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that impatient look. When you walked past him to get your stethoscope, the air between you seemed to vibrate. He turned his head just enough to follow your movement with his eyes—a gesture that made you feel that, even if you left, he hadn’t taken his attention off you.
“That patient doesn’t need any more medication,” Damian said, his voice low, almost a murmur that only you could hear. “He’s looking for attention.”
You paused for a second, your hand on the doorknob, feeling his gaze fixed on the back of your neck. You turned around, meeting him with that look of superiority that irritated you so much, but now, stripped of the urgency of the previous moment, there was something else.
“So now you’re my department head, Wayne?” you asked, your voice a thread that tried to sound biting but came out more weary than you would have liked.
Damian let out a snort, a brief sound that fell short of a laugh. He finally stood up, his height casting a shadow over the small space of the cafeteria. He took a step toward you, closing the distance until his presence was almost overwhelming. He stopped just inches away—close enough for you to notice the clean scent of operating-room disinfectants and that woody note in his cologne.
“What time do you get off?” he asked suddenly, and the… incompleteness of the question in relation to the previous discussion left you disoriented, confused.
You blinked for another two seconds, your mouth opening as if to say something, but for a moment you only managed a silly stammer before gathering your thoughts.
“I don’t know… five a.m.?” You looked at him doubtfully, not quite sure what might be on his mind.
“You have an hour and a half left on your shift,” he pointed out casually.
“When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem like much time.”
“Technically, it isn’t. Go on, I’ll wait for you to clock out.”
You froze, your hand still gripping the metal doorknob, processing the order—because, coming from him, it was an order, but tinged with such an unusual nuance that it left you defenseless.
“You’ll wait for me?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to hide your surprise that, after all the friction and stubbornness of the last few minutes, he had simply decided the matter wasn’t settled.
Damian didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, almost academic, but his dark eyes never left you, observing every micro-reaction on your face. He didn’t flinch. He maintained that impassive posture, his hands hidden in the pockets of his lab coat, watching you with a calm that was beginning to seem far more dangerous than his initial irritation.
“That’s what I said,” he repeated, lowering his voice, which made his words sound much more intimate in the silence of the room. “Should I schedule an appointment for you with the ENT as well?”
That sarcastic, mocking remark—or perhaps that strangely intimate tone—made a flush rise up your neck, whether from embarrassment or emotions that would be pointless to name right now, so you remained silent.
You noticed how his gaze—once so sharp and judgmental—now seemed to be searching for something on your face. His dark emerald-green eyes had subtly drifted down to your lips, then to your eyes, scanning you as if trying to memorize every trace of your weariness.
“An hour and a half,” he said, ignoring your reply. “Not a minute more, not a minute less. Don’t keep me waiting, or I’ll have to come find you in the ward.”
You forced yourself to let go of the doorknob, feeling your palm—sweaty from stress—leave a mark on the metal. The embarrassment of having fallen silent, processing his closeness, was beginning to be replaced by a kind of electricity that made your skin crawl.
“You’re…” you began, trying to regain some of your usual sharpness, but your voice cracked slightly. “You’re incredibly bossy.”
“And you’re incredibly stubborn,” he replied, without taking his gaze off your eyes even for a millimeter. “Given that, our dynamic is, to say the least, logical.”
A heavy silence fell. He didn’t move, giving you just enough space to step back if you wanted to. His gaze dropped back to your face, lingering for a moment on the way your fingers were still trembling slightly from exhaustion, before returning to your eyes with an intensity that made you feel, for the first time in the entire shift, that it wasn’t fatigue that was taking your breath away.
“An hour and a half,” he repeated, lowering his voice even further, turning it into almost a whisper. “Don’t forget.”
You turned away, passing by him so quickly that the accidental brush of your shoulders was almost inevitable. It was a brief contact, a friction of fabric against fabric that felt like an electric shock, running down your entire spine. You didn’t turn to see his reaction, but you could feel his presence there, standing in the middle of the room, watching your every step as you walked away toward the bustle of the hospital.
The rest of the shift turned into a countdown. The fatigue was still there, clinging to your bones, but the exhaustion no longer weighed on you the same way. Every time you passed a nursing station or completed a task, the thought of Damian waiting outside crept into your mind, becoming the only anchor in your chaos.
And you found yourself realizing, for the first time, that the anxiety of finishing your shift wasn’t just a desire to go home and sleep—it was anticipation.
When the hallway lights finally dimmed and the clock struck five, you walked toward the clock-out area with your heart pounding against your ribs.
You felt a little ridiculous; you were nervous about… what? You didn’t even know. You wiped your hands on your blue scrubs, a feeble attempt to wipe away the sweat and smooth out the wrinkles in your uniform before facing that insufferable man.
You frowned as you remembered that you couldn’t even leave the hospital without taking off your uniform; you let out a snort to yourself and began stumbling as you pulled the scrubs over your head in frustration, because you’d tried to make it look good and you weren’t even supposed to be wearing it when you left.
You didn’t even care if anyone saw you; after working more than 10 hours straight, you’d lost all sense of needing to look presentable—those 10 hours already weighed as heavily as an outfit in and of themselves.
You were engrossed in a struggle with the unruly sleeve of your uniform—your hair probably a mess and your shirt collar wrinkled—when a presence stopped right beside you.
You didn’t need to look up. The woody cologne and that strong presence told you that Damian was there, watching you.
“It’s a sight—unpleasant, to say the least,” he remarked, in a voice that, far from being mocking, carried a note of restrained amusement. “And, frankly, unnecessary.”
You paused, with half the suit still tangled around one arm, panting slightly from the frustration of the task. When you looked up, you saw him there: impeccable, already out of his own coat, wearing a gray wool sweater that looked too expensive to be so simple. He was standing with his hands in the front pockets of his pants, observing your mess with a look that was a mixture of bewilderment and a fascination he didn’t bother to hide.
“You…” you managed to say, with the uniform crumpled into a ball in your hands and your pride wounded by the fact that he was seeing you in your most chaotic state—“What are you looking at?”
“Your mess.”
“You said you’d be waiting.”
“I was. Did you also want me to wait with my eyes closed?”
“Shut up.”
Damian let out a snort—that short, sharp sound that served as his equivalent of a laugh, you thought—while the faintest hint of a smile—truly tiny, almost imperceptible—appeared at the corner of his lips.
“If the order was for me to shut up every time you’re inefficient, I’d have to spend my whole life in silence,” he retorted, taking a step forward to close the distance between them.
“That would be a miracle,” you muttered to yourself.
Despite his words, his attitude changed. He was no longer looking at you with that clinically superior gaze; now, his attention was focused on the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of fatigue, on how, even though it was all tangled, your hair shone under the cold lights of the lobby.
“then,” he said, his voice dropping a couple of notches, becoming unusually intimate, “the coffee at the shop across the street is terrible. I know a place that’s a little nicer a couple of blocks from—”
You froze. “Are you asking me out for coffee?” you asked, trying to make your voice sound steady, even though the tremor in your hands gave you away—and then came the mocking laugh.
Damian stared at you blankly for several seconds, as if, for the first time, several details had slipped his mind. “I told you we’d clock out together,” he replied, masterfully ignoring your question.
But your face had already lit up again, and a smile was beginning to spread dangerously across your face, making him hesitate as they left the hospital entrance
“It was an excuse!”
“An excuse for what?”
“To ask me out.”
“As friends.”
“Then why were you being so secretive about it?”
“I wasn’t being secretive.”
“Let’s clock out together, oh, let’s clock out together,” you exclaimed dramatically, imitating him with an incredulous giggle.
Because you couldn’t believe it—you’d been, perhaps, a bit clueless before. But little by little, the pieces began to fall into place, and with your mind slightly clearer, you started to realize that this whole charade of Damian’s—to get you to clock out together so you could finish your shift—was just his anxiety speaking for itself because he wanted to spend time with you after work. It was… ridiculously adorable. And terrifying.
Damian stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, and for a moment, the icy confidence that usually surrounded him seemed to crack. He looked at you with a mixture of genuine indignation and something much deeper—a dark glint in his eyes that made you feel, for an instant, that you’d crossed a line.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual edge; it sounded, strangely, like someone who’d been caught in a truth they’d been trying to keep under lock and key. “My reasoning for wanting to share a cup of coffee outside the hospital grounds is flawless. You haven’t eaten properly in hours, and I’m in the mood for something hot.”
You crossed your arms, thoroughly enjoying the fact that, for the first time, the great Damian Wayne seemed to be losing control of the narrative.
“Johnson hasn’t eaten properly in hours either,” you repeated, stifling a laugh as you looked at him defiantly. “And you’re not inviting him for coffee.”
His eyes narrowed into a straight line of annoyance, but he didn’t look away. Instead of trying to correct you or hide behind a wall of technicalities again, he took a step toward you, invading your personal space with a determination that took your breath away. The light from a nearby streetlamp bathed his face, highlighting the firmness of his jawline and that slight upward tilt of his eyebrows—a small detail that, to your eyes, was a beauty mark.
“I’m tired,” he blurted out, his tone becoming surprisingly honest, almost a private whisper that felt like a confession. “Don’t make this any harder.”
He stopped just inches away from you, lowering his head to meet your gaze, leaving you no room to back away. His scent—a mix of wool, the morning chill, and something uniquely his—enveloped you completely. And for the first time, you could see what looked like a blush on his cheeks.
“And don’t compare yourself to Johnson,” he added, this time sounding suddenly offended. Because Johnson wasn’t half as decisive as you, nor half as friendly; he didn’t have your smile in moments of pressure or your exceptional poise, much less that funny habit of glancing at him out of the corner of his eye when a patient said something funny—as if hoping he’d caught the joke too—nor your way of dealing with especially vulnerable patients.
And above all, he didn’t have your eyes. Those eyes that, despite being tired and droopy after hours of work, still managed to look at him like a fool spouting nonsense (as you called him) and not like Damian Wayne.
But of course, he’d never say that.
You sighed, releasing all the tension that had built up in your chest, and let your arms drop, abandoning any defensive posture.
“All right,” you said, your voice sounding soft this time, with no trace of mockery. “You’re right anyway—I look better than him anyways.”
Damian blinked, surprised by your sudden concession. His hands, which until then had been tense at his sides, relaxed just a little, though he didn’t move a centimeter away. His gaze swept over your face once more, searching for any sign that you were laughing at him, but he found something else.
“That’s subjective.”
“Don’t ruin the romantic moment.”
“There never was a moment.”
“Ouch,” you blurted out.
He let out a long sigh, heavy with frustration that was no longer directed at you, but at the impossibility of maintaining his perfect facade.
“You’re exasperating,” he murmured, and this time his tone wasn’t one of reproach, but of absolute resignation.
But then he moved closer to you, closing the distance until the warmth radiating from his fleece sweater enveloped you. Without asking permission, he raised a hand and, with a gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from someone as rough as him, brushed a strand of hair from your forehead—one of those strands you’d tried to pin back with clips but that had gotten tousled after struggling with your clothes. His fingers lingered there for a second, brushing against your skin, tracing the line of your temple with a slowness that screamed everything he refused to say out loud. But then he pulled his hand away as soon as he realized what he was doing, cursing himself and his body for reacting before his brain could assess what was really the right thing to do.
“This isn’t a moment,” you whispered, feeling your pulse quicken. “But here we are. Five in the morning. Outside the hospital. You invited me for coffee, and then you touched my hair, and on top of that—”
Damian let out a brief laugh, this time devoid of any cynicism. He lowered his hand, but didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he stayed there, looking at you with such raw intensity that it made you feel, for the first time, that the man standing before you was just as vulnerable as you were.
“It is a moment,” you continued, a hint of frustration slipping into your words. “Don’t you think so?”
He stared at you defiantly, and as you looked at him beneath the dim light of the flickering streetlamp on the hospital sidewalk (provided by the city), you weren’t sure if you’d said too much, if exhaustion was making you act foolishly, or if you were simply imagining things that weren’t there.
“Objectively speaking, it is,” he said, as if you were still having a conversation about doctors and nurses.
You let out a snort that was half laughter, half a sigh of sheer disbelief. Damian Wayne had just used the adjective “objectively” to validate what you both knew was a disaster.
“Objectively?” you repeated, taking another step toward him, challenging that last line of technical defense he insisted on putting up. “So is it a date or not?”
“No.”
“And if you bring me flowers, is it?”
“Maybe,” he replied, shrugging slightly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes and a very faint smile that only betrayed just how much he was hoping you’d say something stupid.
“So when?” you asked with sudden anticipation.
“When what?”
“When you ask me out on a date.”
“with flowers?”
“Mhm.”
You blurted it out so naturally, as if it were nothing, without a hint of cheekiness in front of him, with that self-assured smile and a twinkle in your eyes, that he couldn’t help but simply scoff, turning away, breaking the small space of intimacy the two of you had created, and starting to walk toward where you’d agreed to meet.
“Just walk, okay?” he said, pretending not to dwell on the matter. But in his head, he was wondering which flowers would be your favorites.
⋆˙⟡ — I'm really afraid of getting caught up in canon blindness and being consumed by fanon, and accidentally writing OOC—lol. I welcome constructive criticism, and comments would make me happy!
⋆˙⟡ — I'm still not convinced by the translation; I feel like it takes some of the spark out of my writing every time I switch from Spanish to English, And I don't even know if this is translated correctly bc idk informal English.
⋆˙⟡ — I also tried writing about Tim and Jason, but their drafts have just been sitting there for weeks—I finished this one in a day, oops.
jason todd x male reader. | slight fluff? / kind of slowburn / kissing at the end / nothing non-consensual happened /reader is a little conscious about his sexuality / reader exhausted to the point of not even remembering when he fell asleep / flirty, bisexual and possible mischaracterization of jason lol / i’d recommend listening to Man Next Door by Massive Attack while reading this | 3.6k words okayyyyy
Gotham City, 8:33 PM.
It’s been 2 and half months since you moved to Gotham from Blüdhaven for a job opportunity. Crime and a few ghosts from your past made it unsustainable for you to roam those streets with peace in your heart, so you believed it was time for a change, a sunrise in your life (funnily enough, you moved to one of the rainiest cities in the country).
The apartment building you live in serves as a temporary home for you, as you settle down in Gotham and look for a better (and safer) place. Sure, besides the strange neighbors on the 3rd floor, the loud group of college students living in a single apartment, and the lady that has lived there for decades so now she believes she owns the building, it isn’t as bad as it seems.
Your apartment is small and with this particular leak in the bathroom, but it has a nice view and has enough space for your somewhat minimalistic lifestyle. Everything seems smooth until now.
And then enters him.
One morning, on your way to the elevator, you saw movement on the apartment that’s been empty since you got here, many voices could be heard from inside, for a moment you thought a group of friends were moving in, which didn’t seem as a good idea considering how small it was, probably even smaller than yours.
After a long day in your office, your body ached and craved for a hot shower and the leftovers you remembered you had in the fridge. Walking through the entrance hall, with a little of your mind in the clouds, the sound of heavy boots behind you brought that piece of mind back to earth. Looking back, you saw him: tall, absurdly broad frame, a fringe cut with an unusual white streak on his forehead, pale as the moonlight and eyes sapphire blue. Inevitably, you thought someone just followed you from outside, and that your newfound sense of safety in this new chapter of your life might be compromised, which triggered your fight-or-flight. A usual trip to the elevator now turns into a trip to the stairs, a quick one.
You calm down seconds later, after you realize he was never following you, heart still racing because of the fast movements as you seeked for that sense of safety. You opened the door to the fourth floor as the elevator dings open, to your surprise, it was the exact same man you were running from.
You made eye contact with him for a heartbeat, before walking away as fast as you could without demonstrating any fear. You got out your keys and picked the exact key that opened your apartment door to waste no time, until you looked back and saw something that stopped you from opening the door.
He was looking for his own keys, in the apartment next to you. He’s your new neighbor.
Showering, having dinner, and laying on bed were spent thinking about how you thought your new neighbor was a criminal going after you and how can you socialize and apologize to him without looking absolutely self-centered.
Gotham City, 7:57 AM
New day, new thoughts. A cloudy sky reigned over the city which already gave a gloomy start to the day. Getting ready, you were making mental lists on the things you needed to do regarding work and settling down in Gotham. Things like going out and socializing with Gothamites wouldn’t be bad for you. On your way to the elevator you saw him once again. The “criminal” you thought was after you and turned out to be another inhabitant of your building. You could feel your heart sinking and your head looking down out of shame. In the elevator, thinking you were safe, a strong hand stops it from closing, making way for a new person to be transported. He looked at you with an unsettling neutrality, like you meant absolutely nothing to him, and was making you feel like a prey in its final moments. The moment unfolding, he stands beside you and out of habit, you try to put your manners to use.
“Good morning.”
He looks at your direction before going back to his previous stance.
“Morning.”
You could just feel the word vomit coming out as you could feel your sympathetic nervous system trying to find a way out alive of this totally-made-up dangerous situation.
“My name’s (Y/N), I’m your neighbor, apartment 505. I just moved here from Blüdhaven.”
You really gave him the location of your safe haven AND your backstory, huh?
“Ok. Good to know.”
Without even batting an eye your way. It’s truly not of his best interest who his neighbor is or where he lives or he’s from.
“You know, when I saw you yesterday on the first floor, for a moment I thought you were a thug chasing me and that’s why I just took the stairs, sorry for that.”
… Are you serious?
Now, after this dramatic turn of events, you really got his head turning 90 degrees your way, very, very slowly.
“... What?”
The second you finally got things out of your system, you got yourself a train of thought: You told your new neighbor you thought he was a criminal on his way to get you.
Your expression blank and the colors fading off your face. You just did whatever your body told you to, and you faced him.
To your surprise, a smile was forming on his face.
“Well, that’s certainly an introduction, huh?” With a small laugh leaving the sweet rose hue of his lips.
“My name’s Jason.” He said as he extended his hand hoping for a handshake on your puzzled end.
“Nice to meet you, Jason.” You said, with a cocktail of relief, nervousness, fright, and friendliness oozing out of your body, shaking his hand.
“Any plans for today?”
You were just pushing it at this point.
“Not really, maybe I’ll get a beer later, or not, I have a night job that needs me focused rather than relaxed.” Stated with astounding security, like he knows the ways of his job like the back of his hand.
“I see-” As the elevator door opens, before you could express anything else that could probably get your first impression worse and worse.
The door opened to the first floor, almost directly to the street. Jason had other plans, he was on his way to the basement, where his bike awaited. You made your wait out before saying goodbye to your neighbor after your first interaction with him wasn’t as bad as you might’ve thought, you probably expected to be either beat up or kidnapped and kept in a warehouse.
“Nice chat (Y/N), promise not to walk behind you ever again.”
He said with a small, mischievous smile right before you could say anything to apologize, once again, for that, but just in time for him to see the blood rush to your face out of pure embarrassment.
Isn’t he a charm?
Gotham City, 11:34 PM
It’s been a couple of weeks since you had your first interaction with, who now you know as, Jason Todd.
Nothing that’s turning this into a “friends” relationship, honestly. You’ve only seen him around 4 times on your way in or out the elevator or the building itself, barely any solid conversations, and once you’d rather not really trying to come up with anything, as he seemed like stress might pop a vein off his body; dark circles, red eyes, a tired voice and a face now TRULY worthy of a criminal. Whatever that job of his was, it was truly taking a toll on him.
He was truly a mysterious man, just because you barely interact with him doesn’t mean you haven’t watched him from afar. Your job, somewhat demanding, kept you awake at late hours in the night. Really late hours.
Working by your windows was a small bit of comfort for these exhausting nights, and it was a place of study to try and connect the dots on whoever Jason Todd was. You’ve seen it, multiple times, out of nowhere, loud bangs on the fire escapes, as if something just fell off the sky, and you saw him, entering his apartment through a window. The first time you thought he was about to get robbed, until you saw the silhouette of the man, and you realized it was Jason making his way in through the window, and since then, you’ve seen it doing multiple times a week, always around the same hours, always at night.
You don’t mean to be all up in his business, but you’re curious, what does he do? Why does he have to do that? Why does he limp? Or move very carefully because he’s clearly in pain?
Gotham City, 6:43 PM
Gotham was getting cold.
No surprise, to anyone, it is now mid September, and the rain was picking up, and you didn’t get the memo that one night.
You found yourself running with your bag on your chest, trying to protect it and its precious content from the rain, and of course, you are now soaking wet. Fortunately, you were one block away from your building, you couldn’t wait to get those wet clothes out and check if every paper in your bag was safe.
You thought your misfortune was over once you got in the elevator and left you at your floor, until you just had to stop midway to your door.
YOU FORGOT YOUR KEYS ON YOUR DESK AT YOUR WORKPLACE.
Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
You were just exhausted, you just couldn’t take anymore of this, and you just walked your way to your door, completely defeated, back against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor, soaking wet, papers probably ruined and no chance to get in the comfort of your home for the rest of the night. Imagine yourself, going to work, half wet, smelly, like that wet owl picture your friend back in Blüdhaven sends you all the time that cracks you up all the time. You can’t lie, thinking of it in this unfortunate situation got a small laugh out of you.
And now, for tonight’s cherry on top,
“Rough night?”
You opened your eyes, slowly looking to your right, and around 4 meters away from you, there he was. Jason Todd, in all his glory.
He looked a little more lightened up tonight, was he on a night off?
“My keys… I forgot my keys… At my job…” You said, just defeated and tired.
“Damn… that’s tough.” He said, as he opened his apartment door with THE KEYS he most definitely DIDN’T FORGET.
“Yeah… and it’s just… it’s been such a long day and i ju-”
You heard the door shut. He wasn’t there anymore.
“Right…” Of course, your problems weren’t his problems.
You stayed down on the floor, back on thinking what could you do now, get a hotel room, sleep right there by your door, going back to Bl-
“Hey, I’m not that much of a monster, do you wanna come in?”
You heard coming from his door, there he was, standing by his doorframe (which comically looked small compared to how wide he was).
“Uh… yes, please” You had nowhere else to go, it was this or the cold floor.
You got up, and walked hesitantly to his door, he was your neighbor and you confirmed he was not a criminal, or at least he wasn’t trying to hurt you, but you still were cautious.
He got inside once again, giving you space to enter his small apartment,and many elements caught you by surprise: his filled up bookshelf, how tidy it looked (not perfect, but you thought he’d be more of a messy person), and something you could’ve swore it had the shape of a gun, but you thought it was just your mind trying to play games with you, and try to keep staining the image of your kind neighbor who gave you space in his apartment on this unforeseen situation.
“Make yourself at home” He echoed as he made his way to the kitchen, maybe to get some coffee, you could tell by the faint, aromatic smell of the room. You took a seat on his small couch, enough space for the two of you, even though it might be a little tight considering how much of a big man Jason is.
“I guess you wanted some too?” As he spawns behind you with two mugs on his hands.
“Thanks, sorry that i might leave a wet spot on your couch.” You said, embarrassed of yourself.
Fortunately, Jason just lightly snorted at your punny comment. “That’s alright, in fact, I was about to offer you that you could take your clothes off.”
It felt like your eyes were about to come out of their sockets, blood starting to hurry on its way to your face and neck, as you side-eyed him. And before you could embarrass yourself with a bad response,
“Sorry, I meant to lend you some of my clothes and if you want, you can use my shower to clean yourself off.”
Oh…
“Yeah! yeah, sure, that’d be nice, sorry for the nuisance I’m causing you” You said letting out an obviously nervous laugh.
You couldn’t stop thinking about how awkward you might’ve looked for him to think… whatever you thought…
But let’s be fair… You’ve been thinking about him that way…
Ever since you saw him, ever since you talked to him for the first time, every time you talk to him, every time you see him entering his apartment through the same window that’s in front of you.
You think of him.
He makes you nervous, he gets your heart racing and your hands sweaty. You don’t know why, is it the way he towers over you? the way his piercing blue eyes look at you? his smooth voice? his athletic physique? that shirt he’s wearing tonight is a little too tight on him…
“Here you go” He softly hit a set of clothes on the couch arm right beside you, for a man as big as he is, he was truly stealthy, or you were probably lost in your fantasies of your neighbor getting in the shower with you.
“Ah, thanks…”
“There’s a fresh towel in the bathroom.” He said as he pointed the way to the shower.
After 20 minutes of relieving your need to get your damp clothes off you and get a shower, you found yourself on the couch again, with a set of clothes around 2 or 3 times your own size, looking like a kid that put his father’s clothes on.
You could hear Jason’s small laugh behind you before he sat right next to you, one of his beefy arms on the side of the couch, keeping his head up.
“Guess they fit just about right.” Expressed with a sarcastic tone. “So… tell me about you… (Y/N), right?”
“Yeah… Well, as you may know, or probably not since you were forgetting my name, I’m originally from Blüdhaven, I moved away from there around 4 months ago, there was a better job opportunity here and honestly, my life in Blüdhaven was taking a toll on me.”
“Wow, Gotham, land of opportunities. Who would’ve thought? And here I thought this place was completely lost, and that’s why my brother moved out from here to BH, but go on.” He says with monotony.
You let out a smile. “Yeah, I’m taking my sweet time getting used to this place, but you know, crime really makes it feel just like home.”
You were doing a pretty good job on making him smile and letting small laughs, at least he was going to think you’re nice and funny.
“And honestly I needed to get the hell out of there, I didn’t want to breathe the same air as my ex-boyfriend honestly, dude’s a piece of shit.” You were getting more and more comfortable with him for you to just vent about life like this.
“Boyfriend?” He said, with a sudden interest.
Shit. Usually you weren’t open about your sexuality this much, it already brought too many problems with your close family, you didn’t want to discuss who you were messing up with behind closed doors. Is he homophobic? Is he about to make a big fuzz about it? Is he going to kick me out of his home? Is he g-
“Are you okay?” He said, with a slight tone of concern you wouldn’t think it existed inside him.
“Oh, yeah… Sorry, I’m usually not open about my sexuality like that, and then I realized I just spit it out to you.” You said with a defeated tone, but with a smile on your face and a hand in your nape.
He smiled at your comment. “Hey, it’s alright, glad I was trustworthy enough for you…”
“Who would’ve thought?”
“What?” You asked looking back at him.
“That you’d be interested in men. Hey, no judging, I understand you.”
Understand… you?
“See, I love girls, but some guys just look too sweet to not have a bite of that fruit, right?”
You could feel like all the blood in your body was making its way to your upper body even though some of it was heading south.
“Y-yeah… Now you being interested in men is surprising, almost everybody around me can tell if you look at me long enough.”
If you still weren’t ready to give in to your deepest desires towards Jason, you shouldn’t have said that.
That was basically you giving Jason permission to look at you. Really look.
You knew his gaze was intense, but there was something different in it right now that you’ve never felt in all the weeks you’ve encountered him, not when he’s calm, not when he looks angry, not when he’s tired, this feels… very different.
You couldn’t help but try and defend yourself from this borderline intimate moment with him. “What? Can you tell now?”
“Maybe, but now I’m sure of something else.”
“What is it?”
“That you sure look just like one of those boys I’d like a taste of.”
That felt like gravity was 10 times stronger on your heart, you just looked away and smiled to hide the dread and growing arousal you were starting to feel. Is this it? Is this REALLY it? The opportunity to get your hands on him?
You rubbed your eyes with your fingers as a reflex, before looking his way and realize he’s awfully close to you, as you feel his right hand on your right shoulder, moving closer to your neck, feeling his rough fingertips brushing your pulse, sending a response through your spinal cord that made you flinch the opposite way: him.
As you faced him, the tips of both your noses touched for a moment, you set yourself back for a moment, but the hand on your neck put you closer to him, and one exchange of breaths was enough for the switches to flip.
You can’t really remember what happened last night. Maybe a few images of your hands on his shoulders and one of his hands on your lower back and the other sitting on your neck, you straddling his hips as your shirts went flying, and the moment you were both laying down on his bed exchanging soft kisses as you giggled to sleep, hell, you really were exhausted.
Of course you would wake up in his bed, a little panicked when you realized where you were, shirtless.
Your pants were still on which was a little uncomfortable but your body wasn't sore so you thought of it as relief that nothing possibly happened.
You saw the time. 6:08 AM
Ok, you had to get to work at 8:45, no big deal.
You got out of the room, expecting this morning to be something pulled out of a rom-com where Jason was in the kitchen, also shirtless, preparing breakfast for the two of you.
Since this was real life, you didn't find him in the kitchen. In fact, you didn't find him anywhere.
You sauntered around the house, maybe finding him at a random moment, instead, you found a note.
“Hey. Had to rush over work-related issues, feel free to grab anything from the fridge if you're hungry, grab some of my clothes since you can’t get to your home, leave the apartment locked, just leave the keys by the kitchen counter, I’ll find a way in.
PD: What a nice kisser you are. Forget your keys again anytime soon. And don’t worry, nothing happened last night, I’d never cross that boundary. You were too tired and drifting away to sleep.”
You’d be complimenting his unusually nice cursive handwriting if your head wasn’t all fuzzy over last night and him finding pleasure in the taste of your lips.
You couldn't take it anymore, being in his space, grabbing the smallest clothes he got, his faint scent in them, whatever the fuck was all about last night, his touch on your lower back, the soft texture and sweet taste of his lips, how soft and protecting his embrace is.
And, by God, how much you needed it to happen all over again.
———
A/N: YOU BETTER BELIEVE I'M BACK!! This idea came to me in a revelation while listening to Man Next Door ad nauseam, honestly it wasn't even planned for Jason to be written this early in this blog, but anything to get me to sit and write something, and IT'S STILL PRIDE WHERE I LIVE! So happy pride to all the queer folk that will stumble with this message, and remember, that our very existence is a form of resistance to this polarized world, so keep on living your best life!
jason todd x male reader. | slight fluff? / kind of slowburn / kissing at the end / nothing non-consensual happened /reader is a little conscious about his sexuality / reader exhausted to the point of not even remembering when he fell asleep / flirty, bisexual and possible mischaracterization of jason lol / i’d recommend listening to Man Next Door by Massive Attack while reading this | 3.6k words okayyyyy
Gotham City, 8:33 PM.
It’s been 2 and half months since you moved to Gotham from Blüdhaven for a job opportunity. Crime and a few ghosts from your past made it unsustainable for you to roam those streets with peace in your heart, so you believed it was time for a change, a sunrise in your life (funnily enough, you moved to one of the rainiest cities in the country).
The apartment building you live in serves as a temporary home for you, as you settle down in Gotham and look for a better (and safer) place. Sure, besides the strange neighbors on the 3rd floor, the loud group of college students living in a single apartment, and the lady that has lived there for decades so now she believes she owns the building, it isn’t as bad as it seems.
Your apartment is small and with this particular leak in the bathroom, but it has a nice view and has enough space for your somewhat minimalistic lifestyle. Everything seems smooth until now.
And then enters him.
One morning, on your way to the elevator, you saw movement on the apartment that’s been empty since you got here, many voices could be heard from inside, for a moment you thought a group of friends were moving in, which didn’t seem as a good idea considering how small it was, probably even smaller than yours.
After a long day in your office, your body ached and craved for a hot shower and the leftovers you remembered you had in the fridge. Walking through the entrance hall, with a little of your mind in the clouds, the sound of heavy boots behind you brought that piece of mind back to earth. Looking back, you saw him: tall, absurdly broad frame, a fringe cut with an unusual white streak on his forehead, pale as the moonlight and eyes sapphire blue. Inevitably, you thought someone just followed you from outside, and that your newfound sense of safety in this new chapter of your life might be compromised, which triggered your fight-or-flight. A usual trip to the elevator now turns into a trip to the stairs, a quick one.
You calm down seconds later, after you realize he was never following you, heart still racing because of the fast movements as you seeked for that sense of safety. You opened the door to the fourth floor as the elevator dings open, to your surprise, it was the exact same man you were running from.
You made eye contact with him for a heartbeat, before walking away as fast as you could without demonstrating any fear. You got out your keys and picked the exact key that opened your apartment door to waste no time, until you looked back and saw something that stopped you from opening the door.
He was looking for his own keys, in the apartment next to you. He’s your new neighbor.
Showering, having dinner, and laying on bed were spent thinking about how you thought your new neighbor was a criminal going after you and how can you socialize and apologize to him without looking absolutely self-centered.
Gotham City, 7:57 AM
New day, new thoughts. A cloudy sky reigned over the city which already gave a gloomy start to the day. Getting ready, you were making mental lists on the things you needed to do regarding work and settling down in Gotham. Things like going out and socializing with Gothamites wouldn’t be bad for you. On your way to the elevator you saw him once again. The “criminal” you thought was after you and turned out to be another inhabitant of your building. You could feel your heart sinking and your head looking down out of shame. In the elevator, thinking you were safe, a strong hand stops it from closing, making way for a new person to be transported. He looked at you with an unsettling neutrality, like you meant absolutely nothing to him, and was making you feel like a prey in its final moments. The moment unfolding, he stands beside you and out of habit, you try to put your manners to use.
“Good morning.”
He looks at your direction before going back to his previous stance.
“Morning.”
You could just feel the word vomit coming out as you could feel your sympathetic nervous system trying to find a way out alive of this totally-made-up dangerous situation.
“My name’s (Y/N), I’m your neighbor, apartment 505. I just moved here from Blüdhaven.”
You really gave him the location of your safe haven AND your backstory, huh?
“Ok. Good to know.”
Without even batting an eye your way. It’s truly not of his best interest who his neighbor is or where he lives or he’s from.
“You know, when I saw you yesterday on the first floor, for a moment I thought you were a thug chasing me and that’s why I just took the stairs, sorry for that.”
… Are you serious?
Now, after this dramatic turn of events, you really got his head turning 90 degrees your way, very, very slowly.
“... What?”
The second you finally got things out of your system, you got yourself a train of thought: You told your new neighbor you thought he was a criminal on his way to get you.
Your expression blank and the colors fading off your face. You just did whatever your body told you to, and you faced him.
To your surprise, a smile was forming on his face.
“Well, that’s certainly an introduction, huh?” With a small laugh leaving the sweet rose hue of his lips.
“My name’s Jason.” He said as he extended his hand hoping for a handshake on your puzzled end.
“Nice to meet you, Jason.” You said, with a cocktail of relief, nervousness, fright, and friendliness oozing out of your body, shaking his hand.
“Any plans for today?”
You were just pushing it at this point.
“Not really, maybe I’ll get a beer later, or not, I have a night job that needs me focused rather than relaxed.” Stated with astounding security, like he knows the ways of his job like the back of his hand.
“I see-” As the elevator door opens, before you could express anything else that could probably get your first impression worse and worse.
The door opened to the first floor, almost directly to the street. Jason had other plans, he was on his way to the basement, where his bike awaited. You made your wait out before saying goodbye to your neighbor after your first interaction with him wasn’t as bad as you might’ve thought, you probably expected to be either beat up or kidnapped and kept in a warehouse.
“Nice chat (Y/N), promise not to walk behind you ever again.”
He said with a small, mischievous smile right before you could say anything to apologize, once again, for that, but just in time for him to see the blood rush to your face out of pure embarrassment.
Isn’t he a charm?
Gotham City, 11:34 PM
It’s been a couple of weeks since you had your first interaction with, who now you know as, Jason Todd.
Nothing that’s turning this into a “friends” relationship, honestly. You’ve only seen him around 4 times on your way in or out the elevator or the building itself, barely any solid conversations, and once you’d rather not really trying to come up with anything, as he seemed like stress might pop a vein off his body; dark circles, red eyes, a tired voice and a face now TRULY worthy of a criminal. Whatever that job of his was, it was truly taking a toll on him.
He was truly a mysterious man, just because you barely interact with him doesn’t mean you haven’t watched him from afar. Your job, somewhat demanding, kept you awake at late hours in the night. Really late hours.
Working by your windows was a small bit of comfort for these exhausting nights, and it was a place of study to try and connect the dots on whoever Jason Todd was. You’ve seen it, multiple times, out of nowhere, loud bangs on the fire escapes, as if something just fell off the sky, and you saw him, entering his apartment through a window. The first time you thought he was about to get robbed, until you saw the silhouette of the man, and you realized it was Jason making his way in through the window, and since then, you’ve seen it doing multiple times a week, always around the same hours, always at night.
You don’t mean to be all up in his business, but you’re curious, what does he do? Why does he have to do that? Why does he limp? Or move very carefully because he’s clearly in pain?
Gotham City, 6:43 PM
Gotham was getting cold.
No surprise, to anyone, it is now mid September, and the rain was picking up, and you didn’t get the memo that one night.
You found yourself running with your bag on your chest, trying to protect it and its precious content from the rain, and of course, you are now soaking wet. Fortunately, you were one block away from your building, you couldn’t wait to get those wet clothes out and check if every paper in your bag was safe.
You thought your misfortune was over once you got in the elevator and left you at your floor, until you just had to stop midway to your door.
YOU FORGOT YOUR KEYS ON YOUR DESK AT YOUR WORKPLACE.
Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
You were just exhausted, you just couldn’t take anymore of this, and you just walked your way to your door, completely defeated, back against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor, soaking wet, papers probably ruined and no chance to get in the comfort of your home for the rest of the night. Imagine yourself, going to work, half wet, smelly, like that wet owl picture your friend back in Blüdhaven sends you all the time that cracks you up all the time. You can’t lie, thinking of it in this unfortunate situation got a small laugh out of you.
And now, for tonight’s cherry on top,
“Rough night?”
You opened your eyes, slowly looking to your right, and around 4 meters away from you, there he was. Jason Todd, in all his glory.
He looked a little more lightened up tonight, was he on a night off?
“My keys… I forgot my keys… At my job…” You said, just defeated and tired.
“Damn… that’s tough.” He said, as he opened his apartment door with THE KEYS he most definitely DIDN’T FORGET.
“Yeah… and it’s just… it’s been such a long day and i ju-”
You heard the door shut. He wasn’t there anymore.
“Right…” Of course, your problems weren’t his problems.
You stayed down on the floor, back on thinking what could you do now, get a hotel room, sleep right there by your door, going back to Bl-
“Hey, I’m not that much of a monster, do you wanna come in?”
You heard coming from his door, there he was, standing by his doorframe (which comically looked small compared to how wide he was).
“Uh… yes, please” You had nowhere else to go, it was this or the cold floor.
You got up, and walked hesitantly to his door, he was your neighbor and you confirmed he was not a criminal, or at least he wasn’t trying to hurt you, but you still were cautious.
He got inside once again, giving you space to enter his small apartment,and many elements caught you by surprise: his filled up bookshelf, how tidy it looked (not perfect, but you thought he’d be more of a messy person), and something you could’ve swore it had the shape of a gun, but you thought it was just your mind trying to play games with you, and try to keep staining the image of your kind neighbor who gave you space in his apartment on this unforeseen situation.
“Make yourself at home” He echoed as he made his way to the kitchen, maybe to get some coffee, you could tell by the faint, aromatic smell of the room. You took a seat on his small couch, enough space for the two of you, even though it might be a little tight considering how much of a big man Jason is.
“I guess you wanted some too?” As he spawns behind you with two mugs on his hands.
“Thanks, sorry that i might leave a wet spot on your couch.” You said, embarrassed of yourself.
Fortunately, Jason just lightly snorted at your punny comment. “That’s alright, in fact, I was about to offer you that you could take your clothes off.”
It felt like your eyes were about to come out of their sockets, blood starting to hurry on its way to your face and neck, as you side-eyed him. And before you could embarrass yourself with a bad response,
“Sorry, I meant to lend you some of my clothes and if you want, you can use my shower to clean yourself off.”
Oh…
“Yeah! yeah, sure, that’d be nice, sorry for the nuisance I’m causing you” You said letting out an obviously nervous laugh.
You couldn’t stop thinking about how awkward you might’ve looked for him to think… whatever you thought…
But let’s be fair… You’ve been thinking about him that way…
Ever since you saw him, ever since you talked to him for the first time, every time you talk to him, every time you see him entering his apartment through the same window that’s in front of you.
You think of him.
He makes you nervous, he gets your heart racing and your hands sweaty. You don’t know why, is it the way he towers over you? the way his piercing blue eyes look at you? his smooth voice? his athletic physique? that shirt he’s wearing tonight is a little too tight on him…
“Here you go” He softly hit a set of clothes on the couch arm right beside you, for a man as big as he is, he was truly stealthy, or you were probably lost in your fantasies of your neighbor getting in the shower with you.
“Ah, thanks…”
“There’s a fresh towel in the bathroom.” He said as he pointed the way to the shower.
After 20 minutes of relieving your need to get your damp clothes off you and get a shower, you found yourself on the couch again, with a set of clothes around 2 or 3 times your own size, looking like a kid that put his father’s clothes on.
You could hear Jason’s small laugh behind you before he sat right next to you, one of his beefy arms on the side of the couch, keeping his head up.
“Guess they fit just about right.” Expressed with a sarcastic tone. “So… tell me about you… (Y/N), right?”
“Yeah… Well, as you may know, or probably not since you were forgetting my name, I’m originally from Blüdhaven, I moved away from there around 4 months ago, there was a better job opportunity here and honestly, my life in Blüdhaven was taking a toll on me.”
“Wow, Gotham, land of opportunities. Who would’ve thought? And here I thought this place was completely lost, and that’s why my brother moved out from here to BH, but go on.” He says with monotony.
You let out a smile. “Yeah, I’m taking my sweet time getting used to this place, but you know, crime really makes it feel just like home.”
You were doing a pretty good job on making him smile and letting small laughs, at least he was going to think you’re nice and funny.
“And honestly I needed to get the hell out of there, I didn’t want to breathe the same air as my ex-boyfriend honestly, dude’s a piece of shit.” You were getting more and more comfortable with him for you to just vent about life like this.
“Boyfriend?” He said, with a sudden interest.
Shit. Usually you weren’t open about your sexuality this much, it already brought too many problems with your close family, you didn’t want to discuss who you were messing up with behind closed doors. Is he homophobic? Is he about to make a big fuzz about it? Is he going to kick me out of his home? Is he g-
“Are you okay?” He said, with a slight tone of concern you wouldn’t think it existed inside him.
“Oh, yeah… Sorry, I’m usually not open about my sexuality like that, and then I realized I just spit it out to you.” You said with a defeated tone, but with a smile on your face and a hand in your nape.
He smiled at your comment. “Hey, it’s alright, glad I was trustworthy enough for you…”
“Who would’ve thought?”
“What?” You asked looking back at him.
“That you’d be interested in men. Hey, no judging, I understand you.”
Understand… you?
“See, I love girls, but some guys just look too sweet to not have a bite of that fruit, right?”
You could feel like all the blood in your body was making its way to your upper body even though some of it was heading south.
“Y-yeah… Now you being interested in men is surprising, almost everybody around me can tell if you look at me long enough.”
If you still weren’t ready to give in to your deepest desires towards Jason, you shouldn’t have said that.
That was basically you giving Jason permission to look at you. Really look.
You knew his gaze was intense, but there was something different in it right now that you’ve never felt in all the weeks you’ve encountered him, not when he’s calm, not when he looks angry, not when he’s tired, this feels… very different.
You couldn’t help but try and defend yourself from this borderline intimate moment with him. “What? Can you tell now?”
“Maybe, but now I’m sure of something else.”
“What is it?”
“That you sure look just like one of those boys I’d like a taste of.”
That felt like gravity was 10 times stronger on your heart, you just looked away and smiled to hide the dread and growing arousal you were starting to feel. Is this it? Is this REALLY it? The opportunity to get your hands on him?
You rubbed your eyes with your fingers as a reflex, before looking his way and realize he’s awfully close to you, as you feel his right hand on your right shoulder, moving closer to your neck, feeling his rough fingertips brushing your pulse, sending a response through your spinal cord that made you flinch the opposite way: him.
As you faced him, the tips of both your noses touched for a moment, you set yourself back for a moment, but the hand on your neck put you closer to him, and one exchange of breaths was enough for the switches to flip.
You can’t really remember what happened last night. Maybe a few images of your hands on his shoulders and one of his hands on your lower back and the other sitting on your neck, you straddling his hips as your shirts went flying, and the moment you were both laying down on his bed exchanging soft kisses as you giggled to sleep, hell, you really were exhausted.
Of course you would wake up in his bed, a little panicked when you realized where you were, shirtless.
Your pants were still on which was a little uncomfortable but your body wasn't sore so you thought of it as relief that nothing possibly happened.
You saw the time. 6:08 AM
Ok, you had to get to work at 8:45, no big deal.
You got out of the room, expecting this morning to be something pulled out of a rom-com where Jason was in the kitchen, also shirtless, preparing breakfast for the two of you.
Since this was real life, you didn't find him in the kitchen. In fact, you didn't find him anywhere.
You sauntered around the house, maybe finding him at a random moment, instead, you found a note.
“Hey. Had to rush over work-related issues, feel free to grab anything from the fridge if you're hungry, grab some of my clothes since you can’t get to your home, leave the apartment locked, just leave the keys by the kitchen counter, I’ll find a way in.
PD: What a nice kisser you are. Forget your keys again anytime soon. And don’t worry, nothing happened last night, I’d never cross that boundary. You were too tired and drifting away to sleep.”
You’d be complimenting his unusually nice cursive handwriting if your head wasn’t all fuzzy over last night and him finding pleasure in the taste of your lips.
You couldn't take it anymore, being in his space, grabbing the smallest clothes he got, his faint scent in them, whatever the fuck was all about last night, his touch on your lower back, the soft texture and sweet taste of his lips, how soft and protecting his embrace is.
And, by God, how much you needed it to happen all over again.
———
A/N: YOU BETTER BELIEVE I'M BACK!! This idea came to me in a revelation while listening to Man Next Door ad nauseam, honestly it wasn't even planned for Jason to be written this early in this blog, but anything to get me to sit and write something, and IT'S STILL PRIDE WHERE I LIVE! So happy pride to all the queer folk that will stumble with this message, and remember, that our very existence is a form of resistance to this polarized world, so keep on living your best life!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : While getting ready for yet another gala, you and Bruce Wayne fall into a playful but real argument—you’re frustrated with the fake smiles, gossip, and pressure of public appearances, while Bruce tries to convince you it’ll only be a few hours. | drabble + porn without plot
You and Bruce Wayne were supposed to be getting ready for another gala. Supposed to being the key phrase. Your bedroom looked like a war zone. Shirts, jackets, and dress pants were scattered across the bed while you paced between the closet and the mattress, tossing aside another outfit with a frustrated groan. Another damn gala—another night of schmoozing with Gotham's elite, their whispers like knives about you and Bruce, the outsider in their polished world. You finally settled on a dark suit, laying it out on the bed, but the bickering hadn't stopped.
“I just don’t feel like fake smiling tonight, Bruce,” you said, your voice edged with exhaustion. Behind you, Bruce stood in front of the mirror finishing his own preparations. His white dress shirt was only half buttoned, sleeves rolled slightly while he adjusted the collar. Aside from the shirt, he was still in his black boxer briefs and socks, his reflection calm compared to the chaos behind him. His broad shoulders flexed as he worked the last buttons, his dark eyes flicking to you through the reflection.
“Why do we even go to these things?” you muttered. “It’s just a room full of rich people pretending they like each other while gossiping about us.” Bruce finally turned away from the mirror. “Bebe, just a few hours then we can leave,” he murmured, his deep voice soothing yet firm as he crossed the room. You tossed the suit aside and leaned back on your hands. “I just don’t want to deal with it tonight.”Bruce watched you for a moment, expression softening. He stopped right in front of you, towering over your seated form on the bed's edge, his presence warm and commanding. You looked up at him, defiance sparking in your chest.
“Can’t we just stay here? I can think of a thousand other things we could be doing,” you shot back, your hand gesturing vaguely at the empty room, but your eyes betrayed the heat building between you. Bruce's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles through your pants. “Oh yeah? I can think of just one,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky rumble. His fingers trailed up your leg, deliberate and teasing, slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against bare skin. You sucked in a breath, your argument faltering as his touch ignited that familiar fire. “Bruce...” you started, but he leaned in, his lips grazing your knee before nipping lightly at the fabric covering your thigh.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “And here I thought you didn’t want to go out tonight.” He whispered, his hands working your belt open with practiced ease. The buckle clinked softly, and he tugged your zipper down, freeing your hardening cock from your underwear. Bruce's eyes darkened with hunger as he wrapped his large hand around your cock, stroking slowly from base to tip. “Fuck, you're already so hard for me,” he mumbled, his breath hot against your skin. He pumped you a few times, thumb circling the head to spread the bead of pre-cum leaking out. You groaned, your hands fisting the bedsheets as he leaned forward, his tongue flicking out to lap at the underside of your cock. Without another word, he took you into his mouth, sucking deep and wet, his lips stretching around your cock. His tongue swirled around the head before he bobbed down further, hollowing his cheeks as he swallowed you to the back of his throat.
You threaded your fingers through his dark hair, tugging lightly as pleasure coiled tight in your gut. “God, yes... just like that,” you moaned, watching his head move, the sight of your cock disappearing between those full lips making you throb harder. Bruce pulled off with a slick pop, strings of saliva connecting his mouth to your glistening shaft. He stood, shedding his underwear in one swift motion, his own cock springing free—thick, veined, and rock-hard, curving slightly upward. He stroked himself once, eyes locked on yours. “On your back, bebe. I need to fuck you.” Your heart raced, the defiance melting into raw want. You kicked off your pants and underwear, scooting back on the bed as he climbed over you, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest. He grabbed the lube from the nightstand, slicking his fingers generously before pressing one against your entrance. You gasped, arching into him, and he worked you open slowly, adding a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you. “So tight... always so perfect for my cock.”
“Bruce, please,” you begged, your voice breaking as his fingers curled, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He withdrew his hand, coating his cock with more lube before lining up. With a steady thrust, he pushed in, the head breaching you inch by inch until he was buried deep. You both groaned in unison, the fullness overwhelming. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bruce panted, holding still for a moment to let you adjust. Then he started moving, pulling out halfway before slamming back in, setting a rhythm that had the bed creaking. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Harder... don't hold back,” you demanded, your nails digging into his shoulders through the shirt.
He obliged, pounding into you with forceful snaps of his hips, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust. “Like this?” Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath ragged. “Yes—fuck, Bruce, right there!” you cried, your own cock trapped between your bodies, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach as he hit your prostate relentlessly. Bruce's hand gripped your hip, the other stroking your cock in time with his thrusts. “Gonna make you cum first... then fill you up.” His pace quickened, skin slapping against skin, the room filled with your shared moans and the wet sounds of him fucking you open. The pressure built fast, coiling tight until you shattered, cum spilling over his fist in hot spurts. “Bruce—oh god, I'm cumming!”
That set him off. He buried himself deep one last time, groaning your name as his cock pulsed, flooding your ass with thick ropes of cum. “Fuck the gala,” he rasped, collapsing onto you, both of you panting and spent. You laughed breathlessly, holding him close. “Yeah... fuck the gala.”
summary: s!pollen fic with clark this time ft. mysterious kryptonite
warning: 18+ mdni, s!pollen, bjobs, whiny needy clark, clark curses (once!)
pairing: clark kent x gender neutral reader
a/n: sorry for being mia life was busy :(( pls accept this as my apology
The normal human body shouldn't be able to withstand flying at the speed of sound, especially if the human is a reporter with motion sickness and no prior experience being a pilot. The T-Craft skidded through the ice enveloping the canopy with snow.
It was your first time coming to Clark’s secret hideout, and your first time in the Arctic. The ice beneath your feet rumbled and cracked as the doors of the massive fortress opened. The robots welcomed you in, their rambles were lost in your thoughts, the only thing you could think of was Clark.
“Is he okay?” you said, rushing inside.
“Mr.Terrific has stated that only you could help him,” the robot with a four in his chest said.
“Me?” you said. “I’m a reporter, not a doctor.”
In the middle of the main lobby of the fortress sat Clark, bruised and whimpering using his cape as a makeshift blanket. You rushed to him, his skin painfully hot. His face was blushed pink with his dark curls sticking to his skin. Your touch seemed to ease the pain, his arms were wrapped around his abdomen, his back arched.
“Are you okay?” you said. “What the hell am I saying of course you’re not.”
“Luther…he used a synthetic form of Kryptonite,” he said, his voice hoarse and dry. “I feel so hot.”
“Maybe you should get your suit off then,” you touched his nape where the latches were but he quickly took your hand, his grip strong.
“No–” he said, he would occasionally shut his eyes from the pain, the whites around his eyes burned red.
“What do you mean no. You’re burning up Clark,” you said. He shuffled on the chair, his cape falling off of his thighs. What surprised you was the hardness underneath his red trunks. The kryptonian fabric almost tore at the seams, his large cock bulging through the garment.
“Shit,” it was the first time you’ve heard Clark swear. “Superman robots shut down!”
In unison the robots shut down, the lights on their eyes dimming to black. Clark started to unbuckle his belt falling down the hard floor with a loud bang. “It hurts,” he whimpered.
“Mr. Terrific knows?” he nodded.
Who saves Superman when there’s no one to save him?
You help him off his suit. Every time your hands would graze his bare skin he would shudder. His wet pale skin glistened against the bright lights, accentuating each hard muscle in his body. When there was nothing left to undress he just sat there, heaving yet aching for your touch.
“Are you sure about this?” you asked. He nodded. You were awestruck with his beauty. His brows furrowed, pleading to you with his blue eyes and plump lips. His body was a large expanse of muscle, veins tracing the lines of his limbs. For the past few months you were dating Clark, today was the first time you could actually see each detail of his body.
You smoothed your hands across his thick thighs, the faintest pricks of hair tickled the pads of your fingers. In between his thighs lie his big dick, fairly trimmed hair, a long and thick shaft where a vein bulged, and the pink tip that was already glistening with his arousal.
Clark shuddered from each touch, your fingers were awfully cold. He watched as you kissed his tip, licking the bead of precome. His whole body tensed, he felt like his soul was sucked inside your breath, and when you finally bottomed out and sucked him whole, he knew he was done for.
“Ah, honey,” he gasped. His finger dug into the sides of the chair, the metal bending under his grip.
“Did I hurt you?” you said, jaw hurting from the girth.
Clark melted under your graze, batting your lashes at him with a string of saliva linking your swollen lips to the tip of his cock. Using your spit as lube, you started stroking the rest of his shaft with both of your hands, simultaneously flicking your wrists with a rhythm that made Clark arch his back in pleasure.
“Honey, I’m so close,” he cried out. His body was writhing while his chest heaved rapidly. You continued to lick and suck around the sensitive head, you could taste the saltiness from his pleasure. The sensation that was being drawn out of Clark’s sex made him feel weak, he thought that if anyone could finally break the man of steel it would be now.
You looked up at him again while you pulled out, letting his cock pop against your cheeks. He flexed his biceps behind his head, gripping the headrest. Clark shook in his head in disbelief, his curls were messy all over his forehead. “Stop,” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I need to feel you.”
He pulled you in for a needy kiss. The chair went flying across the room with the flick of his hand, breaking into a million pieces. He took you to a different room in the fortress, a kingsized bed covered in pristine white sheets.
“You couldn't have made me do you here? My knees and my neck hurt,” you teased.
“Couldn’t think straight,” he scratched the back of his neck. He looked so adorable, this giant of a man was so needy for you. “Can we continue now? It still hurts, you know.”
You undressed for him, throwing your clothes to god-knows-where. He eclipse the lights above you, all you could feel was his heft all over your body, and the hard cock teasing your entrance.
“Gosh you’re so tight,” he moaned, gently pushing every inch. His hands snaked under your knees, pulling them up as he fully sheathed in. You let out a loud cry, he stretched you out beating any guy or toy before him. You tried to stifle your noises on the corner of his neck. “No need to be quiet, sweetie. No one can hear us.”
The slick of your hole made Clark weaker and weaker. His body radiated more heat from the sun, his flesh filled with more blood making his grip on you tight and his thrusts strong. On the slight chance you opened your eyes, you could see the red glow in the center of his blue eyes. Clark felt his humanity wane, his clasp on his own mundane strength could falter, he could hurt you.
He pulled away, touching his bridge near his tear ducts.
“Clark, what’s wrong?” He faced away from you.
“I almost lost control,” Clark sobbed. “This is what Luthor wanted, he wanted me to hurt you.”
“Clark—” you touched his face and made him face you. “I know you. You could never hurt me.”
You pulled him in for a kiss, gently guiding him on his back. Clark let out a small whine when you let his lips go. You traced kisses all over his neck down to his chest while taking your place on his lap. Clark let out a breathy moan when you descended onto his cock.
“I love you, Clark,” you whispered, slowly rocking on his hardness. He held your hips for support, thrusting into you at the same pace. Your hands found his chest, smoothing over them, grazing his nipples.
“I love you too,” he said, voice deep and husky. You both were at the edge of your climaxes, rising above shooting pleasure all over yourselves. His come flooded inside with so much warmth. Your own arousal drenching your thighs and the base of his cock.
You fell back onto his lips, exchanging air while catching your breaths.
The sounds of clanking metal woke you. You were dressed with a clean set of boxers and a shirt that was way too big for you. The Superman robots walked around the rooms cleaning up debris and metal. Clark came into the room wearing a white shirt and some grey sweatpants, in his hands were two paper bags with the bottoms covered in grease.
“Thought you would've wanted some Big Belly Burger after what we did,” he said, putting them down on the nightstand and pulling a handful of french fries.
“You flew back to Metropolis to get burgers?” you said, rummaging the contents of the paper bag.
“Yeah,” he said playfully. “Gosh, I’m so hungry,” speaking while filling his mouth.
end.
like/reblog/comment if you liked! send a request or join the taglist for more!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i finally got time to catch up on invincible s4 and i don’t remember shit about what’s happening cuz why mark look like he got missing limbs????? i’m so lost
SUNDOWN
clark kent x male reader. | fluff / domestic | wc: 1.4k words
Metropolis. 7:26 PM.
Shift was done over an hour ago. You arrived home just around 15 minutes ago, ankles and knees hurting from constantly walking around your workplace and also walking from the subway station to your apartment, shared with a charming reporter from the Daily Planet with a strange and suspicious fascination for disappearing at random moments and coming back like he never left.
He started as a friendly neighbor that got too friendly and in the blink of an eye he's been part of your life for a couple of months. Romance fresh and continuously blooming. The dopamine in your brain flowing to the thought of him coming back and having dinner ready for him, giving him the treatment he deserves after all those hours he spends working at the Daily Planet (and for that back pain he constantly complains about considering all the hours he spends sitting down in front of a computer, which is quite ironic when his body looks like he could be your personal trainer).
You start to unwind from a long day in one of the country's busiest cities, taking a navy shower because the clock is ticking, and finally putting on some of his old clothes, around a size or two too big for your body. It's not like you're petite, he's just almost the size of a two-door fridge.
Fire coming out of the burner, pan sizzling, the kitchen and the living room are being taken over by the smell of bacon, eggs and pancakes, his favorite. It's around the third time in the last two weeks you have the same combo for dinner, you start to worry about the amount of carbs you've been eating thanks to him, but they say true love makes you gain weight, right? doesn't really matter when you're with a man that loves you to Krypton and back 10 times.
Bacon and eggs done, pancakes on their way, when you hear some solid footsteps and a key working a lock as the black door of your apartment opens to welcome: him.
Clark Kent.
Your neighbor from last year, your lovely boyfriend from a couple months, and from 2 weeks ago, the man you share an apartment with, living a domestic fantasy you could only dream of in your teenage years.
He comes out of the hall to the living room besides the kitchen, you can see him from the other corner of the place, slowing down to stop, closing his eyes, and inhaling as if he's experimenting oxygen for the first time. Might sound dramatic, but that's the effect of your cooking on him. He lets out a loud sigh, "I'm home!", he says, as if the sound of his footsteps and the dramatic breathing in and out he did wasn't enough for his presence to be known.
"Yeah, I can tell", you say with a smile, turning around with the pan and a spatula on your hand, letting the pancake go through its process. He slowly walks to the kitchen with a smile on his face. And you get to see him in all his glory.
Coat in his forearm, finding its place in the hanger, black trousers and a white button shirt that looks both oversized and tailored exclusively for him at the same time, how it looked so good on him was something you couldn't explain. The only thing bigger than his...
unspoken sex appeal...
Was his gorgeous smile that grew even wider when he saw your face, his signature dimples doing their classic appearance charming their way to your heart as he came closer and closer to you, feeling like you're daydreaming.
He places his strong hands softly on your waist as he delivers a soft kiss on your forehead, going down to the tip of your nose, and finally, a soft, slow kiss to your lips.
"I missed you all day, darling. How's my beautiful prince?" He says with a voice like velvet, a soft smile and eyes like he's entranced. His mere existence makes the chemicals in your brain a once-in-a-lifetime pool party.
"I... missed you too..." You say, falling for the hypnosis the icy blue tone of his eyes. "I'm okay..." As you suddenly come out of the trance he accidentally put you in. "I'm making dinner... for the two of us, your favorite!" You say with a light tone in your voice.
Clark looked to the stove, smile growing on his face as he saw his favorites stacking on a couple of plates. "Thank you, my love, it was a long day at the Planet, and my shoulders are killing me, I could use a massage." He says, comically winking at you as he makes his way out of the kitchen and to your shared bedroom, ticking off his mental checklist giving his boyfriend some love, and now on his mission to unwind and enjoy the rest of his night with the best company he could ever ask for.
After a couple of minutes, you have the dishes ready, plates looking like they came out of a dining house commercial. "Food's gonna get cold, Clark! Come on, don't leave me waiting." You say with a slight tone of lighthearted sarcasm. You put the dishes on the coffee table in front of the couch as you hear footsteps coming from the bedroom.
"Impatient, aren't we?" Clark says as he comes out of the bedroom as a sight for sore eyes. A pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top that is sitting more than nice on his torso. For a moment you can't do much but stare. Really stare.
“It’s rude to stare, darling.” Clark expresses to you as you keep your eyes glued to his body, silently adoring every line of his body.
Out of the trance, again.
The thought of you looking a little dumb, almost drooling at the sight of your sweet-looking boyfriend got you with a taste of embarrassment on your tongue.
“I wasn’t, now come sit down and have dinner with your man.” eyerolling, trying to keep your cool. Clark let’s a silent laugh out as he ruffles your hair a little, your head slightly tilting to his touch. Dinner was not unusual, talking about your day, updates on work gossip you kept Clark on, flirty and affectionate comments here and there as the TV played aimlessly.
After you both agreed to abandon the living room you took the empty plates to the kitchen to wash and clean the rest of the kitchen for tomorrow morning, Clark follows you to the kitchen as if completely lost and you’re the only one to trust, you always insist on washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen on your own, but Clark says he “won’t miss the chance to spend time with you, even if it’s the most boring thing ever to do”. You wash the dishes as Clark grabs the other dish to help you with it, affectionately hitting your hip with his, you look at his face to find a warm smile, as you slightly rub your hair on his arm.
Chores done and now you both find each other in the bedroom, talking about plans for tomorrow and small petitions, the air in Metropolis is getting colder as seasons change, and human contact is more needed than wanted, fortunately, this time you are not alone.
You don’t lay in a cold bed at night by yourself anymore, now your bed feels 230 extra pounds of weight, all Clark. You feel as if he has his own gravity pull, feeling your body getting closer to him, but he invites and welcomes you, bringing you closer with his arm, allowing you to lay your head on his chest in a swift move. The feeling of your head on his chest and his arm on your back, caressing the hand you put on his abdomen with his free hand, the other hand running its fingers on your soft hairs, drifting to sleep.
This is a life you could get used to.
-
A/N: fic debut who cheered!!!! i love beating around the bush as you can see, i love domestic scenarios and clark kent so what’s better than that? exactly clark kent in domestic scenarios
will be writing more of him in the future oh i’m not letting him go