#damijon x reader

[bubbless-s]

╰⊱ ♡︎ Double love ♡︎ ⊱╮

- ʚɞ synopsis: damian x readers x jon dating headcanons

-ʚɞ warnings: none

-ʚɞ a/n: I noticed there aren’t a lot of fics like this so the job falls on me. (devider)

->Masterlist

„Souls don’t meet by accident.”

⛆ The first thing I need to mention is that someone is bound to get sandwiched during cuddle time.

⛆ Hear me out. Waking up and then getting your cheek kissed in both sides.

⛆ It’s so funny when Damian gets sick because Jon becomes mother hen and you’re like “why does this turn me on?” . If Jon gets sick it’s like “I don’t care If Im sick Im gonna kiss.” And if you’re the one that gets sick its gonna be Damian kissing your forehead to check your temperature and Jon kissing your forehead cuz he can.

Damian: “Stop kissing [reader] you’re gonna make it worse.”

Jon: “Just say you don’t love me anymore.”

⛆ I can just imagine Jon repeatedly kissing you when Damian isn’t looking.

⛆ Movie nights every Friday while being cramped up on a tiny sofa.

⛆ During lazy morning you and Jon end up cuddling while as Damians early bird ahh is making breakfast.

⛆ Jon would give you & Damian gummy bear rings.

“For the loves of my life.” He would say anytime.

⛆ The soft lingering touches in publics because neither of them want to make you and each other uncomfortable.😕

⛆ Damian probably has made a thousand of wedding invitations sketches.

⛆ Forget about the wedding invitations Damian definitely has a poem dedicated to his darlings.

“In their embrace they create heaven raw..” the poem begins you can imagine the rest ;)

⛆ Imagine having a bad day and coming home to Jon pulling you to his lap and Damian hugging you from the front.

⛆ Comforting bubble baths when one of y’all is having a bad day>

[quillsareswords]

A little blurb for me 👉👈 QFWW

What if the boys (Jon & Dami) wanted to make Valentine's day super special but the chaotic duo just make a mess of things but it ends up being even more endearing. Like wanting to bring reader flowers but something comes up and the bouquet never makes it home fully intact. Or breakfast in bed but the kitchen looks like a disaster and one of the boys ends up with Distract Reader But Don't Make It Suspicious Duty™ so that they don't see the mess. Something super cute and chaotic :))

WARNINGS: language, talk of food, mentions of bike crash, 2,000 words of poly garble just for you 😘

See Three is the Luckiest Number master list for more poly fics!

MASTER LIST in BIO

   "She knows something is up." Jon whispers, eyes cutting toward you nervously.

   "Of course she does. You're whispering and looking at her every seven seconds like you're trying to hide something."

   "I am hiding something!"

   "Shh!"

   You look up from your book through your eyelashes. They're right where they were the last time Jon got a little too loud: standing in the kitchen, pretending to make dinner. Pretending, because there's been an empty pot sitting on the stove for ten minutes.

   They've been acting strangely the last few days. Jon more so than Damian. You really hope it's something to do with the upcoming holiday and not something serious that they're trying to keep from you.

   "Everything okay in there?" you call, skimming the page in your lap for the line you left off of.

   "Fine," they respond in unison.

   It's probably fine.

   "This is the exact opposite of fine," Jon hisses. "It was supposed to be here days ago."

   "I've reported it missing and a replacement won't be here for two weeks at best. There isn't anything else we can do about it now." Damian drums his fingers against the counter. "We have to come up with something else."

   Jon bites down on the nail of his thumb. "V-Day is in three days. We have no time."

   "We've overcome worse." Damian assures. Armageddon, alien apocalypse, city-wide bomb threats. Surely they can handle a last-minute Valentine's Day gift, right? "We just need to…get creative."

   Jon's shoulders cave toward his chest anxiously. "Okay, well, I know what she got you, and a macaroni necklace is not comparable."

   Damian, out of the kindness of his own heart, resists every urge not to roll his eyes at his darling boyfriend. "Not that kind of creative," he corrects. "Perhaps instead of a gift, we do something for her."

   Jon's eyebrows raise. Damian senses his skewed thought process like waves in a pool.

   "Food, Jon. We should make her food."

•••

   Damian keeps forgetting to fix his ringtone. It always slips his mind until he’s somewhere in public, like walking to his next lecture, trying to seem imposing in front of his peers with his nice sweater and his heavy peacoat, and his phone starts screaming Lady Gaga’s poker face.

   “...and Baby, when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun~!”

   He almost rips his pocket open trying to get a hold of the fucking thing.

   “Jon, if you ever touch my phone again-”

   “You’ll torture me and all that extra fun stuff, I know, I know. You have my full consent.”

  Damian rolls his eyes with a huff and ducks away from the main walkway. “I take it this isn’t an emergency, then?” Because, in typical Wayne fashion, it’s always his gut reaction.

   “No…well, I mean, not really.”

   He jerks to a halt. “What? Are you alright?”

   “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I’m fine, everybody’s fine. But, um…Did you order the chocolates?”

   He shoves out a breath and continues on his way. “Yes, of course. Have they arrived?”

   “Yeah…except, uh, I think you ordered the wrong ones.”

   He stops again. “...What?”

   “These aren’t right. I am, like, ninety percent sure these are not her favorites. Actually, I think she avoids these?”

   “Look at– Was there a packing slip? An order sheet of some kind?” Damian asks, eyebrows pinched.

   He hears shuffling, crinkling. “Uh, yeah, here is it.”

   As Jon rattles off the assortment, Damian’s heart starts sinking. He pinches the bridge of his nose like it might relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. “Yes. That’s…She hates those.”

   How. On this good green earth. Did he mess that one up?

   Sleep deprivation. It must have been. He ordered it the night Ivy defaced the Wayne Tower by using vines to form a heart and shape I + H through the middle. At least she’d apologized. At least Harley liked it.

   Shit. He’d better check Jon’s too. Milk chocolate, coconut, caramel, right? That’s what Jon’s was supposed to be. Maybe he should have you check it.

   “Is the name on it right?” he sighs.

   More rustling. “Oh. No. It’s addressed to a…Walt Morgan.”

   Thank. Fuck. He's not the third worst boyfriend in the building.

   “Okay. Okay. That’s easy to fix, then. I’ll call them and sort the whole thing out. With any luck, a new one will be delivered the day before.” He’s thinking out loud, already scheming out how to sneak a three foot tall heart-shaped box of chocolates into the apartment and past you. “This is fine.”

   Jon laughs into the phone. “What, like the meme? Are you sitting in a burning room right now?”

•••

   The moment Damian gets home, lecture notes fresh in his mind, Jon meets him at the door.

   "Problem," he blurts. He's holding something behind his back.

   Damian squeezes the strap of his bag. "With?" The League? The Titans? The city?  The world? His family? Jon's family? God forbid, you?

   "The flowers," he answers. His hands move, and suddenly Damian is staring down at the squished, crumpled remnants of a flower bouquet with all your favorites.

  He sighs in relief. "What happened?" He rubs his palm across his forehead and tries to resettle his nerves.

   "I rode my bike home. I hit that stupid bump in the parking garage and it was either the flowers or the groceries, so…” He squeezes a limp petal between his thumb and his pointer, eyebrows furrowed glumly.

   Damian plucks the best looking one of the whole cluster and looks it over. “It’s alright. I’ll call in the morning and order another. You should hide these, though.”

   Jon shrugs. “Yeah. I think the old lady across the hall would like some. I’ll pick out the ones that survived.”

   Damian’s lips curl up at the edges. It's just like Jon to find some act of kindness in a cluster of crushed flowers. “I think that’s a great idea.” He jams the flower back into the middle. His hand comes up to cup Jon’s cheek instead. He presses his lips to his temple. “Well done, saving the groceries. She’ll like the food better anyway.”

•••

   “Jon,” Damian hisses.

   Jon turns around very slowly, eyes wide. His clothes seem to have survived unscathed, but there are speckles of batter across his face. He’s still holding a spatula in one hand.

   He takes a deep breath. “I was gone for two minutes. What happened?”

   Jon smiles sheepishly. “See, I wanted to flip pancakes like you do. Like, without the spatula? You just, like, throw it with the pan?”

   “Right.”

   “Well, I tried it because it looks easy when you do it, but, I…I kind of miscalculated how hard I was supposed to jerk the pan. So it kind of…” he trails off, gesturing confusingly with his hands. Damian quirks an eyebrow, so he points toward the ceiling to clarify.

   Twelve feet above him, Damian finds the pale wet splatter of batter on the ceiling. And on the floor below it, the dry, cooked side of an unfinished pancake.

   “You launched a pancake so high it hit the ceiling?”

   “It stuck for a few seconds. I mean, see, if you think about it; it’s really a testament to your cooking skills. Right? The batter was just…that good.” He grins convincingly. Dirty little suck up. Those puppy dog eyes may work on you, but they rarely do on Damian.

   Rarely.

   Damian stares down at the ruined pancake still leaking uncooked batter, grossly lumpy with chocolate chips. It’ll be a pain to clean later, so he may as well get it done with. He might as well wipe down the counters, too…

   He looks to the rest of the kitchen while Jon starts unraveling some paper towels. “Jon.”

   The man in question glances at him as he crouches to start scooping up his failure. “Hmm?”

   “What have we done to the kitchen?”

   “What do you mean?” Jon mumbles, turning toward the counters, “I was kind of cleaning as I went…oh.”

   They may have had a little too much fun making breakfast. Chocolate chips spilled across the counter where Jon was measuring with his heart. Dishes nobody thought to do after the movie last night piled in the sink beneath all the bowls and measuring cups from this morning. Half of the pancake ingredients are still sitting on the counter because Jon got handsy when Damian finally made it to the stove top. Flour is dusted around the area where Jon had been mixing everything in the bowl. There’s also batter slopped over a corner of the counter from when he got handsy the second time.

   It’s fine. It’s looked worse. The time you tried to make sushi rolls. The time Jon tried to make pudding-filled cupcakes. The time Jason realized this apartment was a lot closer than the Cave and would mop up better than his safehouse once he was done bleeding all over the place. That time Titus switched foods too fast.

   "She can't see this," Jon whispers. He projects his hearing back out past the living room, listening for any sign you've woken up. "She cleaned Saturday. She will kill us."

   "Agreed. We take this to our graves."

   "Agreed."

   Damian takes a deep breath. Scans the room again. Pulls together a plan. "Can you finish the pancakes?"

   "I'll burn them. Don't look in the microwave. I'll start cleaning." As if to cement this, he ducks around Damian to get under the sink for the cleaning supplies.

   Damian glances warily toward the microwave. He decides his mental health is more important than seeing what's inside.

•••

   For the first time in a long time, you wake up to an unexpectedly cold bed.

   You stretch out, sleepily thinking you must be mistaken. Maybe you just aren't quite used to the California King upgrade. You roll onto your back and sacrifice your remaining body heat to search for a new source to leech from. You're surprised to find the end of the mattress on one side and the edge of the comforter on your other.

   Odd, considering everyone took Valentine's Day off from everything, and they'd begged you to sleep in the middle last night so they could both reach you. There weren't any agreed upon plans this morning, and none of you bother to crawl out of bed if you don't have to. Lazy mornings always find at least two of you in bed, staring at screens or book pages, waiting on the last to wake up. Some mornings, you don't even get up then.

   Which means there must be a good reason they're out of bed and not training to be professional bed warmers.

   You dart upright. You squint against any light struggling through the blinds. The room is just as it was when you went to bed last night; yours and Jon's clothes spotting the floor, Damian's laptop is closed on the nightstand by the door, Jon's phone is still charging next to yours on the other nightstand, the blinds are still half closed.

   More importantly, the locked drawer in the bottom of the dresser is still closed. Which means there wasn't any super-sneaking. 

   "Boys?" you call.

   "Stay there!" Jon's voice rings through the door from down the hall.

   "We're coming to you!" Damian adds.

   You rub a knuckle into your eye. "What're you doing?"

   "You'll see," Damian answers, closer now. Then he's whispering, "Jon, get the–"

   "I can't, I'm carrying two–"

   "Okay, fine, just put your hand here– no, there. And I'll–"

   The door creaks open, and there they stand, your heroes: both wide-eyed, Damian with a long white tray, and Jon with three mugs and a bottle of syrup balanced in two hands.

   Damian smiles widely. "Happy Valentine's Day, Beloved."

   Jon grins and practically skips into the room. "We made your favorite," he sings.

   You scoot closer to the headboard to make room. You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

   Jon sets two of the mugs alongside the phones, and pushes the other into your hands as he climbs into bed beside you. "We got you something really good, but there were some, uh…complications." He glances at your other sweetheart for confirmation.

   The man in question plants his knee on the bed before he leans over to pop the legs out to set the tray over your lap while you hold your mug out of the way. "It's delayed. You'll have it soon, but we thought we should make it up to you." Once the tray is sturdy, he climbs in on your other side.

   "Are you telling me I get breakfast in bed and a gift?" your smile turns suspicious. "Sounds an awful lot like I'm getting buttered up for something,"  You glance down at the spread that's been placed before you, "...just like these perfect fucking pancakes, good god!"

   Damian chuckles, leaning back into the pillows so he can stretch out a little. His arm reaches past you, resting against your back while his hand finds a spot on Jon's shoulder. "Perfect sounds dramatic, but thank you. I did have a lovely assistant."

  "Is that right?" you shift your attention to Jon.

   He smiles sheepishly. "I mean, I didn't much–" He stops short when he blinks and suddenly your nose is a few inches from his ear.

   "Shut up and take some credit, baby." You clip your bottom lip between your teeth as his cheeks bloom pink. You release it, only to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

   You give him a breather so you can lean the other way and bestow the same thanks to Damian. "And you, deary."

   You melt a little at the way he smiles up at you. It's all warm and tender; a side of him only these four walls and two sets of eyes get to see. "You're very welcome, Love."

   Jon's head meets your shoulder as he reaches for an orange wedge from Damian's end of the tray. Well, the end closest to him. It's arranged more like a buffet than a set table.

   "You tired, honey?" you chuckle, setting your hand on the side of his head, smoothing your thumb over the beginning of his ear.

   "Mhmm. Worth it, though."

   "How early did you get up?" Your smile fades a little. "How long have you been unsupervised in the kitchen?"

   He stiffens against you. "Huh? I dunno what you mean. What are you talking about?" He jumps when Damian pinches his arm."

   You turn slowly toward the other one. "Damian. Is my kitchen a mess?"

   He stares up at you, suave as ever laying among these pillows, one arm tucked behind his head and the other laid out behind you. "Would I ever allow such a thing to happen? On a day of love, no less?"

   "That's not an answer and you know it."

   His eyes cut beyond you, to something Jon does, or maybe to encourage him to do something.

   Your eyes narrow on him. He's guilty, you know that much. He's bad at hiding it from you, or Jon, because he doesn't like hiding things from either of you. Which means the kitchen is probably a complete wreck…but fuck it; it's Valentine's Day, and the loves of your life have made an amazing breakfast in bed to share. You'll fix the kitchen tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe the next.

   You pretend to think about a little longer than you really do. He watches your face all the same, even if he knows you're making a show. Finally, you take a sip of your coffee. "I suppose that you can be forgiven. For the sake of the holiday. And because you made me chocolate chip pancakes, but I'm considering that cheating, so…"

   Jon's head is back on your shoulder. "So?" You can see the puppy dog eyes in your peripheral. You can feel them heating up the side of your face—so much so that you wonder if he's utilizing a tiny fraction of his laser-heat-whatever vision. Not today, Satan.

   "So, let's eat this food while it's warm and pretend the kitchen doesn't exist."

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

The Lost Condom

Synopsis: You were in the middle of a spicy time with your boyfriend, when something odd happened: the condom disappeared. Inside. Of. You.

The solution? Go to the hospital.

The problem? Your family didn't know about your relationship.

Pairing: Jon Kent X Gn!AFAB!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: 18+; Only mention and slight description of genitals and sex, but nothing too explicit; All characters are aged up of course; English isn't my 1st language.

Word count: 1,8k.

Requested? Nah.

Extra notes: This isn't an original idea of mine, it's based on a real life story someone told me. Also the family finding out scene was inspired by this fanfic from @dccomicsimagines and this scene from Megamind. Also, eventually I will work on the asks waiting for me I swear 😭

General masterlist

So… You were in the middle of… Having fun… With your boyfriend… When suddenly, he said something that really confused you.

— Hmm… Babe… Where’s the condom? — Your head snapped back to look at him, since you were on all fours.

— Where's the ‘what’? — Your eyes were wide, unconsciously. Jon was blushing intensely, looking from your eyes to your entrance. He didn't know how to explain.

— I-I-I put it inside with the condom on, but now it's… Gone! — You narrowed your eyes. You watched him wrap and then enter you, you didn't feel him pull out at any moment, and even if he did, why would he tell you that he pulled out, took the condom off and then put it inside again secretly while you were still going at it?

You were both silent for a few seconds.

— Search for it! — You practically yelled at him, making him scramble to get off of you. You laid with your back down and legs open, looking at the ceiling, trying to calm down and not feel embarrassed. You felt him entering you with his fingers and searching around for minutes, grumbling and getting frustrated. The sensation was good… But you had bigger priorities at hand!

You huffed and changed positions a few times. A pillow underneath your butt, legs up, on all fours. Nothing worked. You even searched around the room and the bed, just to be sure. At some point, you both defeatedly decided it was best you go to the hospital.

The thing is, your relationship was still new, and no one in your family was aware. Lois and Clark already knew and approved, and you thought Cass suspected you were seeing someone, but you hadn't told them yet.

Especially Damian.

You and Jon knew each other years before Damian was even part of the family, since Bruce raised you since your birth — you were the product of one of his affairs, your biological mother didn't want to raise you, but she also didn't want to abort, so she and Bruce agreed that he would have you as soon as you were born — and he's best friend was Clark. Although, you didn't see each other much back then. It was after the Supersons became a team and besties that he started frequenting the manor more. You always had a childhood crush on each other — Jon thought you were beautiful and nice, and you thought he was cute and sweet, very different from the gross and rude boys from your school. —. Until you were each other's first kiss, then years later, first relationship, and first time. Of course, all in secret from Damian. The older family members only knew about your crush because of your physical language, but since you grew older and learned to hide, they assumed it was just a childish crush from the past.

Lois and Clark knew and approved, but they also always reminded you that you needed to tell Bruce soon, or at least Alfred, especially after you started being sexually active.

Unfortunately, the day came. Yes, you and Jon were old enough to have sex, but too young to be mature and brave enough to go to the hospital by yourselves. Lois was in another country for work, Clark was in the Watchtower in a League meeting, your dad was there too. Leaving the 2nd best option: Alfred — the best would be Lois, then Alfred, Clark, Cass, and then you would have to discuss which one of your other family members would it be.

Since you were in Metropolis — again, no one knew. More privacy wink wink —, Jon flew you back to Gotham, and you both almost cheered when you realized you were completely home alone, except for Alfred, of course.

Poor Alfred knew something was up when you suddenly were back from your “shopping trip”, with messy hair and clothes, red face and Superboy looking almost sick. He released a long sigh.

— Mx/Miss/Master (Y/N). Young Mr. Kent… — You cleared your throat.

— Alfred… We need help…

After you explained everything, Alfred looked ten years older. He didn't comment on anything, but his face showed how unimpressed he was. He just gestured for you to follow him to the garage, took the keys and started driving.

— Let me warn Master Bruce while we are-

— NO! — You yelled, started. He looked at you through the rearview mirror disapprovingly.

— Should I remind you that he will see the hospital bill and go after the truth? — You bit your lip.

— No, I know that. Just… Can't we pay on cash? — You smiled at him hopefully and nervously, but it was more like a grimace. Alfred was silent. You groaned. — I will tell him okay! Tonight! — Jon’s eyes snapped to yours, wide. — Relax! You're not gonna die!

— Yeah, until Damian whips out a kryptonite sword… — He groaned, hiding his burning face in your neck. You huffed, now wasn't time for him to be adorable.

— He doesn't have a kryptonite sword. Dad didn't let him do it. He would have to build it first. That would give him enough time to calm down. — Jon looked at you, indignant. Alfred cleared his throat.

— While we're there, I can't make any promises that if your father asks, I will hide the truth. He will know. — You and your boyfriend groaned, rubbing your faces with your hands.

— Yes, Alfred, I know…

Two hours later, you were finally laid down in position for the doctor to begin the procedure. Since if wasn't anything serious, you were on the emergency and there was only a curtain separating you from the rest of the patients outside. Alfred was sitting just outside, waiting, while Jon was standing by your side, holding your hand, as if you were about to give birth. The doctor was amused by your story, and her jokes helped you calm down.

She searched around you for a few minutes, the instrument she was using inside you being a little uncomfortable. Jon was silently horrified when he saw, you were startled too, but maintained the composure.

— AHA! Found it! It was really deep inside, almost on your cervix! — When she pulled out the condom, you both let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding.

You quickly put your clothes on again, you and Jon chatting as everything seemed lighter, and then left.

What you didn't know was that when Bruce got home and you and Alfred weren't there, it made him call, finding out just that you were in the hospital. Alfred refused to say much more than reassure him that it wasn't urgent and that he would soon know, thus he didn't have to crazily drive all the way there. That didn't stop him from alerting all your siblings.

When you got home, your whole family was there.

— Jon?! What're you doing here? — Alfred kept a straight face. Wow, he really wasn't going to help.

— Hmmm... — Jon subtly and subconsciously hid behind you. You shifted from one foot to another. Damian got up with a threatening scowl. You just came from the hospital. With a kryptonian.

— Kent! If you hurt my sibling I will-

— I didn't! — Jon almost yelled, then covered his face with his hands.

— Then, what is happenning here? — Bruce got up with a raised brow, analyzing the situation.

You thought for a moment. You either told them now and made things easier, or you spent all the way to dinner with them bothering you to tell. You could take it, Jon couldn't.

You took a deep breath.

— JonandIwerehavingsexwhenthecondomdisappearedinsideofmewecouldn'tfinditanywheresoweaskedAlfredforhelpandwenttothehospital.

They blinked.

— … What?

You huffed.

— Jon and I were having sex, when the condom disappeared inside of me. We couldn't find it anywhere, so we asked Alfred for help and went to the hospital. — You said, slower this time, although uma lower, more abashed tone.

Silence.

— … But… It was stuck inside? Weren't you wet, though…? — Tim's analysis broke the silence.

— SEX?! — Dick and Jason exclaimed.

— YOU WERE HAVING SEX WITH MY SIBLING?!

— Knew it. — Cass smiled and nodded, proud of herself.

Bruce heaved a sigh and sat down again.

— I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS! — Damian threw Tim's coffee mug in your direction and Jon zoomed in front of you. The mug broke. Jon had a sheepish expression.

— Tim, go grab kryptonite. — Jason ordered and got up, walking toward the hidden compartment in the shelf where he kept his guns. Dick held him back while Damian threw a flower vase at Jon.

— No! Don't do that, Tim. — Dick ordered back. Tim shook his head.

— I wasn't going to anyway… — He mumbled. Damian threw the center table.

— YOU ACTED BEHIND MY BACK! YOU TRAITOR! YOU- OUCH! PENNYWORTH STOP! — Alfred tutted, pinching his ear.

— I'm sure civilized conversations don't involve breaking the forniture. — Alfred shot a pointed look at Bruce. — Master Bruce! Say something! — Your dad just kept gazing at you and your boyfriend.

Cass sighed, stepping toward Bruce and sitting beside him.

— (Y/N)’s happy. He’s good. They're careful. — Bruce nodded, finally showing some reaction and looking pleased. Jason stopped struggling against Dick and looked at you.

— I don't care. I'm going to kill him. — Damian growled, starting to pace around the room in anger. Jon silently sighed in relief that Damian kept his distance by being on the other side of the room, the couch and the whole family serving as a barrier. You stepped forward.

— It's not casual. We've been together for almost two months now. — Everyone but Alfred and Cass gasped. Damian burned holes in Jon’s head with his eyes and your dad looked at you, masking his mix of emotions.

Cass tsk.

— So clueless. Many signs. — She shook her head.

— (Y/N), why didn't you tell us before? — Dick asked carefully, walking in your direction and stopping in front of you. Jon fiddled behind you. You shrugged.

— Didn't want to deal with you all while we were just starting things. Especially if it didn't work out.

— When were you planning to tell us? — You pouted.

— I don't know… In a month or two? You guys probably would find out by yourselves. — You shrugged.

— You've been sneaking out a lot… — Tim spoke up for the second time, catching everyone’s attention. He was fiddling with his laptop, likely doing his own investigation. The ones closest to Tim looked from the monitor to you again.

— When did you go to Metropolis?! — Jason exclaimed, indignantly.

— Hehe…

Damian growled.

— So that's why you've been ditching me?! — Damian pointed a finger at Jon, who scratched the back of his head.

— Surprise...? — Jon weakly sang the word.

Bruce cleared his throat.

— So that's why Clark’s been acting like he was happy he knew something I didn't… — He got up and pointed at you. — No more sneaking out. Ask permission before going anywhere. — You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. — Either that or you're grounded. — You pursed your lips and nodded in defeat. — Now we will talk about birth control…

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@wandalfnation @vadersassistant @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @hxsun4 @silverklaus @toast-on-dandelioms @bluewillbon

[glorified-red]

Locks & Cake Pops (Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent)

summary: Gotham was a scary place when the sun went down. One terrifying encounter with a stranger left you completely worn thin. Thankfully, your boys were more than prepared to come find you.

word count: 4,800~

warnings: panic attack, paranoia, vague & very short description of encountering a scary stranger (none explicit to what happened, by whom, or by any gender. Only specification is that it's a conversation and Reader is hesitant around touch), paranoia to violence or potential violence, constant paranoia of not being safe

Y'all called me a main character and I think the people writing my story took that as a CHALLENGE. The amount of plot I went through today??? I swear, fics really do write themselves, huh?

Shout out to @quillsareswords for planting the Poly Fic seed in my head with her fics until I couldn't NOT write one. And shout out to @unmotivatedwrit3r for being my Jon today and @uni-magi-nation for being my Damian because guess what lads, this fic is based on a true story!! As are most of my fics anyway, so please, enjoy the events that happened less than 12 hours ago ;P

You could pinpoint the exact moment your day had derailed. 

It wasn’t until the sun had just barely started to slip beneath the horizon. Nearly ten hours of joy all crashed in one single moment. It was one decision. A single foot placement was the difference between coming home safe and the disaster that befell you currently. 

One foot placement was all it took and your entire world crumbled from above you. 

You almost wondered if your foot pivoted slightly to the east, if you took the path to your right instead of your left, would you still be in this position? Would you be here, clinging to your next breath as if it was your last? 

But alas, you traveled west to your car. The path you took was slightly dimmer than the other in the middle of dusk. Less people, less crowds . . . less witnesses. 

That one decision landed you in an inescapable exchange of words. Whether you made it home was a decision you no longer had control of, it was now placed in the hands of a stranger—a person who thrived on the rush of feeling a life beat in the palm of their hands. 

Your feet were placed on a track alongside them, desperately trying to find a way out. But each pivot was either too late or too suspicious, all you could do was play along like some kind of puppet. Eventually the rush simmered and the paths diverged, they split off into two distinct directions, and you were free. 

You didn’t bother to care when your feet pounded against the ground one after another. They did their job, they took you to where your brain had decided you needed to go despite you not truly being a part of that conversation. You let your instincts take over, the adrenaline high of blazing through empty sidewalks and burning passed streetlamps flickering on for the first time that night. 

Your breath faded into the air with each step, a resounding huff of forced exhales as your legs ached from the pace. Before you knew it, your world tilted on its axis as your brain and body fully disconnected. Tunnel vision took over your view, the only thing in sight was the faraway gleam of steel and vinyl. 

You slammed the car door behind you, fully encasing you in a carbon cage. It felt like a cage in all senses of the word. You were suffocated inside the doors of your own safety, hating how your only semblance of security was in a man-made product that could fail within a moment—that could be broken into with just the thought of doing so. 

You heard the satisfying click of the doors locking, never realizing your fingers jumped to the button the second they could. That sound meant safety, that sound meant you would be okay. 

Electrons slipped past connections and you couldn't properly process anything aside from the steering wheel in front of you and the sharp polyester strap cutting across your chest. Your next exhale was steady and long, a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. Even with the length of the breath, the shakiness behind it was so easy to hear in the silence of the cage. 

You gripped the steering wheel with both hands, twisting your grip along the rim until you could feel the bite in your palms. You brought yourself back one cell at a time. It started with the pads of your fingers tapping against the polyurethane, then your palms rubbing against the grooves and curves of the wheel, then your hands were gripping at your arms until feeling returned to them slowly. You thawed out your own body seconds at a time. 

You breathed again. 

Then the car had started and you drove away. 

You could remember the exact moment you realized this was much deeper than mere disassociation. Your eyes were filled with red lights and your ears buzzed with the sound of passing cars. It started in your chest, a small hum of warning deep in the confines of your ribcage. 

The death rattle had started inside you and only got louder the longer your hands stayed connected to the prison bars. The hum turned into a storm of pyrocumulonimbus as your foot pressed into the gas, each breath of oxygen only fueled the fire burning at the edges of your lungs. 

You fought so hard against the impending doom of it all. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to come home and beeline straight for—not safety—comfort; you wanted to remind yourself that touch wasn’t something to be scared of; you wanted to remind yourself that you were safe—that everything was going to be okay. 

But instead your breath quickened into a terrifying speed and you had no choice but to pull over into the nearest complex with well-lit parking spaces and bustling activity at its front doors. Your car clicked off and your fingers immediately reached for the lock icon at your side. 

You pressed it once to hear the simultaneous click of four doors locking in tandem. 

Leaning against the plush seat, you tried to breathe properly. Your hands gripped at the seatbelt across your chest, both hating and adoring the pressure it forced against your body. 

You pressed it twice to remind yourself the doors were locked. 

Gripping the strap, you didn’t mind the way the edges dug into your palms as you bent it in on itself. It was tight against you, just enough to keep you present. The hands of sharply woven polyester forced you to stay conscious in reality, they didn’t dare let you slip between the cracks and fall into dissociation. 

You pressed it a third time, the same click resounding in your ears. 

Suddenly you felt too suffocated. You could feel the bottom of the wheel on your knees and the lanyard of your keys against your thigh. 

The clicks reversed as you tumbled out of the car. 

Fresh air hit your entire body and the fire raging in your chest worsened tenfold. You were exposed—you were vulnerable. You slammed yourself back into the car. A blink and you were in the backseat this time. 

The carved metal of a key dug into your fingers while you clutched it like a lifeline. Your hand reached for your phone before you could process anything else. Your other clicked the lock icon once more and the entire car fell into darkness. 

⋘⋙

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep but when a human sized heater was laying across his chest, it never took long for his exhaustion to get tired of being ignored. 

He was slightly annoyed, arguably moreso, when the heater in question jerked upright. Damian’s eyes snapped open. “Watch it,” he groaned, sleep still affecting the timbre in his voice. Hands dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he pushed them away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the kryptonian apologized from above him. “I just . . .” he trailed off. 

That got his attention. 

His eyes focused on the alert expression on his lover’s face. Jon shifted upright completely, still straddling Damian’s thighs. His eyes were distant, looking off into the window at the other side of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, finding himself slightly propped up onto his elbows. 

“Y/n,” Jon replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The way he said your voice was just as distant as his gaze, almost like his voice was nothing but an exhale. He blinked, looking down and glaring so hard at Damian’s upper body that Damian almost took offense. 

“Their heartbeat,” he said, confusion lacing his voice as he tried to focus on the thum of your beat, “it’s . . . different.” 

“Different,” Damian echoed. He would’ve been annoyed at the vague answer if he wasn’t aware both him and Jon were currently barely awake and therefore, barely functioning (Damian more so than Jon, of course). “What do you mean different?” 

Kryptonian powers were always so finicky. He always thought so, but meeting Jon? This man was evidence in itself that powers were annoying at best. Damian watched as Jon developed each new power slowly at the most inconvenient times, mind you. And now, years after being the Man Of Steel, Jon’s powers still went berserk. 

Damian couldn’t even count on his fingers how many sensory overloads he’s guided Jon through—and he’d do it all over again if he had to. 

Jon shook his head. “It’s just different.” He shrugged. 

“You woke me up because it’s just different?” Damian deadpanned. 

Jon glared down at him. “This isn’t exactly an exact science, you know.” 

Damian sighed and slid back down until his upper back hit the mattress once more. “Is it going faster? Skipping a beat?” he prompted, trying his best to shake the grogginess from his body without letting paranoia fester in its place. 

Heartbeats always worried Damian. He ended up assuming the worst. But with a Kryptonian tracing them so often, he realized that different didn’t necessarily mean bad. You could have raised your hand in class, forgot your keys, or missed a step down the stairs and your heart lurched. That was enough to perk Jon’s ears. You could have been stressed so your heart rate was elevated. Maybe even tired which made it drag. 

Despite his own fears, Damian kept reminding himself that there's more of a chance that you were fine than not, especially when he was currently talking to a sleep deprived kryptonian who announced heartbeat changes all the time. The idea of getting away with any kind of anxiety while around that golden retriever was stupid and incredibly naive—Damian gave up after a year of Jon’s super-hearing kicking in. 

“You’re anxious.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You should probably—” 

“I said shut up.” 

Jon spoke up: “It definitely jumped and it’s been slightly faster than normal ever since.” His head tilted slightly to the side to listen better—Damian couldn't help but picture a tiny puppy doing the same and its ear flopping over. “It’s getting steadily faster. I think . . . I think they’re driving?” 

Damian’s eyes furrowed. He reached for his phone as Jon continued. “Definitely driving,” he settled on. “I can hear their car.” 

“Maybe they almost got into an accident,” Damian mumbled in thought, setting a personal reminder in his brain to berate you for speeding later. His phone clicked on and his eyes saw his blurry home screen. He blinked the image into focus. When his eyes could properly trace over the smiles on you and Jon’s faces, he looked at the time. 

It was earlier than he thought. 

Jon’s hands fiddled with the hem of Damian’s sleep shirt, the compression material stretching slightly to accommodate the movement. “Maybe,” Jon gnawed at his bottom lip. “I didn’t hear anything like that though, just normal traffic.” 

Damian hummed. “They were at the library today. I didn’t expect them to head home so soon.” His fingers opened your contact. “Did they text you that they were heading home?” 

 Jon leaned across the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Damian resisted a snark at how uncomfortable the shift was with the unnecessary knee to the side. 

Jon fiddled with his phone for a moment. “Nope, nothing.” 

Damian opened his mouth to supply another sentence of rationale when two things happened simultaneously: In an instant, Jon’s phone slipped from his hands and ricocheted right off of his stomach. (“Ow!”) Then Damian’s ringtone sounded throughout the entire bedroom, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into their tired brains. 

The fear written on Jon’s face was enough for Damian to pick up on the first ring. 

“Y/n?” he asked. Jon’s fingers clutched at his shirt. 

“Hey,” you responded. There was a crackle over the line but Damian couldn’t tell if it was your voice or the shitty internet. 

“Are you okay?” Damian was blunt, cutting straight through any attempt at small talk. How could he not when Jon was currently mouthing “panic attack” at him and poking his ribcage. 

You hesitated enough for Damian to shoo Jon off of him. Both boys tumbled out of the massive bed in varying degrees of grace. 

“What are you doing right now?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re dodging the question,” Damian slid on a pair of pants and made his way down the stairs. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I have a human sized Holter monitor that would beg to disagree.”

Jon tumbled behind, no doubt using some kind of kryptonian flare to gather all the necessary items to drive to you. 

“Can you both meet me here, I—” you cut off, if Damian strained, he could hear your rampant breathing. “I need you.” You choked, “No—No capes.” 

Damian breathed in slowly and exhaled through his mouth. The keys and wallets were already floating into his pockets as he opened the front door. 

No capes. 

It was a valid request. It was a request both Jon and Damian had come to appreciate overtime. No need for heroics, no need for perfection, no need for theatrics—you just needed your partners, as they were. 

That was a level of normalcy that was so rare in this lifestyle. As much as it would be miles quicker with Jon’s flight or even his grapple gun, he respected the thought process behind the decision. You just wanted your boys, that was all. 

Car doors slammed shut and Damian was already behind the wheel making his way to you. “We’re on our way.” He felt a poke to his bicep. Jon motioned towards the phone, opening and closing his hand in request. “I’m going to pass the phone to Jon. He’s going to stay on the line until we reach you, okay?” 

Damian barely waited for your small “ok” before handing the phone off. He didn’t bother to fill Jon in on the conversation, it was obvious he was already listening intently. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Jon pointed directions out and Damian followed. No need for maps when you have a super-hearing alien who knows exactly where you are just by the sounds of traffic and the volume of your heartbeat. “We’re coming as fast as we can. Just give us ten minutes and we’ll be there with you.” 

Damian focused on driving, the one thing he could do at this moment. He was tactical, he was useful. Jon was the comforting one; Jon was the one who could navigate emotionally tense situations with ease. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter and made sure he got to you safely. 

Strengths. All three of you had them just as you all had weaknesses. But the beauty of your triad came from how perfectly your strengths filled each others’ weaknesses. You lifted each other up, and when you couldn’t, it was easy to lean on one another. 

So Jon handled the comfort, Damian handled the logistics. 

Words of affirmations flew out of Jon’s mouth in a way that Damian used to envy. Now, he found it endearing. He has his own strengths and that’s okay. 

“Just ten minutes, baby. Ten minutes and everything will be okay, I promise.” 

Red lights glared down at Damian. 

“Breath with me. In and out, just like that. Keep doing that.” 

Stop signs seemed taller than usual, more demeaning. 

“You’re gonna be alright. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now but you’ll be okay soon, you just gotta hang in there for us.” 

Brakes screeched against the pavement. 

“I'm so proud of you, you’re so brave right now. No, don’t be like that. You’re so strong, you’ll get through this, I swear.” 

His fingers tapped against the gear shift impatiently. 

“Are the doors locked? Yea? That’s good. You did good—so good.” 

He heard you sob into the receiver and his heart twisted painfully. 

“You’re safe. No one can get to you right now without your consent. Just keep telling yourself that: no one can get in, no one can reach you, you’re safe.” 

His foot finally hit the gas. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You're okay. You did everything right—yes you did. Yes, Y/n. You got to safety, you pulled over, you locked the doors, and you called us. You did everything right.” 

He made a right and then a left. 

“Five more minutes, bub. Just five more minutes. Keep breathing. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be right there with you.” 

He was trapped behind a slow Jeep—he switched lanes. 

“Yea? Grab the jacket and hold it tight. I’d rather you hold that. Just a few more minutes and that jacket will be replaced with us, alright?” 

Yellow lights always annoyed him the most. 

“We’re coming, I promise. We’re coming.” 

He swerved into the complex, not caring if he cut someone off in the process. 

“We’re pulling in right beside you. That car is us so don’t be scared. It’s just us, baby.” 

Damian clicked off the car and tumbled out with Jon quick to follow suit. He always forgot how much Jon used pet names as he rambled through words of reassurance. He was sure it was some kind of nervous tick Jon had, a way for him to soothe both himself and the other person. It could also just be a habit of his mouth speaking far faster than his brain, but the nicknames flowed out of him so fast either way.

“You gotta let us in, love. We can’t help from out here.” Jon’s hand gently rested on the glass window to the backseat. Damian motioned towards the building in front of the car, Jon nodded in response, already knowing his thought process far before Damian’s feet started moving backwards. 

Focus on his strengths. Focus on what he can do. Focus on that. 

The car doors unlocked and the boys split up. 

⋘⋙

You were huddled in the backseat for what felt like hours and milliseconds all at once. Every time your breaths evened, your brain fizzled out with it until you couldn’t feel anything aside from the car key scraping against your palm and the plastic door digging into your spine. 

Legs pulled into your chest, phone to your ear, and arms wrapped around a hoodie long since stolen for your backseat, you waited. You tried to bury your nose in the scent of pine and peppermint, a tanglement of your home—your boys—but it never fully sunk into your comprehension. 

Your empty hand grasped at the plush cotton in a sour attempt at bringing yourself back up. Unfortunately, the second you were brought back to awareness, your breathing spiked. Every distant voice, every shifting shadow, even the cars passing by in the nearby road—it all screamed danger into your head until you struggled to breathe. 

Even in this locked prison, you still felt too exposed. You were miles from home and miles from safety, how could you not? 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re coming. 

When a car pulled beside yours, a familiar tint of windows and gleam of dark steel, you fought all of your instincts to run, to hide, to scream. 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re here. 

It took every ounce of your willpower to allow your finger to press the open lock icon after pressing the locked one over and over again for what felt like an eternity.  

“Y/n,” Jon sighed out in relief. The call ended and what once was a distant voice was now a full fledged being.

“Please close the door,” you sobbed out, feeling nothing but claws of terror scratch up your chest the longer the door stayed open. Jon instantly complied, shutting the door as gently as he could without slamming it. 

The doors instantly locked again. 

“Can I touch you?” he started with. He didn’t bother asking if you were okay or asking what you needed, it would be pointless. You weren’t okay and asking what you needed when you were so clearly in peril would just put unnecessary weight onto your shoulders when he should be taking it off. 

Your hands fisted into the fabric, fingers swimming amongst the mountain of cotton. “I-I,” you choked on an inhale, “I don’t know.” 

And how could you? Sometimes touch was a blessing, a craving nothing else could satiate. Sometimes touch was the only way to bring you back all the way: it was grounded as was it weighted, it was nice. 

But sometimes touch was terrifying, a pressure of what if tangled in previous experiences. Sometimes touch was the only thing that terrified you the most: after such a night, how could you possibly feel safe with an ounce of contact? 

“Okay,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to make you feel worse about your own indecision. “What if we try? I’ll pull away the second you tell me to, pinky swear.” 

He even raised his pinky to solidify the statement. If you weren’t miles deep into a panic attack and hundreds of tears worn, you probably would have laughed. Instead, you nodded, a jerky movement that shifted the fabric around your face. 

“I’m gonna place my hand on top of your knee, real slow. You tell me if you don’t want it there anymore.” He looked into your eyes with his vibrant blue bells. His face was so sure, so confident, but the edges of his face were hardened with worry. He really couldn’t hide his emotions around you.

You nodded once more. You saw your own quickened breaths more than you felt them, the shadows off to your right reflecting the rise and fall of your chest. 

Jon’s hand was raised slightly above your knee and he hesitated just enough for you to track his movements. Then it was nothing but a light touch of fingertips, then fingers, then a palm, and then an entire hand. 

Despite his slow, deliberate movements, you still flinched. It was a whole-body jerk that started with pulling your legs closer to you and ended with your shoulders hitching upwards. Jon bit the inside of his cheek at the reaction, ignoring the way it dug into his heart a little too deep for his own sanity.

He kept his hand there even when your body’s instinctual reaction screamed for him to pull back. Jon waited for your words, but more importantly, he waited for you to settle into the touch or comprehend that you didn’t want it anymore—whichever ended up happening. 

Luckily, it was the former. Your shoulders pressed back into the door behind you and your head leaned against the car seat. Your feet unhooked at the ankles and relaxed. 

“Do you want more touch or is this enough for now?” 

You felt the heat radiate from his palm, it fought against the storm of fire boiling in every fiber of your being. It also fought against the sheet of ice that threatened to separate you from the rest of the world. It was enough. 

“ ‘s good for now,” you breathed in shakily. Trying to match the rise and fall of the chest in front of you. 

Jon looked off to the side and squinted into the darkness. “Damian’s on his way back.” His thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against your knee slowly and in a small movement. It was so small you barely would’ve realized it if your knee wasn’t at eye level. “You’ll have to let him in soon.” 

Your eyes flickered over to just beyond your car and into the entrance to the building—the cafe—where Damian had started walking out of. You had a moment or two to emotionally prepare yourself to unlock those doors. 

You struggled on your next breath and Jon heard it. He returned his gaze to you. “Breathe, baby. It’s just Dami. You can lock the doors immediately afterwards.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, hating the way your breathing sped up slightly as you clicked the open lock. Gears shifted and the reversal of the click was impossibly loud against your muddled brain. 

The door in front of you swung open and Jon pulled Damian inside before closing the door as soon as possible. You found your thumb pressing the lock button the second you heard the car door close. You never once felt the hand on your knee leave and you silently thanked Jon’s perceptiveness. 

Opening your eyes, you were met with Damian’s emerald eyes looking at you with as much concern as those eyes could ever truly show. Jon had somehow found his way squished in between the seats and middle console, half debating if he should just sit on the floor or on the console. Damian sat across from you with his hands full of drinks and food. 

He offered you the blend of sugar and ice to which you took without much hesitation. Your head was pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear and you could feel it in your temples. It was unbearably hot with pain. 

“I got your usual,” Damian said, “just the way you like it.” 

You sniffled, already feeling the fire inside swirl into dissipation. “No inclusions?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No inclusions,” he reassured you. 

“The base?” 

“Lemonade, not water.” 

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Damian was quick to read your mind. He lifted up a straw still wrapped in its plastic casing. “Yes, I got you a straw.” 

For the first time that night, you smiled. It was small, twitchy, and faded just as quick as it came, but it was still better than the choked off sobs from earlier over the phone. 

Damian opened the top of the straw for you and you held out your drink for him to place it inside. Your hands were so shaky it was difficult to even hold the large drink (because of course he got you the biggest size), let alone have enough dexterity to open a straw. 

“I also bought cake pops,” he lifted up the three brown bags of parchment that held your sugary treat. He knew you so well you swore he was a mind reader. Your hands were shaking from panic but also from how low your energy levels were from using every ounce of it to breathe. 

Damian lifted the first bag after peering inside. “Birthday cake.”

You snatched the bag. 

“Chocolate.” 

Jon did the same for his. 

“And mine.” Damian set his bag in his lap and handed Jon his drink full of sugar. 

Jon propped open the cup holders attached to the center console and set his drink inside, Damian was quick to set his water beside it. 

You clutched your drink with both hands, enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation against your aching fingers. “Thank you.”

Damian hummed in response. It didn’t take long for his hand to find its way onto your other knee and this time, you didn’t end up flinching. You swore the presence of your two lovers was more than enough to calm any attack that found its way up to you. Tonight was proof of that. 

“Your breathing is still too fast for my liking,” Damian spoke up. “Do you want to go through some breathing exercises?” 

Both of the boys looked at you expectantly. You shrunk back slightly at the pressure before you shook your head. “Can . . .” you breathed in to reassure yourself—your request was okay, you’re voicing your needs, you’re valid—“Can you guys just distract me?” 

They shared a look between each other and Jon ended up speaking up first: “Go ahead, Dami. Distract them.” 

“Why do I have to?” Damian demanded, “You’re obviously better at running your mouth than I am.”

“Because I said so?” 

“Because you said so,” Damian mocked, “Really? Do you honestly believe that holds any true merit in this household?” 

Jon scoffed. “It does when you say it so why doesn’t it when I say it?”

“Because I’m better than you, obviously.” 

“Am not.” 

“Am too.” 

“Boys,” you giggled through the word. Your grip on your drink was loose and your legs uncurled slowly until they pressed into Damian’s shin. “While this is adorable, I just want to listen to you two talk, not bicker.” 

One of them huffed from their nose and you genuinely couldn’t tell who—you’re half convinced they both did. 

“Fine.” Damian’s free hand fell around the top of your shoe, his pinky brushing against your ankle. “Go ahead, genius. Tell our beloved what you did to the kitchen while making dinner tonight.” 

Jon’s eyes widened slowly. “We agreed not to tell them,” he whisper-shouted. 

Damian shrugged. 

You turned to Jon with a fire behind your eyes. 

“What did you do to my freshly cleaned kitchen?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[qsoap]

i'll be opening commissions to help with my university expenses!! :D

i'll open 3 slots for now :D

my dms are open for inquiries ^_^ you can see more samples of my art here!!

tysm for reading!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[remy45]

Hii Im writing a DamiJon fic and Im searching a beta reader any interested please dm me for more info

[dyslexicandakeyboard]

[Damian and Jon are at the Titans Tower. They are both siting, their backs to each other, writing a letter to their parents.]

Jon: Dearest Mama and Papa

Damian: Dear Father

*in a sing-song voice*

Jon and Damian: There's been some confusion overruling here at the Teen Titans.

Jon: But of course I'll try my hardest.

Damian: And of course I'll train my sidekick

Jon and Damian: For I know that's how you'd want me to respond. Yes.

Jon and Damian: There's been some confusion for you see my room mate is...

Jon: Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe?

Damian: A child

[Both turn and catch each others gaze. Damian tt's and looks away, hiding his suddenly sweaty palms and trys to calm his racing heart. Jon turns away quickly, blushing to his ears.]

Jon: What is this feeling so sudden and new

Damian: I felt the moment I laid eyes on you

Jon: My pulse is rushing

Damian: My head is reeling

Jon: My face is flushing

Jon and Damian: What is this feeling

Jon and Damian: Fervid as a flame. Does it have a name?

Jon and Damian: Yes!

Jon and Damian: Loathing. Unadulterated Loathing.

------------

Based of the song "What is this feeling?" from Wicked. Mainly this animatic

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cloudy Christmastime

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

(A/N): Before anyone protests, I headcanon the Wayne family as celebrating both Jewish holidays like Yom Kippur and Hanukkah as well as Christmas and Easter because yes, Bruce is ethnically Jewish (though may have done Christmas as well) but Dick/Jason/Tim/Steph would have likely celebrated Christmas. So they do both.

Anyway, this is a christmas gift for @glorified-red and literally the 5th take on this fic bc they first said Hallmark movie, then damijon hallmark movie, then whump. And then it took me three tries to get something I was close to happy with so I hope you enjoy. This ended up being a mix of domestic fluff and h/c.

warnings: sensory overload

wc: ~2600

~~

“Tell me again why Santa doesn’t bring us gifts if he’s real. Like our dads have met him. And he still doesn’t bring us presents,” Jon lamented from the couch, bundled up in four blankets. 

From your spot on the floor by the tree, you looked up, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Because we’re not kids anymore? And how do you know Santa ever brought us gifts?” 

“Perhaps,” Damian added, passing Jon a cup of hot chocolate. He placed a second cup on the coffee table and lifted one to his lips. “He only brought gifts to people to make a point. I never received any from him as a child but father has gotten many over the years.” 

Jon listed to the side, head landing on Damian’s shoulder. “I think that’s worse.”

For the first time in a while, Jon felt Damian’s huff of laughter more than he heard it. Your small chuckle was similarly inaudible. Jon hated solar flaring. Not only was it a pain to deal with for the day and change—one could argue he got either lucky or really unlucky by solar flaring the morning of Christmas Eve—but it always threw his senses out of whack as they trickled back in. And, with the gray skies of Gotham’s winter, Jon was expecting it to be even weirder than usual. It was worth it though, to him, in order to spend the day itself with his partners. It was enough that the Kent family Christmas Eve was ruined by Lex Luthor. He wasn’t going to let his Christmas day be ruined too. 

“I’m sorry, mi sol,” you offered with a shrug and a smile. Jon met your grin with his own. A full-body shiver wracked his frame. Your gaze turned concerned. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “Just chilly.” Damian’s arm wrapped further around Jon, pulling their sides flush against each other. Jon maneuvered the blankets away to soak in his warmth. 

“Ameli, we can turn the heat up,” Damian offered. 

“Nope,” Jon argued, nuzzling into Damian’s neck. “This is good.” Damian’s resulting huff of air teased at the hair on the top of Jon’s head. 

“Mi luna?” You asked from the floor. Damian turned to look at you. Jon followed, eyes traveling over the mound of presents arranged under the tree. There was a pile around the back of the tree against the wall for Damian’s family (Jon still needed to give Dick his gift from the Hanukkah celebration a couple weeks ago. The blue dreidel paper was obvious against the sea of brown, red, and green wrapping paper.), and a smaller one for yours. The empty gap left behind after the Kent Christmas was already filled in with a large box Jon was like ninety percent sure was a new easel for Damian. You ordered it, not him, but Jon couldn’t think of anything else on any of your lists that was even close to that size. “Can you hand me that please?” You gestured to a precarious stack on the coffee table. 

Damian acquiesced, passing over a teetering pile of vaguely book-shaped items. Who those were for was anyone’s guess. Jon was grateful Alfred had helped you and him pay for some of the gifts for Damian. Looking at the gift tags, it otherwise would have been horribly uneven. And Damian himself wouldn’t have minded, Jon knew, but you and him would have been upset about it anyway. He deserves the world, your rohi. Damian pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of you, still arranging presents under the tree. He showed it quickly to Jon before texting it to him immediately. 

“This look okay?” You asked, peeking out from behind the tree. Jon looked it over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, but he also wasn’t exactly the reigning opinion on artistic presentation. 

“It looks fine, hayati” Damian said, eyes still trained on his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You didn't even look.” 

Damian turned to look at you. “Because I knew it looked fine, beloved.” His eyes scanned the presents. “And it does.” 

You shook your head at him, exasperated, before conceding and sitting heavily on the couch. Scooching in, you nearly pressed up against Jon’s other side. 

“Come closer,” He whined, untangling a hand from the blankets to grab yours. “You’re warm.” 

Jon could feel the look exchanged over his head. 

“I’m not that warm,” you argued even as you grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and arranged the blankets so that you could fit underneath. “You’re just cold.” 

Jon shrugged. The hand that wasn’t holding yours reached underneath Damian’s shirt and he swore, grabbing Jon’s wrist to keep its chill away. Another look passed over Jon’s head. He wondered sometimes if the two of you were aware he knew what you were doing and just didn’t care. Probably. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, amorcito?” You asked. Jon shrugged. 

“It’s cold outside and I’m human but otherwise yeah. I have you two,” he added smugly. Damian’s playful shoulder hit came at the same time as your muttered “sap.” Jon grinned. “So because I’m sick—sort of—I get to pick the movie. And we’re watching Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Despite the protests on both sides, the movie was playing before Damian could even get up to turn the lights off. To the side of the couch, the lights on the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft white glow. 

~

Jon awoke to a cold bed. On a good day, he’d wake with the sun—or whenever it wormed its way through the bedroom’s black out curtains—or to an international emergency. Okay, not that the emergency was good, just that he was feeling good enough to know it was happening. On a bad day, all bets were off. Jon stuck his hand out of the covers, searching blindly for his phone. After a moment of finding nothing but the wood of the end table, the scratchiness of the sheets was unignorable and he gave up, flinging back the covers to get out of bed. Hanging over the side of the dresser was a dark red sweatshirt. Jon grabbed it and tugged it on, rubbing his arms to get the lingering echo of the sheets off his skin. His off kilter super hearing zeroed in on the crooning of Michael Bublé before zooming back out into the general background noise coming from the kitchen. Jon winced, squaring his shoulders. That was a bad sign. But it was Christmas; he’d be fine. 

A quick squint at his phone told Jon that it was just after noon. No wonder the bed was cold. Jon shivered, then grabbed a pair of your fuzzy socks before opening the bedroom door. 

The smell of cinnamon and chocolate coming from the kitchen was pleasant rather than unbearable. Jon let himself breathe it in as he approached quietly. He didn’t even notice you behind him—though that was often true of an average day—before there were arms around his waist and a head on his shoulder. He let himself lean back into the warmth of you. 

“Merry Christmas, mi amor. How are you feeling?” you inquired. Hot breath ghosted across his neck. Jon shrugged. 

“Fine. Excited for today.” He spun around to face you, eyes taking in your christmas pj pants and sweater with a Robin logo. Over your shoulder, Jon could see flashes of blue, likely Damian’s nightwing sweatshirt. “Merry Christmas,” he added, tucking his nose into the spot just underneath your ear for just a moment. No matter what his super senses were like, he took comfort in the smell of the two of you. A hand weaved through his hair, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. Jon pulled back just enough to give you a peck on the lips before being spun around into a kiss from Damian. 

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Jon muttered, pressing a second lingering kiss to Damian’s jawline. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his fingers, wrapped around Damian’s wrist. 

“Good morning,” Damian said, wrapping an arm around Jon to keep him close. Jon blindly reached out and a second calloused hand found his. A second warm body curled around him. He missed your heartbeats’ song in his ears, but Damian’s pounding steadily under his ear and yours fluttering underneath his fingertips was good enough for right then. “Are you alright?” Damian continued. “It’s late.” His voice was echoey underneath Jon’s ear and Jon flinched instinctively. The two of you reacted immediately, pulling back. 

“Jon?” you asked, voice laced with concern. 

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m mostly good. About as expected, you know?” Jon offered up a smile. By the looks on your faces, it didn’t do as much reassurance as he’d hoped. “I’m sorry I slept so late.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Damian argued. “There is no reason to.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon sighed. 

“How are you feeling about breakfast, mi sol?” You asked, tangling your fingers with his. 

“Sounds good,” Jon agreed. 

~

“Oh yeah I should definitely send Dick a text to thank him. And also say Merry Christmas,” Jon said, flopping down on the couch after breakfast. With his partners looking happy, Christmas music in the background, and a breakfast of vegan pancakes in his stomach, Jon could almost forget about the buzzing under his skin. 

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “He would have swapped with me anyway. Gordon and Father are both working tonight so it was pointless for him to have the evening off.”

Jon shrugged. “Still, doesn’t hurt to say thanks.” 

“Say hi from me too,” you yelled over the running kitchen sink. After a moment more, the water shut off and Jon released a silent sigh at the absence of an irritating bit of noise. He was lucky the x-ray vision hadn’t started acting up. Not only was that like the antithesis of Christmas presents (his mom kept presents out of the house or in a lead box until morning for that very reason), but it was also a huge pain and the hardest to hide. Screwy touch and hearing was more than enough. Dishware clanked around in the kitchen as Damian sat beside Jon on the couch. 

“No change?” He asked, reaching for a Nightwing mug of cider on the coffee table. 

Jon shrugged. “Nope, nothing yet.” Damian narrowed his eyes and Jon attempted to start coming up with excuses. At the very least, he could probably get Damian to leave it alone until after gifts. Less so if you noticed too and started teaming up on him. 

“Ready for presents?” You asked, sitting down on the other side of Damian. You raised the untouched Superman mug to your lips, eyes scanning over Jon. 

“Yes!” Jon butt in before you could say anything. “Let’s do it.” 

You and Damian exchanged a look. On the floor below, the elevator dinged, releasing a family with a horde of kids. “Okay,” you conceded, standing to grab the first load of presents.

In the apartment directly underneath, the front door squealed open. A load of presents was slammed down on the floor beside him. Three kids squealed “gramma!” in unison. Jon’s hoodie was all of the sudden suffocating him. 

Jon jumped up and yanked the sweatshirt over his head, pawing the sleeves off before yanking his socks off too. He didn’t care where they ended up. His hands went up to press against his ears. Stumbling over his own feet, Jon meandered backwards until his back slammed into a wall and then slid down, knees up and head with ears still covered in between them. Sounds zoomed in and out. All of the sudden, he could hear Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing eight floors down, then A Christmas Carol on someone’s TV across the street. Focus! Jon yelled at himself through all the noise. One steady beat came into focus, then another. 

Until there was a soft item brushing his feet, Jon didn’t realize he had company. A steady beat pulsed in his ears, too loud even for its familiarity. He pulled the blanket close. Something plastic nudged his shoulder and Jon grabbed it instinctively, slamming special-made headphones over his ears. The sounds faded down into something manageable. Jon took a deep breath. And then another. He didn’t need to hear to know that the two of you were there. When he reached out tentatively with his sense of smell, the usual wave of cinnamon-vanilla-brown sugar-clove and somethings just the two of you tempered by pine and peppermint was comforting rather than overwhelming. Jon let it wash over him, clutching the soft weighted blanket to his chest. 

When he cracked his eyes open, two blurs blinked into focus as his partners, leaning against the back of the couch and hands linked. Damian’s head rested on your shoulder, one of your hands tangled in his hair. Jon noticed as soon as Damian saw he was up. He almost slammed his head into your chin as he shot up and Jon huffed a laugh.  

“Ameli?” Damian asked. Your eyes locked onto Jon’s. 

“You guys shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Jon responded. “It’s bad for your backs.”

You offered Jon a hand, ignoring his remark completely. Jon’s chest ached. If you weren’t willing to banter, he’d scared you. “How are you feeling?”   

Jon took the hand and stood, adjusting the headphones so they stayed on his head. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and reached his other hand out towards Damian before tugging the both of you up and towards the couch. 

“I’m okay,” Jon reassured you, sitting down on the couch. “I promise.” When neither of you moved, he tugged you both down on top of him, interrupting the bat-assessment written all over Damian’s face.  

“Promise like this morning?” Damian argued. Jon winced. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Been a self-sacrificial dumbass as if we don’t a) know you and b) want you to talk to us?” You cut in. Jon could read the hurt underneath the anger clear as day. His fingers brushed over two sets of knuckles, one scarred from years of fighting without protective gear, the other dry from the winter air. 

“I know. I just wanted today to be a good day, you know? We never get uninterrupted holidays.” Jon resisted the urge to pull his hands away from yours and curl into himself. The two burning gazes on him were ones of love and concern, though, not judgment. 

“And for some reason you think accommodating you makes the day worse, why?” Damian asked. Jon didn’t have an answer. 

“We love you, Jon. Eres nuestro pareja. We picked ‘partners’ for a reason, yeah?”  You squeezed his hand in yours. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, head dropping to your shoulder. Silence was heavy in the room for a moment. 

“You choose what we do next,” Damian stated, tugging the blacket from its bundled blob to instead cover you and Jon. 

Jon moved from your shoulder to halfway on top of Damian, tugging you on top of him. “You guys are going to squish me in between you while we watch a movie and then we can do presents?” 

You shot him a wicked smile. Jon shrieked as Damian pulled him bodily half on top of him along the couch, cut off when you landed nearly on top of Jon. 

“Good?” You asked. Jon let himself sink into Damian, arms coming up to wrap around your waist. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

Damian grabbed the remote. “We’re not watching Elf.”

Jon stuck his tongue out at him.  

[livingdeadvoid]

I write stuff if anyone has any requests! I will also do roleplay requests using these rules!

Things I don't do :]

Smut! Makes me very uncomfortable to write this stuff. I will write lemon but nothing too far.

x Readers, these just making me insanely uncomfortable.

OCs or noncanon characters. Sorry I just don't enjoy writing them.

Illegal ships or anything of the sort.

Anything else I find uncomfortable!

Any ship including minors will not have anything inappropriate in it. Only fluffy and angst. Kissing is probably also not gonna happen.

Fandoms I'll do :D

My Hero Academia

Batfamily/Titans/Doom Patrol/Outlaws/Injustice

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun

Haikyuu!

IT 2017/2019

Stranger Things

Barbarian (the 2022 movie)

Blue Exorcist

Seven Deadly Sins

The Promised Neverland

Erased

Ouran Highschool Host Club

Dead By Daylight

Dear Evan Hansen

Saiki K

Demon Slayer

Voltron

Chucky

Soul Eater

Teen Wolf

Camp Camp

Hannibal

Scream

Ships I'll do :P

My Hero Academia

Monoshinkami

Shinkami

Dabihawks

Momojiro

Kiribaku

Todobaku

DC Comics/Titans

Timbern

Timkon

Royjay

Birdflash

Damijon

Timberkon

Dickbabs

Stephcass

Superbat

Dickory

Haikyu!!

Iwaoi

Kurotsuki

Tsukikage

Sakuatsu

Asanoya

Stranger Things

Steddie

Harringrove

Stonathan

Ronance

Byler

Lumax

Teen Wolf

Sterek

Stisaac

Jackson/Ethan

Petopher

Lydia/Allison

Thiam

Steo

Stackson

Jackson/Isaac

Scott/Kira

Malia/Kira

Briam

Jackson/Ethan/Isaac

Brett/Liam/Theo

Scisaac

Camp Camp

Max/Neil

Harrison/Preston

Danvid

Random

Rinbon - Blue Exorcist

Klance - Voltron

Jakedevon - Chucky (the TV show)

Kingban - Seven Deadly Sins

Mitsukou - Toilet-bound Hanako-kun

Treebros - Dear Evan Hansen

Norray - The Promised Neverland

Hannigram - Hannibal

Chadthan - Scream

Tara/Amber - Scream

Billy/Stu - Scream

Larry/Rahman - Doom Patrol

Quentin/Frank - Dead By Daylight

Characters I will write :>

Larry Trainor - Doom Patrol

Steve Harrington - Stranger Things

Rin Okumura - Blue Exorcist

Tim Drake - Titans/DC

Jason Todd - Titans/DC

Dick Grayson - Titans/DC

Damian Wayne - DC

Hawks - My Hero Academia

Denki Kaminari - My Hero Academia

Tokoyami Fumikage - My Hero Academia

Death The Kid - Soul Eater

Ray - The Promised Neverland

Tsukishima Kei - Haikyu!!

Oikawa Toru - Haikyu!!

Quentin Smith - Dead By Daylight/2010 Nightmare On Elm Street

Saiki K - Saiki K

Evan Hansen - Dead Evan Hansen

Connor Murphy - Dear Evan Hansen

Zenitsu - Demon Slayer

Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf

Will Graham - Hannibal

Theo Raeken - Teen Wolf

Liam Dunbar - Teen Wolf

WILL UPDATE THIS AS I DISCOVER MORE FANDOMS, PLEASE DM REQUESTS!

[quillsareswords]

Few things will ever be as funny as the absolute fact that in a relationship between you, Damian Wayne, and Jon Kent, only Damian is willing to get within five feet of a spider

And he can't even kill it. just moves the fucker outside

[uncouth-the-fifth]

cheat day - Damian Wayne/Reader/Jon Kent

Pairing: Damian / Catgirl!Reader / Jon

Tags/Warnings: aged up characters, thr*esome, deepthr*oting, face f*ck, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal s*x, double p*netration, sky s*x, Damian/Jon.

Word Count: 12,106

Notes:  This has been a fantasy of mine forEVER, so in a tiny way of celebrating Jon's Supermanhood (puns puns puns), I'm sharing it with u. I totally break the laws of dick and throat physics here, but fiction exists for a reason 🥴

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

You couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe it when Jon had given in with a big sigh, when Damian loaded you into his (Robin-branded) submarine, and when the underwater murk of the Metropolis bay seperated to reveal the Fortress of Attitude. Jon and Damian's secret mancave that you'd been hearing about for years now. No matter how much you'd threatened or begged, Jon and Damian always refused to give you a tour of their little club house. With the way they'd been talking about it, you expected a no girls allowed sign plastered on the door of the loading bay.

In the passenger's seat, the view had stunned you into silence. Damian piloted the sub into the air lock chamber and activated the draining system, which reminded you of the rainbow soap in a good car wash. He might have enjoyed it more if it didn't force you to cozy up in the sub together. He'd scowled the entire ride, clearly displeased that Jon had invited you without consulting him.

Okay. Maybe it was more about you being Catgirl than it was about the Fortress. But you'd spent months now reforming with the Super Sons, so this was probably, at least in Damian's mind, a final test of your trustworthiness. In yours, it was a gold mine of hot superhero guys to toy with.

You'd cut out the stealing. You'd been a good girl, using your skills only for Batman's war on crime. Selina had even said she was proud of you. So, to balance out all that good, you were allowed one teeny-tiny, totally inconsequential, naughty act. As a treat.

This, well. This was a whole dessert.

Robin you'd been pissing off since you were both in diapers, chasing each other in circles like a cat with it's tail. He'd gone from a little asshole who'd stab you given the chance, to a slightly bigger asshole who just boredly begged you to put the diamonds down, Catgirl, and finally to this. Damian. Your favorite toy, only because he knew he was one and pretended to hate it. He was one of the handsomest guys you'd ever set eyes on. Robin was built like a brick shithouse, stacked with abs you could scrub laundry on, pecs you could bounce a quarter off of, and a face that constantly seemed to be thinking about tearing your panties off. Or throwing cuffs on you to drag you to Blackgate. Either one. When he wasn't brooding holes in the floor, Damian was one of those boys that was secretly all sweetness and sugar, treating you special and only you.

-

Robin slammed you against the brick wall, chest heaving for breath against your back. "Caught," he panted, "you."

You'd make this last chase hard for him. Ever since you'd learned Damian's secret identity, you made careful attempts to insert yourself into his civilian life. Of course, Damian took this as some kind of hostile takeover in which you planned to blackmail him, but really all you wanted was to spend some time with Damian instead of Robin. (And okay, you were totally tailing him, but it wasn't like the creep hadn't done the same to you). Robin was dangerous and mouthy and hot. Damian had seemed to be, from your angle watching him leave his university's chess club meeting, a cute, collected college student who thought he was smarter than you. He wasn't. That was why plain-clothes Damian thought he was chasing you, when in reality, you were leading him exactly where you wanted.

"Or maybe," you pushed up on your tip-toes so your butt was completely buried in his lap, head lolled back into his shoulder, "I've caught you."

Damian didn't go tense. He was too used to your flings to tense up at new touching, but he did give a heavy sigh.

A cool nose pressed against the crook of your neck. "If you missed me, all you had to do was call."

"Call what?" You scoffed, turning against the wall to face him, and mourned how Damian's hands moved to brace against the brick instead of your body, "the bat-phone?"

Damian made a hmmph sound. Up close, the space between your bodies non-existent, he seemed softer, more touchable. This part of Robin seemed more likely to kiss you all over instead of fuck you senseless. "Fair point. I'll give you my number, if that's what you're being so coy about. But I have a condition."

"Hmm," you tapped your chin. Robin's eyes, Damian's eyes, watched the movement too closely. "Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

Looming over you, Damian glanced over his shoulder to see if you were alone on the university's rooftop, then tenderly wrapped you up in his embrace. The routine is familiar to you. Damian checks that you're alone. Damian checks a second time, mask dropping. Then he lets loose all that heavy armor so only his gooey center remains, loving and kissable. First, his large, calloused hands lifted yours and kissed them once each. He drew them over his shoulders like you were a high school couple at a dance. It was cute enough to entertain, so you folded your hands over the back of his neck and took in his next kindnessess. Damian then squeezed you against him, warm cheek to warm cheek, in a full bodied hug.

"Just this," Damian murmurs. His tone is soft and perhaps a bit croaky, all on top of the smooth, sexy voice that could entice anyone to bed. "I... missed you too."

"Really?" You let your smug satisfaction pour from your words, "Just a good, long hug? That's all you want in exchange for me being in your civilian life?"

Damian's right hand, his bowing hand for his violin, flushed tight to your body and moved up it, back to hips to ribs, so he could turn your chin up and angle your lips in line with his. A spark jumped off the hazy moss green of his eyes, which turned crystalline in the sunset. Green steam off a rainforest blown into amber dusk. He had longer lashes than most models did, and his eyes were unfairly, beautifully sharp and feminine. In some ways he reminded you of a nature spirit, with preserved youthful beauty and ancient depth. Like a desert in the shape of a man.

An incredibly sexy man.

"Obviously I want to get my cock up that cute little skirt you're wearing as well," Damian said, darkly, pressing his thumb into your lip. "I just preferred to prepare you first. What kind of fling would I be if I wasn't romantic?"

"Average," you answered.

(No matter how many times he made that jump between flirting with you then openly planning to fuck you, you still had to keep a squeak from slipping from your mouth.)

"Precisely," Damian scoffed. He took you by the hips and whirled your around, immediately shunting up your skirt so it bunched around your belly, "And when have I ever been anything less than above-average, Catgirl?"

His belt buckle rattles. After all this time, the sound still shocks pleasure straight into your core. You press closer to the wall and scold yourself. Without one word of command you've turned around, planted your hands on the wall, and spread your legs, just for Damian to see.

"Never," you gasp.

And he does a lot more than just look. Damian hooks his finger into your underwear and drops it around your ankles, taking generous handfuls of your thighs and ass as he does. If there's flesh to squeeze or stroke, he does both. Damian's hand eventually traces your aching core. He considers his options as his warm fingers wet themselves with your slick, sucking them clean with a wet slurping sound. Damian hums, like he's just decided how hard he's going to fuck you.

"Condom?" He asks.

"Pill," you reply.

Damian chuckles, low in his throat and dirty. You feel his hands brace against the brick above you, sculpted chest forcing your top half flat to the wall, and then his warm cockhead brushes your pussy. He's brutal with it. He taps himself to your clit until you gasp, he soaks himself on your slick until you pant for breath. You couldn't push back into him if you tried, too, with how strong Damian is. The hands knuckling the brick overhead slip down to pin your own, contorting you flat to the wall so you can take his dick best.

"Good girl," Damian praises, and then he slams all the way in.

You can't speak. Your breath is compressed out of you in one long blow. Your body seizes, your words catch in your throat, your pussy immediately clenches down upon the intrusion, wrapping you around Damian's massive, girthy cock. He doesn't piston or buck his hips, because even that is too slow a pace for Damian. You're piped so good and so relentlessly that you can't even get enough breath to moan. That's how you know this is for you instead of Damian. Had this been for Damian, there would be candles and mood lighting and far more kissing. But he knows you, and he loves you, so Damian snaps your hands behind your back and fucks you, railing you in a blur of speed the Flash would envy.

He stops. It's brief, but it's like being bathed in a sea of hot pleasure only to be ripped out into the cold air, exposed. Damian drops his lips onto your shoulder, then lathers his hands down your body. He appreciatively squeezes your breasts, feels along your ribs, then secures your hips in place to fuck you more solidly. Then he does.

It's wet. That's the first word that comes to mind, when your brain manages to churn out a thought in the first place. There's no thinking, no internal monologue. Your mind isn't necessarily blank. But any moment spent away from this one comes at the grave cost of missing how Damian destroys you, so you prefer to soak in your nerves and his touch instead of your mind. Juices spill between your bodies: Damian's thighs viciously snap against your sensitive, aching ass, and his cock plunges through your slick with the most obscene noises you can imagine. You could tell the sex was good based on the noises alone. Every throb of Damian's cock thrummed through your entire lower half, doubling the pleasure. Fierce hands pin your hips in place. Even with Damian's cock drilling you through the wall, his grip is so strong that you couldn't move even if you wanted too. The pleasure is even better than you'd remembered or imagined. It takes all of your effort not to cum on the spot so this moment can last, but it doesn't matter—Damian would keep fucking you anyway.

You're ravaged. Everything about Damian is physical, but this especially, claiming you with his hands and his manhood, biting your flesh, licking hickeys into your neck. Your feet are barely touching the ground because Damian is so brutally deep, keeping you squished between his broad chest and the brick. With every roll of his hips you're plastered tighter to the wall, legs spreader further and further apart. It's the ultimate, sluttiest fantasy: the hot guy you've been crushing on for years now throws you against the wall, rips off your underwear and just wails on you. Damian's not just any hot guy, either: he does you as he does all things, to excel. If sex was a skill you could critique and study as closely as art or music, Damian's technique was perfect. He knew exactly what you wanted, how you wanted it, and how to give it well. He alternates between surging inside you fast enough to make thunder, to slowly filling you in inch by massaging inch. When your squeals get raspy, one of Damian's arms cinches around your middle. His smooth, long-fingered hand cups your belly as it decends, only to seperate your folds with two thick digits and jerk them against your pulsing clit.

"Damian!" You mewl. He has you mewling, now.

"Enjoying yourself, Catgirl?" Damian growls, voice grinding against the harsh end of his throat. His smile bleeds smugness into your ear, "Fuck, you are so tight."

"You're so big," you moan a laugh into his mouth. Damian sears his lips to yours from over your shoulder, but it's not good enough for him.

You're moved sideways. Damian takes one of your legs and hooks it onto his bicep so he can squeeze his cockhead between your legs from the side, really testing your Catgirl flexibility, but it's less for the change in angle and more so Damian can kiss you. Kiss is an understatement, though. He claims your mouth with his, rooting your lips together and dragging his tongue against your own, doing all of this while moaning into your mouth like it was you fucking him. Damian's wet tongue tasted like black coffee, dominating your kiss with ease. And of course, because he's perfect, Damian's cock persists inside your pussy with the same passion as the kiss, stealing every ounce of your senses for himself. When his broad hand splays across your belly and his finger return to flawlessly stroking your clit, you lose it.

He's smirking. The fucker is smirking. Damian is fucking you senseless, kissing you senseless, fingering you senseless, and smirking. His cock is buried in your pulsing cunt to the hilt just as the wire in you snaps, and Damian smirks against your moaning lips, knowing just how good he is. Just how much you love it.

Your twitching hips are filled by Damian's seed. It was easier to tell how much he came when he did it across your face or even down your throat, but you knew it would be a massive load. Damian kept on smirking as he stuffed you with cum, revelling in the ecstacy flushed all over your face. His grip on your thigh is white-knuckle close, so you could feel his abs tense against your clit, cock pulsating back and forth with your pussy.

Damian sorts you. He pulls out, rights his slacks, then dips onto his knees to help you back into your panties. You're so dizzy with bliss that Damian has to do most of the work, but you'd done the same for him plenty of times. This time, though, was for your pleasure, so Damian pulls your skirt back in place, then licks your juices off of his fingers all for your viewing bliss. His plump lips flush just right around his fingers, and his handsome jawline catches the fading sun like his skin was made of gold.

Then, he was back to business as usual. Damian plucked up your phone, put his number into it (how had he known your code?), and left you with a sweet kiss when he replaced it in your jacket pocket.

"I had a lovely time, Catgirl," he whispers into your ear, "call me?"

"S-sure," you said.

He disappears as soon as you blink.

You sigh, grin to yourself, and let a shiver of pure pleasure roll up your body at the thought of him. His cum pours into your underwear in hot, salty globs. Your hips are as marked and appreciated as your neck is. You're left there seeing white, and when you finally start to make sense of your surroundings, even then your vision spirals with stars.

Damn him. Damn Damian Wayne.

-

Jon wasn't as different from Damian as people thought. After a pretty intense job, Selina had moved the two of you out to Metropolis to lay low. That hadn't lasted very long. Superboy was a total pain in the ass because, not only did he never yield when it came to you sneaking away with your plunder, but he made you feel guilty. He'd sit you down while you waited for the cops to show up, lecturing you about stealing like the curb outside the lab he'd caught you in was a school office, and he the principal. Superboy would do this every single time. On the third or fourth, it was kind of... hot. His round, masculine face would take on this stern look that always made you press your thighs together. Flirting as a distraction was more Selina's thing, but you couldn't help yourself. Are you gonna spank me, Superboy? You'd smirk at him. I think I deserved to be punished. Will you punish me? Jon stopped falling for that by the time it was safe for you to return to Gotham. But you could tell that you'd hooked him. He patrolled with Damian twice as often, hoping to see you.

You couldn't blame Jon. If you had a taboo crush on a sexy, jewel-thieving criminal who'd taken your virginity in the most mind blowing way possible, you'd look for ways to see them again too.

-

You deserved some serious points for this. You deserved the best dessert you could imagine and the value of all your steals in cash, just because you'd done such a fantastic job.

Catwoman had told you to distract him.

Superboy's eyes were mostly hidden by the hand sunk against his cherry-red face. You were unsure if aliens sweat, but Jon was certainly shaking, head to toe and gut-deep. At any moment he would probably crumble onto his trembling knees and collapse on top of you, cumming his suit. The only thing keeping him upright was your hands steadied on his legs. Just watching you work made Jon yelp and gasp. Under his hand, you liked to imagine Superboy was biting his lip hard enough to break skin. You didn't blame him. You were good at blowjobs, but more importantly, you enjoyed them. It was the only job you did messily. Especially this one: as deep on Jon's cock as you could go, you guzzled him down, mouth slurping and squelching. When your lips smushed in a ring against Jon's naval, his cock made a satisfying guck noise in your throat. His eyes rolled up and shut so quickly he could have passed out. Taking that as a sign to let him breathe again, you locked your mouth around his girth and sucked back, adding to the bubbles and ropes of saliva attaching your chin to his thick dick.

Jon wailed, low and erotically. "O-oh my Rao."

Needless to say, you'd distracted Superboy.

Catwoman had definitely gotten away with the jewels by now, if she was as smart as you were when it was Selina's turn to distract Batman post-crime. You'd never understood the appeal of using your body as an asset before, but toying with Superboy had explained everything to you. There was nothing more fun than showing your tits to a gorgeous man too into his "moral hangups" to stare like he wanted to. It had taken longer than you'd liked to break Superboy, but that only meant the wait would be worth it. Tonight ended perfectly, having earned two prizes: Catwoman's jewels and Superboy's huge, handsome cock in your mouth.

"No one's ever... n-no one..." Superboy panted.

"Well, good thing you choose me to blow you first, huh?" You seductively tongued Jon's balls, sucking them into your mouth one or two at a time (if you could fit them). "Instead of some geeky farm girl with her braces still in, you get a professional."

"Someone who knows," you stroked his cockhead in the welcoming heat of your mouth and slurped back your spit so you could speak, "how to take care of you."

Jon watched his dick drag against your face, appreciating how it looked against your skintone a little too much. "W-wow..."

Taking in a big breath, you locked your lips around Jon's head and gulped him down, watching his face the entire time. He moaned like the amateur he was, constant and shakily. They poured out of him each time you moved, but that was probably because you made every movement count. You bobbed your head with so much enthusiasm it bubbled strings of spit down your front, you flicked your wrists in tandem, occasionally knocking them together as you worked Jon's dick, and your tongue caught the special spot under the ring of his head with every pass. Eventually there was so much spit between your mouth and Jon that it was spilling onto the concrete, so you moved yourself closer to let it pool into your costume.

Jon watched pre-cum and drool drizzle between your cleavage, pressed to the extreme by your tight catsuit, and instantly came in your mouth.

Now, you'd been planning to have sex with Superboy for a while. You'd contemplated what it would mean to do it with an alien, so you were ready for whatever odd sexual secret Kryptonians might have. Worst case scenario, Jon would have pinchers or something and you'd have a neat story to tell. You're glad it's superstrength and an insane amount of cum instead. Very glad.

By the time it's all over, your chest feels like an entire bottle of maple syrup has been squeezed onto it. In your mouth, Jon is as sweet as cake frosting, with the sticky consistency of warm honey. He doesn't have the saltiness that a human man would have. You can't help but eagerly take the stomach-full, gulping him down like he was the first milkshake you'd ever had, dizzying your head with pleasure.

Jon collapses back against the wall, but you keep swallowing, following him back so you press his pelvis into the building with your nose. His expression is the ultimate charicature of lust, rose red, jaw lax with pleasure, brows sewn together. While you're tonguing him clean you get the full view of his throat and jawline, defined by bold strokes that soften into square turns. Jon licks his lips and gasps. You can imagine that tongue buried inside you, stroking your clit at superspeed, driving you crazy, so you're more than disappointed when Superboy disappears.

The moment you lap up his last rope of cum on your tongue, Jon evaporates into a streak of red and blue.

You sit there in shock. Was he embarrassed? Had you done something wrong? Even then, you felt like Superboy was too much of a gentleman to just leave you—

"...Here," Jon materialises just behind you, offering you a handful of napkins and a pack of mints. His face is so red it seems to cast light, coloring his visage against Metropolis's gold midnight shadows. "I-I uh, picked them up from the store real quick cause' I didn't want you to feel gross. I know it's like super icky for girls when they do that, even though it's like awesome for guys—which I can vouch for cause it felt amazing, you were like so good—and I guess I want to say thank you?"

"That's subjective, Superboy."

"Huh?" Jon blanked.

"I said," you unzipped your costume slowly as you stood, rolling your hips from side to side, and smirked as you displayed your cum-soaked tits to him, "that's subjective. Not all people think it's gross."

He was trying hard not to stare at you, then when it occurred to him that he was allowed to, he devoured the sight of your naked skin. Superboy had a handsome gradient of blue in his eyes, one that took in your body like an untamed lion ready to eat.

Jon's brain seemed to leave. "...Think what's gross?"

You rolled your eyes, but that look was exactly what you'd been searching for. So he did have a rough side. It was agonizing, standing there ready for him and waiting, so you massaged up his chest with your palms and obscenely licked the shell of his ear, breasts pressed against him.

"Focus..." you husked at his moan, "Kiss me?"

"You've got..." Jon blushed, "oh, I guess that's kind of hot. I would love to!"

He was so sincere about it that your chest flushed with liking, and because of it your kiss became a little less of a bucket list thing and more a happy thing between two people. Jon was nervous, but no one in Metropolis could call him a coward. You smiled as Jon cupped your face, asked for permission to lift your goggles, which you allowed him—just this once—and kissed you. How you'd swallowed down most of his cum not a minute earlier made Jon apprehensive, but soon enough he was pecking you like you were his little princess, sweeping his arms around your middle and helping you out of your suit. No one had ever treated you like this during sex. Superboy only got braver as the kiss grew messier, and his sweetness grew too. You felt his fingers kiss your spine in circles. Jon parted his lips for a nervous gasp, and you didn't hesitate to soak his tongue with yours, kissing him deeper, faster, more dirtly. Between the pops of your lips, your fingers toyed with his hair in long strokes. Just kissing him made you want Superboy to tongue fuck you, to bruise your legs, to make earthquakes because he fucked you so hard. You told him this as you kissed, licking your way into his mouth and sizzling against his lips, please fuck me, punish me, tell me what a bad girl I've been. Pound me at superspeed until I can only feel how good you are.

Jon pulled away from the kiss. His tremendous blush made him harder to take seriously. "Alright. We can keep going. But you... you can't tell anybody."

You playfully raised your eyebrows. "What? Ashamed of me already, Superblow?"

"No," Jon said, honestly. His voice was a sweet rumble in his throat. You liked that about him; how genuine he was made him all the more fun to tease. Jon snorted, "I like you. You pretend you're one of the bad guys, but I know that you're not. Why would you be here if you were? That's why I don't want to tell anyone."

This made you pause. Dryly, you asked, "Because it'll let all the other criminals know that you'll cave for a blowjob?"

"...Because it will let the other criminals know that you're in with us," Jon rolled his eyes.

At this, you considered putting your clothes back on. You crossed your arms over your exposed breasts. "What do you mean, in with you?"

"I want to make a deal with you," Jon cooly said. It was the most confident you'd ever seen him. A cocky smirk twisted behind his messy hair, which paired well with the gentle hiss of his alien armor opening at the waist. (You supposed to had to come off somehow). "If you start patrolling with Robin and I on the weekends..." Jon's gaze danced through the air in thought, like he hadn't already settled on his offer, "I'll have sex with you for as long as you want. How does that sound?"

Mocking him as obviously as you could, you slid both hands up his chest and pressed your body to his, pouting and batting your lashes at him, "You want this deal because... what? Spending a little time with the two of you will make me into a good guy, like lil' ol' you?"

Jon shrugged, but his eyes glinted with purpose. "Maybe. Maybe I just want to spend a little more time with the prettiest girl in all of Metropolis."

Alright. That was a little flattering. You saw through it, but still, Jon was so genuine. His hands slid solidly over your waist, toying with the waistband of your underwear.

Damian and Jon, pressing in on you on both sides for weeks... Hmm.

"Fine. Deal." You said.

And then you were more than a hundred feet over Metropolis.

You squealed. Jon laughed, startling a circle of birds flying beneath you. He already had his hands secure around your back, having hooked your calves around his hips at superspeed, but you couldn't help but scramble up him and grip his shoulders like a cat in a tree. Your vision spun, and in it the cityscape's frames closed into one, the huge skyscrapers you'd scaled hours before now capable of fitting under your thumb. The wind whipped your hair from your face and bit into your nude skin, wracking a shiver up your spine. Superboy was still chuckling.

"Thanks for the warning!" You hissed.

"I was only getting us some privacy," Superboy smiled. "Someone was coming up the rooftop entrance. The only way to go was up. You didn't want to be caught naked with me, did you?"

"Hm." You turned your lips into his ear, "But I'm not exactly naked, am I?"

Superboy's broad hands squeezed your thighs. He drifted backwards, too high to be seen but too low to freeze in the sky, and comfortably reclined like you weren't so high that you couldn't make out people on the ground anymore.

"I can help with that, if you'd like," he grinned.

Well... this was Superboy. If you were going to have sex with him, it might as well be spectacular—and a couple thousand feet in the air. And he was probably the one man who could give you an opportunity like this.

Finally, you bit your lip and nodded your head.

Scooping you into his arm's hold instead, Jon held you close and peeled off your panties until you could kick them into the wind. You went to comment on how you wanted to keep that pair, but Jon kept you quiet with a passionate tonguing, mumbling his excitement between your brows. Nothing in the world could keep your hands off him. Both because Jon was so beautiful, his voice so soothing, and you kind of didn't want to fall to your death.

"I won't drop you," Jon husked.

Brushing your thumb along the spray of beauty marks on his nose, you shuddered in anticipation, "...I believe you."

Jon couldn't keep his hands off you, either. While one arm was reserved as your seatbelt that locked you into his lap, the other fluttered across your body. It occurred to you that Superboy might've never even had a girlfriend before. His touches were too light, like he was still testing how much strength it took to caress a girl. When you saddled him long enough to feel safe, you ran your free palm over his, dragging his touch deeper into your skin. And when you grew even braver, you dragged Jon's open suit around his thighs with his boxers and began to pump his cock, which pressed against your bare naval. Settled on him right, Jon's length went all the way to your belly button. It was still slick from your blowjob, soaking the inside of his boxers with hot cum and your sticky saliva.

"Please," Jon gasped. His hips jerked up into your hand like frieght train with steel breaks, throwing your entire body up a few inches. His ecstacy was shaded gold by the nightime city glow below.

It took getting used to, but the longer you drank in Jon's features, his hair spiralling in the wind, the salty smell of the bay on the breeze, the hieght flushed your core with heat. There wasn't any real danger. Superboy would catch you, no matter how spaced out he was by a mind-blowing orgasm. But being so close to danger was thrilling. You could already imagine how Damian would try and one-up something as adrenaline-fueled and sexy as a skyfuck with Superboy.

"Don't be gentle," you warned him.

"I have to," Jon winced, "There's no way you'll be able to take it."

Taking him by the seam of his cape, you jerked your faces close, "You said we could do this for as long as I want," you grinned, "I don't want this to last. I want it to be messy, loud and super-speed fast. Either you fuck me into a hospital stay, or we don't have a deal."

Jon closed his eyes and let his head loll back. His flight tilted away, like he was reclined on a bed with you saddling his lap instead of free-hanging in the sky.

"Sorry," he said when he returned to himself, "I just had to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"This will be better than your dreams," you smirked. Slowly, you shifted up with Jon's shoulder as support. "And I know you've dreamt about it. I'm your dirty little secret, aren't I, Superboy?" You squeezed his cock, base to tip, until it's thick head was soaked against your clit. "You've dreamt about fucking me like this, haven't you? Filling me up all the way with you as my only support, the only thing I can touch in open air..." You smoothed your palms across his abs over the armor, and then rolled his cock into your sore heat.

Jon groaned, "Ngn!"

The stretch was incredible. His first inch makes you both lose your breath, so you're both hovering against each other, moans caught in your throats. Jon lets you settle around him (warm, wet, massive him), and then with all the gentleness in the world, viscously squeezes your ass under his nails and slams in as deep as he could go, sheathed almost to the hilt. Almost—because he's too big to not have an inch or half leftover.

You wail. It's a sensual, fuck-me-more wail, which Jon gasps and chokes back with one of his own. He pulses so hard that his dick stretches out your soft core just saddled there. You let him, arms thrown around his shoulders, and wade in the cozy pleasure with a drooling mouth. Jon kisses you and gasps apologies, and you growl your ecstacy into the heat of his lips. Fuck yes, just like that, f-fuck me just like that!

After you notice the length, and the width, and the pure dimension of the above-average Kryptonian boy, you're astounded by the liquid. Jon's cum and your spit already pour from your sex, but your wetness too drowns any chance at roughness. You're so slick that Jon could twitch and slip out of you. It only makes the suction stronger, so the first time Jon lifts your hips, your pussy squelches and pops off his length, liquid sealing his cock inside you. He slaps you back down on his thighs so fast your head spins, too in love with your tightness to leave all the way. The pleasure of friction is yours, but it's the closeness that makes Jon float a little higher in the air. Just to test, you clamp down on him. Jon pulls a moan from so deep in his throat that you're almost bucked off him entirely. Inside you, his cock twitches just right against your best bundle of nerves.

Your own weight sets you deeper on him. Jon's head doesn't just poke your womb, but flushes against it, totally closed inside you. At the same time, you dip your heads to see the mess you've made of each other. You can barely see the outline of your sensitive pussy under Jon's massive meat, which flushes inside of you once, twice, and a third time, the muscles there convulsing in bliss.

"Faster, fuck, p-please," you whine. It's the opposite of a mistake.

Jon's adam's apple bobs, "Y-You sure?"

You brace your hands on the symbol on his chest, the grooves of the armor cool against your flushed skin. "Give it to me."

Nervously, Jon tests the waters with a few experimental thrusts, rolling his girthy cock hard against your good spot. Satisfied with his plan, he takes off.

In short bursts, you're fucked sensessly. Super-speed is the best kind of vibrator. Jon fills you so fast and so much in such little time that his dick hums inside of you, twenty thrusts a second. A vibrator doesn't give you the satisfying smack of flesh or the liquid, which is truly the hottest part. He gives you seconds in between to breathe, but all you want is for Jon to drill into you like a industrial oil digger. When you cum on only the third burst and beg him to keep going, beg him to rail you until his cum is pouring from between your legs, Jon finally delivers.

That's what sex with Superboy is like. You flop your head onto his shoulder and hold on for dear life, eyes rolled back into your head in your bliss. The muscular arm Jon has secured to your waist sinks low, hooking you around the hips instead, and you feel him twist in the air to hit your pussy just right. You only have the energy to tremble. Jon's strength really starts to show. You feel his other hand dig in earnest into your ass, bruising it blue as he did where the flat plane of your underthighs meets his merciless hips. His dick schlups obscenely inside you, and Jon's too lost to do anything but saw into you, mindless. You know he won't hurt you, but you can tell the sex is better than he expected. Jon slips mid-air after every solid thrust, so you're ten feet lower than you were the first time you came, and Jon almost forgets his strength when his tongue lavishes your mouth.

"M' there," Jon gasps, "Oh my Rao, m' there."

He twitches. His hands melds your hips to his, and then Jon lets it all loose, swallowing your desperate mewls as your pussy swallows his cum, throbbing and throbbing to get it all, filling you wall to wall. You feel his seed pour down your inner thighs and across his abs in a constant, never-ending stream. It could have been whole minutes before Jon showed any sign of stopping. You came purely because of his pleasure, wracked all over his hot electricity. Jon puts his whole body into a sensual kiss, cock jammed inside you to the hilt. When he finally slips free, your pussy aches with body-shuddering aftershocks. You laze against each other, and Jon is so dazed that you float along the breeze, basking in each other.

"Wow," Jon smiles dizzily.

"Yeah," you fell against his chest, closing your eyes to the flood of cum drizzling down your legs. Your smile feels equally dizzy. Looks like you survived. "Wow..."

-

You'd only had Jon once, unlike the many (many, many) times you'd had Damian. Damian was fiercer than Jon, more animalistic. In some ways he was more passionate, too, a love-making partner instead of a fuck buddy. You wouldn't compare them much, though, when they were a dose better taken together. You'd fantasized about it enough to know.

This was your naughty exception. You wouldn't steal, you'd be a good girl, and you'd have Damian and Jon together at least once.

"Hey," you said.

Damian was waiting for the airlock to warm up, the sub lightless but for the glowing blue console and the blue light of the water churning on the other side of the windshield. His face was illuminated by the array of buttons, which highlighted his sharp jawline and intense brows.

"Be quiet." He snapped. "I'm doing something."

Grumbling your displeasure, you spun your chair sideways, reclining your boots across Damian's lap. He was used to your minor annoyances, so he worked around it and ignored you. You changed tactics.

"I miss you, y'know," you whispered in the sub's humming silence. "I haven't seen you in so long. Or touched you." You slid a hand onto his arm, "...Or kissed you."

Damian scowled at the driver's handles. When you touched him, the look softened. His thumbs nervously played on the controls.

"...I haven't kissed you in some time, either," he muttered.

You unbuckled the straps that kept your cat cowl under your chin, drawing closer to him with fluttering lashes. "Then kiss me now."

Twenty minutes later, you, pristine, walked out of the sub's cockpit with a disheveled Damian in tow. Jon asked what kept you. Robin mumbled something about the airlock malfunctioning as he raced away to 'fix it', hiding a hefty bulge under his cape. He was always so easy to turn on. Damian could never resist a passionate make out session, especially if it took place in his lap.

"Y/N," Jon coughs. Being alone with you has the same effect on him as it had on Damian.

"Thanks for inviting me to your little boy's club, Superblow—" your cheeks went hot. "Sorry. Been thinking a little too much about you, I guess. Thanks, Superboy."

Jon, frankly, looks winded. The hands on his hips shock down to his sides like he's been electrocuted.

"You look very pretty," he stutters. Jon's face is already cherry red, and he's waving his hands around like the gestures will cover up what he's thinking. "I like what you did with your... hair..."

You loop your finger through the curl in the middle of his bangs, stepping into his personal bubble like it wasn't the same for him as a transition between the atmosphere and space.

You lean into his face to flirt, "And I like what you did with yours."

"O-oh, it's just like this," Jon chokes, "I don't even brush it! Well, I-I do actually, I'm not gross or anything like that. I'm actually very clean!"

Low-toned, you smile, "I remember."

Jon forgets how to speak. He squeaks for a while, and you nod along, eating up his shyness. He makes an attempt at hiding under his cape like Damian does, but the fabric isn't wide enough. You figured he would have gotten bolder since your time together, but Damian lurking around every corner seems to shy him up again.

Soon enough, Damian glides back into the room in his normal Darth Vader fashion, which you assume means that he thinks he's strong enough to resist you. He's not.

The boys give you a tour. Damian must have gotten out his spring cleaning supplies, because every room you walk into is spotless and untouched by any trace of college-age boy parties. He makes a big show of all the technical work he's done for the base, including the underwater sensors he installed himself, and a breach-plugging system he described with lots of big words. It's adorable. The two exchange excited glances whenever you seem to approve of something, and Damian's annoyance with having you there is quickly proven to be fake.

After you lay out what movies you're going to watch in the rec room as a group, you decide it's time. "Do you mind if I take a shower first? I didn't have enough time before we left."

"Sure!" Jon says. "It'll give me some time to get some snacks together."

From the couch, Damian broods, "Don't take too long, L/N. We have a schedule to maintain."

With that, you fly into the showers in the locker room, strip your outer clothes, and grin to yourself. The look on their faces will be almost as priceless as the sex. You study your reflection in the glass door to the showers. The lace Superboy bra will tempt Jon into using his x-ray vision, and your tight, perfectly fit Robin panties will have Damian right where you want him. Knee-high stockings were Damian's favorite, and Jon will definitely go crazy for them too. All according to plan. After you... prepare yourself some more... you decide it's time.

You walk the short distance from the bathrooms to the rec room at a casual, confident pace, mentally readying yourself. Two men you cared endlessly for. No matter how long you'd been fantasizing about this, nothing about executing it would make you less nervous.

Taking a breath, you leaned against the doorway and greeted in your silkiest, smoothest voice, "Boys."

Jon was lounging sideways in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, one arm relaxed behind his head. Both he and Damian had traded their uniforms for pajamas. Damian, who was reading off his tablet, wore the tightest tee he could get his hands on, abs practically spilling out of the fabric. Jon was in a loose fitting crop top that showed off his toned arms and dewy skin.

Their conversation swerved to a halt. They stared at you, then glanced at each other.

Suddenly, the two boys grinned.

"Look at this, Kent," Damian's voice glittered with dirtiness, "We hardly had to do anything and she's fallen right into our laps. Our plan worked perfectly."

Jon sat forward, brows raised michieviously. "Our plan was to lead her up to it, D. This isn't really our plan."

The two boys stood. You became very, very aware that they weren't boys anymore.

"She's wearing underwear with our names on it," he scoffed. His eyes devoured the sight of you, and there that panty-tearing look was, as promised. The sharpness in his eyes is begging to rip your underwear off with his teeth. Damian sauntered forward, closing in on you. "I say that is a success."

Your hands fumbled for a place to rest on your body, but crossing your arms puffed up your breasts for Jon to swallow drool over, and setting your hands on your hips outlined them for Damian's hungry eyes. This time, you were the one squeaking.

"No way," your cheeks flushed with heat, "You did not plan a threesome. I planned a threesome. This was my idea!"

Jon and Damian shared a look. It clearly wasn't.

"Well," Jon coughed, respectfully eyeing your exposed skin, "You want this. I want this. D wants this. Let's... let's do it!"

You look between their towering forms, underwear soaked so fast your legs are trembling, and size up your options.

"...Okay."

The two crawl closer. Jon meets you at your front, happily kissing your hands as he draws them around his neck. Damian takes the open angle to fit his iron hard-on against your ass, hands filling in your hips with the same passion his lips appreciate your shoulders with. His mouth spirals into your hair, then your neck, searing your ass backward and into his pelvis. You're kissed on the lips by Jon's angel pecks, dipping in and out to brush his lips to yours. Both are talented kissers. On top of their broader, stronger manhandling of you, you know all of your fantasies are about to be fufilled.

So you moan. You let it all out, mewling, whining and groaning, making sure they know how much you want it. And you want it like you've never wanted anything more in your life. You want Jon's cum to paint your chest and you want Damian spilling ten inches inside of you. You want to be fucked and used, to be made love to. Judging by how you're kissed, that's what they want too.

Jon tongues your teeth. He gets braver as you go, groaning into your mouth, muttering things between kisses. You dig your fingers into his fluffy hair and drag him in for more. He's enjoying himself so much he's humming, which makes you want to get on your knees and hum around his dick like that. Adorable.

Meanwhile, Damian's getting tired of being ignored. His kisses are joined by harsh bites, and his hands smooth up from your hips to your chest in circles, squeezing your breasts in each hand. The feel over the fabric isn't enough for him, though, because he quickly forces his hands up your bra and over your chest. Jon's wide palms join his, squeezing and massaging your collarbones and tits.

"Beautiful," he mumbled, "you're so beautiful."

You give him a longer, sweeter kiss for the comment, which is the last straw for Damian. One moment Jon is nuzzling your cheek with his nose, and in the next Damian is shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moan, but he only likes it more. You wore a Superboy bra and Robin panties for a reason. From behind, Jon can hug you against him, warm and honey tasting, kissing your neck and cupping your chest. Your nipples are rolled lovingly through his fingers. Damian, on the other hand, leaves his love in his kissing. Your ass is grabbed viciously by his nails, which he rakes up your flesh in supple handfuls. Your ears are flooded with kissing sounds, the popping of spit, the moans between breathes. You sink into their hold in total bliss.

But this isn't only for you. Soon, you find a way to pry yourself out of Jon's hug and Damian's aggressive ass-grabbing to slip onto your knees.

"Ready?" You smile.

Damian snaps, "Get on with it." His voice makes your pussy throb.

Jon flicked Damian on the arm and tried not to look too shy. "Be nice." He touches your cheek, "Yeah... um, yeah, we're ready. Go ahead."

They're too shy to make the next move. You have no issue doing it for them, considering how fun it is one on one. But this is two on one, so there's two faces to watch as you palm them through their pants, drag them closer, then unwrap them. Jon has his eyes closed in anticipation (and shyness), lashes fixed against his cheeks. Damian's lazarus green eyes targeted you. His gaze is heaviest, so you treat him for it.

Their cocks are huge. Bigger than you remember, even. Jon is rediculously proportioned, long, thick, and smooth. He literally hangs when you pull him free, at least a foot long. Maybe half your arm. Damian is bronzey, veiny, and handsome-looking. You don't need to collect any spit, since the drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of them is plenty. Working Jon in one hand, you start with Damian's cock.

He slides himself into your mouth by the hips, studying your handiwork with malacious delight. You're all moaning too much to speak, except for Damian's low grunt of, "You know what to do, Catgirl. Take what's yours."

Like any good thief would, you do. Damian's cock immediately jolts in to press into the back of your throat. You let him through, gulping, guck-ing, and sucking with every new inch. A chill races up your body at the deadly edge in his eyes. Robin talked the law plenty, but he let you go at every opportunity for a messy deepthroat. Superboy has his kryptonite, and Damian has you, balls deep. You hit his base with ease. His cock settles perfectly in the sleeve of your throat. Every throb of cockmeat fills your entire skull, bulging under the skin of your neck. You suck spit back through your teeth and pump your head along the last inch of cock.

Of course, he's never satisfied. You're too slow for him. Damian gives Jon a smug look, nets your hair in both hands, then begins to pound into your face like a madman. You love it. You love it like you loved stealing, feeling wrong and naughty and used. Nothing feels sluttier than the heat in your belly when Damian uses you as he pleases. Damian goes until your eyes well with tears, stuffing you to the brim, and then releases you to groan, "Good girl. You've improved."

Your spit hangs from his dick in strings and bubbles. You'd lick them up if there wasn't another aching, desperate customer to take care of.

"Don't strain yourself," Jon whispers.

It had taken four times as long to get Jon to cum from a blowjob the first time you'd done it, so by now, you've learned. The spit from Damian's dick follows you to Jon's, which you waste no time popping into your mouth. He likes light kisses and lots of tongue, which you wield without mercy. The veins in his cock flutter when traced. His head is almost too big to hold comfortably in your mouth, but the wobble it puts in his lip makes it worth it. Jon mewls for more. You suckle his head faster, rolling your wet tongue along it's sweet surface. With a few more kisses and a lot more long drags of your tongue, he's panting as hard as Damian is.

"Don't worry," you grin, "I didn't forget about you."

You can barely fit their tips in your mouth one at a time, but you try both anyway. Damian smears your spit back onto your cheek with his dick, which slips easily through the slick saliva dripping down your chin. Their fat, delicious cocks squeeze into either side of your lip. Jon has to grab the back of the couch to keep from breaking something. Damian forces you into Jon's cock by the hair, sawing you onto the first few inches.

"Look at her go," Jon gasps.

"She has a very talented mouth," Damian remarks.

You hum in agreement, since your mouth is too full for you to speak properly. While you're gagging on one of Damian's balls, Jon leans down and fixes your bra. ...Then slides his dick through.

The hot, sticky flesh sizzles between your breasts. You try not to cum when you realize what he's trying to do. Squeezing your tits around him, you shudder in pleasure as Jon begins to thrust his spit-soaked manhood through the shape of your chest. The fact that it's Jon making such a bold move only makes it more panty-soaking. Taking advantage of the spare hole, Damian guides your head to the side and onto his waiting cock. You're used from two angles then, once as Jon's pair of tits, and again as Damian's slutty cock-sheath.

"She loves it," Damian grins, "What a whore. I bet you're begging to covered in cum, aren't you?"

You nodded as best you could on Damian's girth. Jon's thrusts push you back with every blow, bouncing your breasts each time. Without warning, you're struggling to gulp down Damian's load, which he only plunges deeper into your throat. You can practically feel him pumping it into your stomach. It's the sexiest thing you've ever felt until Jon cums a second later, pouring—pouring—a whole quart of seed across your neck and chest. Kryptonians came an unreasonable amount.

You collapsed backwards, spent. Slouched there, covered and filled with cum, you felt like a cream donut.

The boys recover before you do, so you're scooped up and deposited between them on the couch. In the corner of your eye, Damian disappears, no doubt to gather supplies, leaving you to sink into the cushions with Jon. Definitely for a brief amount of time. You can't think of many reasons why Damian would be eager to share you. Especially with someone like Jon, who reeks of boyfriend material. A clever suspicion forms in your mind, but you save it for when Jon isn't cutely keeping your hair out of your face.

"Damian's getting all the stuff we'll need, towels included," Jon blushed at the mess on your chest from where he sat next to the couch on the floor. "M' real sorry. I shoulda warned you ahead of time..."

You lick a smear of cum off your chin and play with crossing your legs, which easily draws Jon's eye. "Don't sweat it, J." You rub the underside of his jaw like you would a puppy. "I knew what I was getting myself into. How'd you convince Damian to do all this, anyway?"

Playing with his fingers, Jon met your gaze though his long lashes. "Oh, uh. He convinced me, actually. I wasn't sure if you'd want to, but he proved it to me."

Now this was interesting. You squinted at him, "What proof?"

"Well, we tell each other everything," Jon awkwardly laughed, "When you and I had our night together, I told him right away. (I hope you don't mind). He'da found out eventually, whether I liked it or not. He was always telling me about you two, anyway. He likes how much control you have in your life. I think he's a little jealous a' you." Jon opened and closed his mouth, unsure if he should have spoken. Your silence invited him to continue. "But, um... That time when you, uh... were in Damian's room..."

Your teeth flashed. "When I touched myself in his bed to get back at him for being mean?"

"Yes," Jon's cheeks flushed, pinned back by his smile, "He heard you say both of our names. His and mine. And I dunno, his detective sense knew that you weren't just trying to get under his skin."

Your eyes drew up from Jon's biceps, plumped out against his side. He was so muscular that he even had those sexy indents over his ribs. Jon's muscle was softer than Damian's though, more huggable. You wanted to sink your teeth into him.

"So he organizes this?" You said.

"Yeah. Like I said. We all like each other," Jon shrugged, "And it's not like we can do this kind of stuff with normal people. Secrets could get figured out, people could get hurt. This is... actually pretty healthy, I think."

"Mhm," you hummed. When your nails drag under Jon's chin, he dropped his face into your hand and tried to hide his embarrassed grin. "You hurt me real good," you purred. "I was sore in bed for a week. Gave me plenty of time to think about you..." you brushed his hair behind his ear, "use my toys..."

Jon's eyes got the slightest bit wild. "But you didn't have anything as big as me, did ya?"

You gave his chin a friendly pinch. "Don't get cocky, Kent. Damian was perfectly big enough for me."

Jon went quiet. You figured you'd hurt his feelings, revealing that you'd had sex with Damian within the week you'd made love to him, until his hand squeezed your waist. "Did he do the icepack thing?"

You examined him, suspicious, "How do you know about that?"

"When you get hurt, he puts all these ice packs on your bruises and patches you up, but he kisses em' all first. Maybe he gives you a backrub," Jon listed. He drew patterns on your hands while he explained, shyly, "And as he's kissin' you and rubbin' you, he starts kissing where the bruises aren't, telling you what he likes about you, how he'd do anything to help you feel better... right?"

You smiled to yourself, watching Jon's hand. "He drew me a bath. Read me poetry. Said something stupid about being worried about me, wanting to keep me close to him. Bent me over the bathroom counter and ripped the towel right off me."

"Romantic," Jon snorted.

"What he do for you?" You asked, arms uncrossed.

"Didn't have my powers," Jon explained, and the look on his face answered your question just as much as he did, "He played me piano, made out with me, made me dinner. And when I was all nice and gooey for him, he blew me until I was brainless. By the end of it I was so crazy for him I had to go home and deprogram myself like I was some kind of cultist."

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging, "Damian was raised to be a cult leader."

"Damn pretty one," Jon said.

You giggled together like real gossips.

"I love his morning voice," you conspired with him, "I felt like I'd been shot, holy hell. So sexy. All husky and low..."

"And then he has the guts to whisper in your ear with that stupid mouth," Jon cursed, shuddering in delight. "Somebody needs to clean his mouth with soap."

"You know," you tapped your chin in thought, "the moment Damian found out that you and I had sex, he had to have thought of this. All three of us pouncing on each other. He had the exact same fantasy I did! I would have never pinned him as the type..."

"Me either," Jon hummed, tone brimming with amusement. He snickered. "I bet he just wants to watch us, the weirdo."

Damian's sharp shadow fell over your and Jon's bodies, scaring you both out of your skin. His low, handsome voice cut through your conversation like a katana through butter. "I'm not opposed to the idea, Kent."

When you recovered, Damian smirked between the two of you and raised the things he'd brought. Towels, a bowl of water, a washcloth, and lube. He set the water bowl on the side table behind you, leaving the cloth inside. "I was going to clean you off, Y/N, but if you're inclined to this..." He gestured between you and Jon, grin almost a handsome sneer, "I wouldn't mind watching my cum drip down your chest as Kent fucks you."

"You've been holding out on me, beloved," you teased, "Since when are you so bold?"

Jon grinned impishly. "You were right. He totally wanted to do this because he's got a fantasy about the two of us."

You uncrossed your legs and moved forward onto your knees, crawling across the couch to simper into Damian's lap. "Look at his face, Jon. He totally did." You gave Damian's burning cheek a cute squeeze, "Did you think about him touching me like you touch me?" You kissed into Damian's ear. "Did you think about how making love to me like how he loves you?"

Damian gave a shy, stern nod. His expression was icy, but that just meant that he was trying harder than usual to fight down how turned on he was. The boxers he'd pulled back on twitched with the start of an erection. You didn't even bother to excite him with your hands, and sunk your head between Damian's trembelling legs to mouthe his bulge through his underwear. Jon watched from over your shoulder, mouth watering. You would have invited him to join you if you were feeling generous, but the taste of Damian's hardening cock is too good to share.

You spread your knees and hooked your calves around Jon's legs, who's already slipping your panties out of the way. He's smart enough not to take them off of you. Instead, Damian gets to watch as Jon kisses your back, your hips, hooks your Robin panties around his finger like a reign, and dizzies with pleasure as his cock sinks into your pussy.

Damian's cock gets your full-bodied moan. Large, calloused hands hook around the back of your neck and keep you on him. For a breath, both of them stop to let you settle. They could plow into you and use you until you were lungless if they wanted to, so you take the uneeded moment to laze in the feeling of them. Damian's palm pushes you deep on his girth, thumb stroking your hair. He smells like sweet oils and leather-ish because of his Robin suit, which takes you back to the nights where he would take off his belt so you would ride him in uniform. Behind you, Jon drops his hands next to yours on the couch. You feel your back press into his toned abs, his nose fall into your hair, his dick pulse within your plush center. He whines, low and wanting.

You imagine what you must look like with orgasmic delight. Damian shoving you onto his cock, the dark freckles on his wrist tweaked because of the angle. Jon's tall, muscular body stretched out over yours, his open mouth just inches from Damian's, shoulders rounded out, arms flexed. It's dirty. It's downright slutty. You're laid out, face down and ass up, for Robin and Superboy. The two men you've dreamed of having are desperate to fuck you. You're guzzling Robin halfway down your throat already, and Superboy pumps deeper inside you every second. It's a dream come true.

As Jon bounces you around Damian, and Damian thrusts you back onto Jon, you're fucked back and forth in a maddening line. You expect Jon to be considerate, and he is. He starts slow, working you with his wide tip first. Jon rolls his hips in gentle dips, wetting his head. In one thrust he could steal you all for himself, but he makes the depth worth it, earning you inch by inch. Soon he's soaked enough to take you deeper, and deeper, until you're being filled every time. The burn soaks into a pleasurable softness. His long, firm shaft flushes to your sensitive walls, filling your pretty pussy with powerful Kryptonian heat. You would try to meet his thrusts, but Damian and Jon's rythym is ruthless, and any pull away from Damian is a request to be mercilessly met by Jon and vice versa.

While the slaps of Jon's hips to yours are loud, your gagged mewls are easily louder. Damian was done letting you play with him. You were such an expert when it came to riling him up, you could keep him from cumming yourself if you wanted to. Your tongue would only offer his head playful, light licks, and you would keep him in the shallow of your lips, barely touching him even if he was completely in your mouth. Watching Jon fuck you turned him on too much to stick to riling alone, so Damian took your hair by the root and started you off like he wanted you to. Damian pulled his cock into the comfortable depth of your throat, letting you gag and swallow him to no avail. He let you go for an instant and automatically you dragged your lips sideways down his length, sucking him hard. On the second drop you slurped his balls into your mouth, expertly licking back up him to deepthroat him, thrown even deeper by Jon's timed thrust. Damian let you have your freedom, now that he knew you'd pay attention to him properly. You didn't beg him with your eyes or tickle his legs like you usually did. This was for pleasure, not for show. You kept your throat open and began to bob on his cock, around his tip, around his shaft, against his base, shuffling your wet lips low on his sensitive manhood. Damian groaned and gasped like he didn't know how to speak.

Your lips plumped around him perfectly. You could taste your spit glimmering on his long, clean bronze cock, and bubbled it down his shaft until it cloyed to his legs. Soon Damian was off his thighs and up onto his knees, where he could fill your mouth in earnest. Dark amusement glowed in his eyes at your every pop and slurp, like there was nothing sexier in the world than the way you took him so happily. His eyes would flicker from your slow, sensual deepthroating to Jon's face as he fucked you. Damian was close, if the throbbing filling your throat meant anything. There wasn't a moment where a cock wasn't inside you. On your hands and knees, you're spitroasted between their furious hips.

You swallow up your leftover spit when you pull off him, lips glazed with pre-cum and drool. "He feels so good," you whined, "o-oh my god, Damian," you pressed your cum-soaked face into his cock, gasping and moaning and shuddering, "o-oh my god, he feels so good—holy fuck he's so big—I'm so close, ah, fuck! Fill me up fill me up fill me—"

Damian caressed your face in one shaking hand, and the moment you opened your mouth for him, worshiped your soft lips down his side, and tongued his head, he bucked into the hieght of your throat and came until your stomach was full. Jon gets an eyeful of Damian's sexy, burning ecstacy, and in two seconds he's vibrating cum into your slit too. Even as he cums he keeps thrusting, and thrusting, and Damian locks your head in place so your mouth is flush to his abs. Your vision goes white. On either side, in both holes, you're stuffed to the brim. Cum pulses down your throat and pours from your slit. Jon and Damian moan, twitching against you.

And Jon keeps going.

The moment Damian cuts you loose, you're whipped onto your back and plunged into. Twenty, thirty thrusts a second, Jon steams with heat, fucking you, reaming you, while Damian watches. You wail for it, because this is the Superboy you've been waiting for. Jon is fresh over the edge, just a little too turned on to remember he can break you in half, and going totally crazy on you. You cum again and another time, spasming in pure bliss, fucked out of your mind. To your misfortune, Jon is able to come back to himself.

"Oh my g-gosh," he flushes, "What am I doing? Y/N? Are you okay? I-I didn't mean to hurt you, honey, I—"

You're too high to speak, so you shut Jon up by cupping your hand over his mouth. He pulls it away, anxious, and tenderly holds your palm between his. The soft edge of his pupil spills across your body, a treat in it's own way. He'd fucked you so fast that your body didn't have time to catch up to even one orgasm, so they're thrown on top of you all at once, leaving you breathless and plowed. Your pussy throbs, sensitive and raw.

Jon lifts his hips to get off of you, until Damian hisses, "Don't you dare pull out of her, Kent."

Furiously, Damian jerks his soaked cock in one hand. The other has pinned a knuckle between his teeth, eyes fused to the scene in front of him. Since your head is in his lap, a few flicks of pre-cum and spit land on your face. It doesn't matter much, though, because Damian lets go between your and Jon's bodies a second later. You open your mouth just in time to get Damian's cum. It drapes across your face in upside-down ropes, spilling into Jon's waiting mouth.

"More," Jon mumbles.

Cupping his face, you give him more. It's a devilish, tactical move, but you're gearing Damian up for the same ferocious fucking you'd gotten from Jon. Watching you kiss his cum into Jon's mouth has the exact effect you'd hope for. Damian goes still above you, mesmerized by the romantic kiss. Jon pecks your mouth with sweet dips. Your tongue slides against his, exchanging Damian's cum and a few soft moans.

When you pull away from each other, your sly eyes slide up to see the look on Damian's face.

"Evil," he dramatically covers his blushing face with his hands, "both of your are evil."

Giggling, you allow Jon to help you up, and together you relax into Damian's arms, who pouts at all the touching. It's hard for him not to dissolve totally into a blushing mess. None of you have the strength to say more, but it's agreed in your haggard breaths that this is only a break. Even if Damian enjoyed the show, Jon had his turn with you. Now, you really wanted them both. Damian, of course, reads your mind.

"You've prepared yourself for me, haven't you, beloved?" Damian smirked. You felt his nose brush your ear, and the closeness of his voice flushed back your arousal at an insane speed. The feel of his hot, moist breath hovering over your neck made you want him to lick and suck all over your flesh. "That's exactly what you planned for. Of course you want both of us at the same time... You've always be so greedy..."

Jon caught up with what was being said, and instantly flushed in the face. "Y/N..."

"Please?" You teased, flushing closer to Damian's chest. The warm arm around your waist became a hand possessively squeezing your ass. You covered it, and let your other cup the sweaty hair at Jon's neck. "I'll be such a good girl," you promised, darkly, "I think I deserve something for all the hard work I've done."

Damian and Jon exchanged a look. They'd known each other long enough for the glance to be telepathic, so a decision is quickly made between them.

"Alright," Jon says.

Damian's eyes glimmer with lust. "So. Where will you have me?"

-

part two.

[glorified-red]

I have fallen into the rabbit hole of Damian x Reader X Jon and the entire dynamic is just this:

The hilarious part is that each person can literally play any part, they switch constantly. The trio is chaos and it is beautiful.

[butwhyduh]

Yo B!

I was just doing my stuff and then a random thought appear:

Just Jason dating Damian's teacher without knowing that she's Damian's teacher. Like the realisation hits when he brings her to the Wayne Manor. It hits everyone: Damian, Jason, the teacher. Only Bruce and Tim are lik lmao I figured it out at the beginning of the relationship (though shut up you two cuz I still remember the Hanukkah headcanon of both of them celebrating because they thought it's important to one another. Happy Hanukkah btw to y'all celebrating!)

Not to mention if she teaches something that Damian doesn't really like or if he has a puppy crush on her (because those things happen).

And the moment of realisation that your older brother is boinking your teacher and maybe that's why she was so happy the other day.

So much drama, so much awkwardness! That I love it!

What's your opinion B?

Btw. I love your characterisation of Batfamily you can portray every character very true to the original.

Aww thanks ☺️ and this idea is hilarious 🤣

Warning: some bad words and a food fight. Also it’s Alfred’s birthday.

Jason met you at a Whole Foods of all places. You don’t normally go there but a sale drew you in. And you were so drawn in that you didn’t notice until you actually hit a guy with your basket.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry!” You gasped feeling yourself flush. He kinda laughed. A tall, very fit, handsome man smiling and laughing. That was new.

“No no. The sale on tomatoes is a big deal. I’ll move so you don’t have to run me down,” he joked.

“I-“ you stammered. “I’d rather not run you over.” You laughed and he nodded.

“Oh hey, your book fell out,” Jason said picking a book up off the floor. “Hamlet, hu?”

“Oh yeah. I’m a teacher,” you explained taking the book from him. Oh boy, he had the prettiest blue eyes too. “Thanks.”

“No problem. If I’m nice to you, you might not run me over again,” he flirted. You laughed.

Across the produce section, Tim Drake came to a stop and backed up slightly to watch Jason flirt with a woman. Bruce came up behind him and Tim stopped him.

“Look,” Tim motioned quietly. Jason hadn’t noticed either of them.

“Oh, oh. Well, that’s nice,” Bruce said awkwardly looking away. Tim snorted.

“Take a closer look.”

“That’s Damian’s English teacher,” Bruce confirmed what Tim already knew. They watched as you put your number in Jason’s phone.

“Should we tell him,” Tim said like a kid with the hottest gossip. “Damian will flip out too.”

“We’re not telling anyone. We don’t even know if they’ll even go on a date and it’s none of Damian’s business. I forbid you from telling anyone. Dick, Barbara, Cass, Stephanie. No one. Jason… deserve a little happiness. Don’t mess it up,” Bruce said strictly.

“Geez, I get it,” Tim said with his arms raised. “I won’t say anything. But imagine them dating. It’ll be hilarious!”

“Go back down that isle. We won’t come back until Jason is done talking to her. I don’t want him to know we know,” Bruce said all business like.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be like a ghost,” Tim replied. “I need siracha anyways.”

7 weeks later

It was Alfred’s birthday and that was traditionally when all the family got together. It also happened to fall during Hanukkah this year. So the family prepared a big dinner meal without Alfred allowed to join. He protested multiple times but Bruce refused. Instead they ordered food from Alfred’s favorite restaurant and a dessert from his favorite bakery. Aunt Kate, the only one who actually knew what to do around Hanukkah, was invited as well. Tim and Bruce had yet to admit that neither were actually practicing.

“I want to meet your mysterious friend,” Alfred told Jason one day a week earlier over tea. “I believe I heard you are dating.”

“Geez, nothing gets past you, hu?” Jason said ruefully. Alfred smiled in his tea. “I’ll invited her. But if the family scares her off…”

“I’ll personally burn their meals for a month,” Alfred replied promptly.

“Remind me not to make you mad,” Jason muttered.

“Indeed,” Alfred said with a grin before taking a sip of his tea.

The night of Alfred’s birthday party was turning disastrous by the minute. They sent the wrong cake and added bacon to four dishes and while that was generally a good addition, maybe not on Hanukkah. Bruce at least knew that. Kate wasn’t coming and Bruce was technically raised by an Anglican Christian British man and knew very little about Hanukkah. But he was going to try for Tim to have a good holiday.

Jason hadn’t told Bruce that he was bringing a date but Bruce knew Barbara was coming with Dick and Tim had Bernard and Damian was bringing Jon and they were definitely dating or something. Steph was coming with Cass but she’s been at every family dinner even before they started dating. But she was also Tim’s ex which was weird. Bruce needed an Advil. Or a beer. Luckily Alfred was at the spa that Bruce insist he visit for the day or he would have certainly taken over and it was his birthday.

But finally they had a bacon free kosher meal with the correct dessert delivered. And Bruce managed to do it without going absolutely insane.

The menorah was brought out and Bruce quickly googled Hanukkah traditions that he hadn’t participated in since he was 8. His mother’s side always had Hanukkah dinners and his father’s side had Christmas morning and dinner. But all of that came to a winding halt when his parents died. He had brought Christmas back when he adopted Roman Catholic Dick and until Tim, none of them had any other holiday. When Bruce learned Tim didn’t celebrate because he was always alone for the holidays, Bruce took the time to add some Jewish holidays to his calendar. But he couldn’t remember pretty much any of the traditions that went with them. Bruce wasn’t going to recite any prayers since he felt it unfair to do as someone non-practicing. Tim or Kate could if they wanted.

Tim didn’t know how to tell Bruce he was non-practicing either. Bruce almost broke down when Tim tried to explain he didn’t celebrate any holidays because his parents were never home when they were alive and Tim couldn’t bring himself to say that didn’t exactly feel the need to start as someone who’s firmly atheist. So when Bruce asked if he wanted to recite the prayer, Tim had almost peed his pants before suggesting a moment of silence so people of all religions can have a moment. Both of them were secretly relieved.

But that put Bruce into a tailspin as he wondered what other religions he needed to accommodate for his kids. He should ask them what they needed. What if he already missed a holiday or religious need??

“Master Bruce, I’m home. I shall avert my eyes if needed,” Alfred called in the hallway. Bruce hopped up to meet him. Alfred looked more refreshed then he had in months and was carrying a few shopping bags.

“You can come out. Nothing to hide,” Bruce said and Alfred nodded with a curt smile.

“I’m simply overjoyed that the kitchen is in one piece,” Alfred commented carrying his bags upstairs.

“We knew better than to cook,” Bruce replied.

“Then my stomach is also overjoyed for food safety,” Alfred said before disappearing from sight.

Dick and Barbara showed up with chocolate coins. Bruce had forgotten those and was filled with cold dread.

“We got them. Don’t worry. I once again save the day,” Dick said with a grin.

“I actually thought of them,” Barbara replied with an eye roll.

“And I thought to invite you.”

“Jon!” Damian called out before running down the stairs to open the main door. Jon stood with a casserole dish in hand and a present bag on his wrist.

“Hey Dami! Hello Mr Wayne, Dick, Barbara,” Jon said politely. Damian grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him in. Damian quickly pulled the stuff from Jon’s hands and placed them on the nearest surface despite Jon’s protest.

“I have the newest Cheese Viking game,” Damian said as they ran upstairs. Steph and Cass walked downstairs just as the boys left and they both started talking to Dick and Barbara.

Tim showed up next looking nervous as can be with Bernard in tow. He politely introduced him to everyone slightly more formally that necessary. Bruce shook Bernards hand and welcomed him to his home and Bruce noted that Tim relaxed minutely.

“Jason is late as usual,” Bruce commented a good 30 minutes later. “Has anyone been able to get ahold of him?”

“I texted but no response,” Dick replied. Bruce sighed.

“Let’s get started and he can join us when he gets here,” Bruce suggested.

They all sat around the table with Bruce at one end and Alfred, guest of honor, at the other, at Bruce’s insistence of course. Right before everyone dug into the first course of the meal, the sound of shoes in the hallway came to their attention. Jason’s date was there.

“Hey sorry we’re late. The highway was shit,” Jason said ushering in his lady guest. You moved to the chair he offered and let Jason push in the seat.

“Your scarf,” Alfred started to stand but Jason waved him off and helped you of your scarf and coat and hung them up himself before sitting down. It was only then that you were able to look at the guests at the table.

Mr Wayne smiled politely as well as Dick. The younger brother Tim had a wide grin and just as Jason sat down, you saw Damian. You blinked quickly.

He called you by your last name the way one would a teacher and everyone turned to him. Tim was practically splitting his face in two with his grin. Jason looked between you and Damian before the thought connected and his eyes widened.

“Are you dating my brother??” Damian asked.

“I-“ you stuttered before looking at Jason. “You didn’t tell me you had a little brother in school.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” he replied. “Is he- do you teach him?”

“Todd,” Damian said grasping a table knife tightly. “Did you go out of your way to date my English teacher??”

“No, you little psycho. I have a pretty hard fast rule about avoiding middle schools for dates,” Jason said puffing up a bit.

“Boys,” Bruce warned knowing they were going to start fighting any second and he actually liked the soup.

“Why are you grinning, Drake,” Damian growled. “Did you know? Did you set them up?”

“No one set us up, Damian,” you replied.

“I had nothing to do with this!” Tim protested.

“You are not that important,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, then why are you dating my teacher, you oaf,” Damian sneered.

“Boys,” Alfred warned but Jason and Damian were too far gone and when Damian slung mashed potatoes at Jason, it desolved into chaos. Some food slapped Dick directly in the face and as he was trying to calm the others down, it made him very mad.

Jason grabbed Damian by the collar and went to haul him over the table but in Damian’s flailling, he kicked an entire saucer of gravy in Bernard’s lap. Tim helped him up and grabbed the saucer to throw but it instead hit Bruce in the head. Bruce was currently separating Damian and Jason. Jon hopped up and helped you out of your seat only to be hit with a paper table decoration coated in whipped cream.

“STOP NOW,” bellowed Alfred and the boys stopped fighting. “Clean all of this up immediately! I am going to bed and I want this room to gleam in the morning.”

Everyone had the decency to look guilty while cleaning. And everyone- even Bruce- cleaned until it was Alfred worthy. It took a full 10 minutes since they didn’t let any of the dates clean, including Jon who could have done it in a second. Bruce bought Bernard an entire new outfit to be delivered to his house.

Jason was awkwardly silent on the ride back to your place. You glanced over to look at him and he glanced at you quickly before looking away. You couldn’t handle it when he pulled in your driveway.

“Okay, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. I’m your kid brother’s English teacher. You already knew I was a teacher and I didn’t know you had a kid brother,” you said. Jason nodded.

“So you’ve got to decide if you want to see me anymore or not. Because I really like you and what I do for a living shouldn’t-“

He cut you off with a kiss. His rough fingers cupped your cheeks and his mouth pressed heavily against yours. Jason kissed you until his lungs burned and he pulled back panting.

“I definitely want to keep seeing you. I’m just- just embarrassed that my family acted that way. God. You sure you don’t want to run screaming into the night?” He asked.

“I’ll try to resist the urge,” you replied playfully nipping at his lips but not enough to count as a kiss. Jason tried to follow you each time until you finally gave him a good kiss. “I teach middle schoolers. Do you think I have a bone of fear in my body?”

“That’s my girl,” Jason added with a grin.

[woahajimes]

Have you ever wondered how Damian would handle an instagram account? 

For starters, Damian doesn’t even know he has an instagram account. It’s until Bruce answers a question at an interview that Damian finds out he has an instagram account. Bruce had created it for him, for god-knows-what reason. Yet Damian has to act like he has known all along, that he has an instagram account. 

Once Bruce gets him settled into a username that very literally is just Damian’s name as the son of the billionaire, Damian does absolutely nothing. He doesn’t follow anyone, he doesn’t post anything. He doesn’t even  have a profile picture. For all everyone knows, Bruce Wayne could have lied and that account is just some rando’s. 

And months pass, Damian’s account is the literal same every single day, and trust me, people have checked. Damian couldn’t actually care less about his instagram account, the only reason he hasn’t deleted the app completely is because he rarely even uses his phone. He just carries it around in his pocket when he’s out as Damian Wayne. 

It’s almost a year, and Damian is out with Dick, they’re getting lunch or something. Dick has ordered a burger, Damian stuck with a veggie option. And they’re about to start eating and Dick takes out his phone, snaps a picture. 

“What are you doing?” Damian asks him. 

Dick stares at Damian. “It’s for my instagram story.” And then he starts typing some caption or something. 

And even though I, op, don’t have younger brothers, I do have a younger sister and I can tell you that little siblings copy like, everything you do. And I know we’re talking about Damian, but still. Damian took his phone out and he snapped a picture, Dick in the shot as well. He posted it in his story, he didn’t put a caption. 

And then later that day, Damian remembered that he hadn’t saved that picture he took. So he opened the instagram app and he saw a little circle around his empty profile picture. He decided that he liked it. It went from purple to pink to orange to yellow to orange to pink and back to purple. 

So this became a routine of his, after all, it would cost him next to nothing. To take a picture and post it on his story. It would keep the little ring around his profile picture. And he’d get replies to his stories and he’d get tagged in pictures and he’d get thousands of followers and he’d get tagged in comments and new requests and all those things that famous accounts get. 

And it’s not like the pictures ever made sense. The first week they were things like the cover of his sketchbook, or this plant he found in the garden. Maybe it was the map on his wall, or alfred the cat and titus. He wouldn’t even take time with these pictures. He’d just remember every day about the little circle around his default profile picture and he’d grab his phone, and  he’d take a picture of the nearest thing he could find. He never bothered to write a caption, nor put a song, anything. 

And as time passes, the logic of the pictures becomes blurry. Why would the heir of the richest man in gotham post a picture of a crack on the pavement? 

But sometimes, people doubt that Damian even takes these pictures. Because sometimes they’re pictures of gotham at night, when the sky is pitch black, starless. And this one time, Damian is out on patrol, the sun is rising, he still hasn’t gone home. The sky reminds Damian of the little ring around his profile picture. So Damian sets his phone to record automatically and so it records towards the sunset. And because Damian would place himself against the light, the figure would look pitch black, a plain shadow against the sunset. So Damian sets his phone and he takes his cape off, he has his grappling hook, but he’ll use it once he’s out of the camera shot. And then he gets the video going (his phone is leaning on a plant pot, there’s another building that ends nearly as the camera shot begins. So Damian swings from where he set his phone, to the other building, and he just. 

Jumps. 

He’s jumping headfirst and he’s whooping loudly, laughing almost. He’s done this so many times yet something is just nicer. 

it was awesome. 

And he posts the video, but silences it. Nobody can see Damian’s uniform, nor his mask. For all they know, Damian hired someone to jump, or maybe he even threw a mannequin or something.  

That was the only video Damian posted on his story. The rest, every other day, theRE were just pictures. 

We skip time a bit more and Damian was with Jon, when he still lived in hamilton. They were by the tree they were always at, and Damian was taking a picture of the bark of the tree. Because bark. 

And Jon just stares at Damian. “What the h are you doing?” 

Damian shrugs. "Just taking a picture.”

Jon snatches the phone from him. They’re close enough friends. He goes to the camera and holds the phone up straight, he sets it to the front camera.

“My mom does this all the time,” he says. “She calls them selfies.” 

Jon snaps a picture. Then he checks it. He’s smiling, Damian is not. “You’re so lame! Did nobody ever teach you how to smile?” 

Jon snaps a second picture, Damian’s still not smiling. Third picture, Damian’s expression moves a bit, but it's just him rolling his eyes. 

“Come on, Damian! SMILE!” Jon takes another picture, he checks it. Damian’s smiling dramatically, he looks like Jon looks in family pictures he doesn’t want to take. He’s not smiling with his teeth, his eyes are practically closed, his nose is scrunched up. If anything, he looks more disgusted than happy. “Ugh, we’ll just try another day, i guess.” 

This became a sort of routine. Every day they saw each other as civilians, Jon would take a selfie with Damian. Sometimes he smiled, if he was in the right mood. It didn’t really matter, Damian never posted those pictures on his story. 

Now we take Damian’s fourteenth birthday. This, Damian decides, is a much better way to spend his birthday than the last one. Bruce isn’t there, but his brothers are, his best friends also are. Alfred and Jon, Dick, Tim, and Jason. They’re eating strawberry cake, with the ‘happy 14th!’ in pink frosting and everything. It is now his first option, thanks to Alfred.

Anyways, they’re slicing the cake, Damian just blew out the candles. Jon takes his phone out, the one he got when he turned eleven. He doesn’t have an instagram account, Lois wouldn’t let him, but Jon still takes a picture of everything. 

Alfred asks Damian for his phone, so he can take a picture. Damian shakes his head, yet he takes out his phone. He’s at the head of the table, he puts his phone on the front camera. He hands it to Alfred. 

“Jon likes to call them ‘selfies’,” Damian explained. He showed Alfred. “Here, you take them like this.” 

Damian took his phone back from Alfred, he stretched his arm with the phone. He called out Tim’s name, and all of them looked up. 

“Smile!” Damian snapped a picture, he grinned. He looked at the picture, he liked it. Alfred was grinning, like in that picture in which he’s with Bruce when he was little, and they’re both laughing at something.

Damian decided that this picture was too nice for it to go on his 24-hour ring. Besides, he had already put a picture of Jason helping prepare the frosting. He didn't need two stories in the same day. 

So he drafts the post, and there’s the option to edit the image, but Damian skips it. It’s nice as it is.

He posts it, he doesn’t write a caption.

taglist: @hauntingsonofrobin @bikoncon @catxsnow @screennamealreadyused @thesporklecat @thesesickfics-justmakemesick andd i think i got it all idk 

[anothertimdrakestan]

damian: i have a friend coming over today please be civil

tim: yeah right, you have a friend coming over and i slept 8 hours last night

jason: *snorts* and i'm going to go be nice to bruce haha

damian: no seriously i do

tim: sureee you do what breed of dog is it?

jon: hi guys!

jason: *chokes on air* YOURE THE FRIEND

jon: well, i am his friend but this is y/n!

tim: *faints*

dick: *excited screeches*

[tomatosamla]

Starlight [One-Shot]

Request: nope

Romantic or Frienship: kinda like both, idk. More like you love him but he doesn’t love you.

Warnings: is it called unrequired love? I don’t really know. Plus violence (someone gets shot).

Plot: how you met, discovered the secret identity, fell in love, and cut contact with Jonathan Samuel Kent, plus background Damijon. Plus swear words.

Word count: 1024 ;D

A/N: I’m angsty as you can tell by my latest fics. This is the first time in my life I have done a x reader thing, like ever, so like... have patience with me. Plus, I was more experimenting than actually writing a fic, so if this is shit it’s because of that.

A/N2: I put a few of my own Prompts from my Promt list I have for myself, I will put them like this in the fic. Anyways Enyoy!

You had been a friend of Jon’s for quite some time by now, you had also been in love with him for… about the same amount of time. Yeah… this was pathetic, he was a superhero for crying out loud and you were a nobody, another student at Metropolis University. Well… that wasn’t exactly true, you had met when you were 12 years old so like… you were not a nobody.

You had befriended him and Damian by accident I suppose, as was said before you were still in 7th grade when you guys met. You met at the local library (because books), both Damian and Jon were investigating for a case, you had seen them before, but it was the first time any of you talked, and it was Damian that started the not so nice conversation, he was looking for the exact same book you were holding- and because you are a nice and socially awkward preteen who didn’t want any trouble with the Wayne’s- you gave it to him, Jonathan then came to apologize for his friend’s behavior, you talked for a little bit before they had to go, and the rest is history. 

How did you discover that he was a superhero? Well, it was mostly because you were in a hostage situation (great weekend to visit Gotham with your business people parents, i’ma right?) and the Supersons came to help, the Bats apparently were busy with stopping the supervillain so… yeah; a little girl, about 5 years old (by this time you were already 16 years old), had a gun pointed at her head while Robin and Superboy were trying to negotiate with the goons, why they didn’t do anything sooner you would never know. The girl was crying trying to not make a sound, then the negotiation got heated and the goon was about to really shoot the girl, and because “stupid is my middle name” you launched yourself at the goon and you were successful in separating them, unlucky for you the guy was quiker than anyone could have anticipated and he shot you in the leg, which was fine, you didn’t loose that much blood, it hurt like hell but whatever and you got to play hero for one day, but of course everyone began panicking and more bullets were shot, luckily just around 2 other people got shot but nothing fatal, and while Robin was talking to the authorities, Superboy came rushing only to your side. You couldn’t understand why he was panicking until you really looked into his eyes, you would know those eyes anywhere (to be fair with you, you hadn’t had a good look of his eyes before, and you basically didn’t care before this about finding the identities of your local heroes). So… yeah… that happened.

2 years later, both of them knew you knew their secret identities, a year after that you were distancing yourself from Jonathan, because you were in love with him and he was in a relationship with Damian, which by the way you were so happy for them, really, fucking finally… hehe… but anyways, you still had heart, and you still had feelings for him so it hurt… bad. So back at my original idea, you were distancing from Jon, and he noticed that, how you would not talk to him unless it was completely necessary, how you would ignore him or evade him when everyone would go out together, so he made you talk to him.

“Y/N, may I talk to you for a second?”

“Ummm… I have some things to do, can we talk later?” You said as you stepped back.

“No, I need to talk to you right now.”

-Sigh- “Fine… let’s talk. What do you want to talk about?”

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

Cue nervous wreck “We’re starting with the big questions huh? Ummm… Iiiii dooon’t-”

“Please, did I do something wrong?”

“No! Of course not! You did nothing wrong is just that…”

“That…?”

-Sigh- “I… fell in love with you” 

Jon was shook, what? how? when? huh?

“I have been for a really long time and… look… I tried not to really, I tried to get over them but the feelings never left, I just didn’t let them out because everything would get messed up, I know you love Damian, and I’m happy for you… I really really am, when you told me you two were together I was like Yes! Finally!, you know? but…”

“Y/N… I…”

“You don’t have to say anything, I understand that you don’t love me back, and it hurts, badly, so… so badly. And I can’t be just your friend anymore… and if it means we’ll be nothing at all after this then… then that’s how it has to be, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, but I did… and now… we have to say goodbye.”

“But we can still be friends… right?”

“I’m sorry… if you ever need me, I’ll be there, to investigate for a case, to cry because Damian was being too much like a Damian… to anything, I’ll be there, but not as close as before, I hope you’re happy… Superboy”

A little smile formed in his face, he was going to miss talking to her everyday, but if she thought this was necessary, then he wouldn’t object.

“I hope you’re happy too, starlight”

And with that the separate paths took place, Jonathan and you talked sometimes, mostly about cases the guys had, and you (being the daughter of who you were daughter of) knew much more first hand information about those topics than them, you basically became kinda like an Oracle to them (the called you Starlight, firstly because that is what Jon called you since you were kids [don’t ask], and secondly because you had information of anything and everything at all times, but mostly at night).

In the end you found your own prince/princess charming (who was a superhero or not, idk) and you were maid of honor in their wedding, you couldn’t be happier, it was a nice life after all.