ᯓ★ [+18] ★ Jon accidentally on purpose overhears his two best friends doing it. I'm aware this isn't how super-hearing works. Great title I know thank you. ★ᯓ
Jon’s always been a well-mannered young man. It’s been said by his parents, teachers, professors, bosses, random people he meets on the street, and he always believed that himself, until now.
Because if that was the case, then why can’t he fly away? Far enough so he can’t hear his two best friends going at it like rabbits.
He’s just been floating a few feet above the roof of your apartment building, stock still ever since he zoomed over five minutes ago.
He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t mean to, but when he first heard your groan he thought you were hurt. Then he picked up the quiet sucking and even the faint sound of your slick.
You let out a sound that was far more lewd than the first and Jon’s hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if there was anyone around to hear the man’s sharp intake of breath.
Sheets rustle and Jon imagines you clutching the fabric between your fingers. He hears a lewd slurp and imagines Damian right between your thighs, lapping and sucking at just the right places.
Jon’s fists clench at his sides when he hears your moans grow louder and a little higher. Sheets shuffle and he pictures your back arching off the bed, grinding up into his best friend’s face.
You groan his name so unabashedly, in a way Jon never dared to consider you could. You sound like you’ve been waiting for this all day and your boyfriend’s finally giving it to you and giving it well.
Jon can almost see it, your fingers in his friend’s dark hair, your thighs squeezing around his head as you cum around his apparently deft fingers and skilled mouth.
He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of you two like this before. You were a hot couple and you were both such good friends to him.
You’d always ask him to tag along on what could’ve been dates between just the two of you; you invited him to sleep overs where you’d both squish him between you on the couch and you’d cook dinners with him at your apartment. You'd bring him along on vacations, to the park, the beach, the movies.
You've done an array of things with him that you could’ve just done as a couple but instead chose to invite him along because you’re both such good friends to him-- even if Damian can’t admit it outright most of the time.
It’s only natural then, that he’d think about what other couple things you’d want him to participate in...right?
How was he supposed to constantly see the way you look at Damian and not imagine you looking at him the same way? How was he not supposed to imagine Damian giving him gentle little touches like he did with you. Honestly, his restraint so far has been admirable.
Now all that’s out the window. He just heard Damian make you cum on his tongue and as red as his face probably is, he’s not flying an inch further away from your apartment like he should.
All he can hear are soft kissing sounds and you trying to even out your breathing, and suddenly, a new wave of guilt hits him.
He doesn’t even want to think about what he’ll do with his hard-on but he has to leave. He runs his hands through his already wild hair, trying to will himself to move. The moment is so tender and quiet, he wants nothing more than to be in that room.
Then he hears fabric shuffling and a belt buckle hit the floor.
“Look at me, Hayati.“
It’s such a simple, gentle command yet it has both you and Jon at attention. He hears the bed creak, a short silence.
“Just keep your eyes on me.”
You reply with a breathy, “'kay.“
There’s a pause before you let out a choked groan, and then a wet squelch. Jon has to squeeze his thighs together when he imagines his friend bottoming out in his other friend’s soaked heat, their eyes never straying from the other's.
“So good to me, Beloved.”
And now that his lips are free, Jon makes a new world-shattering discovery: Damian’s a talker.
“Ya Rouhi, I’d be a happy man if all I ever lived for was to pleasure you.”
His voice is thick, accompanied by your soft sounds of pleasure and the slow, slick plaps that make it to Jon’s red ears.
“I’ll always give you everything, Hayati. You deserve more than I can give.“
You both let out deep grunts in time with his steadily increasing pace. The sheets shuffle and Damian must have switched the position up because you curse and cry out.
“I’m yours in every way and I know you’re mine.”
It must be beautiful, Jon thinks, Damian’s lidded eyes matching yours, your hips matching his thrusts, bodies sticking together, shared breaths. Jon ignores the worsening wet spot in his underwear, his suit feeling tight on his growing hardness.
He holds his breath so he can better hear the exact moment you and Damian cum together. Maybe you’re still locking eyes, maybe your foreheads are pressed together, but all he can hear is your mixed moans and the stalling of your hips as Damian fills you up.
Once more, the only thing left to hear after the high is soft kissing and harsh breaths. Nothing but Damian’s husky,
“I love you, Hayati.”
Between kisses and your croaked hum in return, “Love you too, babe. S'good to me.”
You mumble the sweetest praises in-between kisses and Jon can hear Damian’s heart beat a bit faster, can hear the sheets shuffle as he imagines the man shoving his face into his girlfriend’s neck at such sweet words being uttered to him. You always did say he was a secret sap, not that it was much of a secret between you three, but Jon only realises now just how true that really is.
As the moment grows quieter, Jon’s guilt only grows again. The sound of the city comes rushing back and his head spins around the various apartment buildings around him as if someone could’ve possibly known what he was doing.
Regardless, he can’t stay here, listening to your extremely private moment. There's no pretense of shock keeping him here anymore, he's just being a creep! No better than a criminal!
Unbeknownst to Jon, both you and Damian heard his distinct sonic boom when he flew off and you’re now staring at each other with matching wide eyes.
You’re the first to break the silence with a laugh, shoving your face in your hands. “You don’t think he...?”
Damian runs a hand through his hair with a groan that doesn't hide his embarrassment.
“I told him he should come over today.”
“And you forgot?!”
“I was distracted.”
---Then poor Jon jerks off to his bffs and then cries because he feels bad about it. 😭💔
pairing: superfamily ( clark, lois, jon ) x unintentionally neglected! gn! eldest child! reader
how do you live your life with superman as your dad, a mom who's strong and fierce, and a little brother who inherited your father's superpowers—but you were born with the misfortune of inheriting none?
c/w: eughh neglected stuff, you know the deal.. / also the Jon getting lost in space then coming back 3+ years older or sumn oh hell nah that's not happening here, I won't let an author who changed things just because they didn't want to write about kids as heroes dictate my writing thank you very much
a/n: heyyyaaa 👅 tell me if you guys like it, comments are appreciated I love reading yall replies!
part 1 ( you're here! ) , part 2
A circumtriple planet — that's what you are.
A planet that orbits around three bright, dazzling suns.
But you weren't like this before; it didn't start out like this, no.
You were your parents' firstborn, a child bearing a perfect resemblance to both Clark and Lois. You were loved, adored, and you still are!
Your father had always been open about his being Superman, Humanity's Greatest Hero, fully expecting you to inherit his powers—his genes are in you, after all. You will surely do great, just like your father.
But... That never became true.
You've never woken up one day and realized you're floating above your mattress, you've never accidentally broken a metal spoon by gripping it too hard, you've never been able to move at immaculate speed.
Your father reassured you that it would be okay, that maybe you're a late bloomer—but those reassurances died down as time passed. Your family accepted that you, despite having Kryptonian genes, inherited no power.
But no, your father has never blamed you for it, of course not! Your parents still love you, your mother still kisses you on the forehead before bed, and your father gives you a big hug before school. Your parents have never let you feel shame or insecure for not being a superhuman like your dad.
At the age of seven, your parents have another child—a son, your younger brother.
Jonathan—they named him—, or Jon for short, bears the same curly black hair and baby blue eyes like his father, but his face is as soft and pretty as his mother's.
He was sunshine-incarnate even as a baby! He rarely cried, and he loves clinging to his parents, especially you.
The first time you held him in the hospital room, with your mother helping guide Jon into your arms, you knew you were going to love him forever.
And Jon loves you back just as much, always giggling and babbling for you as a baby. And when he learned how to walk, it was a nightmare for Clark and Lois, because Jon kept crawling out of his playpen and started taking a tour around the house, determined to find you.
And when they came back to an empty playpen, they learned not to panic and go to their eldest child's room instead, knowing you'd be sitting in there with your baby brother clinging to your lap and reading to him a random book.
Your life was perfect. For seventeen whole years of your life, everything is as perfect as you could wish it to be.
Okay, there were nights during middle to high school when you wanted to give up because everything was too stressful, but your family was always there for you.
Jon sleeps in your bed with you for practically every night, so it almost feels like his own room was only for decorations in the house, because the very owner of said room never used it. No, instead, your room was also his room—everything he needs is there! You are there!
Everything was perfect.
Until just a year before you graduate from high school, your baby brother Jon got his powers at the age of ten.
And you wished you were as kind-hearted and optimistic as your dad, sometimes, but the first time you heard the news, there was a pang of jealousy that struck you deep in your chest.
It reawakened your want deep inside you that had gone to slumber since all those years ago—the desire to be just like your father, to have his powers so you could help him save the world, bond, and do all that stuff you used to imagine doing together with your dad. Like hanging out in the sky, eating fast food with stained fingers while you both talk about random stuff.
That would never happen.
But you quickly pushed all those thoughts down, shaking your head before smiling at your baby brother and scooping him up into one bigggg hug. All the while, he clings back to you, grumbling about how he's "a big boy now", even though he's hugging you back even tighter.
Things changed after that. But not suddenly, no. Even you yourself didn't notice anything until it's too late.
It wasn't noticeable at first how your parents started pulling away, unintentionally. Even Clark and Lois didn't notice, not when they're exhausted already from trying to keep a little boy who inherited the destructive strength of Superman out of trouble daily.
You didn't notice until it was too late. Until the gap between your relationship was too far apart that you couldn't even remember the last time you had movie nights together, as a family, anymore.
These days, your father and Jon are often out on adventures, and Jon always comes back home, bouncing on his feet as he clings to you and going on and on about this new friend he got—"Damian". Yeah, he seems nice, even if a bit scary sometimes.
The day of your graduation was a bit awkward, really. There were moments when no one spoke a word, and each of you realized that something just... wasn't the same anymore.
Although you guys tried to cling to the lasting warmth of familiarity of it all. Partly for you—since it's your day—but mostly for Jon. He's still too young to really understand everything that was happening, and you're not about to sour everyone's mood just because of something trivial.
Was it really trivial, though?
After graduation, you immediately decided to move out. You got a scholarship for the university that you liked, and that just happened to be far from your home. Well, you're eighteen now, so no harm in that, right?
Your parents were proud, but they were... awkward, unlike before. Maybe if you guys hadn't drifted apart before all of this, they would be in tears sending you off. But the one who was the most emotional was your baby brother.
When you mentioned moving out to the family, Jon tried to stay happy. His eldest sibling is going off to do their own thing; he should be happy!
But then one night, he goes into your bedroom to cuddle like always, only to see you packing your bags. Most of the stuff on the walls and decorating your shelves is all gone, already packed somewhere in one of the boxes, and he just... started crying.
Poor thing clung to you for the entire night, begging you not to go off without him. His super hearing could only reach so far. What if he couldn't hear your heartbeat? What if you're injured or dying and he doesn't know immediately?
He never understood why his father remembered the exact rhythm and sound of his loved one's heartbeat until now, because what if he forgot what your heartbeat sounds like?
You groaned as you put the last box onto the ground of your new apartment, sweat rolling down the side of your cheek as you heaved—it's been a long day, full of nothing but moving into your new home.
You looked around your apartment, taking in the spacious yet empty place. Yeah, you're gonna need a lot of work to liven this place up.
Today was a lot, actually. This morning was, at least. Jon couldn't stop crying, not wanting you to go and begging you to either stay home or let him go with you—but all you could do was kiss him goodbye on the forehead before letting go.
Your parents looked at you with soft eyes, but you couldn't bring yourself to hold their gaze, only giving them a quick goodbye before hurried getting into the car.
And completely missing the way your mother looked like she regretted the things that happened in the past few months. Now that her eldest child is moving out, Lois was reminded that you weren't a baby anymore
And completely missing the way your mother looked like she regretted the things that happened in the past few months. Now that her eldest child is moving out, Lois was reminded that you weren't a baby anymore—that you're an adult now, and you're going off on your own, spreading your own wings and flying out of the nest.
She realized that you had been so distant for the past few months. She couldn't remember the last time you hugged her willingly without stiffening up, as if you didn't hate her, but rather didn't know how to act close to her anymore.
And you completely missed the way your father looked like he was about to cry, wondering if it's too late to postpone this for at least a few more days, just so he could take you out to eat at your favourite restaurant again. Without Jon or Lois this time, just you and him, father-child bonding time.
He stopped doing that around when you started high school, because you were already stressed enough, and you were already happy to eat dinner with him at home.
But then family dinner became rare as well. It's not really uncommon for a teen to pass out earlier than dinner due to exhaustion, right? Besides, sometimes you also bring food back into your room to eat while doing your assignments.
So, in conclusion, they realized too late that maybe they hadn't been the best parents ever in the last.. year.
And Clark frowned every time Jon begged him to let him go to your place for just one night, because Jon still wasn't used to sleeping alone without his big sibling. It was just too sudden a change.
But not because he's annoyed, but because he wanted to do that too—but just as he thinks of going to visit his eldest child, it seems like another threat just keeps popping up.
Is that what has been happening without him even noticing? Because he has been so distracted by saving the world that he couldn't even spare his own child a glance?
He wanted to bond with them, but what can he even say? He's embarrassed, really. Not of you but of himself. Because the longer he looks at it, the longer he realized that maybe, he hadn't even been paying attention from the start.
What's your favourite colour? Favourite food? What kind of movie do you like? What's your favourite restaurant?
And whenever he mentioned that, Jon just looked at him like he was being ridiculous. Because, truly, he was. Because it couldn't be possible that Jon knew all of that while Clark had been so clueless for years, right?
...Oh no, he needs to talk to you. Right now.
a/n: I wrote this not with yandere!superfam in mind, so should I make another version...
continuation of my last post
masterlist of all dami/batfam posts here
dick grayson childhood friends to lovers fic coming this week !! (u can find it on the masterlist ;)
Receiver to your lips. "This is The Red Shelf. How can I help you?"
"You need to go home."
Stuttering at first. Looking around to make sure your co-workers can't hear. "Damian?"
"My brother is already there. He'll follow you on your route home."
You're looking around again. Out the window. Across the street.
"Once you're home, you cannot leave." He sounds rushed, uncertain. So unlike himself. "He'll stay with you until I can return."
"What do you mean? What's happening."
"Qalbi, please, just listen to me."
You hold the receiver closer to your mouth, hand cupping whispers, "Listen to what? You're not explaining."
"You're being watched."
Like ice through the center of your chest.
Holding you still as your eyes scan each aisle. Bodies, young and old, checking books and magazines. Are they pretending?
"Okay." You pile all your belongings into one hand. Voice trembling, "Damian, I.... I love you."
"I love you too."
That in itself somehow feels like a death sentence. Saying it in case it's the last time.
The line cuts out.
Restrained as you tell the girls—whose shifts you're supposed to be managing—that a family emergency has occurred.
Chest tight once you're back in the open air. Knees knocking together as you sit at the stop and later aboard the bus. Neck straining. Refusing to look over your shoulder or out the windows. For Tim or Dick. Maybe worse.
Hands buried in your purse, playing with the wire of a pair of earphones. Looping them around your fingers. Pulling so hard the tips turn purple.
You jump when your stop arrives, tugging the wire again until the silicon splits. Quick to your feet, but struggling to move. Bracing yourselves on the stanchions and seats as you pass.
On the verge of throwing up as you enter the building. Key card for the lobby. Keys for the front door that you can't seem to insert no matter how hard you try.
Breath withheld. Grip trembling. The key scraping the lock. Side and side. "Come on," you mutter.
"Need some help?"
A full bodied scream leaves your lips.
Jason's eyes widen.
You clench your chest. Legs regaining feeling at a rate that makes you want to crumble.
"Not the worst reaction I've received when I show up," he says.
"Sorry. You just walk quietly." His presence calms you enough to finally get the key in the door. "And to be honest, I was expecting Tim."
He nods, lips pulled in a wry sort of way. There's a duffel hanging from his left hand. "I think Damian wants someone meaner than Tim around right now."
Jason heads inside before you do—keeps his shoes and jacket on. "Lock the door."
He checks each room. Closes the blinds to every window except the one in the living room corner. Pulls a chair next to it, dropping his duffel with a heavy clank.
When he zips it open, there's knives and what looks like a gun piled inside. A red helmet. Other intense looking items you can't recognize.
He sits down. Folds his arms. Legs crossed beneath himself.
"What, um," you rub your palms against your pants, "what should I do?"
His gaze flickers at you from the window. Still by the door. Antsy, but carefully still.
"Whatever you normally would," he says. "It'd make my life easier, though, if you stayed in the living room."
You sit down on the couch for a while. Upright and mostly watching Jason. Looking away when he'd look at you.
Around the fourth round of look away, he sighs, "This is what you normally do?"
"You can understand nothing about right now is normal for me, right?"
He exhales. Back pressing into the chair, making it creak. "How bad did he make it sound?"
"He didn't, really." Hands fidgeting in your lap. "He just said I'm being watched."
"We think you're being watched," Jason says pointedly. "And it's not just you; it's a number of people linked to us. For all we know, it's a tactic they're using to divide our resources."
"They?" you repeat.
"Some purist group," he says, "Call themselves 'Null'."
"Are these the ones who attacked Damian's mom?"
He breathes deeply. "Yeah."
"Would they kill me?"
"Not without using you as bait first."
A thick swallow rolls down your throat. Passing the heart that's pounding out of your chest. Down into your stomach that's twisted in knots.
"You'll be fine," he says. Lazily even.
"Promise me something, Jason."
"Hm?"
"If I die, make sure Damian mourns me for at least five years."
This wins you more than a sideways glance. Neck craning entirely towards the couch. Full view probably necessary to figure out if you're crazy.
"And I mean like, really mourning me," you say. "Like hugging my picture when he goes to bed and everything."
Your eyes lock, innocent and staring. Then, simultaneously, you both start laughing. Restrained snorts breaking the tension.
"Maybe that was inappropriate," you say, thinking aloud more than anything else. "But thanks."
"For what?"
"You've told me more about what's going on in five minutes than Damian has in years," you say. "I know I can't do anything about it, but still... thanks."
Jason blinks at you, then looks back out the window.
You remain dutifully at the couch. Thinking. Immediately de-escalating every thought that forms.
He glances sideways one more time—your fidgeting hands.
"You're not going to die," he says, watching the window. "No one's getting within ten feet of you while I'm here."
The first semblance of reassurance you've felt in hours. Enough for you to soften against the couch, pick your copy of My Year of Rest and Relaxation up from the coffee table.
The two of you are sitting for so long that you've gone horizontal along the couch and finished the remaining hundred pages.
You set it down as Jason chimes, "What did you think?"
"What?"
"Of the book," he clarifies.
"Oh." You eye the woman on the cover, slouched and unaffected. "Well, it's three hundred pages of subdued misery. How could I not love it?"
"Nobody changes by the end," he points out.
Eyebrows raised. "Would not have pegged you for a Moshfegh guy."
Another crooked glance. "Why not?"
"It's your first time at our place and you brought a gun." Your eyes narrow. "You tell me."
His lips thin. "Back to my original point: nobody changes. A year's worth of induced sleep and all you get is her selling her clothes and commemorating her friend's beauty. That proves she's just as vain as she was in the beginning."
"But I like that." You sit up. "You have a protagonist that tries to solve her emotional stagnancy with physical stagnancy. And when she finally decides to change, she doesn't—not really."
You play with the now-unused bookmark between your fingers. "There's no pretending that wanting to get better means getting better."
Though he's facing the window, you can see the corner of his lip. Upturned in a smile. Fond even.
And then your stomach growls. You realize you haven't eaten since morning. "I'm gonna assume ordering dinner is a bad idea."
He shrugs. "I could eat."
It almost makes you laugh. "What if one of these 'Null' people replaces the delivery man to get to us?"
His brows crease. "What's stopping them from breaking down your door right now?"
"The lack of creativity?" you suggest.
He shakes his head, re-adjusting himself on the chair. "Just have them deliver it to an apartment down the hall."
You grab your phone. "Anything in particular?"
"Just order me whatever you get," he says.
"If you say so." You scroll through your list of nearby restaurants. Places you've bookmarked because Damian enjoyed the food.
The line rings. Picks up.
"Hi, can I order for delivery?"
"Yes, for Jason."
You provide the address of the apartment furthest down the hall. Tell them not to knock or ring the bell.
"One sweet and sour pork, sesame noodles, and then fried rice."
"Is there pineapple on the pork?" Jason whispers.
You nod.
"Ask for extra."
"And do you mind adding extra pineapple to the sweet and sour?" you say, legs shifting against the couch cushion.
He whispers again, "Crab rangoons too."
"Crab rangoons too." You cover the end of the phone. "Anything else?"
He thinks. "Sing me a song?"
You roll your eyes, "Yeah, that'll be all," give your card info then hangup.
You and Jason stand up for the first time in hours when the delivery arrives. He strides down the hall with you a step behind, hidden by his wide frame. Checking over your shoulder again and again as you slip back into the apartment.
"Stop walking like that," he says, returning to his corner seat, "People will think you're having an affair."
You take two plates from the kitchen, slide a chair near Jason in the corner.
He looks at you funnily.
"What?"
His eyes shift between you and the window.
"Oh," you nod. "I get it."
You lower yourself onto the floor, head beneath the windowsill, using your chair as a makeshift table.
"Just sit at your dining table."
"But it's our first meal together," you frown.
"Second," he corrects.
"I don't count the first," you say, scooping sweet and sour onto your plate. "We didn't even get to talk."
He helps himself straight from the carton, picking at the pineapple first. "About what?"
"Anything," you say. Portioning rice for yourself. Leaving the rest for him. "What did it feel like when you left Park Row?"
His hand stills, pineapple balanced between his chopsticks.
"We just started eating."
"Sorry." You pick the peas out of your rice, suddenly missing Damian, who would eat them for you—lecture you about their nutritional value. "What do you like to do for fun?"
He snorts. "You ever get a gift you didn't ask for."
You still. Think of your phone. The apartment. Damian. Him especially.
"Yeah."
"Like that," he says.
A piece of pork balled up in your cheek, "Would you return it?"
His chewing slows. "No." Straightens up in his chair. "It's just uncomfortable sometimes."
You throat feels tight as you swallow. "Yeah."
The small talk comes after. Funny stories about Damian and yourselves. A little bit about your childhoods in Park Row. Feeling pleasantly full as you wash the dishes. Jason, still in his seat, eyes on the window.
But your hands come to a stop when a massive bang sounds down the hall. Frozen as water slips past your palms.
Jason stands up, creeps towards the door. There's a knife in his palm. His other hand pressed to his lips.
You nod. Water still running. Shaking now.
He unlocks the door slowly, disappears into the hall.
Don't go, you almost say.
Limbs locked throughout every minute that he's gone. Chest heaving. Faucet behind, still running. What feels like a wave about to swallow you whole.
Jason returns multiple minutes later with an easy expression. "You're safe."
Unable to hold yourself up longer. Sinking down to your hands and knees. Taking in deep, piercing breaths.
He comes over and turns the water off. Kneels down in front of you. Surely notices the way your arms tremble. "You sure he's still worth it?"
You take your first real breath. A steady in and out. Gaze still on the floor. All your weight into the heel of your hands. "A lifetime of struggling in Park Row or five years with Damian?"
You lift yourself up, lean your back into the cabinet behind. "I can live with being scared every now and then."
Jason's eyes sort of light up. Amusement, pride, or maybe neither. But he smiles widely and helps you back to your feet. "You're crazy."
"But I left Park Row to fight crime at fourteen," he adds. "So, I get it."
You hear a key slip into the lock. Squeeze down on Jason's hand still in yours.
Damian strides in through the doorway and takes you up into his arms. "Qalbi," he breathes.
Your hands press into his back. "There's sesame noodles for you on the table."
He lets go of you, immediately rounding on Jason, "There's a threat on her life, and you let her get takeout?"
Jason folds his arms, "Relax, we were careful."
"He was a very good babysitter," you affirm.
"I never said anything about 'babysitter'," Jason protests.
"I'm in one piece," you point out. Nudge Damian, "Say 'thank you'."
Damian's expression twists.
Jason grins, "Yeah Dame. Say thank you."
The silence stretches. Then, stiffly—
"Thank you."
"Sorry," Jason leans in, "What was that?"
Damian grits his teeth, "Don't push it."
let's not feel alarmed by the fact that i've completed all my chapter outlines and have no idea where to go from here 😆
#this started out as a headcanon post and it's now out of my control
PAIRING Batsis! Reader x Wally West, Roy Harper, Conner Kent, Jon Kent (Separately) / platonic! batboys - Request
SYNOPSIS After seeing a trend on the internet, you convinced your boyfriend to test it in front of your brother to see his reaction with your lover telling you to "shut up"
WARNINGS Fake argument, pet names, your boyfriend(s) being afraid of your brother(s) because of course who wouldn't? Dick "I will hold back my anger to not beat his ass in front of my sister" Grayson, Jason "Next time I will break his arm or both" Todd, Tim "You better sleep with your eyes open" Drake, Damian "Let me have a small talk to you again" Wayne
DIVIDER by @uzmacchiato
A/N - I had to post again because I deleted the original post by mistake I am sorry
WALLY WEST
“You want me to tell you to shut up in front of Dick?” You said, making Wally frown in a confused expression as he finished drinking his coffee.
“And to call me the b word.”
He smiled, a cocky grin that always makes your cheeks burn a bit.
“As in beautiful and bright?”
You raised an eyebrow to him.
“Babe, Dick will, at least, break my legs if I ever call you that.”
“Just don’t let him get you.”
Wally was ready to argue when someone knocked at your apartment’s door, and you knew who the person was.
Dick had just arrived from a long mission and you are always the first person he visits every time he comes to Gotham, and of course you would take this opportunity to test the trend you just saw on the internet.
“Just follow the plan, okay?” You told your boyfriend before opening the door and being greeted with your brother’s arms around you in a tight hug. “Dick!” You laughed when he messed your hair, now walking to the kitchen to greet Wally. “How are you?” His blue eyes looked at you first, then at Wally.
“Same as always.” You said, looking at your brother. “You must be tired…”
“Nah, just need a shower and then what do you think about we order some hamburgers?"
“And french fries and soda?” The red haired completed, earning a smile from his best friend.
“I will be back in a minute.”
And was it, the opportunity. You heard the water falling and waited for it to stop, so after five minutes, you looked at Wally, nodding. “You never listen to me, Wally!” You yelled, and heard something in the bathroom falling.
“You are the one who never listens to me!” He yells back, his voice lacking confidence. “It was your turn to sweep the floor!” You held back a laugh, why would he even suggest that? You should have planned better, but this would do it.
The bathroom’s door opened suddenly and you saw Dick looking at you two, a bit scared. “Hey…”
He was wearing sweats and an old shirt that you thought he had already thrown away, and his hair was dripping like he didn’t have time to dry.
“It was your turn, Wally! I already did it three days ago, why can’t you remember anything! It seems I have to do everything”
“Oh, shut up, bitch! I do parts of the house work as well, you are the lazy-” Dick just put himself between you and Wally, his face at your boyfriend’s direction as he held Wally’s arm, serious.
“You better apologize now, Wallace. Or you get your ass out of this apartment and never look at my sister again.”
You saw Wally’s shoulders sagging, his posture becoming almost softer. “It was my idea, Dick.” You say, poking Dick’s arm. “I just wanted to see how you would react.”
You saw the tension easing on his shoulders, then that bright smile was on his face again. “Oh, so you just wanted to prank me, silly.”
You laughed and your boyfriend sighed, relieved.
“But honestly, brother, I thought you would slap him or something.”
“In front of you? Never. But later I will discuss something with him, don’t worry.”
Oh… Wally was fucked.
ROY HARPER
“He’ll kill me.”
“He won’t, I promise.” You answered your boyfriend, squeezing softly the muscle on his arm.
“What do you mean ‘he won’t’?” Roy looked at you, and you could see that he was almost scared. “Sweetheart, Jason will break my neck at the same time I tell you to shut up.” He murmurs, knowing damn well that Jason is in the living room while you and Roy are in the kitchen.
It’s the game night of the Outlaws, an “idiot”, according to Jason, tradition that Kori created and happens every month.
The others were still arriving, so it was only you, your boyfriend, Roy, and your brother, Jason.
“It’s just a prank, he won’t be mad. I will talk to him later.” You looked at Roy, your eyes breaking his resolve in two. “Please, I want to see his reaction. I saw this on tiktok.”
If someone asked Roy Harper why he accepted this, he wouldn’t know how to answer, but your pleading expression was enough.
And that’s how things happened when he nodded, walking towards the living room ready to act.
“You are always like this, Roy!” You yell, a fake spark of anger in your voice as you stop in front of the TV, making Jason look at you. “How many times have I already asked you to keep your things organized? You always forget your mess everywhere!”
“Oh please, like you are any better.” He was closer to the couch where your brother was sitting. “Fuck, you barely keep the kitchen clean, then wants to argue about me.”
Jason’s body tensed, and you saw when his brows furrowed.
“Me? You know what Roy-”
“Oh, shut up bitch!”
It was too fast.
One second, Jay was sitting on the couch, looking at you both, then the other his hands were around Roy’s collar, almost choking him. “What the fuck did you just called my sister?”
“Jason-” The red haired man’s eyes widened, half-scared half-surprised, then held your brother’s hands. “Wait…”
“Jay, it's just a trend, please!” You ran towards him, trying to hold his arm. “Roy didn’t mean it, I swear.”
After what looked like an eternity, Jason let Roy go, your boyfriend coughing and fixing his shirt as he walked back. “You better apologize, Harper. I don’t care if it's a dumb trend or not, next time you treat my sister like that I won’t have a best friend and you won’t have an arm.”
CONNER KENT
It was after a mission and you were following Tim, your big brother, while Kon was by your side with his arm on your shoulders.
Tim was distracted, good, perfect tim to put your plan into action. You talked to your boyfriend earlier, wanting to see Tim’s reaction to a trend, and he agreed, already knowing what you wanted to do.
So after you three changed your superhero suits to common clothes, you went to buy some sandwiches, since all of you were hungry after a long investigation, and Kon got this opportunity to start your plan.
You were sitting next to an alley and he got a bit of ketchup on his fingers and spread it on your face.
“Stop, Kon.” You faked a stressed face.
He did again, getting Tim’s attention.
“I told you to stop! Damn, you never take anything seriously!”
He scoffed. “Shut up, will you? It’s not that deep-”
In a smooth movement, his sandwich was on the ground and Tim’s hands were on his shirt, ready to give him a punch even if it probably wouldn’t hurt Kon.
“Tim wait! It’s just an internet prank! Calm down!” You pulled your brother back, and your boyfriend was with his eyes widened, not because it hurt or something, but because he wasn’t expecting Tim to react this fast.
“Doll…” You looked at your boyfriend and went closer to him, feeling his arms hugging your waist, still looking at your brother, but Tim was not angry anymore, still, he looked at his best friend and said.
“If I ever dream that you talked to my sister like this again, Conner, you better be prepared.”
JON KENT (Adult! Jon and Adult! Damian)
“No.” Jon said without thinking twice.
“Why not?” You whined, looking at your boyfriend’s eyes as he looked at you, then looked at your bedroom’s door.
Damian was in the kitchen, waiting for you two to finish getting ready since you three were going to your brother’s graduation ceremony. You called Jon to help you fix something in your dress, but then you closed the door and said your plan.
“Love, I know Damian will become a doctor today, but it doesn’t mean that sword in his bedroom is for decoration.”
You scoff. “He won’t use that sword on you, and you can’t even be hurt by a normal blade.”
“True, he will use those kryptonite rings first and then put my head as decoration in his office.”
You rolled your eyes.”Jon, stop with the drama. I never saw you being afraid of him before.”
“He is my best friend, I have no reason to be afraid of him, but we are talking about you, one of the people he most appreciates.” Your eyes softened. “He already threatened me once when we started dating, I know he will do the same when I propose to you, I really don’t want to…”
“Please, I promise I will never ask something like this again.” You held his hands, caressing his fingers before looking at his eyes.”
He sighed. “Fine, what’s the plan?”
After some minute, Damian looked at the door, thinking about knocking since you were getting late, but you burst out of the room, Jon walking behind you with a stressed expression. “I already told you I will make up to you!”
“That’s not the problem Jon, you always break your promises! You canceled our dinner reservation tomorrow, what is next?”
“Why don’t you just shut up and listen to me just one moment-”
You felt warm hands holding your elbow and pulling you aside gently. “Jon, follow me. It looks like someone forgot the talk we had before when you started dating my sister, why don’t you let me refresh your memory?” Damian murmured, walking towards the guest room, but you knew how this and held your brother by the arm. “Wait, Damian it was just a prank, Jon didn’t mean that.”
Damian’s green sharp eyes focused on Jon, who was looking at him with those big blue eyes, and in a moment he was with his head down, looking at his own shoes. “I am sorry.”
“You better be, Kent.”
🍰Main Taglist: @fromrory @demigod-jack-hearth @maaaahhhiii @sixtoads @astraeasworld @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @lulasgna (if you want to be added, tell me in the comments)
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Do NOT repost, copy, translate or use my texts on AI!
Toddler!Al-Ghul Twins meeting Toddler!Jon and the super is already clingy and sweet with Twin!Reader (Dami trying to bite and hit him off his sibling)
Get off my Sibling!
Pair: Toddler! Twin!Al-Ghul Twins x Toddler!Jon
Summary: When a certain super gets so clingy, that a twin is annoyed.
It was an average play date with the twins. You and Damian being held by Tim who smiled at Kon who held the shy boy with blue eyes. Kon and Tim put you three down at the sam time. Watching what you both will do.
What first happened as you rushing to Jon with a wide smile, “Hi. I’m Y/N! What’s your name.” You smile at the boy whose eyes seemed to light up at your approach. “I…I’m Jon..” he held his tiny hand out to you. You giggle holding his hand and shaking it.
“Nice to meet youuu!” Damian held a scowl on his chubby face as he stood beside you. Glaring at Jon who seemed to immediately cling to you.
Jon and you started to play around, most of the time when playing, Jon held his hand in yours and even wrap his arm around yours.
Jon was rubbing his cheek against yours still Damian hit Jon in the middle of his face. “Ouch!” Jon yelped and moved from you. But Damian pushed the poor boy from you, hugging you as he glared at Jon like an evil cat. Jon pouts and pushes Damian back.
You yelled for Tim, making Damian get put into timeout as you and Jon continued to play as Damian planned to destroy Tim’s comics when he gets home.
After a few more games with Jon, you both finished playing hide and seek when Damian is out of timeout. Walking to the play pen, watching you with a neutral look.
You got easily tired and laid down on the floor of the pen, Damian’s eyes light up as this was his moment to cling to his twin. Damian sped over with a wide smile on his face before Jon had super speed onto you. Laying his small toddler baby onto you, laying his head into your chest.
Damian felt an arrow struck his heart, his pouting with a deep scowl as his green eyes stared into Jon’s blue eyes. You softly snored not caring in the world. Your breathing soothing Jon who closed his eyes.
Without hesitation, he pulled at Jon’s black hair. Jon jolted with a yelp as he tries to pull from the hold of Damian.
“Off my sissy/bubba! Off! Off!” Damian chanted as he grit his teeth. Pulling Jon’s hair more.
“No! No!!!!” Jon cries as Tim and Kon. rushed in confused but alerted.
“Damian no!” You woke up to Tim trying to pull Damian from Jon’s hair as Damian screamed like the devil he is. Jon was still crying and holding onto his hair as Kon was nervously looking at Tim.
“What do you guys feed that little thing!?”
“I don’t know?! I’m so sorry Kon..” “it’s fine Tim.”
Damian was soon off of Jon and huffed his chubby cheeks. But then, he lays his head onto your lap. You nervously fiddle with your small fingers. “Dami…” you say softly as you looked at Jon who sniffled. He just wanted to be by you… he loves your heartbeat.
Damian huffs, not even wanting to talk as he closes his eyes. Jon waited a few minutes before walking over to you and sitting down quietly. You looked at Jon who smiled sweetly at you with a hint of blush on his cheeks.
Jon hugs you from around your neck as you lean against him. But sadly you both didn’t notice a jealous twin who glares at Jon.
Opening his mouth as he sat up, he gets ready to attack.
“DAMIAN NO!” Tim yelled as he runs over to the small demon.
There were no more play dates til Damian learned how to share you.
summary: Jonathan Kent has never really had a best friend. That changes when Damian Wayne kidnaps him to make sure he doesn't accidentally burn another cat alive, and he meets his younger sister — you — who, funnily enough, doesn't have a best friend either. (Or: Clark Kent and your mom live what ended up being their Waterloo all over again.)
pairing(s): jonathan kent x batsis!reader, batsis!reader x batfamily (platonic), batmom x bruce?
word count: 8.8k
warnings: ace is here even if he probably should be dead, I don't care no dog will die on my watch, damian and reader might just be the same person, lotsa fluff, two-parter!! all the action will take place in the next part lmao... follows the start of the supersons comics, reader's the daughter of the reader from the previous story and bruce (weird ik)
author's note: this takes place in the same universe as if you're done with your ex, so you might want to read that before reading this if you still haven't! it's a bit complicated to understand without the backstory :) as always, million thanks to @lechelovestoyap, who beta-read this story!
sequel of ⮕ if you're done with your ex, move on to the next!
the history book on the shelf | is always repeating itself
You’re nine when you first meet Jonathan Kent — at least, you’re nine when you remember meeting him.
It’s night — AKA, the only reason why you’re in the Batcave in the first place. You’re usually not allowed there unless it’s for exercising or rare emergencies, as you’re the only one of your siblings that your mother has actually managed to keep out of vigilante activities — even if your father still insisted on basic training, for defence only.
You woke up and the bed was feeling just a tad bit too big and lonely for you to stay there, so you immediately went to your parent’s bedroom — only to remember that your mom isn’t home thanks to a conference in Metropolis, and so dad is your last resolution to avoid loneliness.
With a family full of people who enjoy dressing up every night like it’s Halloween, it’s rare for someone to be at home this late. Bruce never had any problem with you waiting in the cave for him when mom isn’t around, though, and Damian should be there too — grounded after last week’s… incident with Black Mask, if you remember correctly. That’s a good thing, because when you’re there alone the cave doesn’t do anything but give you chills, and you know that Alfred would be too preoccupied in following your father’s steps through the Batcomputer to keep you company.
So you gather all the courage your little body can hold while wearing batgirl pajamas and hope that your dad will be in the cave, ready to hold you in his arms while waiting for you to fall asleep. The grandfather clock in your father’s study is way too tall for you to reach it properly alone, so you have to take a chair and get up on it to put in the right time and open the entrance to the Batcave — all while keeping a strong grip on Sitka, the elephant plushie Dick gave you for nights like this.
Now, it's no secret that all your siblings have a favourite — who happens to be you (duh!) thanks to being the youngest in the family. You get away with almost anything, mostly because whatever you do your brothers probably already did it with ten times more damage. But if there's someone in the family who loves unconditionally, that's Dick.
Dick, the oldest brother who gifted you his beloved plushie — which he has had ever since his time with the circus — when you were barely even able to comprehend what it meant to him. The same brother that only comes over when mom's around, too, to ensure that he's not showing any favouritism towards Bruce.
You have to concentrate not to trip over the stairs — the cave's dark, even more than usual, and they're steep and wet with humidity. “Dad?” you call out, hopeful. Nothing greets you back. “Alfred? Dami? Is anyone there?”
Something does greet you back, but it's more of a strangled cry of help rather than your father inquiring about you being awake at this late hour. You opt to follow the voice — you are the daughter of the world's greatest detective, after all — and find yourself in the genetics division of the Batcave, with a rather… peculiar sight in front of you.
Now, you know uncle Clark has a son. You don’t remember meeting him, but even so, you know the one who's strapped to the operation table and connected to various monitors is him, because the resemblance is uncanny — and also because he's got the Superman emblem on the hoodie he's wearing, even if they're pretty popular these days. “I… um, hi?”
“Hi!” the boy doesn't look too older than you, and sees his opportunity to flee, head raising from the cold metal as his words are full of embarrassment and alarm. “Could you please help me off this table?”
You frown. “Did Damian bring you here? Mom and dad forbid him from doing human experiments.”
He looks even more worried. “Who's Damian? I just woke up here.”
You sigh, holding Sitka tighter and scooting closer to the table. “Ooh, mom’s gonna get maaad,” you sing-a-song as you start unbuckling the belts around his wrists, having to get on your pointers just to reach the table, “Sorry about this. My brother's a bit weird sometimes,” you tell him your name, “mom’s out for the week, but don't worry, dad should be here at any given moment. Besides, wait until she hears about this and you won't need super hearing to hear the things she'll tell him.”
He blinks, “I'm Jon,” with his limbs free, he looks more at ease now, “where are we?”
You frown. “The Batcave. Oh, be careful with telling me your name is Jon, because you definitely shouldn't be telling anyone that. Am I right, Superboy?” you think you’ve heard your mother mention him a couple of times.
He gulps, flushing red, “Yeah… sorry about that.”
A crash comes from behind you, making both you and Jon shriek, “Hands off the prisoner, sister.”
It’s embarrassing the way Jon hides behind you, really — but he thinks he’s definitely had enough scares for today, and surely, this Damian guy would never hurt his sister, right? “Prisoner? Dami, mom forbid you from keeping those, like… two years ago.”
He raises an eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Well, do you see mother anywhere?”
“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean–”
“Damian.”
You and Jon shriek again, this time reaching for each other in a hug that feels like trauma bonding, Sitka sandwiched between the two of you. It’s your father — because of course it is, always making these dramatic entrances that make you lose years of your life for sure — perched atop one of the lab’s monitors. “The Justice League computer was hacked from here. Care to explain?”
Robin huffs. “It became necessary to monitor the alien spawn’s threat when absent from his father’s restraint.”
Your father’s — no, Batman’s voice cuts through the tension in the air like it’s ice cream. “Why?”
“Because he’s a threat to all humanity and a danger to every living species including endangered hawks and domestic felines whom he incinerated–”
“Enough.” you can feel your father’s rage seeping through his restraint. “We’ve already talked about this. Superboy is not a threat — not one that we have to deal with, at least.” his eyes soften the smallest bit once he sees you. “Sweetheart, it would be best for you to go upstairs before Superman–”
An explosion tears through the lab, and a fuming and clearly blind from rage Superman emerges from the ruins of the machinery he just tore apart, eyes red with lasers he’s not afraid to shoot. “What have you done with my son?!”
It’s scary. You’ve never seen uncle Clark like that — he’s always smiling, both on TV and at galas — so it’s safe to say that you shrieked for the umpteenth time that night, but this time out of pure and unadulterated fear. This time, Jon shields you as best as he can (those super genes about saving people and innocent must be dominant ones) before your father can get to you, even if he’s not even that bigger than you.
Your dad is not one to hide from a fight, even if said fight is with an overpowered alien being that he would normally have no chances against. Your eyes genuinely widen in fear at the sight of the kryptonite batarang already in his hand, ready to throw it if needed. “Calm down, Kent. The kid’s safe and sound.”
Uncle Clark casts a glance in your general direction, no doubts scanning Jon with his x-ray vision to verify that he hasn’t been hurt; his eyes ease a little after seeing him so eager to shield someone — you — from potential wounds, only to go back to glare at Bruce, eyeing Damian behind him. “Someone should teach that son of yours some manners,” he hisses, probably guessing that it wasn’t either you nor Bruce who organized the kidnapping.
“Hn.” your father doesn’t look surprised, “Don’t tell me.”
“Jon’s a nice kid. A kid who despite not yet being to the full extent of his powers still tried to protect your daughter.” he nods to his son, who’s helping you up and handing back Sitka, “and I thought I had made myself clear about his powers to the rest of you — I’ll be dealing with it. So make sure to keep your son at distance, alright?”
He furrows his brows as he turns to send a one of a kind stare to Robin. “Did you hear, chum? No more kidnappings for you,” he leans his head menacingly, “Or I’ll tell your mom.”
It’s entertaining to watch all the color drain from his face. “Please don’t,” his voice is so small that it’s barely audible.
Bruce raises an eyebrow, “Oh, so when I hear word about this it’s no big deal but when my wife does it is?”
Clark looks at him a bit weirded out, “Bruce, has your wife never gotten mad at you? Don’t you know how terrifying she is?”
The man stares back at him with not an ounce of fear in his eyes. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” He can't exactly tell him that his wife being angry doesn’t have an effect on him because it kind of turns him on. He turns to where you and Jon were, ready to tell you to go back to sleep before he notices that the both of you are gone. “I think your son’s already started to be a bad influence on my daughter. Get him back before I do.”
Superman barely manages to avoid rolling his eyes before he’s out of the lab and scanning the Batcave for his son and you, only to freeze before reaching the Batcomputer as the scene before him unfolds. You’re sitting on the chair before the screen, holding a Capri-Sun in your hands as Jon — a pouch of juice in his hands too — sits right beside you, squeezed in on the same chair, as you show him the games you’ve had Alfred download on the… what? Fifty-million dollar supercomputer?
Neither Jon nor you seem to care about the cramped space the chair offers, legs swinging happily as you drink your orange juice. “And then– blam! You get the podium for the best outfit. Got it?”
Superboy nods enthusiastically, his hands moving on the keyboard in place of yours — but as Clark knows all too well, his enthusiasm usually doesn’t really mean skill, and you notice immediately. After a few ‘No! Never put brown and red together, it’s hideous!’ and too many ‘Is that a tracksuit? With heels and a diamond necklace? WERE YOU RAISED IN A BARN?’ (he kinda was, in fact, raised in a barn) Jon slumps on the chair, defeated, leaving you to take control of the supermodel game — or whatever it is. Waynes, always needing control over things.
Clark has to suppress a smile. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t dreamt about this — his son having a friend to follow him through all his childhood like he had. It’s a shame that Jon never really seemed to click with anyone — he’s not an introvert, the complete opposite actually, but he doesn’t seem to have a best friend over the others. Not the kind of best friend that Clark had at his age, anyway.
He snaps out of his trance. “Jon!” he calls out, walking over to the chair you’re sharing, “We have to go home, buddy. Your mom was worried sick.”
“Aw,” his son pouts as you slump over the backrest, Sitka smothered between the two of you, “But uncle Clark! He’s helping me win the runway!”
Superman raises an eyebrow, “Next week Jon’s got his appointment to see if he’s colorblind, sweetheart. I doubt he’s helping you in any way, considering that his favorite piece of clothing is a dinosaur pajama onesie.”
Jon’s face reddens in a way that Clark would only describe as downright comical, so much so that he almost bursts out laughing. “Dad!” he hisses, hands on his face, “That’s not true!”
“My favourite piece of clothing is my unicorn pajamas,” you add, completely clueless to the whole ordeal. “They have a tutu sewed in. It has paillettes.”
Definitely Bruce’s kid — never heard of a pajama tutu with glitter on it. The kid’s as extra as her father. Jon looks relieved. “Really? That’s great! We should have a sleepover in our best outfits then, you can bring Sitka and I’ll take–”
“Jon,” his father interrupts him, hands on his hips, “your bedtime was three hours ago. You’ll have time to talk about a possible sleepover another time.”
He didn’t even hear Bruce sliding beside him in the meanwhile, clearly having just given a stern talk to Damian. “Besides, missy, why are you up at this hour?”
You jump up from your seat, running up to him, “Daddy!” you squeal as he catches you in his arms, cuddling up on his shoulder, “I missed you sooo much. I couldn’t sleep and went looking for you, but you weren’t there.”
Batman smiles, and it’s honestly kinda scary — even Clark, who has known him for years, is still not used to it. “Then I’ll make sure to get you to bed immediately,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, sparing a look at Superman, “you know where the exit is, Clark.” he frowns when you tug him down to your level by his collar, whispering something to his ear; Bruce grimaces almost comically, not able to hide his emotions in such a case. “And… I’ll see that my wife organises a sleepover between our children.” you pinch his cheek, “I– okay, okay, as soon as possible.”
Damian does get grounded as soon as mom comes home. Unfortunately, it’s not the normal type of punishment that you get, but rather what your father considers being a grounding — that being, brotherhood strengthening bootcamp for both him and Jon in the hopes that they become friends. As expected, you are not included in such activities because the mere thought of you being out there and fighting makes your father turn pale.
(Not that he likes the idea of any of his kids running around in a Halloween costume like he does… you’re just the only one who actually listens to him. For now.)
Damian and Jon spend a week at brotherhood bonding bootcamp — or whatever that is anyway — seven days of which you feel every second. Aside from all his weird acts and sometimes rude behaviour, Dami’s fun to be around, and being homeschooled alone is not something you’re used to.
“Stop moping around,” your mother tells you one evening as she does her regular check-ups on the animals of the Manor, “your brother will be back in… I don’t know, soon enough. You know he gets antsy if he’s away from his friends too much.” his friends, meaning the farm that by now Damian has rooted in the Manor, consisted of but not limited to: Bat-Cow, Alfred The Cat, Titus, Goliath, Jerry the turkey and you think that he owns a monkey but still hasn’t really told dad. He’s lucky that your mom’s a vet, because otherwise, the bill to the veterinarian would surely give him away. “And maybe, this time, he’ll be back with an actual friend that isn’t an animal. I love animals, but he really should learn about socializing.”
“Yeah, he didn’t have to do it with my friend, though.”
Your mother laughs anxiously. “Uh… you mean Jon? You two met once.”
“Yeah, and I crushed him at Barbie Fashion Designer! It was fun!”
Your mom takes a breath of relief. Sometimes she forgets how children manage to make friends so easily. “Well, I’m sure we could invite him to dinner sometimes — you know, after they come back from bootcamp with hopefully all limbs attached.” not a given, by the way.
But they do come back — bleary, sleepy and weirdly befriended.
It’s four in the morning when Damian opens the door to your room, still in his Robin suit, with a yawning Superboy beside him — Clark’s off world and Lois is out of state for an assignment, so he’s sleeping at the Manor for now. “Sister,” he calls out, the light from the hallway waking you up. You hoist yourself on your elbows, rubbing your eye, “Damian? Is that you?”
His reply is smug, “Of course. Mother said you missed me, so here I am.”
You look at him, then at Jon, then motion for the two of them to enter.
Your room is nothing if not a princess castle. Your bed’s a double (completely unnecessary for a kid your age, really) with bright pink canopy curtains and an awful lot of plushies on the sheets. There’s a tea table on the side, a ginormous doll castle on the other, and the biggest closet Jon’s ever seen in his entire life. Above your pillows, a mountain of plushies greets them, sparkly and unorganized and again, totally unnecessary.
You hand Damian a unicorn plushie, “Ms. Rainbows for you,” he stares down at the plushie like he’s known it for his entire life and with… pride? “Of course. Did you doubt that?”
Still bleary, you look at the other plushies with your eyes barely open, “And for Jon,” you ponder out loud, taking a… very stylish troll? in your hands. “Lady Glitter Sparkles.”
Damian gasps dramatically. “No way! Why does he get Lady Glitter Sparkles and I only get Ms. Rainbows?!”
“‘Cuz it’s the first time he’s sleeping here. He needs support.” you throw a glance at Jon as Damian jumps on your bed, still grumbling, “You are sleeping here, right?”
The pink sheets look too soft to decline the offer, and Jon jumps on the bed same as Damian, face down, “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Lady Glitter Sparkles likes glitter,” you mumble to him, your sparkly bed mask back in place over your eyes as you snuggle back on your comforter, “and dancing… and weddings… and sleepovers…” your voice gets droopier and droopier until you fall asleep, and just as Jon is about to follow you in the land of dreams, Damian catches his eye — he’s staring daggers at him, and if he had anything remotely sharp, Jon is sure he would use it. “What?”
“I’ve been aiming at Lady Glitter Sparkles since I got here,” your brother hisses, careful not to wake you up, “then you get here, and get her immediately. I’ve got my eyes on you, Kent…” he trails off, “And on Lady Glitter Sparkles.”
In the end, Jon ends up being more your friend than Damian’s. Sure, they go on patrol and do anything superhero related together, but that’s like being work wives, basically. You like to think that between you and Damian, Jon finds you the more reliable one (it might have to do with the fact that he once sneaked up on your brother when he was making hypothetical contingency plans for the Teen Titans, but just maybe).
Without the aid of other words, Jon is getting down-right princess-y-fied. When he comes over you put crowns on his head — never tiaras, because tiaras are yours to wear — have him do tea parties with you, your plushies and Titus, who always looks very elated to be deemed worthy of the recycled Bride-To-Be stash from your mother’s bachelorette party. Alfred has taught you perfect table manners and the right way to drink tea, and you make short work of Jon — yelling like a drill sergeant whenever you see him lifting his pinky the wrong way.
When Clark comes to rescue him (AKA, pick him up from the manor) he holds his head high with all the honor a crowned queen can have an mutters in a broken English accent, “How pleasant to see you, father,” He then bursts out laughing, followed by you and a very stern-looking Titus, who clearly doesn’t get the appeal of Jon’s worst british royalty expression.
Clark, on the other hand, looks like he’s seen a ghost. His gaze keeps going from Jon to you, then to his son and then you again. “Uh… sure.” it’s the first time he picks him up when you’re playing — until now, it’s always been after patrolling with Damian or after dinner, when you’re all too drunk on food to play in any way.
Jon frowns. “Hey, dad, everything okay?”
“Uh… yeah. Yeah, ‘s okay.” it’s clearly not, but neither of you are going to say anything. “C’mon, Jonno, your mother’s waiting for us at home.”
It’s a pattern, you two soon notice: both his father and your mother often look dazed when they see the two of you together, like they can’t or don’t want to believe their eyes. It becomes even more obvious when spring break comes, and accidentally both the Kents and the Waynes decide to spend it in Smallville.
Nana and gramps’ house is as crowded as ever — honestly, there’s no sane nor insane person in your family who would ever miss a visit, and that means being in an overcrowded farm for two weeks straight with three dogs, a cat, your parents, your grandparents, all six of your siblings and last but not least, Alfred. Of course, it’s only fair that Damian and Jason start fighting after just arriving, so when your mom banishes them to the barn at least you and Cass get a whole room to yourselves.
Your dad is less than elated to find out that the Kents have had the same idea as you guys — and finds out just the next morning after you arrive, when Ma Kent sends Jon to bring nana freshly picked blueberries, right when he’s sitting on the porch’s rocking chair sipping coffee as your brothers yell and fight about the last cookie inside the house.
Jon perks up, the blueberries forgotten on Bruce’s lap — who, by the way, is still in denial about what Jon being here means. “Is everyone here?”
“Yes,” your dad grumbles, already dreading the dinner with the Kents that your parents will surely force you all into. He isn’t prepared, however, for Jon to start screaming in the unmanliest way possible right in his ear, barging into the house and yelling your name excitedly.
You’re still sleeping, a unicorn glitter sleep mask over your eyes, when he bursts open the door to your room and starts jumping on your bed while chanting your name. “Wakeupwakeupwakeuppp!”
A hand slams over his mouth before he can repeat his screams, and he finds himself in Cass’ — hair mussed, eyes still hazy with sleep — deadly grip. “I better not hear another squeal. Are we clear?”
He nods, scared, and she leaves him in favor of going back to bed. You, however, groggily sit up with your mask still crooked on your face. “Who’s dying?” you ask, completely unphased. You proceed to squeal even louder than Jon did as you see him, and you both start jumping on the bed while holding hands as you chant something about vacation together and riding cows.
(Cass tries to drown the noise out with her pillow. She fails. She proceeds to tackle the two of you into silence.)
To say that your mother grows grey hairs that week would be an understatement. She’s having full-on war flashbacks, because you and Jon act like she and Clark did at your age. You go out in the fields, often not coming back until it’s dark out, and your nana mentioning happily about the two families one day possibly becoming one nearly makes her faint on the spot.
Clark’s not having a good time, either. It’s all too similar to what the two of them had, and as much as he loves for Jon to finally have a best friend, he wishes it didn’t have to be you. You’re a good kid, but it’s what you remind him of the problem. He wouldn’t want the two of you to go through the same heartbreak they had to suffer if things ever went south.
(As much as he doesn’t regret breaking up with her — the both of them now have happy families that they wouldn’t trade for the world — he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t often wonder about the what ifs of it all.)
Bruce doesn’t really like you and Jon always going around together — but that’s just common dad behaviour, and besides, he’s Batman. Clark just considers himself lucky not to have his secret identity leaked into the internet, because he sees the way Jon looks at you, and he’s sure your father has noticed too, and he probably is not happy about it, considering he barely tolerates him as it is — and they’ve known each other for years, so the fact that his son clearly has the biggest crush known to man on his daughter isn’t helping their already rough relationship.
Meanwhile, with both you and Jon completely oblivious to this, your friendship continues unscathed.
The two of you are pretty much the only normal kids in a five mile radius; with everyone in Smallville being away for the holidays, and with Damian refusing to ‘take part in such childish activities’ — in his own words — it’s you and Jon against the odds of Smallville’s fields.
(Well. It’s you against anything that’s alive and small in Smallville, because while Jon stops every time he sees a big beetle to take it and show it to you happily, you have to hang on to all your Wayne genes not to scream like the little girl you are.
Yes, you’re afraid of bugs. Gotham has prepared you for weirdly sized rats and alligators, but it’s never had a problem with insects, since… well. The rats eat them. Besides, you’ve been raised in the city, and in an expensive mansion at that too — creepy-crawlies are not your specialty.)
The thing is, you guys get more prepared by the day; by the start of the second week, you get out of the house with a bucket hat, a pink fish net and a bag packed for every inconvenience possible. “Jon said his dad showed him a cool place,” you tell your dad, still in his pajamas while you’re already fully dressed, as you inhale your way through breakfast, “he wants to bring me there, too.” You then go on to talk a mile per minute about the list of things you need to bring with you. Your poor father, still barely awake, doesn’t process a single word you say; the only thing on his mind is, did it have to be a supe? Why are his children so drawn to superpeople? He doesn’t get the hype, really.
Soon enough, armed with just a Winx baseball cap and a whole lot of sunscreen on every single inch of showing skin on your body — because Nana is just that serious about sun radiation —, as well as a small backpack with your packed lunch in it, off you go to the Kent’s farm to bother Jon.
It’s Clark who answers the door when you knock — glasses crooked on his face, clearly barely awake. He squints when he sees it’s you — because usually, it’s Jon who comes to pick you up from your grandparents’, but today you were so excited that you doubt he’s even awake yet. “Oh,” the man blinks, “hi, hun– how can I help you?”
“Is Jon awake?” you ask, buzzing with excitement.
Another sleepy blink — Clark’s clearly holding in the biggest yawn known to mankind. “No, uh– I don’t think so. Would you like to do the honors?”
Jon’s room is space-themed, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was meant to be the inside of a spaceship — but after getting corrected once too many times, you know know it’s supposed to be a cupola, the observatory part of the spaceship that lets on the starry space outside. He’s messy with it — clothes scattered around, dirty socks everywhere, unfinished LEGOs on the carpet — but overall, the room screams Jon so loudly that you wouldn’t be able to imagine it in any other way.
From the bunk bed he’d begged his parents to get him for sleepovers — that he actually uses to be closer to the ceiling window to see stars — to the Masters of the Universe poster that he insists is his dad’s, and that he has no idea how it ended up on the wall, Jon has a way of making a room feel so warm by just existing in it that you’ll never be able to properly understand, nor replicate.
Anyway…
Jon wakes up with a pillow thrown on his face and hysterical laughter from beside him. Considering that Krypto’s laugh (or bark) is way louder and the fact that he’s at Kara’s, it doesn’t take him much time to figure out the perpetrator. “Traitor!”
Feathers fly in the air as he counteracts, and you accept the cushion in your face with an indignant huff!, then kick him for good measure. “Unfair– you’ve got super strength, I don’t!”
When after a good thirty minutes of you being there Jon still hasn’t come down the stairs, Clark rubs his eyes and figures that maybe it’s time to rub this sleepiness off and figure out where the two of you have wandered off to. As Martha sets down in front of him his second coffee of the day, she sends him a knowing glance, “Y’know, you used to need a whole lot more time to come down the stairs than usual whenever she was around to wake you up, too,” she teases, “I’d go up to your room and find the two of you confabulating on whatever adventure you were about to go off to.”
It takes him a minute to understand what exactly she’s talking about, and as soon as he does, he’s grateful that Lois has yet to wake up to hear it. While it’s been almost twenty years, he sometimes thinks that she’s still grieving over him breaking up with your mother — despite the fact that Martha probably wouldn’t trade neither Jon nor Lois for everything in the world. He sighs, “Stop that, Ma. Don’ go puttin’ on the kids’ shoulders the image of someone they are not.”
She hums, completely unbothered. “Whatever ya say, hun.”
But as he goes up the stairs and gently pushes open the door to Jon’s room, he is greeted by the sight of the two of you whispering and giggling to each other — apparently still completely oblivious to his presence. Martha passes behind Clark, giving him a raised brow, “Still think your kids don’t look like you guys at all?”
“Why don’t you guys go to Crater Lake today?” Nana proposes one morning, pancakes cooking on the stove. “It’ll be nice for the kids, and it’s pretty hot today, so I’m sure you guys could freshen up a bit.” technically just you and Damian are the kids, but, well, it’s nana. She still calls Dick Dickie Boy, and you’re convinced she thinks he’s still eleven years old.
You’re pretty bummed about not seeing Jon, but you guys have spent every day for the past week and a half together, and it’s only fair that you spend some time with your family — it’s been difficult to get everyone together these past few years, and in retrospect, you’re actually happy about spending the whole day with them, even if you do wish Jon was there too.
So, two hours later — because of course it takes two hours to get everyone to pack and put their swimsuits on, not to mention the thirty-minute long fight that Dick and Jason had over who got to drive the second car needed to get the whole family to the lake — you’re strapped in the car seat between Damian and Jason, humming happily and ready to show off everything that you’ve learned in those swimming lessons your father signed you up for months ago, while Bruce drives with a deep frown over his face as your brothers have a screaming match in the backseat about– you’re not sure what exactly, but something tells you it’s not about who gets to use your new Winx floatie first.
Your mother’s in the passenger seat and looks more amused than anything else — you’re pretty sure it’s just the fact that Jay wanted to drive and instead ended up in the car with Bruce on the wheel, out of all people, that almost makes her laugh.
The fifteen-minute drive to the lake ends — and your father almost jumps out of the car in relief, already running to the back to get everything he needs to set up camp on the shore of the lake, and when he goes to do so he’s stopped right in his tracks at the sight of something– someone, if you will. He doesn’t think about it twice and goes back to the car, only to meet you — perched on top of Jason’s shoulders —, the latter and Dick, carrying everything he left in the trunk, the rest of the family trailing behind them. “Hey, what’s wron–”
“We’ve gotta be quick,” Bruce interrupts him, “I think he saw me. Just get back to the car–”
You peek behind him, and gasp loudly as your father’s face falls. “No way– Jon!”
The poor kid is running towards the lot of you — his little legs catching up to Bruce’s strides — and you almost break Jason’s neck by clambering off of his shoulders in such haste. “Yay!” the two of you clash and he nearly topples down to the ground, but neither of you seems too distraught by it, jumping up and down in the air. “Lake day! Lake day! Lake day!”
“Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that you’re her father,” Jason grumbles, one hand on his sore neck, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you half as happy as she is now. Not even a quarter.”
Bruce looks like he’s just been sent to a warzone — he probably was looking forward to a day without the Kents on the back of his mind. “That’s all her mother,” he says it like it’s a sentence. “Besides, that’s not true. I’ve had my pretty happy moments.”
His second son looks at him, unimpressed, “Oh, did you?”
“Jonno!” it’s Lois, out of breath from running behind her kid, and Jon and you stop in your tracks and adopt a terrified expression — is the Lane treatment really that scary? “I told you, you can’t run off like this– oh?” Unlike Bruce did to her son, she lights up at the sight of you, now uncharacteristically shy under her gaze, kicking the pebbles under your feet. “What a surprise! I didn’t know you were thinking about coming to the lake, too.”
She looks at your father and brothers, smiling, “Why don’t you come sit with us? We managed to get a pretty nice spot.”
And that’s how your father — who was hoping to be ridden of Clark for once — finds himself sitting right beside him on the same towel (the only one left after his kids’ got their hands on the satchel with all the towels and his wife and Lois snatched the last two) downright sulking as he watches you, Jon and Damian (who’d never admit he was having fun acting like a normal kid) play in the water.
“How many times do I have to tell you!” you scream at him — well, that leadership complex is definitely all from your father. “You’re Sebastian. I’m Ariel. He’s–” you point at Jon, “Eric. You can’t start punching Eric!”
“You didn’t even tell me what this Sebastian guy does!” your brother protests, outraged. “You know I don’t have time to waste on these stupid Disney movies!”
You and Jon exchange a glance, and it’s like that’s enough for the both of you to team up over the same version. “He’s, like, Ariel’s bodyguard.”
“Then I can and should punch Jon!”
“No! Eric’s the prince!”
Later in the morning — just before lunch — uncle Clark joins you guys in the water, and you’ve gotta say, he makes a perfect climbing ladder. He catches you by the ankle and throws you in the water like the three of you are made of rubber rather than skin and bones, and it goes on until Bruce shriekes like a mother hen when you’re thrown back into the water a little harder than he would like.
After that, you and Jon are back on the shore, sharing a towel draped around your shoulders as you eat the sandwiches that both your grandmas prepared for the day, sharing a loud and most profound conversation about what’s worse — watermelon seeds or grapes’. “In the watermelon there are many, so you, like, get used to them,” your mother hears you mumble, your head dropping to his shoulder as you yawn, “You can’t predict them in grapes, and they’re nasty. I hate grapes.”
Jon frowns like the debate is actually complicated for him. “I like grapes. What’s wrong with them?”
”The seeds. Are you even listening to me?”
“I was. Can’t you just get seedless ones?”
Not even twenty minutes later, you’re both knocked out on the towel Lois left empty when she got up for a swim, the towel you were sharing before now acting like a blanket in the shade. You turn in your sleep like always —- your mother always jokes that it's impossible to sleep with you, but Jon doesn’t seem to mind. He adapts every time you shift, and somehow even misses a punch she’d describe as nearly fatal, not waking up even when you slap him right on his nose.
Your mother brushes the hair out of your face, a soft smile on her face — she’s happy that you have a friend like Jon, even if she’d be happier if he wasn’t Clark’s son, given their history. What is it with this family and the Kents? Aren’t Tim and Conner enough to break this curse? Is it even a curse? Maybe she’s just haunted about what it could’ve been. She’s always been a bit dramatic, after all.
Clark joins her after a while, sitting beside her in silence, staring softly at you and his son. “They’re cute, ain’t they?”
She hums, “I lost count of the times my mother said that ‘finally the Kents are going to be marrying into the family’.”
He grimaces. “How is it that after all these years — marrying and having children with our respective partners — it still hurts?”
She shrugs, “I guess it’s because we’re seeing them having what we did, and we don’t want them to get hurt like we did. So the first instinct is to never let them see each other again — but wouldn’t that hurt them more?”
The silence stretches into long minutes. “Do you ever regret it?” Clark asks quietly at some point, “What we had, I mean.”
Her answer is immediate. “Never. I love my life as it is now — but I wouldn’t be the person I am without you.”
He nods, a soft grin on his face, “I think so too. So, how about we let them live their life and see? They’re still young, after all. It’s not a given that they’ll turn out like us.”
Finally, your mother finds it in herself to reciprocate the smile. “Let’s.”
Later on that same day, Clark frowns at a bruise on Bruce’s back. “What happened? You didn’t go on patrol for more than a week. Your conditions should be pristine.”
His friend looks at him, unamused. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Superman raises an eyebrow, “Oh, do tell me.”
“It’s my wife,” Bruce groans, stretching out his back, “she’s violent in bed — and not in the way you’d think. She kicks me and tries to punch me in her sleep.”
Clark blinks — he did remember her being quite restless when sleeping, but it never bothered him that much, being as he’s invulnerable and all. “Bruce, you’re quite literally talking to the only man in the world that can understand the issue.”
The guy deadpans. “Just stop reminding me of that.”
Things with Jon change when you’re about twelve years old.
Pre-teens are weird. They think about things they wouldn’t even have noticed before, talk about things they didn’t care about once — and the biggest example of this are boys.
You look at your snotty-nosed male classmates and think that it’s no wonder that aunt Jenna and aunt Kelly got married, because if Jon wasn’t on the market, you think you’d start liking girls, too — the situation with boys your age is simply that serious. You don’t understand just how your girl friends can squeal and dream about dudes that are barely their height and have the emotional capacity of a monkey.
Your Jonno could never. He’s considerate, caring, affectionate– and it’s only when you start writing your name with the surname Kent in your diary and unconsciously draw hearts around his name that you notice that something’s really wrong with you. So, you do the sanest thing you could, and go ask your brother about it.
(The breaking point is a Thursday playdate being cancelled for mysterious reasons. It’s only from Damian that you find out that Jon had to help out someone named Cindy — in his words, “Sorry, I really need to sit this one out– I think she needs me more than you guys do right now”.)
Dick out of all people should know how to deal with… crushes. You’re hesitant to use that word, because it’s still your best friend we’re talking about here, and you’re not about to waste four years of best-friending on some stupid, surely hormone-related, definitely fleeting, weird attraction.
When you first tell him, he’s silent. Then, he utters, “Huh?” then points to himself like he’s some kind of criminal. “And you’re asking me? Last time someone asked me for relationship advice, Tim and Steph broke up for good.”
You shove his arm, “It’s not relationship advice!” you hiss, lowering your voice just in case someone’s listening in — which, in the case of Wayne Manor, is very plausible. “It’s friendship advice!”
He blinks, side-eyeing you, “Puh-lease,” he drags out, “he’s been giving you heart eyes ever since you guys have known each other. It’s a surprise that you’re finding out you like him just now, ‘cause I’m pretty sure he’s been waiting for this moment ever since he could make out a coherent thought about you.”
“I’m not saying I like him!” You whisper-yell, then advert his gaze and go back to looking at the points of your shoes. A few moments pass, then bashfully you add, “…Do you really think so?”
Dick doesn’t even try to be serious — in fact, he bursts out laughing as soon as you finish your sentence. “You guys are ridiculous!” he hollers, “Now I know why mom and Bruce were badmouthing me and Barbara all the time back when we were kids!”
“Stop it!” you shriek, flushed from head to toe, “I knew this was a bad idea– you’re such a bad brother!”
He gasps, outraged, as you get up from the couch to escape the hell that is his way of being helpful. He doesn’t waste a single moment in hoisting you up from behind as you shriek and kick your legs, then toss you back on the couch like nothing. “I am a perfectly good brother!” he protests, not actually angry at all. “I just happen to put the truth first!”
You pout, crossing your arms. “Yeah, because you never ever lie. Except that one time about Santa Claus. And that one other time about getting me an elephant. And let’s not forget that one time you promised you’d let me drive the Batmobile–”
“Hey! I didn’t get an elephant, so you don’t get an elephant!”
“You’re such a phony!”
Yeah, love advice with Dick Grayson does not go smoothly. (Wow. What a surprise. We’re all wondering how it could ever be possible, considering his absolutely unproblematic love life.) Anyhow, when Friday rolls around and time comes for the Wayne-Kent weekly sleepover, Jon finds himself parked in a spare mattress in Damian’s room instead of yours, as you’ve barricaded yourself there, and not even the promise of Ma Kent’s infamous chocolate chip cookies manages to get you out.
“Maybe she’s on her things,” he grumbles, barely even looking at the screen as Damian’s green Yoshi sends a banana flying to his Rosalinda. “You know… the red ones.”
His friend grunts. “You mean menstruation?”
Rosalinda goes off a cliff as Jon’s controller falls from his hands and he sputters, “You– don’t say it like that!”
“TT.” Damian rolls his eyes as Yoshi crosses the finishing line and gets the first place trophy, “It’s the medical term. You know you’re allowed to use it, right? It’s not a curse word or anything.”
Rosalinda finishes 11th place, and Jon’s ears are still red when that happens. “It’s… undelicate.” He might be better than your peers, but he’s still a thirteen-year-old boy from a small town where kissing out of wedlock is still gossiped about. Periods aren’t exactly a topic he discusses with his friends. “Mom calls it Aunt Flo.” he says eloquently, cheeks still rosy.
Damian blinks, then scrunches his nose. “Would you ever call a testicular torsion Uncle Thor?”
“It’s not even the same thing!”
“Trust me, we do not want to talk about the other equivalent for periods in males.”
Jon slides down over the green pouf he’s sat on until he’s dragged himself down to the floor. “Is she mad at me?”
“How would I know?” your brother replies innocently, replaying every moment he slammed into him during the race. “Maybe she’s still mad from when you ditched her last time.”
“But I had to help Cindy!” Superboy whines in all his might. “She was all alone and scared!”
Damian hums. “Well, I’m not sure she was too happy about hearing you ditched her for some other random girl.”
Jon blinks once. Then twice. A third time, and the confusion is clearer than ever in his face. “Sorry, what girl?”
Your brother looks so disappointed that he almost feels bad. “Cindy? Duh.”
This time, Jon looks like the disappointed one. “Damian.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Cindy is not a girl.”
He bursts out laughing. “You know a dude called Cindy? Poor guy.”
“Damian.” At this point, Jon’s basically spelling out the words. “Cindy’s a cow.”
It’s Damian’s turn to let the controller fall from his hands. “A what?”
“A cow.”
His response is immediate — an indignant shriek that resembles a wary seagull rather than a boy his age. “You ditched my sister for a cow?!”
“A pregnant one!” Jon explains, flustered, “I– dad was away for the Planet! Grandpa was in bed resting from last week’s fall and neither mom nor grandma knew how to help a cow in labour– what was I supposed to do, leave her there?”
“Call a vet, maybe?” Damian suggests, very unhelpful.
“There was a storm going on and the nearest vet clinic is in Townsville, it would’ve taken them hours to come to the farm!” Jon lets out a loud, exasperated groan, “Dude, can’t you pick my side for once?”
“Let me think.” Your brother makes a big show of it — tapping his finger on his chin while humming loudly, all the while looking around like he’s searching for inspiration. “Oh! I got it!”
Jon lights up, hopeful, as Damian turns to him with the deadest stare ever. “No.”
His friend’s face falls as he laughs meanly, then picks up his controller. “Even if she wasn’t my sister, you’re still usually in the wrong. Just accept it, bro.”
Seeing that Jon doesn’t regain his usual spark within the other three games where he absolutely demolishes him, your brother sighs tiredly. He is insufferable, but he’s still his best friend, and he’d rather not have him around than have him moping. “You know,” he starts, grumbling, “if you go to her room and explain the situation, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Superboy lights up again– finally. “You think so?”
“She’s much more lenient than I am. She might even ask how the cow’s doing.” He averts his gaze, feigning nonchalance, “…How’s the calf, by the way?”
Jon smirks like someone who knows that Damian cares, but just never wants to admit it. “Good, good. We’re still thinking of a name.”
You don’t think about it too much when someone knocks on the door — you figure it’s your mom trying to make you get out and play with Damian and Jon again, or Alfred about to ask if you want some other cookies. “Yes?” You tut out, laid over your stomach on the bed, fiddling with Tim’s old Nintendo 3Ds.
(He gave it to you last week while cleaning his room out for his new apartment. You still have to figure out what’s the point of having controls with directions on them if you have to use the ugly little pen for everything anyway.)
You’re surprised to see Jon’s dark curls peek out from behind the door, sheepish and unsure. He’s never been one to hear no twice, so usually, whenever you ask him not to do something, he doesn’t at first notice. Honestly, you kind of wanted him to look for you, but that doesn’t mean it’s still not unusual. “Um… Damian told me you’re kind of mad about the whole Cindy thing.”
You deadpan. Can you tell any of your brothers a thing without it becoming public knowledge? “Well,” you snap, “it can happen when you get ditched for another random girl who I have never even heard you talk about.”
Confused, Jon blinks innocently. “But there’s no girl,” he repeats, dumbfounded.
You scoff, “Oh, don’t try to tell me that you’ve got a mate named Cindy now,”
The boy shrinks back under your gaze. “I–” he shakes his head like he’s trying to regain a somewhat conscious thought, “Cindy’s a cow.”
You huff out a mean laugh, “Yeah, I figured she was,”
“No, no,” Jon starts nodding frantically, like he’s now trying to convince himself more than you, “she’s, like– an actual cow. Remember that slaughterhouse Damian broke into? The one Batcow’s from? Cindy’s one of the cows from there– I’m actually pretty sure her and Batcow are related, actually, but please don’t ask me about a bovine’s family tree.”
Your face is frozen. Slowly, your eyes widen, “Cindy’s a cow?”
“Yes.”
You’re silent for a moment. Then comes the shout, “You ditched me for an actual cow?!”
You eventually come around — meaning that after putting Jon in the time-out corner you usually reserve for your brothers for whenever they piss you off and hearing the whole story, you begrudgingly relent and figure that it was for the best.
The next time you’re in Smallville, he drags you over to the stables, where Cindy and her calf are cuddling over some hay in their stall. He lets you name the calf Blossom, after your favourite Power Puff Girl, just because you pout for almost half an hour straight when he tells you he wants to name it Betsy.
He looks over as you coo and caress Blossom’s head, eyes fixated on you, and tries to pretend his mother isn’t looking over you two with a knowing smile etched across her face.
Pre-teens are weird. Some of them get flustered by the bare mention of periods, others find themselves jealous of bovines. All and all, the only thing Jon is sure of when he’s thirteen is that he never wants to hear Damian pronounce menstruations again, and that he also is in love with you — so much so that he’ll let you name the next three generations of calves if it means that you’ll never avoid him ever again.
congratulations! you've reached the end of the fic :) have one (1) meme about part 2!
