#dc comics#dc#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#tim drake#batfamily#batfam#dc fanart
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absolute trinity dc - can you tell at what point i gave up? 🤑
Adventures in Babysitting
(DamiJon x F!Reader; featuring Lizzie Prince)
Word Count: 2,500
Debrief: a look into you and your boys babysitting one tiny Amazon over the years.
Case Notes: established poly relationship, all characters in the relationship are 18+ 🙂
for @jakiicomics thank you for waiting so patiently for this one! 🖤
It starts with you bouncing Lizzie on your hip, hair a little messy, wearing one of Jon’s hoodies because your shirt got apple purée on it twenty minutes ago. She’s drooling happily, smacking her tiny hand against your chest while you hum something absentmindedly, some gentle tune that keeps her giggling.
Jon is on the couch, chin propped in his hand, eyes focused with the kind of dumb, sappy smile that’s 100% genetic from Clark Kent, “Babe,” he whispers, elbowing Damian. “Babe, look at them. Look how cute they are.”
“I am looking,” Damian mutters, but his voice is quiet, reverent almost. He’s pretending to read a book, but the same page has been unturned for the last ten minutes, “Stop talking before you ruin the moment.”
Lizzie starts to fuss a little, and before either of the boys can move, you’re already cooing softly, swaying with practiced ease. “Oh, no, don’t cry, sweetheart— look, look at the birdie!” You grab her stuffed bird off the counter and wiggle it in front of her. Instant giggles.
Jon’s heart melts. He leans toward Damian and murmurs, “She’s gonna be the best mom someday.”
Damian doesn’t even look up this time, “Don’t say that out loud. I can already feel my internal organs responding.”
Jon snorts, but then he’s quiet, watching the way you kiss the top of Lizzie’s head, how natural you look with her. It’s this weird ache; warm and a little dizzying. You’re not a superhero, no powers, no cape, but you’ve got both of them completely undone just by being you.
Lizzie finally settles down, and when you turn to the boys, you find them just staring.
“What?” you laugh
Jon blurts, “You look really good with a baby.”
Damian’s mouth twitches, which for him might as well be a full smile. “He means to say you’re handling her remarkably well.” Then, under his breath, “And yes. You look beautiful.”
You flush, shaking your head, “You’re both ridiculous,” and go back to playing with Lizzie on the floor, laying a blanket down before sitting with her… but when you glance up again, they’re still watching, Jon’s chin on Damian’s shoulder now, both of them wearing that lovesick expression that says they’re so far gone.
And maybe you don’t have superpowers, but you do make two of the most powerful young heroes in the world feel completely weak in the knees just by smiling down at a baby.
👶🏻🍼🌟🍼👶🏻
The song is something old and soft, playing low from your phone on the counter; something you can sway to on the tile. Lizzie’s two now, bigger and chattier, curls bouncing as she giggles in your arms. You’re holding her hands, spinning her slowly in a little circle, her socks sliding on the floor as you hum along. Every so often you scoop her up, nuzzle her cheek, and she squeals loud enough to make the windows tremble.
You don’t even hear the door unlock.
Jon and Damian step inside, quiet as shadows, both stopping dead in the doorway.
The kitchen light’s warm, late sun slipping through the window, painting you and Lizzie gold. Your hair’s a little messy, there’s flour dusted across your cheek from the cookies cooling on the counter, and you’re laughing— that kind of unguarded, bright sound that fills the whole space.
Jon’s breath catches audibly, “She’s dancing with her,” he murmurs, like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.
Damian just hums in agreement, not even trying to hide the softness in his expression. His hands slide into his pockets, shoulders relaxing as he leans against the wall to watch.
“She always does this,” he says quietly. “The moment we leave, she fills the place with… this.”
Lizzie spots them first, tiny hand pointing. “Jay!” she shouts, her nickname for Jon, and then, “Dami!”
You turn, grinning wide, still holding her on your hip, “Hey, boys. You’re home early.”
Jon crosses the kitchen in three steps, pressing a kiss to your temple before Lizzie wriggles into his arms, demanding to be spun again. He obliges, lifting her high as she shrieks in delight.
Damian lingers a second longer, taking in the sight; the cookies, the laughter, the faint music still playing.
“You’ve been busy,” he murmurs as he steps behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, “You know you don’t have to do all this every time she visits.”
You laugh softly. “It’s not a chore, Dami. She’s a sweetheart. Besides—” you glance toward Jon, who’s now pretending to fly Lizzie around the kitchen, a smile still on your lips, “I enjoy this.”
He makes a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between fond and flustered, “Tt. You’re too good for us.”
When Jon comes back over, Lizzie clinging to his chest, he presses his forehead to yours with that dimpled grin that still makes your knees weak,“You two looked like a painting when we walked in. I swear, it doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I still get that same feeling.”
“What feeling?” you tease.
“That one that makes me wanna build a house somewhere quiet,” Jon says, bumping your nose gently, “and fill it with this.”
Damian’s lips twitch in agreement, “He’s right,” he admits softly. “Every time you hold her, I can picture it, our home, our life. You make it a real possibility we can have something like that.”
You smile, cheeks heating, but before you can answer, Lizzie claps her little hands, demanding, “Dance! Again!”
So you do. The three of you end up in the kitchen, swaying together under the warm lights. Jon holding Lizzie, Damian’s hand in yours, his other pressed at your back. The music plays on, and for a little while, it’s just the four of you, laughter, soft voices, and a feeling that’s so full and steady it almost hurts.
And if the boys exchange a look over your shoulder; the kind that says ‘we could get used to this’, well, you don’t need super-hearing to know. You can feel it in the way they hold you.
❤️💙💛🩰💛💙❤️
The first thing you notice when you come in is the silence. Which, given who’s in the apartment, is immediately suspicious.
“Jon?” you call softly, setting down your bag, “Dami? Please tell me the toddler’s still alive.”
No answer. Just the faint sound of… clinking? Porcelain?
You follow it to the living room, and stop dead in the doorway.
Lizzie Prince, age three and absolute monarch of chaos, is sitting primly in the middle of the rug, surrounded by a small sea of stuffed animals and plastic pastries. She’s wearing a sparkly pink gown two sizes too big, a toy crown sliding over one ear, and in front of her sits her “royal court”:
Jon, cross-legged, wearing butterfly wings and the sparkliest silver headband you’ve ever seen. He’s holding a porcelain teacup in one enormous hand, pinky up, doing his best not to laugh.
And next to him; dead serious, posture perfect— is Damian.
He’s wearing a tiny purple tiara.
And a blue feather boa.
And he’s pouring pretend tea from a pastel teapot with the precision of a surgeon.
You have to press a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Jon spots you first. His eyes go wide, and his grin practically splits his face, “Oh, hey, babe,” he says, barely holding it together, “You’re just in time for high tea.”
Lizzie gasps dramatically, “You’re late to the party!” and starts scooting over to make space.
“I— am I?” you say, fighting a smile as you step in, “My apologies, Princess Lizzie.”
Damian glances up from refilling everyone’s cups, eyes narrowing just a bit, “Proper decorum, please. We are in the presence of royalty.”
That does it. Jon breaks first, snorting into his cup. You swat his arm as you sit down cross-legged beside Lizzie, whispering, “Don’t you dare ruin this for me. He’s committed.”
Lizzie takes her role seriously too. she hands you a chipped little cup, announcing, “This is the special tea! Made of magic and sparkles and sprinkles!”
You accept it solemnly, “That’s my favorite blend.”
Damian nods approvingly, “Excellent taste.”
Jon can’t hold it anymore — he bursts out laughing, collapsing back against the couch, butterfly wings askew, “I can’t! You sound like Alfred if he ran a daycare!”
Damian glares at him, completely composed even with glitter on his cheeks, “You are undermining the sanctity of the tea ceremony, Kent. Control yourself.”
You lean your chin in your hand, watching them— your boys, and a tiny Amazon— all utterly wrapped up in this makebelieve world. Damian keeps up the act the whole time, speaking to Lizzie with the gravity of a diplomat, thanking her for the “delicious” tea and complimenting her stuffed lion’s good manners. Jon’s less restrained, making silly little voices for the plush guests and sneaking cookie crumbs into the toy plates.
You can’t stop smiling. It’s warm, domestic, perfect chaos.
When the tea party finally ends (because Lizzie declares it’s nap time for the royal court), Jon scoops her up, letting her drape over his shoulder while she giggles and waves goodnight to her “subjects.”
You glance at Damian, still sitting there with the tiara slightly askew, and raise a brow. “You’re not even going to take that off, are you?”
He looks at you evenly, “It would be disrespectful to remove the crown before the Princess is asleep.”
You laugh softly, sliding onto his lap and fixing it gently, “You’re impossible.”
“Perhaps,” he murmurs, letting his hands rest around your waist, “But you’re smiling, and it’s beautiful, beloved.
You are. You really are. Because as ridiculous as it all is, Damian and Jon both covered in glitter, Lizzie snoring softly in the next room, it’s perfect. It’s home.
Jon comes back in, leaning against the doorframe, grinning at the sight of the two of you, “You should’ve seen him when I tried to bow wrong,” he says. “Almost got excommunicated from the royal court.”
“I maintain standards,” Damian says primly, though there’s the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth.
You glance between them; your Super, your Bat, both so hopelessly wrapped around a three-year-old’s finger— and say, “I think the Princess has knighted you both the best babysitters ever.”
Jon beams, “I’ll take that title.”
Damian nods gravely. “An honor, indeed.”
And when you kiss his cheek, brushing a bit of glitter off his jaw, you murmur, “Also the prettiest.”
He blushes and Jon loses it again.
🦋🫖👸🏻🫖🦋
Lizzie’s four now; all wild curls, bright eyes, and zero sense of volume control. She’s also glued to Damian’s side.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, her tiny hands clinging to his arm as if he’s the most fascinating creature in the world. She’s wearing a green tutu Robin costume— complete with a little black domino mask, and a yellow cape that trails dramatically behind her. She made Damian help her put it on the moment she arrived, and he took the role extremely seriously, of course.
Now he’s kneeling in front of her, carefully guiding her small fingers through the loops of her shoelaces.
“All right, Little Bird,” he says solemnly, “bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree, Criscrossed the tree, trying to catch me.”
Lizzie nods fiercely, tongue poking out in concentration, “Around the tree!”
“Bunny ears, bunny ears, into the hole.” He loops the lace through, tightening it gently, “popped out the other side, beautiful and bold.”
Her eyes widen like he’s just revealed the secrets of the universe, “I did it!” she gasps, and promptly throws her arms around his neck.
And Damian, stoic, terrifying, ex-assassin Damian Wayne; melts into a puddle right there on the carpet. He hugs her back with a soft, “Well done, Little Bird,” and the tiniest smile tugs at his lips.
Across the room, you and Jon are leaning against the kitchen counter, watching the whole thing unfold.
Jon’s grinning like a fool, chin propped in his hand. “I mean, look at him,” he whispers. “He’s gone. He’s so gone. She has him wrapped around her little finger.”
You’re quiet for a second, watching the way Damian smooths her hair back, the soft murmur of his voice as he starts telling her another story about the clever fox and the silly rabbit.
Then, very softly, you groan and bury your face in Jon’s shoulder, “Oh no.”
Jon blinks, “What?”
“My ovaries,” you mumble into his shirt, “They’re screaming. They’re actually screaming right now.”
Jon just lights up. It’s like you told him he won the lottery. “Wait, really? Like— actually screaming?”
You peek up at him, laughing despite yourself, “Yes, Jon. I think the baby fever finally got me. Congratulations, it’s contagious.”
He lets out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a victorious laugh, immediately wrapping you up in a bear hug, “I knew it! I told Damian it was only a matter of time! Three years, babe— three years of ‘no, I’m fine just babysitting,’ and now look at you!”
You swat at him, giggling. “Don’t gloat!”
“Too late! I’m calling this a win for team Kent-Wayne family planning!”
“Jon!”
Across the room, Damian looks up, eyebrow raised, because of course he heard all of that, “Tt. What, precisely, are you two celebrating over there?”
Jon tries and fails to hide his grin, “Nothing, babe! Just… long-term goals coming to fruition.”
Damian eyes him suspiciously, then glances at you— you, who are trying to look perfectly innocent while Lizzie tugs on his shirt and demands another story. He catches the faint blush in your cheeks and his expression softens just enough.
Later, after Lizzie’s curled up asleep in her blanket fort, you’re on the couch with both of them— Damian stretched out with his head in your lap, Jon’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders.
Damian murmurs, “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up and realizes she isn’t truly a Robin.”
You smile, brushing his hair back, “She’s got the best teachers imaginable.”
Jon grins into your neck, “And maybe one day, sweetheart… there’ll be a tiny one of our own running around in a cape too.”
You laugh quietly, but your heart feels so full it almost aches, “Careful,” you say. “I might actually hold you to that.”
Jon looks over at Damian, who’s pretending not to smirk. “Told you she’d come around.”
Damian hums. “Tt. I never doubted it.” Then he looks up at you, eyes softer than they ever are in daylight, “You’d make a wonderful mother, habibti”
💙Find Part Two Here💙
⭐️DCU Masterlist⭐️ 🦇Return to the Batcave🦇
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Hello Superwonderbat, you saved my life or something
Interviewer: so, wonder woman. With your two teammates starting dating, do you feel left out? What happened to trinity? Do they make you feel like an outsider?
Diana: they asked me to join them.
Multiple times.
I said no.
Trinity is as good as always.
superboy shows off the new baby he and robin kept
RRR AU
Connor : I put the ace in irreplaceable.
Elizabeth : I put the cute in execute!
Maya : I put the top In unstoppable.
Nika : I put the hot in photogenic!
Jon : I put the D in Damian!
Everyone :
Jon : ;)
damian and jon getting to be batman and superman but lizzie growing up to be "trinity" instead of wonder woman should tell you everything you need to know.
DAMIAN WAYNE TEAM NAME:
His Team (SO FAR):
Jon Kent
Maps Mizoguchi
Maya Ducard
Suren Darga
Colin Wilkes
Kathy Branden
Lian Harper
Billy Batson
Chris Kent
Irey West
Jai West
Tai Pham
Arthur Curry JR
Milagro Reyes
Rani Carter
Lizzie Prince
Zoe Lawton
Helen Jordan
MORE TO BE ADDED (Why does DC give this kid so many friends and then just take them away?)
TEAM NAME
Team Name
Night Pride
Outcasts
Renegades
Luminarchs
The Aegis
The Exiles
The Wraiths
Veilwalkers
