#luis-michael6160

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It was a quiet afternoon in the Batcave. Damian sat on one of the lab benches, going over the results of a ballistic autopsy while Alfred passed a tray of tea. Everything in order. Everything calm.

And then Jon walked in.

"Damiaaaan!" he sang, smiling wider than his entire face.

Damian barely looked up.

"What do you want, farmboy?"

"Nothing… just…" Jon launched himself at Damian with overwhelming force and hugged him like an oversized ragdoll. "You're sooo soft!!"

Damian fell backwards to the floor, crushed beneath the warm, muscled weight of his teenage Kryptonian friend. He squirmed—but Jon was spooning him. In the Batcave. With Alfred watching. The horror.

"KENT, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!" he growled, trying to wriggle free. "GET OFF ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Nuh-uh…" Jon mumbled dreamily, burying his face in Damian’s neck. "You smell like mint and repressed violence… it brings me peace."

Damian froze. The level of humiliation was unspeakable.

"You smell like solar barn, you idiot!"

From the stairs, Alfred cleared his throat politely.

"Might I presume this has something to do with the pink kryptonite fragment I found glowing on the hangar floor, Master Kent?"

Damian’s eyes shot open. He craned his neck just enough to spot a tiny sliver of pink kryptonite stuck to Jon’s cape, right behind his ear.

"DAMN IT!" Damian yelled. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!"

"Found it in the hangar… and then…" Jon purred against his chest, "I saw you… and it was like… boom. Look at that perfect little psycho face! And then I hugged you. So hard. And now I don’t wanna let goooo..."

"I AM NOT A STUFFED ANIMAL, KENT! GET OFF ME! YOU'RE LIKE A HORNED-UP SAINT BERNARD!"

Jon didn’t move. He just nuzzled his cheek against Damian’s and whispered:

"You and me… we should live on a farm. You, me, Titus… and a thousand goats. And chickens. And bees. And—"

"I’M GOING TO TAKE YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS."

Eventually, Alfred calmly approached with lead-lined gloves, gently removed the pink stone from Jon’s suit, and within three seconds, Jon’s eyes refocused.

"...What? Why am I on the floor? Why am I hugging you?"

Damian shoved him away like he was radioactive.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU SUPER-POWERED FARM ANIMAL!"

Jon stood up, rubbing the back of his head, still puzzled. Alfred had already sealed the kryptonite fragment in a lead container.

"I believe it was the pink kryptonite, Master Kent. Side effects: disinhibited physical affection and temporarily altered orientation."

Damian wiped his neck with a handkerchief.

"And annihilated dignity."

Jon smiled that sunshine-of-summer smile of his.

"Well, now I know you’re huggable."

Damian growled.

"Say that again and you’ll wake up blindfolded in a Tibetan monastery filled with murder cats."

He would never admit it but…

…that night, Damian sat in silence, gently petting Titus, remembering—just faintly—the warmth of the most ridiculous hug in the world. Maybe. Just maybe. It wasn’t so bad.

Reblogs are more pink kryptonite around Jon conveniently when Damian is around.

Likes mean more hugs for Damian's mental health.

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[story collection] <-

Era una tarde tranquila en la Batcueva. Damian estaba sentado en uno de los bancos del laboratorio, revisando los resultados de una autopsia balística mientras Alfred pasaba una bandeja de té. Todo en orden. Todo en calma.

Y entonces Jon entró.

—¡Damiaaaan! —canturreó, con una sonrisa más grande que su cara.

Damian apenas alzó la vista.

—¿Qué quieres, granjero?

—Nada… sólo… —Jon se le lanzó encima con fuerza descomunal y lo abrazó como si fuera un peluche de trapo gigante— ¡¡Eres tan suavecitooooooo!!

Damian cayó de espaldas al suelo, aplastado por el cuerpo musculoso y cálido del kriptoniano adolescente. Se revolvió, pero Jon le hacía cucharita. En la Batcueva. Con Alfred mirando. El horror.

—¡¿KENT, TE VOLVISTE LOCO?! —gruñó, mientras intentaba liberarse— ¡Suéltame ahora mismo!

—Nooo… —susurró Jon con voz somnolienta y feliz, enterrando la cara en el cuello de Damian— hueles a menta y a violencia reprimida… me da paz.

Damian se quedó en blanco. El nivel de humillación era incalculable.

—¡Tú hueles a establo solar, idiota!

Alfred, desde las escaleras, tosió con educación.

—¿Puedo suponer que esto tiene algo que ver con el fragmento de kryptonita rosada que encontré brillando en el suelo del hangar, maestro Kent?

Damian abrió los ojos como platos. Se giró lo justo para ver, justo detrás de la oreja de Jon, un pedazo diminuto de kryptonita rosa pegado a su capa.

—¡MALDICIÓN! —exclamó Damian— ¡¿DE DÓNDE SACASTE ESO?!

—Lo encontré en el hangar… y luego… —Jon ronroneó sobre su pecho— te vi a ti… y fue como… ¡zaz! ¡Mira esa carita perfecta de psicópata! Y te abracé. Muy fuerte. Y no quiero soltartee…

—¡NO SOY UN PELUCHE, KENT! ¡Y QUÍTATE DE ENCIMA, PARECES UN SAN BERNARDO EN CELO!

Jon no se movió. Sólo frotó su mejilla contra la de Damian y murmuró:

—Tú y yo… deberíamos vivir en una granja. Tú, yo, Titus y un millar de cabras. Y gallinas. Y abejas. Y…

—VOY A DESMANTELARTE CON MIS PROPIAS MANOS.

Finalmente, Alfred se acercó con guantes de plomo, retiró con delicadeza la piedra rosa del uniforme de Jon, y en menos de tres segundos, los ojos de Jon se desenfocaron.

—¿Qué… qué pasó? ¿Por qué estoy en el suelo? ¿Por qué te estoy abrazando?

Damian lo empujó como si le quemara.

—¡ALÉJATE DE MÍ, ANIMAL DE GRANJA CON SUPERFUERZA!

Jon se levantó confundido y rascándose la cabeza. Alfred ya había guardado la piedra en un contenedor sellado.

—Creo que fue la kryptonita rosa, señor Kent. Efecto secundario: afecto físico desinhibido y orientación temporalmente alterada.

Damian se limpió el cuello con un pañuelo.

—Y dignidad aniquilada.

Jon sonrió con su sonrisa de sol de verano.

—Oye, al menos ahora sé que eres abrazable.

Damian gruñó.

—Vuelve a decir eso y te despiertas con los ojos vendados en un monasterio tibetano lleno de gatos asesinos.

Y aunque no lo admitiría jamás…

…esa noche, en secreto, Damian se quedó acariciando a Titus en silencio, recordando vagamente el calor del abrazo más ridículo del mundo. Tal vez. Sólo tal vez. No fue tan horrible.

☕💚 Si esta historia te sacó una sonrisa (o una carcajada), puedes invitarme a un café para que siga escribiendo cosas caóticas y absurdamente tiernas como esta:

[story collection] <- more stories here

A pitch-black night atop a Gotham skyscraper. The wind howled through the metal beams, a cold warning song echoing in the darkness. Jason Todd leaned casually against the ledge, his red helmet in hand, while Bruce Wayne — hood pulled low as Batman — stood like an unbreakable shadow.

“I need you to do something,” Batman said bluntly.

Jason raised an eyebrow, already savoring the chance to tease.

“Oh yeah? How desperate are you? My rates aren’t cheap, B.”

Bruce said nothing, just gave him a look that could freeze any criminal in their tracks. But Jason wasn’t just any criminal. He was family.

“Alright, whatever it is. But you owe me... say... three million dollars,” Jason said, folding his arms like a seasoned negotiator.

Batman reached into his belt. Jason laughed.

“Relax, I’m kidding. You can pay me in a beer and a ‘thanks,’ if you can still get those words out.”

A brief silence hung in the air. Bruce pulled out a small black device, pressed a button, and waited a moment. Jason’s phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen, frozen. Blinked several times.

“What…?”

A bank notification lit up: "Transfer received: $3,000,000 USD. Sender: BW Trust Holdings."

Jason looked at Bruce, stunned.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You just transferred me three million?”

“Tip,” Batman said, turning to fade into the night’s shadows.

Jason stood there, phone in hand, a crooked smile slowly spreading.

“A tip, huh…” he muttered, eyes glued to the screen — “Damn. Should’ve asked for five.”

But deep down, something softer stirred in his chest. A shadow of gratitude he’d never admit aloud.

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hice estos dibujos hace muchos años no se ni donde esta, la hice por que mi padre me compro un libro sobre arte renacentistas y decidí torturarme a mi mismo unos 3 o 4 días para hacerlo, este fue el resultado

decir nuestras opiniones, me gustas y demas

I made these drawings many years ago, I don't even know where it is, I made it because my father bought me a book about Renaissance art and I decided to torture myself for 3 or 4 days to do it, this was the result

say our opinions, I like you and so on

Peter Parker enjoying a delicious churro

"¡Spider-Man en su día libre! 🕷️✨ Peter Parker disfrutando de un delicioso churro mientras se relaja un poco entre misiones. 🍩💥 Porque incluso los superhéroes necesitan un descanso de vez en cuando. 😎

spider-man es propiedad intelectual de Marvel.

"Spider-Man on his day off! 🕷️✨ Peter Parker enjoying a delicious churro while relaxing a little between missions. 🍩💥 Because even superheroes need a break every now and then. 😎

Dibujo en blanco y negro de Spider-man inspirado en el arte del historietista John Romita Sr.

spider-man es propiedad intelectual de marvel

Black and white drawing of Spider-man inspired by the art of cartoonist John Romita Sr.

Spider-Man is the intellectual property of Marvel.

Aqui presento un boceto echo por mi a boligrafo de SUPERMAN del año (1978)

superman es propiedad intelectual de dc

Here I present a pen sketch of SUPERMAN of the years (1978)

Superman is the intellectual property of DC