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glorified-red · 4 months

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AHHHHHHHH BEST CHRISTMAS GIFT EVER!!!!! ALSLDKENOWNDODNDKR THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AHHHHHHHHHHH

everything about this is perfection. The pet names??? THE SUN AND MOON SYMBOLISM

Ugh 😩😩 Emi how you’ve outdone yourself this year. Truly amazed by your talent and big brain 😤

I will cherish this forever 🥰🥺

Cloudy Christmastime

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

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

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

warnings: sensory overload

wc: ~2600

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn't even look.”

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

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

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

Jon could feel the look exchanged over his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon sighed.

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

“Sounds good,” Jon agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, yeah maybe I shouldn’t have—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

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

Jon stuck his tongue out at him.

#mutuals #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent #damian wayne x reader x jon kent #jon kent x reader #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #damian wayne #jonathan kent #jon kent x gender neutral reader

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glorified-red · 4 months

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One in Eleven Million (ch. 8)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): So about that getting chapter out quicker thing...I blame tech week

Series masterlist can be found here.

warnings: a little bit of cursing, mild anxiety, airports

wc: ~1500

Soon apparently meant thirty minutes. The plane’s landing gear hit the tarmac hard. The few shrieks were outweighed by the many sighs of relief, you own included. Jon yanked the window open, squinting. The view of the tarmac went from blurred to clear in the morning sunlight as the plane slowed.

“Tt, finally. Though Philadelphia would not have been my first choice as a welcome back to the East Coast.” Damian pulled his gaze from the window, bending down to resecure the closures on his backpack. Jon’s eyes stayed glued to the window.

“Are all plane landings this rough?”

“Yeah, usually,” you replied. “But it means we’re on the ground, so I don’t mind.”

“Welcome to Philadelphia, ladies and gentlemen. The local time is 9:32 am and the temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit. Apologizes for the early landing but glad we all made it safe and sound. Remember to stop at the help desk if you do need to get your luggage routed to baggage claim or if you would like to take a voucher and find another method of transportation to Gotham. Thank you all for your patience and cooperation and thank you for flying with us.”

“If I ever see the inside of a plane again, it will be too soon,” Jon whined. You turned to see him drop his head on Damian’s shoulder.

“Flying commercial is both unpleasant and inefficient, I concur.” Damian squinted at the standstill line forming at the front of the plane. You stayed carefully silent. The two future trips you had in your calendar burned in the back of your mind.

“But hey,” Jon sat up. “At least we met you!”

You chuckled, maneuvering up and out of your seat into the line of departing passengers before swinging your backpack over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” A bittersweet wave of emotion gripped your heart. “It would have sucked so much more without you guys.”

The deplaning of the flight was the worst you’d ever been a part of. Between panic and desire to leave, everyone was sloppy and on a short fuse. You nearly got whacked in the head with a carry-on bag trying to stand up. You did get elbowed trying to move forwards in the line.

There was no Damian and Jon right behind you this time when you turned around after finally making your way into the airport. The spike of disappointment that drove through your chest caught you off guard. I knew this was going to happen, you reminded yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away.

“Hi,” you greeted the help desk employee. “I’d like to get my bag routed to baggage claim.” The required materials—your boarding pass, baggage tag receipt, and driver’s license—weren’t hard to produce. In just a few minutes, you were given a new receipt and an instruction to check screens for the baggage claim. The guaranteed “voucher” was to be later emailed, added to your airline account. You stepped off to the side, shoving the new receipt in your pocket. They’re tall, you figured. You’d see them if they were still there. Multiple scans of the crowd later, you didn’t see Damian’s waves nor Jon’s signature glasses. The spike of disappointment morphed into a vice around your chest even as you shoved it down. Your phone, now off airplane mode, buzzed in your pocket. You spun on your heel and headed towards baggage claim. The train you needed to take back home wasn’t going to book itself.

Despite your unfamiliarity with the airport, it was simple enough to follow the signs towards the baggage claim area. You stopped at a restroom on your way there to avoid having to maneuver through one with a full suitcase in tow. The screen was empty of flights from your airline when you arrived, and your phone was blank of any email updates. Instead, you rerouted to the Amtrak app. The train with the lowest fare that also gave you enough buffer time to get your bags and catch the local train from the airport to the station was 2 hours away. The number of your bank balance flashed in your mind.

“Thirty-eight for the train and eight to get to the airport,” you muttered aloud. “Yes I am so willing to spend fifty bucks to finally just be home.” The inevitable expense of a taxi or rideshare back to your home poked at the back of your mind. You ignored it. The voucher would cover the difference later on and that would have to be enough.

A notification banner popped up on the top of your phone screen. The text notification was from the airline, declaring baggage claim three. Sure enough, the screen on the wall said the same thing. Baggage claim number three was farther down. You moved quickly, shoving through other passengers to stand in closer to it. Standing nearby was someone you had a murky recollection of from the boarding line.

All that was left now was to wait.

Damian bit back a growl as a large man shoved him back into Jon and forced his way farther up the line.

“That’s not getting him anywhere,” Jon muttered. He was half-hoping his powers would spontaneously come back and help them out. “What’s the point?” Damian shook his head.

“If people made sense, Jon, we’d be out of work.” Jon rolled his eyes.

“You’re hilarious.”

Damian chuckled lowly, pulling his carry-on bag from the overhead storage, then Jon’s.

“Damn it.”

A jolt of panic sliced through Jon. His head snapped towards Damian, eyes wide. Jon winced, massaging the back of his neck. That hurt.

“What?”

“We lost them.” He nodded towards the front of the plane. You were gone.

“Shit.”

As much as he wanted to get off the plane, Jon wouldn’t have pushed through the other passengers even with powers at full strength. Especially with powers at full strength. He followed the movement of the crowd as they exited the gate, coming to a stop just beside a stand selling Philadelphia hoodies and t-shirts. Jon eyed them with a not small amount of disdain. He’d pass.

“So we’re not taking another plane-” Damian began.

“Oh fuck no,” Jon interrupted.

“Why do you think I started with ‘we’re not’?”

“Right,” Jon could feel his cheeks heating. “I knew that.”

“Hnn. So could it be worthwhile to call someone now? It’s past 9:30, your family should be up. Of mine, Alfred at the very least will be awake at this hour.”

“What’s the other option?”

“We take another method of public transport to Gotham and have Alfred pick us up there.”

Jon thought about it for a moment. Then he thought of you. His hearing was past the point of awful fluctuation, but not good enough to hear across a crowded airport. And he didn’t know your heartbeat. It was a weird thought. Jon thought about it again. That was a weird thought too. But it had been a long time since he’d gotten to know someone without being able to hear their heartbeat.

“Do we know what they’re doing? I don’t think we even talked about it. But I don’t want to leave them alone after all this.” He paused. “That’s not weird, right?”

Damian shook his head.

“No, I agree. Which means your family is out. And waiting for Alfred to drive all the way here and then asking them to get into a car with a complete stranger for two hours is also less than ideal.”

“So public transport it is.” Jon concluded. “Wait, how do we even know they aren’t taking another plane?” Damian smirked.

“They don’t call us the world's greatest detectives for nothing.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at Damian. “You guessed.”

“I formed a hunch based on multiple deductions,” Damian retorted, arms crossed.

“So you guessed.”

“Deduction and guesswork are two different things.”

“Uh huh,” Jon smiled and started heading to the help desk. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The help desk employee guaranteed Damian that the vouchers would be emailed and attached to his airline account. Based on the look on his face, Damian couldn’t care less about them. Jon wanted to hurry up and find you too. But he also didn’t want to be booked into the nearest flight to Gotham. Until he got his powers back in full, Jon wasn’t doing any flying whatsoever, much less flying that involved any sort of metal contraptions.

“Which baggage claim is for this flight?” Damian asked before he stepped away. The airline employee checked her screen.

“Three, but I don’t believe bags have started arriving yet.”

Damian nodded and headed quickly towards the signs leading towards the baggage claim area.

“Thanks!” Jon threw out as he followed, sneakers squealing against the linoleum floor as he hurried to catch up.

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