#OIEM series

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch. 6)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): So I think this ends up being ten chapters? I'll try to post more frequently; I've tortured you all long enough haha. Though I'm hoping to get a couple different things out in the next couple of weeks, so you'll get more from me, just not always of this.

As always, masterlist linked here.

warnings: air travel, turbulence

wc: ~1300

~~

Damian turned from where he was watching you continue your project to face Jon. He pulled off his zip up sweater, tugging down the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt to hide the bandages Jon did at the hotel earlier in the morning, before passing it over to Jon. 

“Here.” Damian nudged him. “For the sunglasses.” 

Though he could feel your eyes on the back of his neck, Damian ignored you for now, taking his sunglasses back from Jon’s outstretched hand. In the corner, Jon curled into a ball, head tilted against the wall and face buried in Damian’s sweatshirt. Damian watched him for a moment, chest tight. No matter how many times he’d been through this with Jon, it didn’t get easier seeing him in pain. Jon flicked him a thumbs up and Damian relaxed, turning back to you. Overhead, the safety announcement came to a close. 

“He’s okay?” You asked, eyes fixed on Jon. Your arms, already wrapped around yourself, tightened. Damian nodded, eyes straying back to his left for just a moment before returning to you. 

“He will be, once we get up in the air and away from the chaos of the airport.” He tipped his chin at the project left abandoned in your lap. “How long have you been doing that?” 

“Oh a couple of years maybe? I’m not sure exactly. Do you,” you hesitated. “Do you do some kind of art? And you read Arabic, right? I saw the book you were reading last night.” Damian’s eyes scanned your face. You looked nervous, though genuine, and he found himself not minding the questions. It felt more like curiosity than idle small talk. He hated small talk.

“I do. And speak it.” Your eyes lit up. 

“Cool,” you breathed, smiling. “I’m not great at languages but I would like to be fluent in a few one day. And art?” 

“I draw,” Damian revealed. “And paint.” He fought to keep from mirroring your smile.

“That’s awesome. I write a little bit, but only as a hobby.”  

“Really? About what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Whatever I get motivation for I guess? I wish I had a better answer but I just like it.” 

“Doing things for liking them is an answer.” Damian could almost see you mulling the words around in your head. He took the moment to observe your features up close: beautiful eyes and an unexpectedly striking smile. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“I know.” 

Your startled laugh tore the last of his self restraint down. Damian’s face split into a grin.

The two of you spent the next while talking about everything and anything. You shared your reasons for being on the plane at all, your favorite color, your other hobbies. In turn, he showed you pictures of his art, his cat and dog, and gorgeous shots of Gotham at sunrise. He had a lot of pictures of him and a brown man with shaggy dark hair and bright blue eyes. In the recent pictures, Damian began to overtake him in height. “My oldest brother,” Damian offered when you asked. 

“You’re the youngest?” He nodded. 

“Of several. I am one of the tallest, though.” 

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “I bet your older siblings hate that.” 

“They do.” 

And then there were the pictures of Jon. Jon by himself or with Damian’s pets, Jon captured in Damian’s art, and Damian and Jon together. 

“Where was this?” You asked. In the picture, Damian was standing on a pathway covered in a dusting of snow, bundled up and on crutches. Jon, in a blue zip-up and jeans, was making a snow angel on the ground in much deeper snow beside him. 

“A few winters ago. In Gotham.” 

“I remember that snowfall” You thought back to the remnants of a Mr. Freeze plot. Following Batman’s intervention, all that was left was a snowy cold front. “But mostly I stayed inside and caught up on work during the snow day. And watched too much TV.” Damian huffed a laugh. 

On his other side, small snores emanated from the pile of denim and red fabric. Jon didn’t wake when the flight attendant came around with snacks. Damian accepted Jon’s pretzels for him.

“How long have you two known each other?” You asked, some time in. Damian looked over at Jon. The lights in the cabin were dim, and both boys were bathed in shadow. 

“A decade or so, now,” he said. Then, a little quieter. “He’s my best friend.” 

“You’re a good friend Damian.” Your eyes followed his over to Jon. He looked smaller than you’d ever seen him, all 6ft something curled up in an economy airplane seat. “He’s lucky to have you.“And I know I don’t know you guys that well but I can tell he’s a good person. And that you’re lucky to have him too.” 

Damian didn’t argue. 

“I am.” 

Two hours in, Jon stirred, pushing the hood off his head and blinking slowly. 

“Hey,” he mumbled. Your breath caught unwittingly in your throat. Jon’s voice was rough and his hair was mussed from where it had been smushed underneath his hoodie. You curled your fingers into your palms, resisting the urge to push back a curl that had dropped onto his forehead. Jon rubbed the backs of his hands against his eyes, dislodging his glasses. “Did I fall asleep?” 

“Morning,” you managed. Some part of you was surprised you managed to get out any words at all, much less in a tone that wouldn’t pass for a squeal. 

Damian took his sweatshirt back from Jon’s offering hand. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” he said, attempting to stretch while crammed in a seat with no legroom. You just watched, chest squeezing pleasantly. Damian was watching similarly. What am I doing? You wondered to yourself. He’s not yours, neither of them are. 

“You needed the sleep,” Damian said beside you. Jon snorted out a laugh. 

“Thanks Dames,” he said dryly. 

“Always.” 

You wrenched your attention away from the boys, turning your phone over in between your hands. It was too late, you knew. You were already attached. But this was a plane, a vehicle to get you from place to place. There was no reason they would be any different, just a passing point in your life. Selfishly, you hoped they might be more. 

A tap on your shoulder from Damian brought you back into the conversation. 

“Huh?” Two sets of concerned eyes were watching you carefully. Your eyes met green then blue for only a moment. “What’s up? I zoned out for a moment, sorry. Tired.” 

Damian looked like he wanted to argue with you. You hoped he wouldn’t; you might have only met him the day before, but you had a feeling he’d figure it out anyway. 

“Do you know how far we are?” Jon asked instead. 

“Oh sure I can check that one sec.” You opened the airline map on your phone. “About an hour and a half away.” The little airplane icon on your phone screen placed the plane somewhere above the Chicago area. “See?” 

“Oh that’s cool!” Jon said to Damian, taking the device from you. “Kinda looks like the thing your dad has for my dad.” There was context you were missing, you assumed. Damian huffed a laugh. 

“It’s a similar technology.” 

“What do your dads do?” You asked them. 

“He’s a journalist,” Jon offered. 

“Businessman.” Damian’s lips quirked up. “Family business.” 

That did not clear it up for you whatsoever. You snapped your mouth shut on any follow-up questions at the jump of turbulence. Your shoulders stiffened instinctively for a moment before you relaxed back into your seat. This wasn’t your first batch of turbulence and it probably wouldn’t be your last. Damian didn’t seem shaken. Jon, though, looked terrified, one hand gripping Damian’s wrist and the other tapping furiously against his thigh. 

“Is this normal? On commercial planes?” 

“Sometimes,” Damian assured. “The pilot warned of turbulence earlier.” 

“They usually come over the loudspeaker when it happens, just to reassure people.” 

Your prediction came true with a crackle of the intercom. 

“Just an average bit of turbulence folks. All numbers are still in the green, so no need to worry. As a precaution, the seatbelt signs are going back on so please stay seated if possible.” 

The pilot’s voice seemed to reassure Jon. You, for one, were tired of hearing it.

[gatucalleros]

Conozcan a Yuri!! También conocido como MéxicoS! (el hermano de MéxicoN, ósea el actual) :D

Este personaje es uno medio original de mi serie “AxisTimeline”

Su personalidad es algo extraña, es muy terco, agresivo, nunca demuestra piedad, está un poco loco y es sumamente glotón. Méx creyó que había muerto hace años en la pelea de la conquista, pero milagrosamente este sobrevivió al balazo y ahora utiliza una máscara de oro que le había regalado su padre antes de que lo matasen (oieme nooo ;n;). En esta línea temporal vive en la cueva del diablo que se encuentra en el bien conocido “Serró de la Estrella”. Yuri es más peligroso que Nazi, pues este tiene una condición mucho más fuerte que México y Nazi juntos (heredado de su padre), también es muy bueno cuando quiere arrebatarle la vida a alguien, sobretodo cuando se meten con su hermano y tiene una peculiaridad que destaca de los demás countrys, pues Yuri tiene por naturaleza veneno en sus colmillos que pueden matar o paralizar a sus víctimas cuando se le plazca. Un ��ltimo detalle, para él sobrevivir robando comida es algo de niños que hasta pena ajena le da, pero para sobrevivir él busca a cualquiera que entre a su cueva para después devorarlo (sí, es un caníbal), tarde o temprano las personas se darían cuanta de que quien entrase en la cueva ya no saldría y por eso sellaron la cueva con rejas, claro esto no detendría a Yuri, él fácilmente pudo romperlas y escapar para continuar con sus grotescas cazas y también para poder seguir vivo hasta que encontró a su hermano perdido, final feliz :3