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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
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Reblog to give the person you reblogged this from motivation to work on their WIPs.
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
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The final taglist:
@cantdothis-nomore @lovelywritersgarden @rukia-uchiha-98 @xoxoyourdoll @lockofspades @k12baby @kaineedstherapy12 @dopedreamobject @honeyhoneyhonie @jj28blob @simpfourmarvel @noa-caffery
Thank you all for sticking around!
One in Eleven Million (final chapter)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): And we have reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has been following this story and I hope the ending was worth the wait. I also wrote at least some of this and the last chapter while delayed at a train station/on the train so any offhand references I make to either of those things are because of the haha.
And happy new year!
Series masterlist can be found here.
warnings: anxiety, train stations, small amount of cursing
wc: ~1400
~~
Jon blinked awake to Damian tapping him on the shoulder. 
“Huh?” 
“We’re almost there,” he said, nodding out the window. Outside, the scenery had changed from the green of Pennsylvania to the cloudy skyscraper city of Gotham. “Alfred’s meeting us at the station. I’ve already asked and he’ll drive them home if they’re comfortable.” 
Jon looked over at you. He couldn’t remember if you or he had fallen asleep first, but he felt privileged that you did at all. Sure, some of it might have been the exhaustion of the last day, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t trust them to be there and wake you up. Based on your complaints about the station there, there was no way you wanted to end up in Newark. Or New York. 
Jon shook you gently. You opened your eyes, confused, then sat quickly upright. 
“Shit, I fell asleep? I didn’t mean to.”
“If it’s any consolation, so did I,” Jon shrugged. 
“I didn’t mean to miss the last hour,” you argued. 
“Last hour of what?” Damian stood up in the aisle, pulling Jon’s carry-on out from where he’d tucked it in. Jon grabbed his backpack then helped you pull your suitcase upright. 
“Of—thanks Jon—of time left with you guys.” You winced. Maybe that was too honest. Tugging your backpack over your shoulders, you followed Jon towards the exit at the end of the car. Damian stopped at the car door. You braced yourself with your suitcase to avoid toppling over as the train shuddered on the tracks. It really did feel like the plane turbulence from earlier. 
“This stop, Gotham Station,” the loudspeaker declared. One thing airplanes have going for them, you thought, better sound systems. The train’s announcements were barely audible. “Doors will open on the right side of the train. Please watch your step.” Anything further was indecipherable under the burbling of the speaker. 
“Wait, why did you say the last hour?” Jon asked as the three of you took the escalator up to the station's main area. 
“I have no idea how to contact you after this.” You pulled your suitcase over the lip of the escalator with a tug and continued on. Despite the amount of public transportation you’ve taken, Damian seemed to know the station better than you. You followed him as he weaved through the groups of people sprinkled around the area, Jon right behind. 
Damian stopped just outside a side entrance, and you moved around to his other side to avoid blocking the door. Jon followed. 
“We do all have phone numbers,” Damian suggested pulling out his phone. You assumed he was texting whoever was picking up him and Jon. 
“Oh, duh!” 
Jon’s excitement made you smile. The thought had crossed your mind earlier, but you’d dismissed it as a non-starter. You felt a little silly for that now. 
Jon’s phone was already open to a new contact sheet when he handed it to you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever actually given them your last name or if they remembered ever seeing it on your train ticket or boarding pass, but there was bound to be someone between Gotham and Metropolis that shared your first name, so you added it in anyway. Jon took it back from you and started typing. 
Your phone buzzed straightaway. You pulled it out of your pocket, smiling. 
“hi :)” the first message read. It was sent to you and a third number. Then “it’s jon”
“Huh,” you mused, reading it. “I’ve never seen anyone spell it like that before. That’s cool.”
You unlocked your phone, opened it to the group chat, and held it out to Damian. 
“Would you mind? So I don’t misspell your name?”
Damian muttered an assent and took it from you. He returned it with both contacts filled out. 
“Oh, great, thanks.” You chuckled at Jon’s contact. The name, instead of the Jon offered by the initial text, had been filled out as “Jonathan Kent.” Damian’s name, you were proud to say, was spelled the way you imagined it was. The last name was a funny coincidence, you thought, considering he lived in Gotham. 
“Wayne?” You asked, about to make a teasing joke. 
“Like Bruce Wayne, yes.” Damian said, carefully watching your reaction. 
“Like ‘Wayne Enterprises’ Wayne?” He nodded. “Holy shit. Wow, okay, I didn’t expect that. Wow.” You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Some part of you wondered if he was waiting for you to make a comment about his money or his father. 
“Why did you take the train with me?” You asked instead. The concrete was rough beneath your shoes, a noticeable contrast from the smoothness of airport flooring. “You could have easily had someone pick you up. Pick both of you up. So why–?” 
“Because we wanted to,” Jon answered simply. 
“I am not in the habit of making,” Damian hesitated, “friends and then leaving them behind.” 
“Yeah,” Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “I’m glad we agree on that.” 
An unfamiliar black car pulled up beside you. You took a couple steps back. It was nice, but anything unfamiliar, nice or not, wasn’t worth the risk. 
Damian, on the other hand, moved in closer. He opened the passenger door and said something to the driver then turned back towards you. 
“Do you want us to drop you off at home?”
You hesitated for a moment. Jon was looking hopefully at you. Damian’s “friends” echoed in your head. 
“Yeah,” you agreed. “That would be great.” 
Jon’s face split into a grin. The corner of Damian’s lips quirked up. There was some warm feeling in your chest at the fact that you caught it. You smiled back. 
Alfred Pennyworth, as you learned his name was, stopped the car right outside of your building less than thirty minutes later. 
“I’ll get your suitcase,” Jon offered, hopping out of the car as you collected the rest of your things. 
“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” 
“You are very welcome,” he answered. 
You shut the door behind you, now face to face with Jon. 
“Is a hug okay?” You asked him. “I’m not sure if that’s a thing you do but-“
Jon gives good hugs, you decided immediately. You could feel the weight and warmth of his arms where they circled your shoulders. 
“I’ll text you, okay?” He let go, hands moving to shove in his pockets. “I’ll take a picture of Metropolis when I get home and send it.” 
You smiled at him; there was something concrete to look forward to. Damian came around the back of the car. 
“You’re not a hug person, right?” You asked him. He shrugged. 
“Only for certain people.” 
You nodded, oddly disappointed. Damian opened his arms. 
“Are you sure?” You asked him. He nodded and you let him set the pace, tightening your grip only when he did. Damian was a good hugger too, you realized. You wondered if the older brother you heard of hours ago on the plane and Jon both had something to do with that. 
“You guys know where I live now,” you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder and pulled up the handle on your suitcase. “So come visit sometime, okay?” Your gaze wandered over to Jon. “Well if you’re in town, I guess. Metropolis isn’t exactly walking distance.” 
Jon chuckled. 
“I’m here pretty often.”
Damian scoffed a quiet laugh. 
“We will. And keep in touch.”
“Yeah,” you smiled. “You guys too.”
You gave a final wave before heading into your building. A cloud of melancholy followed you inside. You ignored it, pulling dirty clothes from your suitcase to toss in the hamper before heading to take a shower. 
Hair dripping but finally clean, you flopped onto your bed, reaching for your phone. Three messages were waiting for you. You answered the one from your parent, asking if you’d gotten home safe. The second was an email. You’d deal with that later, after you got some sleep. The third was a picture from Damian. 
He didn’t even make it through my shower, the attached message read. On your screen, Jon was lying on a couch underneath Damian’s large dog. He was fast asleep. 
You laughed and replied, then set your phone down. A nap would definitely throw off your sleep schedule, you knew, but Gotham was nocturnal anyway. You slept the afternoon away.
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
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One in Eleven Million (final chapter)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): And we have reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has been following this story and I hope the ending was worth the wait. I also wrote at least some of this and the last chapter while delayed at a train station/on the train so any offhand references I make to either of those things are because of the haha.
And happy new year!
Series masterlist can be found here.
warnings: anxiety, train stations, small amount of cursing
wc: ~1400
~~
Jon blinked awake to Damian tapping him on the shoulder. 
“Huh?” 
“We’re almost there,” he said, nodding out the window. Outside, the scenery had changed from the green of Pennsylvania to the cloudy skyscraper city of Gotham. “Alfred’s meeting us at the station. I’ve already asked and he’ll drive them home if they’re comfortable.” 
Jon looked over at you. He couldn’t remember if you or he had fallen asleep first, but he felt privileged that you did at all. Sure, some of it might have been the exhaustion of the last day, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t trust them to be there and wake you up. Based on your complaints about the station there, there was no way you wanted to end up in Newark. Or New York. 
Jon shook you gently. You opened your eyes, confused, then sat quickly upright. 
“Shit, I fell asleep? I didn’t mean to.”
“If it’s any consolation, so did I,” Jon shrugged. 
“I didn’t mean to miss the last hour,” you argued. 
“Last hour of what?” Damian stood up in the aisle, pulling Jon’s carry-on out from where he’d tucked it in. Jon grabbed his backpack then helped you pull your suitcase upright. 
“Of—thanks Jon—of time left with you guys.” You winced. Maybe that was too honest. Tugging your backpack over your shoulders, you followed Jon towards the exit at the end of the car. Damian stopped at the car door. You braced yourself with your suitcase to avoid toppling over as the train shuddered on the tracks. It really did feel like the plane turbulence from earlier. 
“This stop, Gotham Station,” the loudspeaker declared. One thing airplanes have going for them, you thought, better sound systems. The train’s announcements were barely audible. “Doors will open on the right side of the train. Please watch your step.” Anything further was indecipherable under the burbling of the speaker. 
“Wait, why did you say the last hour?” Jon asked as the three of you took the escalator up to the station's main area. 
“I have no idea how to contact you after this.” You pulled your suitcase over the lip of the escalator with a tug and continued on. Despite the amount of public transportation you’ve taken, Damian seemed to know the station better than you. You followed him as he weaved through the groups of people sprinkled around the area, Jon right behind. 
Damian stopped just outside a side entrance, and you moved around to his other side to avoid blocking the door. Jon followed. 
“We do all have phone numbers,” Damian suggested pulling out his phone. You assumed he was texting whoever was picking up him and Jon. 
“Oh, duh!” 
Jon’s excitement made you smile. The thought had crossed your mind earlier, but you’d dismissed it as a non-starter. You felt a little silly for that now. 
Jon’s phone was already open to a new contact sheet when he handed it to you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever actually given them your last name or if they remembered ever seeing it on your train ticket or boarding pass, but there was bound to be someone between Gotham and Metropolis that shared your first name, so you added it in anyway. Jon took it back from you and started typing. 
Your phone buzzed straightaway. You pulled it out of your pocket, smiling. 
“hi :)” the first message read. It was sent to you and a third number. Then “it’s jon”
“Huh,” you mused, reading it. “I’ve never seen anyone spell it like that before. That’s cool.”
You unlocked your phone, opened it to the group chat, and held it out to Damian. 
“Would you mind? So I don’t misspell your name?”
Damian muttered an assent and took it from you. He returned it with both contacts filled out. 
“Oh, great, thanks.” You chuckled at Jon’s contact. The name, instead of the Jon offered by the initial text, had been filled out as “Jonathan Kent.” Damian’s name, you were proud to say, was spelled the way you imagined it was. The last name was a funny coincidence, you thought, considering he lived in Gotham. 
“Wayne?” You asked, about to make a teasing joke. 
“Like Bruce Wayne, yes.” Damian said, carefully watching your reaction. 
“Like ‘Wayne Enterprises’ Wayne?” He nodded. “Holy shit. Wow, okay, I didn’t expect that. Wow.” You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Some part of you wondered if he was waiting for you to make a comment about his money or his father. 
“Why did you take the train with me?” You asked instead. The concrete was rough beneath your shoes, a noticeable contrast from the smoothness of airport flooring. “You could have easily had someone pick you up. Pick both of you up. So why–?” 
“Because we wanted to,” Jon answered simply. 
“I am not in the habit of making,” Damian hesitated, “friends and then leaving them behind.” 
“Yeah,” Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “I’m glad we agree on that.” 
An unfamiliar black car pulled up beside you. You took a couple steps back. It was nice, but anything unfamiliar, nice or not, wasn’t worth the risk. 
Damian, on the other hand, moved in closer. He opened the passenger door and said something to the driver then turned back towards you. 
“Do you want us to drop you off at home?”
You hesitated for a moment. Jon was looking hopefully at you. Damian’s “friends” echoed in your head. 
“Yeah,” you agreed. “That would be great.” 
Jon’s face split into a grin. The corner of Damian’s lips quirked up. There was some warm feeling in your chest at the fact that you caught it. You smiled back. 
Alfred Pennyworth, as you learned his name was, stopped the car right outside of your building less than thirty minutes later. 
“I’ll get your suitcase,” Jon offered, hopping out of the car as you collected the rest of your things. 
“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” 
“You are very welcome,” he answered. 
You shut the door behind you, now face to face with Jon. 
“Is a hug okay?” You asked him. “I’m not sure if that’s a thing you do but-“
Jon gives good hugs, you decided immediately. You could feel the weight and warmth of his arms where they circled your shoulders. 
“I’ll text you, okay?” He let go, hands moving to shove in his pockets. “I’ll take a picture of Metropolis when I get home and send it.” 
You smiled at him; there was something concrete to look forward to. Damian came around the back of the car. 
“You’re not a hug person, right?” You asked him. He shrugged. 
“Only for certain people.” 
You nodded, oddly disappointed. Damian opened his arms. 
“Are you sure?” You asked him. He nodded and you let him set the pace, tightening your grip only when he did. Damian was a good hugger too, you realized. You wondered if the older brother you heard of hours ago on the plane and Jon both had something to do with that. 
“You guys know where I live now,” you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder and pulled up the handle on your suitcase. “So come visit sometime, okay?” Your gaze wandered over to Jon. “Well if you’re in town, I guess. Metropolis isn’t exactly walking distance.” 
Jon chuckled. 
“I’m here pretty often.”
Damian scoffed a quiet laugh. 
“We will. And keep in touch.”
“Yeah,” you smiled. “You guys too.”
You gave a final wave before heading into your building. A cloud of melancholy followed you inside. You ignored it, pulling dirty clothes from your suitcase to toss in the hamper before heading to take a shower. 
Hair dripping but finally clean, you flopped onto your bed, reaching for your phone. Three messages were waiting for you. You answered the one from your parent, asking if you’d gotten home safe. The second was an email. You’d deal with that later, after you got some sleep. The third was a picture from Damian. 
He didn’t even make it through my shower, the attached message read. On your screen, Jon was lying on a couch underneath Damian’s large dog. He was fast asleep. 
You laughed and replied, then set your phone down. A nap would definitely throw off your sleep schedule, you knew, but Gotham was nocturnal anyway. You slept the afternoon away.
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
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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.  
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
Text
One in Eleven Million (ch. 9)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): So I have literally drafted the post for the last chapter in order to get it out by the end of the year. It will happen, I swear.
Series masterlist can be found here.
warnings: anxiety, airport, train station
wc: ~1300
The baggage claim area was packed when they arrived. Damian scanned the crowd quickly once, then once more. He knew you had a bag. You had to be there. A large man elbowed his way through the crowd and Damian had to restrain himself from forcibly removing the man from his vicinity. 
“Anything?” Jon asked from beside him. Damian opened his mouth to say no. His eye caught on movement in his periphery. 
“There.” 
You were off to the side, most likely trying to avoid getting trampled by the crowd. Your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself, eyes scanning the moving conveyor belt despite its lack of suitcases. 
“Hi,” Jon started as they came up behind you. You let out a startled exclamation, nearly tripping over your feet in an effort to see who was talking to you.  
Damian winced internally. He figured you’d hear the rattle of their carry-on bags. In hindsight, everyone was carrying some form of luggage. They were standing at the baggage claim. 
“Hi,” You said. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.” 
Damian’s heart tweaked in his chest. He heard what you didn’t say: I thought you left me.
“I mean I know you don’t have suitcases,” you rambled on, “so there’s literally no reason-”
“We were looking for you,” Jon interjected. “Even if you didn’t want to see us again, we could have at least said goodbye.” He was hurt, Damian realized, getting defensive.
“No no that’s not what I meant.” Your voice was frantic. “I just-I know you don’t have large bags and you have each other and probably some better way to get home than finding a last-minute train so when I didn’t see you, I figured you’d just…” The sentence trailed off in a shrug. 
“But we’re here,” Damian argued. “And Jon and I were already planning to take public transport.” 
Your eyes searched beside Jon’s shoulder, scanning the suitcases coming down the conveyor belt. 
“Do you need help getting your bag?” Jon asked, following your gaze. 
“No, I got it. Meet you back here when I get it?” 
Damian nodded. 
“Do you want to leave your backpack here?” 
He could almost see you mentally combing through the pros and cons. 
“If you leave with my stuff,” you began lightheartedly. Damian could hear the underlying anxiety in your voice. “I’m going to be really pissed off.” 
You handed the bag to Jon and disappeared into the crowd around the belt. 
“Do they think we would?” Jon asked Damian. Damian resisted the urge to reach up and smooth the wrinkle in between his eyebrows. “Just leave, that is? I mean if they knew who we were-”
“What’s to stop them from thinking they’re an obligation then either?” 
Jon sighed, pouting. Damian bit back a smile. It was adorable.
“You’re right. I hate it when you're right. It happens way too often.” 
A huff of laughter escaped Damian. A moment of comfortable silence lingered in the air, interrupted by you pushing through the crowd with a suitcase. 
“Okay this is it,” you declared, taking your backpack back from Jon. Your relief was unmistakable. “So the train stop that gets us to the main station is in terminal A, I think. Are you guys taking a train back too?” Jon shrugged, glancing at Damian.
“We hadn’t actually gotten that far yet.”
“If we need to catch a local train, we should head that way now,” Damian suggested. “We’ll figure out the rest on the way.”
“So what train are you taking?” Jon asked halfway to the airport train platform. 
“Uhh wait one sec.” You pulled out your phone, tapped the screen a couple times, then handed it to him. “Here. That’s my ticket.”
Jon turned the screen—open on the Amtrak app—towards Damian. He was already pulling out his phone. Damian dipped his head towards the screen, scanning the list of trains for the correct one before purchasing two tickets. Bruce’s credit card auto-filled into the payment information. Damian doubted his father would even notice. 
“Alright, we all have tickets for the 119 train to Gotham.” Jon handed your phone back and you shoved into your pocket. 
“Now we just have to get there.”
~
You didn’t think Jon had ever been in a train station before. Or at least not this one. He’d spent the majority of the half hour you’d all been sitting in the station alternating between talking to either you or Damian or looking around and asking you questions about your previous experiences on trains. 
“You have a terrible track record with transportation,” he frowned at you after you recounted a two-hour train delay. It had pushed your arrival time at home until past two in the morning. The face he made was really sweet. “Yeah I kinda do,” you laughed, shifting on the wooden bench.
Train stations overall, you found, were less overfilled and more comfortable than the airport, this one especially. You wouldn’t want to get delayed at Gotham Station (you knew that from experience too), but this station was much nicer. Less so at midnight, but that had more to do with your exhaustion at that time than the station. Damian, on your other side, was typing on his phone. He’d gotten up a little while before to make a call then came back and declared he’d sorted out who was picking him and Jon up once they arrived in Gotham. 
You glanced up at the big screen in front of you once again. This time, your gate and track number were up on the board. 
“Gate seven, track eight,” you read aloud. Beside you, Damian’s eyes snapped up to the board. Jon turned to look at you. 
“What?”  You pointed at the screen. 
“Our gate and track number. We should go now before the line gets too huge so we can get seats not already occupied.” 
Damian nodded, collecting his belongings. Jon followed, pulling his jacket back on before flashing you a smile. 
“Alright, let’s go.” 
You were quickly vindicated in your decision. The boarding line stretched all the way out towards the restrooms at the back of the station. When you got on, the train wasn’t empty, but it was close enough. With an origin in Baltimore and an end stop of New York, Philadelphia was one of the larger stops on the train’s path. You dropped into the first empty seat you saw with a likewise empty seat behind it, shoving your suitcase into the limited space allotted to legroom. It didn’t fit, but you really didn’t want to check your bag. Again.
Damian dropped into the seat behind you. Jon sat down next to you. 
“What-?” you asked, confused. “Don’t you want to sit together?”
“We are,” Jon shrugged. He leaned towards you, voice lowered. “Besides, Damian could probably use an hour not squished in between a whole bunch of people.” 
You turned around just enough to see Damian shove both his and Jon’s carry-ons onto the window seat and sink down heavily into the aisle seat. 
“That’s smart; I do it too,” you approved. “No one wants to take the window seat with a stranger.” Damian offered you a nod in exchange. He looked the way you felt after hours upon hours spent with people you weren’t comfortable with. That is to say, socially exhausted. 
You turned back around, crossing your legs so that you could sit somewhat comfortably even with a huge suitcase taking up all your legroom. 
“Turn it sideways,” Jon suggested. “So it’s not so tall.” 
“But it’ll take your legroom,” you protested. Jon shrugged and did it anyway, maneuvering his backpack to rest on top of it. You followed suit, shifting your seating position to accommodate the new space. The fabric of your pants had no traction on the smooth material of the train seats.
“See,” he said. “So much better.” 
“Yeah,” you smiled. “Thanks.” 
Through his glasses, Jon’s eyes shone. 
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 months
Text
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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unmotivatedwrit3r · 4 months
Text
The taglist!
@cantdothis-nomore @lovelywritersgarden @rukia-uchiha-98 @xoxoyourdoll @lockofspades @k12baby @kaineedstherapy12 @dopedreamobject @honeyhoneyhonie @jj28blob
If you'd like to be added, leave a comment!
One in Eleven Million (ch.7)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): this is where the real-life experience I took to write this story runs out so please take any and all airplane/airline logistics with a grain of salt. And with that said, enjoy! I want to get the rest of this series out by the end of fall to hopefully have room to post the holiday fics I want to write so look forwards to the coming final chapters. And apologies, this is a short one.
edit: forgot to link the masterlist so here it is!
warnings: airplane travel, turbulence, emergency (not crash) landings, panic
wc: ~750
~~
The next forty five minutes passed in some part conversation and some part Jon showing you dozens of pictures on his phone. He had a few really good ones of Superman (the older one) and some stunning ones overlooking Metropolis. 
“My parents are reporters so they–they know people who take photos like this,” Jon explained to you, crunching on the airplane pretzels he’d reclaimed from Damian.  
You pulled out a few photos of the Gotham skyline to show the boys in turn. Your photos didn’t live up to theirs, but with your not-high-tech phone camera, those were about the best you had. 
A stronger bout of turbulence rocked even you, hands instinctively gripping the hard plastic of the armrests. A quick glance at Damian gave away that he didn’t find it regular either. 
Jon’s “This is weird right?” overlapped with the concerned cries of other passengers. You turned to Damian. 
“It feels more like a train right now than a plane.” 
“I agree. This is irregular at best.” 
You nearly missed the crackle of the loudspeaker from underneath the raised voices of those around you. 
“Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight issue with one of our regulators. As of now, all passengers and attendants are to remain seated for their safety. Our next step is to make an emergency landing at the Philadelphia airport where there will then be connecting flights to Gotham. If you would rather find an alternate method of transport, let the front desk know as soon as we arrive so any luggage is forwarded to baggage claim.” 
You could barely process the new information over the sudden uproar. 
“This has never happened to you, I assume?” Damian spoke loudly. 
“No, nothing like this. I’d never even had a delay this bad before but this? No it-it’s crazy.” The answer to your question was chiseled into the shaken expression on Damian’s face but you asked anyway. “Either of you?”
Twin shakes of the head confirmed your assumption. 
“It’s not an emergency right? Like I know it’s an emergency landing but not a fall out of the sky kind of emergency right?” Jon’s blue eyes were wide. You shrugged helplessly.
“I want to say they’d tell us if it was but-”
“But they’ve been less than forthcoming so far so why begin now?” Damian finished. 
“Yeah,” you agreed. “Exactly.” 
Beside your seat, the emergency exit lights lit up. 
“That doesn’t bode well.” Damian pulled the words out of your brain. “But panicking,” he hissed at the woman lamenting in the row behind you, “will not solve anything.” 
You didn’t think Damian realized Jon was clinging to his hand. You didn’t think he knew he was holding yours.  
“Jon, you’re shaking the floor.” The words came out harsher than you intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be-I just-it’s-”
“Sorry I just-” Jon switched from tapping his foot to holding Damian’s left hand in his, focus tuned on his fingers. Damian’s gaze was locked on where his right hand was linked with yours. You pulled away as if his gaze burned you. “I’m never flying commercial again,” Jon finished. 
The laughter that bubbled out of your mouth was more hysterical than you intended. 
Another bout of rough turbulence wracked the plane. You kept your hands to yourself his time, arms crossed against your chest to squeeze at your biceps. 
You barely heard Jon’s whispered cursing underneath the panic rising throughout the rest of the plane.
Damian stayed quiet, but the hand that wasn’t held in Jon’s was tightly clenched. If he wasn’t human, you might have expected there to be holes bored into the head of an older man across the aisle. You wanted to quiet the guy yourself; his catastrophic ranting was only adding into your own anxiety. Instead, you spent a couple minutes making sure all of the stuff in your backpack was tucked away. 
“He does know everyone else can hear him, right?” You asked as you sat up. Both boys chuckled. Jon’s fingers tapped rapidly on his thigh. 
“Alright folks,” the pilot’s voice interrupted the catastrophizing. “We’ve begun the landing process. Please be aware that further turbulence is normal. We should be on the ground soon.”
“How much longer can they call turbulence normal?” Damian ground out. You didn’t have an answer for him. 
134 notes · View notes
unmotivatedwrit3r · 4 months
Note
do you have any batboy x reader blog recs?
BOY DO I--
This is practically a list of people I've interacted with on this hellsite as fellow writers. I'm more of a batfam non-reader insert fic reader so I have wayyyyy more recommendations under that genre.
@unmotivatedwrit3r
@quillsareswords
@citrinesparkles
@birdy-bat-writes
@anothertimdrakestan
@internalsealpanic
29 notes · View notes
unmotivatedwrit3r · 4 months
Text
One in Eleven Million (ch.7)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): this is where the real-life experience I took to write this story runs out so please take any and all airplane/airline logistics with a grain of salt. And with that said, enjoy! I want to get the rest of this series out by the end of fall to hopefully have room to post the holiday fics I want to write so look forwards to the coming final chapters. And apologies, this is a short one.
edit: forgot to link the masterlist so here it is!
warnings: airplane travel, turbulence, emergency (not crash) landings, panic
wc: ~750
~~
The next forty five minutes passed in some part conversation and some part Jon showing you dozens of pictures on his phone. He had a few really good ones of Superman (the older one) and some stunning ones overlooking Metropolis. 
“My parents are reporters so they–they know people who take photos like this,” Jon explained to you, crunching on the airplane pretzels he’d reclaimed from Damian.  
You pulled out a few photos of the Gotham skyline to show the boys in turn. Your photos didn’t live up to theirs, but with your not-high-tech phone camera, those were about the best you had. 
A stronger bout of turbulence rocked even you, hands instinctively gripping the hard plastic of the armrests. A quick glance at Damian gave away that he didn’t find it regular either. 
Jon’s “This is weird right?” overlapped with the concerned cries of other passengers. You turned to Damian. 
“It feels more like a train right now than a plane.” 
“I agree. This is irregular at best.” 
You nearly missed the crackle of the loudspeaker from underneath the raised voices of those around you. 
“Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight issue with one of our regulators. As of now, all passengers and attendants are to remain seated for their safety. Our next step is to make an emergency landing at the Philadelphia airport where there will then be connecting flights to Gotham. If you would rather find an alternate method of transport, let the front desk know as soon as we arrive so any luggage is forwarded to baggage claim.” 
You could barely process the new information over the sudden uproar. 
“This has never happened to you, I assume?” Damian spoke loudly. 
“No, nothing like this. I’d never even had a delay this bad before but this? No it-it’s crazy.” The answer to your question was chiseled into the shaken expression on Damian’s face but you asked anyway. “Either of you?”
Twin shakes of the head confirmed your assumption. 
“It’s not an emergency right? Like I know it’s an emergency landing but not a fall out of the sky kind of emergency right?” Jon’s blue eyes were wide. You shrugged helplessly.
“I want to say they’d tell us if it was but-”
“But they’ve been less than forthcoming so far so why begin now?” Damian finished. 
“Yeah,” you agreed. “Exactly.” 
Beside your seat, the emergency exit lights lit up. 
“That doesn’t bode well.” Damian pulled the words out of your brain. “But panicking,” he hissed at the woman lamenting in the row behind you, “will not solve anything.” 
You didn’t think Damian realized Jon was clinging to his hand. You didn’t think he knew he was holding yours.  
“Jon, you’re shaking the floor.” The words came out harsher than you intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be-I just-it’s-”
“Sorry I just-” Jon switched from tapping his foot to holding Damian’s left hand in his, focus tuned on his fingers. Damian’s gaze was locked on where his right hand was linked with yours. You pulled away as if his gaze burned you. “I’m never flying commercial again,” Jon finished. 
The laughter that bubbled out of your mouth was more hysterical than you intended. 
Another bout of rough turbulence wracked the plane. You kept your hands to yourself his time, arms crossed against your chest to squeeze at your biceps. 
You barely heard Jon’s whispered cursing underneath the panic rising throughout the rest of the plane.
Damian stayed quiet, but the hand that wasn’t held in Jon’s was tightly clenched. If he wasn’t human, you might have expected there to be holes bored into the head of an older man across the aisle. You wanted to quiet the guy yourself; his catastrophic ranting was only adding into your own anxiety. Instead, you spent a couple minutes making sure all of the stuff in your backpack was tucked away. 
“He does know everyone else can hear him, right?” You asked as you sat up. Both boys chuckled. Jon’s fingers tapped rapidly on his thigh. 
“Alright folks,” the pilot’s voice interrupted the catastrophizing. “We’ve begun the landing process. Please be aware that further turbulence is normal. We should be on the ground soon.”
“How much longer can they call turbulence normal?” Damian ground out. You didn’t have an answer for him. 
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 4 months
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Tumblr media
super sons week 2023 day 8 - Legacy & Family
"One day, you'll be Superman." "And I'll be Batman." So until then--please--let's stay like this.
@super-sons-week-2023
2K notes · View notes
unmotivatedwrit3r · 5 months
Text
The (once again very belated, my apologies) taglist!
@cantdothis-nomore @lovelywritersgarden @rukia-uchiha-98 @xoxoyourdoll @lockofspades @k12baby @kaineedstherapy12 @dopedreamobject @honeyhoneyhonie @jj28blob
If you'd like to be added, leave a comment!
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.
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 5 months
Text
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.
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 5 months
Text
Haha it's true though. And I know. But you get cute/fun stuff from it too at least so it's not all horrible 5k fic material
Also, tf do you mean you miss my writing, you see more of it than anyone but me /lh
why do we go back?
damian wayne x reader
warnings: anxiety, kind of a panic attack?, implied past trauma/abuse
wc: 800
~~
“I went back.”
“Why? They—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why. I—” 
“Damian, honey, breathe.” 
-
Damian’s brothers don’t text you that often. You don’t have their numbers saved in your phone. Or you didn’t. You have Tim’s now. 
come to the manor now. non-medical emergency 
oh and this is tim by the way 
You don’t even see the text until you’re done with your meeting, phone on do not disturb and notes document in fullscreen mode. It was sent at 1:30 in the afternoon. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen at 1:30 in the afternoon. 
I’m on my way, you text back at 3:00. Is he okay? The response comes as you’re setting up your gps. no. then, i mean he’s fine but no. You pull out of your parking spot a little faster than you should have. 
Once you get on the highway, you turn off the GPS. The number 21 exit towards Bristol and Wayne manor is nearly as familiar as your own. You’re thankful for the dozens of trips you’ve made because Tim calls you five minutes in. 
“What happened?” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The anxiety that had taken root when you saw the first text is morphing quickly into fear. 
“He disappeared.” 
“What?” 
“He’s not on manor grounds anymore. But he’s not in his suit.” 
On top of the phone call screen, a push notification lets you know that Damian's code was used to disarm your alarm system. You let out a short breath and switch lanes. Your exit is the next one. 
“I know where he is,” you tell Tim as you shift over into the right lane. It’s a little backed up, the way it always is this time of day, “I got him.”
“You sure?” 
“Yeah, thanks.” 
You take exit 24 towards the lower east side, then switch to an even more local highway and take exit 8 towards the residential district. When you pull into your parking spot in the cul-de-sac, your house looks empty. When you walk inside, Damian’s combat boots are sitting by the door, not unlaced all the way. One of them is sitting on its side. The other is askew. You let your bag slide off your shoulder to hit the ground next to your own shoes and venture further in. 
Damian’s sitting on the steps in dark casual clothes and white socks with a paint blob pattern. His knees are bent, legs pressed against his chest. Your steps aren’t steep and Damian is very tall. Hands clenched into fists rest on top of his knees. His neck is bent too, forehead pressed against his fists. 
You slide back on the wooden steps when you sit down. Damian doesn’t so much as twitch. You wait for him to come to you. He does. 
“I went back.” His voice is rough but not thick with tears. 
“Why?” You ask. The League leaves him with deep hurts every time he goes back to Nanda Parbat. And not the physical kind. “They—”
“I don’t know!” He exclaims like the words burst out of his chest. The energy propels him up, fingers digging into the arms of his sweatshirt as he rocks on his heels. “I don’t know why. I—” 
“Damian, honey,” You stand to meet him. The emotions in his green eyes are wild, untethered. “Breathe.” He shakes his head at you, fingers curling harder into his sleeves. “You can.” Damian scans your body language and you let him, relaxing the tension in your shoulders and leaving your hands open, arms angled to hold him if he wants it. 
“I’m here,” you say to the hesitation in his eyes. “You’re safe.”
You let out a grunt of air as Damian slams into you. His arms wrap around you tight enough that you think he’s afraid you’ll turn into smoke if he lets go. You raise your arms more slowly, one coming up to rub at his back and the other to cup the back of his neck.His knees buckle. You slow your descent to the ground only barely, saving your knees from catching the brunt of your weight. Your butt stings instead from how hard it hit the floor but it’s worth it when Damian buries his face into the junction between your neck and your collarbone and breathes. They’re choppy loud breaths that come with shoulders shuddering under the hand you have rubbing up and down his back, but no tears hit your neck. 
“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, cheek pressed against the top of his head. “You’re safe here.” Damian’s arms only tighten further. In response, you hold him tighter too. 
Why do we go back, you wonder, when we know the only thing to come of it is more pain? 
506 notes · View notes
unmotivatedwrit3r · 5 months
Text
why do we go back?
damian wayne x reader
warnings: anxiety, kind of a panic attack?, implied past trauma/abuse
wc: 800
~~
“I went back.”
“Why? They—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why. I—” 
“Damian, honey, breathe.” 
-
Damian’s brothers don’t text you that often. You don’t have their numbers saved in your phone. Or you didn’t. You have Tim’s now. 
come to the manor now. non-medical emergency 
oh and this is tim by the way 
You don’t even see the text until you’re done with your meeting, phone on do not disturb and notes document in fullscreen mode. It was sent at 1:30 in the afternoon. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen at 1:30 in the afternoon. 
I’m on my way, you text back at 3:00. Is he okay? The response comes as you’re setting up your gps. no. then, i mean he’s fine but no. You pull out of your parking spot a little faster than you should have. 
Once you get on the highway, you turn off the GPS. The number 21 exit towards Bristol and Wayne manor is nearly as familiar as your own. You’re thankful for the dozens of trips you’ve made because Tim calls you five minutes in. 
“What happened?” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The anxiety that had taken root when you saw the first text is morphing quickly into fear. 
“He disappeared.” 
“What?” 
“He’s not on manor grounds anymore. But he’s not in his suit.” 
On top of the phone call screen, a push notification lets you know that Damian's code was used to disarm your alarm system. You let out a short breath and switch lanes. Your exit is the next one. 
“I know where he is,” you tell Tim as you shift over into the right lane. It’s a little backed up, the way it always is this time of day, “I got him.”
“You sure?” 
“Yeah, thanks.” 
You take exit 24 towards the lower east side, then switch to an even more local highway and take exit 8 towards the residential district. When you pull into your parking spot in the cul-de-sac, your house looks empty. When you walk inside, Damian’s combat boots are sitting by the door, not unlaced all the way. One of them is sitting on its side. The other is askew. You let your bag slide off your shoulder to hit the ground next to your own shoes and venture further in. 
Damian’s sitting on the steps in dark casual clothes and white socks with a paint blob pattern. His knees are bent, legs pressed against his chest. Your steps aren’t steep and Damian is very tall. Hands clenched into fists rest on top of his knees. His neck is bent too, forehead pressed against his fists. 
You slide back on the wooden steps when you sit down. Damian doesn’t so much as twitch. You wait for him to come to you. He does. 
“I went back.” His voice is rough but not thick with tears. 
“Why?” You ask. The League leaves him with deep hurts every time he goes back to Nanda Parbat. And not the physical kind. “They—”
“I don’t know!” He exclaims like the words burst out of his chest. The energy propels him up, fingers digging into the arms of his sweatshirt as he rocks on his heels. “I don’t know why. I—” 
“Damian, honey,” You stand to meet him. The emotions in his green eyes are wild, untethered. “Breathe.” He shakes his head at you, fingers curling harder into his sleeves. “You can.” Damian scans your body language and you let him, relaxing the tension in your shoulders and leaving your hands open, arms angled to hold him if he wants it. 
“I’m here,” you say to the hesitation in his eyes. “You’re safe.”
You let out a grunt of air as Damian slams into you. His arms wrap around you tight enough that you think he’s afraid you’ll turn into smoke if he lets go. You raise your arms more slowly, one coming up to rub at his back and the other to cup the back of his neck.His knees buckle. You slow your descent to the ground only barely, saving your knees from catching the brunt of your weight. Your butt stings instead from how hard it hit the floor but it’s worth it when Damian buries his face into the junction between your neck and your collarbone and breathes. They’re choppy loud breaths that come with shoulders shuddering under the hand you have rubbing up and down his back, but no tears hit your neck. 
“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, cheek pressed against the top of his head. “You’re safe here.” Damian’s arms only tighten further. In response, you hold him tighter too. 
Why do we go back, you wonder, when we know the only thing to come of it is more pain? 
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 5 months
Note
Hello!! Are your requests open? If so, I want to say that I love your Damian x reader x Jon series. And I was wondering if you have any more ideas?
Hi!
I'm not sure which series you're talking about so I'll answer for both.
One in Eleven Million is an ongoing story, so once I post all the chapters, that's it for the story. If someone requests in that 'verse, I could probably write more, but I don't have any plans to as of now. It's also a complete story, so it will all be posted eventually, I swear.
The Poly College series is kinda an ongoing? I actually do have fics written/planned out for that series right now, but just haven't had any inspiration for it in a little while. If you'd like to make a suggestion/request for that series, feel free! I always find I'm more motivated to post something when I know people are enjoying it :)
And yes, technically my inbox is open for requests but please note I tend to write whatever my muse wants to write so getting an answer to a request is not guaranteed
I hope this answered your questions, and thanks for asking; I love getting asks I can respond to :))
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 6 months
Text
The (very belated, sorry) taglist!
@cantdothis-nomore @lovelywritersgarden @rukia-uchiha-98 @xoxoyourdoll @lockofspades @k12baby @kaineedstherapy12 @dopedreamobject @honeyhoneyhonie
If you'd like to be added, leave a comment!
One in Eleven Million (ch. 5)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): A few more chapters to go. I'll try to post more regularly but honestly dates get away from me so fast. I hope you all enjoy!
Series masterlist linked here.
warnings: sensory overload, planes
wc: ~1100
~~
Jon swore that boarding time had only gotten longer the second time around. You attempted to shove him towards the already packed boarding lines. 
“You guys have carry-ons and you need to find a spot for them so go.” You insisted. Over the loudspeaker, airline employees began allowing passengers in group two to board. Damian opened his mouth to argue again. Jon cut him off. 
“You’re right; we should.” 
You turned towards him, surprised, but took the opportunity. 
“Thank you, Jon. I swear I can in fact survive twenty minutes without you guys. I did take a whole other plane here before I met you.”
Jon wrapped his hand around Damian’s elbow and walked him to the gate. Damian’s eyes roamed over Jon’s face, calculating. 
“Are you alright?” There was a slight pause. “Overstimulated?”
Jon nodded. Even with his earbuds in, the people and the noise grated on his senses. Until his powers came back in their entirety or settled out, they’d be in flux, and Jon wanted nothing more than to get out of the simultaneously open and crowded gate. The dim space of the plane sounded like a haven, even enclosed as it was. Any other day, he would have argued more about staying back with you. 
Damian passed Jon his own sunglasses and took the lead, scanning his boarding pass then Jon’s and guiding him into the boarding bridge. The lights, unnatural and piercing as they were, were dulled by the sunglasses. Jon relaxed the tension in his forehead, now looking more so than squinting at Damian. 
“Thanks.” He pulled a deep breath in then let it out through pursed lips. 
“You know you can just tell me things like that right?” Damian nudged. The line moved and they stepped further down the bridge. 
“Yeah I just—everything’s weird and off balance and I’m missing the-“ His voice dropped to a whisper. “-powers that I’ve had since I was a kid so it’s-”
“A lot,” Damian nodded. 
“Yeah.”
Jon dipped his head in response to the flight attendants’ greetings as he passed them by, following the line as it continued on towards the end of the plane. 
“You take the end,” Damian instructed. “You’ll have window control and the corner if you need it.” He reached his hand out to take Jon’s carry-on.
Jon didn’t argue, sliding clumsily to the end of the row. He turned the small TV — built-in to the headrest in front of him — off before sinking into his seat. It let out a puff of air as he sat down. Above his head, the sound of wheels on plastic illustrated Damian lifting both carry-ons into the overhead bins. Jon realized belatedly that he shouldn’t have let Damian do that with his arm injury. Too late now. 
After a moment, Damian maneuvered — much more gracefully — into the chair beside Jon, shoving his backpack under the seat in front. His arm curled around Jon’s shoulders. Jon followed the movement, forehead tipping down to the crook of Damian’s neck and eyes fluttering closed. One of Damian’s hands combed through his hair. The other wrapped around Jon’s wrist. Damian did that sometimes — often. In some ways, Jon appreciated it: Damian’s own way of checking his heartbeat in turn. Sometimes, like today, a move like that made Jon feel small. But Damian was safe. Jon could be small with him. 
There were a few minutes of indeterminate noise before you arrived. Jon felt your appearance more than anything else and even then, mostly in the change in Damian’s posture. 
“Hey.” Your voice was low. “Jon okay?” 
“Yeah, I’m good.” You were addressing Damian but Jon answered anyway. “The airport was just loud.”
Damian’s hand didn’t move from his hair. Jon’s eyes stayed closed as you situated your bag under the seat and sat down. He assumed there’d been some sort of nonverbal communication over his head, but he couldn’t prove it. 
Jon sat up, eyes blinking open underneath the sunglasses. He recognized the worried look on your face — and didn’t that say something about how ridiculous the last twelve plus hours had been if he knew that face well already?
“I’m okay.” 
Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. 
“Or I’m getting there,” Jon amended. You seemed to take that answer better. In the middle seat, Damian huffed a laugh and switched to holding Jon’s wrist with his left hand. Jon didn’t pull away. Having Damian nearby, the warmth of his hand wrapped around Jon’s wrist, made all the difference. 
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Your eyebrows were still furrowed in concern. “Seriously.” 
Damian seemed to take you at your word so Jon nodded. 
“Thanks.” 
“Yeah, of course,” you reassured him. “We’re in this together now.” 
A flight attendant bustled down the aisle, shutting overhead storage and checking that everyone was wearing seatbelts. You moved your hands away from your waist and both Jon and Damian copied the movement. The flight attendant moved on. 
Jon dropped his head back to Damian's shoulder, eyes following as you reached down into your bag and pulled out the craft project from the day before. 
“What are you making?” Damian asked. You looked up at him, eyes flicking down to your lap then back up. 
“Oh, nothing special honestly. I just found this pattern and liked it. And it’s nice to have something like this to do when watching TV, I think. Or like when you’re on the phone with someone. To have something to do with my hands.”
“It’s beautiful.” Jon readjusted his position against Damian’s shoulder as Damian leaned towards you. “You’re talented.”
“I’m not, honestly. It’s not really art, just string and a pattern I found online.” 
“Tt,” objected Damian. “There are many forms of art.”
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome once again to flight 1221 nonstop to Gotham International Airport. Thank you all for your patience and adaptability around the delays. We are fourth in line for takeoff and running smoothly so we should be up in the air in no time. Please be aware that there may be some turbulence as we get up in the air so seatbelt signs will remain on until it is safe to remove them. Thank you all again, and have a great flight.” 
The loudspeaker was silent for a moment. Jon opened his eyes from whenever he’d squeezed them shut. The crackling in the pilot’s voice as it filtered through the speaker was more audible than it had been the night before. 
Jon winced as the flight safety video began playing. He was spared the flashes of light from the darkened TV screen but not the sound projected over the entire plane. Pulling his hood over his eyes, Jon curled away from Damian and into the corner of the plane, closing them once again. 
171 notes · View notes
unmotivatedwrit3r · 6 months
Text
One in Eleven Million (ch. 5)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(A/N): A few more chapters to go. I'll try to post more regularly but honestly dates get away from me so fast. I hope you all enjoy!
Series masterlist linked here.
warnings: sensory overload, planes
wc: ~1100
~~
Jon swore that boarding time had only gotten longer the second time around. You attempted to shove him towards the already packed boarding lines. 
“You guys have carry-ons and you need to find a spot for them so go.” You insisted. Over the loudspeaker, airline employees began allowing passengers in group two to board. Damian opened his mouth to argue again. Jon cut him off. 
“You’re right; we should.” 
You turned towards him, surprised, but took the opportunity. 
“Thank you, Jon. I swear I can in fact survive twenty minutes without you guys. I did take a whole other plane here before I met you.”
Jon wrapped his hand around Damian’s elbow and walked him to the gate. Damian’s eyes roamed over Jon’s face, calculating. 
“Are you alright?” There was a slight pause. “Overstimulated?”
Jon nodded. Even with his earbuds in, the people and the noise grated on his senses. Until his powers came back in their entirety or settled out, they’d be in flux, and Jon wanted nothing more than to get out of the simultaneously open and crowded gate. The dim space of the plane sounded like a haven, even enclosed as it was. Any other day, he would have argued more about staying back with you. 
Damian passed Jon his own sunglasses and took the lead, scanning his boarding pass then Jon’s and guiding him into the boarding bridge. The lights, unnatural and piercing as they were, were dulled by the sunglasses. Jon relaxed the tension in his forehead, now looking more so than squinting at Damian. 
“Thanks.” He pulled a deep breath in then let it out through pursed lips. 
“You know you can just tell me things like that right?” Damian nudged. The line moved and they stepped further down the bridge. 
“Yeah I just—everything’s weird and off balance and I’m missing the-“ His voice dropped to a whisper. “-powers that I’ve had since I was a kid so it’s-”
“A lot,” Damian nodded. 
“Yeah.”
Jon dipped his head in response to the flight attendants’ greetings as he passed them by, following the line as it continued on towards the end of the plane. 
“You take the end,” Damian instructed. “You’ll have window control and the corner if you need it.” He reached his hand out to take Jon’s carry-on.
Jon didn’t argue, sliding clumsily to the end of the row. He turned the small TV — built-in to the headrest in front of him — off before sinking into his seat. It let out a puff of air as he sat down. Above his head, the sound of wheels on plastic illustrated Damian lifting both carry-ons into the overhead bins. Jon realized belatedly that he shouldn’t have let Damian do that with his arm injury. Too late now. 
After a moment, Damian maneuvered — much more gracefully — into the chair beside Jon, shoving his backpack under the seat in front. His arm curled around Jon’s shoulders. Jon followed the movement, forehead tipping down to the crook of Damian’s neck and eyes fluttering closed. One of Damian’s hands combed through his hair. The other wrapped around Jon’s wrist. Damian did that sometimes — often. In some ways, Jon appreciated it: Damian’s own way of checking his heartbeat in turn. Sometimes, like today, a move like that made Jon feel small. But Damian was safe. Jon could be small with him. 
There were a few minutes of indeterminate noise before you arrived. Jon felt your appearance more than anything else and even then, mostly in the change in Damian’s posture. 
“Hey.” Your voice was low. “Jon okay?” 
“Yeah, I’m good.” You were addressing Damian but Jon answered anyway. “The airport was just loud.”
Damian’s hand didn’t move from his hair. Jon’s eyes stayed closed as you situated your bag under the seat and sat down. He assumed there’d been some sort of nonverbal communication over his head, but he couldn’t prove it. 
Jon sat up, eyes blinking open underneath the sunglasses. He recognized the worried look on your face — and didn’t that say something about how ridiculous the last twelve plus hours had been if he knew that face well already?
“I’m okay.” 
Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. 
“Or I’m getting there,” Jon amended. You seemed to take that answer better. In the middle seat, Damian huffed a laugh and switched to holding Jon’s wrist with his left hand. Jon didn’t pull away. Having Damian nearby, the warmth of his hand wrapped around Jon’s wrist, made all the difference. 
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Your eyebrows were still furrowed in concern. “Seriously.” 
Damian seemed to take you at your word so Jon nodded. 
“Thanks.” 
“Yeah, of course,” you reassured him. “We’re in this together now.” 
A flight attendant bustled down the aisle, shutting overhead storage and checking that everyone was wearing seatbelts. You moved your hands away from your waist and both Jon and Damian copied the movement. The flight attendant moved on. 
Jon dropped his head back to Damian's shoulder, eyes following as you reached down into your bag and pulled out the craft project from the day before. 
“What are you making?” Damian asked. You looked up at him, eyes flicking down to your lap then back up. 
“Oh, nothing special honestly. I just found this pattern and liked it. And it’s nice to have something like this to do when watching TV, I think. Or like when you’re on the phone with someone. To have something to do with my hands.”
“It’s beautiful.” Jon readjusted his position against Damian’s shoulder as Damian leaned towards you. “You’re talented.”
“I’m not, honestly. It’s not really art, just string and a pattern I found online.” 
“Tt,” objected Damian. “There are many forms of art.”
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome once again to flight 1221 nonstop to Gotham International Airport. Thank you all for your patience and adaptability around the delays. We are fourth in line for takeoff and running smoothly so we should be up in the air in no time. Please be aware that there may be some turbulence as we get up in the air so seatbelt signs will remain on until it is safe to remove them. Thank you all again, and have a great flight.” 
The loudspeaker was silent for a moment. Jon opened his eyes from whenever he’d squeezed them shut. The crackling in the pilot’s voice as it filtered through the speaker was more audible than it had been the night before. 
Jon winced as the flight safety video began playing. He was spared the flashes of light from the darkened TV screen but not the sound projected over the entire plane. Pulling his hood over his eyes, Jon curled away from Damian and into the corner of the plane, closing them once again. 
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