#i know i draw jon too hot but am i gonna stop?

[scarlettroubles]

Quick monster moth Jon concepts for fun

[matt-ward95]

Big changes pt. 4

Matt couldn't help but look at himself in the mirror, still stunned at how he had grown in the last few hours. He turned and looked at Jon who now was a literal giant, standing over 10 feet tall. they both where happy Jon more or less happy with the size of his feet. Jon had always wanted to have big feet. now unsure if he could ever buy regular shoes again he just stared at them. " you ready big guy?" Matt asked looking up at him. " it'll be tight but yup I am" Jon said before kissing Matt on the lips. Jon was right it was tight in the 4Runner Jon's body almost too big to fit in the front seat. Matt now had to move the driver seat all the back for him to fit behind the wheel. Jon once again placed his massive hand on Matt's thigh as they drove. finally arriving at the gym they pulled them selves out of the car. entering the gym all eyes where on them. Matt now almost 7 feet tall and Jon passed th 10 foot mark they were the biggest guys in the gym. " I hope Zack Showa up he always made fun of me for being short." Matt said to Jon as they headed towards the locker room. the sauna was empty so the two of them went in. it wasn't long before Matt had Jons dick in his mouth blowing him before the work out. his belly full but nowhere as it was back at the apartment. they went to the squat racks Matt moving the bar up so he could get in the right position. as he loaded the weights 4 ,45 plates each side he heard Zacks voice in the distance. Matt knew Zack was still taller than him standing at 7'2 it was only a few inches but Matt wanted to be bigger than him. putting his headphones and drawing him out he began to lift the weight, it was easy he thought to himself after 5 reps he added another plate to each side. grunting as the added weight gave him a challenge. he was to focussed on the lift to realize he was growing. Jon watched Matt in disbelief he was growing before his very eyes. as Matt added more weight he was oblivious to the fact he had grown 6 inches since the start of his workout. he racked the weight after his final set 6 played on each side. he had grown to a massive 7'10". still unaware of his growth he walked away bumping in to Zack. he looked down and laugh as he now towered over Zack. "sauna now " he commanded Jon, Matt blew him again before returning to gym floor. as he continued to lift weight Matt continued to grow reaching a massive 9'6". before leaving Matt walked over to Zack who was bench pressing he had a good amount weight on the 4 plates each side. Matt snatche the bar from his hand and started curling it. his biceps exploding in size. Zack stood up in disbelief as a now giant Matt put the bar down and laughed at the smaller man. laughing while him and Jon exit the gym.

the ride home was tight for the 2 massive guys. as they ducked into the now doll sized apartment Jon couldn't help himself as he ripped the shorts off of Matt and bean to suck his dick. Matt easily picking Jon up and flipping him around to start sucking him off as he made his way to the bedroom. Matt started to ooze precum into Jon's mouth as they entered the bedroom. laying down on the bed Jon began to grow with Matt's precum. he could feel him getting heavier on top of him and he liked it. it wasn't long until Matt finally reached his limit and flooded Jon's mouth with hot, thick, rich cum sending Jon's growth into over drive. Jon reached 13 feet tall before it stopped. he then unloaded into Matt. Matt's body using it to fuel muscle growth he gained over 100 pounds of lean muscle muscle and grew to 11'8. the two giant's laid there wondering what to do next. Matt then started rubbing Jon's feet causing them to grow. his already massive feet swelling and lengthening now well over 4 feet long on just the sole alone. Matt stopped and laid next to Jon. Jon snuggled into Matt's chest which was now just two massive slabs of muscle " were gonna have to find a bigger place" Jon said looking up at Matt from his chest. " I know... but first let's take a nap" the two started to doze off when suddenly the bed frame gave out. they laughed as the fell asleep.

"Matt your massive!" Jon shouted waking Matt up...." what are you talking about?" while they slept both of them had grown but Matt had passed Jon in all areas. Matt looked around standing up and smashing through the ceiling. now 15 feet tall and looking down at Jon "fuck.... hey shortie" he joked now a foot taller than Jon. they crawled through the apartment reaching the back door and went outside now able to stand up and see how massive they had become. Matt looking down at Jon and smiling as he bounced his pecs. "how's the view short stuff?" Matt said cockily "it's amazing" Jon replied.

[duvetsandpillows]

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit. 

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?” 

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up. 

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

[jupiterix]

Hi bestie I’m here with questions for you 🤣🤭. Let’s do:

F, O, P

hi bestie 🥰😆 Thanks for the ask and here are your answers: O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? I only write jonerys so it's always with the plot, and I get inspired with the most random things 🤭 P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) Architect for sure, if I start writing something without planning first I know I won't finish. I need to plan and organize the scenes on the paper (well, google doc but still) then I can start writing. F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. Okay I'm sharing something I haven't published yet in the hopes I gonna hold myself accountable 😂 it's unbeta'ed and I didn't edit. This scene came to me one night and I stopped everything I was doing to write down, and I'm a bit proud of it 💕 hope you like it.

“You shouldn’t apologize for it,” she takes a drag of her cigarette, the faint red glowing the only source of light they have. “She’s right, isn’t she?” “You know she’s not.”

“I am...ruined, Jon,” she closes her eyes and says, “you should stay away from me.”

“Is this what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Dany retorts angrily and gets up on her feet as she turns to him. “Anything between us can only end in a disaster and I don’t want to ruin you too, so please, for our sakes just—”

“Let me be the one to decide if I want to be ruined or not, Dany,” Jon raises her chin and she meets his eyes again. His other palm touches her cheeks with care and, when he leans into her, her breath hitches on her throat just before their lips meet.

His fingers burn on her face, his mouth is hot against her. The fire in her belly grows when his tongue brushes against hers. Daenerys throws away her cigarette and steps on it before she pulls on his curls drawing him to her. She sighs in the kiss when he mimics her, one hand on her neck and the other on her waist making them as close as they can be with the swing seat between them. Jon groans when she bites his lower lip, it’s a sound she wants to hear again, and again. I'm proud of this scene because in my mind this is supposed to be the turning point of the story, it's a cheating fic so before this scene there are a lot of denial and repressed feelings... and I think I managed to write the angst/denial/acceptance here. Don't cancel me yet about the cheating story 🤣 it's better than it sounds, and I promise a HEA cause why would I ever write a jonerys fic without them ending together?

[pitviperofdoom]

Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis​ Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon.  I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?  

@janekfan​ you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic!  Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.  

As simple as that.  

All according to plan.  

It really is as simple as that.  

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira.  Piled back in Daisy's car.  Ears ringing.  Soot slowly settling.  Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.  

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.  

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car.  Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.  

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days.  Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements.  Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.  

Jon just wants to sleep.  

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London.  Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious.  Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.  

Tim showers.  Jon sends a text to Martin.  'Alive.'  

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner.  Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.    

Jon showers.  Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor.  He hates that.  The tub feels filthy.  He feels filthy.  He scrubs his skin raw.  He stands.  He throws up more nothing.  He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.  

He wants to talk to Tim.  He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again.  Christ, he's running an impressive fever.  Probably.  It's hard to tell.  And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.  

He's cold.  He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).  

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice.  Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.  

Jon could say something.  He knows he could.  But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss?  Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that.  If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that.  And then with... his other kidnapping No.  He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim.  Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back.  Probably.  

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?  

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.  

Tim sleeps on the drive back.  Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights.  Jon is jealous.  

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent.  Anxiety too thick to slice with words.  Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light.  Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola.  He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him.  Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.  

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights.  Jon knows he hasn't.  Not that he has slept well in a long time.    

In any case, Tim sleeps.  Jon doesn't.  

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror.  Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again.  (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car.  Really really really wishes.  It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)  

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.  

His head hurts.  

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.  

Martin greets them at the institute door.  Melanie by his side.  

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.  

"You actually made it!  I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."  

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug.  Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.  

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace.  Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.  

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish.  Just... get out?  Or go in?  Or get to the cot?  Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets?  Get away from people he will inevitably worry?  

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.  

It looks like Martin has been crying.  Jon hopes it isn't over him.  

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.  

Jon slowly backs away.  

His head is swimming, but that's okay.  If he can just reach the Archives.  The cot.  Anywhere.  Anywhere away from this moment.  This breath.  

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds.  Either that or he's going to be ill?  No.  Sidewalk.  He's going to eat the sidewalk.  Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.  

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not.  It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head.  Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting.  Or several someones.  He should maybe worry about this?  But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.  

His face hurts.  

Someone is holding him.  

Jon fights to open his eyes.  They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to.  He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus.  Glasses?  Does he still have those?  Did they break?  No... still there.  Skewed on his face.  Just... too dizzy to see, then.  

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him.  Melanie is walking away.  Possibly.  Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.  

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.  

"Jon?"  

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice.  The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.  

Shit, thinking in gibberish.  That can't be good.  

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”  

Someone grunts.  

Footsteps.  Two sets?  I’m asking away.  Leaving him.   

“I.... I don’t know.  I don’t think he was feverish last night?  But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s.  It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled.   He whines.  Stomach flopping dangerously.   

"Jon?  Are you awake?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."  

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands.  Where he throws up more nothing.  

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.  

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.  

"Christ, Jon!"  

He finally pries his eyes open.  Martin and Tim solidify above him.  More or less.  Still fuzzing in and out of focus.  

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop.  Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.  

"Oh Jon..."  Martin's arms circle him, carefully.  Gentle not to jostle him more.  

"Buddy.  Think we can get you off the sidewalk?"  Tim.  Cupping his face.  Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower.  "My flat isn't far, you know?  Didn't bring my car here, though.  Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.  

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns.  It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently.  "Still weren't sure you were coming home...  Tim..."  And his eyes start looking damp.  

Tim is tearing up now.  "Martin... let's not in the street...  I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far.  You can come too.  We'll get some take out.  Drink some whiskey.  Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off.  We can talk then.  It's.... it's been a rough week."  

"Jon?  Can I carry you?  I think that might be less rough than a cab ride?  Do you need a few minutes?"  

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there.  In fact, he might.  So he nods.  

Martin lifts him carefully.  His head swims again.  This all is feeling rather familiar.  Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights.  Martin feels safe.  Tim is also safe now.  He lets himself drift.  

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"  Tim.  Tim seems off.  Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean.  But Jon is too hazy to think.    

Jon's mouth feels gummed up.  His eyes feel gummed up.  

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though.  Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.  

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops.  He drifts again.  

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion. 

How did he get here? 

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water.  We can try some tea later, once the meds work.  And some food hopefully."  

Martin helping him sit up.  Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon.  Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.  

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.  

Jon blinks at him in confusion.  "Is it over?"  

"Is what over?"  Still Martin.  

Where's Tim?  Where's Daisy?  Where's Basira?  Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.  

"Is it over, what happened?"  He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.  

"Jon?  Jon!  Calm down.  Can you take a breath for me?"  

How did he get here?  Where is he?  This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim?  Did he survive.  

Jon reaches for anything.  But comes up blank.  

"Where's Tim?  What happened?"  He gasps out.  It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.  

"Tim's... taking a moment.  As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know?  He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live.  He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha.  Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up.  It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her.  And then... having it sorted.  But...  Listen Jon I don't know.  What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?"  Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.  

"I remember the... the world was all wrong.  Then... then it blew up.  Is it over?  Martin are you real.  Is everyone alive?  What happened to you?"  He's desperate.  Desperate breaths too shallow.  Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen.  He's going to pass out.  

He does.  

He wakes feeling... clearer.  The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach.  The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail.  Tim's sitting over him.  Or rather, curled around him.  Jon's hair is being played with.  A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself.  Muttering that he's alive.  That Jon's alive.  That Martin is alive.  he didn't lose anyone else.  That that clown is finally dead.  Finally.  

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth.  Checking his temperature.  

"I..."  Tim chokes on a sob.  And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.  

"Tim?"  

"Hey bud... sorry."  Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I... don't know how to feel about it.  Fuck I need a drink....  And to check in with Martin.  I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset.  And.  Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?"  Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses.  All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind.  He trusts Tim.  he does... but Christ he is still afraid.  Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real.  Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.  

"Hey.  Hey.  Buddy... Jon.  I'm sorry.  didn't mean to yell.  It's just... been a day.  I'm not mad at you.  I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened.  I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit.  Marginally less nauseous, however.  A little less like he's going to pass out again.  Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.  

"Sorry."  He croaks.  Voice probably shredded with smoke.  And fever.  

"He, bud, don't apologize.  I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well.  I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied.  I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..."  Tim sighs.  "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again.  And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death.  All we can do now is keep going.  I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes.  Again.  I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed.  I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again.  I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest.  I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."  

Tim's crying properly now.  Jon is too.  Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything.  There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.  

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.  

Jon scrubs at his eyes.  "Martin what happened?"  Jon can see he's been crying again.  That is starting to scare him.  It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.  

"It's... well it isn't fine.  I... well our plan worked here too.  Just... you know... Elias.  He can.... He can do things.  It's fine.  It's worth it."  Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.  

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin.  Jon's still crying.  Martin sniffling.  Tim also crying.  It's... a very damp hug.  And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.  

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin."  Jon chokes out.  

"It's alright.  It was worth it.  And you both.  Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..."  Martin is fully sobbing now.  Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.  

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so.  A lot of tears have been shed.  And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.  

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something.  They order takeout.  Jon... has some broth. 

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.  

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.  

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Absolutely nobody asked for this, but I'm listing some Two Sugars-verse headcanons (that me and @queenofyoursoda worked together on Discord) here just to keep everything in one place

This is mostly about Jon and Gerry's relationship growing up, I'll make some other posts about the world in general and about the OT3.

Ester (Jon's grandma) moves Jon to Gerry's school after the incident at church (after asking Gertrude for permission, ofc) and Jon immediately becomes less withdrawn and his grades improved.

Gerry might have gotten shit for hanging out with a younger kid, but by the time he's eleven he's already a mini-tank and nobody really dares bully him.

Jon is very perceptive, and he very quickly catches on to the fact that the topic of Gerry's mom is very sensitive, so he learns to never bring it up until Gerry does, and he becomes insanely protective of his friend.

Sometimes Gerry has bad days, nightmares about the night he lost his dad, or he just misses him too much. On those days Gertrude allows him to skip school, and Jon becomes very adept at "breaking" into Getrude's house (she leaves the window unlocked for him) to sit under the covers with him.

One time, a kid from Gerry's class comes in with a true crime magazine with Mary's face on the cover and makes fun of Gerry, telling him he's "always drawing weird shit "because he's cr*zy like his mom". This happens within Jon's earshot. The kid has to get stitches.

Ester is terribly embarrassed and disappointed, lecturing Jon about how violence is never acceptable and he's going to have to apologize to this kid. Gertrude nods along, and then slips Jon a ten pound note and goes to Jurgen for the full story.

Gerry tells Martin this story one night after a couple glasses of wine. Martin is delighted, Jon is mortified like "I WAS A CHILD I DIDN'T KNOW BETTER!"

This is most definitely a lie, because the first time Jon witnesses someone be mean to Martin, he has to be literally carried out.

Jon is the one to suggest they dye Gerry's hair when Gerry's sixteen, because Gerry says it reminds him of his mother. Gertrude finds them in the middle of what looks like a hair dye explosion at the bathroom and locks the door from the outside until they clean everything out.

As they grow up, Jon and Gerry do a lot of stereotypical couple-y stuff without noticing, just- matching cell-phone charms, good morning/good night texts, holding hands, cuddling, leaving each other little notes, pebbles against your window at three am to come stargaze with me on your backyard.

Gerry's friends at college (and later Jon's) always refer to the other as 'your boyfriend' but both Jon and Gerry just roll their eyes like har-har very funny, and don't think anything of it.

When Jon starts dating Georgie everyone is shocked like "YOU BROKE UP?!" and Gerry's like "I've told you we're just friends", though he can't help but notice the odd, uncomfortable feeling that comes when he hears Jon talk about his new girlfriend, which is a surprise because he likes Georgie so much?

While Jon and Georgie are dating, Tim is like "So... your hot goth friend. Can I have his number?" and Jon is like >:/ "I guess" but he doesn't connect just why he's so displeased about this.

Tim and Gerry do date for about a week. Then once when they're kissing Gerry accidentally calls him 'Jon' and Tim (a smart boy) gust goes "I'm out of here!"

Even as adults, Tim has never let Gerry live that down. Every time they hang out he makes a point to go and introduce himself to Gerry. "I know it's easy to confuse with other three-letter names, just... T-I-M, okay?"

This only escalates when they start dating Martin, "Oh shit Gerry this one's completely different are you sure you're gonna be able to keep track?"

Jon and Georgie do break up after like four months, in good enough terms that Georgie feels comfortable telling him that "Jon I love you but I'm glad we broke up because you have a massive crush on Gerry"

She then has to proceed to explain to her very oblivious ex that people don't usually stop making out with their girlfriends because their phone pings across the room with a text from their best friend.

Or that they don't walk into movie nights and immediately call out "dibs!" and sit on said friend's lap, and Georgie is really a saint for getting through the Fellowship Of The Ring while holding hands with Jon on Gerry's lap while Melanie glares daggers at them.

When they finally get together their first kiss is super awkward, they both end up cracking up, and they feel really dumb when they realize how little their routines change.

They take their grandmas out for brunch and Jon is like "Gran... Gerry and I are dating". Ester arches an eyebrow, "And this is news how?" Only for Gertrude to roll her eyes and go "Ester our grandkids are stupid"

[itrytobeagoodkid]

1OO IMPORTANT CHARACTER QUESTIONS

taken from beth kinderman and nikki walker’s the 100 most important things to know about your character. a good list to help develop a character’s background, personality, and general aspects.

Taken from: @museinspo Tagging: Whomstever!

PART 1: THE BASICS

What is your full name?

Jordan El Kent

Where and when were you born?

Metropolis, Kansas in 2009

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Clark Kent aka Superman and Lois Lane, they used to work for the Daily Planet. But, they quit after we moved to Smallville. Now my dad’s a farmer, and my mom works for the local paper. They’re both pretty good parents. 

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

I have a twin brother named Jonathan, whose my polar opposite and better than me in a lot of ways. I also would have had a little sister named Natalie but...things didn’t work out that way. 

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

I live with my mom and dad in Smallville, Kansas which is a small town and it’s pretty quiet. But it’s...a good place to live. 

What is your occupation?

High school student

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

I’m 5′7″, with curly black hair and a lot of people say my eyes are blue-green. They’re blue, it’s just sometimes they look kind of green depending on lighting. Um, I don’t really know how much I weigh and...I am as pale as the driven snow because I never see the sun. I prefer wearing black and dark clothes. And no tattoos or marks. 

To which social class do you belong?

I’m...guessing middle class?

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

Allergies no, but I do have an aversion to Kryptonite.

Are you right- or left-handed?

Right handed

What does your voice sound like?

It’s still not that deep, or as deep as I’d like it to be.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

I have no idea, you’d have to ask my brother that one. 

What do you have in your pockets?

Currently? Um some change, keys, phone, ooh I have gum! I didn’t know that was in there. 

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

Um, I guess sometimes I tend to talk with my hands a lot. It’s a little weird, and I’m sure my brother can tell you many annoying habits about me. My worst one? Diving headfirst into stuff, without thinking of consequences. That one gets me in trouble a lot. 

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general?

Um, home wise it was pretty good. My dad was usually working or out of town, so he wasn’t always there. It was usually mom and us, which was...fine. Ok sometimes it could be a little frustrating, but I can’t complain too much. Outside of home? Like at school.....lets not talk about that. 

What is your earliest memory?

I think, I vaguely remember being in a dark place. it’s a place that’s really dark, and I can hear my mom? But she sounds muffled..like I’m underwater but I can still hear her. And there’s something else in there, so it’s a little cramped, but it’s not scary. I told my mom that, and she said there was no way I remember being in the womb. But I swear I remember that one thing. 

How much schooling have you had?

Kindergarden through freshman year. 

Did you enjoy school?

Nope. Well, back in Metropolis I didn’t. I was bullied relentlessly, and had no friends and...everyone hated my guts. Smallville High isn’t that bad, I like it here. 

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

Um, depends on what you mean. Now that he’s around a lot more, I do...learn a lot of stuff from my dad. Like, how to use my strength and how to work on the farm. 

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

Probably my mom, she was Superwoman...ironically. But, she was the parent who was there the most. She’s a badass, and she never lets anything stop her from doing the right thing. 

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

I kept to myself a lot, I...also threw tantrums...a lot so I’m sure I didn’t make it easy on anyone. 

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Ironically, Superman. When I was a kid, my mom would tell me Superman stories and....I wanted to be just like Superman. I also wanted to be a video game programmer, and make games of my own. 

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

Drawing, I used to play the piano, writing, and reading. 

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

Well I had undiagnosed Anxiety, and before we knew I used to throw tantrums a lot. Not proud of that, but...I did. I was alos a lot more shy and insecure, about a lot of things. Um, there was a time...I might have been nicer and...maybe more optimistic, but I think bullying kind of beat that right out of me. So. I was also kind of a crybaby. I was...a troubled kid....still kind of am depending on who you ask.

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

Uh no, actually....I was the loser, outcast, who never talked to anyone. I didn’t have any friends, unless you counted Jonathan. I have friends now, which is weird to me.....but also nice.

When and with whom was your first kiss?

Um,  next question.

If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today.

Not technically supernatural, but I am...part...alien?  My dad is Superman, and thus I am part Kryptonian. I’m still trying to figure out my powers, though I know I’m probably going to get all of his. At first I didn’t think I had them. But then I saved my brother from these big metal tubes and....I guess that’s when they kicked in. 

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

Probably finding out I had powers, to be honest and then finding out my dad was Superman. Life kind of changed after that. 

Who has had the most influence on you?

My mom, and my brother. They’re the family I spent most time with. 

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Winning my first ever football game, I never played sports before and ok I did have powers to help me out. But...it still felt good to win something for once. 

What is your greatest regret?

Hurting my brother.....letting my dad down.....letting Edge take my dad.....lying to Sarah every day. 

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

So....when I was six, mom and dad were repainting the living room. And there was paint, I have no idea why I did this. But, I dipped my hand in the paint, and I.....touched the walls.....and then blamed Jon for it. Granted in my defense, they were gonna paint it anyway. But.....yeah, I think that’s the most evil or I guess bad thing I ever did. 

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Nope...pretty sure my mom would kill me if I did. 

When was the time you were the most frightened?

Oh there have been plenty of times, um when my superhearing kicked in and Jon and I had to go save dad, he drove us all the way to this warehouse with weird red lights. There was Edge and what he did to dad, there was....a lot of stuff.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

Lets not open that can of worms. 

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

mm, I wouldn’t have broken Jon’s arm.

What is your best memory?

So it was really hot one year, and mom and dad surprised us with a beach trip. Jon and I were seven and well we’d never been before, so we were super excited, we spent all day there and we ate this big burgers with fries and....it was nice.

What is your worst memory?

Not gonna answer that. 

PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

Um, I’m in the middle? I think it depends on what it is. Sometimes, I can be an optimist....mostly a pessimist. 

What is your greatest fear?

Losing control of my powers...and hurting other people.

What are your religious views?

I mean, we were raised to believe in the Almighty, and granted it wouldn’t surprise me given all the aliens and supernatural stuff if he did exist. Uh, but if there is one...he has a very interesting sense of humor sometimes. 

What are your political views?

Well, still forming those but I do lean more to the left. 

What are your views on sex?

I’m gonna skip this one. 

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

No. I don’t think I have it in me to kill anyone. I...I know I probably seem like the type, y’know loner, wears black, and plays violent video games, but I would never do that. To me, even if it’s a villain...all life deserves to be protected. Maybe that’s naive, but I learned that from dad.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?

I think manipulating someone, taking them and just...doing whatever it is to brainwash them and turn them into someone their not. Or even just, making them do something they would never do, I think that’s pretty evil. 

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

I do, because in every universe there is a Clark Kent and a Lois Lane, and in almost every universe they find one another. And they choose each other. And I think that’s pretty great.

What do you believe makes a successful life?

I’ll...get back to you on that.

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?

Not very, but depending on how angry I am I will infact yell and scream about my feelings. Mostly though I keep stuff bottled up, which probably isn’t healthy but I don’t want people worrying. 

Do you have any biases or prejudices?

I do not, I’m willing to give everyone at least one chance..and the benefit of the doubt. Except for Lex Luthor...screw that guy...and Jimmy Cutter while I’m at it but even then.....if he apologized? sure. 

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?

Wear a cape, listen I have seen the Incredibles, and sure it’s a kid’s movie but...I still would rather not have a cape snag on takeoff or get sucked into a plane’s turbines. 

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

My family...my friends...Sarah.

PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?

I will treat you as you treat me, you’re gonna be a dick? I will be a dick back. You’re nice? I’ll be nice back. But....I also believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt when it’s earned, in giving second chances, and helping even if I don’t like them. 

Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

I don’t think I have just one person. 

Who is the person you respect the most, and why?

um, my parents? For obvious reasons, and Jon....for a lot of reasons. 

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.

It’s probably weird, but my best friend is Jon. We do everything together, and he’s always been there for me. He protects me, and sometimes we annoy the heck out of each other. But we’re always there for each other. 

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.

I do not have a spouse...yet.

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

I’m pretty sure I feel in love with Sarah after I saw her again, at grandma’s funeral which sounds weird. But in context, we hadn’t seen each other since we were kids, and when I saw her...it was like...there was something....inside that felt nice. 

What do you look for in a potential lover?

That’s a weird way to put it, but um...I want someone whose nice, whose good and sweet and smart, and someone who cares about me and who I can laugh about dumb stuff with and whose....not afraid to be them and....someone who understands...and is very understanding.

How close are you to your family?

We’re getting better, but we weren’t always super close. 

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?

No not yet, but eventually? I do want to marry Sarah and have kids with her. I think I’d like....two or three kids?

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?

I guess it would depend on the danger. If it’s a bully at school? Jon, if it’s something more emotional? mom if...its something superhero related dad. 

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?

My family....they’re always there for me. 

If you died or went missing, who would miss you?

Before Smallville, I would have said no one. That everyone would be happier...but now I know that’s not true. That, there are people, who would in fact miss me. 

Who is the person you despise the most, and why?

The most? Tal-Rho, look say what you want about Lex Luthor, or Gorilla Grodd, or any other villain but Tal is an asshole to the highest possible degree. I do not even consider him an uncle, because he’s not. He’s just a tyrannical, fascist, bully, who deserves to be alone and miserable for the rest of his life. 

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

Oh yeah, no I..I argue...not my best trait. I mean I’ll avoid it if I can but...mostly I will fight. 

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

Nope I am not cut out to be the leader under any circumstances. 

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?

Also no, I have anxiety and sure I handle large groups in small doses, but mostly I prefer smaller groups of people. 

Do you care what others think of you?

Yes and no, it depends I guess. I care very much what Sarah thinks or my friends, do I care what villains and bullies think? Not really....well bullies...eh. 

PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes?

Playing video games, sometimes football, reading, I started playing piano again. 

What is your most treasured possession?

I’ll keep that to myself.

What is your favorite color?

Black

What is your favorite food?

Spaghetti and meatballs. 

What, if anything, do you like to read?

Um, I’ll read anything honestly, but...my favorite book series has to the Percy Jackson series. Which ok I get the irony, but it’s a good series. It is. 

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?

Honestly? I don’t mind binging a random comedy every once in awhile. 

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?

None of the above.

How do you spend a typical Saturday night?

That would be, playing video games or just binging something and eating whatever junk food we have. 

What makes you laugh?

I have a very dark sense of humor, Jon can get me to laugh though no matter what. 

What, if anything, shocks or offends you?

Probably bullying, which is a huge one for me. 

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?

I’ve actually had insomnia before, and usually I’d get on my computer or play video games very very quietly. 

How do you deal with stress?

I don’t.

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

In some cases, sometimes I like a plan, mostly though I thrive on being spontaneous. You’d think I wouldn’t but...that’s a whole other conversation. 

What are your pet peeves?

I have way too many to count. But I think the worst one? Clacking the spoon with your teeth when you’re eating. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. 

PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?

Um, wake up, brush my teeth, have breakfast, get dressed, go to school, and go home. If I’m not hanging out with Sarah and obviously on the weekends its different. Honestly? it gets disrupted every other week so I’m used to it. 

What is your greatest strength as a person?

I don’t really think I have any if I’m honest. 

What is your greatest weakness?

Oh where to start um, I am too human for aliens and too alien for humans, I am weak, I am way too emotionally charged, sometimes I occasionally give way too much of a crap, I am a freak of nature, and I....I’m the last person who should have ever gotten super powers. 

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Probably....the above, I don’t mind powers but....Jon should have gotten them, not me. He’s the real hero. 

Are you generally introverted or extroverted?

I am definitely an introvert.

Are you generally organized or messy?

It drives my mom crazy how messy I am.

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.

Um, things I’m bad at? Sports, being in a large crowd by myself, cooking and...things I’m good at? That’s a great question. 

Do you like yourself?

Before Smallville, no. I hated everything about myself, and I...didn’t think very highly of myself in regards to...other people. I thought life would be better for everyone if I...wasn’t a thing. But, I’m starting to....I can’t tell you things I’m good at or what I like about myself. But I can tell you, that I have friends, a family, a girlfriend...people who I can rely on and who rely on me. I dunno if that means I like myself, but I know it means...I have people. 

What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…)

Growing up, I idolized my mom and Superman and I wanted to be just like him. I don’t deserve these powers but now that I have them. I’m gonna use them for good. 

What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?

Well for starters I really, really want to be a superhero

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

In five years? So when I’m 19. I will be a Superhero, and I will go to college in New York with Sarah and...we have an apartment there. We have jobs, small ones not fully careers but....I want a life with her. 

If you could choose, how would you want to die?

oof morbid, but um....I’m gonna quote Titanic a little. I want to die when I’m very old, safe and warm in my bed...having lived a good life. 

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.

Um, probably try to spend as much time with Sarah as I could, I would kiss her and...tell her how much I love her. I’d play one last game of football with Jon, and I would have one last dinner with my mom and dad. 

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?

mmm I think that’s kind of a tough one. 

What three words best describe your personality?

- Defiant - Hotheaded - Quiet

What three words would others probably use to describe you?

Oh they have uh stupid, weird, freak......yeah. 

[malcyon]

Leap, Fall, Fly

Summary: He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” 

Tim looks at him, amused.“Dude, I have, like, four.”

*****

Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Read on AO3

___________________________________________

Kon kinda wishes he hadn’t come to Gotham tonight.

The pavement below shines with reflected street light thanks to the freezing rain, because the weather in this city sucks. And there’s this creepy chill in the air that's unique only to Gotham that’s been making him shiver for the past hour. But Tim had called, asking if he wanted to patrol, and there was no way in hell Kon was turning that down or leaving halfway through the night.

Even if he can’t feel his feet anymore.

He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the cold water that runs down his neck, and tries very hard not to look over at where his best friend is crouching on the edge of the building they’re staking out on. He seems to be trying to not look at Tim a lot these days. Trying to focus on anything else.

A few blocks away, a lady is yelling at her cat for knocking over a houseplant.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tim roll his shoulders back smoothly.

Kon huffs out a frustrated puff of air and examines a trash can in the alley below. Part of him feels like he should say something, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't know what to say to Tim most of the time these days.

Despite that, he’s been stealing moments with the other boy outside of the team whenever he could since he’d gotten back from being dead, or comatose, or whatever it was he had been. What Kon hadn’t been, was there to see the results of his death (and Stephanie's, and Bart's, and Bruce's, and Tim's dad's, and so, so many more) on his best friend. Hadn’t been there to see Tim fall apart and then forge himself into something stronger than what he’d been as Robin.

A rat skitters over the garbage lid. He watches it blankly.

He knows that Tim had shattered while he was dead, had put himself back together piece by piece until he was almost whole again. And even now he acts fine, enough so that no one gets too close to see where he's falling apart at the edges.

But sometimes Kon will catch Tim staring at him like he’s about to disappear. Will catch the too fast, scared heartbeat of his best friend.

And it makes Kon want to scream or punch something, blame someone for not helping—It makes him want to hold onto Tim and tell him he’s not going away ever, ever again; because who else is gonna stay up with him to binge-watch Wendy movies and eat junk food until two in the morning? Hell, they don’t even have to do that; Kon would be down with anything that would get rid of the sad look in Tim’s eyes.

And this isn’t even counting all the bullshit with the assassins and Bruce dying and coming back and how strained things still are between Tim and Dick and how there’s a new Robin along with a new Superboy and—

Kon glares at the brick wall across the alley. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t care that Jon had donned the costume. Yeah, his little brother has done more than earned it, but it hurts knowing that he’d missed that too.

Plus now he has to come up with a new hero name.

He shivers again and scuffs his foot against the ground. Carefully, he glances over at Tim, whose masked eyes are still examining the dark corners below their building. Kon sorta hopes that something happens so he could at least move around a bit.

He wonders if that’s unethical then decides that he’s too cold to do any further introspection about himself.

Kon whines instead, “Hey, Red Robin.”

There’s no answer from the other boy—not even a twitch.

“Red. Robbie. Rob. R—”

Tim lets out a long sigh and Kon grins at him. “What?”

“I’m bored.”

“And?”

“And I’m cold.”

“And?”

“And I’m hungry, dude. I want some of Agent A’s cookies.”

Tim looks over at him, and Kon floats a few inches off the ground, giving his best puppy-dog eyes. He’s pretty sure Tim raises an eyebrow under the mask, but Kon tilts his head anyway, mimicking the face Jon gives Lois when he has to go to bed but the movie will be done in ten minutes, come on, pleeeeease.

Tim sighs again, in either amusement or exasperation Kon’s not sure. But he does stand up, so Kon gives himself a mental high five.

“Not like anything’s going on anyway.”

Kon doesn’t even bother to hide his beaming smile as he asks, “Fly back?”

Tim shrugs in agreement and jumps down from his brooding perch, steps light on the rooftop. Kon lowers himself to the ground, carefully picks up the other boy, and is suddenly very much aware of how Tim smells like rain and some sort of really nice body wash. He probably takes off a little too quickly, but he blames it on wanting to get out of the cold.

Tim makes a startled noise and throws an arm around Kon’s shoulders, and Kon curses at himself briefly before wrapping Tim up in his TTK, stabilizing him. The other boy relaxes but doesn’t seem to find it necessary to remove his grip, and Kon decides that focusing on flying is a really great idea. At the very least, it’s better than running into a street lamp.

He’s been in Gotham enough now to know how to get to the Manor from anywhere in the city, and the lights blur together as he goes faster and faster, raindrops splashing against his face.

To be honest, Kon has no idea if he's even allowed to be in the Bat's territory; he certainly wasn't given an invitation. But Tim's been dragging him here more and more lately, and since he hasn't been stabbed with a kryptonite batarang yet, Kon's not going to ask any questions. Maybe Tim had just worn Bruce down, or maybe Dick had changed the man's mind. Whatever it was, Kon got to hang out more with Tim and that’s what mattered.

Tim's laugh draws him out of his head, the sound vibrating through Kon’s chest and he lets out a whoop as they dodge buildings all the way to the Manor.

The rain has thoroughly soaked both of them by the time they enter the tunneled entrance to the Cave, but Kon can’t find it in him to care as he lands, still snickering, on the floor. Tim is grinning wildly as he steps out of Kon’s arms and takes off the Red Robin mask, his wet hair dripping down into his face until he runs a gauntleted hand through it. It sticks up in a bunch of spikes and Kon bursts into laughter.

Tim scowls at him and shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere and making it even worse.

Kon bites his lip, barely toning down his sniggers, and steps forward. “Dude, stop; that’s not helping.” Tim glares. Kon rolls his eyes and, before he lets himself think about it too much, drags his hands through Tim’s hair, managing to calm it down enough to look presentable.

Tim’s skin is warmer than he thought it’d be, and his hair is thick with water and getting long. Kon likes it; his friend looks older, different in a way that makes Kon wanna stare at him. He wonders if anyone else notices like Kon does. Girls on the street certainly do whenever they go out as civilians, their stares catching on Tim's form, his sharp eyes. The thought makes his stomach sour.

Tim blinks, surprised with the contact maybe, but only gives Kon a quiet grin and doesn’t say anything.

Kon wants to beat his forehead against a wall.

The other boy unexpectedly takes a step back and surveys him with narrowed eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“So are you,” he points out, but Tim waves the observation aside.

“Yeah, but I’m taking this off—” Part of Kon’s brain is suddenly filled with some very exciting images—“and changing into something else. But you don’t really have any extra clothes.”

Kon tries to ignore the pictures in his head, but the tips of his ears still feel hot when he manages, “Am I staying the night?”

The atmosphere changes and Kon suddenly feels like he’s blundering through something that should be handled by someone who understands their own feelings. Tim opens his mouth, then pauses before continuing, “You don’t have to, I mean, if you have things you need to do then you should go, but the storm is gonna get really bad so—”

“No!” Kon definitely did not yelp. He clears his throat. “No, I’ll call Ma, but I should be in the clear. It’s a Friday so, you know, I can do the important chores later this weekend.”

Tim slowly nods. “Yeah, yeah, tell her I said hi. I’m going to get out of this suit; I’ll be right back.”

Kon isn't sure if he imagines the sudden stiffness to Tim’s shoulders as he walks away to some other part of the cave to change or not. He watches for a second, wanting to say something else even if he doesn't know what. But he only pulls out his burner phone and taps out Ma’s number, pointedly ignoring the unexpected awkwardness in the air. She picks up by the second ring.

“Hello?” There’s the sound of crickets and Krypto’s barking behind her voice, and Kon smiles a little bit for no particular reason.

“Hey, Ma. There’s a storm passing through Gotham, so it’s cool if I stay the night at the Manor, right?”

“Of course, Conner. I’m guessing that you’re with Tim?”

“Yeah, he says ‘Hi’ by the way. I promise I’ll try to go to sleep at a decent time tonight.”

She hums at him over the phone, amused. “I’m sure you will.” Kon hears her take in a breath, then hesitate.

“Ma?”

“How . . . are things with Tim?”

He straightens up even though she can’t see him.

“I—What?”

“How is he?”

“Uh, he’s okay. Busy. I think he’s running himself a little ragged.”

“I’m not surprised. You'll need to bring him over for dinner.”

“For dinner?” Kon's pretty sure he's missing something that should be obvious.

“The last time he came over feels like ages ago, and things between you two have seemed rather . . . tense.”

“What—How?”

She hesitates again. “It just feels like you both have something to say to each other.”

His heart stumbles, breath catching in his throat.

"I don't—"

"I've seen the way you look at him, dear."

His brain scratches to a stop.

She continues thoughtfully, "You're always talking about him, you did even while you were dating that Cassie girl. And I know how much time you've been spending with him lately, with the team and all." She's quiet for a moment. "You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

The question hangs in the air, and Kon struggles to breathe.

"I . . . “ He swallows weakly. “Maybe. Just a little. You know.”

”Really? I was so sure you two—"

"We're not together!" The words come out strangled as his ears burn from the teasing in her tone. Ma sighs over the phone.

"Well, I know that. If you were you'd have brought him over for dinner."

Oh.

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You think I should . . . "

"Talk to him? Yes, I think you should."

"But what if he doesn't—"

"He does. Trust me, dear, he does." Kon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks of the way Tim’s hair felt against his hands and the haunted look in his eyes that sometimes appears when nobody is paying attention. Ma continues softly, “He’s a good boy and I know what he means to you, Conner. Talk to him.”

He nods at the ground. “Yeah . . . Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and tell Alfred I want him to send me his recipe for snickerdoodles, and in return, I’ll finally give him my instructions for blueberry pie.”

A weak laugh comes out of his chest. “Okay, Ma.”

“Don’t stay up all night,” she chuckles and then says gently, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

She hangs up.

He puts his phone away and stares at the chittering bats on the ceiling high above.

Kon knows that he and Tim have been dancing around having a real talk for months. And it's weird because they used to be able to say anything to each other. But now it’s like they’re walking on a tightrope, carefully balancing so they don’t fall into a chasm of complicated feelings beneath them.

The truth is that Tim and Kon don’t click the way they had before. Like some piece of their puzzle has been flipped, and an entirely new picture created. And Kon has no idea what to do about it. 'Cause they’ve always been close. Before Kon had died, they’d been the best of friends, trusted one another with their secrets, their goddamn lives. Tim had covered his back and he had covered Tim’s. Even when the team was together, they were the ones who had stuck to each other’s sides like glue.

But then Kon had gone and gotten himself killed.

He knows that after he died the team had lost it. Cassie had joined a cult, Bart had died, and Tim had—

Kon’s throat suddenly feels way too tight.

He looks down at the ground.

But then Kon came back. And, yeah, they’re still best friends, but now there’s something else there. Something that both of them have been dutifully ignoring for months now and that Kon isn’t too keen on bringing up, messing with their delicate balance.

Though if Ma had noticed the tension between them . . . They really had to talk.

“Just to let you know, the house is gonna be basically empty tonight, it’s only us, Alfred, and Damian.” Tim’s voice comes from behind him, and Kon nearly jumps. He spins around to see his friend in some old work out clothes, rubbing his head on a towel.

Kon stares at him in disbelief.

“You’re telling me that your entire family all had things to do tonight except for the Bat Brat?” Tim grins at him from underneath the towel and something in Kon’s chest grows warm.

“Yeah, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Jason’s blowing some buildings up, the girls decided to go on a weekend trip to Japan, and Bruce is in Italy for sudden business stuff.”

“And the reason Damian hasn’t included himself in any of these activities is?”

“He’s sick.”

Kon nearly snickers.

“You’re shitting me. There’s no way he’d let getting sick stop him from doing any of that.”

Tim laughs and shakes his head. “Both Bruce and Dick threatened him with being benched if he went anywhere this weekend.”

Kon whistles. Direct orders from the Bat weren’t to be taken lightly. “I’m guessing that went well.”

Tim shrugs and puts the towel around his neck. “Not as bad as you would think. I mean, he was definitely in a pissy mood, but I think Jon is rubbing off on him. There wasn’t as much yelling as there could have been. But he was also totally out of it, so I’m giving credit to his cold and not development of character.” Tim throws the towel on a nearby table and starts walking up the stairs to go into the house, Kon floating after him.

Tim leads him through several hallways filled with family pictures that Kon knows his friend probably took when none of his said family was paying attention. One snags his eye and he pauses to get a better look. It's of Tim and Cassandra throwing pillows at each other inside one of the Manor’s many guest rooms. Whoever took the photo had good timing; they had caught Tim mid-laugh, eyes bright as they watched Cass bring a pillow down on his head.

Kon examines it for a second longer before the sound of Tim’s footsteps brings him back to the present.

He doesn’t look at any more pictures.

The kitchen is one of Kon’s favorite places in the house; it’s cozy despite its size, painted with pale yellows and creamy whites, and usually contains some kind of treat Alfred's whipped up. He hovers in the doorway, breathing in the warmth as Tim opens up one of the many cupboards and grabs a tin of what Kon hopes has cookies in it. He resists the urge to do a mid-air flip when he’s proven correct and Tim hands him the container while he starts to make tea.

The awkwardness from earlier has transformed into something comfortable and familiar, and Kon floats cross-legged and watches as Tim pours water into a pot and sets it to boil.

He takes a sweet from the tin and bites into it, the cookie melting on his tongue. He moans quietly because food and glances back up at his friend. Tim is facing the stove, shoulders suddenly rigid and Kon's eyes snag on the bright pink color his ears are turning.

Then he notices that Tim didn’t manage to dry his hair all the way, and Kon watches as a drop of water rolls down the back of his neck.

He swallows his cookie.

“Hey, so, I—I need some advice.” Kon isn't sure what to do with his hands, and he ends up lightly tapping the box with his fingers. Tim turns around, his brow furrowed in slight concern, the pink quickly fading from his ears.

“With what?”

Kon stares at the granite island below where he’s floating. He brings himself down until he sits on it with his legs hanging over the side, towards Tim but not quite looking him in the eyes. “I need to come up with a new hero identity.”

Tim’s gaze widens a tiny bit with realization before a smirk spreads on his face. “Does this mean a new outfit? Because you need a new outfit.”

Kon drops his mouth open, only to shut it and scowl. “What’s wrong with this?” He gestures to his damp t-shirt and jeans.

Tim gives him a look.

“Do you know how many shirts you go through?”

“They’re easily replaceable!”

“So many. I can’t begin to tell you how many shirts I’ve seen you lose on missions. And in the tower. And on the farm. And—why do you even wear them at this point?”

Kon huffs and glares at him. “At least help me come up with a new name.”

There’s the sound of dog nails on wood and a subdued sneeze, and Tim’s gaze locks on something behind him. Kon twists around and Damian meets his stare coolly, even though Kon can see the circles under the kid’s eyes and his raw nose. Shit.

“A new name for exactly what, clone?”

Tim sighs and goes to grab another mug as Titus weaves around his legs. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Damian scrunches his nose with distaste. “I’ve been in bed all day, Drake.”

“The more you rest up, the sooner you get back to patrolling with Superboy,” Kon points out and Damian shoots him a half-hearted glower. Since becoming friends with Jon and more tolerant of Tim, Damian had grown used to Kon’s presence and quips. Kon's pretty sure that Damian isn't pleased about this at all.

“Is that what you’re doing? Finally moving on from Superboy and creating a new identity?” Damian plops down on one of the counter’s stools and sniffles. Kon offers him the tin of sweets. The kid sighs and takes it without a snarky comment.

No wonder Bruce had made him stay home.

“Yeah, trying to at least.”

Tim hums in thought, “You going to keep ‘Super’ in the name, or not?”

“It would be moronic if you didn’t,” Damian states, but doesn’t look up from where he’s feeding Titus a cookie. Kon cocks his head and resists the urge to swing his legs back and forth like a kid deciding what kind of ice cream he wants.

“It’d be weird if I don’t, but considering how both Superman and Superboy are taken, well . . .”

Tim considers him for a moment. “Superdude.”

“No.”

“Superguy?”

“I don’t care how bad that storm is out there; I will fly home if I have to.”

“Superlad.”

“Drake, I will set Titus on you.”

“Eat your cookie, Demon Brat.”

Damian ignores the order and glances at Kon like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to make the words come out the right way. He nibbles on his lip before speaking, “Jon’s been thinking about your predicament.” He rubs Titus’s head gently. “I . . . believe he feels guilty about taking the Superboy mantle away from you.”

Kon sits up straighter, about to do what, he doesn’t know; but then a hand on his shoulder makes him stop and glance up. Tim is looking at Damian, focused, eyes intent. It takes Kon a moment to go back at the kid, who’s frowning at the cookie in his hand. He thinks for a second.

“He shouldn’t; he’s doing a great job, better than I ever did, really.” Damian glances up, still chewing on his lip, and Kon continues, “But I’ll talk to him about it.” He grins. “Thanks.”

The kid blinks and nods slowly. Tim squeezes his shoulder gently, and if Kon leans into it a bit, Tim doesn’t say anything. Damian, despite the haze of the cold in his eyes, picks up on it though and gives Kon a miniscule eyebrow raise when Tim turns around to shut off the boiling water.

Kon goes very still as Damian’s gaze flickers between him and Tim, his brain coming up with all sorts of images that involve kryptonite and swords and he's already died once, he doesn't feel like doing it again, thanks. Damian gives him a narrow-eyed appraising look, and Kon gets a hollowing feeling that a pros and cons list is forming about his existence and all he can do is watch as it's debated over.

Then Damian dips his head the tiniest bit and goes back to feeding Titus his cookie.

His chest relaxes. Damian looks up at him again, the sharp, calculating stare gone, replaced with something almost contemplative.

“Jon also came up with a few names you could use.”

Oh, Kon is going to absolutely smother his little brother with hugs the next time he sees him.

Damian gives Kon a thoughtful glance before continuing, “Though he did have a favorite.”

Tim sets down two mugs of tea in front of them, and leans forward on the counter with his forearms, hands clasped around his own cup. Kon can see the outline of his shoulder blades through his threadbare shirt. “What is it?”

Damian reaches for his mug. “I believe it was called ‘Supernova.’”

Huh.

Tim looks up at Kon with a smile and a shrug. “I mean, I’m personally still a fan of Superdude, but that’s pretty good too, I guess.”

Kon snorts into his drink and Titus whines for another treat. Damian scoffs and hops down from the stool, cookie and tea in hand, and starts walking back to the hallway. Tim rolls his eyes and picks up the cookie tin to put it away. When his back is turned, Damian shoots Kon a puzzled look and glances between him and Tim again before muttering something in Arabic and turning out of the room.

“Go to sleep.” Tim calls after him, and Kon hears a disgruntled ‘tt’ and a sneeze as Titus follows the boy into the hall. Tim leans back on the counter next to the stove and takes a sip of his tea. “That went much better than I expected.”

Kon grins at him and lets his head drop back. The mug is cooling in his hands, and he wouldn’t mind taking a nap right now.

“I’m still calling you Superdude.” Kon’s not sure if he’d rather kick his best friend out the door or fly through the nearest window. Tim laughs at whatever expression is on Kon’s face. “Seriously though, you need a new outfit. Or at least one that’s waterproof.”

Right. 'Cause Kon’s still in his damp costume that smells like Gotham’s streets which is not the greatest thing ever, and warm clothes sound like a really nice idea. Tim takes Kon’s mug and puts the cups in the dishwasher. “Come on, I think I might have something that you can wear after all.”

Kon slides off the island and follows Tim out of the warm kitchen and up the huge flight of stairs that lead to the second floor and Tim’s bedroom.

He tries not to examine the pictures on the walls, but as they walk his gaze flickers to them anyway. The photos are authentic; bright moments captured by Tim’s camera and hung in the open halls of the Manor with pride.

Kon doesn’t know a lot about photography, but he does know that Tim is good. Really good. Able to snap little snippets of life and set them in frames in a way that's real. He could probably go professional if he wanted to, instead of the current CEO thing. Though Tim seems more than gleefull in torturing greasy businessmen, including Lex which still makes Kon nearly cackle, in the boardroom.

Then he spots several photos that contain other people than just the Waynes.

There’s one of Clark, Diana, and Bruce in a city park, though Bruce’s smile seems a little strained since the other two had basically forced him into a hug. Another that shows Wally graduating from Stanford, arms wrapped around Dick’s and Donna’s shoulders, laughing at some inside joke. Roy dozing on a couch in the library with Jason on the floor next to him, nose buried in a book.

There’s even one with Krypto, the dog nearly buried under Titus with Alfred the cat snoozing at his paws.

He can’t help but stare at that picture and wonder how the hell Tim managed to creep up on the superdog without waking him. Maybe Krypto had heard him but hadn’t been concerned. Besides, the dog likes Tim.

Kon’s eyes glance over the photos again, before looking at where Tim is walking up ahead. He pauses for a second.

Are there any pictures of him?

He shakes his head slightly and goes down the hall.

Tim opens his door and Kon can’t help but let out a little breath of air like he always does when he sees Tim’s room. It’s big, and Tim has his own bathroom, den, living area, balcony, and, most importantly, a giant flat-screen TV to play video games on. But Tim ignores all that and goes over to a dresser, Kon in tow, and begins rifling through the drawers, looking for something. Kon floats a bit, hands in his pockets.  

Then Tim holds up an article of clothing triumphantly and Kon’s brain stops working.

“Told you that you lose your shirts.” Tim grins at him, but Kon only manages a blink in return.

Because that is a Superboy shirt. One of his Superboy shirts. Tim has one of his shirts. Tim could have been wearing his shirt. Kon barely manages to catch the reason for his inner meltdown when Tim tosses the stupid thing at him.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.

“Dude, I have, like, four.”

Kon is fucked. He is so irrevocably fucked.

“How did I not notice—”

“So many shirts, Kon. You go through. So. Many. Shirts.”

“But how did you even get them?”

Tim shrugs almost sheepishly. “I don’t know. They just kinda appeared in my closet.” Kon nods dazedly and Tim frowns. “Don’t have any pants that will fit you though.”

“I’ll wear my boxers.”

Tim looks at him for a moment and stands up, stretching lazily. “So, whatcha wanna do?”

Kon stares at him and Tim grins and walks over to the TV console. Kon kicks off his shoes and begins to unbuckle his belt as Tim looks over his collection of games.

It kinda feels like they’re replaying a memory from before Kon died. Putting in a disc, hands wrapping around a controller; he’s pretty sure the night will play out with the same old bickering and arguments. Just like they’re sixteen again and everyone they care about is alive and only a phone call away.

But now there’s the tension from earlier creeping back into the air. Also, Kon is taking off his pants.

He snickers to himself.

Tim is calling out game suggestions, and Kon is really only half paying attention to the names. He pulls off his damp t-shirt and folds his clothes before putting them on the dresser because Ma’s tidiness habits seem to be wearing off on him.  

He wonders if there’ll be pancakes by the time he’s up. Hopefully, there will be because Alfred’s cooking is to die for. Healthier than Ma’s, sure, and not quite as hearty, but still mouthwatering.

It takes him a second to realize that Tim is no longer talking.

Kon glances up and freezes.

Tim is staring at him, eyes roaming over his body with an expression that Kon can’t quite place and hasn’t ever seen before on the other boy. His gaze dips over Kon’s collar bone and down to the muscles on his chest and stomach, lingering. He meets Kon’s stare, and Kon can barely breathe because Tim’s eyes are sorta dark and intense and they’re pinning him to the ground.

He holds Kon's gaze evenly, and though Kon's aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be listening, Tim’s heartbeat fills his ears, fast and steady.

Tim looks down at his hands, and Kon knows he’s not imagining the slight flush on Tim’s face as he lifts up one particular game they haven’t played in years.

“MarioKart?”

Kon’s mouth is dry.

“Sure.”

He pulls on the Superboy shirt; it’s old and tight around his chest and shoulders. He ignores it and makes his way to sit down next to Tim.

They don’t say anything as Tim slides in the disc and the intro music begins to play. Kon fiddles with his controller as they select their usual characters. The colored light flashes across Tim’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and pooling shadow at the column of his throat. He has a freckle under his left ear.

Kon keeps wrecking on the screen in front of them, but Tim doesn’t seem to care too much because it’s not brought up.

Tim shoves him off of Rainbow Road, and this is the part where Kon is supposed to attack the other boy with a pillow in retaliation, but he only spawns again and keeps playing. Tim doesn’t look at him.

It’s too quiet to be anything like when they were sixteen.

He can almost feel the tightrope they’ve been balancing on straining.

Eventually, Kon stretches his neck back and closes his eyes. There’s the sound of a car crash in the game and he knows it isn't his. Cautiously, Kon peeks one of his eyelids open and sees Tim staring at the ceiling like it owes him an explanation for why his life is going the way it is.

Kon hits the pause button and lies onto his back. He takes an unsteady breath. Another. Ma’s words bounce around in his head.

“We need to talk.”

Tim lies down next to him but doesn’t glance over. “Yeah.” His voice is very quiet.

Kon rolls over on his side to look at him. Tim’s eyes are determinedly fixed upwards and Kon lets out a small sigh. “Hey, look at me, please.”

Slowly, Tim’s gaze moves to him. His eyes are steely blue with grey around the pupils, and they look a little lost. There are faded smudges of purple beneath them and Kon wonders how he didn’t notice that earlier. His lips twitch down.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tim opens his mouth and Kon restates his question, “I mean really slept, Tim.”

Tim closes his mouth slowly and stares at the rug underneath them. “Not for a while.”

“Why not?”

A bitter laugh leaves the other boy’s throat, “Nightmares.”

Something cold squeezes Kon’s insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Their tightrope sways and Kon breathes and braces himself in case it snaps.

“What are they about?”

Tim’s breathing hitches and his steel eyes close tightly. “People I care about dying. You dying. What . . . What I did after.”

After. Because before and after Kon’s death is all that seems to exist these days. And what happened after had not been pretty. Not at all.

“Tim—”

Tim jumps to his feet, hands running through his slightly damp hair and eyes looking at anything other than him. Kon sits up and watches his friend walk frantically back and forth in front of the TV.

“Look, you don’t have to do this, Kon. You don’t—I’m—I’m fucked up. And I know I’m back with the team and we’ve been working together, but you don’t have to do this—” Tim gestures at the space between them vaguely—“if it freaks you out. If I freak you out. I did some messed up shit, Kon, you don’t have to stay.”

Tim doesn’t stop pacing as Kon slowly stands, the thick rug soft under his feet.

“And I get it. Really, I get it. I went—I went crazy without you. I mean, I fucking tried to clone you and now—” Tim's eyes are a little red, and he shakes his head at the ceiling—“It’s like we’re playing pretend, like everything is okay when it’s not. It’s not. I’m not. And you know that so why are you even still here?” Tim whirls around, hands splayed to the room.

Kon takes a small step towards him, palms open, like he's approaching a scared animal. The tightrope wobbles. “Because you’ve always been there for me; because you’re my friend.”

Another step and Tim’s staring at him almost in pain. “I’m not the same person I was, Kon. I—” Tim looks away, closes his eyes hard—“I can’t be the same kind of friend that you want.”

And that makes Kon pause because there could be something to unpack with that.

Tim’s cheekbones might be flushing, it’s hard to tell with the only light coming from their abandoned game, and Kon hopes they are. He really fucking hopes Tim’s implying what he thinks he’s implying. Carefully, he murmurs, “Do you think I’m the same too? Do you really think that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’d even want to be the same?” He moves closer. “That I’d want us to be the same?”

Tim goes very still like he’s never thought of this before. The tightrope swings dangerously above the chasm of complicated feelings and Kon feels like it’s rushing up to meet them with all the grace and speed of a runaway train.

The multicolored lights from the game play across Tim’s face. He watches them for a moment.

“Tim, listen, I’m still here whether you think I should be or not. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You haven’t scared me away, Rob. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m not leaving—not again.” Tim’s eyes are wide and Kon takes another tiny step towards him.

Tim is giving him a look, like what Kon’s saying makes a bit of sense before he sighs and shuts his eyes. “How are you so . . . ”

They’re really close now, and Kon can see the flickering of Tim’s eyelashes. His gaze drops down a little bit to Tim’s parted lips. “So?” Tim’s eyes open and he shakes his head slightly and doesn’t continue. He’s staring at Kon’s mouth, and Kon sees his tongue flash across his bottom lip, making it wet.

Fuck it, Kon thinks, and he leaps off the tightrope.

Tim tastes like peppermint tea, and he doesn’t move when Kon threads one of his hands through his hair and kisses him fiercely.

And Kon sorta hates himself a little bit, because there’s no way they’d still be able to be best friends after this if he misread everything. Sure, they could try, but Kon knows that it’ll all be forced and even more awkward than this entire evening has been, and one of the greatest friendships in his life is now lying possibly ruined on Tim’s bedroom floor.

He pulls away, a billion apologies already thundering through his head but they all stick in his throat, and he looks at the ground. Tim stares at him, eyes round.

“Shit, I’m so—”

Tim hauls him forward by his too-tight shirt and kisses him.

Oh.

Kon’s hands seem to understand what’s going on much faster than his brain because they’re quickly sliding back into Tim’s hair and along Tim’s neck and are tracing his jaw, and Tim is groaning, or maybe that’s Kon, it’s kinda hard to tell. Tim’s fingers grasp the Superboy logo at his chest, and his other hand presses against the side of Kon’s face. His thumb brushes Kon’s cheekbone and Kon makes another noise.

One of Kon’s hands slides down to grip Tim’s waist, pulling him closer until Tim is fully up against him; his muscles truly relaxed for the first time since God knows how long. Tim nips at Kon’s bottom lip then Kon’s mouth parts open and Tim’s tongue is in his mouth, and somebody taught Tim how to kiss because he’s really good at it.

Kon sends that somebody a silent thank you as the other boy’s lips suddenly escape Kon’s and move to his throat. Leaving him to pant against Tim's ear, more than slightly disoriented.

He's never wanted like this before, not with Cassie, not with Tana. Never wanted to touch and feel and know like he wants right now. Maybe it's because of all the built-up tension, but there's something so amazingly right about this. About the way Tim’s tongue traces down his neck, ending the trail with a small bite that Kon is sure would bruise if he was human, but only makes him drop his head back and groan.

He feels Tim grin against neck and Kon drags a palm up Tim’s back, under his shirt. Tim shivers, and now Kon’s the one who’s grinning as he brings his head back down to nip at Tim’s ear. He’s granted another shudder when he soothes the sting with his tongue, and Kon files away that interesting information for later.

Tim’s back is littered with scars, and even though Kon has seen them in the showers, he’s never gotten to touch them, and his fingers begin to map out where old battle wounds have healed over. He plays with the hem of Tim’s shirt, tugging lightly, and wonders if Tim’s even okay with going that far. Cause Kon’s totally fine with what they’re doing right now if Tim isn’t cool with losing clothes yet—

Tim takes a step back and for a second Kon’s about to apologize, but Tim only rips off his t-shirt, gaze hot blue steel and completely fixed on him.

Jesus.

The sound that leaves Kon’s throat might be a whimper as the other boy immediately goes back to kissing his nape. And there’s bare skin now, and Tim’s rolling his hips, and Kon wouldn’t mind moving to a horizontal surface. Or a wall.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he could pull off something in the air if he wanted to.

He’s also definitely hard now. Definitely.

Their mouths meet and Tim is laughing into him before pulling back just enough so that Kon can look at his eyes. They’re amused and full of something that Kon can’t put into the right words at the moment.

Tim laughs again before murmuring against his jaw, “You’re floating.”

Kon blinks.

He looks at his feet and, yeah, he’s an inch or two off the ground, hovering from excitement. He lowers himself down, and his ears feel hot, but Tim’s still grinning at him so he’s not too embarrassed.

Kon kisses him again and then one of Tim’s hands interlocks with his and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

They end up falling against a wall just outside of the doorway, Kon’s shoulders pressing into the drywall while Tim’s hands play with the edge of his boxers. Tim pulls away suddenly, brows making a little crease as he brings them together.

“Is this okay?”

Kon bobs his head up and down, breathless and giddy. “This is very much okay. Trust me, I am so, so okay with this.”

Tim grins, and it’s so goddamn real, and hauls him into his room.

He barely notices the paper-covered desk on one side and the big skylights on the ceiling. There’s only Tim, smiling warmly in the dark with the pitter-patter of the rain above as they stumble their way to the bed.

Kon’s back hits the mattress, Tim’s knees on either side of his waist, and he’s pressing Kon into the sheets, mouth hot and wet. One of Kon’s hand drops to Tim’s ass and tugs the other boy down so that the space between them disappears, and fuck Tim’s just as hard as he is and a startled moan comes out of one of them.

The kiss breaks when Tim leans back, and all of his weight is right on Kon’s dick, and Kon couldn’t keep his hips from bucking up even if he wanted to. Tim’s reaching for the bottom of his Superboy shirt, pulling it off so it lands on the floor and thank God for Kon’s TTK; because when Tim leans up on his knees, Kon’s able to slip his shorts off without having to move his hands from Tim’s hair.

For a second, all Kon can do is stare.

Tim is skin and scars above him, and there’s a slash of healing red on his thigh, like he’d been cut there at some recent point. His cock is slender and long and flushed a darker pink than the blush on his cheeks. Kon distantly wonders what it might taste like.

Tim raises an eyebrow and snaps the elastic of Kon’s boxers.

Kon shivers and then laughs when he flips them over and Tim yelps as he hits the bed.

It barely takes a second for Tim to recover and scowl up at Kon who grins in response. Then Tim’s hands are dragging down Kon’s ass, taking his underwear with them. Kon kicks the clothes off the bed and turns back to see Tim’s eyes moving over his body until they meet Kon’s gaze.

The hunger from earlier fades a bit.

He stares at Tim for a second, at the small smile on his face, and feels warmth spread all the way down to his fingertips.

Slowly, Tim lifts his head and presses his lips against Kon’s, still tasting like tea. One of his hands reaches up to Kon’s hair, tugging it gently, and Kon lowers himself until their bodies are lined up and he can feel the slide of Tim’s cock against his own. A shaky moan falls from Tim’s open mouth, and Kon shudders against him. He forces his thoughts to line up coherently.

"Lube?" He manages, and Tim is nodding against his neck before arching back to rummage through the nightstand next to the bed. The motion gives both of them some more amazing friction and Kon's grip tightens as Tim's hips jerk against him. The other boy mutters something, too low for Kon to clearly make out as he half grabs the lube and half continues to grind up in these little, smooth movements that are going to drive Kon insane.

Finally, Tim is pressing the bottle into his hand, and Kon focuses on uncapping the stupid thing while Tim snickers at his clumsiness beneath him. And Kon would be embarrassed, except this is Tim so he's laughing too; and he moves his hand from his friend’s jaw, down to the open bottle, and then further to take Tim in his now wet palm.

“Fuck.” There’s a groan against his neck, and Tim knots his hands further into Kon’s hair.

Tim is pulsing in his hand, heavy and solid, and Kon drops the lube because he’s so caught up in the feeling. Kon lets his thumb circle the tip of the other boy’s leaking cock before beginning to stroke up and down the length of it. Tim trembles.

“We should do this again,” Kon says conversationally, and Tim lightly slaps the back of his head. Kon twists his fist in retaliation and that makes Tim’s hips stutter and his back arch again.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Tim’s voice is wrecked, gasping out the words, and he really wouldn’t mind making Tim sound like this more often.

His hand moves faster, and Tim is pushing back, thrusting up against Kon’s fist, heels digging into the bedsheets. He brings his mouth to where Tim’s neck meets his shoulder, licking before biting down. Tim cries out, and Kon’s dick twitches in response because holy shit that’s hot.

He uncurls his grasp and runs his fingers up the underside of Tim’s cock. A string of curses streams out of Tim’s mouth, along with what Kon’s pretty sure is his name. He repeats the motion, watching the way Tim's pants are becoming more and more ragged. Kon moves his head lower, lips trailing to one nipple, and he breathes over it wetly before flicking his tongue out and tasting skin.

Tim’s hands clutch at his hair as Kon marks his way across his chest, and Kon knows he’s close, can feel the way Tim is shaking and gripping on to him harder than before. He brushes his fingers against Tim's cock again, too gentle to really grant any relief.

“Damnit, Kon, please!”  And how could he say no to that?

It takes three hard strokes to make Tim gasp and come, white spilling into Kon’s hand and onto their stomachs.

Tim slumps into the mattress, eyes closed, sprawled open, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Kon presses his thumb over the slit of Tim’s dick and the other boy whines shakily and gives a little roll of his hips, face glazing with pleasure.

Then, Tim blinks up at him, still completely blissed out, and Kon sears that sight into his memory. Without looking away, Kon passes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brings them to his mouth. His tongue curls around one fingertip and Tim’s eyes flicker with the motion. It doesn’t taste that bad. A bit bitter and salty, maybe, but the narrowing of Tim’s stare is totally worth it.

The ache between his legs throbs.

Tim smirks up at him.

Kon is flipped onto his back, Tim doing some crazy Bat-move to get him there, and he blinks up at the skylights, Tim nowhere in sight. Then he feels strong hands on his thighs and a breath over his hip and oh.

That’s where he went.

Tim’s mouth is hot and wet and fucking amazing, and Kon has never been so thankful that Damian’s room is nowhere near Tim’s and that the house is nearly empty. His moan is loud enough that there’s no way someone wouldn’t hear him. He manages to lift his neck to look down at where Tim’s tongue is wrapping around the head of his cock and meets Tim’s smooth gaze. There’s a smug glint in his eyes, and now Tim’s mouth is going lower, taking in more, and Kon nearly sobs.

One of his hands reaches down, palming dark hair and rubbing Tim’s head with his fingers. Tim hums, and the vibrations from that one single sound make Kon’s hips jerk and his dick slide into Tim’s throat a little further. And this is definitely something they need to do again, because it's so good and Kon wants.

He wants and fuck, fuck how is Tim fucking Drake somehow a goddamn wet dream in bed? How?

Kon’s other hand scrabbles at the pillows above him, trying to anchor himself, but that’s hard to do when Tim is doing something with his tongue that makes Kon nearly start begging when he pulls away. He looks back down where Tim's lips have left his dick and been replaced with his hand, since Tim is now biting the insides of his thighs. A small part of Kon curses at his skin's stupid invulnerability because the thought of being covered in bruises left from Tim's mouth is ridiculously hot.

Suddenly he feels intense heat in the back of his eyes, his vision turning red at the edges, and Kon screws his stare shut. He does not want to set Tim on fire during the middle of a blow job. That would be so uncool.

He hears Tim laugh at him from between his legs, so he lightly shoves at his friend's side with his foot. Tim's mouth goes back to his cock and Kon groans.

His fingers tangle in the other boy’s hair. “Tim—”

Tim only sucks harder.

Kon arches and comes with a loud curse. Distantly he feels Tim swallow, and that causes him to shiver, grind his hips up into Tim’s mouth just a bit. He rubs his eyes, the heat vision already fading away. His body feels loose, good.

Tim pulls off of his cock and sits up, wiping at the corner of his mouth, and Kon blinks at him, dazed.

His hair is messy from Kon’s hands and damp with sweat, sticking to the corners of his face. His nape, chest, and shoulders are littered with several marks that are definitely gonna bruise, and that makes Kon feel oddly pleased with himself.

Tim is watching him, rubbing his thumb in little circles over Kon’s hipbone, lips twitched upwards. Kon doesn't really want to move, so he tugs at Tim’s hand gently until the other boy leans down, grabs his shorts off the bed, and cleans up the mess on their skin. This isn’t quite what Kon wants, and he makes a dissatisfied noise and tugs again. Tim rolls his eyes and throws the clothing to a corner of the room before lying on top of Kon, muttering, “Like you’d want to be covered with that while you’re sleeping.”

Kon doesn’t bother answering, and only buries his face into Tim’s shoulder, grinning. Tim still smells a bit like rain and body wash, but now there’s a linger of sex over that, and Kon runs his hands up and down Tim’s warm back, breathing him in.

Tim exhales against his neck and plays with the slightly curly strands of hair at the base of Kon’s head.

Kon practically melts into the pillows.

Tim goes stiff in his arms.

“This—” Tim sits up, legs entangled with Kon’s, and puts a hand on Kon's bare chest—“This isn’t a one-time thing, right?” Tim’s voice is a guilty whisper, scared almost, as if Kon is already regretting what just happened. “You’re not going to leave?”

Kon stares at him for a second, disbelief and hurt curling around his heart.

Then he remembers all the funerals that Tim’s had to go to in the past year. He remembers the one time he went to Tim’s house, back when his parents were both still alive, and how empty it was. He remembers asking Tim where his folks were, and how Tim had gotten very quiet before shrugging and muttering that he didn’t know.

Slowly, Kon sits up, Tim still in his lap, and examines the other boy’s face.

“Hey, I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

Tim sags against him, like the weight of the world has slid right off his shoulders. “That was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t.” Kon brushes back a piece of hair that fell in front of Tim’s forehead. He kisses him softly. “I get it. It wasn’t.”

He doesn’t move until Tim nods in agreement.

Kon pulls him back down and uses his TTK to slide the thick covers over them. Tim shifts around so they can meet each other’s gaze. Something snags in the back of Kon’s mind.

“Ma wants you to come over for dinner, by the way.”

Tim laughs, the sound soft in the dark.

“Sure.”

Kon reaches over and smooths his thumb across Tim’s cheek, still flushed from earlier, before kissing him again. Tim makes a pleased noise and returns the action, his hand going to Kon’s waist to tug him closer.

They break apart, dropping back onto the pillows, Kon’s fingers tracing over the scars on Tim’s arm. Tim blinks sleepily at him but raises a brow. “So, are you going with that name Jon made up?” He brushes back several strands of Kon’s hair. “Supernova?”

Kon closes his eyes and leans into Tim’s palm. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Tim nods, tapping his fingertips against Kon’s temple thoughtfully.

“Whatever you say, Superdude.”

Kon whacks him with a pillow.

*****

When he opens his eyes, he can’t speak.

He can’t speak because there are tubes in his throat, up his nose, pumping him with oxygen. The steady humming of droning machines fills his ears. He stares.

Everything’s green, but not like the green of Ma’s spring flowers, this green is sick and presses down on him from all sides. And he’s surrounded by something wet and slimy, little bubbles rising past his face like he's in a fish tank. He tries to shake his head, but everything feels heavy even though he's only suspended in the liquid around him. Blurry figures walk towards him, muffled voices fading in and out.

There’s the sound of thudded tapping on the glass. He starts to focus, but still isn’t able to blink the wet stuff out of his eyes.

He sees white coats, Cadmus printed on the pocket.

Fuck, fuck.

“Kon?”

There’s a beam of light shining in his face, causing the green to glow, almost like kryptonite but so much worse. It makes him want to throw up. Want to run.

“Kon.”

There's something else too, moving in on him from the corners of his eyes. Something creeping and peaceful, heavy and familiar in the worst way.

He remembers it, how it settled down on him as he lay surrounded by crushed metal and begging friends, his bones broken, lungs gasping with final breaths. It had been dark and calm and he hadn't wanted to go, but it had closed in on him anyway. And he can't go back, he can't.

There's a fist pounding in front of him, and the voices don't match the furious knocking, too cold and clean.

He tries to thrash away from the glass, tries to get away. But he can’t move, weighed down, and even though there’s air in his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Conner!”

Kon's back hits the mattress and he shoots up, gulping down mouthfuls of oxygen. There are hands running over his back, his shoulders, a worried voice somewhere behind him. His eyes flit around his surroundings. No green, no waiting darkness. He can breathe. Raindrops are hitting the glass above him. Tim’s room. Safe.

This is safe.

He runs a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking. His arm brushes his cheek and he realizes that his face is wet. He hasn’t had one of those dreams in a long time; he’d forgotten what they were like.

“Hey.” Kon looks behind him. Tim is rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades, eyes alert, biting his lip. The sheets are pooled around his waist haphazardly.

Kon twists the patterned covers in his hands.

“What happened?”

He looks up through the dark. Tim’s fingers go over his shoulder. “Nightmare.” He wants to forget it. Forget the labs, and the endless experiments, and all the goddamn green. “Cadmus.”

Tim doesn’t make any sounds, but Kon can almost hear his brain whirring at full speed.

His breathing is too loud in the quiet.

“What do you need?” Tim’s voice is patient.

He fists the cloth in his grip. Opens his mouth, shuts it. Tries again. “Just—Keep doing that.” Tim’s hands run down his skin, grounding and warm, and Kon begins to relax into them.

“Does touch help?” Tim is near his ear, and Kon feels lips press lightly across his neck. He nods.

“Yeah, it—It helps me feel . . . “ He shuts his eyes. “Human. It helps me feel human.”

Tim places a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Okay.” He presses his back against Tim’s scarred chest, and the other boy leans backward so they’re lying down again. Kon rests his head over where Tim’s heart is beating steadily. He listens to the familiar sound, to the rain, to Tim's breathing; ignores the distant honks of traffic and chattering crowds of Gotham.

He exhales slowly, lets his shoulders loosen under Tim's hands. He closes his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Fingers run through his hair.

“You’re welcome.”

Kon doesn’t move for a long time. Neither does Tim.

*****

It’s still raining when Kon wakes up the second time, but there’s a bit of grey sunlight coming through the skylights; enough for him to drowsily blink at the ceiling. He groans and rolls over, towards the warmth by his side.

Warmth.

Tim.

He’s completely awake now, lifting himself up onto his forearms. Curiously, Kon examines the boy next to him. Tim’s still asleep, heartbeat slow and calm, his back facing Kon though their legs are tangled together. The covers had slipped a bit during the night and Kon can see the pale scars his mouth had mapped out hours ago.

He touches a jagged one, curved like someone had carved it in, and smooths his fingertip down it. He moves to the next. Distantly, Kon wonders if he’d get to go over all of them, even if that could take a while because Tim has so many. He doesn’t mind. His fingers trace across an old bullet wound.

Saturday mornings can last a while.

Tim shifts, back leaving Kon’s touch, shoulders rolling into a stretch. He watches the muscles under Tim’s skin bunch together and move apart. His friend flops over to look at him.

Tim's eyelids are drooping as he yawns into his pillow. “What time is it?”

Kon lifts himself up and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Eightish." Before he lies back down, his eyes catch on a little picture frame next to the clock.

It's a recent photo, he can tell from the haircut he has in it, and he can easily place the day when it was taken.

Bart had insisted on dragging them with him to go shopping for dorm furniture, which Kon didn't understand considering the extremely tiny size of Bart's room at Keystone University, but whatever. They had stopped for ice cream, sat outside and watched people stroll by.

He doesn't remember the exact moment from the picture itself, maybe Bart had said something funny or maybe one of Tim's dry quips had sent them all into laughter. Either way, it ended with a photo that Cassie must have taken; with Bart leaning inside the frame with a huge grin on his face, him with his head thrown back, smiling, and Tim laughing at both of them.

He stares at it, feels a dopey smile stretch across his face.    

Tim hums, watching Kon lazily. “I forgot that you sleepfloat.”

His eyes flick back to Tim.

“I what?”

“Sleepfloat.” Tim lifts the one brow that’s not burrowed into his pillow and gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know, you’ll start hovering sometimes, usually when you’re dreaming?” He frowns. “That’s one of the reasons I knew you were having a nightmare; you were almost half a foot off the bed. Usually, you only go up, like, barely an inch.”

Kon continues staring at him because what?

“Since when do I sleepfloat?”

Tim blinks. “Uh, since forever. It doesn't happen a lot, I thought you knew?”

He shakes his head. Tim laughs lightly, the sound muffled by fabric, and Kon sorta wants to kiss him. He also sorta wants breakfast. “Do you guys have some kind of scheduled eating time on the weekends?”

Tim ducks further under the covers. “Not really, I can ask Alfred to make something. Or we can raid the pantries.”

Kon thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know what time Alfred wakes up, but for some reason, he wants to avoid asking for anything. Wants to stay in this bubble where it’s only Tim and him for a little bit longer.

“What if we make pancakes?”

Tim’s cheeks suddenly turn red and he mumbles under his breath. Kon pokes him in the shoulder, silently asking for a repeat of the comment. The other boy sighs.

“I’m . . . currently banned from using the kitchen.”

Kon tilts his head. “We were in there last night. You made tea.”

It had been good tea. It had been especially good when he’d gotten to taste it off of Tim’s mouth.

Tim grumbles, “Fine. I’m currently banned from using the oven, stove, grill, and microwave for anything other than boiling water.”

Kon's eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

Tim hesitates. “I may have created several small, controlled explosions.”

“You what?”

“They were small.”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point.” Kon’s kinda snickering now, and Tim is too, and Kon really wants to kiss him again. So he does.

Tim’s smiling when he pulls away, and Kon presses their foreheads together. “How about I make us food, yeah?” Their noses brush and Tim’s arms wrap around his neck. His lips move against Kon’s when he nods in agreement.

“Yeah.”

Their legs intertwine even more, and the next kiss is heated, Tim’s hands dragging across Kon’s skin in a way that reminds him of last night. He resists the urge to push their hips completely together. When they break for air, Tim’s cheekbones are lightly flushed, and he’s smirking in a way that makes Kon remember the grin bad guys see right before Red Robin turns all their careful plans to shit.

Tim pushes Kon over onto his back, lips suddenly much more demanding, and straddles his waist. Kon kisses him back just as fervently, mouth following Tim’s a bit when the other boy suddenly pulls away.

Tim’s eyes are catching the cool morning light in all the right ways and Kon’s heart trips over its feet.

Then Tim isn't on his lap, sliding off the bed and walking away. And okay, that’s a bit rude, but Kon gets to stare at Tim’s ass, so he’s not going to complain just yet. But then Tim tosses him a grin over his shoulder, meeting Kon’s gaze smugly before reaching down and grabbing something off the floor. He comes back up, pulling on the piece of clothing smoothly.

Kon’s mouth drops open.

Tim gives him an amused glance, seemingly unconcerned with the Superboy logo stretching across his chest. Because apparently, Tim has filled out enough that he can now wear Kon’s old shirts without drowning in fabric. When that happened, Kon has no idea, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

Tim cocks an eyebrow. “Pancakes? You coming or not?”

Kon tries to make words leave his throat, but only manages a strangled, “Hngh.” Tim nods, like this is an answer, pivots on his foot, and leaves the room. Kon stares after him. He buries his burning face in his hands.

It’s too early for Tim to do things like this to him.

With a sigh of resignation, he gets off the bed and, after some searching, puts on his boxers. When he walks out of the doorway, he’s hit in the face with a large Gotham Knights sweatshirt and his jeans. He shoots Tim a displeased grunt and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. Tim’s wearing some flannel pajama pants now, which is rather disappointing, but the Superboy shirt is still on so Kon takes pleasure from that.

After pulling on his no-longer-wet jeans, he floats to where Tim is leaning against the wall and kisses him in a way that would make old ladies scandalized. Tim’s face has dropped its smugness when they break apart, and he seems slightly dazed.

Kon pecks his jaw for good measure. “Food?”

He gets a slow nod in return. Kon grins and walks out of Tim’s room with a little bounce in his step. He hears Tim mutter a curse and scramble after him, and he laughs.

The light filling the Manor’s halls is weak, but it’s enough to create streaking shadows on the walls as Kon runs down the corridor with Tim hot on his heels. Their feet pound down the stairs and Kon might use a tiny bit of superspeed to get to the kitchen first.

Tim enters seconds after him and slumps against the kitchen island even though he’s barely out of breath. He points an accusing finger at Kon. “Cheater.”

Kon grins and starts opening up random cabinets, hoping to find a mixing bowl. “Maybe.” He spies one and sets it on the island. “Where’s the flour?” The other boy gestures to the pantry and then lifts himself to sit on the counter.

Kon can feel Tim’s eyes on him as he moves around the room, finding and taking the ingredients he needs. Every once in a while, their gazes meet and little smiles appear.

If he's honest with himself, Kon has no idea what this new thing between them is exactly. But he thinks it’s good. Tim glances at him again as he begins to mix the batter, eyes lighter than they’ve been in a while.

It’s pretty good.

Tim slips off his perch and pads up behind him, resting his chin on Kon’s shoulder. “Last time I watched you make pancakes was at the farm. You almost caught the house on fire.” Kon shrugs.

“Ma’s made it her personal mission that I know how to move around a kitchen. She’s had me baking and cooking a lot since I came back from—” He stops himself. Memories from the nightmare surface, cool darkness waiting for him to fall. He shivers, looks down at the pancake batter, suddenly feeling like he's going to be sick. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

Tim is stiff behind him, hands fisting into his sweatshirt, and Kon could punch himself in the face. He really could.

“Dude?”

Tim unfreezes, leans his forehead against the back of Kon’s neck. Kon can feel his fingers clenching and unclenching the fabric.

They’re quiet for several beats.

“You get it, right? That I’m not okay? Not entirely?” Tim sounds so tired like this is the kind of thing he tells himself every night, and it makes Kon’s stomach twist. He turns around, strokes his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone, makes sure that Tim is looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah, man, I understand.” He thinks of the chemical green and the even darker things that crawl into his mind during the bad nights. He shudders. “I’m not either.” He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Is that okay with you?”

Tim examines him for a long moment; his eyes probably seeing more of Kon than Kon could see in himself. And whatever Tim sees makes him lean in a bit closer.

“Yeah, it is. And this,” he taps Kon’s chest, right above his heart, “us?”

Kon brushes back several strands of Tim’s hair, thinking carefully.

“Whatever you want. I’m good with just staying friends, though, you know, the sex could be pretty awesome.” Tim snorts. “But I wouldn’t mind taking this somewhere,” he says and laces their hands together. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah?”

Kon smiles back.

“Yeah.”

Lips press against his and Kon’s hand threads through Tim’s hair, his back pushing into the counter as Tim steps closer.

Tim laughs, his fingers going around the spoon in Kon’s drooping grasp, probably to keep pancake batter from going everywhere. There’s the clatter of wood hitting ceramic as Tim drops the spoon into the bowl, and Kon distantly wonders if they’ll ever actually get around to eating breakfast.

But Tim’s mouth is lazy and open and a hell of a lot better than pancakes.

He drapes his arms around Tim's neck as the other boy's palms smooth around his waist, drawing him closer.  

So much better than pancakes.

“It seems that I will be tasked to make my own breakfast since you two seem quite intent on being occupied.”

Kon’s lips leave Tim's and his head whips to where Damian is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and mouth an unimpressed line.

Shit.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He desperately looks back at Tim, who seems just as surprised since he only manages a weak, “Um.”

Damian sniffles and Alfred the cat waltzes into the room and rubs around the boy’s legs. Damian leans down and picks the cat up, managing to keep his narrowed eyes on them the whole time. Tim’s hands still haven’t moved from where they’d just begun playing with the hair at Kon’s nape, his fingers rubbing at the base of Kon’s neck. It’s a little distracting. Kon tries to think of something to say and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, you want pancakes?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and pets the top of Alfred’s head. “Later, perhaps. Both of you appear . . . busy. Besides, I need to tell Pennyworth that he won our bet from last night, considering how I thought it’d take you two another week to figure yourselves out.”

Kon blinks. “You . . . made a bet on us?”

The kid nods almost regretfully. “Which I have unfortunately lost.” His sharp eyes stare at the batter pointedly. “Though you could make up for it with food. I prefer chocolate chips in my pancakes, don’t forget.”

Slowly, Kon bobs his head up and down. “Yeah, sure.”

Damian flashes him what might be a tiny smile, but then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, footsteps and Alfred’s purrs echoing down the hall.

Tim’s gaze clears, and Kon can see his brain rebooting. Then Tim shoots him a disgruntled look. “Aren’t Supers supposed to have super hearing?”

Kon shrugs. “I was distracted.”

Tim shakes his head at the ceiling while his hands run through Kon’s hair. Kon places a kiss on his neck.

Tim swats the back of his head. “New rule: No making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

Kon grumbles, “You have too many siblings for that to be realistic.”

“That’s true.” His lips press against Tim’s throat again, and he feels Tim breathe in a shaky laugh. “I take it back. The new rule is not to get caught making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

“You may wish to add butlers to that as well, Master Timothy.”

They leap apart.

Kon’s eyes dart to where Alfred is standing by the entrance to the dining room, not looking very impressed. He can feel his face quickly growing hot under the man’s unreadable stare, and he folds his hands behind his back like a six-year-old who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tim mutters something under his breath as his hand rubs the back of his neck, and the old man’s brow lifts.

“Would you care to repeat that, Master Timothy?”

Tim straightens up, and Kon can see the tips of ears are bright red. “No?”

“That’s what I thought.” He turns to Kon calmly. “And how are you, Mr. Kent?” Kon’s eyes flicker to where Tim is looking like he wants to jump off a cliff in mortification. His lips twitch upwards just a little, he hears an impatient cough. He glances back to Alfred nervously.

When did the old butler get so scary?

“Pretty good, um,” he distantly remembers something from last night, “Ma wants to ask for your snickerdoodle recipe.” He resists the urge to smooth out the sweatshirt he’s wearing as Alfred studies him. He gives a weak smile. “She’s offered to give you her instructions for blueberry pie as an incentive.”

Alfred considers him for a moment.

“Well, then I suppose I shall have to talk to her then.” He gives them both a knowing side-eye. “And do remember that the kitchen is for food and that there are plenty of private rooms in this house for more . . . lascivious activities.”

Kon wishes he could sink into the floor.

Tim drops his face in his hands. “Thanks, Alfred,” he mumbles.

Alfred brushes an invisible speck of dust off of his sleeve. “Now, excuse me, I do believe I have a wager to collect from Master Damian.” He begins to walk out of the room but stops and gives Kon a smart glance. “And please make sure that Master Timothy doesn’t start any more fires in this kitchen than he already has, Mr. Kent.”

Tim’s head shoots up with a look of betrayal and Kon has to bite his lip to keep from sniggering.

“Yes, sir.”

Alfred’s steps are unruffled as he continues into the hall. “Considering how I’m sure you’ll be around this house much more often, you may as well as call me Alfred.”

Kon’s face grows warmer.

“Um, sure thing, Alfred.”

The butler dips his head in approval and leaves. Kon can hear him begin to whistle a cheerful tune a couple of rooms away.

It takes both of them several seconds to be able to look at each other. Tim’s cheeks puff out as he exhales slowly, his ears are still pink. Kon rubs the hardwood floor with his toe. “So, uh . . . Huh.”

“We need to work on your multitasking. Things like using your super hearing while you’re . . . being distracted.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut it, Superdude, and make our food.”

“That rhymed.”

“I don’t know why I like you.”

“I’ll remind you exactly why later tonight.”

Tim smacks him with a dish towel, and Kon laughs before kissing him again.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

The Christmas that Wasn’t-Ch. 2

A/N: Written with @mox-made-me-do-it​

Chapter 2: Allie

           “Umm yeah…” I said slowly, feeling my heart pounding against my ribs. “Cowboys are supposed to be lucky. As long as they aren't from Dallas at least."

           Oh my God did I just say that? Surprisingly, my unfunny and awkward football joke earned a definite chuckle from Adam. But, oh, the way he smiled. Those eyes, I swear, could glow in the dark.

           The voices at the table seemed to fade away. I could just make out Leigh’s voice as she kept the conversation going. She was talented like that—able to talk up everyone she met. It was how we met in freshmen year at in the first place. She and Kenny seemed to be hitting it off, propped on their elbows and talking over the cheese fries and cookie skillet. I sat there in a stunned sort of silence every time I thought about trying to talk. Maybe not to Kenny, but definitely to Adam.

           I was suddenly jerked back to reality when I realized Leigh was poking my leg. She was watching me from the corner of her eye, lips turned down in a worried frown. Across the table, Kenny tapped his spoon on the skillet.

         “Hello? Anybody home in there?" Kenny said with a teasing smile.

           Leigh poked my thigh again. “Hi...sorry… the mimosas we had on the plane are kicking my ass." For a second, the world went fuzzy. Without warning, I jumped to my feet and excused myself, grabbing my backpack as I dashed off.

           I hurried to the ladies’ room. My ribs were tight, making it hard to breathe. I swore I was going to either throw up or pass out before I made it into the bathroom. I heard Leigh’s faint voice in the background, apologizing behind me as she followed behind at a run.

           “Als? You ok, babe?” Leigh asked, following me to the sink. The panic was so thick that I couldn’t think of anything else to do but giggle… almost maniacally.  “What's going on? What’s wrong?”

           I threw my bag on the counter, searching through it for one specific thing. Half a dozen things came out as I dug, finally pulling out what I wanted. I held up a smooth grey rock with the word courage engraved in black on the top.

           “Remember this?" I asked, holding it up. “You gave it to me at the airport when I moved to LA. It hasn't left my bag since.”

           Leigh stepped close and put her arm around my back and dropped her head against my shoulder. “Als…”

           “Jon made fun of me for keeping it with me, but I can't imagine not having you by my side, Leelee.” My voice broke. As much as he’d royally screwed me over, it still hurt to think of all the time I’d wasted with Jon. When I thought things were going perfectly, when I thought we were two steps from happily ever after… I squeezed my eyes shut to keep from crying. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

         “I can't believe you keep that with you,” my friend replied, hugging me tight. I turned and wrapped my arms around her. For a moment, we just stood there as the panic bled out of me. “I know things are hard, but there is a super hot, super confused cowboy and out there with our loaded cheese fries. If we leave them alone too long, they’ll eat all of them. And the cookie,” Leigh said with a nudge and a wink. 

         I grinned, relaxing with my friend’s presence. “What about Curls—Kenny? I think he likes you…” We parted and I leaned against the counter, raising a brow as I looked at her. We were almost the same height, but her hair was shorter and dyed a deep ruby red. “Maybe it’s time to jump back on the pogo stick?”

           Leigh blushed and tucked her hair behind her ears. She looked over her shoulder at the door. “He's so fit… and hot. I mean, look at him and look at me. I doubt he goes for the thick girls.”

           I knew the feeling. The doubt. I thought I’d found someone who accepted and loved me just for me, but I’d been wrong. I suppose it had been the same with Izzy and Leigh. They were like Jon and I… happy on the outside but broken deep down.

           As doubtful as she sounded, Leigh had a faraway dreamy look in her eyes. “Man… his smile, though. And those eyes…but I don’t know, Al… But I guess we’ve got to leave the ladies first so we can find out. Remember a week away from reality.”

           I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. Whatever tan I’d gotten living in California had washed out beneath my panic. My hazel eyes looked shell shocked. I splashed some cool water on my face and behind my ears, the surprise bringing color back to my cheeks. Leigh handed me a paper towel.

           “You good?”

           “Yeah, I'm good.” I smiled and hugged Leigh again, glad to have her with me. I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Seriously, though. Kenny looked at you like we looked at that cookie skillet. I can't believe you don't see it. He is definitely into you. You deserve it after Izzy—go for it.”

           Leigh rolled her eyes and snatched my backpack up from the counter.  “Come on, our fries are probably cold.”

           We laughed as we exited the ladies’ room arm-in-arm. As soon as we opened the door, I was surprised to find the cowboy leaning up against the wall. His brow was furrowed, and his blue eyes were dark with worry.

         “Is everything okay, Allie?” Adam asked with concern. His southern accent seemed to get thicker and desperately more adorable “You turned pale as a sheet.”

           Something warm settled in my chest. “Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks,” I replied, smiling a little. I thought of that stone in the front pocket of my bag. “I guess I shouldn't have had that last mimosa. Got a little light-headed.”

           Adam nodded and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I tried hard not to think about how good he looked in them. “Let’s get some food in you. Always helps when I’ve had a few too many.”

           I felt Leigh bump me lightly in the hip as she unwound her arm from mine and slipped in front of us. Adam shortened his stride to match mine and I could have sworn he turned just a little bit toward me.

           “Hey… half the fries are gone,” Leigh exclaimed from the table. Adam and I sidled up to the table just in time to see Kenny look up at her sheepishly, melted cheese and bacon bits still on the plate in front of him.

           Kenny looked around, as if he were searching for someone even as he tried to casually wipe the grease and cheese onto his napkin. “Yeah, I looked away for one second, and somebody just swiped them.”

           Before any of us could say anything in response, Leigh’s phone went off in her pocket. I watched her face go grey as she recognized the ringtone. Don’t answer it. Don’t answer it, I thought, wishing she could hear me inside her head. But she couldn’t, and I watched her hands shake as she put the phone to her ear.

           “Hello, Itzabelle,” my friend said, her voice barely trembling. I could feel the fear spilling into her veins.

           I could hear her ex’s voice on the other end. She was shouting and screaming, clearly upset about something. What does she want now? Hasn’t the bitch done enough?

           “It’s none of your business if I am in Tahiti with Allie. You gave up having an opinion about what I do a long time ago.” Leigh was starting to go pale and I dashed over to slip a chair under her, guiding her to sit down. “I’m not telling you a damn thing, Itzabelle. You’ve broken my heart enough. I’m not letting you do it again.”

           Leigh dragged the phone from her ear and ended the call, clutching the device tight in her hands. She looked sick. Adam handed her a glass of water. “Head between your knees if you’re gonna pass out.”

           My earlier panic had been quickly burned away by something like rage. Itzabelle Parker and I hadn’t exactly gotten along while she and Leigh were together, but I’d done my best once they got serious. But I’d be damned if she tried to ruin my friend’s life after they’d broken up.

           The high ring of my phone made my heart jump a beat. I dug it from my bag and grinned sadistically when I recognized the number. I answered without hesitation.

           “Listen here, Itzabelle Parker,” I spat, the words drawing out. I paced a few steps away. “You don’t get to speak to her like that. You made your choice the minute you touched her cousin, and you don’t get to be pissed off at her for going on a vacation with me.”

           She snarled back at me, hurling insults and insinuations. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You never deserved her. How many times was it, Izzy? And don’t just say the once because we both know you are a lying bitch who broke my best friend’s heart.”

           The angrier I got, the more I could hear the southern Alabama slipping into my voice. I’d lost all but hints of it when I moved to LA, but it seemed pure and unadulterated rage could bring it right back. “She’s moved on to better and definitely bigger than you. My girl will be well taken care of by one of the hottest men I have ever seen if I have a vote in it. She deserves some happiness after everything you’ve put her through.”

           I hung up on her without another word, feeling some vicious glee at how she sputtered at the end. It never occurred to Izzy that Leigh might find a guy who could make her happy. “Gimme your phone,” I commanded, holding out my hand to Leigh. She dropped passed it over without complaint. I powered both of them off and stuffed them into the bottom of my backpack. “Now…”

           I finally looked up, drawing a deep breath. The anger I’d felt at Izzy had completely torn away at the panic I’d felt moments before. Leigh was looking up at me with a mixture of awe and embarrassment. Across the table, Kenny had turned a horrible beet red and was suddenly very interested in counting the bacon bits on his plate. But Adam…

           Adam was looking at me with an awful appreciation in his eyes. He grinned and nodded, bracing his hands on the back of his chair and leaning forward. “You, Allie Mason, are as full of surprises as a hellcat.”

           “I’m sorry. That woman just…” I growled, still caught up in the rush of adrenaline. “She thinks she can dictate everything Leigh does even though she’s the one who royally fucked up. I’m not having it.”

           As I watched, Adam looked over at Kenny and burst out laughing. I finally stopped long enough to realize how I might have embarrassed him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Kenny. I didn’t mean… That woman is horrible, and I wanted to shut her up. I’m so sorry I embarrassed you!”

           He took a deep drink of the soda in front of him. Then he downed the water next to it. “It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “Flattered really. I mean… surprising that I would… you know… make her… jealous? But… yeah… um…”

           For a moment he sat quiet, then looked down at the iPhone on the table. “Hey Hangman, our ferry leaves in like 10 minutes. Unfortunately, we need to bid these lovely ladies adieu." Kenny said, the slight sadness present beneath his lingering embarrassment.

           Leigh glanced over as well. "Shit! Allie, ours leaves then, too. Grab a box from the server for the fries.” She glanced up at Kenny—who was still a delightful shade of red—and Adam—who was trying not to laugh at his friend—and queried, “Where are you guys off to?"

           “The Four Seasons resort at Bora Bora,” Adam said easily.

           I looked at Leigh, my heart beating hard against my ribs. No. It wasn’t possible… She looked quickly between Adam and I and smiled. “So are we.”

[blookmallow]

im starting to realize there’s a bunch of connections going on between tma episodes.. i dont know what it Means yet and dont tell me!!!!! ill get there!! but. hmmm. im going through the transcripts after i listen to them to make sure i didnt miss things/checking the details and i just. Keep Finding More Shit, it’s all connected, i feel like there’s something huge going on behind all these and i Do Not Know what it is yet 

this is. very long and disjointed i went through all the transcripts for every episode ive listened to so far and kept noticing more things 

like Don’t Tell Me if im right or wrong ill find out im just gathering thoughts. setting up my little conspiracy board. red strings everywhere

- firstly theres an obvious running thread going about the cursed jurgen leitner books, gerard keay, the. worms. and jane prentiss 

- carlos vittery in Arachnophobia mentions offhand that his complex had an infestation of “small, silvery worms” which passed right over my head the first time but looking at it again thATS THE FUCKIGN WORMS!!!! and martin found. Probably Jane in the basement of that same complex. so. well, (that also means like Who Knows how many people in that building might have gotten infected) (i also wonder whether the spiders might actually be Good, if the worms are hideous parasites maybe the spiders are showing up to eat them/get rid of them, martin says he likes spiders, the spiders almost definitely killed vittery but he was violently trying to wipe them out so maybe it was a greater good kind of thing) (or they’re just spiders and dont have that level of comprehension and like the nasty silver worms. either way) 

- there’s also a lot of Foretelling Of Death but i dont want to go through and list all of those rn

- in Anglerfish, there was some kind of. shadowy hand thing beckoning people into the darkness. Amy Patel in Across The Street describes seeing a similar shadowy hand thing reaching into Graham’s apartment before his. replacement. both of these are described as “folding” in on themselves/moving in a really unnatural way. smoking was also mentioned in both but i havent really been following that as a symbol very closely. possible link with Fire? i dont know

- Repetition. Graham was obsessively filling hundreds of notebooks with the words “Keep Watching,” mary keay’s skin was completely covered in unreadable script tattoos, the paper found by the garbage men was the Lord’s prayer written in latin over and over again, ivo lensik’s father became completely obsessed with fractals and couldn’t stop drawing them. the unnamed burned man in First Aid repeats an unclear phrase over and over again. gerard keay is also covered in tattoos of eyes in First Aid, which was not mentioned before (though probably wouldn’t have been visible before) 

- Graham was convinced he was being watched/followed by Something, harriet was concerned about being followed after she was attacked by prentiss (which. matches with martin’s experience too, though he was much more fortunate), vittery was followed by The Spider, lensik’s father also believed Something was coming for him (and “all the bones are in his hands” sounds very. leitner), and there was. whatever approaching darkness was coming after robert montauk, as well 

- Graham has a weirdly hypnotic table, the first Leitner book found by dominic swain had oddly vertigo-inducing woodcuttings, gerard keay’s eye painting is similarly hypnotic, lensik finds a box in the old tree with the same hypnotic carvings on it 

- not sure if the Spider Apple has any relation to the Arachnophobia episode, but, there’s that, also 

- swain’s book had an image of the sky, which he described felt like you would “fall into it” if you looked at it for too long, and robert kelly sort of “fell into the sky” in Freefall. laura popham describes a sense of being swallowed up by the earth in Lost Johns’ Cave, as well 

- same theme of becoming “lost” in Lost Johns’ Cave and in Alone, similar concepts of being consumed by the earth 

- i dont think its necessarily related to anything else as far as i know but just wanted to mention also i didn’t process the... extra audio recording in Lost Johns’ Cave correctly, i thought she was saying “help me, help me, please help me” which was unnerving, but didn’t really seem all that critical to add, until looking at the transcripts i realized it was “take her, not me” which was a HUGE punch to the gut when i discovered it lmao. dont ask how i managed to mishear that badly but i am very very bad at auditory processing which is why im reading all these scripts to make sure i didnt process them wrong

- Graham mentions he’s gay, and the man who had the dream about gertrude mentions having broken up with his boyfriend, Graham. jon doesn’t comment on this and it’s not necessarily the same graham, and im not sure what the significance is if it is, but it seems like an odd coincidence if it isn’t. “antonio” doesn’t go into detail about why they broke up, but mentions they had been living together 

- the name Joshua Gillespie stands out to me for some reason, like I’ve heard “gillespie” somewhere before, but I haven’t noticed it coming up again in any of the transcripts unless I just missed it. could just be that my brain decided to Remember that name for no reason though. he’s the guy with the coffin 

- jon mentions this, but Breekon and Hope deliveries were responsible both for the weird coffin and the yellow stole from the incident with father burroughs 

- there’s a major ongoing theme of Fire and Burning, both just in general, and a more specific Fire With No Apparent Source thing continuously happening. the prayer paper in the trash had been burned, timothy hodge burned his apartment after the Worms Incident (and martin mentions noticing one of the worms looked slightly burnt - maybe it survived the fire and returned to jane?), sgt. berry was “distinctively marked” by an incident with a flamethrower, the vampires are supposedly very very vulnerable to fire, raymond fielding’s house burned down and his. ghost? disappears with a burning smell and a burnt spot on the floor, lensik experiences an intense, unbearable heat with no clear cause soon after the encounter with raymond, which father burroughs also experiences in his account. the mysterious coffin in Do Not Open had an unnatural heat to it. gerard keay burns the leitner book and picks up the still-smoldering ashes but isn’t concerned with the heat, and then appears again as one of the burned men in First Aid, having apparently experienced second-degree burns on every inch of his skin, but had completely undamaged clothes. the nurse describes feeling a burning sensation when the chanting starts, but dismisses it as a nervous reaction, then experiences the. boiling drink bottles and the burning hot door handles. she says she could feel a burning heat from gerard’s hand. the burned man’s body immediately self-cremates when gerard kills him. lee rentoul also gives specifically a lighter to angela for her Piecemeal curse, though that might be coincidental. he does burn the first box after he discovers it, though

- the garbage man describes the last Weird Trash as “tied off with a dark green ribbon, arranged in a bow like an old-fashioned Christmas present” - which contained a copper heart, possibly symbolizing alan’s real heart, with the rest of his body never being found. this matches both with robert montauk’s killings and the cursed boxes from angela’s curse- “brown paper and string, like an old-fashioned Christmas present.” there was also the weird thing with raymond’s hand, but im not sure that’s related 

the vampires’ victims bodies also seemed to disappear, not sure that’s related either 

- jon confirms that the pendant julia describes (the one belonging to her mother and also her father’s last victim) is a symbol of the People’s Church of the Divine Host cult. wondering if this is related to what father burroughs experienced. gerard keay is searching for a lost pendant in First Aid, but its design is unclear, and he describes it as brass. unsure if related. the fact that gerard’s tattoos/etc were of eyes, and the other pendant is of a closed eye, while one is made of brass and the other of silver seems like there might be some connection though even if it isn’t the same one. there didn’t seem to be any burning involved with the montauk case, anyway 

then there’s. this entire thing im just gonna paste it here, from sebastian adekoya in the Boneturner’s Tale: 

“Books are amazing, aren’t they? I mean, when you think about what they really are. People don’t give the actuality of language the weight it deserves, I feel. Words are a way of taking your thoughts, the very make-up of yourself, and giving them to another. Putting your thoughts in the mind of someone else. They are not a perfect method, of course, as there’s plenty of scope for mutation and corruption between your mind and that of the listener, but that doesn’t change the essence of what language is.

Spoken aloud, though, the thought dies quickly if not picked up. Simple vibrations that vanish almost as soon as they are created, though if they find a host, then they can lodge there, proliferate, and maybe spread further. Still, it is not a reliable method in terms of a thought’s endurance, as humans are fragile creatures, and rarely last a century.” 

this definitely seems relevant to jurgen leitner (and this is. one of the episodes about a leitner book, so) it definitely seems likely that he’s spreading some kind of.... Belief or Self or Power or Something through his books, possibly even his own consciousness is within them somehow, or at least the consciousness of Something or Someone. the man with all the bones in his hands. taking bones and warping them. bones appearing in the pages but Wrong. might be related to the bag of teeth, too, hundreds of All The Same Tooth

definitely something to the... immortalization of thoughts/memories/Consciousness through written word, especially when we consider the words literally tattooed into mary keay’s skin/the book possibly bound in her skin. i cant put a coherent thought together on this but its definitely... important, i think 

sebastian also for some reason specifically mentions he was holding a copy of Stephen King’s Misery in the confrontation with Jared’s mother, which is a story about an author being forced to write something against his will/words that aren’t really his own, to appease someone else, which. seems like it might be relevant somehow too, maybe. the fact that it was named specifically when it wasn’t apparently relevant to the story seems interesting 

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

[Fic] All due respect here... (there's no respect due)

Let’s try one last time... I truly apologise if the cut doesn’t work on mobile, I am posting from my laptop.

Enough is enough, they're right. There’s only so much that can be forgiven, before one’s indulgence becomes a red flag. Loneliness is not an excuse, Martino.

“You need to put your foot down” they keep saying. “You need to draw a line and say: this is unacceptable. If you step over the line once you get a warning, but do it twice and we’re done.”

It's just that… you know… He feels so stupid, now? He has been so blind, so naïve and nearly let himself be played like a fiddle. Hurting those who really care about him, and for what? Approval?

The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets. The signals were all there, for fuck’s sake!

Lulling him into a sense of comradery, that he had been missing ever since his friends from high school had all chosen different paths… Yeah, that’s how it had all started. With him, trying so desperately to fill that void. It hadn’t been as difficult as had imagined to bond over incomprehensible lectures, disgusting coffee and eclectic lifestyles. Francesco had been the first to approach him, complimenting his Apparat-inspired T-shirt and asking where he bought it. It hadn’t seen anything quite like it on the Internet, or he would have remembered! Deciding it was best to weed out the homophobes straight away, Martino told him the truth: it was a gift from his boyfriend. Not quite his usual style, but since it made Nico happy to see him wear it…

“Oh man, you’re so whipped.” Francesco had commented, instead, laughing. “But hey, who am I to judge? I’m actually a bit jealous, you know. No one ever made me something that cool. Do you think I could commission him one?”

Marti did, but he had been wrong. Niccolò wasn’t interested in designing clothes for anyone else, and while he was flattered by Fra’s proposal he would have to turn it down. Not exactly a great start, but Martino didn’t think much of it. This wasn’t kindergarten and surely Francesco wouldn’t hold that refusal against Nico.

Marina had literally saved his life, when he crossed the street and didn’t look as he was in the middle of some lovely banter with Niccolò. In return for her heroic deed, he was bound to treat her to lunch. Or a coffee, at least. The way she delivered that ridiculous request, wiggling her head and biting her lips – like a mischievous child, amused by their own audacity – reminded him so much of a certain someone… that he found himself discussing the top 10 TV shows betrayals of the decade (no! they were never going to forgive D&D for what he had done to Daenerys!) over a cappuccino. She might have been side-eyeing him for checking his phone a little too much, but he didn’t really care.

And then came Lorenzo. Well, it was actually Martino who had reached out to him. Who found him sitting on the floor of a dingy bathroom, crying his eyes out. Years ago, he would have stepped out and let someone else comfort a stranger. But then… Then he though ‘what I was the one sitting there? what if it was Nico? I don’t want to think everyone would just walk away and pretend they didn’t see him…’ and sat down next to him. He didn’t ask if he was okay, when he clearly wasn’t. He didn’t ask why he was so distraught. It wasn’t any of his business, and the question alone would have made this guy feel worse. It was a lesson he had learnt the hard way, through his own experience and Nico’s.

“Oi, you got 2 tens or 4 fives? Some spare coins? I’ve only 20€ in my wallet, and that fucking machine never gives you the right change if you put in more than a 10€ note.”   He had asked, when Lori looked up.

“I… I…” He had said, sniffling. Frantically, he had started looking for the money and seemed truly sorry he couldn’t help Martino out.

“Hey, that’s okay. I’ll manage. So, what can I get you? You look like you could use some hot chocolate, though I’m afraid I can only find vaguely chocolatey-flavored water, around here.”

He didn’t think he would get to meet any of them ever again, and then one day he spotted them all sitting at the same table. It wasn’t like Martino had ever believed in fate, but that did seem like a coincidence straight out from a Norwegian teen drama. A French romance. Not that he had ever watched either of them, of course. An occurrence meant to show him that the universe had plans, for the four of them.

In hindsight, he should have told the universe where he could shove its plans…

For a while, however, Martino thought there could hardly be anybody on Earth who got luckier than him in when it came to friendship. They always knew where to find the next best party but didn’t mind spending a night in, binge-watching the latest trashy show that had been uploaded on Netflix. Playing FIFA. Discussing politics, and even ethics and philosophy when they were more than a little drunk.

Everything changed, however, when things started to get a bit more personal. When they started dispensing details about their crushes, their heartbreaks, and Martino foolishly felt comfortable enough to share more of his life with Nico. Painting quite an idyllic picture, as complaints and rants about his inability to tidy up a room and tendency to zone out when they were discussing financial matters would only ever be disclosed to Giovanni. Nevertheless, to say that they weren’t his biggest fans would be an understatement.

  “Let me guess, it’s Nico. Again.”

 “Okay… So, he can leave on read for hours, but starts panicking if you don’t answer straight away?”

 “He put salt in your coffee because you weren’t paying attention? Is he… like, five or something? But well, if you find that endearing… You do you, man.”

 And it only got worse after they met him, and began spinning a whole other narrative in which Martino was either a hero or a martyr, for ‘putting up’ with Nico.

 “Oh, you're such a great guy not giving up on that.”

 “You sure must love him a lot to endure all of his up and downs.”

He reassured them all, told them that he appreciated the concern but that they barely knew Niccolò so he wouldn’t stand for any further slandering of his boyfriend.

So they laid low, and stayed quiet, for a while. It hurt them to see Martino trapped in what clearly was an abusive relationship, but there was nothing more that could be said or done about it. Whenever Nico was mentioned, they changed the subject.

Until tonight. Asking them both to join them at a party, and then corner him and attempted to stage an ‘intervention’.

Couldn’t he see how possessive and controlling Niccolò was, manipulating Marti into thinking his new friends were out to get him?

 “The two of you, against the world? Doesn’t it sound disturbing to you?”

 “Marti, come on, you have to admit that he has controlling tendencies. He shouldn’t need to know where you are at all times, doing what, with whom. He shouldn’t come up and snatch you away, whenever he notices you spend time talking to the same person for more than 2 minutes.”

 “It’s like he can’t stand not being at the center of your attention 100% of the time.”

How… How dare they? Who the fuck do they think they are?

“Get out of my face, you fuckers. If I hear you badmouthing Nico ever again, you’re gonna regret it.”

Thankfully, they don’t try to stop him when he storms out the room. The last thing he wants is to end up in a fight, and having Niccolò find out it was because of him. It had already happened once, with Malik and his friends, and… No revival of that was needed, thanks.

Little do they know about their late conversations, when Martino had indeed noticed was off with Niccolò and tried to find out how he could help. Because Marti couldn’t relate to the magnitude of Niccolò feelings, sure, but he had been there the year before. When everyone in Uni had seemed far more interesting that a boy who still attended high school…

Niccolò has a jealous streak, sure. That had been clear ever since he put in his pasta. But it wasn’t the ugly side of jealousy, stemming from a warped sense of ownership over him. It was more like… Feeling like he didn’t matter, of maybe being interest enough to catch someone’s attention but lacking in keep them entertained. Which in turn made him petty, vindictive, clingy. It was only a matter of time before Martino would agree with those guys, and leave him for good.

Marti tapped Nico's skull, then, and said to his brain "Stop with this bullshit. Stop making my boyfriend suffer, you asshole. You know nothing, zero, zilch, nil, nada. You're worse than Jon Snow.” He bent down to kiss his heart, and went on with "You, on the other hand… You know Nico's the best thing that has ever happened to me and that I'd be a fool not to cherish it. So what if he’s got some flaws? Who cares? Not me. One thing matters and it’s this: no else compares. So yeah, tell him he shouldn't worry: I'm not going anywhere."

"Ever?" He mumbled, not quite ready to believe Martino.

"Kim Jong-un, Nico. Remember?"  Marti reminded him, smiling as he stroked his cheek.

"Right. How could I forget King-Kong-Là…" That made them both laugh, and they decided not to discuss the matter any further. They were far more pleasurable ways to spend their night together…

So yeah, screw them. Screw everyone who overanalyzes every little thing Niccolò does, who is always ready to point the finger at him and say that Martino deserves better.

Of course he does, duh. Better friends, for a start.

*********************** All due respect here... There's no respect due. So fuck you and you, and you and you. You're cool, but fuck you... And I'm out of here. (Swear Jar, Illy)

[aibari]

my money’s on you

For day one of @tmafemslashweek​ (first kiss)

Georgie/Melanie, mid-s4. (read on ao3)

"I've been thinking about finding a therapist," Melanie says. It comes so out of nowhere that Georgie nearly drops the card she's holding. They are sitting on the rickety chairs of her tiny kitchen, drinking cheap wine and playing a card game about herb collecting, talking about nothing in particular.

They are definitely not talking about therapy, or anything therapy-adjacent.

Melanie sees her fumble with the card and laughs, but there's a sharpness to it, a defensiveness that makes Georgie's heart hurt. "What, like I can't be "responsible about my mental health"?"

She does the air quotes, aggressive twitches that curl her fingers into claws.

"Well," Georgie says, and puts the card (thyme, three points,) face-up on the table in front of herself, on the same neat line as the mint and chive, "you definitely can't play Herbaceous for shit."

Melanie stares at her and then the card. "Oh my God, you bitch."

"Next round, that herb biscuit is mine," Georgie says, drawing another card and putting it into the community garden.

Melanie mock-scowls at her. The light of the kitchen lamps shines in the highlights of her dark hair, makes galaxies in her eyes. Georgie looks down at the tabletop. Her throat is tight; she is suddenly fiercely glad, and fiercely proud, that Melanie is here, that Melanie is trying, that despite everything she is still trying to swim against the current, to pull herself back out and onto shore.

"I'm really proud of you, you know." It comes out wetter and more choked than she intended. Melanie shoots her a startled look.

"Th-thank you," she says awkwardly, and then relaxes into it. "I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Melanie says. “Like … it's been hard. For … for obvious reasons, but.”She laughs, and draws a shaky breath. Her hands drum on the uneven wood of the tabletop. Georgie wants to catch them, to hold them close and tight and keep them safe, but she knows how that goes. This needs to … not be that.

“I've spent most of my life feeling angry,” Melanie says, “angry and righteous and, and small. And then the Slaughter happened, and I wasn't small anymore.”

It had been bad. They stopped playing most of Georgie's games when Melanie came over, because the competition brought out something dark and driven in her that neither of them liked. They stopped talking about work, because it kept setting Melanie off. She'd go from pleasant to murderous in minutes, spiralling harder each visit. Georgie had thought about Jon, vomiting words in her living room with his eyes wide open. She had told Melanie she needed to quit, over and over, and Melanie told her that she had tried, that she was trying, and by the end of those conversations they were both crying, frustrated and upset and angry, too, because anger never quite left the room whenever that version of Melanie was around.

“And then Jon and Basira got the bullet out of me, and I wasn't angry or righteous anymore, either. I was just … small again. Empty.” Melanie laughs self-depreciatingly. “I mean, this isn't new to you, Georgie, I – I've been a mess. I'm not going to stop being a mess as long as I work there, and I can't quit, but … I think therapy would be … good. Bit of a band-aid on an axe wound, but something has got to be better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah,” Georgie says. She smiles, and maybe it's too serious a topic for her to be smiling, but she does anyway. “Can't stitch up an axe would without any tools.”

Melanie laughs like it's funny, rough at the edges.

The mood shifts, and the conversation flows back to easier things. They play cards and drink wine and laugh about things that have nothing to do with monsters or the Magnus Institute, and it's lovely, but Georgie is distracted. Her brain catches on details. Melanie's hands drum against the cards and the tabletop and her drawn-up knee. Melanie's fringe is getting too long, and she keeps having to brush it out of her eyes, keeps shaking her head even though her hair is too short for that to do much of anything. Melanie's mouth moves bright and gleeful around syllables, presses dark lipstick against the lip of her wine glass.

Georgie has known Melanie for almost as long as she's known about her; they met a month or two after Ghost Hunt UK started to really pick up a following. They met through work, and then at parties, and finally just to hang out. Melanie was such a … a cool girl, more then than now, the kind of cool that wears itself like a shield and looks practically effortless. Georgie had seen her with her sharply winged eyeliner and sensible shoes on the first, technically average episodes of Ghost Hunt UK and thought I want to get to know you; had seen her at parties and heard her hoarse, not-quite-a-smoker laugh on a shadowed porch in the middle of August and thought I think I know you; had met her for drinks and games and mutual bitching about coworkers and tech issues and thought I love that I get to know you.

Now, sitting in the kitchen late on a Tuesday night, it makes her feel like her heart is going to burst. Melanie's eyeliner is smudged, but she still has that laugh sometimes, still wears those sensible shoes. She looks smaller now than she used to, and sadder, but there is something about the way she holds herself now that makes everything go quiet.

Seeing her here, like this … it is a privilege, Georgie thinks, with a fierceness that surprises her. It is a privilege, just like knowing Melanie in the first place is a privilege. It's so big, so enormous, that for a second it is almost hard to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Melanie asks.

“Can I kiss you?” Georgie asks. It slips out without her meaning it to, but once it's there on the table, she can't make herself regret it.

Melanie's face is so shocked it is almost comical, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “What, seriously?”

“Do I look like I'm not serious?”

"Well, how am I supposed to know?" Melanie asks, laughing. "You're all," she makes a motion with her hands like half a figure eight, "and I'm all," she gestures towards herself, "you know?"

Georgie squints at her. "No?"

Melanie huffs out a breath that makes her fringe stand up. "Okay, well, if you're gonna make me say it. You're really hot, Georgie. You're gorgeous. I'm a trash fire gremlin. You -"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there," Georgie says. "That's the woman I l - like you're talking about."

"The woman you l-like?"

"Oh, shut up," Georgie says, grinning. "Do you want to kiss me or not?"

"Yeah," Melanie says. She swallows. "Yeah."

Georgie takes her hand and pulls her up from the table. Melanie comes along easily, and then they're standing close together in the cramped corner by the window.

"Hey," she says, leaning down so their faces are almost touching.

"Hey," Georgie says. Her face hurts from smiling. She leans up and brings her mouth to Melanie's, pressing close and joyful and she is still grinning, which makes it awkward, teeth clicking against teeth, but she can't stop, and Melanie is grinning, too. They slot together at odd angles, but they fit, it all fits, and Melanie's mouth is warm and lovely; she kisses with teeth and tongue and a determination that leaves Georgie weak in the knees, breathless. Georgie gives back as good as she gets, backing Melanie up against the wall and the novelty cat calendar from 2013, nips and licks at the corners of her mouth until Melanie moans.

After, Melanie stares down at her, a little dazed. "What is this, a mental health incentive programme?"Georgie laughs. It feels good, and loud, all the way down to her bones. Melanie scrunches her nose at her, but her eyes are huge, galaxy-bright.

"No," Georgie says. She kisses Melanie low on her cheek, just because it's within reach. "This one's just between you and me."

[lawful-evil-novelist]

how would you fix batman trror

TBH I could go on like 11 different tangents about this comic I just-

Batman: Terror’s first half has a good premise that has a lot of room for like, interesting shit seriously, but like, the second half and all the fucking writing I just-

I think it’s a foregone conclusion that I’d cut out almost everything after Strange gets his sorry ass impaled that involves Selina and the bullies getting kidnapped and just cut to the fast flooding room with igniting gas pipes and have the rigging be Strange’s handiwork, not Jon’s.  This would erase the weirdness of Strange somehow being alive for several days post-impalement, basically everything with Jon’s magical growing scythe, and allow more time for Jon to actually reasonably snap.  It would also have the very likable angle of Jon, being the self-preservationist he is, actually helping Bruce escape instead of attacking him after Bruce says “Stop, I’m trying to get us out of here.”  It would also make Jon getting pulled under by Strange all the more terrifying because you almost forget he’s there and suddenly Jon is pulled under and its revealed that Strange is still alive.

Cut basically everything involving Selina because those are generally THE worst parts and Jon calling Selina “pussycat” makes me so uncomfortable.  Like the mention at the beginning and her helping Bruce save Jon, minus the dialogue, is fine, keep that, get rid of everything else.

What is that writing job on Jon?  It’s weird and uncomfortable and the only good line is “I am a strong-willed, single-minded, Strange-hating machine” but even then it’s only good if you don’t take it seriously, at all.  Everything he says and about half the shit he does is ooc and just, weird.

The art is just bad, all of it can go in the trash, hire someone competent with anatomy, and good at drawing.

Extend Strange’s manipulation of Jon, because it would be more reasonable for Jon, a PSYCHIATRIST, to have a hard time falling for Strange’s tricks on the outset.

Remove the hypnotism aspect, just keep it to manipulation.  The hypnotism is sloppily done and has a lot of plot holes and like halfway through the entirety of the plot point drops out and is only mentioned one more time in passing near the end.  When writing, apply the concept of Chekov’s gun.  This is stated in a metaphor: Don’t put a gun on stage if it’s not going to go off.  Don’t put an element into the plot if it’s not going to serve any real purpose.  Strange could get Jon out through manipulation just as well as he could get Jon out through hypnotism, there is no use to it.

Strange just manipulating Jon could also have other points to make.  There are ways you could go with this that could make Jon become more fearless because he overcame another fear, not that it was hypnotized out of fearing anything.

Similarly, Strange verbally abusing Jon is a little too short lived and poorly done if I’m gonna be honest.  I’d extend it because the purpose of it is to make the readers feel that Jon’s retribution is justified, as it stands it isn’t.  People are okay with Jon attacking Strange because Strange is a skeevy bastard, not because they think Jon is justified.

Jon’s recurring traits in the comics are usually a bitter, sarcastic attitude and a skill at manipulation that makes him good at both manipulating and recognizing when he’s being manipulated.  Play with that, have Jon and Strange pit their egos against each other, a duel of wits as it were, and that way Strange winning could also be something brought up later, like as a point before Jon attacks Strange, when he realizes Strange has been using him this whole time.  Again, using retribution correctly, and justifying it despite acknowledging its depravity.  Jon tries to kill Strange for using him as a puppet and abusing him, that is justified in his mind because Strange disrespected both him and his autonomy, and this is something Batman recognizes.

I have no comment on the fucking manikin Strange dressed up as Catwoman.  All I will say is I could see Strange doing that but it’s still really fucking skeevy and I did NOT need confirmation that he was using that thing as a sex doll.  That makes it worse, it makes me feel bad for Jon.

Hey writers I know you don’t like giving Jon or Bruce anything relating to actual human emotions 50% of the time but here’s a thought: they’re fucking human beings.  Jon is going to respond to being stopped by Batman with hostility in the heat of the moment, yes, but not because he’s angry at Batman for ruining his revenge, he’s going to be hostile because he’s stressed and afraid.  People in hostage situations are hostile towards rescuers out of fear, especially when they’re already under a lot of stress.  Jon’s been manipulated and abused on top of being held hostage, when Batman shows up his first thought is going to be fear that Batman is going to hurt him or return him to Arkham, not that Batman is here to save him or stop him from killing Strange.  It’s a self-preservation instinct.  I don’t care how angry with Strange Jon is or how stunted his fear response is, he’s going to be scared, even if it’s just subconsciously, because he’s a fucking hostage.  You don’t just regard being held hostage as a blase thing if it’s never happened to you.

That fucking toupee needs to go, now, burn it.

Joker recognizing Strange through his disguise was great, but it was also one panel.  Chekov’s gun guys, Chekov’s gun.

Hear me out on this: Instead of being lured to Crime Alley by Jon and Selina working in tandem and figuring things out from there, Bruce finds the mansion because he’s told Jon is missing, knows the most observant inmate at Arkham is Joker, goes and finds out Strange took Jon from Arkham, and finds Jon that way.  This could even work like that one Gotham Adventures comic where Bruce goes to find Leland somewhere in Arkham and decides to ask Joker first.

What the fuck is Jon’s backstory?  It’s a mess and doesn’t explain his sudden hot damn with the crazy.  Year One explains, this does not.

BRUCE THAT IS NOT HOW YOU HANDLE AN UNCONSCIOUS PERSON.

Bruce is not THAT conflicted about being in love with Selina, please stop with the ridiculous manpain for like, 5 seconds writers, please, it’s really annoying.

Bruce also doesn’t look at Rogues like “this person would probably be a murderer.”  He considers them unwell and in need of help, which they are.

Why isn’t Strange bleeding?  He’s not bleeding.  This is an actual problem.  He was impaled he should be bleeding.

Reasonably, as Strange is holding Jon hostage, Jon would not have his costume on hand or the means to make one, the entire climax of the story should reasonably be done with Jon either in civvies or his Arkham uniform.  This is just a nitpick but it bugged me.

That’s all I got.  I think this comic is hilariously bad, but that doesn’t mean I think it should escape its due criticisms or couldn’t work in the slightest.  There are story elements and plot points that could work.  Strange holding Jon hostage with the intent of killing Batman is a premise that could work.  However, there are several sloppy plot threads, characters are poorly motivated or straight-up not in character, and the art and writing is just messy, sloppy garbage.

It’s hilarious, but when one of the few Scarecrow-centered comics is known for being hilariously bad, I kinda just wanna

[dcbicki]

♡ P U T   Y O U R   M O N E Y   W H E R E   Y O U R   M O U T H   I S ♡

♡ 15 Days of Valentines ♡ | a Jon/Sansa meme ↳ 6/15: Pretend relationship | Casino Heist

In desperate need of some quick cash, Sansa engages the help of her brother’s card-counting friend Jon to help her rip off a Las Vegas casino.

Below or AO3

“New dress?”

“Yes.” Rubbing her hands down her sides, along the shimmery material of her black dress, Sansa glances down at her body with a smile. “I bought it this morning with that money you won me.”

Jon can only nod at that, though his telling eyes betray him, and Sansa can spot his struggle from her place five feet away.

She crosses the small distance between them; dragging bare feet along the cool carpet, as though to memorise its texture and feel.

They’ve got a small room at the hotel; one Jon had fought against, one Sansa had fought for. She’d won, of course.

And they’d been handed the key to a room with one double bed and one couch (which Jon had designated himself to sleeping on).

Stopping before him, she places one comforting hand on his shoulder, and one on his chest for support.

“I know I said it would only be a one time thing,” she begins, tries to flick wavy hair over her shoulder, though no strands obey.

She licks her lips, moves her hand on his chest to his shirt collar and replaces his grip on it.

“It’s been five days.”

“And we have yet to drain the pool of opportunity.”

He sighs at that, brushes away her hands when she tries taking over doing his tie. He pulls on the cloth, and shoots her an annoyed look.

“You can’t drain the pool if they keep filling it back up again.”

“No, I can’t.” She knows she’s using him - or rather, his brain - but half of her can’t seem to care. The other half, though, is her conscious. She’s letting the little voice on her devilish left shoulder win, “But you can.”

“I can only fool them for so long, Sansa. Nobody can win so big, so fast, so frequently.” He warns her, and turns to sit on the bed to lace up his shoes.

She likes getting dressed up, pretending they’re fancier than they really are. He likes to pretend she didn’t pack a gun for protection (because it’s Vegas), and keep it stored in the small safe above the closet.

“Maybe I’m your good luck charm.” The redhead attempts, tries to lighten the mood.

She only needs a few more grand, tops.

“You aren’t my anything, Sansa.”

Well, that stung. Taking a step back, the woman checks over her appearance one last time, choosing to ignore his comment.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like what?”

“My dress? I picked it myself.” She plucks at the skirt, wiggles the smallest of dances.

Jon seems to smile, in a way she is slowly growing accustomed to, and he nods once, “I like the lace part.”

He leaves her at that, picking up his keys and room card.

Glancing down again, Sansa admires her new dress; more specifically, the lace mesh covering her cleavage.

With a grin, she follows after him, picking up her clutch off of the table, “Perv.”

-

“Okay. Don’t turn around,” Sansa trails off with one eyebrow hitched and her glass of tequila swirling unsteadily. “There are two men watching us.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.” He tells her through gritted teeth, moving to wrap his hand around her wrist after shoving the just-won tokens in his jacket pocket.

It’s stuffed, and he can tell she wants to cash out already.

“They were there yesterday, too.”

“Yes, Sansa,” he pulls her closer, and she can smell the whisky on his breath, “because you have me ass-fucking the entire place, with a target on my forehead. And one day, they’re gonna turn around and shoot.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” She stiffs a laugh, and whines when he tugs on her hand, encouraging her to follow him.

He’s walking away them from the men watching their backs, and Sansa struggles to keep up with him once he reaches the elevators.

“Wait- No. We have to cas-” she starts off, waving one finger around to point, glass now firmly placed down on a nearby cart.

“Tomorrow. Right now, we have to go.” He’s firm, and she kind of likes the determination.

Jon has always been quiet, sitting in the corner and doing his maths. That’s all she mostly remembers; their teen years when he came to hang out with Robb and helped her younger siblings with their homework.

They don’t talk much, but this ‘trip’ is definitely having a positive effect on their communication.

“Well,” they’re on the elevator before she can finish her sentence, and her attention is drawn down to her arm. “You can let go of me now.”

“Not yet.”

With an amused roll of her eyes, she bounces from one leg to the other uncomfortably, feet sore from her heels.

When the lift dings on the fifth floor, Jon is once again pulling her behind him; only he loosens his grip and slows his pace when she tugs at his rough hand.

“Shit.”

“Wha-”

Suddenly, her back is being shoved against the wall beside them, her right shoulder blade digging into someone’s doorway.

“Forgive me.”

She doesn’t question his intentions until he’s kissing her, and it isn’t gentle. What the fuck?

Eyes open, she only briefly lets herself admire his face before her gaze is pulled towards the two middle aged men down at the bottom of the hallway. Shit, indeed.

“Hmm.” Maybe faking a moan will help them?

As soon as he’s pulling away, Sansa swallows the quickest of breaths before she draws him in again, fingers firmly grasping at the lapels of his jacket.

She kisses him this time, forcing his mouth open with her tongue, running her hands along his chest until they clasp behind his neck.

His hair is smooth to the touch, and Sansa thinks hers must feel the same because he groans when he tugs at her locks, fingers all tangled up in her soft red curls, thumbs sweeping across her cheeks.

She allows her mouth to hang open when he pulls away again, trailing his lips down her jaw and neck to carry on their charade. It seems to work, Sansa thinks, throwing one leg up at his side for good measure.

He grabs her, calloused palm roughly curling around the softness of her thigh, bared by her hitched dress.

“I told you I was your lucky charm.”

The woman grins, leaning her head back against the doorframe, adding to the most public display of affection she has ever put on. Is it even affection, though? Or just a trick? She can’t tell.

Jon seems to be playing along with her added level to their game, though, because he hums against her cleavage and she can feel his hot breath on her skin, “How lucky are you gonna make me, woman?”

“That depends on how good you fuck me.”

Maybe she crossed a line with that one.

Or maybe not.

The signs are conflicting, because Jon seems half turned-on, half confused as hell by her request.

“Hey!” One of the men is shouting from down the corridor, and Sansa has to dare shooting him a look over Jon’s shoulder.

She grips at him, waits for the man to interrupt them completely.

“Take that shit to your room!”

It’s a simple demand, really, and Sansa lets out the smallest of laughs once he’s walked away and out of earshot, rounded the corner with his colleague.

“What the hell was that?”

“Which part?”

Jon is wiping her lipstick from his face, and she instantly regrets getting so into their trick.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s… I pushed you against a wall without warning you. I’m sorry… too.”

“I didn’t mind.” She shrugs, tugs at the length of her dress so it hangs properly down her body. “I quite liked it.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Including the nosy security guy?”

“Including the nosy security guy, but especially the part where it seemed like you were gonna fuck me up against a wall.”

“Sansa.”

“Jon.”

His hand is wrapped around her wrist again then, but he waits for her to lead the way down the hallway until they stop outside their door.

“Am I still not anything to you?”

“You aren’t anything to me, Sansa. You’re everything.”

[amymel86]

The Facility - Chapter 4 - Jon x Sansa fic

Sansa was frozen to the spot on the bed, her back felt clammy where it touched the cold concrete wall as she stared at her cell door where Ramsey had left his threat at the threshold.

Jon groaned and cursed on the floor, pulling her from her fearful trance.

“Jon! Oh my god, are you ok”? She fussed as she knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt hot. He groaned again and rolled onto his back, his dark curls falling back to frame his face as he opened his eyes to answer her.

“I’ve been better…I’m not gonna lie” he wheezed.

“You shouldn’t have tried to fight against them” she said in a small voice.

“He was touching you” he responded through gritted teeth, leaving Sansa to wonder whether it was from his pain at being tasered or from anger at the thought of Ramsey’s threat.

“There’s not much you can do about it” Sansa gulped, only just coming to realisation with the words once they’d met her ears.

“Distracted them for a bit though didn’t I”? He smiled softly and Sansa couldn’t help but smirk in return.

“By becoming a human spark plug? - yea good plan” she chuckled sarcastically. Jon’s face broke into a dazzlingly wide grin.

“Yea… I hadn’t planned for that part” he said, reaching up to rub the shoulder where the taser made contact.

Sansa gripped Jon’s upper arm and waited for his eyes to meet hers before speaking her sincere words “Thank you, Jon”.

“Anytime” he shrugged as they both got up off of the floor. “So shall we bone then”? He said abruptly, causing Sansa’s head to whip round so fast her neck was at risk of snapping. She gaped at him openly, her mouth frozen around words of shock.

“Whoa…okay, first thing you should know about me is that I make terrible jokes when I’m nervous…. sorry…that was….”

“Awful.?….Horribly timed”? Sansa supplies.

“Yea….it really was” he huffs out nervously while rubbing the back of his neck.

Sansa frowns at the floor “why are you nervous”?

“Is there anything about this fucked up situation that doesn’t make you nervous”? Jon asks with outstretched arms, gesturing to the entirety of her tiny cell. Sansa performs a motion that was part shrug, part nod that seemed to say ‘fair enough’.

They both sit on her bed, Jon positioning himself more than a respectable distance away from her. She suspects he is sorely regretting his terrible 'joke’ right now and his discomfort makes her smile a little.

Sansa suddenly remembers Robb, she should probably tell Jon that her brother will be seeking him out…. but how? Sansa glances directly at the camera - she has to assume it’s recording sound, they can’t talk openly.

Sansa stands quickly and puts her back to the camera, facing Jon where he sits on her bed. She starts to silently mouth words at him. Jon straightens and raises his head where it had previously been resting in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He shakes his head, his eyes intent on her but not yet understanding her message.

Sansa tries adding hand movements, unsure on how to mime the word 'brother’.

“Are we playing charades? I’m no good at charades….or lip reading…” Jon says suddenly. Sansa rolled her eyes and huffs in exasperation.

She closes the distance between them and leans down, braces herself on his broad shoulders as she lowers her mouth close to his ear. She’s so close that they bump cheeks momentarily, the scruff of his beard tickling her skin. Sansa hears him suck in a breath and hold it. His shoulders seem tense under her touch and his head jerks back a tiny fraction at their sudden close proximity. He smelt clean like their regulation soap.

As she whispers her message, Jon seems to be working to even out his breathing and Sansa wonders if he’s still affected by the taser. He nods after she’d finished telling him about Robb and Sansa straightens up to stand.

Jon stares up at her with his brown soulful eyes, eyes that for some reason look a shade or two darker from where she’s standing.

He’s still silently looking up at her like she’s a puzzle he’s dying to crack when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Sansa suddenly feels like her little cell has quickly become hot - too hot. She realises that she’s still stood between the 'V’ of his legs and moves quickly to restore the previous distance they had held between them.

Now sat on the edge of her bed, Sansa draws her knees up to under her chin and let’s out an involuntary huff. Jon glances at her frequently and jiggles his leg nervously.

Sansa’s mind is occupied with Robb. How she longs to see him again and to just be in the company of someone that she’s completely at ease with. She wonders if he likes Margaery - they would have known each other from school but Sansa can’t remember them having much to do with each other.

Well that’s all changed now, she thought as she realised that they will be in Marg’s cell 'pretending’ right now. Sansa’s cheeks flame and she tries not to think about it - she can’t think about her brother doing that.

She glances to Jon and imagines 'pretending’ with him. She thinks about him being on top of her, grinding against her. She doesn’t need a mirror to know she’s turned as red as her hair.

“I really am sorry about that joke Sansa…..I…I…that was stupid…and now I’ve made you uncomfortable” Jon said suddenly, although he was not looking at her, instead staring at his own hands as they curled around his knees.

“It’s fine Jon” she smiled at him as he tentatively moved his head to gauge her reaction, nervousness still written all over his face. He returned her smile with a small one of his own.

There was charged silence for a while again, Sansa felt like she could taste the tension on her tongue. Jon stood and began slowly pacing about her cell, looking like he was trying hard to think of a safe and easy topic of discussion. He stopped when his feet met Sansa’s book, still face-down on the floor.

He bent to pick it up and raised a brow at Sansa when he noted the title.

“They have a limited selection at their sorry excuse for library” Sansa shrugged “and its not hard to see that they’re trying to 'get us in the mood’ with what they do have there…honestly, it was that” she inclined her head to book in Jon’s hands “or Fifty Shades of Grey” Sansa rolled her eyes.

Jon nodded at Sansa’s comments, glancing down at the well worn copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover and then back to her “is it working”?

He winced and looked like he wanted desperately to capture the words that had just left his mouth, clamp down hard on them and swallow them back into his gut. “I mean..I…shit”!

Sansa giggled.

“Can’t help yourself can you”? She shook her head with a smirk on her lips.

Jon allowed some of the tension to leave his frame, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled back at Sansa. “Sorry….I keep saying the wrong thing….never really been any good at talking to pretty girls” he finished with a nervy, self deprecating laugh as he handed the book back to Sansa. She placed it under her pillow.

Sansa pushed herself back on her bed so that her back hit the wall. She patted the spot next to her and looked at Jon expectantly.

He huffed out a long breath and crawled onto the bed, seating himself next to her, their shoulders touching ever so slightly making Sansa internally analyse how she felt about the contact. Good. She felt good.

“I won’t touch you Sansa…..I can’t bring myself to 'engage with the programme’” he said using air quotation marks with his fingers.

Sansa nodded and wondered how she could tell him about her plan to 'pretend’ like Robb and Marg. She could whisper again but she suspected that the camera had already picked up on her previous quiet words in Jon’s ear and she wasn’t sure what the repercussions of that would be. No, best not do that again. Could Marg ask Robb to tell him - when they are in the men’s quarters?

God! What an embarrassing conversation - Robb having to instruct poor Jon to grind on his little sister to simulate sex.

Sansa felt heat rise in her cheeks at the thought and decided to think about all that later.

They spent the rest of Jon’s allotted time with Sansa slowly easing into chatting about their lives before the Facility. Sansa having a lot more to say considering her family being quite large compared to Jon’s, which comprised of his single mother and his dog.

Jon didn’t seem to mind listening to Sansa prattle on about her siblings, about how each one is so different from the next and so on. He nodded, laughed and smiled in the appropriate places, his eyes softening when he could tell sadness was tip-toeing its way into her voice and memories. She even thought she saw him make a move to hold her hand once, for him to then think the better of it and still his actions.

Sansa spoke of her love of art, of how her tutor was helping her to apply to The University of Arts London before she was taken to the Facility and how she longed to hold a paintbrush again - heck, even a crayola would suffice to lift her spirits right now.

Jon was apparently into computing and engineering. Sansa wrinkled her nose a little - all that tech stuff made her head hurt just thinking about it but she was impressed by the animated way he spoke about the subject. He sounded intelligent and enthusiastic, it made her feel a little stupid as she dumbly nodded at his words.

When the guards came to take him away Sansa was relieved that Ramsey was not one of them. They weren’t free from being taunted however as a guard came but mere inches from Jon’s face and spat his goading words.

“Nice bit of pussy you’ve got here Snow, don’t suppose you mind sharing- oofff”

Jon head butted the man with surprising force.

*********

The next day Sansa sat staring at the three spots of blood on her cell floor from the guard’s nose. She wondered whether Jon had broken it. She hoped he had.

Her head snapped up when her cell door was yanked open and Jon was marched in, cuffed again this time. But that wasn’t what made Sansa gasp out loud.

Jon’s eye was red and slightly swollen, his jaw sported a bloom of purple bruises and he had a cut to his brow.

“Perhaps now he’ll do his duty by you Miss” an older guard glanced over at her and snickered, he looked back at Jon “Christ Snow! I don’t know why you’ve been complaining! Prettier than most this one of yours” he said, jerking his head in Sansa’s direction. He then reached to place a hand on Jon’s shoulder in an almost fatherly manner “look…just get on with it Snow and the beatings will stop…who knows, you might be given another one if this ones not to your liking”

“Is that meant to make me feel better”? Jon spat.

The guard glances at Sansa again and back to Jon “not a queer are ya”?

Jon’s glare could melt steel.

The older man just grunted, shook his head and muttered something about 'a waste’ and Sansa being handed to Jon 'on a platter’ as he moved to uncuff him and leave. Jon’s jaw tensed as he glanced at Sansa who was still sat wide eyed on her bed taking in the damage on his face.

Jon looked ready to tear someone’s head off, his breathing was laboured and his nostrils flared. Sansa shook her head, trying to communicate silently to him not to start anything. He caught her meaning, took a deep breath and lowered his head.

As soon as she heard her cell door bolt shut Sansa was on her feet and closing the small distance between them. “Oh my god Jon! What happened”? She asked, a little panicked.

“Your brother found me” Jon joked dryly. Sansa snorted before playfully slapping his arm.

“No really, are they beating you because you won’t…. um….'engage with the programme’?

"I guess” he did that thing where he nervously rubs the back of his neck - Sansa had come to like that. “I’m mean, they left 'the goods’ alone so there’s that blessing” he grinned.

“The goods?- oh!” Sansa caught his meaning before shoving him in the shoulder “ass” she rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from her lips.

“Ow”! Jon made a show of rubbing where she had hit him “and now I’m subjected to violence from you too”! They both chuckled together.

She looked at him again with concern. They’d leave him alone if they think we’re having sex, she thought. Just do this Sansa - it’s just pretending.

“It’s not as bad as it looks Sansa… it’s…. it’s fine” Jon huffed.

“No, it’s not” Sansa said with a firm voice as she stepped close to Jon, directly into his personal space. Jon inhaled sharply and held his breath, his eyes intent on hers.

Sansa leant in and pressed her lips to his tentatively. Jon’s only response was a look of confusion between her small, almost chaste kisses. He responded with pressure on the third small kiss before making a strangled feral noise that sent a tingle down to Sansa’s toes and quickly gathering her in his arms, holding her tight as he deepened their kiss.

He’d caught her off guard a little, making Sansa moan as his tongue slid past hers. His embrace was warm and comforting, his body was hard and thrumming with energy. Her hands were halfway to their intended destination of tangling themselves in his hair when Sansa came back to herself.

Pretending, we’re meant to be pretending! I need to tell him the plan - Oh!

Jon’s mouth had made its way under her jaw where he was groaning whilst nipping and licking at her skin. Sansa liked that - very much.

She began backing them towards the bed causing Jon to break away. Sansa had to bite back the frustrated whine that threatened to voice itself.

“Sansa no!….we can’t do that just because their getting rough with me…” his eyes were wide but there was something in them that Sansa fancied as desire, it heated a coil in her belly but she couldn’t think about that right now. She tried to give him a pointed look that conveyed that all was not as it seemed. “We can’t let them win” Jon commented, obviously not getting her message.

“Trust me” she said walking backwards towards the bed with an arm stretched out to him. He took her hand and gave her a tiny nod.

Sansa sat and slid back up the bed as Jon crawled up and over her. He began lowering his head to claim her lips again. Sansa stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Stop it! Sansa berated herself from thinking about his hard muscle under her hand. Focus.

“What is it”? Jon asked concerned.

“Nothing” she answered quickly before reaching down to grab the balled up scratchy wool blanket and arranging it over them. Jon looked at her questioningly. He looked as though he was about to voice those questions so Sansa silenced him by grabbing a fist full of his shirt and pulling him down upon her.

They were kissing for quite sometime, Jon kept his hands respectfully hooked under her shoulders, Sansa’s had finally found their way into his hair. His weight and heat on top of her was doing things to her intimate areas.

Focus Sansa! Focus! She kept reminding herself, feeling a little dizzy. Sansa was suddenly aware of something large and hard against her hip and she pondered whether the men really were given viagra or not.

Jon moved down to start nipping at her ear and although the action was wholeheartedly pleasant, Sansa took the opportunity that presented itself.

With Jon’s head blocking the cameras view of Sansa she began whispering in his ear. “We have to pretend Jon ”. He made a move to rise up and perhaps ask her questions. Her hands in his hair kept him in place. “Don’t move! Don’t talk…I don’t want the camera to know I’m whispering…carry on kissing me”. He did, but the passion had been replaced by curiosity.

“We need them to think that we’ve given in…we need to make them think we’re having sex… we can pretend…move like we’re actually doing it, here under the blanket…..they’ll leave you alone”. She whispered quickly, feeling her pulse patter quickly.

She felt Jon nod into her neck. He took a few deep breaths. “Is that all this is?….Pretending”? He whispered.

“Yes and no” Sansa breathed honestly. Jon rose up onto his elbows, looking down at her, trying to ask a flood of questions without letting any words escape. His expression was one of desire mixed with hesitant concern. Sansa pulled him down by his shirt to taste his lips again before making her way back to his ear.

“I had to kiss you to get you to the bed… to pretend….but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy kissing you Jon” Sansa whispered, her lips brushing Jon’s ear. Sansa felt him shudder and decided that she liked having that effect on him so she took his earlobe between her teeth and dragged them over it.

After more kissing - so much more that Sansa felt that her lips were beginning to get sore, she whispered to him again.

“We should take some clothes off….to make it look believable”.

Jon chuckled into her neck. Sansa pinched him playfully and reached down to shimmy out of her regulation trousers. She made a show of dropping them on the floor, making sure her actions were in full view of the camera. Jon followed suit, ridding himself of his shirt also.

Sansa noticed more bruising on his torso, a particularly large one blooming on his side.

“It’s fine” Jon rasped quietly.

“No it’s not” she answers quickly before kissing him again.

Jon began rocking his hips into Sansa’s, the thin fabric of their underwear being the only barrier between them. Sansa stifled a gasp unsuccessfully. Jon gives her a smug look spurring Sansa to wrap her long legs around him, pulling him flush against her core as she begins to roll and circle her own hips by means of sweet torturous retaliation - Jon groans making Sansa feel a little triumphant.

They’re both panting in each others ears when Sansa realises that Jon grinding down on her is quickly coaxing an orgasm to rise between her legs. She moans loudly only to them clasp a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Jon leans up and pries her hand from her mouth, pressing it into the pillow beside her head. The look he was giving her spoke of his desire to hear her and watch as she came apart at his thrusts below him. She feels like she could burn from the blush high on her cheeks.

Sansa allowed herself to let go. To whimper and squirm and writhe and pant. He was rubbing her in all the right places, the press of his clothed cock with just the right amount of rhythm and pressure almost making her want to purr with pleasure. All while he watched intently, with heavy lidded eyes and a slack jaw.

“Jon…I’m….”

She was gone before she could get the words out - lost to the bright white behind her eyes, the intense pleasure between her legs and the tingle in her toes.

Jon’s thrusts and rubbing became erratic before he gave a few strangled grunts and collapsed on top of her, hot and panting. She could feel the thrum of his heartbeat matched hers before she noticed the wet sensation between them.

Jon chuckled next to her ear “it’s been a long time since I last jizzed in my pants” he whispered. They both descended into laughter before Jon began peppering her neck with soft, tender kisses and gently stroking her breast over her bra.

Sansa glanced over at the camera and not for the first time wished her circumstances to be different.