#wip: obligatory sugar baby Kon

[suzukiblu]

murr chrimmus frenz. <3

[suzukiblu]

oh nooooo not fanart of Kon in GLITTER EYELINER, friend, what a TERRIBLE fate you've wrought upon us all 💛💛💛💛

Class doodle

The Superboy Worms are back

I just read "Call Me Cute and Feed Me Sugar" and remembered I have glitter pens

@suzukiblu this is all your fault now Kon will invade all the corners of my notes :p

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut, the final day!! Eyyyyy, gang, we did it! Full month of daily updates for this one, haha. Ended up writing about 24k, give or take a few hundred words. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The alert on his communicator goes off again, and then again a few seconds later. Tim represses another frown. Nobody double-texts him on Tim Drake’s phone. The only people who ever would are Dick and Steph, and Dick never texts Tim Drake’s phone outside of emergency situations where Tim’s not suited-up and Steph doesn’t have Tim Drake’s number at all; they just use burners and the occassional dead drop. So who . . . ? 

The alert goes off a fourth time. Tim definitely doesn’t panic, but also definitely turns his wrist in his lap underneath the fall of his cape and taps the little armored pocket where he hides one of his micro-receivers for situations where he can’t pull the full-sized one out of his utility belt without being obvious about it. Cissie’s distracted with whatever’s distracting Cassie and neither of them can see his eyes behind the lenses of his mask, so it’s not difficult to slip it into his palm and out from under his cape to glance down at as he thumbs it open to wake up the tiny little screen. Four text alerts, and the caller ID is scrolling “UNKNOWN NUMBER” across the screen. 

Okay, so his civilian number is getting spam texts now. Jesus, he was worried, that’s so–

The actual number of the unknown number scrolls across the screen after the text. Tim . . . blinks. 

. . . that’s Kon’s number. Specifically, the number of the phone he bought Kon. Who is literally right outside, according to Cassie, and . . . texting somebody. While he’s out there. While he’s out there, and Tim is in here, and is being Robin. 

Tim has literally no idea how he feels about this situation, and honestly neither does Robin.

He opens the text log, and there are, in fact, four texts from Kon in it. 

so like 

superweird questin 

liek uh rly superweird tbh but uh 

cn u wish me luck babe??

Tim stares blankly at the messages. “Wish me luck”? That’s–what? 

Good luck, Kon, he texts back after a moment, figuring it’s the logical response anyway and assuming that using the other’s real name will help him feel better about whatever he wants the aforementioned “good luck” for. He’s going to have to try and get a read on him when he comes in, see if he can’t work that out. If it’s something to be concerned about . . . 

thx, Kon sends back with a blue heart emoji and literally nothing else. 

Blue, Tim thinks, yet again having to repress a frown. What the hell does a blue heart mean? Does that mean anything? 

He barely bites back the question, because it’s way too risky to ask even if if anyone knows what different-colored heart emojis mean it is definitely a teenage girl and if he texts Steph with a random question with no context attached and then doesn’t stick around to talk she’ll get annoyed and might leave another glitter bomb in their next dead drop. 

He really doesn’t wanna have to explain glitter in his cape to Bruce again. Or worse, explain glitter in his cape to Alfred. Alfred did not appreciate the glitter tracked all over the cave last time. Very, very much did he not appreciate it. 

Maybe Kon just picked it because he likes blue. Or maybe red seemed like too much to him? Or maybe– 

“I’m back!” Suzie announces excitedly as she spills into the room, and Bart bolts through her smoke trail a moment later and stops on a dime right next to the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, wrinkling his nose down at Cissie and Cassie. “Are you crying? Is it because your wig looks weird? It’s not that weird. I mean, kinda.” 

“That HeroWatch magazine thinks it’s your real hair!” Suzie offers brightly. “So it can’t be that weird.” 

“I am not crying and HeroWatch thinks what?!” Cassie demands, whipping her head up to stare at them both with a horrified expression. “It’s not even real hair! It’s like, synthetic! I buy the stupid things off Amazon!” 

“You should stop doing that,” Tim advises reflexively. There are so many ways for that to end badly for her secret identity. Genuinely so many that he doesn’t even know where to start, in fact. 

“And do what instead, exactly?” Cassie asks with a sullen scowl, leaning back just enough to fold her arms. “I can’t just clear out Spirit Halloween every–” 

She cuts herself off and stiffens, then jerks to her feet very quickly and straightens her wig and jacket even quicker. Tim has half a second to remember that while Cassie’s hearing isn’t super, it’s definitely enhanced, and then Kon walks into the room. 

“Yo,” he says, half-waving a hand at the table and then making a face. “Shit, I’m the last one here? Figures.” 

Tim . . . blinks. Blinks again. Cassie looks downright agonized, and Suzie and Bart both tilt their heads in opposite directions. Cissie raises both eyebrows and looks him up and down. 

“Jesus Christ, Kon, that is borderline indecent expo–” she starts incredulously, and Cassie immediately claps a hand over her mouth and leans down to hiss into her ear: “Cissie, you are my best friend and I love you and shut the hell up right the hell NOW.” 

Tim attempts to make his brain work. It needs to, like–do things. Be usable. Functional. Brain . . . able. 

The problem with that is the fact that Kon is currently wearing the tiny little jean shorts that first made Tim aware of the existence of the other’s thighs and the S-shield crop top that people really should have more respect for Superman than to have made and sold commercially with his usual leather jacket and sunglasses and a pair of heavy black boots that Tim also bought him, plus the sapphire stud earring from their last date with a little bit of eyeliner and chipped black nail polish and . . . thighs. Just–thighs. Kon is very, very much wearing thighs right now. 

. . . thighs.

Tim suddenly understands literally everything about the way Cassie came in acting and literally everything she’d said on top of that. Also, he isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe this is worse than the changing room was? Like, this might be worse than the changing room was. Because Kon’s not posing to show himself off like he was there, and “Tim Drake” isn’t here for him to be showing off for. So Kon is, presumably, wearing this outfit just because he wants to be wearing it. 

Tim needs a minute. Or a year. Or maybe a hard reboot and a new identity and a new reality to move to. Not permanently or anything, just until he can remember how to function like a reasonably-normal person again or he needs to send Kon his allowance, whichever comes first. 

It’s going to be the allowance, he already knows. It’s definitely, definitely going to be the allowance. 

“Huh,” Suzie says, looking a little perplexed. 

“Oh, is that what hormones are?” Bart says, looking surprised. “Weird.”

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

They spend a lot longer than Tim actually expects Kon to want to spend on that “couple things”, since obviously they can’t start with the exciting stuff and he just assumes Kon will get bored in about thirty seconds’ worth of Tim Drake’s awkward and over-detailed explanations of every little thing and also will experience immediate regret about admitting that he both doesn’t know how to do something and isn’t going to be immediately good at said something. Any time Kon’s not immediately good at something they’re doing in training he gets mad or pissy or at least frustrated and acts like a total asshole about it, but right now . . . 

Kon falls off the board and lands on his ass for the third time and for the third time just grins up at him sheepishly, and Tim feels very weird and not-normal and sort of just–smitten about it, really. 

“This is way different from surfing,” Kon says with a laugh, shaking his head, which is a little surprising to hear for some reason. If nothing else, Tim would’ve expected Kon to get even more frustrated, if he was assuming any apparent surfing experience might’ve helped him out here. He has heard it usually does, so maybe Kon’s just out of practice or his own standards are just, uh–a little too Bat, maybe. 

“Is it?” he asks, offering Kon a hand up again. Kon did it for him earlier, and anyway, it kinda makes him feel like carrying the other’s bags for him and being trusted with his weight feels. And Kon takes his hand, just like the last two times, and lets him help him up like there’s literally any reason he needs to bother to. “I’ve never tried surfing.” 

“It’s wicked,” Kon says, grinning at him again and giving his hands a quick squeeze before heading over to retrieve the board from where it skidded when he fell. He does not fall like a Bat, but he definitely does know how to. He’s just also clearly expecting his falls to be more of a “terminal velocity” situation than a “tripping off a skateboard” situation. Which, like–fair, yeah. “You gotta use your arms way more, though, and like, it just feels way more like you’re riding something, you know? Concrete just kinda sits there and there’s way less wind to worry about.” 

“Oh, yeah, I never really thought about the wind,” Tim says. Waves, definitely, but he didn’t follow the thought to its logical conclusion. “Pretty sure people based skateboarding on surfing to start, though, so is it really that different? Like, mechanically?” 

“I dunno,” Kon says with a shrug, tucking the board under his arm and trotting back over to him. “I mean, kinda? But also wheels are way harder to feel the ground through ‘cuz they’re spinning the whole time, so sometimes I get dizzy if I hold onto ‘em too much. And like, water moves a lot more than concrete, but the board’s totally flat against it, so like–easier to feel it, I guess? Just feels, like, more intense, kinda.” 

“. . . that’s really interesting, but are you seriously trying to use your TTK when you skate?” Tim asks, trying not to laugh at the idea even though he definitely should’ve expected it. “You’re such a cheater.” 

“Hey, I use TTK when I everything, thanks, and it’s not cheating!” Kon protests with another laugh, which is definitely not the way Superboy would’ve responded to Robin saying something like that. “You’re not cheating when you use your friggin’ ears and eyes, are you?” 

“Oh, blind skateboarding, that sounds terrifying,” Tim muses, and Kon laughs again. 

“I’d die! You’d die!” he says, sounding incredibly delighted about the prospect. 

“So I’m hearing we start with the low ramps, then,” Tim replies reasonably. 

“Oh my god, Tim,” Kon cackles, and then ducks in close to throw his free arm around his neck and kiss him again, his TTK wrapping around him for just a quick flash of pressure of its own. 

Tim feels–very weird, again. 

Specifically, he feels very weird hearing Kon’s voice saying his real name, especially right before kissing him. Kissing him, and also wrapping him up completely in the power he just identified as being as important and natural to him as his hearing and vision and, presumably, any other senses are. 

And again, Kon is clearly really, really tactile, so that’s hard not to be weird about too. 

Kon leans back, back to grinning at him, and Tim feels vaguely mortified and vaguely like eating him alive and also like this date has gone absolutely nothing like he planned, despite his best efforts. Kon brought him a present and he hasn’t bought Kon anything but an amount of grilled cheese sandwiches that can only be described as “inadvisable” and has in fact spent way more money on himself than he has on Kon, plus they’ve spent basically the whole date so far doing things he likes, not– 

“Um, just in case like a building collapses or a supervillain happens or whatever and I gotta run off early, um . . . thanks. For tonight, I mean,” Kon says, the grin he’s barely dropped briefly slipping into something a little shyer, and Tim stares blankly at him for a moment and feels like an insane person, or at least like he maybe just hallucinated that. “I’m really having fun.” 

Tim needs to check on the possibility of hallucinations, yeah. 

“You are?” he asks, fully bewildered by the idea, and Kon laughs again. 

“Obviously, you frickin’ nerd!” he says, then gives him a quick, sheepish smile and another peck on the cheek before turning that almost-inhuman shade of red again and pulling back, putting the board in front of himself and between them. Tim gently simmers to a boil and breaks down into a broth as every single ounce of meat in his body falls right off the bone. “I always have fun with you.” 

. . . Tim is maybe less a broth and now more, like, a stew that somebody left in the crockpot all day, or however Mrs. Mac used to do it. 

“Oh,” he says, desperately trying to remember how to string a functional sentence together that does not sound like a dropped typewriter. “Uh–good! Good. Um–I’m glad. Good. Me, uh–me too.” 

Kon blushes even darker and grins at him again, rocking back on his heels for a moment. 

“Cool,” he says. “Um–thanks, Tim. Again. Some more. I dunno.” 

Tim, again, feels very weird about hearing Kon say his real name, and some part of him kind of thinks, in an odd and distant way–did he just, like . . . forget how to just . . . not be Robin? Like–how to turn it off, and just feel the actually genuine things as Tim Drake, and not just the mask or the sidekick or the namesake? 

Well, that can’t be good. 

Kon keeps grinning at him, half-shadowed in the Gotham night and half-lit by electric Gotham streetlights and looking nothing like anything else Tim’s ever seen in Gotham, and Tim is definitely going to need to pencil in a couple hours on Sunday night to be an incoherent mess about him and also maybe, like . . . process some things, maybe. Think some stuff through. Adjust some– 

“So like, wanna go make out for a while in the full pipe?” Kon suggests hopefully, tipping his head towards it, and Tim forgets literally every single layer of other thoughts he was having. They are literally no longer relevant to anything and he does not care about a single one of them. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, maybe a little too red himself now, and Kon grins. 

The full pipe helpfully informs them both that Tim can, in fact, give Kon a hickey if the other lets him, and helpfully informs Tim that he is never, ever going to be able to be in the same tri-state area as a mind-reader again. 

Well, he should probably be avoiding those for the next fifteen years anyway, so whatever.

[suzukiblu]

Day sixteen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“So are you the Shakira in this theoretical Disney movie, or . . .?” Tim asks instead of self-examining anything about himself whatsoever, which usually works out for the best, and Kon sniggers at him. 

“Her name was Gazelle, put some respect on it, babe,” he mock-scoffs, and Tim laughs too. “Also yes, obviously, she’s super popular, surrounded by hotties, and she’s got the best hair and best eyeliner.” 

“You’re surrounded by hotties?” Tim asks, giving him a wry look.

“Listen, Arrowette fights crime in a cheerleader skirt and an armored sports bra, Wonder Girl could bench-press not only me but a pair of eighteen-wheelers, and back at Cadmus my girl Serling both gives not a fuck about anyone else's opinion ever and somehow actually pulls off vintage sixties fashion with weird-ass colors and way too many different prints, so yeah, absolutely,” Kon replies reasonably, then makes a face. “And also our totally-just-an-urban-legend fearless leader is so hot I wanna friggin’ punch him about it, I swear. And–"

Tim trips off the sidewalk. Kon catches him by the sleeve with his free hand–and definitely also with his TTK, given that Tim doesn’t drop a single sandwich–and keeps him from landing in either the gutter or oncoming traffic. 

“Watch your step, daddy, I’d hate to have to carry you home,” he teases with a smirk. Tim is too busy experiencing a total system crash to function. 

“Robin is not hot,” he says, which is unfortunately basically the worst possible response aside from maybe saying, like, I’M not hot would’ve been. Kon laughs again. 

“Yeah, no, he is actually unfortunately pretty,” he replies in obvious amusement, making sure Tim’s caught his balance again before letting go of his sleeve to snag another three-sandwich monstrosity of a grilled cheese stack off him and take a big bite. “Like, real unfortunately, it’s so unfair. Asshole gets to be the leader and the smart one and all hot and pretty? Bullshit. Gross, gross bullshit.” 

“Uh,” Tim says inanely. He is having a very hard time not falling off the sidewalk again. Or dropping the grilled cheese. Or dropping himself and falling off the grilled cheese? He’s–what–Kon just said what? 

“C’mon, you’re a Gothamite, aren’t you?” Kon asks him with another smirk. “Show some more loyalty to the hometown team, babe.” 

“Loyalty to the hometown team is definitely not Gothamite behavior. I think we heckle the Knights more than we cheer them,” Tim replies by reflex. Kon cracks up laughing, which is helpful, because it gives Tim a moment to pull himself back together into a normal human being. 

He does not in any way succeed at pulling himself back into a normal human being, unfortunately, but not the point.

[suzukiblu]

Day thirteen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” ( no cut today, hah, didn't write enough for one ). prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

They do, in fact, get “so many” grilled cheese. Grilled . . . cheeses? Tim actually does not even know, and is in no state of mind to be figuring it out while Kon is grinning in delight at the truly ridiculous and inhuman stack of sandwiches Tim has somehow wound up being the one carrying for them. 

Probably because he insisted, because he couldn’t help remembering how it’d felt carrying Kon’s shopping bags for him at the mall. But that’s not the point, alright? 

Also he hadn’t had any bills smaller than a fifty on him, so, uh . . . 

So they got a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches and gave like fifteen of them to some homeless guys on the corner and another fifteen to a group of random drunk college kids who’d been almost as delighted as Kon by the existence of so damn many grilled cheeses, basically. That’s that kind of thing that superheroes and vigilantes do, okay? Totally normal superhero/vigilante behavior. 

Less normal is the fact that Tim is still carrying twelve one-dollar grilled cheese sandwiches while Kon munches his way through his sixth one with no signs of slowing down. He’d gotten through three, personally, and that’d been kinda pushing it as it was. 

Kon is so damn cute, Tim notes resignedly. The resignation is mostly because Kon’s chewing with his mouth open and his cheeks bulging with half-chewed grilled cheese while he brags about the time he fought a dragon-sized living gargoyle ( which, what the fuck? ) and also some friend of his who’s a . . . tiger, apparently? Somehow? Like, Tim is pretty sure Kon meant “tiger-man” literally, yeah. 

Also he’s ninety-six percent certain there aren’t any active vigilantes operating under the name “Tigerman”, so yeah, presumably it was literal. 

. . . why is the tiger-man a king, Tim wonders after five minutes of listening to Kon describe the weirdest political situation he has heard of in at least two and a half months. Why is the tiger-man a king, and exactly what country operates like this? Do they not have literally any form of functioning government besides the one single tiger-man and his apparently-horrible bat-wife? How do all those wildly-varied species actually reproduce?

Why is the evil advisor literally named “Ratsputin”?

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-six of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon laughs into his mouth and kisses him back easy and eager, and the moment Tim drops his hands off his face he’s looping his arms around his neck–which Tim is very normal about, for the record–and leaning down into him. Tim puts his hands on his hips in return and feels several extremely complicated ways about someone who’s capable of lifting literal construction equipment trusting him with their weight, most of which he’s pretty sure are going to haunt him for the rest of his life, or at least his next four to six months of, uh–personal time. 

. . . he can never, ever be anywhere near any telepath again. Ever. Just ever. 

Or at least for the next four to six months, anyway.

The park really is deserted now, and lit by a couple of streetlights and a bit of bleedover from the street, but not much else. The rest of the streetlights are definitely out, and it looks like there weren’t that many to begin with. The neighborhood isn’t even that bad, really, but it’s Gotham, so Tim’s not surprised. He’s assuming the other skaters were regulars who knew how bad the lighting gets here this late, given most of them cleared out around the same time and how it’s only gotten darker since they did. 

Well, he doesn’t mind the dark, personally, and definitely doesn’t mind the privacy. 

“Sorry,” he says as he leans back from the kiss for a moment, mostly to make sure he doesn’t get carried away with anything. “Didn’t mean to cut you off.” 

“Yeah, you’ll have to make it up to me by doing it some more,” Kon teases, squeezing his arms around his neck for a moment before giving him a peck on the cheek. Tim gives himself three seconds to be a useless mess of goo, then clears his throat and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth in return. Kon grins underneath it, and Tim needs another three seconds to burn alive, then clears his throat again. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and Kon giggles again. Tim really has no idea how he feels about the giggling thing. It’s so cute he wants to throw himself in the harbor, but also he’s weirdly, like–just weirdly aware that it’s just not a thing he’s ever heard Kon do as Robin. Which, yeah, obviously there are several things going on right now that would not be going on with Robin, but still keeps throwing him off. 

Kon’s just . . . like, he’s very clearly the same annoying bastard who’s been driving Robin literally insane every single time Young Justice meets up, but also he’s doing all these things that he’d never normally do and Tim feels like he’s just constantly learning weird little unexpected new tidbits about him, most of them directly targeted to destroy his life. 

And then–one or two less “little” things that are directly targeted to destroy his life in a very different way, but that’s just not something Tim wants to be thinking about while Kon’s grinning and giggling at him and just–like this, he guesses. 

He’ll update his fifteen-year plan after patrol tomorrow, he promises himself. At least take some preliminary notes, anyway. 

“Can you teach me?” Kon asks, and Tim–blinks, trying to figure out what–

“To skate?” he asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah!” Kon says excitedly, and Tim almost reminds him he can literally fly, but can’t really bring himself to in the face of that inexplicable excitement. 

“Um, sure, yeah,” he says. “I can teach you a couple things, maybe.” 

Kon beams at him. Tim, somehow, is still completely unprepared. He thinks Kon just makes it very hard for him to be prepared, somehow.

So that's a weird experience, all things considered.

[suzukiblu]

Day seventeen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You heckle your own guys?” Kon demands, still laughing. “The hell for?” 

“Because Chris Campbell is literally the worst professional quarterback on the East Coast and a total pill, that’s why,” Tim says witheringly, also mostly on reflex. Not that he really watches all that much in the way of sports, just his dad semi-regularly watches football and hockey and sometimes baseball, so sports are usually a safe topic to talk about without having to handle awkward questions like what'd you do last night or how’d you get that bruise? or anything equally inconvenient to answer. 

Though really anybody in Gotham who was not a literal shut-in with no internet access or cable would know how freakin’ bad Chris Campbell’s arm sucks, but he digresses. 

“Also Robin is an urban legend, because I want to go about my daily life completely unnoticed by anyone who might care about people thinking he wasn’t,” he amends belatedly, and Kon laughs harder. 

“Well, he’s an urban legend who can totally pull, for the record,” Kon says matter-of-factly before taking another bite of grilled cheese monstrosity. Tim almost walks into a lamppost. Or a mailbox. Or–something. There was something he almost walked into. 

“I cannot even be in the same state as this conversation,” he says maybe a little too feelingly. 

“Yeah Batman would definitely be a fucking dick about it,” Kon says agreeably, still snickering a little. Tim decides that is a great excuse and exactly what he’s gonna go with, and then gets distracted by Kon making a show of fluttering his eyelashes at him with a flirty smirk and adding, “And like, obviously you, daddy.” 

“I–why would I be a dick about that?” Tim asks, instinctively wary about if he let something slip about Robin and what Kon–

“Oh my god, I mean you’re on my ‘surrounded by hotties’ list, you nerd!” Kon cackles, smacking his back. “Obviously.”

Tim cannot even begin to imagine what Kon thought was “obvious” about that, but okay. If Kon has awful taste, that’s his prerogative. And if he thinks Robin is hot, theoretically he would also think Tim Drake was, except for how Robin and Tim Drake are two totally different people and also Kon resents Robin and is constantly being a total dick about both listening to him and letting him just run the damn team and has to get the last word in even in active combat situations and Tim Drake is just–Tim Drake is just a nerd, exactly like Kon just said. He’s a photography nerd and a nerd-nerd and he’s not all that interesting or attractive, and he has weird taste in video games and only likes the role-playing games that literally nobody actually plays, and he isn’t even that good at skateboarding! What about either of them could Kon possibly find actually, like–actually consider– 

“It’s cute you didn’t realize, though,” Kon adds, and leans over to kiss his cheek with greasy grilled cheese lips. Tim, unfortunately, feels like a squishy melted marshmallow about it. And also greasy and gross. But mostly it’s the marshmallow thing, yeah. “Hey, are you gonna finish those, babe?” 

“All yours,” Tim says, and hands over the remaining grilled cheese, deciding to just . . . not do the math on how many of those Kon actually just ate. And also to take him to a buffet next date, maybe. Like–several buffets. Multiple buffects. They could just rotate through a few, maybe Kon’ll be likelier to actually eat ‘til he’s full at an “all you can eat”-style setup if he’s still worried about him overspending on him, Tim figures, which he clearly has not been given how many grilled cheese sandwiches he has put away so far, even if he doesn’t finish the last–

Yeah, Kon definitely hasn’t been eating ‘til he was full, Tim notes as he watches Kon demolish every single remaining sandwich all down to the last bite and then lick his fingers clean. 

Alright then. Buffet tour date it is. And also way more snacks and candy in Kon’s future gift bags and maybe, like, he could also just open an Uber Eats account for him and fill it up with as much Uber Cash as they’ll let him and also sign up for the premium or whatever so Kon won’t have to pay delivery fees, assuming he can even get Uber Eats to deliver to Cadmus, but honestly he’s heard about people doing weirder in the gig economy, and also Robin is going to just–Robin is going to goddamn pack the Justice Cave with nonperishable snacks, Tim swears to god. Enough for Bart to need to take a few days to get through, even. And like–Suzie doesn’t need to eat, no, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have the option, and frankly now he’s going to have to be checking everyone’s living situations out a little more thoroughly, so until then–well, he’s just gonna frontload his success, he guesses. Be prepared. 

Bruce absolutely cannot complain about him being prepared, he lies to himself, and offers Kon the napkins. Kon grins at him and then wipes his mouth and hands off and misses some crumbs éon his lip, which Tim is very unimpressed with himself for finding cute even more unimpressed with himself for wanting to brush them away for him like they’re in some dumb weird cliché romcom or something. Which they are not, definitely. 

“Did I get it all?” Kon asks him. 

Tim despairs, but also is only in possession of so much self-control, okay? Reeling back on the supervillain plan is already taking up about seventy percent of his processing power and not jumping Kon outright is at least another twenty-five, so he doesn’t have very much to work with here, okay? 

“One sec,” he says, and reaches up to brush away the last couple of crumbs on Kon’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Kon immediately turns bright pink, then grins at him way too smugly. Tim decides to just not analyze whatever his own facial expression feels like it’s being right now, for obvious reasons. 

Mostly “self-defense”. Mostly “self-defense” is the reason. 

Kon ducks in and kisses him again, the gesture all sweet and warm and still a little unfortunately but endearingly greasy. The kissing does not help with Tim’s self-control in any way whatsoever, but definitely does distract him from analyzing anything else that’s going on right now. 

“You really know how to skate?” Kon asks him after he leans back from the kiss, back to grinning at him. Tim suddenly understands literally everything Victor Fries has ever done in his life and frankly is surprised he hasn’t done worse. If anyone ever lays a hand on Kon again, he is gonna do so much worse than just go supervillain; he is gonna go Darkseid and he will not be sorry.

[suzukiblu]

Day nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim doesn't let himself kiss Kon for quite as long as he wants to this time. He doesn't want to say he doesn't want to move too fast and then get them both all riled up five seconds later and, well–undercut that, or whatever. Or seem like he didn’t actually mean it, maybe. 

Also he does still need to make sure Kon’s gotten in enough calories today; he definitely still needs to do that. There’s gotta be a decent place they can get in last-minute with a carefully-applied bribe or two, if nothing else. Kon deserves “nice”, still, and also Tim is not gonna half-ass the date after that conversation. Whole-ass all the way. 

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat again. Kon grins all sunny and pretty at him and it is a very, very flustering sight. Tim wants to smudge his eyeliner and mess up his hair and buy him an entire apartment block, or at least a suburb or two. “Wanna find someplace to eat? Maybe look through a couple shops on the way?” 

“Oh, just a couple, huh?” Kon teases, his grin widening giddily. Tim feels very flustered. 

“I mean, we are in the shopping district,” Tim says, refusing to admit to any embarrassment about being that easily seen-through. He has an entire lifestyle to fund for Kon here, alright, and that he is gonna not only whole-ass but double-ass. Triple-ass, maybe. Quadruple. 

. . . though modeling age-appropriate relationship behaviors was already gonna be hard enough with how little personal dating experience he has, much less the sugar daddy thing. 

Yeah, that’s gonna require some planning. 

“And that was totally an accident, right?” Kon asks with a laugh that is actually more like a giggle than anything else, which Tim’s brain unhelpfully burns down an entire metaphorical warehouse district about. 

“I plead the fifth,” he says, tugging Kon back onto the sidewalk, and Kon giggles again and ducks his head as he shakes it, squeezing his hands one last time before letting go of one to follow him more easily. Tim feels stupidly wooed and soft and definitely wants to destroy the lives of everyone who has ever so much as mildly inconvenienced the adorable bastard. Kon wasn’t cute before, dammit. He was not prepared for Kon to turn out to be cute. 

“You are literally fucking ridiculous, babe, I hope you know that,” Kon tells him, still grinning as his face flushes again and tugging the collar of his jacket up over his mouth with his free hand. “Like, you actually got me a friggin’ flower, you friggin’ nerd. Like–seriously?” 

Tim can’t help suspecting Kon’s joking about that because flowers and cute little dating clichés aren’t the kind of thing he thinks anyone should bother doing for him, which honestly at this point seems like a pattern of behavior. Especially after earlier. Which–it's not like he didn't go into this already knowing that Kon's loudly overinflated self-esteem and cocky attitude was partially bluster and self-defense, but the more time they spend together like this, the more it seems less like “partially”, and more like “entirely”. 

Tim is going to get this adorable bastard so many flowers as soon as he gets him in a cul-de-sac to be keeping them in. He is gonna keep Kon in flowers until the goddamn heat-death of the goddamn universe. He’ll get a florist and set up a weekly order of varying tropical flowers and make sure the neighborhood is full of flowering bushes and trees and bring a bouquet to at least two dates a month, if not just literally every single one of them. 

“I wanted to,” he replies with a shrug, because that sounds more normal to say than any of the rest of it and sincerity seems to be the most efficient way to cut the legs out from underneath any attempts Kon’s making at downplaying the point of the gesture. “I was hoping you'd like it.” 

Kon turns red, then ducks his head and grins helplessly wide, still half-hiding his mouth behind his jacket collar. Tim feels an irrational urge to smother him. Like, affectionately, he means, but also kind of literally. 

Maybe he has some wires crossed right now, given how much of a workout the supervillain timeline’s been getting lately.

[suzukiblu]

Day eighteen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” ( no cut today, we die like Jason Todd's faith in humanity ). prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Skateboard, yeah,” Tim says, not really sure why Kon just changed the subject that way. “I mean–sort of. I haven’t done it in a while, and I was never all that good anyway.” 

“Like you aren’t into it anymore, or what?” Kon asks, tilting his head curiously. Tim tries to figure out why he’s asking, because all evidence aside “just wanting to know more about him” cannot possibly be the answer. That is just not a thing in any way whatsoever. 

“Um–no, it’s not that, I just haven’t really had . . . time, you know?” Tim says, shrugging awkwardly. Because Batman needs an emotional support sidekick and I’m the only one available who can actually put up with him for long enough to do the job isn’t gonna fly here, obviously, and because I spend what little free time I have running around with you and our teammates fighting increasingly off-the-wall and objectively insane crime. “Lately, I mean.” 

“Can I see?” Kon asks. Tim stares blankly at him. He’s wearing slacks and a button-down and yeah, obviously they’re cut and fit so he can use his full range of motion and his dress shoes are in fact resoled with a tread, but Kon doesn’t know any of that and also, like, either way they are clearly date clothes and not skate clothes. Hell, Kon’s in leather pants right now, not to mention the wool coat and boots, so–

. . . actually, Kon might know how his clothes are cut, Tim realizes. And about his shoes having a tread. Because he is much, much closer than an entire mall right now, and also they spent how long making out on a gargoyle, and–

He needs to pretend he has not realized Kon might know that much about his clothes right now. Or ever. Like–no. Just no. 

Ngh. 

“You wanna see me skate?” he asks, because he has to be misunderstanding what Kon’s asking, and Kon grins at him again. 

“Yeah!” he says. “I mean, there’s a skate shop right over there, right? I dunno, do they rent? Like, normal skates you can rent, right?” 

“I think that’s more a rink thing, probably,” Tim says, too bemused to really figure out what else to say. “I don’t know anywhere that rents boards.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks a little disappointed. “Bummer.” 

“I mean, I could just buy a board, my old one needs replaced anyway,” Tim lies reflexively, and Kon immediately brightens again. 

. . . Tim has a problem, maybe. Or like–definitely. And that problem is literally everything he’d do to keep Kon from ever experiencing a single negative emotion again. His old board is perfectly fine and has literally nothing wrong with it except for the fact that it isn’t here right now, and they could just do this next date if Kon actually wants to see him skate. There’s no reason they couldn’t. 

“Awesome!” Kon says excitedly, and Tim is absolutely doomed. Completely, totally, absolutely, and entirely doomed.

[suzukiblu]

Day five of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. ( everyone's having fun! so much sugary, fluffy, definitely-not-emotionally-fraught fun!! 🙃 ) prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“That’s not–I told you that you didn’t have to do anything like that,” he says stiffly. “That that’s not a–condition of any of this.” 

“I–yeah, I know,” Kon says, frowning a little deeper and looking–uncertain, now. Mostly just around the eyes, Tim can’t help noticing. Mostly just around where opaque sunglasses wouldn’t show any tells. “You said. I just–I thought–” 

“It’s just–not something you have to do,” Tim says, because Kon doesn’t look like he knows how to find the end of whatever sentence he’s trying to say and he needs to say something, he knows. He just–he thought they’d had this conversation, and that Kon had laughed at him because he’d thought he was being stupid to feel like he had to say it, not . . . 

Is that why Kon had laughed, or did he laugh because he thought Tim was lying to him about something he didn’t think he needed lied to about, or . . . ? 

“I know,” Kon says, biting his lip for a moment. “Like–I wanna, like . . . do this. Like, I don’t think you’re, you know–trying to be an asshole about it or anything.” 

Tim hears “this”, and wonders if Kon means he wants to act like the way he was just acting, or if Kon just means he wants to date him, and thinks this has to be part of that. It’s not . . . clear, maybe. He’s not even sure how to ask Kon that, or if Kon would even understand the question if he did. 

He’s pretty damn sure that “trying to be an asshole” is a translation of something way worse, though. 

“I don’t know what that means,” he says, mostly to buy himself time to figure out what he should be saying. “You want to do–what, exactly?” 

“Whatever you want,” Kon says, and Tim feels nauseous. 

“No you don’t,” he says, inane and useless. 

“I do,” Kon says, shifting his posture into something too-deliberate and too-practiced and just not normal to see on another teenager, and Tim has a flashed moment of intense awareness of just how not-prepared for whatever’s about to come out of Kon’s mouth that he actually–“You can just–tell me what to do, if I’m doing it wrong. Or just do whatever you want. I’ll like it. Promise.” 

There is literally no possible way that Kon could know that, part of Tim thinks, but the rest of him is thinking okay so who EXACTLY gave Kon the impression that he should be saying things like this to someone he barely knows, and how do I most effectively destroy their credit and job prospects and also every single thing they’ve ever loved?

And on top of that, who the hell taught Kon that saying things like that isn’t, like–way too much way too fast, if nothing else? Because again, he has some lives to maybe destroy a little. Like–just a bit. 

Because it’s definitely, definitely something Kon got taught. It’s just–it’s way too obvious, that all this is something he got taught. 

“Why do you think I’d do that?” Tim asks, and Kon–hesitates, a little, a flash of embarrassed self-consciousness crossing the backs of his eyes again. 

“I–it’s just–” Kon attempts, half-fumbling whatever he’s trying to say, and then more or less babbles out an awkward, stuttered explanation of: “I mean technically this is already, like, our fourth date, counting the coffee place and all, and I just–like, you're–you said you didn't wanna do all this stuff for me just ‘cuz I saved your life. I thought that meant . . . I thought you meant . . .” 

He trails off, looking a little helpless and a lot more embarrassed, and Tim feels like an asshole and an idiot and ten steps closer to going supervillain and burning down the world. Or the reality. Or the multiverse.

Just–anywhere that made Kon have to be embarrassed about this. 

“That I only wanted to sleep with you?” he asks, trying not to let his voice get too tight. “I told you, that’s not–” 

“Ithoughtyoumeantyoulikedme,” Kon blurts in a rush, jerking his head to the side to look away and also looking just shy of humiliated.

[suzukiblu]

Day four of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Sidewalk,” he says, quick and abrupt. “Uh–please. Just . . . can we land somewhere?” 

He needs to think straight, and he needs to take a step back, and he needs to–compartmentalize, and focus. 

Kon’s talking like–Kon’s acting like– 

Robin’s met a lot of people who feel like they need to sell themselves in one way or another, and a lot of kids who don’t act quite like–who aren’t– 

He doesn’t exactly like to think it, but right now Kon’s reminding him of some of the abuse and trafficking victims he’s met; the call girls and rent boys and just . . . 

Just the kids who act like somebody gave them a script, instead of like they figured out what they wanted to say for themselves. 

“Um–yeah, sure,” Kon says, just barely frowning, which is probably because Tim is having a very hard time acting okay about Kon talking to him like an escort chatting up a client or–

He really cannot act okay about that, no. 

It makes him think about Cadmus taking advantage of Kon’s time and life for barely anything more than room and board and wonder just what Kon was doing in Hawaii and just what kind of girls he’s dated, and–

He really, really cannot act okay about this at all. 

Kon shifts his grip on him and then flies them down to the mouth of an alley that opens out onto a sidewalk–again, terrible Gotham survival instincts, but Tim really doesn’t have the bandwidth to get into that right now–and lets Tim down onto the concrete and gravel. Tim takes a step back from him and clears his throat, trying not to be–not to seem–

Robin knows how to talk to escorts and prostitutes and victims and people who think they’re a product in just about every possible situation. Because obviously he does, and of course he does. There is just–there’s not a situation in which a Robin wouldn’t know how to do that. That’s just not a thing. 

But Tim Drake doesn’t know how to talk to Kon-El in this situation. 

“Thanks,” he tries awkwardly, and Kon shifts his weight and looks like he’s about to hunch his shoulders, but instead visibly redirects to stand up straighter; links his hands together behind his back. It pushes his chest out a little, and the way he’s standing is–

The way Kon’s standing is a display, even now. 

It always is, isn’t it. 

Tim thinks about the stupid teen-magazine poses, and thinks maybe he wasn’t actually prepared enough for the kind of relationship that involves paying for literally everything in the life of someone who views themselves as . . . whatever, exactly, Kon views himself as. 

Tim didn’t actually realize Kon viewed himself as anything but a superhero, and didn’t really follow through the logic of what somebody who thinks their entire purpose in life is to be useful might . . . assume here, maybe.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kon asks, looking uncomfortable. Tim tries to figure out how to say yes but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was actually someone ELSE doing something wrong and you not knowing that said something WAS wrong in a way that won’t sound patronizing or too heavy or make Kon get defensive or just ditch him or–“I, uh–I just haven’t really done it before–with a guy, I mean–so I just . . . well, you can give me some tips, right? I’m not, like–I’m up for anything, y’know?” 

Tim hates this conversation.

[suzukiblu]

Day eleven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh–is it?” he asks, not really sure what else to say. Or more like, not really sure what else to say that would not sound both desperately, desperately horny and desperately, desperately weird. 

“I dunno,” Kon replies, giving him a quick, sheepish little smile. “Just makes me feel good, that you think I’m worth, like–taking out and showing off, or whatever. Like–without the S-shield on, even.” 

“The S-shield would definitely make date night a lot harder to enjoy, yeah,” Tim says, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to dissolve the entire entertainment industry and all of Kon’s previous romantic interests in acid from the ground up. Slowly. Kon blushes again, his smile widening. 

“And, uh–and that,” he says, glancing sidelong. “And that you wanna hang out with me without anybody interruptin’.” 

I want to hang out with you until I overthrow Gotham AND Metropolis and then I want to install a zeta between them and the biggest beachfront property you’ll let me buy for you and any little Kon 2.0’s you let me make you, Tim’s most insane self thinks and his slightly more rational current self does not say, because he has at least some small and tiny and miniscule scraps of self-control. 

Like, barely, and only lasting until the fifteen-year sidekick-to-supervillain plan goes off, but still. 

“I definitely don’t want anyone interrupting, no,” he agrees instead, and Kon beams at him again and then ducks in and kisses him again–just a quick little peck, but definitely still a kiss. Tim, belatedly, realizes that Kon might actually be getting more up in his space than he was before the whole . . . script issue happened. Just–standing closer, and leaning in a little more often, and things like that. Not in a demanding way or anything; just like he wants to be there a little more often. 

Like maybe he’s a little more comfortable being there, now. Or like maybe he thinks he can do it without anything being–expected from it, maybe. 

Tim doesn’t even know if Kon’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s definitely noticing a difference either way. Just–there is very much a difference there to be noticed. 

He is definitely, definitely not going to be able to find out who any of Kon’s exes are before he goes supervillain. That’s just not going to work out for his timeline at all. 

Also Bruce would absolutely get upset if he found out about whatever he ended up doing about it, and he’s an emotional support sidekick, not, like, an intern or whatever. He is not here to cause problems, he is here to facilitate Bruce’s mental health, help him manage his paranoia, and minimize the amount of overkill beatings of petty thugs and small-time criminals. 

Admittedly Bruce managing his paranoia is not going great, but it’s a process, alright? He’s doing his best here. 

“So like, if we do go shopping again, wanna pick something out for me to wear for you next time?” Kon asks, still beaming at him. Tim’s brain attempts to reboot a couple dozen times before he manages to remember how to string a coherent sentence together. 

“Yes,” he says in an almost normal-person voice. Maybe. Theoretically. He . . . hopes, anyway. “Uh–yeah. That sounds, uh–like something I would like to do.” 

It’s a little harder to focus on the supervillain thoughts with Kon both wearing that expression and actually asking him to buy him something–especially specifically something he wants to wear for him–so that’s helpful for keeping to his timeline. But also, uh–embarrassing, kind of, because usually Tim is better at thinking than he currently is being. Like, his normal thought processes are a lot more involved than Kon’s so hot and Kon’s so CUTE and hurr durr pretty boy. 

He definitely still wants to ruin some people’s lives, but first he wants to get Kon dinner and dessert and buy out a boutique or four for him, and just like, a small suburb. Or town. City. Tri-state area. 

And also to pick out something for him to wear “next time”, since apparently Kon still wants there to be a next time that he sees Tim Drake and also just like . . . just the whole thing with the picking out something for him to wear thing, because Tim only has so much self-control, alright? He is doing his best here, but he’s only an emotional support sidekick, alright, he’s not made of stone. 

Seriously, Kon asked him to dress him and asked him to buy him something. Tim is not actually sure if he’s more thrilled about actually getting Kon to specifically ask him to buy something for him or frazzled over Kon offering to let him pick out something for him to wear. Just–god. Tim is just not even–Tim does not know what he’s feeling right now. Just–whatever it is, he is feeling it. 

He wonders if it would be, like, a little too pathetic of him to maybe get Kon another crop top. Or, uh, a little too thirsty of him. 

. . . probably, yeah. Probably definitely, in fact. 

. . . . . . but like, if Kon sees one he likes, it's not like Tim's gonna say no or–

Anyway. 

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-one of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” ( no cut today, we die like Steph's tolerance for her dad's bullshit ). prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

He should be taking notes, Tim realizes. This is a new and unprecedented level of supervillain behavior that his fifteen-year plan can only aspire to reach. 

“Asdfghjk,” he says, which is apparently actually an actual sound that an actual person can actually make, go figure. Learn something new every day. 

Kon laughs at him, the fucking bastard. Tim would probably swear vengeance but unfortunately Kon looks way too damn pretty and way too damn happy doing it and is not wearing a single thing he didn't buy him and bought him a camera with his first allowance and wants to see him skateboard and has also laughed so many times tonight that Tim is starting to develop the opposite of a tolerance for it. Like, he's getting weaker and weaker to it the more exposure he gets, which is in his opinion total bullshit and totally unfair but is unfortunately still happening. 

. . . well, not necessarily unfortunately, since it’s specifically happening because Kon keeps laughing and looking happy about it, but that’s besides the point. Somehow. In some way. Just–somehow. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute, babe,” Kon says, grinning at him again. He keeps doing that too. He keeps laughing, and grinning, and just–just all these things that Tim is not prepared for and honestly doesn’t even know how he could’ve been? There’s having five minutes of prep time and there’s situations that are just impossible to prepare for because how could he have fucking KNOWN. How?! How could he ever have?!?!

Literally not possible, Tim is certain. 

“You’re actually incorrigible,” he says, quickly flipping his dropped board onto its wheels with a foot and then giving it a quick pop to the tail and hooking a foot underneath it to kick it up into his hand. Kon looks delighted, his eyes immediately lighting up. 

“Sick!” he says. Tim felt like maybe he was getting in a win for a second there, except Kon being genuinely delighted is actually even worse and he thinks he’s just, like, kind of screwed in general now? Kon’s not supposed to be genuinely delighted by things, he’s supposed to pretend to be too cool to be impressed or just jealous that someone else is getting attention! 

Tim really, really could not have ever been prepared for this. 

“So like, do you know any cool tricks?” Kon asks with a wider grin, still looking way too genuine about his excitement. Tim is resigned to ruining his best non-funerary/non-gala slacks and possibly also his shirt and definitely also his dignity. His dignity is as scuffed as the shoe he just dropped his board on, and frankly that’s being optimistic. 

Extremely optimistic. 

“I know a couple okay ones,” Tim says, since Robin-level parkour doesn’t count as either “tricks” or anything he could show Kon, and also he’s screamingly out of practice, and also he was never really that good a skateboarder even when he had the time to do it regularly, plus skill decay is a thing and– 

“That mean you’re gonna show me a trick or two, daddy?” Kon asks, grinning slyly at him.

[suzukiblu]

Day fifteen of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: mentions of past grooming/abuse; mentions of homophobia. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Naw, naw, it was his name-name,” he says with another laugh. “Dude swore up and down it was Greek. And then I’m pretty sure he specifically went out of his way to find a ‘Leander’ to date just so he could validate that shit, because he absolutely did in fact date a super-ripped alien named Leander.” 

Tim pauses again, and isn’t sure if . . . 

Just something about the tone Kon was using and the look in the back of his eyes is sticking in his head a little, maybe. And he does in fact want to know if this guy at least is a valid source of intel in regards to anyone he might need to put on his supervillain hit list, so . . . 

“But he was cool?” he asks carefully. 

“Um–yeah,” Kon says, tearing up the last bite of his sandwich stack a little restlessly and watching himself do it more than making eye contact. Tim represses a frown. “Just, um–I wasn’t into him or anything, for the record, just he was, like . . . I kinda didn’t really know anybody else who was, like–who liked guys or whatever, before him. I mean, like–other guys who liked guys, I mean. And I didn’t know why I felt–like, how I felt about that. And then, like, not everybody was actually cool with him liking guys, and it was just kinda like . . .” 

He shrugs a little, then glances back at him. Tim stomps on so many invasive questions, and wonders again if Tim Drake is, like–an experiment, or if Kon has dated other guys before. Or at least liked other guys, anyway. He already said he hadn’t really done anything with any, and he said he wasn’t into this guy, but . . . 

“I didn’t even ever tell him I was, you know–like–” Kon shrugs again, then takes another grilled cheese off the stack and starts ripping bites off it too. “Like, whatever I am. Did not actually know that I was that at the time, admittedly, but then Tuftan put a collar on me and not remotely unclearly kept me as his pet and I had some memory problems goin’ at the time, and anyway I woke up to some real interesting, uh, realizations or whatever after that one.” 

“. . . I’m sorry, I know this is a serious conversation and you’re telling me something important, but did you just tell me that your gay awakening was a tiger-king who was keeping you as a pet?” Tim asks, trying not to laugh because, like, clearly Kon is being serious, but oh god, what are their actual lives? What is Kon’s actual life? 

“I mean, technically he was still the prince then,” Kon mutters under his breath, flushing in embarrassment with a sheepish laugh and half-hiding his face with the hand not currently full of incredibly-cheap-but-still-calorie-packed grilled cheese. “Listen, he was just real nice to me while I was all fucked-up and freaked-out about a whole lot of shit, okay, and I swear to god, babe, if you make one single furry joke I will actually go throw myself in a volcano and die, so please have mercy?” 

“I am the most merciful guy you know,” Tim lies, and feels a weird sort of–just a weird feeling, kind of, because Kon would never ask Robin something like that. He’d just get irritated or pissed off or defensive. He wouldn’t just–ask, and think there was any chance he’d actually agree not to do something like that. “Won’t hear a word about it out of me.” 

Though he’s not gonna pretend that the fact that Kon apparently had a crush on a guy who was effectively taking care of everything he needed in life isn’t a good sign for his cul-de-sac plans. 

Maybe Kon’s just more into castles. Tim could get him a castle. Get one built or just import one, he doesn’t know. 

“Uh–thanks,” Kon says, still looking sheepish even as he smiles at him again. “Look, literally not even my fault, alright, if you’d met the dude you’d know. He is literally the tiger from Zootopia who would treat you right, okay? Like, I watched that movie and was like ‘huh okay this is a mortifyingly familiar experience’ the friggin’ moment that scene came on.” 

Tim briefly remembers a couple of tiger-themed memes that he remembers seeing around the time that movie dropped, then decides not to go down that rabbit hole or learn anything new about himself today. Like–not anything else new, anyway.

He has maybe learned a few too many new things about himself lately, admittedly. 

Or, uh . . . definitely, yeah. 

[suzukiblu]

Day twelve of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim clears his throat and adjusts the collar of his shirt for honestly no good reason, and Kon keeps doing–Kon keeps beaming at him. There is just . . . there is just so, so much beaming happening right now, and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything else. Or even, like, passingly think about anything else. 

Kon looks–he just looks happy, and Tim feels flustered and overwhelmed and vaguely nauseous, but like, in a good way, somehow, and . . . it’s a lot. Yeah. Just–Tim is currently feeling a lot of things, is all. Just . . . a lot. So much. 

Tim wonders if he could figure out a loophole to “legally” marry Kon despite the fact he’s fifteen and Kon is only maybe legally a person and/or citizen in the eyes of the government, because in that case even once Kon gets bored of Tim Drake he’ll be able to send him alimony payments or whatever, so– 

Actually, Tim realizes as he looks at Kon’s beaming face–at Kon’s beaming face beaming at him–and feels Kon’s hand still gripping his easily and comfortably, and Kon still leaned in closer than necessary even as they walk along the sidewalk together . . . 

Actually, he doesn’t feel like Kon’s getting bored with Tim Drake at all. 

. . . . . . huh. 

Weird, Tim thinks, a little too bewildered to figure out why he feels that way. 

“Oh, hey, that looks good,” Kon says, perking up a little more as he looks at something over Tim’s shoulder and points past him with his free hand. “We need a new dinner place, right? Wanna try it?” 

Tim looks where Kon’s pointing and frowns in confusion, because he’s pointing at a skate shop, of all things, not a restaurant or cafe or even a bar. 

“I haven’t touched a skateboard in months and also I have no idea what that has to do with dinner,” he admits, still frowning in confusion, and Kon laughs. 

“The food truck, babe,” he says with a snigger, pointing more emphatically. “You skateboard?” 

“Uh–sometimes, yeah,” Tim says, refocusing his eyes to realize–yeah, there is in fact a food truck there, parked just to the side of the skate shop. It’s very . . . yellow. Very, very brightly yellow. 

He can absolutely never, ever tell Bruce he missed something as obvious as a huge neon yellow food truck, Tim swears to himself, and then he actually registers what the truck says and . . . blinks, very slowly. 

“Is that the one-dollar grilled cheese truck?” he says. “I thought that was a meme or something.” 

“I mean, probably some bargain-basement content creator who thinks they're an influencer is running it as some publicity stunt shit, but one-dollar grilled cheese,” Kon says reasonably, except for how Tim cannot even imagine what about that statement would be “reasonable”. 

“You want to get dinner from the one-dollar grilled cheese truck?” he asks, a little incredulous about the idea. 

“We could get so many, babe,” Kon says with a gleeful grin. Tim, instinctively, is about to protest that they could get “so many” of whatever Kon wanted, in fact, and a truck that says both “cash only” and “no change given, figure out your own shit” in Impact font is literally just . . . what. What? But then he has a brief remembered flash of Dick saying there wasn’t any “one size dates all” and talking to him about circus tickets and tailoring dates to the other person's tastes and, well . . . 

“Um, sure?” he says, still vaguely bewildered. Kon needs more expensive tastes. He needs to get Kon more expensive tastes. And also maybe, like, better standards for a “nice” dinner. 

Kon beams at him again, giving his hand a squeeze, and Tim disassociates for a minute or two in an attempt to process any of that and entirely, entirely fails to. 

. . . alright, maybe some of Dick’s dating advice was helpful, he reflects. 

. . . . . . also to be fair, this also might be the Condiment King or some other D-lister about to start some shit, in which case it wouldn't hurt to throw a superhero at the problem anyway. 

And at least it's gonna be a lot of calories, right?